Date: Fri, 14 Mar 2003 10:54:51 -0800 (PST)
From: Waddie Greywolf <waddiebear@yahoo.com>
Subject: "The Ties That Bind Chapter 1"

DISCLAIMER: WARNING!!  This is a work of homoerotic fiction written by an
adult for the purpose of entertainment for other adults.  If you are not
eighteen year of age or you have any problem with this type of literature
then this is a warning to read no further.  The author will not be held
responsible for any reason if you do.  (Codes: M/M BD/SM Master/slave  Gay
Anal Oral)    

Copyright 2003 Waddie Greywolf
Mail to: <waddiebear@yahoo.com> 
===================================================================
THE TIES THAT BIND
By Waddie Greywolf

FOREWORD: 

The Ties That Bind is the second novel in a quartet of novels dealing with
the same family group of bikers.  Booger Red & Cowboy being the first. Like
BR & CB, The Ties That Bind is a totally unabashed, unapologized for
Master/slave love story.

This work, like BR & CB is a work of total fiction.  It is neither a
manifesto nor a guide for living the lifestyle described herein.  The
philosophies and character interaction is purely for entertainment
purposes.  Take what you will from it and leave the rest.

I wrote an extended "Foreword" to BR & CB I made available to anyone who
e-mailed me requesting it.  It explains in depth how and why this quartet
of novels came to be.  It also explains some of the reasoning behind this
group of men's sexual practices and their attitudes to male/male
relationships.  It is still available to anyone who requests it.

I would like to point out the custom of radical body alterations on a slave
was no longer practiced during the time setting for this work. (i.e. the
early sixties onward.)  I have included it in this work as a plot tension
or suspense mechanism as a passionate choice a man might have to make who
was considering becoming a slave to one of the men in this family or an
associated family group.

Hopefully, this will become clear after reading several chapters.  Try to
keep an open mind and ask yourself what price you would be willing to pay
for happiness?  There did occur an occasional sexual reassignment but they
were few and in most cases were mutually agreed upon.  Here again, for plot
and character development I have included no less than three and one
intersexual. (do a search)

Thanks to the several hundred folks who were kind enough to send e-mails
requesting me to post  3TB.  (Kleenex count?   At the very least,  a two
boxer)

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

THE TIES THAT BIND 
By Waddie Greywolf


CHAPTER 1~ MASTER JEB,  FISHER OF MEN

						
Part I ~ Bringing in the sheaves~
             
"We shall come rejoicing,..."
Fanny Crosby


When I was in Nam I was older than the average recruit. I went to college
and completed two years of graduate work to avoid the draft. I got home
from the graduation ceremony, threw my MA sheep skin on the bed and opened
my mail. The second envelope I opened was a nice letter from my `uncle.'

"Greetings!" It said crisply, "You are here by ordered. . ."  The next
thing I knew my ass was being shipped to Vietnam. After I'd been there for
about a week I couldn't help notice how empty the heads were in the
mornings. There was no rush of men pushing and shoving to get to a sink. It
was empty except for a couple lifer sergeants.  A buddy of mine solved my
conundrum at breakfast one morning.

"They're all so damned young they only have to shave once a week."

His reasoning was as sound as it was truthful.  Each one was younger than
the next, some not completely out of puberty, learning to become men,
bragging about conquest they never experienced, still almost children
behind their fear filled eyes. They were the pride of a generation sent to
a God forsaken, shit hole of a country, finding themselves looking down the
barrel of a loaded gun, fighting a war for reasons they could have cared
less about.

Most didn't have a clue why they were there.  They quickly learned to hate
the country, the people, the climate and themselves for having been duped
into believing they were drawing a line in the sand to stop the communist
hordes. They were sold a worthless bill of goods when all too often the
inflated price was their lives.  Fifty eight thousand two hundred and
twenty nine men gave their lives for nothing.

I was assigned to the hundred eighty-sixth as a field medic, a corpsman. I
lived through horrors no man should witness. It ate me up emotionally, day
after day, patching the wounded, as fast as I could, so I could get to the
next one. Shoveling a man's steaming guts back into his stomach cavity with
my bare hands, lighting him a smoke, knowing he wasn't going to make it,
and assuring him all the while, he was.

The worst thing was, I came out as a gay man my last year in college and
became an emotional wreck trying to cope with the carnage around me daily.
I can still remember the faces of the beautiful men I watched die. Some of
the most handsome, good looking men you could ever imagine, died in my
arms; no time for tears or prayers. Let the dead bury the dead then on to
the next one.  I did take time for prayers and said many with a frightened,
dying man in my arms.

They nicknamed me `Ber'Rabbit' because I kept my head low, got in to patch
up a man, popped my head up to see were the next one was and scurried like
a rabbit to fix him up. It started out "Beau Rabbit" but they showed "Song
of the South" for a movie one evening and I was "Ber'Rabbit" after that.

I don't think anyone but my buddy and the paymaster knew my real name. I
don't think my commanding officer knew my real name.  He always called me
`Ber' Rabbit.'  It was a service thing. You're either known by your last
name or a nickname.

I bought the package. I believed I was making a difference, serving,
helping, caring for the dying and wounded; for my country; for my fellow
men.  Ultimately, I became an uncaring, disillusioned, nasty-mouthed,
depressed, drug popping, don't give a shit, `slave' for my country.  Slave?
Yep, you bet'ch'um, Red Ryder!  I couldn't stop going back to help those
innocent men.  Many who died in my arms, died virgins to either sex.

I was wounded six times. After the fourth heart I threw the rest away. It
wasn't until they shot out one of my kidneys and I almost lost my arm that
I decided it was time to reconsider. I was too lucky too long, it was
reality time.  It was time to go home.

You know what, I've got a news flash for straight America and all you red
necked bubbas.  My cocksucker's blood fell on the ground as red as any
straight fuckers.  My blood ran as freely and for the same purpose.
Shouldn't the blood I shed and the comrades I lost buy me equal rights in
my own country and some protection against the flames of hatred fueled and
fanned by the rabid, right wing, crypto-Nazi, religious groups?

It didn't buy anything for the blacks that fought, shed their blood and
lost their loved ones in WWII.  Not even equal rights.  Home of the brave?
Land of the free?  Yeah, if you aren't black or have a hankering to suck
dick.  The answer to the question for separation of church and state: If
they want to be political and continue to try to impose their narrow minded
values on others, revoke their tax free status.


* * * * * * * * * * *


After recovering from my wounds and going through the military muster-out
grinder, I returned and decided to settle in Los Angeles. It was big enough
to lose myself and explore my gayness without anyone from my small West
Texas town finding out.

I got a great job I love with a recommendation from the General I
befriended and the Admiral of the seventh fleet. I went to work in a
specialized mechanics shop repairing heavy duty equipment and trucks.  I
walked in green, off the street, without any mechanical training.  Within a
year I was promoted to junior mechanic and given my own work bay.  For the
first time in my life I had more money coming in than going out. I could
buy anything I wanted but I didn't.

I had this dreaded feeling most of the time that my success was to be short
lived and anything I acquired for myself I would ultimately lose.  I had a
small apartment, sparsely furnished, with few personal possessions.

I wouldn't buy a television or read a newspaper. I wouldn't talk to anyone
about what I'd seen or been through. I was so disillusioned and demoralized
I didn't want to know what was going on over there.  I would walk away from
a conversation about the war.  I neither wanted to hear about it nor
discuss it.  I didn't buy a television until we withdrew from South East
Asia in 1973.

I was in denial and I was carrying around so much emotional baggage it was
hard for me to communicate with other gay men.  What I went through made
most of them seem shallow and uncaring.  They considered me dark and
brooding.  I wouldn't share what was bugging me so they labeled me a
`schitzy-cunt.'  I deeply resented the label but rationalized it to be an
easy enough toss off for an air-head queen whose tongue was split at birth.
What the hell, it was probably the only way they could teach the cunt to
talk.

I was a failure in relationships.  (For the first three years I never had a
relationship so I had to be a failure.)  I was a failure in Nam. I couldn't
save all those men; I was like King Chanute, trying to sweep the ocean back
with a broom.  Why should I be surprised to be a failure in Los Angeles?

I no longer fit in there and I certainly didn't fit in with the gay crowd.
I didn't consider myself better but I sure as hell knew I was different.
Life meant more to me than having one trick after another run through my
life. I lived with the dead and dying for almost seven years. I forgot
there could be any joy in life.  I wanted more but I couldn't define it.  I
neither knew whom nor what I was looking for.  I wanted desperately to find
out what the gnawing hunger and emptiness in the bottom of my gut was all
about.  I didn't have a clue.

I didn't like the bar scene and wanted desperately to find someone to care
about that would care about me and settle down into something that
resembled a relationship. I wanted someone to take care of and love me for
my efforts and affection.  Unfortunately, it was 1972, the time of the `me'
generation, lots of meaningless sex and open relationships. I was sinking
fast. The silence of eternity called to me daily.

Then one night, in one of the leather bars, I met an older gentleman who
claimed to be a broker for introductions between young and older men. I
talked to him for sometime trying to read him. He made no apologies about
the fact his services were unusual.  He specialized in arranging
Master/slave relationships.

Basically, as he explained, he made extra money to supplement his fixed
income by arranging sex between attractive young men he knew, or those
referred to him as trustworthy, and older men who didn't or couldn't go to
gay bars, because of sensitive occupations.  Some of his clients couldn't
be bothered with gay sexual intrigue and had the money to get the most bang
for their buck.

He gave me his card and asked me to call him to set up an appointment for
an interview; no obligations; just talk to him, tell him a little about
myself and what I wanted.  Maybe he could refer me to some men I would not
otherwise have the opportunity to meet. He only asked that I be honest and
open about my sexual needs and fantasies.  I didn't get the impression it
was a sexual come on from him.  He seemed serious about his offer.

He was a strange man with piercing dark blue eyes and a soft, southern,
baritone voice.  He was ruggedly handsome and attractive like he'd seen a
life of hard work. He stood about six-two and at approximately two hundred
thirty pounds still had a rock hard body.  A full, neatly trimmed white
beard and `stash rounded his affect. I think the white hair and beard made
him appear older than his actual age.  If he had propositioned me I
probably would have gone with him but he didn't.

Since I'd never had a strong father figure when I was a child I found
myself preferring older men. I couldn't find what I was looking for in the
average vanilla gay bar in Los Angeles so I bought a motorcycle and hung
out at all the leather bars.  I went on all the major bike runs as a GDI
(God Damned Independent) because the gay bike `clubs' were mostly for,
let's play dress-up in our uniforms, cocktails, gossip, and Sunday brunch
get togethers.

Even at the bike runs something seemed to be missing.  They simply moved
the gay bar to an outdoor setting.  You still had the same dull,
uninteresting people talking about the same bull shit you listened to every
Saturday night.  All the guy's I was interested in were either attached or
had their heads up their butts.

Then there were the types I called the terminal `Hollywood syndrome'
queens.  They'd go home with you but couldn't wait to get to the bus stop
for their next trick to come along. It seemed no matter how good the sex
was between you they weren't interested in getting to know you or seeing
you again under any circumstances.  If you ran into them later they
wouldn't even acknowledge they ever met you.  It was a, `been there, done
that' mentality.

They simply didn't care who you were and didn't mind sparing your feelings
by letting you know they didn't care.  Elton, was so wrong, there was no
yellow brick road.  Leastwise, I never found it.  The land of Oz was
populated with far too many wicked witches to suit my taste and there
wasn't enough flying houses or buckets of water to stem the tide.  They
came in various shapes and sizes but they all had the same irritating
laugh. They must be related, they called each other "sister" and
"girlfriend" a lot.

I developed a maxim I still use to this day and have yet to be proved
wrong: Never waste your time or emotions trying to figure out a Hollywood
queen. It can't be done.

Things were getting bad.  Weekends, one after the other, I would stand in a
gay bar until my leg muscles started to atrophy and never speak to a soul.
I would go home throw off my clothes, stand nude in front of a full length
mirror, and shout at myself,

"What the hell's wrong with you?  You're certainly not unattractive. Why,
the fuck, can't you pick up anyone?  Maybe, it's your mouthwash."

Hell, I was so desperate, I would've settled for fucking a half-way,
masculine munchkin.  Maybe one of those from the Lollipop Guild if I
could've found him.  I wouldn't have cared if his damn boots did curl up on
the ends and he liked to skip around a lot, just as long as he kept me
belly warm at night and swore he loved me.

The idea of a broker cum S & M/ Dolly Levi sounded a bit strange but then
again, nothing else was working for me.  While it may not have been the
land of Oz, Los Angeles still had it's moments of high-strangeness, so I
thought, `Why, the fuck, not?'

I called the next week to arrange an appointment.  He seemed pleasantly
surprised I called and we agreed to an appointment the following Friday.
When I went for the interview he had me complete a twenty page application
and sexual preference survey.

He was business like and professional like he'd done this hundreds of times
and I was e pluribus unum. (No, Dear,---that doesn't mean my last name is
`Unum,' it's Latin for `one among many.')  As an interviewer and all around
handsome, masculine man, he seemed pleasant and easygoing with a sense of
humor.

"I see on your application your full name is Andrew Beaureguard James
Jr. What name do you use?" he asked.

"Well Sir, my family called me Andy because they called my dad, Beau, but
in Nam I got the nickname, `Ber' Rabbit;' I guess `cause I was quick, like
a bunny."  I giggled, he didn't.

"A few of my friends in Nam called me Andy but since Nam everyone's called
me Beau. You may call me Beau, if you like." I told him.

"What can I call you if I don't like?" he tested me, smiling.

"Anything but late for dinner." I replied laughing. He laughed, too, not
expecting such a smart-ass reply.

He answered my questions honestly and sincerely with no judgement to my
preferences; however, he did question me concerning my interest in pursuing
my passive side.

"Haven't you ever been a bottom to a man?" he asked.

"A `man,' in Hollywood?"  I raised an eyebrow to his laughter, "I've let a
couple guys screw me and I've sucked off a few but when I go with someone,
within the first fifteen minutes, if he hasn't made a move, I damn sure
will."  I replied. He just laughed.

"Well, Son, I'll be honest with you. I don't think you're ever going to
find what your looking for in the L.A. bars. Oh sure, there are some so
called tops that cruise the bars but the ratio between tops and bottoms is
approximately ten to one. Consider this equation: if there are a hundred
men in a bar and you're one of them then only ten of those hundred are
going to be tops. Out of the ten tops how many are you going to find
interesting enough to submit to. Say you find four that strums your
banjo. Of those four what are the possibilities that one of them would feel
the same about you?

Let's say there's a full moon out, you find someone you wouldn't mind
submitting to.  You go home with him and while he tops you, screws you or
has you suck him off, he doesn't give you the control you may be looking
for. You seem pretty strong willed and seem to know what you don't want. I
imagine you see through phonies easily.  Yet, you don't know how to get
what you want. So, you go away feeling cheated, empty, maybe even
used. That may seem like a conundrum because you went with him to be used,
right? Then why the empty feeling?"

"I know what you're talking about, Sir.  You're right and while it does
seem a little hopeless, I don't know what to do about it. I've seriously
considered cashing in my chips and going back to Texas, getting married and
raising a family.  Them Southern bible belt little girl's momma's tell them
to only let their husbands fuck `em if they wanna' have kids.  The rest of
the time you're off limits to him.  I could live with that and love my
kids."
             
"Oh, fuck!  You'd be miserable in two years.  You've seen across the river,
Son.  You know there has to be a promised land, but you just don't know how
to get there.  It's not hopeless.  Look at you, you're reaching out by
coming to this interview. Even though you're not taking it very seriously,
you've at least made the effort. You may find some of your answers here,
you may not. What you get out of anything depends on what effort you put
into it. Maybe an exchange of ideas will cause some minor revelation that
ultimately might lead to some situation which could fill your needs.  Never
lose faith or give up hope.

You're a good looking young man with a fairly buff body and my guess is you
probably intimidate the hell out of most tops. Butch bottoms have a hard
time out there. Most tops and some Master's are concerned they might turn
the scene upside down. That's a small but manageable problem. I specialize
in butch bottoms.

I have a ninety-five percent success rate in training and placing butch
bottom slaves with Masters.  In fact some prefer them as a challenge to
break them.  Kinda turns me on, too. I've always found they're the most
difficult to break and train but if a Master is patient and takes his time,
his payoff will be one of the most valuable pieces of property any man may
own; a devoted, selfless, companion."

"Excuse me, Sir, but I don't think I want to become anyone's slave."

"Maybe I missed something here?  We were talking about exploring your
passive side, weren't we? From the way you talk about it, your passive side
is important to you. I'm just trying to give you some idea what's out there
and how it works. If you want me to refer you to some tops or Masters so
you can explore your passive side they're going to expect you to walk the
walk and talk the talk.

I can't refer you if you don't understand what you're getting yourself
into. That wouldn't be fair to you and it could mean a loss of business for
me. You can't talk about your passive side in the context of S & M without
discussing Masters and slaves. No matter what anyone tells you that concept
is the tie that binds."

"Okay, I understand, Sir, I guess I've heard the way some guys talk about
passives, bottoms, and slaves in the leather crowd. They're looked down
upon and considered second class citizens in the bike crowd. I don't want
to think of myself that way no matter what I choose to do sexually.

Those men in the leather crowd around L.A. have some really fucked-up
attitudes about top and bottom, passive/aggressive, even those who claim to
be Master and slaves.  I would never allow myself to become associated with
that ilk.  Not because I feel superior to them, I just can't abide the way
they look upon male/male sex.

I'll be honest, Sir, my passive side is much stronger that my aggressive
side; however, I'll be damned if I'll be any nelly faggots old lady simply
because he has enough money to buy a leather jacket and ride a Harley to
the gay leather bars.  I thought I could explore my passive side by being a
bottom to a top or Master you might refer me to that wouldn't have such
accepted attitudes.

I can certainly see your point you feel obligated to educate me about your
service and what would be expected of me.  To be honest, I didn't know what
to expect when I came for this interview.  There are so many creeps, kooks,
and losers in L.A., I suppose I wasn't prepared for this to be legit or you
being quite so serious.  Please, forgive me, I meant no harm, or
disrespect.  I'll take this more seriously, Sir.  If nothing else an
exchange of ideas won't do me any harm and for your time and effort I owe
you at least my sincere attention."

"You certainly know the right words to say and have a sincere delivery
about you.  That's good.  There's nothing to forgive. You have every reason
to be suspicious. As for what you've overheard in bars or the bike crowd
they put down what they can't or don't want to understand. Putting the
bottoms down is their way of overcompensating for their passive side. We
all have both.

It's just a matter of luck or divine providence we become imprinted one way
or the other. Wanting to explore your passive side was a red flag to me. I
assure you that the majority of Masters and enlightened tops don't feel
that way. A well trained slave is a joy to a real Master and something to
be proud of.  There's little thought of feminizing their slave because of
anal play or any other sexual apatite for that matter.

Quite the contrary. We are men having unusual sex with other men. The ass
is just another opening for a Master to pleasure himself and the slave
simply becomes a vessel to receive his seed. I could never survive some of
the trips some Masters take their slaves on in their dungeons. Being a
slave and being proud of yourself because your Master is pleased with you
is a shield against such garbage. If you're a well-trained slave you aren't
even aware of such talk."

"I never thought of it that way, Sir, but the idea of putting my life in
another person's hands and giving up my freedom is a bit disconcerting."

"What freedom? What do you mean by freedom? Most gay men build their own
prisons, live their lives trapped in prisons of their own making, and die.
I suspect you are well on your way to doing just that"

"You're probably right, Sir." I said laughing.

"We'll talk more about these things later. Right now let's establish some
guidelines or parameters for working with you.  The way my service works is
you don't pay anything to be referred. The men who want referrals pay in
advance for every referral I send them.  I have to know if I refer you to
someone you'll show up and make an effort.

I don't expect you to have sex with someone you don't find
attractive. You're not a whore and I'm not a pimp. What you get out of it
is up to you. You probably wouldn't want to jump over the broom with some
of our referrals; however, a fuck is a fuck and if I take the trouble to
refer you I expect you to try, if you can, to have some meaningful
interaction or sex with them.

If it's just a bust, I'll understand. Just be honest with me, tell me the
truth about what happened, how you felt and why you couldn't go thorough
with it.  If you or any of my young men don't please my customer I must
refer someone else. It can be a unique opportunity to meet some fine men
that you wouldn't ordinarily have access to. You never know when or where
you may find your place in the sun.  Like a bolt out of the blue, fate
steps in and sees you through.  God bless Ukulele Ike."  he laughed.

Since you're having some fear of what we call hard core S & M, Master/slave
relationships let me ask you what you've done to find out what you want or
expect in any relationship?  Have you done any active soul searching? I
didn't think so. Have you ever sat down and really asked yourself who or
what type person you'd want to spend a lifetime with if given the chance? I
mean really sat down with a pad and pencil and listed the things you like
about people and the things you don't.

Then on a separate sheet list the things you like about yourself and the
things you don't. You might take it one step further and make a list about
where you are in life, your accomplishments, your pratfalls and where you
see yourself ten, twenty years from today. Do you really have any direction
in your life? Do you admire men that do and have the guts to go out and get
it? In short do you know who you are and what you want?"

"I don't mean to seem disrespectful, Sir, but what gay man in Los Angeles
does? Do you think if that sort thing was common knowledge, or any gay male
in my position thought he could find these truths easily, that there would
be so many gay bars catering to x-amount of lifestyles? I'm not trying to
defend the L.A. gay lifestyle but most of us came from small middle class
American towns that always had a town queer and God forbid you were ever
caught even talking to the man.

With that image in mind we moved to the larger cities for anonymity and a
community where we were comfortable. Then we began to restructure our ideas
about everything from God to dirty sex. Speaking for myself, I never really
had an adolescence until I finished college, fought for my country in
Vietnam, got out, and settled in L.A.  I' d lived a repressed life due to
the well meaning but lethal community I came from.

I'm still in the final stages of my previously non-existent
adolescence. I'm still asking huge questions about how I can best get
through today, let alone twenty years from now.  I like the idea of what
you said, the questions you've asked and, God knows, I've tried everything
else. I'm not unreceptive to new ideas but they have to have a ring of
truth for me. A lot of what you're saying makes sense and it's becoming
unnerving to me."

"No disrespect taken, Son. You make a strong point. Basically, were do you
run to, who do you ask? There were no manuals to help your parents raise
you and they certainly didn't know how to raise a gay son.  They didn't
start out to raise you `gay.'  They probably never knew. That's another
point I want to make. When you can't find what you want or need does anyone
have a schematic to repair your disillusion?

There are no manuals out there to help you find what will fill those empty
feelings you've described to me. Larry Townsend's 'Leatherman's Handbook'
was a start. While there are large gaps in his philosophy about leather
sex, S & M, Master/slave relationships, at least it's a start. Townsend's
problem was he approached the subject as a lifestyle and it isn't, it's a
philosophy.

He sees this lifestyle as only a junction from the regular gay cocktail
party milieu where you trade your Mercedes for your status symbol slave at
your beck and call.  Boring stuff at best.  Some of his ideas are dangerous
at worst.  It leaves little room for introspection; however, one man dared
to try, dared to write about his concepts and idea while everyone else
stood by and either giggled or became instant authorities themselves.  They
did nothing but criticize and find fault.

Admittedly, it was a flawed effort, it's filled with incorrect ideas, but
it was an attempt to say something about a large area of homoerotic sex
that had never been written about before in a straight forward manner. My
point is, Son, few people out there try. They don't know what they want
from trick to trick, spend their lives trying to catch the brass ring on
the merry-go-round.  If, by chance, you do find someone to settle down
with, are happy and content, then those who are still unhappy will try to
steal your brass ring."

"I guess you hit a nerve there, Sir. I haven't revealed this to many people
because in today's world of free sex it isn't politically correct.  I have
a gut need to find someone to share my life and I don't mean a fucking open
relationship. I've tried that and it's like living with a lover who has a
swinging door for a brain. I'm probably brainwashed by breeder mentality
that there's someone out there for everyone; however, I sometime get the
feeling I made it to the station on time but the train left five minutes
early."

"I understand." he continued shaking his head and laughing, "However, one
of the most simple facts of nature might help you understand your
situation."

"What's that, Sir?" I begged. He laughed.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


Part II~ Mother Nature's a Mother...


"Woah! Not so fast. One of the things you may know all ready is nothing in
life is free. While some things may be a trade off you essentially pay a
price.  I'm just kidding.  I'll tell you.  It's no big secret." he laughed
and continued, "By the way, you'll know when to pay me back and how much."
he laughed again. I was really beginning to like this man.

One of the basic facts of nature confirmed by much scientific study is that
the male of our species is easily conditioned to sexual response; which may
account for fetishism in many men. Conditioning and sexual response are
major components of S&M, recreational sex. I call it `recreational' sex
because while we're capable of pro-creation we don't choose to go with
women. There is certainly nothing wrong with the idea of re-creating
oneself through sex.

Every male mammal on our planet has a bone in the penis except man. The
sperm whale has an eight foot bone in his penis. They don't require
stimulation to procreate. Since man doesn't have a bone in his penis he
must have stimulation to achieve an erection for penetration. That
stimulation is highly susceptible to conditioning. Remember Pavlov's dog?
The concept is very similar.

The female of our species is seasonal. They have periods of ovulation in
which they're more likely to conceive. That's when they are most likely to
be stimulated for sex. Now, that's not to say sexual conditioning or
fetishism is unheard of among woman but, by and large, it's far more common
among men.

Why did man develop without a bone in his penis? It's hard to say. No pun
intended. Scientist think it may be because most mammals had to copulate
quickly least they be preyed upon by larger species during the act.  Then,
too, many animals suffer a `petite mort' as the French call it. It means,
`small death.'  They pass out after ejaculation.  Ever watch rabbits fuck?
The male will hump the female, thump his hid leg real hard, ejaculate, and
fall over into a dead faint.  He'll lay there for three to five minutes
until he comes around.  Many men experience the same thing.

Women have an anomaly as well that sets them apart from other mammals. They
don't have a free floating sack in their uterus. Curious, we have developed
separate and distinct physical anomalies from the other mammals on our
planet. Some radical thoughts are that man may be a hybrid species. They
point out that the stable sack would be ideal for space travel even if a
woman were pregnant.  The fetus wouldn't be banging around inside her.

Now, what does this all have to do with you and your happiness?
Considering what I've told you it's not hard to imagine that homosexuality
itself may have some causality in early conditioning. I like to think of it
as imprinting on the brain. If you're a lonely child seeking love and
attention in an unstable family situation, who just happens to have a stud
uncle that wears big boots and shows you attention, treats you with
respect, doesn't talk down to you, maybe pets you, holds you close to him,
and is never rejecting, bamm, you're imprinted.  You may spend the rest of
your life looking for that love or a facsimile.

Then as we gain experiences in life we transfer bits and pieces to our
present consciousness.  We look for sexual response that most closely
resemble our earlier imprinting. Then if we find someone that sends up our
flag, we dabble, sample, reject, and ultimately feel empty and
disillusioned because we can't find the damn key to put it all together.

One night you meet this hunk of a man in a bar that's wearing the hottest
damned pair of boots.  He's mature, well met, sure of himself, and God help
you, he's showing interest in you. He buys you beer, puts his arm around
you in comradery, and hangs on your every word. He's showing that little
boy inside you attention. Attention = Love.

You go home with him and he's a take charge kinda guy.  Strums your banjo
big time.  You're so taken with him you allow him to tie you to the ceiling
and set your hair on fire.  You don't care, it'll grow back. He's showing
you attention.  He's getting what he wants but is thoughtful and
generous. Let's say you really get off on swinging from the ceiling and his
control.  You would do anything for this man to gain his approval. Bamm!
You'r imprinted again.

Do you see any similarities between this man and your stud uncle? Bits and
pieces transferred to a new concept of sex.  After a brief but intense
affair with this guy you separate, go about your life, and one day it hits
you: "My God, I can't have good sex unless I'm swinging from the ceiling
with my hair on fire."  We both roared with laughter.  I'd made up my mind,
I liked this man a lot.

"Did you ever see the play, `Equus'? Prime example of how male sexuality
may become conditioned for unusual sexual response. Look at ex-marines for
all their macho bullshit still retain sublimated homosexual responses:
remember the Corps! Semper Fi!  The words, ` training', `conditioning',
`imprinting', `brainwashing', all have similar effects that may be arrived
at through clever manipulation of the male sexual response." He looked me
in the eyes for a long moment, then grabbed my arm tightly.

"This is conditioning! Do I have your attention?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"If you really want someone to remember something important, grab them
forcibly, then tell them what you want them to remember. It's a subtle form
of conditioning. Now that I have your attention here comes the important
massage. Sado/masochism, Master/slave, control/submission, Top/bottom, are
all forms of conditioning to sexual response. They may be taught or learned
responses.

Imprinting occurs. Then sexual response depends on conditioning. It's just
that simple. Got that, Son?" he asked as he shook my arm he still held
tightly.

"Yes, Sir!" I responded soundly and thought, "Could it really be that
simple? Surely not! If only...?"

"Okay, now, you tell me how this applies to you?" he asked as he released
my arm.

"I've been conditioned as a child to try to gain love and acceptance from a
strong alpha male. That conditioning continues through our lives
and,---and..."  I wasn't sure were I was going with this.

"Yes, keep going, you're doing fine, you're almost there." He urged like a
schoolmaster.

"Unless I give up preconceived ideas and fears of allowing the natural
processes of conditioning to occur, follow my heart instead of my brain,
I'll continue to be frustrated; however, knowing this, I may have some
choices as to how I become imprinted, now and in the future."

"Exactly! I wasn't sure, for a minute, that you understood. Good for you,
Son.  Now, with this information what's the logical conclusion."

"The imprinting most likely to provide what I'm seeking is---"

"Once you hear yourself say it, Son, you're over half way there."

"Slave training." I almost said to myself but loud enough for him to hear.

"I didn't hear that, Son, would you mind repeating it?" he yanked my chain.

"Slave training, Sir." I said directly to him.

"Then what is there to fear, Son? Should the potential for happiness and
contentment be something to fear?"

I couldn't answer. I was deep in thought. Stunned! The old man won his
point but was wise enough to leave me to my thoughts. It wasn't easy coming
to grips with something you had been in denial about for so long. Ask any
recovering alcoholic.

He grabbed me in his big arms, pulled me to his chest, and held me tight
without a word. He knew and understood. Knowing he knew and was empathetic
enough to offer comfort to a man he'd only met an hour ago made me lose it.
He was whispering a lot of "There, there's,- the hardest part's over." and
something about `epiphanies?'

"Somehow, you've become conditioned to seek what you have described for me
and you're never going to find anything near it unless you also consider
the price you're willing to pay. Remember that song from the `Fantastics',
`It Depends On What You Pay.'  The Gypsy sings, 'You've got to pay to get
the kind of rape you want'? Well, nothing could be more true. Especially
among young gay men. You have a wonderful opportunity today to find those
things you're seeking but how do you find what your looking for if you
don't know yourself?

You want a man to love you like you want to be loved. How do you want to be
loved? Do you know? Must not if you want to explore your "passive"
side. You haven't been too happy with the temporary top routine and,
another thing, do you know what love is? Everybody throws that word around
like it means the same to everyone. It doesn't.  Love hardly ever enters
the vocabulary of the Masters/slaves I know. It's there, it just isn't
thought about in the same way. That doesn't mean it's a less valid concept
or definition. In some ways it's a hell of a lot stronger bond than most
people will ever know.

I know you have reservations about the idea of Master/slave relationships
but to be honest that's the only kind of long lasting relationships between
men that works. The reason is genetic. Men are in competition with each
other and two gay men trying to live, on a give and take, equal basis never
works in the long run. They're constantly at each other jockeying for
position or control until frustration gets the best of one or the other and
they throw up their hands and terminate the relationship.

It's many people's consensus that there must be a leader or dominant alpha
male in a relationship and one who is naturally inclined or conditioned to
follow. It's an accepted fact in nature, the concept of the dominant
`alpha' male is standard from species to species.  Because of our reasoning
brains we would like to think that we're above and removed from the animals
of our planet but the truth is, we're not.  We're animals, too.  Being
animals we're subject to the same laws of nature they are with one
exception: because we can reason we're capable of breaking those laws from
time to time.  Don't ever believe the phrase, "Crimes against nature." If
it weren't in our nature to reason there would be no laws to break.

Actually S & M becomes a misnomer in most Master/slave relationships I'm
aware of.  I know of no Master that would consciously be sadistic or hurt
his slave.  There may be good, rough, male/male sex and the slave may need
to be punished for correction from time to time but never for the sake of
being cruel.  One of the first rules a good Master learns is never to
punish a slave when he's angry.

It's unfortunate that title accompanies Master/slave titles and is spoken
of in the same category.  Ninety-eight percent of Masters I know aren't
sadist and an equal percentage of slaves aren't masochist.  Because a
Marine is conditioned to follow orders would you label him a masochist.  It
might not be wise to suggest that to one.  The term S & M is some misguided
queen's idea of what dominant/submissive sex should be all about. It's sort
of like pop music, thank God it isn't popular long.

In the type male bonding I'm describing the ties can be so binding they
last for years. I know Masters and slaves that have been together thirty or
forty years and the Master is still tying the slave to the ceiling and
setting his hair on fire." We both had a good laugh.

"You're not going to find that in vanilla situations or most your average
top and bottom relationship. So, you have a decision to make about how
badly you want what you've expressed to me and how much you're willing to
change your life to get it.  Remember all of life is a trade off.  You
might consider letting me refer you to some Masters that would be willing
to take you on as a new trainee slave, to get your feet wet, so to speak.
I'm willing to work with you.

I know several men that would love to expand your horizons. They're Masters
that are employed in delicate professional jobs and are concerned with the
possibility of exposure. They would bring you along slowly and not go
further than agreed.  They're safe and sane men who don't want to scare
anyone away from a lifestyle they wholeheartedly embrace.

However, you can't continue to play them without a commitment either. After
they've invested several sessions playing with you in their dungeon, giving
you sexual attention and control, if they like you they're going to start
asking about commitments. To train someone to be their slave, companion,
life partner or whatever you want to call it is a big investment.

Any man who has learned the ways of being a Master and undertakes to train
you, want's to be assured he's going to get the maximum return on his
investment. That's understandable, isn't it?"

"Yes, Sir." I nodded in reply.

"Or with further discussions I might consider training you myself if you
think you're interested; however, it would require a radical change in your
lifestyle. It would require you to develop a different philosophy in your
approach to life. That becomes part of imprinting but I think you're a bit
more receptive now than you were an hour ago." he paused for a response.

"Agreed." was all I could muster.

"If I did agree to take you on, these issues must be discussed and
resolved. You would have to understand that when I felt you were ready you
would be sold to a good Master. I would get seventy-five percent of the
money and you would have the rest to put in an account in your name. I
don't wish to take on a permanent slave at this time in my life.

Am I reading you completely wrong? Maybe you just want to dabble in being a
bottom and might be more interested in becoming a good Master.  I know men
that would be happy to teach you the ropes so to speak."

"No, Sir, you were right the first time."  I felt I could tell this man
anything about my deepest fears and secrets without embarrassment or
ridicule. "Sir," I said hesitantly, "I would give everything I owned to
find a man that would share life with me and I would do anything to please
him. Now, if that makes me a candidate for consensual slavery, so be it." I
don't know where those words came from but it seemed to be the most honest
and truthful thing I'd ever said.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


Part III ~ Oh, Master, teach me thy ways.
		  Thomas to Christ


"Let's see if you might be slave material. Beginning right now," he paused
for emphasis, "until I choose to release you, later this evening," he
paused again, "you agree to be my slave. It'll give you a chance to see how
it feels to call a man `Master' and hear yourself be called `slave'. You
all ready show me respect when you call me `Sir'. To be honest, your
respectfulness is the only reason you're still here. That's a first basic
step and respect for a Master is much the same.  I would guess you're
probably from the South. Anyone older than you is automatically addressed
as `Ma'am' or `Sir', right?"

"Yes, Sir." I laughed.

"Okay, you continue that respect by substituting `Master' for `Sir'. Until
I dismiss you, you are to do exactly as I order without hesitation and no
questions. In effect, you will have to be trusting enough to place yourself
under my control. Are you willing? Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir, I'm willing and I understand."

"Good! Now, you may refer to me as `Master Jeb', `Sir', or just
`Master'. I'll refer to you as `slave', `boy' or both. Try to think of
calling me your Master as respect or manners, if you will, like when you
address me as `Sir.' Slave manners, that's what it's all about, Son.  Now,
consider before you react to anything I order you to do that if you
hesitate or say no, we'll stop and our agreement will be cancelled. If
you're not comfortable, and choose to stop, I'll understand, and it won't
mean that you've flunked the interview. I'll still work with you and set
you up with some good men.  I just won't waste your or my time and many of
my clients by considering you possible permanent slave material,
understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"All right then, my new slave boy, we'll complete the physical part of your
application, strip!"  With no hesitation I stripped off my clothes
including my socks and stood at parade rest to wait for further
instructions. He turned, looked me up and down and made some notation on
his chart. He walked over to me, grabbed my cock and balls in his hands,
took his other hand and gently inspected each.

"Not bad." he stated, "Not real large but not too small either but that
doesn't matter.  Most Masters aren't interested in a slave's dick anyway;
however, some like to suck their slaves dicks from time to time. I even
know a couple of Masters that order their slaves to fuck them
regularly. They are, after all, for his pleasure no matter how he wants it
and there's hell to pay if they don't give him a righteous fucking. Okay
Son, kneel on this step and lean over this examination table."

I followed his instructions and waited. I heard the pop of a pair of rubber
examination gloves and knew he was going to inspect my ass. I felt the cold
lubricant that he rather forcibly applied to my sphincter. He must have had
medical training as he knew exactly where to find my prostate and checked
it out thoroughly. He didn't stop there.

"You're clean inside.  You cleaned yourself before you came?"

"Yes, Sir.  Force of habit.  If I should get lucky I want to be clean.
It's healthier and safer for me."

"Wise young man and one in whom hope continues."  I could hear an approving
smile in his voice.

"Now try to relax. I'm gonna' see how much you'll stretch. Later you could
probably be trained to open twice what you can now." He began to work two,
three, then four fingers into my hole. He stood facing the back of the
inspection table.  He placed one arm around my waist, holding me tight as
his other hand cork screwed about half his huge hand up my butt.  He was
patient and didn't rush his inspection. I was really opening up and thought
he was going to put his whole hand up there. I've never had a hand up my
ass but the masterful way he was working my hole I was almost sad he
didn't.

I didn't drop my ass and kept it high enough so he could get to it
easily. I tried pushing back a couple of times and he ordered me not, too.

"Tight!" he said. "That's good." As he pulled his hand out of my ass.
"Your bone structure will allow you to be fisted without too much
problem. Are you a virgin to that?"

"Yes, Sir, I've never been fisted.  I thought for a minute there I was
going to be but I wasn't frightened.  I trust you know what your doing."

"You've hit on the name of the game, Son.  Trust.  If I had inserted my
hand would it have upset you?"

""Naw, Sir.  You were feeling so good, I was kind a hoping you would."  he
laughed understandably.  I was really getting aroused and he noticed. His
free hand reached to my crotch and gave my dick a couple of strokes.

"Something wrong down there, slave?"

"Naw, Sir.  Feels like it should under the circumstances. Don't feel wrong
to me, Sir. Fact is, it feels pretty damn good, Sir."

"You have good natural ass juice secretion for lubrication if a Master
should wish to dry fuck you and many do from time to time. It's good for a
slave to have a sore hole for a day or two to remind him of the good fuck
his owner gave him." He commented and slapped me on my bare butt with his
big hand.

"Has this examination excited you, slave?" he asked rhetorically, able to
see my stifter.

"Uuh, Yes, Sir, I believe it has, Sir."

"I haven't fucked a tight little butt like yours in a long time. You can't
have been fucked too many times `cause your ass is still tight. It's almost
virginal.  I don't find an ass as tight as your's very often and examining
it's got my old cock dripping. Your cocky attitude and butch bottom persona
has turned me on since you walked through the door.

A couple of times I just wanted to back hand the snot out of you 'cause you
were being so dense and arbitrary. Then I thought about just grabbing you
up by the nape of the neck, throwing you across my knee and giving your
butt the spanking it's needed for a long time.

You seem to be responding though, coming around, showing some progress and
here I am about to grant your wish to be topped just a little earlier than
you planned.  I sometimes top a man I'm considering referring to my clients
to get an idea who I'm sending them.  I'm sure as hell going to this time.
What you need is a good attitude adjustment and I'm just the man what can
do it.

Your ass is so tight, I'll bet you've never had your cherry popped.  I
haven't popped one in a long time but I'm gonna' carve another notch on my
belt tomorrow because I'm just about to bust yours. Then we'll go to work
on that tight little ass and I think we can open it right up."

I could hear him remove the gloves and remove his pants.  He walked around
the side of the exam table with his cock laid across his open hand for me
to see.  Damn, it was huge.  It was about ten inches and looked like a damn
beer can. He began to speak to me as he stroked it a couple of times.

"I never stick my dick in a man that won't make love to it first." he
said. I immediately moved to the edge and kissed the big head and tongued
his piss hole.

"Now take just the head in your mouth and suck on it. You can watch me get
hard." I began to suck on the head and was surprised at how it began to
grow.  It became engorged with blood and became enormous. By the time he
instructed me to stop I could barely get my mouth around it. He moved
behind me and I began to get nervous he was so large. He instructed me to
raise my ass and I felt his finger explore my hole again. He chuckled to
himself.

"Your little ass is really ripe, slave boy. Those boy-butt juices are
dripping." I felt him reach into my ass and then pause for a few minutes,
he'd reach into my ass again with two fingers and then not touch me for a
few minutes.

"I'm dipping into that dripping little butt of your's to get some of that
slick boy-butt juice to lube my cock. It'll make it real smooth when I pop
you open.  Man, is it ever ready to have it's cherry popped.  I know you've
been fucked before but I'll bet no one has ever claimed that cherry. I'm
about to do that right now."  I felt his boots on either side of my feet on
the step and he leaned over me.

"Now, Son, I'm not trying to be mean but I'm gonna' take your ass pretty
hard to bust that cherry." He spoke softly to me.  I was glad that I had
cleaned myself before I came to this appointment.  I had no idea what I was
getting myself into but I wanted to be prepared.

"It's gonna' hurt like hell for a few minutes but just bite your teeth
together and push back on me. I promise you the pain will soon go away and
you'll give and get the best fucking you've ever had, ready Son?"

I liked the way he called me `Son'.  It was almost like I was going to get
fucked by my real dad.  I was scared shitless at what he said he was going
to do; however, I had fantasized about being taken hard and this was my
chance to try it.

"Yes, Sir." I replied. Before I could think or breathe he had slammed his
huge shaft in my butt almost to the hilt.  My asshole went crazy.  Nothing
has ever hurt me that much and I tried to buck him off. He knew the
reaction I'd have, locked his arms around me and held me tight. For an
older dude he was built like a fucking Mack truck and there was no way this
side of hell I was going to get off his dick. I just started crying it hurt
so much.  It was doing wonders to adjust my cocky butch bottom attitude. I
finally stopped squirming and he was whispering there, there's in my
ear. Then I remembered his instructions and pushed my ass back and up onto
his huge cock. Damned if it didn't help a little.

"That's a good boy," he cooed. "You listened to your Master. Your Master
will make that pain go away."  With that he took a couple of small strokes
and I began to open up. Then almost as quickly as the pain had come, it
went and I began to feel full, warm, with the most comfortable feeling of
belonging I'd ever experienced. I felt like I'd passed some initiation or
right of passage into manhood.

"Does it hurt that much, Son?" he asked. "The first time always hurts the
most. You'll get use to it, even look forward to it. It serves a
purpose. It gets a slaves attention and serves notice his owner expects a
good fuck."

"No, Sir, it feels so damn good. I just cried because I'm stupid. Your cock
is filling me up and feels damn good inside me."

"It's customary to thank a man that has just popped your cherry or taken
you hard like that."

"Thank you, Master." That was the first time I ever used that
word. Considering the attitude adjustment I was so righteously given, it
seemed natural to show him respect. Having said it and meant it, I accepted
my position as his slave for the evening.

"You're welcome, slave. Now let's do a couple of simple exercises.  Let me
feel you bite down real hard with your ass.  There, that's good. Once
again. Yeah, unhuh, that's good. I can feel that. Yeah! Uh-huh,
yeah. Again. Oh, yeah!  Now, let me feel you use your ass to suck on
it. Take a couple of small strokes with your butt.

Oh, yeah, that's good. Couple more. Uh, huh. Not bad, boy. That's
right. Yes, just a little more on the...Yes! That's it, you've got it. Now
raise that little butt and push back on my dick. I think you can take it
all. I want you to chow down with that tight little ass and eat the last
three inches yourself."

I raised my butt and pushed back, made my ass suck it for a while, then
took more. He gently urged me back like a football coach. I found myself
feeling that the most important thing in the world was to please this big
grey bear of a man. Soon, I felt his crotch hit my butt. I kept on eating
until I was pressing into his belly to get as much in me as he would let me
have.

With his arms still around my waist he pulled me to a standing position to
get the last little bit inside me. I welcomed it.  We stood with him deep
within me for several minutes running his big hands the length of my body
playing with my cock and balls, pulling, twisting them to just the point of
pain. He played with my tits, milking them, squeezing, cupping them, all
the while lodged deep inside my gut.

"I've only found a couple of men in my life that could take all of me boy
and one I never let go. He died four years ago but don't be frightened, I
don't mean to claim you for my own.  I have someone in mind for you that's
looking for unspoiled talent. He's a very strict, hard Master that would
train you to become a useful slave but he's also a fair and loving man.

I know this Master/slave talk kinda frightens you," he said as he took a
couple of long slow strokes into my ass, "that's understandable, but I'll
make you a bet, anything you wish, that after you meet this man and spend
one evening alone with him, you will become his slave. Now, that's enough
chatter, let's get you fucked."

I'd never been fucked like that before. I did my best to work with him and
meet each thrust so it might give him the most pleasure for his cock. He
fucked me slow, deep, long and hard. Damn, he was right, popping my cherry
was making me give him the best fuck I'd ever experienced. I was so open he
was slamming the entire length into me with no problem. I was pushing my
ass back as hard as I could hoping to get more of him inside me.

He fucked me steady for a good thirty minutes. Every now and then he would
comment on how much he loved to fuck tight little boy butt. He rested for a
while still inside me and then continued to fuck me like a wild man. Soon
after that he seemed to tire.
 
"Master, I'll get you off if you'll relax on the bed and let me ride you."
I don't know why I told him that. I'd never done that sort of thing before
but I had no problem with the idea right then.

"Okay slave boy, let's see what you've got!" he pulled out and my ass made
a small popping sound.

"Sounds like that cherry grew back, Son!" He laughed, "You know what you
have do.  Now, don't tell me your gonna' do something and not deliver. In
other words, don't let your mouth write a check your ass can't cash."

"Yes, Master." I replied.

I positioned my ass onto the mushroom head of his cock and with no
hesitation sunk it all the way to the base.  More pain, but this time I
knew it would soon pass and would help me give him a good ride.

"Was that Okay, Sir?"

"I'm proud of you, slave."  Those were magic words, all I needed to flip
the on switch to my cock riding, ass fucking machine. I don't know where my
butt learned to ride a dick like that but I became a cock riding demon. I
was a pretty athletic little fuck and got a good rhythm going on his big
cock.  I watched his face and could tell when I was doing a stroke that
would begin to build him up toward shooting.

I hunkered down and began to pound my ass down hard and fast on his big
shaft. I was giving his prick a good ridin' and could tell his huge cock
began to feel even larger in my butt. I knew I was getting him near
climax. I was taking longer, faster strokes and I rode him into the air as
his back arched to give me all of it he could. I knew he was close and I
didn't waist an inch of his huge cock as he shot a big man load up my hole.

He collapsed in heavy breathing and had a big smile on his face.  He was
spent. I'd managed to drain his big balls into my ass in one violent
moment.  I clamped down hard with my ass and begin to milk him to get the
last few drops. He reached down and grabbed my nuts in his big gnarled
hand, pulled them tight and started squeezing them hard.

"Now slave," He said, "You don't get off my cock until you shoot. So, you'd
better take my horse for another ride."

I knew he wasn't kidding, and the idea of me being forcibly retained,
impaled on his huge cock was enough to make me come without touching
myself; however, out of habit, I reached down to take my cock in my hand.

"Take you're hand away, slave.  You're going to get another benefit from
having your cherry popped.  Now, you open up that ass and ride that
cock. Ram that come deeper in your ass. You see how far up there you can
push it. Understand?"

"Yes Master." I started riding him again, slapping my butt down hard on his
still erect shaft. Damn I fucked my ass harder than he probably would have
and could think of nothing else but his come going up into me further and
further. About the fifth big hard slam to the base I exploded all over his
white haired chest. It drained me completely. I'd never shot that much in
my life. Where did it come from? I was empty.

"Thank you, Master." I whispered.

"I didn't hear you, Boy." he lied.

"Thank you, Master." I said in a natural voice.

"I didn't HEAR you, Boy!" he spoke sternly.

"THANK YOU, MASTER!" I yelled at the top of my voice.

"That's better!" he replied.

"I must tell you that a slave is rarely allowed to come.  At first, that
may sound hard but considering a slaves only purpose in life should be
service to his Master. It becomes a form of control. A form of conditioning
like we discussed. Beside, when his Master does allow him to come it's
fifty times better. I have seen slaves that haven't been allowed to come
for a couple of months pass out when they came. Since you did such a good
job of riding my old hoss, I felt you deserved a reward."

He reached up and pulled me to him and kissed me gently while still holding
his still erect cock deep in my ass. A dam broke inside me and I let it all
out. I cried on his big white haired chest. It hit me squarely between the
eyes that this man was giving me the control I'd been searching for.  I
felt he understood that I needed to serve him and he knew I belonged on his
dick enjoying the glow of my accomplishment.

I wasn't ashamed to show my emotions to this man. I'm usually not emotional
but all this was happening too fast for me to process.  The things he said
made a lot of sense to me. It was like he opened the book of my life and
was reading the most secret page. It was as if I was looking through a
glass door dimly and then someone opened it for me to see. I knew he
understood.  Like a good Master should, I thought. He petted me and stroked
me until I got it all out.

I apologized and he smiled knowingly. All the while he was taking some long
slow strokes into my butt. He knew it was soothing and comforting as I
slowly began to push back to make the feeling the best for both of
us. Damn, he sure knew what he was doing. I'd never been fucked that
sweetly before.
 
"Don't feel ashamed. Your Master understands you just had an epiphany which
can shake you to your roots. Sometime we can see further through our tears
than we can a telescope." He paused for a moment and then added, "You're
going to make some Master a fine slave, Son. Now, sit back on my dick and
clean your boy come off my chest. Then when I give you permission, pull off
my cock.  You'll clean that too." I looked puzzled and he further
explained.

"Use your mouth, slave. Never insult a Master by handing him a trick
towel. Use your mouth to clean him after he's finished using you.  It'll be
good training for you.  A Master that buys you or one I refer you to will
want to know you've been trained in Master/slave sex manners and this is an
essential one."

"Now, get to it!" There was something about the way this man ordered me to
do things that made me do them without question. Like someone mesmerized to
do one distasteful task while he thought he was doing another more
appealing one.  The funny thing was, the reality blended into one and both
tasks became acceptable with no feelings of reluctance.  I knew I was going
to do it. He seemed to know, too. His control over me was strong and
powerful and, God help me, I wanted more. I lapped up every drop of come I
could find.
 
"Now, pull off of me boy." He instructed me. I did and looked at his still
half hard cock. He stood up and ordered me to kneel in front of him. I
obeyed and thought I might hesitate but I didn't. I'm proud to say I
cleaned him good.  I knew he was pleased and proud of me as well. His
strong, commanding voice gently urged me to follow his orders as you might
teach a child to walk, one step at a time.

"You're a natural, Boy." he said "Clean it good. That's it, go ahead clean
your Master's dick, slave." I took his cock in my mouth as much as I could
and he told me he was happy with my cleaning job. I sat back on my heels
and thanked him for allowing me to clean him

"You need something to wash the taste out of your mouth." he told me. "Open
your mouth and hold the head of my cock." he ordered. "Now, grab my butt
with your hands. Okay, I'm gonna' give you a little and you swallow."

Damn, my first taste of Master piss. It was wonderful. I swallowed with no
problem and began to suck for more.

"I'm gonna' let it flow a little faster. If you have a problem gently
squeeze my ass with your hand and I'll stop the flow, understand?"

I squeezed his ass I understood and he started the flow again. I drank and
drank, gulped a few times until I could feel my belly was expanding with
his good, hot man piss. Then I sucked for more. He didn't keep me waiting.
He started his flow, full out, I gulped, gulped, and gulped.

"I can't believe this, slave. You like piss." he laughed and rubbed my
head, then started the flow again. Damn, it was hot. What had I been
missing? Gulping Master Jeb's piss down was the hottest thing I'd done in
Los Angeles.

"I've got a little more for you then that's all you get." he laughed
looking at my extended belly. I must have had two quarts of piss in my
stomach.

I squeezed his butt with both hands to let him know I wanted it. This time
I rammed his cock so far down the back of my throat I didn't have to
swallow. He started the flow and when he felt he didn't have to control it
he opened up, full flow, and gave my belly the rest.

"Good boy! Now, that's the way a slave should take a Master's piss.  Stand
up and turn around."  He ordered.  Master Jeb looked at me like an admiring
father dotes on a son.  He made me feel proud of myself.

He pulled me up tightly to his hard body and reached his big arms around
me. He began to rub my piss extended belly telling me how hot it looked to
know his piss was in there stretching me out like that.  He positioned his
hands lower to each side and shook it so he could hear his piss slosh
around inside.  He laughed a pleased laugh and shook it again. He went to
the door and called for a friend in another part of the house.

"Hey, Jim! Come here for a minute.  Got something you should see.  Don't be
embarrassed, Son, I'm proud of you and wanna' show you off."

"Yes, Sir, Master Jeb."

I was about to meet the man that floated on the back roads of all my
fantasies.  A man of my imagination who caused me to soil my sheets so many
nights, the man to whom I would compare all others, and would become the
only man I would, ultimately, one day, call my Master.



End of Chapter 1~
Ties That Bind
Copyright 2003 Waddie Greywolf
Mail to: <waddiebear@yahoo.com>