Date: Tue, 14 Sep 2010 08:00:45 -0700 (PDT)
From: Vincent Vincent <not_your_typical_master@yahoo.com>
Subject: Satanic Slave, Part 7

Once again, THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION.  The narrative that follows did not
happen to Me or to anyone else by Me.  Don't contact Me to meet this slave.
DO contact Me if you want to become this slave.  <smirk> Also contact Me
with any praise, criticism, or suggestions.  All feedback is good.

Satanic Slave - Part 7

And that was the start of the "routine" of life as a chained faggot
cocksucker.

It's damn near impossible to explain life at that point.  There was this
endless flow of "now" ... time just fucking stopped.  i have no idea how
many days, weeks, months or years went by.  It's nearly impossible to
transcribe things in order because there was no milestone by which to
remember what happened when.  The best i can do is describe what life was
like during that period and then highlight some specific incidents.

There were no meals; we were fed cum, piss, and the fortified water of the
stone Phalluses.  Yes, there was a Phallus in every room, all identical:
huge stone Cocks providing faggots' nourishment.  There were no rest
periods; we all seemed to fall into many light naps throughout the
day/night, easily awoken should there be a Cock we had the chance to
service.  It's probably that lack of deep sleep that created such a sense
of submissive stupor.  We were all weakened mentally into a state of
compliance with any and all orders to serve Cock.  We were very willing
Cockslaves.  i never saw or heard of any faggots rebelling or wanting to
leave; there was nowhere we'd rather be.  Maybe it was just an effective
application of the Stockholm Syndrome, but we were all worshipful of our
Captors.

There was no routine, no repetition.  Sure, there were Cocks that were
serviced more than once, but there was no regularity and therefore, again,
no way to judge the passage of time.  Was it a week ago i had serviced this
Cock?  A month ago?  There was no fucking way to know.  And there was no
reason to care.

There were many special rooms in the compound into which a Man led one or
more of us for use.  One of the more commonly used was "the family room".
There were a few recliners there and a TV.  There was a refrigerator in the
corner.  Men would often come by, toss some beer in the fridge, and use a
faggot to worship Them as they watched pussy porn on TV.  One time a faggot
(this faggot) was lucky enough to be pulled in there by a group of frat
boys watching a college football game; there was no cocksucking, but they
wanted a servant to fetch them beers and to drain their bladders so nobody
missed a play.  Hours of pissload after pissload, each one thanked for in
the most depraved and degrading terms.  "Thank You so much, Lord, for Your
delicious piss."  "Sir, Your faggot is so grateful for Your nourishment."

Another time a faggot was led there by a Man in his 60's or so ... a faggot
could only judge by the color of His pubes.  In the room were His son and
grandson.  The grandson had apparently just turned 18 and they were
celebrating by showing him what Men did with faggots.  Each of them were
serviced several times and all their urine and seed were happily swallowed
by a "perverted cuntface" (the grandson's disgusted compliment).

It was especially wonderful when being used by more than one Man, being
passed around like a toy.  One time a table was in the family room and a
faggot was blessed with the opportunity to crawl under and service.  It was
a poker game where whoever had won the previous hand was pleasured during
the next.

There was a series of simple bedrooms within the complex.  Sometimes a Man
wanted to lie down to be worshipped or He wanted to fuck a faggot in bed.
One time a faggot was positioned here face up on the bed, my head hanging
over the side and a group of 4 men took turns throat-raping me.  My face
was thickly covered with throat slime, snot, and cum when it was over and I
was not given permission to wash for a long long while.

>From time to time (again, there was no way to know how much time passed
between events), faggots were milked so our prostates could release some
fluid.  A faggot didn't necessarily look forward to this event.

A random number of faggots (always an even number) were always stationed in
the milking room.  Half of the faggots were bound standing spread-eagle.
Beneath each of us was a mechanical fuck-tube that would slowly slide up
and down inside our holes.  These tubes vibrated which added to the
incredible sensations we experienced.

The other half of us were positioned kneeling, one in front of each of the
spread-eagle faggots.  Our job was to lick up and swallow the release from
the milking.  There is no way to measure which position was the more cruel.

The pace and pulse of the fuck machines could vary, but normally it was
maddeningly slow, not enough to get off but only enough to make my fagdick
drool uncontrollably.  A faggot could spend hours, days, weeks in this
state of near-orgasm without ever doing more than continually churning out
a slow drip of worthless fagseed and never experiencing the pleasure of
release.  To look down was to be further frustrated by seeing a
cocksucker's mouth sucking up my dickdrool without providing me more than
the suggestion of pleasure.  A faggot, every faggot, often cried during the
experience.

And there there were the lickers, unable to provide orgasmic release to the
cocks straining in front of our faces.  Only able to suck up the drool from
a permanently caged prick.  It was a room of endless frustration.

Sometimes a Man would enter the room.  Often He might just sit in the back,
having dragged in His own cocksucking faggot and getting blown watching our
torment.  His presence, His orgasm, would often make us sob.  But it could
get even worse.

Just like with the faggot clock in the hallway, a sensor responded when a
Man was in front of one of us milked faggots.  As long as He stood there,
the pulse and pace of the machine increased and a faggot could truly be
machine-fucked.  Men took advantage of this and would bitchslap, punch, or
work over a faggot's flesh, knowing we would beg for more just to keep Him
standing there so the fucking would continue.  We were cleverly being
trained to become fucking masochists, associating pleasure with pain,
making them one and the same.  After awhile, whenever a Man bitchslapped
me, even if i wasn't being milked, my fagdick would swell and drool.  We
eventually begged for abuse from any Man at any time -- the crueler, the
better.

Imagine the power these Men had -- to walk into a room of faggots and have
us all pleading to suffer for His enjoyment.  "Please, Lord, whip this
worthless faggot for hours" ... "God, this cuntfaced whore would love to be
slapped by You again" ...  "Sir, please show a cocksucker what its nuts are
good for."  Men often came here to release Their frustrations.

Every once in a while a faggot actually orgasmed from the experience.
There was no punishment for this and it became the carrot at the end of a
very long stick. Making orgasm possible but damn fucking unlikely was far
more cruel than denying it altogether.

And then there was the "fucking room."  Another place where a faggot's
orgasm was nearly, but not quite, impossible.

>From time to time (again, there was no way to anticipate) a faggot would
be stationed here.  Each wall held a different positioning for faggots.
Along the back wall faggots were locked spread-eagle along the floor and
wall.  Men just fucked to Their hearts' content.  A faggot rarely got to
see who was fucking it in this position, but it was the most intimate of
the three.  When stationed here, a faggot could at least feel a Man's body
against it and have His sweat on its flesh.  It was my favorite place to be
when stationed in this room.

Next to that wall were a series of chains hanging from the ceiling.
Faggots were hung by our wrists and ankles, which were locked together to
completely expose our fuckholes.  We got to see our Fuckers unless we were
screwed from behind.  When a Man entered the room, He would often demand we
beg for His Meat.  We were gagged though, so the only way to beg was by
using the muscles in our holes to make them open and close, to pout
... there seemed to be no limit to the degenerate ways we made our
fuckholes desireable.  Sometimes a Man would come and sit watching us beg
harder and harder for what seemed like hours.  i could never compete with
the other faggots and would often spend what felt like days here in
constant frustration.

Once there were a group of Men in the fucking room and i was "lucky" enough
to be positioned here.  The Men enjoyed a fun game.  Each would enter me
once, sliding all the way down my hole.  Then He'd back away and fuck
another hole to orgasm. For god-knows-how-long, I was just given a single
stroke of Cock at a time.  The Man who made me sob was the winner.  There
were many winners that night.

Opposite that wall was "the bench".  The bench was waist high and we were
positioned here bent over the bench so our fuckholes were wide open and
available.  Our upper bodies were covered with a dark cloth so there was
nothing but fuckhole visible to the Men in the room.  Our faces, however,
were positioned to be visible from the room next door, "the bar".

The bar served liquor at an open cabinet next to the door.  There were
comfortable chairs for Men to use as they watched what was going on in the
neighboring rooms.  Each of the three neighboring walls had what looked
like two shelves running from corner to corner.  We were positioned in the
neighboring rooms so our heads, between these shelves, could easily be seen
from the Men at the bar.  There was, however, a 2-way mirror in front of
our faces.  All the Men in the bar could see us, but we had no choice but
to see our own pitiful faces staring back at us.  It was rough being
watched but not knowing by whom.  It was also hard worshipping a Man in the
bar being surrounded by suffering faggots.

One time a faggot had serviced a Man in one of the bedrooms.  While happily
licking His Cock clean, the Man engaged in a little conversation.  This was
a very rare event; most Men didn't acknowledge us verbally except to
insult/compliment us.

"So, I think I've got a new cocksucker here.  No complaints, cuntface; just
saying I don't think I've seen this faghole here before.  Any questions?"

A faggot spoke to Cock.  "Lord, a faggot has no need to know, but just how
does this place work?  Who are these Men and how did They learn about this
compound?"

"It's not all that complicated, dickbreath.  These compounds are stationed
throughout the world.  There's no advertising; with services like this,
there's no need.  It's all by word-of-mouth.  There are those who use the
glory holes without realizing there's an entire complex on the other side.
The glory holes are part of a bookstore.  Men pay a buck for entry.  They
don't necessarily pay for the blowjob, so it's all nice and legal.  They
rate potential cocksuckers thinking the ones with high ratings stay there.
They don't realize the faggots who pass end up here.  Those that don't
pass... well ... I'll talk about that another time.

"The actual compound is made up of members like Me.  We each pay a fee for
membership.  Memberships are available for a night or for an entire year.
And again, we don't pay for sex, just for membership to the club.  There
are a whole bunch of rules we must agree to.  Like how to behave if We see
somebody We know has become a faggot.  How We can arrange to take a faggot
home with Us.  Shit like that.

"Then there are the Initiators.  It's a small group that every member hopes
to become a part of.  I have no idea on what basis they decide, but an
Initiator chooses faggots to go into the deeper cells of the complex and
chooses members to become a part of their league.

"And then there is the Founder.  Scary fucking man, but He's got the
respect of all of us.  He did found this network, but nobody seems to know
when it started He and the Initiators share some deep shit.  I only know
Him by reputation, but I think that's all I want to know Him by.  Rumor has
it that He and the Initiates practice some bizarre rituals as they move
from compound to compound.  And as if that wasn't strange enough," he
added, cocking His head toward the room's Phallus, "he's apparently only
half-human.  Probably half-donkey as well."

"What do You mean, Sir?"

"Those big stone dicks that you bitches drink from?  I hear they're are all
copies of His cock. Life-size copies."