Date: Sat, 20 Jun 2009 23:33:13 -0400
From: bamaboi2serve <bamaboi2serve@charter.net>
Subject: Marked by Mark, Part 7

Marked by Mark -- Part Seven
bamaboi2serve@charter.net

[As the author of this and other Nifty stories, i always appreciate
comments. They are sometimes the only motivating factor in continuing to
write, though i do now have an online Master who approves each part before
i submit it to Nifty.]


   After the trooper left, I ran to my car, removed the bumper-sticker and
pulled back on the highway. I called my supervisor and rather than make
some lame excuse, I told him the truth. I had been pulled over by a trooper
for speeding. He was sympathetic and told me not to get stopped again by
finishing the drive to work too quickly. Having just gotten to suck on some
delicious black pole meat, I was thinking just the opposite and increased
my speed a few miles per hour.
   As I drove I used a car washing towel I had left on the back seat to try
to dry off the rather obvious cum spot on the front of my pants. I also
wiped off my face, removing the remnants the drool from the trooper's big
cock. I knew his scent would be on me all day, and my cock twitched at the
thought.
   The smell of sex filled the car, and thinking about sucking off both Sir
AND the trooper, all before even getting to work, got me hard again. Just a
few days had passed between me meeting my new next door neighbor and me
being a full-fledged bitch slave boi! I tried to ignore my horniness and
concentrated on driving. I soon arrived at work without getting stopped
again.
     I work at a small suburban airport. I manage a combination gift shop/
luncheonette. It took me a bit longer to find a parking spot because I was
so late, but soon I was through the main doors and in my little office at
he back of the store. An assistant, Sal, had opened up the shop when I
didn't show up.
    "Good Morning!" he greeted me, glancing down at the rather obvious cum
stain on my crotch and the little wrinkled places on my ironed shirt,
marking the location of each tit! I mumbled something about spilling coffee
but he didn't buy it and raised his eyebrows, smirking.
    At my desk, I answered some e-mails from the company that owned the
operation and finished ordering some merchandise. After an hour, I broke
for some coffee.
     Sammy, the Security manager for the airport, stopped by briefly and
asked if I could help him with something...it was a slow day and everything
seemed in order so I said sure and followed him outside.
     "We've been having some difficulty with the new screening machines,
can you act as guinea pig for a moment? he asked, and I said sure as he
guided me over to the big refrigerator sized scanner with the traditional
moving belt for luggage and what appeared to be a traditional door-frame
walk through for passengers.
     "OK empty your pockets, but leave this metal rod in one of them," he
said, handing me a four inch piece of metal. I stuck it in my pocket and
when he motioned for me to move, I walked through the checkpoint. There
were a series of loud beeps and I stepped back.
   "OK, let me have the rod," he said and I handed it back to him. "Now,
again."
    (Readers: I know you are thinking at this point that I must be the
dumbest bitch in history, but I really, really had forgotten!)
     I walked forward and an equally loud series of beeps sounded. Sammy
looked at me quizzically. "Forget something?" he asked.
  "Uh, I don't think...." I said as I checked my pockets. And then it hit
me. Master's metal plug was still I in my ass! How could I have forgotten?
    "Sammy, I gotta run..sorry it isn't working quite well..." I said,
turning to leave, trying to get away.
    "Hold on a minute, we gotta figure out what's happening here....check
your pockets? Do you have a necklace on? Make sure nothing's in the back
pockets," he told me. I knew there was nothing else, but went through the
motions.
     When I walked through again, the same beeps went off, and Sammy led me
over to a special new security screener that had just been installed but
wasn't being used for passengers yet. I didn't know much about it, but knew
it cost a fortune. Sammy told me to walk through the huge hallway-sized
passageway slowly, stop in the middle and turn around 360 degrees. I did
just that. There was no sound, but when I emerged from the other side,
Sammy and his co-worker, a cute 21 year old college boy name Manuel, were
staring at the screen that had recorded some kind of x-ray images of
me. The metal but plug was visible as clear as day, as was my hard cock!
   "Uh, Sammy, let me explain...." I started to say, but he just looked
disgusted and walked off. I was red-faced and trying to figure out what to
do. Oddly enough Manuel didn't look uncomfortable at all. "Is that the
biggest one you have slut?" he asked, gesturing to the screen.
   "Uh, what do you mean big...i, uh, er..."
   "The plug. Don't you have anything bigger than that?" he asked,
smirking.
   "Er, no I....i have more but..." I was speechless. What could I say?
    "Just wait bitch, I'll bring you a better one tomorrow. I always knew
you were a fag." he told me flatly, turned around and left to attend to
passengers waiting at the other traditional metal detector.
     I went back to my office and tried to stop blushing. The rest of the
day I stayed inside, busying myself with paperwork till I could safely
slink away, leaving Sal to close up. As I left, Sal gave me a knowing look
and I was sure the story of my plug has been told to everyone at work.
     The drive home was uneventful, but seconds after I got inside the
house the landline phone rang. It was Manuel, asking if I didn't want him
to hand deliver the bigger plug he had promised. When I didn't jump at the
chance, he pushed me again and again to the point that I finally said it. I
told him I was under a Master's orders and he would have to approve any new
equipment.
     "So you really are a bitch! You give your Master my phone number
faggot, and tell him I'd like to be your at-work sub-Master. You got that?"
he asked roughly.
     "Yes Sir," I responded quietly. He hung up and I realized I was both
hard and blushing! In my own living room! I jotted his number on a piece of
paper and went to my bedroom and got undressed. I reached to remove the
plug but stopped when I remembered my orders. I had to get permission.
     I called the number Master had given me and he answered after three
rings.
     "Er, Sir, I uh, the plug...." I stumbled over my words.
     "Shitface, what did I tell you to say? What were the words?"
     I hemmed and hawed for a few seconds, trying to recall...then it came
back to me. "Uh, Master, may I take the man-plug out of my sissy bitch
whore ass please?" I said, somewhat tentatively, blushing even more.
     "Not yet slut. Tell me what happened at work today first, and get on
your knees to do it!" he demanded. I dropped to my knees, and as I started
talking, telling Master about the security machine incident, I realized I
could hear his occasional comments out of both ears, I turned my head
quickly and there he was, leaning against the door frame of my bedroom
door! He was wearing ultra-tight blue jeans and a leather harness without a
shirt, looking incredibly hot! I shouldn't have been shocked to see him
inside...he did have the house key I made for him. He closed his phone and
put it in his pocket so I did the same, laying mine on the table since I
was naked and therefore pocketless.
     "...and then I got a call from Manuel at work, saying I should give
you his phone number, that he wanted to be my work master, Master." I
concluded, handing Master a piece of paper with the boy's number on it.
     He put it in his pocket without looking at it and came over and
started playing with my tits, softly at first, then harder, alternating
between one and the other. My already hard cock bounced up and down from
the stimulation, drops of precum splattering my chest and legs and his
jeans. From a pocket, Master pulled out a pair of those Chinese tit clamps
and quickly attached them, pulling on the chain several times to make sure
they were secure.
     He stopped and walked back across the room:"OK bitch, face away from
me and bend over with your hands on the floor in front of you...lean
forward and let me see my slave-ass!" Master removed the belt from of the
pants I had been wearing and started slapping my ass in a rhythmic assault
that soon had my cheeks red and hot.
    "Count 'em!" he ordered.
   "One, two, three, four..." I announced loudly to the room. More precum
dripped from me each time the belt made contact. The tit clamps were
swinging in time with the belt hits.
     When I shouted out "50!" he finally stopped. I heard the sound of a
camera clicking and knew my bright red ass was now memorialized.
     "Slave boi...use one hand..just one! Reach back behind you and pull
that plug out the same way you put it in...in one single motion, no
pausing!!!" he demanded.
     The plug was slippery from the ass juices that had leaked onto it
during the day, making it a touch difficult to hold onto, but I managed to
get a grip and pulled it sharply out. If I thought putting it in hurt this
morning, that was nothing compared to the pain from stretching the hole
open to remove it! I almost doubled over from the agony, but eventually the
pain eased off. Throughout the entire process I had heard the camera
shutter sound.
     "Crawl your slave-ass over here boi...and clean up this slave spunk
you soiled my jeans with," he ordered, pointing to the faint spots where my
precum has splattered him. Master didn't have to tell me how to do the
cleaning. I started licking each place where I had inadvertently marked
Master. As I cleaned him, Master kept one hand on the back of my head, to
make sure I was pressing against the fabric enough. With his other hand,
Master used the camera to record my debasement. Naturally, that caused even
more leaking. When I had finished cleaning his denim jeans, leaving little
wet spots, Master simply pointed to the hardwood floor and I used my now
raw tongue to wipe up the little pools of my juice that had spilled in
several spots. As weird as it sounds, I liked the taste. I was a slut!
Turned on by my own cum! More pictures were taken.
    When I felt I had finished, I just stopped and assumed the kneeling
position with my hands behind my back.
     Master reached down and, without any notice, removed the clamps. The
returning blood flow caused instant agony but I maintained my position as
he draped the clamps and chain around my neck, attaching one clamp to
another like a necklace. "Keep these around your neck until I take them
off. They are to serve as a reminder of your slave status. This way they'll
be handy anytime a Master wants to use them."
    "OK bitch, break time, go put on one of your new white underwear and a
pair of jeans," he ordered me. I complied, of course, and then knelt at his
feet awaiting further orders.
    "Get to the kitchen. I'm hungry. Make me some food, and I want you to
start drinking these. All of them!" he told me, handing me a six-pack of
cold iced tea from a bag he'd carried in with him.
     In the kitchen I started making some fries and a hamburger for him,
guessing about what he might want to eat. As I worked, I drank, finishing
four of the six pack before I was ready to serve him. Once he was seated,
he snapped his fingers and nodded for me to get under the table, where I
was permitted to suck on him while he enjoyed his meal. Halfway through, he
paused eating and I could sense him relaxing his body. Soon his piss was
flowing and I was gulping to keep up, knowing that if I missed any I would
be licking it off the kitchen floor, which I hadn't cleaned in a while.
     Once he had finished the meal, he kicked me out from under the table
and told me to clean up, ordering me to finish the remaining tea too.
     As I worked, I became more aware that the iced teas (and his piss!)
were catching up on me. I needed to piss and badly! Yet I didn't think I
had the right to ask, so I held it for another half hour, practically
crossing my legs as I finished cleaning the kitchen. When I was done, I
went where he was sitting in the den (my den!) watching TV. I knelt, almost
painfully this point, and finally asked outright if I could go to the
bathroom to piss.
    "You fucking wait, bitch," he replied. I tightened the muscles holding
my piss in as much as I could. Another fifteen minutes and it was clear
without me saying anything that I was about to burst.
    "OK cunt, go stand in your bathtub and wait for me!"
    ANOTHER ten minutes passed, and I thought I was going to collapse in
the tub! Despite me best effort, a wet spot had formed on my jeans.
    Finally, he walked in and gave me the order. "So piss you big sissy!
Piss in your pants the way sissies always do!"
     I didn't need any encouragement. At that point I would have pissed any
way he wanted, just to stop from bursting! The dam broke and my jeans
quickly were soaked as the warm piss flowed through my (white) underwear,
soaking the jeans and filling the bottom of the tub in a yellow puddle. As
I started, Master reached over and pulled the lever to block the
drain. Soon my bare feet were standing in a pool of my piss. And still I
pissed more! When I finally finished, Master came over and opened his fly
and added more of his own piss to my tremendous output, spraying me from by
waist down. All of my toes were covered by the time he was done.
     "Put your hands behind your head cocksucker." he ordered. Once I had,
he bent toward me and spit in my face and on my chest several times,
grabbed the tit clamps and replacing them on my tender nubs.
     Then, without saying a word, Master turned off the bathroom light and
left me standing in the tub in soaked jeans and a puddle of his and my
piss. His spit slowly worked its way down my face. I stuck out my tongue,
anxious to capture a taste of my Master!
     I listened to him changing channels on the TV in the den, ignoring me
completely. He made a couple of phone calls, though I couldn't make out any
of the conversation. After an hour, he came back in to the bathroom. By
then the piss and spit was cold and with my arms behind my head, my shaved
body was shivering slightly in the Air Conditioning.
    He left the light off as he spoke to me.
    "Here's the thing, bitch: New rule. Number Seven. From now on you will
call Manuel "Master Sanchez". And I mean always! I talked with him on the
phone and have decided to grant him at-work Master status. Everything in
your pitiful little store is free for him...you put it on a tab and then
you pay it. And if he wants to meet with you, you close the door to your
office and make him happy just as you would me. Clean yourself and get to
bed when I am gone slut. Replace the clamps around your neck. Understand?
   "Yes Master." I said quietly in the dark.
   He didn't say anything more, but left the room and eventually I heard
the front door close. I removed the tit clamps form my sore tits and made
them into the new mandatory bracelet, took a shower, and was asleep in half
an hour. It had been a very long day.

[Thank you readers for your comments! Your emails are largely the
inspiration for the story. bamaboi2serve@charter.net]