Date: Fri, 15 Apr 2011 14:27:19 -0700
From: MACK Wayne <mackxwayne@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Slave's Induction Ch 8 - Training begins

Disclaimer: All rights reserved.  No part of the story can be reproduced in
any form without the express permission of the author, me.


A Slave's Induction


Ch 8 - Training Begins

	Nothing I had ever experienced or imagined could have prepared me
for this.  It was happening so intensely and so fast, I hadn't had time to
process it all.  But while the man I now knew unmistakably as, "Master" -
my owner - walked out of the room leaving me clinging to his desktop, it
really began to sink in.  I was a prisoner here.  I was now the property of
this man who had captivated me so from across a crowded room - whom I found
so stunningly beautiful - even god-like.  He was presuming to determine my
present, my future, my fate, and declared himself as rightfully entitled to
do so.  I was his slave - a toy - merchandise, to do - to - with - and -
about, however and whatever he wished.  The method by which, and IF I ever
left here at all, would be matters for his determination alone now.
	"Was this really happening?" My pain and suffering were
confirmation of the unavoidable truth that it was.  I hurt so in my ass and
colon, that only fear of the consequences was keeping me from falling to
the floor and writhing.  Having not been told otherwise, I remained in
place hugging the top of my Master's desk rehashing all his just-spoken
words, and my plea to do as he wished with me.  I tried to imagine what the
pictures and movie he took of me must look like, and remembered his
humiliating revelation, "Send out notices to your friends - post on the
web."
	Nick returned, "Looks like so far so good, shithead," he said, as
he uncurled my knuckles still frozen tightly to the edges of the desk, and
stood me painfully up, giving my ass a hard smack for good measure as he
did so.
	"Shithead," I thought to myself.  I was being in essence
congratulated for passing the boss' critical interview, while being
addressed with such a demeaning word, "Could there ever be an identity tag
more derogatory - more humiliating - more appropriate - for the one now
this piece of Bill's property (who used to be called by a real name), than
"Shithead?" Yes there were.  I would find them out.  I wondered if I would
ever hear my given name again or if I would be answering to anything and
everything degrading or diminishing they wanted to call me - anything
reminding me of my reduced position as an object.  "Were these the kinds of
thoughts I would be confessing having entertained, that didn't put my
Master first - silly inappropriate meanderings that slaves like me were
punished for having?"
	Nick finished my injections and withdrew the thick needles that
normally would have been painful.  With all the rest, it was almost
unnoticeable.  Barely able to walk, he took me downstairs and back to, "the
room." I looked at the cage and broke immediately into a cold sweat and
froze in place starring at it.  I didn't even know Nick had spoken until I
got a slap in the face and a repeat of the directive, "Did you hear me?  I
said get over here!" He yanked on my arm pulling me toward the cot.  He
backed me up to it and pushed on my chest with one finger.  I yelped when I
sat down hard on the plug.  He gave me another injection - this one in my
arm - and told me to lie down.  He chained me to the cot that night saying
that the Boss wanted me to rest.  I recall looking over at the cage
thinking how grateful I was, that even as unendurable as my present
situation - at least I was lying down - not in that horrible thing.
	I thought to myself, "How does he expect me to rest with this thing
inside me?" Nick turned out the lights and I heard the door lock behind
him.  There was just me and the plug, and the excruciating pain, and the
dark, and a mind going a mile a minute.  Thoughts were foggy - then clear -
the decisive words my Master had spoken so casually - my "identity tags,"
he called them - threats - hatred of the man doing this to me. I tried to
hold onto the hatred.  I couldn't. There was confusion - then there was
clarity. Was I delirious?  He was the devil.  He was an angel.  He was
all-powerful. He was my Master - the click of the camera - what those
pictures must look like - the video - was there ever such a compromised
position - my bubble ass cheeks distorted by the huge plug base - hypo's
sticking out of each .  Was I everything he had called me?  Yes I probably
was.  Would he make me exactly what he wanted?  Yes he likely would.  He
was so beautiful.  He was so terrifying.  I drifted as if on a cloud at
moments separated from the awful pain - then demented by its intensity.
Was I loosing my mind?  Perhaps I was just beginning to find it.  It was
not mine anymore - nor was this body in such pain.  "We" had a deal.  I'm
sorry Master - you first Master - always and in all things.  Please help me
Sir.  I want to please you Master.  Even in the blackness - things were
going black.  No more me Sir - just you.  That was my last conscious
thought.
	Like everything else that happened here, I rested, just as my
owner/ Master wanted.  I passed completely into unconscious oblivion
without even feeling myself slipping. I awoke to a foreign feeling coming
from deep inside me and immediately was reminded of my plug.  What ever I
had been given was wearing off big time.  I couldn't tell how long I'd been
out.  It felt like I might have had a night's sleep or more, but there was
no way to be certain.  Time was not something who's passing I would ever be
privy to again - nor for me, did it matter.  The beard growth wouldn't be a
dependable gage any more, as it, like the rest, now belonged to someone who
could have it removed or let it grow as pleased him.  Life felt almost as
different as if I were an infant once more experiencing it the first time.
I was learning a new way of living, Bill's way.  I had no rights any more.
The rights I had always enjoyed and taken for granted, were gone.
Everything was a "privilege," and done by permission or direction.  What I
ate - what I said and how I spoke it - when - how long (and if) I slept -
how and when I used a toilet - as well as becoming one - how and how much I
worked out - how I moved and walked - my grooming - what (if anything at
all) I wore - my thinking - all was manipulated, guided, controlled by, and
done according to the prescription and programming of, the man who owned
me.
	Sex was very difficult.  Bill made sure of it.  Most always I was
made to hurt until he or Nick or their associates were through with me.  I
learned I was about providing sex, not having it.  The times I was "just
fucked," or that I "just serviced," made me feel astoundingly lucky.  Those
few and seldom experiences became emotional highs for me.
	One of the Master's favorite things was using me, hanging from the
ceiling, usually in his bedroom. My hands and feet were secured with wide
leather ankle and wrist restraints.  Mercifully, the ones for my hands
provided a grab for me to hold on to, so that all my weight, wouldn't be
hanging on my wrists.  Ankles were held wide apart with spreader bars.  The
short of it, was that after being secured with my bonds, I was hoisted into
the air by a winch, my body bent in half, my knees were next to my armpits
and what used to be my most private place, my ass hole, was exposed and in
plain view.  Up above me, all was put together so that there was one
attachment point.  It allowed me to be swung in any direction or be rotated
as easily as spinning a Vegas roulette wheel.
	I might be gagged or not.  My cock and/or balls might be tied
painfully or not.  My tits might be clamped and tortured or not.  It all
depended on the Master's whim.  Nick would secure me, and then usually turn
out the lights as he left the room.  He would notify the Boss that, "The
fuckhole was in position whenever he was ready for it." He used those exact
words the first time I was hung up.  I heard him, because the Boss WAS in
fact "ready," and he was at the door as Nick opened it to leave.  That was
the only time I didn't have to wait.  In total darkness, I hung there like
meat on the hook.  I WAS meat on a hook.  The Boss said I was a fuckhole
that was able to perform like a human.  If anything could affirm that fact
in my mind, it was hanging there waiting for His use and pleasure.
	Sometimes, like the first time, he would start right in, maybe put
some underground porn on the television to watch, and unceremoniously stick
his big cock in me to the bone and ride at what ever pace and intensity he
fancied at the moment.  Sometimes he would acknowledge me, but more often
not.  He might make a phone call while using me, or fuck me with ferocity.
I never had a clue what to expect. I was about as personal as "Blow up
Bobby."
	One time, after I was in place, he had what seemed a serious phone
conversation.  He called Nick to come in and remove me before even touching
me, "Take it down.  I'm not in the mood," were his words, as Nick entered
the room.  Another time, he got pissed at me for not holding my fuck hole
at the correct accommodating height.  He pulled out of me and grabbed a
belt.  He spun me, and every time my ass came around, he gave it a whack -
a few times even hitting my exposed and unprotected cock and balls.
	After dumping a load in me, he usually had Nick come in and remove
me.  But sometimes I would continue to hang there for his amusement while
he relaxed in bed, either reading, or watching the TV screen, that I was
hanging adjacent to.  As with the cage - in the beginning - hanging from
one attachment point was unsettling.  Having no stable points of reference
took some getting used to.  I'm sure if I hadn't had the luxury of both
some sailing and piloting experience, I probably would have been retching
from the lack of it.  Every once in a while it pleased him to tie me off so
that the direction of my visual was only of my Master relaxing in his bed
as he read or watched TV.  Having him as my fixed point of reference almost
made the near unendurable time bearable.  Then sometimes he would have Nick
install a very large anal hook in my ass and the rope from it tied to his
headboard so he could swing me to and fro at his will and leisure - whether
violently or gently.
	The Boss' reference to 4 months to get me into shape for my debut,
as principle in his upcoming movie was 4 months of intensity.  I had
thought I WAS in "good shape." But with his program of drugs, and lifting,
eating, and rest, in 4 months, he would pack on 20 more pounds of solid
muscle to my frame.  He said he wanted me looking as good as possible, so
he was willing to take a chance with heavier drugs and more of them.  He
was not looking for longevity out of me, he said, as much as a good
performance. He was charging a great deal for this movie. He'd never
charged as much as he would be this time, and he wanted the best showing
possible.
	He and Nick, had done much of the work before in the videos, shot
in ways and from angles and edited, to keep their identities anonymous.  I
would be the first "executioner" so-to-speak, who would have a full on - up
front recognition factor, for the viewers to make association with, and he
was really excited about the new approach.  After seeing how my video sales
went, he would decide what to do with me - two main options - keeping me on
as a house slave, and for use in further projects, or "selling my slave
ass," as he put it.  Not sure if that meant pimping me and renting "my ass"
out, or literally selling me off.
	I could not before, have imagined existence knowing I was a
disposable item.  Now, no imagination was necessary.  I was given to
understand clearly, and made to accept, that was now the case.  The more
problem free I was - the greater my usefulness, the higher my chances of
being kept around.
	One day the Boss had me working out with him.  I never lifted
alone.  Either he or Nick worked me out every time, while they worked out.
I was noticing some appreciable changes in my body, and he caught me
looking at myself in the mirror.  As I saw him in the mirror, he was
looking directly at me.  I realized he was watching me watching myself, and
I turned beet red.  "I'm sorry Sir," I said.
	His reaction sounded matter-of-fact.  Sometimes there would be
exchanges that almost felt like something friends would have.  Far from how
a "friend," would exchange with a friend however, I was always fearfully,
"on guard," as to my words being carefully chosen, and appropriate for my
position.  "Go ahead.  Look. What do you see?" he asked.
	With only a moments thought and I answered, "Your property Sir."
	"And what ABOUT my property, fuckhole?"
	"It's changed a lot Sir."
	"Think and answer that question again.  Carefully." I knew that
warning tone and how much it said about the importance of my doing just as
he said - being careful.
	I DID think, and produced an apology first and then a more
appropriate answer.  "You have changed it Sir." Quickly I was in gear with
recognition of what the Boss was doing to me as his property - both the
physical that could be seen, and the mind, which could not.  He said he was
just starting, and that he intended a lot more of the change I was both
feeling and seeing.
	"I know u like how I'm making u look.  I'd be amazed if you didn't.
I don't care if u like something or not.  It has no bearing on what happens
here." He said it was all right to look at his property, but not to touch.
In a moment and with a word, my ability to touch or handle or caress or
comfort or scratch myself had been removed, and in a moment my being was
clarified in my mind.  I would never again see what I was looking at, as
"myself."
	I had known it in principle, but suddenly it was reality.  There
was no more "myself" there was no more "self." What I saw in the mirror
looking back at me was the Master's.  And he didn't want me touching it.
He had removed that privilege.  It was almost like loosing a friend that
used to understand and comfort me.  It would become one of the most
effective of his tools, as an inescapable confirmation of my property-hood.
It gave me an increased hunger for physical contact in any form.  The
privilege, to touch, feel, or massage the Boss or Nick, became more
enjoyable and even more important.
	I only knew if it was daytime on the occasions I was exposed to the
light outside. I thought it was night on one occasion. Nick raised a black
out shade letting in sunlight and it seemed so bright, it dazed me.
Sometimes I'd be brought into a room with windows and see the light of day.
Then there were the times I was taken to the Boss's roof top deck to be
laid out in the sun for my coloring.  Other than that, Day or night were
the same to me, and I had no way of marking time on my own.
	My body grew to accept an irregular schedule and to expect to be
drugged for sleep when it was necessary.  One time I was awakened believing
I had slept the night and that it was morning.  I was taken to the boss's
bedroom and put into a standing cage.  There was little room beyond my
fitting in it from belly to backside and shoulder to shoulder.  As I stood
facing the foot of the master's bed, Nick locked the door behind me.  He
secured my wrists to cuffs attached to the sides of the cage and walked
away with out a word.  I watched him strip off the little shorts and jock
he was wearing and get on his knees next to the bed facing the door.  He
put his hands behind him and bowed his head.
	In a little while, the boss came in.  I always felt a sense of
privilege to be in on his personal time, even when it was
difficult. Watching him enter his bedchamber and start to undress created
that sense.  There was no acknowledgement of me, or of Nick, as he stripped
the clothes off his formidable frame.  Sometimes my hardons entertained
him, but no notice was made of it here, now.  It was just a fact without
meaning.  I was hard, because the most beautiful man in the universe had
just stripped right in front of me, and it was as if neither me, nor my
hard-on existed.
	He lay down on the bed on his back, and got comfortable before
snapping his fingers.  Instantly Nick sprang into position next to him and
cuddled up to him like a puppy next to its mother.  The Boss's arm pulled
him in, till Nick's head was on his chest.  As Nick massaged and played
with the Boss's genitals, almost in a whisper, I could hear him saying,
"Thank you Sir." As they lay there, I experienced a combination of feeling
privileged to be seeing what was happening, mixed in with a sense of being
a peeping tom, watching something private, that I shouldn't be.
	The Boss began to move and Nick reacted in concert.  I had seen a
choreography in these two, from years of experience with each other, that
enabled the Boss to get exactly what he wanted from Nick on many occasions,
without having to say a word.  Here, I watched an example.  As the Master
rolled over, Nick got onto his back and as the Boss began to kneel up,
Nick's legs went into the air.  Nick must have been greased, because the
Boss entered him without hesitation.  Nick moaned another, "Thank you Sir."
	Nick manipulated the Boss's tits while he fucked him slowly, almost
tenderly.  To my surprise it was more like making love, than I expected.
Leisurely, and with Nick looking straight into his eyes, the Boss fucked
him with a tenderness of which I wouldn't have thought either of them
capable.  In a little while, the Boss hollered out, as he shot his thick
load into Nick.  That part was violent.  Then he went perfectly still,
which I would learn was because he was pissing him full of his waste.  When
he pulled out, Nick hopped off the side of the bed, and squatted to
eliminate all the cum and piss into a container he pulled from under the
bed.  When he was through, he wiped himself with his fingers and put them
to his mouth to lick off the residue.
	He walked in my direction with the container - never acknowledging
me with even a glance.  He climbed on a stool next to my cage and poured
the Boss's piss and cum into a clear reservoir on top of the cage.  As I
looked up into the bottom of the tank and watched him pouring, it stirred
the evident volume of liquid already there.  He climbed down and produced
what looked like a head harness.  He organized and fussed with straps for a
moment, and then through the bars of the cage, brought it up to my face.
He roughly forced my mouth open by stuffing the attached latex cock head
between my lips. The cock gag was an integral part of a chin harness,
which, as he pushed it into position, fully encased my lower jaw and face
to just under my nostrils.  It sealed my mouth up except for a small
breathing tube through the middle of the cock with a short protrusion on
the outside.
	He buckled straps holding the apparatus to my head, and came around
to my face and told me to say, "Thank you Sir." When He saw I was able,
though barely, to move my jaw to form the unrecognizable syllables, he
disappeared behind me again.  I felt each strap being re-buckled tightening
my mouth around the rubber dick head till it almost hurt.  "Say it again,"
he said, as he came back into view and peered into my soul, his eyes, only
inches from mine.  This time came only the humming sound of vibrating vocal
chords with inconsequential noise, emanating from the breathing hole in the
dick, to his obvious satisfaction.
	Nick reached up, and quickly, I found out the hole was not for
breathing.  He pulled down a short length of clear tubing from out of the
bottom of the container and attached it to the protrusion sticking out of
the rubber dick.  He adjusted something that looked like an enema flow
click valve, and I began to taste the contents from the small tank on top
of my cage.  As my mouth slowly filled, I began swallowing.  Nick returned
to the Master's bed and climbed in next to him, while I watched with my
filled piss tube, in the foreground.  The Boss was almost asleep already as
Nick nestled his rear, spoon fashion, up against the boss's belly and the
Boss's big muscled arm maneuvered around him.  As Nick departed this world
so comfortably for the land of nod, he began a light snore, almost a match
to the Boss's deep breathing.
	I don't think I ever wanted something the way I wanted at that
moment, to be Nick.  I stood there silently watching the two beautiful
god-men, falling to sleep peacefully like babies, in each other's arms.
The Boss rolled over, and Nick followed like his shadow.  How innocent they
looked at rest, compared to how I knew them in their waking hours.  And yet
even in their sleep, they caused me agony.  Standing, turned into torture.
Everything hurt, from not being able to move or change position. I had to
keep swallowing the slow and unending flow of urine into my sealed mouth,
or drown in it.  My bladder became painfully bloated, and it took all I
had, to keep myself from pissing all over the floor.
	Hour after hour I stood flushing the cocktail of piss and cum, some
of it most recently excreted from Nick's rectum.  I wondered how many
evening's final acts formed the somewhat cloudy collection in the clear
tank to which my mouth was attached.  I watched the men sleeping blissfully
in the dim light of the Master's bedroom.  My discomfort turned to anguish
as my bladder filled to an unnatural capacity.  After what seemed an
eternity, I watched Bill's hand go to the top of Nick's head.  Immediately,
as though he were awake, Nick responded to the lightest touch as his head
was pushed down to Bill's crotch.  He took his big hard-on into his mouth
and nursed on it, while Bill looked asleep on his back.  After about a half
hour of Nick's expert service, Bill arched his back and grabbed the back of
Nick's head.  He groaned and bucked and held it in place as he spasmed
repeatedly.  He was cuming.  I knew that feeling, and had passed out from
it a few times, before being allowed to breathe.
	Nick stayed in place breathless, longer than I would ever have
thought possible, without blacking out.  When the Boss's body and his hands
relaxed, Nick pulled up to breathe, and stayed connected, to milk every
drop of Bill into himself.  When Bill rolled over, Nick scratched his back
as he fell back to sleep.  Nick got up, and walked around the bottom of the
bed.  He checked my piss tube and the emptying container of contents above.
He climbed deftly up rungs on the cage rocking it in place, and spit Bill's
load into the reservoir, then hopped quietly down and walked out the door.
In a little while I thought I smelled coffee.  Soon it was verified, when
he came back into the room with a cup of it, and a toasted bagel, on a tray
with a glass of orange juice, and a linen napkin, and the newspaper.  The
Boss reacted to the smell by coming to life, and sitting up in his bed.
Nick thanked him and set the tray by his side on the night table, and got
into position to massage the Boss's feet.  In my agony, I watched and tried
to imagine what it must be like to know the Boss's kind of life.  I
couldn't.
	When he brought the TV to life, I heard the time on the news
program the Master tuned in to.  I thought about how neither the time, nor
world events, mattered any more.  Now, those things were, for me, just
meaningless points of information.  The Boss luxuriated over his newspaper
and foot massage, as he sipped casually on his coffee.  The wonderful smell
of it, filled the room and my nostrils, both. It conflicted with the taste
of repeated mouthfuls of the body fluids I kept flushing down my throat,
into what this man termed his personal septic tank, otherwise known as my
stomach.
	I was fed a diet high in protein for my development, but it was
made devoid of taste, as much as could be managed.  And from the beginning,
not a day went by, that I did not perform as a toilet, and my septic tank
stomach did not process some of the Boss's, or his boy Nick's, personal
sewage.  The Boss liked to cook, but for the times when he didn't feel like
it, I was trained to do so for him, by pinches of this and measurements of
that.  Taste-testing the food, for me was strictly forbidden, however on
occasion he'd come in during preparation, and add something to his liking.
But recipes and the tantalizing smells and sight of things, were my guides.
Nick was often lucky enough to eat the same fare.  My intake habits on the
other hand, were only to be sure I got proper nutrition to maximize my
growth, and to remind me of my lowly status, in this, the Boss's world.
	I did a lot of gagging and even retching those first weeks of my
new life as slave.  I got one shit-laced meal a day, for keeping me
mindful.  It was eaten in the shower room where the stink wouldn't offend
anyone, and I ate it out of a large dog bowl without the use of my hands.
I was given 2 weeks to adapt to consuming every morsel and licking the bowl
clean without retching.  After that, I would have to eat what I'd thrown
up, and would be given a time out to think about it.  With that as my
inspiration, I adapted to getting through the process as prescribed.
	Then there were the occasions when a more direct approach was used
to affect my humiliation as a full service toilet and living sewer system
for the Master's amusement.  My introduction was the morning after I had
spent that first night standing in the cage, watching the god man and his
personal slave sleep.  As Bill left the room, he looked up at the reservoir
on top of the cage, "Make sure it flushes all of that, and then get it set
up.  I have to take a dump." Nick opened the click valve all the way on the
tubing leading into the cock in my mouth, and left, warning me to finish
before he returned.
	What I thought, was that the Boss had left, to go take a shit, and
I was to be, "set up," per his instruction, for some further suffering.
Wondering what it would be, with my belly distended, not knowing how I
could hold one more ounce of the waste, I looked up, and watched the cloudy
yellow swill disappear, as I sucked it through the huge cock straw in my
mouth.  I indeed, flushed the container of the rest of its torturous
contents, and moaned from the pain not just in my bladder but up in my
kidneys as well.  The sound even emanated through the tubing from above me
in the empty reservoir.
	With my eyes closed, I didn't know Nick was back, until I felt him
releasing my wrists.  I tried to stop moaning, but I couldn't.  I tried to
apologize, but the chin harness holding the cock in my mouth was too
effectual to allow for words.  I was in so much pain I couldn't even
appreciate his nakedness.  Nick worked on releasing the head straps as he
looked at me.  "Ok," he said almost with sympathy in his voice.  Speaking
softly with a warning in his voice, he continued, "I'm going to let you
piss soon, but you have to be quiet.  The Boss isn't going to want to hear
you." It was unloosened but he stopped short of removing the chin harness/
cock gag, and looked me in the eye.  "Ok?" He said.
	When I nodded and stopped hollering, he pulled the device out of my
mouth.  I could hardly close it, from the soreness of it being held open
for so long.  Gently he pushed on my lower jaw and encouraged me to close
my mouth.  He unlocked the cage and led me out of it, and out of the room,
and to the shower room.  He faced me to the wall, under one of the
showerheads, and said some of the best words I ever heard, "You can go
now."
	I had to piss so bad I almost couldn't, but when it started I
didn't feel like it would ever stop.  And as it started, thanks, came
pouring out of my mouth, "Oh my god!  Thank you Sir!  Thank you Nick Sir!
Thank you Sir!" I couldn't stop peeing and I didn't stop thanking the one
who felt right now, like the best friend I had ever known.  The pain in my
sides began to weaken ever so slightly but it would take a while for it to
subside, and the bladder emptying, felt better than I could describe.
	When I was empty I fell at Nick's feet and kissed them while still
thanking him.  He stood there quietly allowing and enjoying it.  When he'd
had enough, he laid me on my back in the wetness of my own urine.  He
positioned a rim chair over my face with a closed toilet seat lid, and I
could hear him leave the room.  I'm not sure how long I was there starring
up at the underside of the lid, but I was so glad to be recovering from my
bladder stretching, it didn't seem to matter.  I felt lucky to be off my
feet, and on my back, with an empty bladder.  Lucky that is, until the Boss
came into the room.  He walked over and lifted the lid, straddled me, and
sat himself down on the seat.
	I don't know what I imagined laying there.  I think I was too
caught up in my good fortune to be imagining anything.  But suddenly,
seeing the Boss lift the lid and unceremoniously sit down caught me
completely off guard.  It happened so fast I didn't even get to appreciate
his beautiful hairy ass - before it was so close to my face I couldn't see
it.  As I felt the warmth of his piss on my chest he spoke, "Good toilets
are silent and they always flush everything down," was all he said.  It was
all he needed to say.
	This is what was meant by, getting me, "set up." He hadn't gone to
take a shit.  The dump he said he needed to take, he was about to take
here, and now.  I opened my mouth and he took his morning constitutional in
it.  It took all of about two minutes before he rose up enough to wipe
himself with some toilet paper and drop it in the seat opening on me.  He
stood, cleared his throat, worked up a snotty lunger, and spit it down
through the seat opening on my face.
	He walked over to a shower across the room and turned it on as he
spoke, "A good toilet takes no more than a half hour to flush everything
down." He began to whistle and shower himself as I starred up through the
open toilet seat with his firm morning shit sticking out of my mouth.  "You
may need to use your hands.  I don't have a problem with that," he said
casually.  I reached up and stabilized what was sticking out, as I bit into
and began chewing what was in my mouth.  I breathed through my mouth and I
chewed and I swallowed.  I psyched myself and tried not to think about it.
I just chewed and swallowed and told myself to do a good job Ð and quickly.
This was not going to be a "half hour" flush like he spoke of.  I didn't
think I could live through that.  So I breathed through my mouth, held my
breath, and chewed and swallowed, and repeated, till it was all gone,
except for the taste.  So I kept breathing through my open mouth to
minimize it.
	Through showering, the Boss came over to check on things, and with
surprise in his voice, expressed satisfaction, "My goodness," He worked up
another lunger and spit it into my open mouth and continued, "not bad."
	My response was immediate, "Thank you Sir."
	"For what," he asked
	"For making me your toilet Sir."
	"Ok," he said.  "Now close your mouth, get rid of the toilet paper
and shower up.  As he dried himself the Boss headed for the door, leaving
me with his almost unbearable taste in my mouth.  And with it closed, and
breathing through my nose, I was getting the full effect. "And be sure to
scour out that stinking toilet.  I don't expect to smell my shit, when u
use it to speak my praises or thank me for something." The door slammed
before I could say anything.
	I got out from under the toilet seat, found the shitty toilet paper
clinging to my face and neck and dropped it in a toilet close by.  I turned
on a shower nozzle and stood under it as I soaped up my mouth and rinsed,
and soaped and rinsed, and soaped and rinsed.  What would have been a
tortuous exercise normally didn't seem so bad, for it helping defuse the
taste of shit.  I remembered once as a child, having my mouth soaped for
swearing, and how awful a memory it was.  Here and now, the directive felt
merciful more than anything.
	Nick entered as I was showering and showed me where to find
"toilet-cleaning supplies," he called them.  I was familiar where to find
the ones for the porcelain toilets in the house, but these were for the one
that would now stare back at me when I would see my image in the mirror.
He took me to a cabinet and opened the door.  He handed me a bushy soft
toothbrush and informed me it was my toilet brush, along with some extra
strong tasting rinses and pastes.  He said he'd be back to test my breath
in a while, and left me to my personal "latrine duty."
	I had been their urinal from the very first night, an identity tag
I was learning to live with, but THIS was the ultimate humiliation.  I was
now the Master's shit flushing, full service latrine.  There was an
ultimate dimension to what I had just done for this man, which would do
more to cement my place under him, than any other single act.  No use, no
punishment, no torture, no pain, or time out, would go farther or do more,
to graphically confirm his dominion over me, or ownership of my person,
than the simple act just now transacted between the supreme Being/ Master/
Boss, and me, as his owned slave property and toilet.
	The Boss said my universe put me right in his path that first
night, knowing full well what he would do to, and about me. He said it gave
me to him outright, knowing there were no pre-conditions.  He told me the
essence of the gift in words was, "Here is something for your amusement and
use.  Enjoy it and do with it as you please." Everything I did, said, or
even thought, now, were matters for his concern inclusive of my longevity
of life or lack thereof.  It was all in his hands now.  I was conditioned,
programmed, and trained, to think of myself as his property.  I was a toy
for his amusement, a tool for his use, a slave for his mastery, an object
for his abuse, and an accessory for his convenience and even a toilet for
his waste.  My condition was permanent, and irrevocable, and above all, my
obedience and acquiescence, were always to be immediate, and without
thought or question.  He had said it early on, and I came to understand the
reality of the mantra, which started out as just words.  The Master TRULY
WAS, "first always, and in all things," and I found out there was nothing
including this - his slave - that was second.
	My training in the months leading up to the movie was both as a
naked domestic, and a sex object.  I cooked and cleaned in the Boss's home.
I became the Master's toilet and fuck hole on command, and was plugged and
fisted and beaten and tortured at his whim.  I was exercised daily, given
pills, and stuck with thick needles full of unknown supplementation.  I was
shown lots of castration video footage, some of it medical, in preparation
for the movie.  I often wore chastity gear, was always kept horny with no
release, and I pissed and shit by permission.
	When my presence was not required, I was locked up in the cellar,
thankfully only rarely in the hanging cage.  Sometimes I was secured spread
eagle to the cot, and sometimes locked in a coffin style box, with a trap
doors in the lid for access to things like genitals and tits and face.
Sometimes lights were left on brightly and sometimes turned off.  When they
were off, the room was like pitch.  My alone time in the cellar was most
difficult.  If I was awake it seemed eternal, and it made me long to be
with Nick or the Boss, or both.
	On several occasions when the Boss was away, Nick came down to me,
and spent some time with me.  Once he let me sleep with him on the cot.  I
was in chastity gear, but he slipped in behind me and allowed his cock to
go between my legs hard as a led pipe.  He only moved slightly, probably
for fear of cuming, and he wouldn't do that without the Boss's direction.
But he felt so amazingly good behind me.
	One time when I was in the coffin, I heard him entering the room.
He opened the face door and the cock and ball access door.  He laid down on
the lid and put his face by mine.  He kissed me passionately and we felt
each other's cocks hardening next to each other.  He must have stayed there
for an hour before he got up and closed the trap doors and I heard him
leave the room.  Every time after that, when I was in the box, I dreamed of
him coming in to me.
	I was punished for the slightest of infractions, and disciplined to
remind me of my place.  My treatment was not always cruel, but it WAS
always with the presumption that THIS is what I was meant for, and always,
with the assumption that the Boss was rightful both for taking me, and for
what he did to, and required of, me.  He made me admit, that if it were not
so, I would still have my freedom and be my own person.  I would still be
thinking and speaking like I wanted, instead of being programmed WHAT to
think, and granted speech only as a privilege with conditions.  I would
still piss and shit whenever I felt like it, rather than asking permission.
I would still fuck however I liked, and jerk off at will, in stead of being
kept perpetually horny, afraid if I even touched myself I would loose my
equipment.
	As if being perpetually horny wasn't bad enough, there were times
the Boss would inject my cock with a hard on drug and I would spend as many
hours of the day as he wanted, unable to go soft.  I remembered
advertisements about being hard for more than four hours, and seeking
medical attention.  I would be hard for eight, ten, and twelve hours, or
more, for his entertainment.  Sometimes a vibrator would be harnessed
inside my ass to stimulate my prostate and I would have to carry on as if
nothing were happening - do house work, or work out, or on occasion, serve
his guests with my big erection preceding me.
	I found out my suspicions about Nick's restrictions regarding
self-stimulation were right.  He, like I, was not allowed to play with
himself unless directed to do so.  One time, I was lucky enough to be party
to a discipline session with Nick.  The Boss made me hard and had me fuck
Nick while playing with his cock, without either of us having permission to
cum.  He fought valiantly and long Ð his natural erections waxing and
waning, but the Boss's assault by the use of my cock was relentless, and I
was not permitted to stop fucking or stroking him.  He too, spent long
periods dry, and horny, for the Boss's pleasure. Eventually, he was not
able to hold back any longer, and he shot a huge load.
	I was instructed to "keep it up" till I came, and to do so "inside
him." It felt so wrong and so good at the same time.  He was in the throws
of torturous post orgasmic sensitivity as I kept stroking and fucking him,
almost driving him crazy.  My balls began to boil like never before.  It
had been weeks since I was taken and I had not been allowed to cum from the
beginning.  I let go of his cock, grabbed onto his thighs and pulled, as I
thrust into his bowels.  I let out a holler, and went rigid pumping, as the
Boss warned, "Do not to stop stroking him." I resumed, holding on with one
hand and stroking him with the other.  I buried myself deeper than I ever
remembered being inside a man, and held on for dear life as we both yelled
Ð he from post orgasmic torture and me from the long overdue ecstasy of the
most intense ejaculation I ever remembered.  His cock was almost soft in my
hand as I spewed what felt like a gallon of pent up jism into his guts.
	I no sooner had pumped my last into him, than the Boss pushed me
aside, my raging cock popping out of Nick's beautiful ass.  He pulled his
belt from its loops with a snapping sound, and began savagely beating Nick
on the chest and belly, cock and balls and legs. Only his face was spared.
As Nick yelled his apologies at the top of his lungs, and rolled over to
into a fetal position to protect himself, the Boss's belt kept raising welt
after angry welt on back, sides, ass, arms, wherever he could strike.  Nick
screamed he was sorry.
	It was the first I had seen of Nick being punished.  This horny
slave and its untouched cock had been used by the Boss to push Nick over
the edge, but I could tell from some of the Boss's angry words, this was
about more than the orgasm here and now.  I would not find out what he had
done to enrage the Boss so, for a long time.  At first, Nick was angry with
me for my part in his humiliation, but the effect long term, was one that
would bond him and me.  Nick would always be the Boss's "number one," and
he would always be over, and in charge of me, and I would always fear Nick,
as I feared the Boss, but a kinship of sorts, developed as fellow slaves.
It would not become familiar on my part, but there would develop a kind of
guarded optimism about Nick, that would help me feel I was not completely
alone here.



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mackxwayne@hotmail.com

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