Date: Sat, 1 Jul 2006 15:06:45 -0500
From: Bamaboi2serve@charter.net
Subject: Remote Control Slave-Part TWO

     When  my time at the mall was finished, I made a quick exit. Perhaps
it is my paranoia, but it seems to me a mall security guard follows me
all the way to the highway.
     I had survived Master's latest test, neither under arrest or
physically harmed.
     Master took over my life six months ago after I commented on an
online photo he had posted showing a young man, naked other than a
studded leather collar. He is kneeling in front of his master, his mouth
is open, and he is gratefully gulping down his master's piss.
     There were several things I liked about the photo, the prominence of
the slave's tits displayed a "worked on" status without any need for
piercing. He was shaved, with only the slightest traces of pitt hair and
a buzz-cut on his head. Even his legs appeared shaved. And I like the
master's attitude^Åhe was looking off to the side, pissing the same as
if he was using a urinal instead of a worthless bitch-slave.
    After I posted my comment (Something like "wish that were me"), I
got an almost immediate e-mail. It came some South Africa (a ".za"
extention), a writer identifying himself as Doctor M., and demanded
information about myself: "boy, I want to know more about you, and FAST.
You have an hour to fill out this form. After that, I block your stupid
excuse for a life from my e-mail."
   The form was a series of questions, personal intimate questions. How
often did I come? Did I drink my own piss? When was my first sexual
experience? Did I have a master?
   I dropped everything I was doing and spent 45 minutes answering the
three dozen questions, realizing that I had an extraordinarily rigid
hard-on the entire time.
   Finished with the answers, I grabbed a few of my favorite toys, ran to
the bathroom, got into my claw-foot tub and covered myself in piss. I
pulled on my tit clamps, imagining it was the doctor. A medium sized
dildo in my ass substituting for his cock and I was seconds away from
shooting.
     I scooped up my cum, mixed with the cold piss on my chest, and
licked all of it off my hands, telling myself I was under orders. There
was no new e-mail for a full three days, and I figured I had failed
whatever test he was performing with the questions.
    Then came another e-mail with orders. Explicit orders.

1) My name from then on was to be shithead. No capital. He was Master or
Sir. Nothing else, and NEVER was I to use his full name, which he had
included in a signature block in his original e-mail.

2) I was to immediately shave off whatever pubic hair I had around my
cock and put it into a plastic baggie for safekeeping.

3) He had a shopping list for me: get a baby bottle and a pacifier. Find
little boy's briefs in my size and buy several pair.

4) Mail him a handwritten letter explaining how I would serve him,
pledging my subservience^Åinclude my real name and address.

     I followed all of his orders, embarrassed at the drug store buying
the baby items because the clerks knew me and knew I did not have any
children. Following his orders, I opened the bottle once I was back in
the car and filled it with piss. Driving home, I sucked on it, drawing
the attention of a carload of teens who hooted and hollered at the adult
baby next them. I blushed but kept the bottle up, where it could be seen.
When the sunlight struck it, they could tell it was either apple juice or
urine I was sucking on, and when I ended up stuck next to them at a
light, one of them tossed the contents of a cup at my window^Åhe had
pissed into the cup. My car had been marked by them, and my only wish was
that the window had been open at the time.
     Slut that I am, I licked the window clean when I got home.
     Inside the house, I placed the baby bottle in the refrigerator in as
ordered, and began keeping the pacifier in my mouth, something Master
said I was to do for days at a time. It was during this period that I
stopped going out much. Master had agreed to allow me to continue working
for a certain number of hours each week, and during those hours I was
allowed to dress normally and suspend his rules about the baby bottle and
pacifier. But other than leaving for work, I was to stay home and wait
for e-mail orders, wearing a pair of the little boy undwear I had
purchased.I was ordered to wear the same pair untill Master decided I
could change them. After two weeks, they showed the results: stains and
an odor. Master was insistent that I wear them and only then if someone
came to the door. The he started telling me to order things online from
sex-toy websites, ordering one item at a time so there would be frequent
shipments and frequent reasons for me to be exposed in my little boy
briefs and pacifier when the deliveries were made.
   I know you will find it hard to believe, but before Master, I never
had any kind of anal sex. I was strictly an oral slut. He had me order
the series of bright pink butt plugs^Åone at a time, of course^Åand
started breaking in my ass. I would have to keep one in for a week,
e-mailing him for permission before removing it to crap. Sometimes I
thought he was intentionally delaying responding to my request, making me
wait more and more painfully for his permission to remove it.
     I slipped so easily into slave status that it obviously was
something I had been waiting for. Each day I became more and more
dependant on Master to make my decisions for me. The huge distance
between us geographically wasn't a serious impediment to his mastery
over me, but the little bit that is did create vanished one day about a
week after the mall training trip when the mall-boy I had given my number
to showed up at my door. He had traced my address with the phone number,
and stood there looking at me in my little boy outfit, sucking on my
pacifier.
   "Well, it's good to see you are a consistent perv slut. aren't you
going to invite me in, trash?"

To be continued
Comments? Bamaboi2serve@charter.net