Date: Mon, 23 May 2011 08:01:18 -0700 (PDT) From: Vincent Vincent <not_your_typical_master@yahoo.com> Subject: Whittling a Fucktube, Chapter 1 First, the basics. This is, once again, a work of FICTION. Real-life considerations will take a back seat to erotic pleasure and story-telling; this slave does not exist. Wanna change that? Or just wanna share comments/praise/criticism? Fine: Not_your_Typical_Master@yahoo.com Copyright 2011 Whittling a Fucktube, Chapter 1 God, how I love to whittle. It's such a great way to pass the time. And, when done properly, it's such a good investment. As evidence, let Me present My own personal fucktube. That stupid idjit scrubbing away at the bathroom floor, cleaning the grout around each tile with its toothbrush. That was once a man. Well, more precisely, it once was self-deceptive enough to believe it was a man. Not a very happy one, really. Not nearly as happy as it is now. Don't believe Me? Call it over here. Yeah, "fucktube." That's what it is. Call it over and tell it to worship your prick. Good boy, fucktube. Keep My friend happy. But listen to what I'm telling him. If at any time something I say is incorrect, just shake that fuck-skull to say "no". I promise there won't be any punishment. Now, get to work. So, yeah, back to whittling. Yeah, some guys pass the time when they're bored by whittling away at a piece of wood or bark. OK. Whatever. But to Me, makes more sense to whittle away at something useful. Make something that can serve a better purpose. Improve the world. So I whittle away at this suckbitch's soul. Etch Myself into its brain. Make it more true to itself, true to its own purpose. Isn't that right, shithead? Moan on My buddy's prick if I'm right. See? Ever read about Michealangelo? Said that whenever he looked at a piece of marble, he just carved out the figure that was already there. That's exactly what I do. I took this pretense of a man and carved out this cockstarved whore that was waiting sadly deep inside, petrified to reveal itself to the world. Yeah, feels good when the bitch moans on your prick, doesn't it? The more it agrees with me, the more it's going to moan on Your cock. And don't worry -- if you want to empty your nuts or your bladder, go right ahead and help yourself. No need to announce it. Don't worry yourself about a stupid fucktube. It knows what it's here for. Heh, yeah, it's got real talent, doesn't it? Now that it finally figured out why it was put here on this earth, what were the only talents it had that were worth cultivating, I showed it how to center its focus on what was important. How to stifle its own idiotic fears and concerns and center itself on what's really consequential: pleasuring men. How to use its lips, cheeks, tongue and throat to drain a prick. How to train the muscles in its fuckhole to massage an erection. How to time its stupid breathing. How to work past its pathetic gagging. I took an ugly shitslab of flesh and turned it into a beautifully insatiable cockwhore. A dumbfuck faghole desperate for any sign of your satisfaction. Yeah, just like that. I know that sound ... that's the sound of a fagbitch who just tasted the salt of your precum. That tells it that it's doing something right. Instant validation. It craves this shit. No, man, you don't just "find" a bitch like this. You gotta create one. Or find a man like Me to create one for you. Uh-huh. Right. Sure. Like I'm going to give you every little detail on how to create a fuckin' work of art. No fucking way, dude. Michaelangelo kept his secrets to himself. I'll give you some highlights, man. But if you want to own a fagcunt like Mine, you'll have to commission your own work of art. Help Me find the right piece of marble and pay Me to release the art, the whore, I find inside. So, yeah, here's what happened. I put an ad out, looking for cocksuckers who knew their place. Asswipes who probably didn't yet know they were asswipes. The ad was pretty generic because if I spoke too honestly, they'd fuckin' shit themselves and be too afraid to answer. They'd just sit at home and jack off thinking how hot it would be if they had the balls to reply, but never going any farther than that. So I kept it generic and accessible. Something they wouldn't be afraid to answer. "Cock Seeks Sucker" or something poetic like that. And, you know, you get a bunch of bullshit replies. Some of it from guys looking to make a dime off you. Some of it from shitheads looking to collect photos and get off. And some of it from idjits just like this one, not knowing why the fuck they wanted to answer, but feeling that need gnawing away inside them. Yep. Gnawing ... whittling. It starts that early, just with the right words on the screen. Sliding in some keywords to heat up their innate urges. Writing about their "need." About "feeding" their "hunger". About "submitting" their reply. "Mastering" their skill. Whittling away at their subconscious selves without sounding like anything they'd think was too much for them. Just sounding like a dude wanting to get off using their mouth. It's pretty easy to tell from the first email which ones show promise. You can read their deeper needs between their words. Little catchwords like "please" and "Sir". The ones that display some potential and obeyed My instructions in providing a phone number, I call via to invite `em over and allow them the chance to pleasure Me. I make it clear that it is going to be ONLY about My pleasure. That their own stupid prick is to be ignored. That there's only one dick worth mentioning or thinking about and it's the one they can't help but stare at and drool over once they get here. Just that discussion helps narrow down the field, buddy. One little phone call saves Me weeks of wasted effort. It's not that I give the ground rules to scare `em off. I wanna see how they respond to structure. To discipline. To a Man's sense of self and their own lack of it. Yeah, I talk about "true selfless worship." That's a phrase that I let sink in awhile. Let it etch its magic into their pliant little brains. Heh. That's right, dumbfuck. I hear that moaning on my pal's prick. I know My phone call is fondly remembered and deeply savored. The call that saved a faggot's life. The one that fucking GAVE a faggot life. Now focus on what's important and let Me get back to My story. Anyway, yeah, it's an important call. But only a beginning step. So at the end of the call, when I hear its responses to My key catchwords, I invite the faggot over. I don't tell it ... ah, crap. Look at the time, man. We're gonna have to catch up on this next time you're over. Go ahead and grab the asswipe's skull and fuck your load out while I head into the shower. I'll see you later.