Date: Mon, 26 Mar 2012 07:24:34 -0700 (PDT)
From: jdr <daiuyrau@yahoo.com>
Subject: With a Flip of a Coin 5

     Jeff woke up disoriented.  It was still dark.  He was fully clothed.
What time is it?  Why am I fully clothed?  Then he remembered.  He was
taking a nap, getting some needed rest in advance so he could work over his
new slave Sam (his lifelong friend, but that was a lifetime ago) from
midnight until dawn.  Jeff checked the alarm clock: 10:27.  He fell back
into his bed and quickly fell back asleep.

     At that same moment Sam was impaling his throat on a hard throbbing
cock.  He fought the gagging reflex, trying his best to keep down his
gorge.  After awhile he synchronized his reflex with the strokes, in and
out, in and out.  At first he just let the cock invade his mouth unimpeded
but then he figured out what "sucking" really meant.  He raised his tongue
to encapsulate the cock between tongue and palate, using the tongue muscle
to massage the cock.  His reward was a groan of desire from the Colonel.

     The officer moved in closer, his legs pressing against the cowboy's
chest.  This forced the student's head to turn straight up, pointing to the
ceiling, exposing his throat for deep strokes (which is exactly why the
Colonel had encroached in the first place).  The officer moved his legs to
either side of the kneeling submissive, pinioning the latter's head between
the former's muscular thighs.  Sam's head was trapped, with a straight line
running from his lips through his mouth into his gullet.  He gasped for air
as the cock filled his airway, then he started panicking from oxygen
deprivation.  The cock moved straight up and out of his mouth resulting in
a thankful gulpful of air, only to be followed by choking again on the
cock.  Back and forth he went, from suffocating to ventilating and back.
Eventually he taught himself how to deep throat (just as the Colonel had
intended) by taking large volumes of air, holding his breath, flexing his
throat muscles around the invading cock and then grabbing another gulp as
soon as the cock released its strangulation hold.

     The Colonel knew all too well that he was approaching climax.  That
was not his intent.  He deliberately withdrew his hardened dick from its
pleasure turf.  The cowboy hyperventilated several deep breaths, then
became aware that he was not being reimpaled.  He looked up to see the
Colonel smiling and opening his own mouth to say: "Repeat after me,
slave. 'All my master's fluids are precious to me.'"

     The slaveboy blinked but knew better than to contradict this powerful
man.  "Sir, all my master's fluids are precious to me, sir."

     "I will never waste a drop of my master's fluids."

     "Sir, I will never waste a drop of my master's fluids, sir."

     "What does that mean, slave?"

     "Sir, it means that I must swallow whatever fluids my master puts in
my mouth, sir."

     "Does that include spit, slave?"

     "Sir, yes, sir."

     "Does that include sweat, slave?"

     "Sir, yes, sir."

     "Does that include cum, slave?"

     "Sir, yes, sir."

     "Does that include piss, slave?"

     So far into the mantra was Sam that he responded before he had a
chance to think: "Sir, yes, sir."  Then the enormity of what he had said
hit him like one of the Colonel's hard face slaps.  "Fuck," he said to
himself, "this bastard is going to make me drink his piss!"  Sam trembled
with fear, half because he feared drinking piss and half because he feared
the next question would be about feces.  He slumped with relief when he saw
that there would not be another question, but he also knew that urine
consumption was in his immediate future.

     The Colonel gave an order: "Open."  Sam opened his mouth and closed
his eyes.  "Open your mouth and your eyes," the Colonel ordered, "and keep
them open and tilted up to me."

     As much as he hated it, Sam obeyed.  All he could see was the
Colonel's cock (now going soft) and the Colonel's eyes (as hard as always).
He watched almost as an uninvolved bystander as a spurt of yellow urine
arced out of the officer's male member and into the cowboy's reluctant but
wide open mouth.

     The Colonel was in full control, both of the situation and of his
bladder.  He ended the piss flow after five seconds and ordered: "Swallow!"
Sam obeyed.  "Open again!"  Sam obeyed.  Another piss flow followed, this
one ten seconds long.  Again he stopped.  Again Sam swallowed.  The next
flow lasted twenty seconds.  The one after that was continuous.  Sam was
now officially a humiliated piss drinking slave, with the acrid taste in
his mouth to prove it.

     The luxury of the Colonel having five training hours was drawing to a
close.  It was past eleven o'clock.  Within an hour Jeff would return to
claim his new property.  There was one final infliction for the Colonel to
put on the cowboy.  For that he would need to move the student back
upstairs.  The officer grabbed Sam under each armpit and raised him (for
the first time in hours) back up to his feet.

     The Colonel unhooked the ankle cuffs from one another so that Sam
could walk on his own.  He then guided Sam through the basement, up the
stairs, through the kitchen and living room, and into the main bathroom.
As they passed through the living room he paused long enough to grab the
handcuffs and some rope

      In the bathroom the Colonel put the handcuffs on Sam and removed the
leather wrist cuffs.  The officer also removed the kid's leather ankle
cuffs, temporarily freeing his feet.  The Colonel helped the slave over the
side of the tub, then forced him to lie down on the bathtub bottom on his
stomach, his legs bent upwards at the knees and his hands pinned behind his
back.  The officer skillfully (one might say masterly) roped the cowboy's
ankles together, forcing the knees to separate and removing any ability for
the slave to raise his body up.

     Sam had no idea what was about to happen.  He didn't even react when
the Colonel turned the water on, stopped up the drain and let the water
level rise in the bathtub.  Only when it reached the boy's neck did he
begin to worry.

     "Who are you?" questioned the Colonel.

     "Sir, I am Master Jeff's slave, sir," said Sam, his voice expressing
concern about the rising water.

     "What will you do for Master Jeff and for me?" asked the officer.

     "Sir, I will do whatever I am told to do," replied the college kid,
now really worried because the water was level with his chin and continuing
to rise.

     "What are you?" posed the Colonel.

     "Sir, I am a slave, sir," Sam responded.  The water was lapping almost
to his mouth.

     "Keep saying that, slave," order the officer.

     "Sir, I am a slave, sir.  Sir, I am a sla" gargle gurgle.

     The Colonel shut the spigot off, then lifted Sam's head above the
water, let him start speaking, then dunked his head forcibly under the
brink only to lift it back up and dunk it back down.  The conversation (if
one could call it that) sounded something like this:

     "Sir, I" gurgle gurgle gasp gulp "am a" gurgle gasp gulp "slave.
Sir," gurgle gasp gulp "I am a" and so on.  Each time the Colonel pulled
Sam's head up for air, the boy was still gasping mouth open when the
officer shoved his head back down, forcing water into Sam's mouth and
convincing him that the Colonel was drowning him.  Panic took over.  Water
flushed reason away.  All Sam could think about was that he needed to
breath without inhaling water.  He would do anything for that -- which was
exactly what the officer intended him to think.

     It was the longest five minutes of Sam's (so far) short life.  By the
end he was ready to say anything, believe anything, agree to anything, if
it spared him from being drowned.  The last time the Colonel raised Sam's
head out of the water he rattled off "Sir, I am a slave, sir, sir, I am a
slave, sir, sir, I am am a slave, sir!"

     "What will you do for me?" interposed the Colonel.

     "Sir, I will do anything for you, sir!" said Sam in a begging tone of
voice.

     "Very well," said the Colonel, "beg me to keep dunking you."

     Sam was stuck.  He had no choice.  He said what he had to say.  "Sir,
please keep" gurgle gurgle.

     Then the Colonel raised Sam's head back into air.  "Sir, please keep
dunk" gurgle gurgle.

     Again the Colonel pulled Sam's head out of the water.  "Sir, please
keep dunking me, sir, sir, please keep dunking me."

     "Enough!" commanded the Colonel.  And with that, he threw the drain
open and let the water run out.  While it was still flowing, the officer
lifted the student up to his ropetied feet, wrapped a towel around his
shivering body and squeezed him close to his own body.  His mouth found the
new slave's ear and murmered, "You are safe, slave, you are safe, all you
need do is obey and you will be safe."

     Sam crumpled emotionally and physically.  He had no resistance left.
All masters had the power of life and death over him, and he no longer
cared.  Simple survival was all he asked for.  He would do whatever he had
to do -- and he had to be a slave.

     While Sam was seeking solace in the Colonel's strong arms, Jeff's
bedside clock was signalling the alarm.  It was 11:40 at night, time for
Jeff to end his nap and begin his ownership.  He turned off the alarm,
rolled out of bed and put his boots back on.  He stumbled into the kitchen
and started brewing a thermos load of coffee.  While it perked through the
strainer, he finished waking up and started planning what he would do at
the Colonel's house.  He walked into the bathroom, took a piss, went into
his closet, took off the shirt he had slept in, replaced it with one of
Sam's cowboy shirts, then headed back to the kitchen just as the coffee was
ready.  Throwing away the coffee grounds, he filled the thermos, leaving
the coffee strong and black exactly as he drank it back home on the family
ranch.  He grabbed the thermos and the keys to Sam's truck, put Sam's
favorite cowboy hat on his own head and then walked up the stairs and out
the door.

     The Colonel finished drying Sam off.  He removed the handcuffs and
replaced them with the leather wrist cuffs, which he left unconnected from
one another.  He knelt down and untied the ropes around the boy's ankles,
replacing them with leather cuffs which he also left unconnected.  He stood
up, turned his back on Sam, said "Follow me" and, without confirming that
the enslaved cowboy was obeying, strided out of the bathroom, Sam crawling
behind him like a puppy.  They went through the living room and kitchen,
down the stairs (Sam's first experience in crawling down a staircase) and
back into the basement's main training room.

     The Colonel stopped Sam at the training spot, turned him around facing
the room's entrance, and then gave a one-word order: "Stand."  Sam did so,
happy to be off his hands and knees but unhappy at what was sure to come.
"Stretch," ordered the officer, and immediately the college kid moved his
feet far to his sides and raised his arms up and out, forming his body into
a freestanding St. Andrew's cross.

     Practice makes perfect.  In almost no time, and with Sam's body
cooperating, the Colonel had the boy back in restraints with cuffs at
wrists and ankles and chains stretching arms and legs out toward the walls,
a blindfold securely in place and ear plugs stopping all sound.  This time
the officer did not use the head harness, for several reasons, including
wanting Jeff to see Sam's cropped head hair in all its lost glory.  The
Colonel also planned to leave Sam alone for awhile, so any gag had to leave
room for mouth air.  Taking his own discarded boot socks, the officer tied
a knot with the toe ends, inserted the smelly knot into the kid's compliant
mouth and tied the sock ends firmly behind Sam's head.  He was now back
into sensory deprivation, with no ability to see, hear, taste (except for
foot odors and cotton), smell or touch anything on his own.

     As the Colonel walked out of the room (something Sam had no way of
knowing), he cast a look over his shoulder at his latest triumph, well
pleased with himself and the way he had broken a man and built a slaveboy,
all in five hours or less.  He went upstairs, sat on the living room couch
and barely got comfortable before Jeff knocked on the front door.  He
opened it, greeted the eager college student and invited him to sit with
him on the couch.

     "So, Jeff, are you ready for all this?"

     "I think so, Colonel."  And then he explained to the officer what he
had learned online, how he had rearranged the apartment and what he planned
to do with Sam.  The Colonel was pleased and said so.  For his part, he
explained to Jeff what Sam's emotional state was, how to keep Sam in mental
submission, and some practical tips, such as using an antibiotic creme
daily on Sam's shaved crotch and pits to prevent pustules and red spots
from forming, shaving Sam daily, how to instruct Sam to suck Jeff's cock
just the way Jeff liked it, and so forth.

     There was one last big topic left unsaid between the two masters, the
proverbial elephant in the room.  The Colonel saw that Jeff would not bring
it up, so he did.

     "Jeff, there is one thing that I did not do with Sam."

     "What's that, Colonel?"

     "I didn't fuck him, Jeff."  The student master gave a visible show of
relief, so the experienced master continued.  "I cleaned him out thoroughly
with enemas, but I left his hole a virgin for you.  I didn't even finger
him or use a dildo.  I think you should take him yourself, take him hard,
bust his slave hole wide open and let him know for certain that you own
him."

     "Wow, Colonel," exuberated the younger master, "that's an awesome
idea!  I will definitely do that right away."  As he said the words his
college kid cock jerked up in agreement.

     "Well," said the Colonel as he stood up, "let's go take a look at your
new property."  They walked down to the basement and there Jeff saw the
sight of his life.  He was both shocked and pleased.  Sam, his best friend
since grade school, was naked, shackled, shaved, blindfolded and gagged.
Jeff just stood there, transfixed by the sight, then moved up to the
stretched out slaveboy and slowly circled him from a couple of feet away.
Seeing what he liked, he positioned himself behind Sam and to his right,
then removed the right ear plug.

     Sam sensed someone in the room, his skin's heightened sense of touch
detecting the shift in air currents as that someone walked close to him.
He sensed rather than felt that someone standing right behind him.  He
shivered involuntarily when a hand pulled out the right ear plug, and he
sighed with relief when the same hands untied and took off the sock gag.
But Sam was now a slave; he knew better than to say a word, at least not
until his best friend's voice murmered into his right ear, "Hello, Sam, ole
buddy, how's it hanging?"

     "JEFF!" yelled the happy kid, "thank God you're here!  Get me out of
this, Jeff, get me home, get me out of this."  While Sam blithered on and
on, Jeff stepped around to in front of him, reared his hand back and WHACK!
A hard backhanded slap from Jeff stopped Sam's blubbering.  WHACK!  A hard
forehand slap knocked Sam's face in the opposite direction.

     "WHO ARE YOU?"  commanded the new master.

     Automatically in semihypnotic slave mode Sam responded, "I am your
slave, Master Jeff."

     WHUMP!  Jeff's ranch hardened fist slammed into Sam's exposed gut and
would have doubled him over but for the chains.  "That's right, slave, I
own you now, and don't you forget it."

     "Yes, Master," Sam crisply replied.

     Jeff reached around Sam's head, unbuckled the blindfold and tossed it
to the floor.  Sam blinkingly regained his visual focus only to see Jeff,
his best friend, his master, standing in front of him.  The confident
college student was wearing Sam's favorite hat, one of Sam's best shirts
and a shit eating grin.  Sam slumped as reality hit him harder than that
gut punch could have.  He was a slave.

     Jeff pulled a heavy chain out of his right jeans pocket, displayed it
to Sam, then draped it around Sam's neck, letting the two chain ends hang
just below Sam's collarbone.  Then Jeff pulled a heavy brass padlock out of
his left jeans pocket and held it up to Sam's waivering stare.

     "What is this, slaveboy?"

     "It is a padlock, Master."

     "Who has the only keys to this lock, slaveboy?"

     "You do, Master Jeff."

     "What will it mean when I lock this chain around your neck?"

     "That you own me, Master Jeff."

     "Ask."

     Sam hesitated, his mind swirling with contradictory emotions and
thoughts: "Jeff is my friend.  Jeff is my Master.  Jeff is here to rescue
me.  Jeff will never rescue me.  I want to be free.  I want to be owned.  I
have my life to live.  I need to live for Jeff."  The whole mess was too
much for him to grasp, but Jeff snapped him out of it with an order that
cut through the fog: "Ask!"

     "Please, Master, please lock the chain around my neck."

     Jeff gave a big grin.  (If he had eyes in the back of his head he
would have seen an ever bigger grin on the Colonel's face.)  "Look at me,
slave," he commanded.  Sam's eyes locked onto his master's gaze as he heard
and felt the lock click into place and come to rest between his pecs.

     "Okay, slaveboy," said the confident slave owner as he reached up to
free the right wrist chain, "it's time for us to go home."