Date: Wed, 2 Aug 2006 17:39:27 -0700
From: bamaboi2serve@charter.net
Subject: Remote Control Slave, Part TWELVE

     During the drive back from the mall, Piss-Master kept cock-master on
the floor next to the front seat. His job was to lick Piss-Master's right
foot clean of mall-dirt. From what i could hear, he was doing an
unexpectedly enthusiastic job.
     i remembered when cock-master had shown up at my door, how superior he
had been, how he had abused me, eventually introducing me to the friend i
came to know as Piss-Master. i had witnessed cock-master's fall from
superiority to servitude, and wondered where he now fit in next to me. i
didn't have to wait long to find out.
     We arrived back in the parking lot of my apartment complex, and
Piss-Master ordered cock-master to the back of the van with me: "Get your
faggot-cocksucker mouth back there are make sure the boi is clean enough to
enter the apartment, and then get back up here and do my other foot!"
     cock-master climbed over the seats, removed my sandals, and started
licked my feet clean, then working his way up my calves and legs. Remember,
i had not only been pissed on by the guard, but the bag of my own pee had
been pierced underneath my pink sweatshirt. i was a pissed-on sweat-stained
mess, but that seemed to turn cock-master on. Whereas he had earlier been
surly about obeying orders, now he was into it, eagerly licking my skin
clean, quickly reaching the point where my flimsy pink shorts ended. His
tongue stretched up underneath, lapping against my pissy jockstrap and the
hard-on underneath. Not having been ordered to remove any clothes, he moved
up to my bare belly, my arms, and even my shaved pits. My top was pulled
over on one side, giving his access to one tit, which he licked and sucked
like a madman. He was a non-stop automatic tongue body-washer and i think
he would have licked my clothing clean too if Piss-Master hadn't called him
back to the front to do his left foot.
   "OK cocksucker, up here and finish my foot...and don't miss between the
toes."  cocksucker (the word "master", even without the capital, seemed no
longer fitting) left my saliva-covered body and jumped to the front where
he absorbed more of the dirt from the mall adventure. Finished with that
task, he kneeled on the front floorboard of the van, head down in
submission, a new and eager slave. Piss-Master attached a leash to
cocksucker's collar and ordered us both out of the van.
     It was after eleven o'clock at night, so we were again able to get
into the apartment without being confronted by anyone (although i found
myself hoping at least one neighbor would show up, so i could be seen as no
longer quite on the bottom of the shitpile).
     Inside, Piss-Master ordered me to strip, removed the tape attaching
the harness holding the remote-control devices, and then had cocksucker
finish the job he had started outside, carefully licking every inch of my
body clean. When he licked my penis, it was all i could do to not cum...and
then Piss-Master issued the ultimate order the sealed his position: "OK,
cocksucker, do what you do best! Shithead here has had a rough night and
was a good slave-boy in the mall...get that mouth of your around his tool
and suck the juice out of him!"
   cocksucker did just that, kneeling in front of me in classic cocksucker
position, and it took all of thirty seconds till i was spurting into his
mouth, my first orgasm in days, despite all of the stimulation. He
swallowed it all, averting his eyes from mine, another sign of his newly
lowered status.
   Yet i was still a slave-boi, and Piss-Master was quick to remind me of
that. He ordered cocksucker to attach my arm and leg restraints and used
rope to secure me naked to my own couch. He turned off the lights, grabbed
cocksucker, and headed for my bedroom. But he stopped briefly at my side,
patted me on the head like a favored dog, and pulled a light blanket over
me against the cool air conditioning in the living room. Then, leading
cocksucker on the leash, he went into the bedroom, half-closing the door
behind him.
   For the next two hours i lay in the dark listening to cocksucker's
abuse. Piss-Master fed him the evening worth of piss, causing him to
gag. Piss-Master had him spend a half hour riming his ass, fucked him
endlessly, and eventually shot down his throat, tossing him off the bed to
sleep on the floor. Cocksucker whimpered like a struck puppy. Following my
canine-analogy, he was the last sled dog now, destined to look at my ass
for the remainder of the ride. Piss-Master stretched out and was soon
asleep. i had followed each event in the other room by sound alone, still
horny and hard despite the orgasm i had courtesy the new slave-boi
cocksucker. Then i too fell asleep. My arms and legs were stretched out,
leaving me open for any abuse that should happen to come my way.

***

     None did. When i awoke it was dark and completely silent. Then i
realized the darkness was a product of the blanket that had slipped over my
head as I tossed during the night. i shook my head and it fell off, leaving
me blinking in the daylight that shone through the windows. i was
alone. Someone had loosened my right arm restraint to the point that i was
able to untie it and the rest of my bondage. i walked shakily into the
bedroom. It was empty. The sex-stained sheets had been pulled off the bed
and lie on the floor in a pile. A quick look in the bathroom and kitchen
and I knew i was truly alone.
     There were no notes...the computer was turned off...and for a moment i
wondered if it had all been a dream. Then i saw my skimpy sweat-stained
pink mall outfit on the floor next to the couch. It had been real, but
where were Piss-Master and cocksucker?
    i showered, threw on a fresh pair of women's panties, made the bed and
slept for eight hours straight. When i woke up, the room was dark again. It
was evening, and i was still alone.

***

     A week dragged on with no news. I returned to work, depressed and out
of sorts, arguing with co-workers who had been friendly before. I jerked
off at home each night, getting no pleasure from it. The e-mail addresses I
had used to contact Piss-Master, Cock-Master and Master in S. Africa were
all dead ends. But a week after the mall experience, I needed to find some
action, and logged on to some chat-rooms. After several hours of cat and
mouse on some master/slave boards I was about to give up when I clicked on
one more, entering as a "master" by mistake. My nick included the name of
my town, but was otherwise vague enough that it didn't label me as a bottom
boi.
     Almost immediately I was IM'd by someone calling themselves
amatureslave, who asked if I was really located in that hometown.
   "Of course," I send back...only then noticing my mistake about this
being a slave seeking master site.
   "Let me serve you!" came the next message.
   Before I could dismiss him and leave, he IM'd again.
   "I will do anything you ask!"
   After a week, any action was beginning to sound good, and I decided to
give it a try. There's a saying that the best masters have once been slaves
themselves.
   "Stats now!" I ordered.
   He complied, they seemed reasonable enough, and so I went way out on a
limb. I gave him m address and told him he had ninety minutes to be here
ready to serve.
   While I waited, I surveyed my available toys, took off the panties and
replaced them with a jockstrap and a pair of black leather shorts. With a
black boy-beater added, I made a reasonable looking master. My hair had
begun to grow back during the week and I figured the rest was attitude. I
was ready to try my hand at being on top.
    Eighty-nine minutes after I had logged off there was a knock on the
door. Something about his not using the bell appealed to me, like some
unwritten rule that electronics weren't for slaves to use.
   With collar and leash in hand, I opened the door to my apartment.
   He was about twenty years old, wearing a torn pair of cutoff
shorts...kind of a daisy-duke outfit that could be either macho or fem
depending on other factors. And the factor that turned them in decidedly
Daisy was the frilly cut off top. It screamed fag-boi. But the most amazing
thing about the potential slave at my door was this: it was Brian, the
former classmate from the Save-Mart store, the one who had provided me with
the women's panties, who had pissed on me in the storeroom that night.
     "Brian? What the...?"
     "Yes Sir, it's me, Sir, I know I don't have any right to come here
after the way I treated you at the store, but I was just going along with
what I thought you wanted. This is the real me, Sir. I need to be serving
you, Sir."
     He said all of this from a kneeling position in my doorway, his eyes
on the door jam. I reached down an attached the dog collar and leash to his
neck, pulling him not so gently into the tiled entryway to the apartment.
    I pulled my cock out and squirted him, marking him as mine. Keeping his
eyes averted, he opened his mouth, ready to take my piss, ready to do what
I asked. A few minutes later he was servicing my feet, and then my cock. I
had my eyes closed, envisioning a thousand and one adventures Brian and I
were going to have. First I needed to get rid of all of that hair on his
groin and pits and head...then there should be a tat and some metal. In no
time at all I was settling in to my new role. As was my first slave-boi:
the newly named "bitch-brian".

***the end***

Comments? I would love to hear from you! How should the bitch-brian
storyline be developed?

Bamaboi2serve@charter.net