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Stories of The Slave Center The Nation's Leading Faggot Retailer _______________________
Master and His Pack Mule by Slave 7 Part One
Disclaimer: This is a story of erotic fiction containing fantasy descriptions of Male-male slavery, which may include sexual acts, BDSM and nudity. It is a intended for adults only. You must be of legal adult age to read this work. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
My master lives in a simple suburban house far from the city center but close to all his basic needs of shopping and banking. In the warmer months, he keeps this slave outside in a small stable. Master dreams of living on a larger property, like a ranch, where his slave can live as his outdoor property at all times. But the best he can do now is use his suburban backyard.
When first purchased from The Slave Center, this slave's buyer had this slave made permanently hairless all over. He believed a slave's complete hairlessness showcased its status as property. Fortunately, in these times of legal slavery, a slave is never required to be clothed at all, anywhere, so, made thus hairless, there could never be any doubt as to the position in life of a hairless faggot.
My buyer was, I discovered, an early strong proponent of public slave nudity. While this position was controversial at first, an acceptance and even support of slave nudity began to take hold with the strong support of the younger generations. Those against allowing the nudity of slaves argued that humans are not to be naked in public. Those in favor of slave nudity argued that domesticated dogs, cattle, and horses do not need to clothed and, thus, neither does a slave. After years of argument and of keeping slave genital areas covered in public, a federal bill making slave nudity legal in all public spaces narrowly passed and remains in effect.
Thus, this slave hasn't worn any clothing at all in years.
The man who purchased this slave gave it a good and very strict life in slavery, but, unfortunately, he passed away within a year after buying it. Fortunately, he had a will that made provisions for all of his owned goods. His son, Matt, inherited this slave and has maintained ownership of it ever since.
In these warmer months, like his father before him, Master keeps his slave totally nude, always. Permanent steel ankle and wrist restraints and wide steel collar define the slave. A 4-inch steel ball stretcher, attached to a 1/2 inch wide ring at the base of the slave genitals, holds the slave balls of obedience in place, down low from the body to further display the slave's status as property. All of these things not only show others that it is a slave, but they also enable the slave to always feel, at its very core, that it is owned. Master displays his State Ownership Certificate in a frame on the wall in his den, and he carries his State Ownership ID Card with him at all times. The slave's Official State Registration Number is tattooed on the bottoms of both feet, as is the standard practice.
On occasion, Master has reason to add more accoutrements to his slave body, such as on the days he does his banking and shopping. The local businesses are only a couple miles from his house. It is a pleasant walk through the suburban neighborhood where Master lives and then across only one major boulevard.
On this particular Saturday, after the usual routine of this slave serving its young Master his breakfast and then cleaning up his kitchen, Master ordered this slave outside to the stable, which includes a water spigot and hose, for the slave's usual Saturday morning cleaning out. He said his slave needed to be extra careful this morning in making sure it was totally clean within. It occurred to this slave that it is always totally clean within, that its Masters have helped it be clean of its past and false perceptions of itself, leaving a pure slave, one free of interference from other notions of self, free of the false idea that it can be anything else in life but a man's property. This slave knew what Master really meant, of course. He plugged his slave as many days as possible, and pretty much always on Saturday, when he was able to be with his slave all day long.
By the time my Master came into the stable, his slave was cleaned out and in proper kneeling position. His slave's wrists were bound behind its back, as the permanent wrist restraints include rings with which this slave may simply push and connect the rings, effectively binding them together for its Master, and with little chance of self-release. Master had trained this slave well, and it always waited for him with wrists bound in this manner.
He came in to his stable, took a glance this slave's way, and said: "Good faggot. We're going to get ready to go out on my Saturday morning errands." He didn't need to announce this, but I think he liked to have his slave know what was what. His outing, his errands, his slave, his Saturday.
He was dressed in blue jeans and a navy blue tank top, revealing his soft tan, the light hair on his upper chest, his shapely arms and, when he raised his arms, his delicious pits. The tank hugged his pecs and showed his small but perky nipples. He had on his brown hiking boots, the ones he pretty much always wears when walking out and about.
The nipples on his slave are huge, made that way by extensive use of clamps. Master says that men have nipples and faggots have pain nubs, handles with which a man may effectively handle a faggot-slave. This slave's years of experience being his slave has led it to conclude that he is absolutely right: slaves don't have nipples. Slaves have pain nubs, convenient handles with which a master may control his property.
So, when this slave knelt for its Master, as it was now doing, with wrists locked behind its back, it thrust his pain nubs out for his easy access, as was Master's standing order. And thrust down for easy access, as always, were the slave balls, but Master often ignored his slave genitals, other than to note his slave's frequent hard ons.
He walked right up to his slave and, with both hands, grabbed each pain nub and applied full pressure, twisting a bit, but really just pressing and holding. He brought his body as close to his slave as he could while still having his hands on the pain nubs. His jeans and crotch were inches before the slave face. He was wearing the type of jeans that have become so popular of late with young men. Decades ago, form-fitting boxer briefs had become popular, underwear with full pouches for a man's goods. These days, the younger generations were not so concerned about hiding themselves, and their jeans were tight at the crotch with full genital pouches like the boxer briefs of some years ago. There were even some jeans now being made that had a genital pouch made of materials other than denim, like linen, silk, and an almost shear mesh. It's a delicious look. Finally, a fashion trend this slave could appreciate. Perhaps it is good for men to be proud of their manhood, to not feel like they need to cover and hide all the time. There must be some freedom in that.
This slave looked up to its Master's face, as he had trained it to do when he was with his slave in this way. He looked down into his slave eyes with a soft expression, took a deep and relaxing breath, and said, "I love Saturdays!" This slave could tell that he loved his Saturdays, and this slave supposed he loved owning this slave and maybe even loved his slave, in a way, like one loves a dog or horse. This slave hoped, as it felt only love for its master.
After a few minutes, he released his grip on the slave pain nubs, went to the corner of the stable, and grabbed the mule boots, which this slave had become accustomed to over the last several months. He turned back toward his slave and ordered it to stand, which this slave did, if somewhat clumsily with its wrists locked behind its back. "Come," he said softly, and this slave stepped toward its Master. He held one of the boots out and ordered his slave to step in. This required some balance, but this slave succeeded in getting its feet into each boot, with Master pulling the boots up and securing them. Once the boots were on, this slave was elevated by a few inches, for the boots were designed such that the ball of the foot supported the entire slave body with the heels being elevated by the firm raised sole of each boot. These soles kept the slave's feet in proper mule-like position. This slave, this pack mule, could now only walk on the balls of its feet, but its heels were firmly supported within the boots
The front outer soles of the boots gave, somewhat, the impression of being horseshoes, but there were no actual hard horseshoes, just reasonably soft and thin rubber imitations. The overall effect on this slave was tremendous, though. How could a faggot not begin to feel like an actual animal while wearing these?
Master stood and said, "Open," though he didn't really need to. This slave saw the bit in his hand, and this was his Saturday routine. He placed the bit firmly in his slave mouth, made sure the tongue plate was in the correct position, and then locked the whole device into place at the back of his slave upper neck, thereby taking away any possibility of his mule making human speech. The bit helped his faggot slave further allow its true nature come to the fore: a loving and obedient animal owned in complete slavery.
Master's Saturday morning routine felt great. He helped his slave relax into its animal self. He helped his slave feel his ownership. He was, once again, showing his slave that he is a master ready to fulfill the responsibilities of owning a faggot.
Next came something that Master had purchased only a few weeks before. It gave this slave some discomfort at first, but now this slave was becoming very used to it, as Master required. This slave noticed the name of the device on the box the day Master brought it home and out to his stable. "Mule Pack," the box said. It also stated that it is a Slave Center product.
For the last few Saturdays, Master placed the mule pack on his slave-mule back. It had several straps that came across the mule torso at various places, including the waist and chest. It even had straps that wrapped along the mule groin. These straps wrapped back up and attached to the actual pack at the small of the mule back, framing its buttocks like a traditional jock strap on a man.
Master released the wrist restraints that had been holding his slave hands behind its back, saying, "Let my hands hang loose." He then fully attached the mule pack on his slave upper back. When the upper torso straps were fully secured, Master ordered, "Elbows behind," and this slave complied, lifting its slave shoulders and bringing its elbows back and tight against its flank. Master then attached the mule pack upper arm restraints to his slave arms, just above the elbows. These held the arms snugly in place and made the forearms useless appendages that just sort of dangled in front of the slave body.
Once finished, Master stood in front of his slave and held up his leather leash with the clip at the end that fits his slave septum piercing. He attached the leash and then let it drop out of his hand so that it just hung from his slave nose.
"I am not finished, my slave," he uttered. "I like using my slave as my pack mule so much that I bought something new." He retrieved a box from a small closet within the stable. The box read, "Mule Tail Butt Plug, Large." More words across the box proclaimed, "Help your slave be the pack mule it is!" Another Slave Center product.
"I think you're going to enjoy this, faggot," he said as he held the plug up for me to see. It was indeed large, but no larger than anything this slave had become able to take with reasonable comfort. It had a long mule tail hanging from it, which hung down nearly 3 feet. This slave liked the color of the tail, a nice rich brown.
"Show me my pack mule eyes," Master ordered as he peered into them. "Show me my slave. Look into my eyes, the eyes of its Master. Show me how much my faggot appreciates me."
We had our eye-to-eye moment, till after a minute or so, Master said, "Start relaxing my slave asshole because my new mule tail is going in quickly."
This slave grunted through the bit as Master took hold of his leash, grabbing it just inches from the slave nose where it was connected, and led his slave outside to the front of the stable, to his hitching post. He pulled the leash tight and made his slave bend forward as he wrapped the leash around the post and effectively secured his servant-property with its ass sticking far out.
He stepped back into the stable momentarily and came out with a bottle of slave lube. He began lubing the plug up in front of his slave eyes, purposely, this slave supposed, within his slave field of vision. "My pack mule is going to have a nice tail now, as it deserves. It's such a good boy." Then he moved to the rear end of his slave and fondled his slave asshole a little as he began lubing it up. This slave so truly loves when he does that, and it relaxed the anal sphincter onto his hand, inviting it to enter. He put a fourth finger through the sphincter and spread the slave lube around. Delicious to a slave, and to a pack mule.
"Okay, my Saturday mule, I am going to put this right where it belongs. It'll give my slave a more natural look." With that he quickly and forcefully shoved the plug up his slave ass within a few seconds. And did it hurt! That was a fast stretch. He did not make it hurt because he enjoyed giving pain. He did not do this because he thought his slave somehow deserved it. He did not do this for his own sense of eroticism or satisfaction. He did this because he wanted a particular result from his slave. He wanted his slave in full animal mode quickly, and he knew this would help make it happen. This slave bucked a little, as much as it could given it was attached to a hitching post. His slave's breathing became fast, hard and deep. "Good mule. Let any false sense of being a man go and just be what you are: my property, my slave, my pack mule." Master then retrieved two straps this slave had not seen before. In color and material they seemed to match the mule pack, so perhaps the straps were part of the pack's original fittings. Master snapped them to the mule pack near his slave lower back, brought them down and criss-crossed them through the ring at the base of the butt plug tail, brought them on either side of the slave genitals, and snapped the straps onto the front waist of the mule pack, effectively prohibiting the plug from either falling out or being pushed out. The mule was fully plugged and tailed.
Master then brushed a hand softly, lovingly, across his slave flank, as he walked toward the front of his slave, his hand going from about the slave waist all the way up the left side of the slave, brushing right over the straps of the mule pack, to where Master's hand could take a quick detour and squeeze the left pain nub, hard, as a way to help his slave know what he expected out of it today.
"Easy, faggot," he cooed. "Relax. I'm taking it out as my pack mule again today, and I am excited that I could give it a full tail. It looks right."
He left his slave there, attached to the hitching post, its new tail dangling down its legs, and he walked into his house and retrieved whatever he needed. He came back out after about 10 minutes, this slave supposes, though time doesn't matter much to a mule.
Master walked out into his modest backyard so that he could turn back and get a look at his pack mule. This slave thinks he took some photographs. "First day fully outfitted," this slave thinks Master said aloud to himself. My Master likes owning this faggot, surely. He walked back toward his mule, put his phone back into his pocket, and said, "Now, let's see how well my pack mule can work while properly outfitted."
He unwrapped the leash from around the hitching post and brought his mule back to a full upright position, high up on its hoof boots. The mule pack was not fully extended in the back, not ready for use. It was squeezed closed and flat up against the pack mule back, making it very easy for the mule to walk, even in mule-hoof boots.
"Come on. Let's go have a nice morning," Master said in a jolly tone, and with the leash in his mule nose on one end and in Master's hand on the other, off he went, out the gate to the front of his house and down the sidewalk, to run his weekly Saturday morning errands.
Part Two
It was a nice summer morning in Master's suburbia. There were some billowy clouds, but the sun was out and the air was still, giving a nice warmth to the morning. It was not yet 10 o'clock.
Master walked along the sidewalk with his pack mule to his left side, held near him by the leash he held in his hands, the business end of which remained attached in his mule septum. The leash was a standard 6-foot brown leather slave leash, but Master wrapped some of that around his hand, giving his mule little more than half the length of the leash to move with. And that's just the way this mule liked it, to be kept near.
Master had been taking these Saturday morning errands so regularly for the last few years that this slave-mule had become totally accustomed to them.
The bit in the slave mouth had become old hat, at least after the slave got used to the current bit that Master used, the one with the tongue plate that held the slave tongue down and prevented the mule from making any human speech. It felt somehow normal now, and comfortable. The tight, wide steel collar, being a permanent fixture around the slave neck, felt like a permanent hug to this slave, always reminding it that Master likes his owning slave-property and intends to keep it.
The mule pack itself had become very manageable, if not totally comfortable. This slave had grown to like it, as it provides a warm feeling of utility. The permanent steel ankle and wrist restraints were home base to this slave, and though it didn't notice them much anymore, this slave knows it would miss them if they were gone.
What was new was the large butt plug mule tail up the mule ass. As this slave is accustomed to being plugged, it didn't bother this slave any, but to feel the tail swishing and brushing against its slave legs was new and exciting. The tail tickled sometimes, but in the end it helped this slave feel more like the animal it is. The tail was beginning to feel natural, like a tail was something this slave had been missing all its life but didn't know it.
And thus we walked through Master's suburban neighborhood.
We were a common sight on any Saturday morning, so people took little notice. A few blocks from Master's house, a man named Greg was out mowing his lawn, as he often was on a Saturday morning. Usually, he waved to my Master but words didn't generally pass. Today, however, Greg called out, "Nice tail on that faggot of yours! I like it!" My master simply waved back with a smile and kept walking.
This slave had a half hard on for most of the walk so far, so people knew it was a happy and well cared for slave.
Master now had his earbuds in as he walked and was listening to whatever it is he listens to. He seemed in a good mood. He walked briskly, as usual, and his pack mule simply had to keep up. Master doesn't appreciate having to lug a mule around by the nose, so, truly, it was better for it to just keep up.
Master walked with a cane attached at his hip, but he didn't often use it, as his slave didn't often require caning in order to serve him properly. This slave appreciates that he always carries it with him, though.
It was a pleasant walk along the suburban sidewalks. This slave enjoyed getting out and about like this with its master, being with and near him, being of service to him. It enjoyed feeling held by him via his leash and all the other slave devices of control on its slave body, and this slave enjoyed the vision of the cane at his hip.
This slave is so deeply slave, you see. It feels so at home in its Master's control, so comfortable, so safe, so wanted.
After nearly 2 miles of walking, Master reached the one major street he needed to cross. He waited at the traffic light, along with a couple other pedestrians. Master was the only one with a slave in tow. This slave made its master proud by standing calmly and sporting a very full erection. "Good faggot," he said to his slave softly when he noticed his slave hard on. "Let everybody see my slave exactly as it is."
The tip of the slave cock was pierced through the glans with an ampallang, through which a thick, 2-inch diameter but lightweight ring hung. Master sometimes connected his leash to this ring, but most often he connected his leash through the mule septum. Most people did not seem to take notice of his mule, but one car went by and gave a short double honk while the guy in the passenger seat gave a thumbs up out the window. My master gave a quick wave of acknowledgement in return. I think my master feels proud of his slave property.
The light turned green and Master crossed the street. His slave cock was still hard, leading the way in its happiness. It felt good for this slave to be out and about, to be open and free.
Master generally didn't tell his pack mule where he was headed to first on these Saturday journeys. Once across the busy street, he turned right and walked along the sidewalk, facing oncoming traffic, his slave cock still at least somewhat erect. He walked for one block, to the end of the large strip mall, to Home Hardware. His pack mule cock was further subsiding while walking through parking lot and into the store.
Once inside, Master grabbed one of the store's hand carry baskets. This slave had only forearms available for use, but still Master had his mule carry the basket, using both hands to hold it out in front of the mule torso. It felt very gratifying to carry it for him.
Master picked up some things needed for plumbing, this slave having no reason to pay attention to exactly what, and he placed them in the basket his slave was carrying for him. He then went to the garden department and picked up some vegetable seeds, so this slave knew that he had some planting for his slave to do soon.
Master used the self check out lane and placed the items in bags as instructed, but when his transaction was finished, he opened the mule pack on his slave back. Taking his purchases back out of the store's plastic bags, he placed them loose in the mule pack, pocketed his receipt, and then led his mule out of the store.
Master walked back along the strip mall, a couple of times stopping briefly to do a little window shopping. He stopped at the bank and hitched his slave outside while he went in to do whatever it was he needed to do. He wrapped the mule leash around the bank's hitching post, and this slave waited patiently for its master and enjoyed its place in the sun. What else could it do?
A young couple passed by, and the woman said to her partner, "Ooh, look! That slave has a cool tail!"
After leaving the bank Master walked to the main destination of this weekly Saturday journey: the grocery store. Again, my master hitched his mule to a hitching post provided for mule owners. Mules were not allowed in the market. So, this mule found itself pleasantly waiting again, possibly for about 30 minutes or more. The sun felt good. Its nudity felt good. Its slavery felt good. All the devices Master had on his slave felt good, all letting this slave know that Master wanted it, had use for it, and intended to keep it enslaved.
And all this slave ever has to do is be what it is: a service-oriented obedient property.
This slave expected its master to come out with a shopping cart filled with groceries as he normally did, but he did not. He came out with no cart at all, took his leash from the hitching post, and said, "Since mules are not allowed inside, this store now has a place for a mule to pick up its masters purchases. Let's go."
He led his pack mule around to the side of the building to this new pick up area. There was a short row of hitching posts on the sidewalk in front. There were already 3 other mules hitched there, so this pack mule was the fourth. Master hitched up his mule before he handed his receipt to a store employee.
One of the mules hitched and waiting was a petite female. She did not have a pack on her back but rather a cart that she pulled behind her. It was a very effective mode of carrying a heavy load. A large, muscular and very hairy male slave hitched to a post had a huge mule pack on its back. Groceries were being loaded into it, filling it to the brim. The big hairy mule had a very heavy load, but the animal seemed quite capable of carrying it. Its owner turned out to be an older man who must be grateful to have the strength of a strong bull at his disposal. When he departed, this slave noted that the man used no leash on his slave at all. The slave simply obeyed. The master called his slave Beast. Beast had an extremely bushy tail coming from its backside, but it seemed well combed. When Beast walked in front of this slave, this slave noticed that Beast bore the insignia, on its left butt cheek, of The Slave Center.
The other mules received their loads and left with their masters. Still others arrived and were hitched up as this slave was being loaded with the groceries its master had purchased. The groceries filled the mule pack to about 75% of capacity and had some heft to them, but certainly not too much.
Master unhitched his mule and brought a water bottle up its mouth. "Open," he said as he began squirting water. When he figured his mule had had enough water, he wrapped part of the leash around his hand again and began walking to his next destination. Usually, he'd reach the main sidewalk, cross the boulevard, and turn left to go to a small restaurant he likes. He often enjoys lunch there. Today, he turned right and said, "There's a new place to eat that I want to try."
He didn't have to tell a mule where he was going, but he did anyway.
Part Three
Disclaimer: This is a story of erotic fiction containing fantasy descriptions of Male-male slavery, which may include sexual acts, BDSM and nudity. It is a intended for adults only. You must be of legal adult age to read this work. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Master walked for a couple blocks, along the sidewalk paralleling the busy boulevard. Then he turned down a smaller street, a street unfamiliar to his mule, and he soon came to a small cafe with some outdoor dining tables. He found a table right at the sidewalk, in the sun and open to all of life as it went by. He pulled out a slave mat that the restaurant provides for all slave owners. He ordered his slave to kneel on it and relax. Of course, with the mule pack on its back, it could only relax so much before it spilled the contents of the pack.
A young waiter soon appeared, and since menus were placed at every table, my Master was already ready to order. He ordered a burger for himself and then said, "And a regular slave dish." But before the waiter left, Master asked the waiter what exactly was in the slave dish. The waiter answered, "We buy Slave Feed from the Slave Center and put it on a slave dish."
"Okay, perfect. That sounds good. That's what my slave always eats. Thank you," my master answered.
Then Master stood up and said, "Okay, slave. Let's get this mule pack off during lunch." He quickly unsnapped the mule pack and placed it on the ground.
"Now, sit my property down and relax." This slave could not sit directly on its tail, so it sort of sat on the side of one butt cheek. It wanted to say, "Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master," but it was still in pack mule mode, and, anyway, it had a tight bit in its mouth, complete with tongue plate to keep this mule speechless.
Once feeling as comfortable as it was going to get on one butt cheek, this slave leaned toward its master as he sat at the dining table. With its slave arms now free of being bound to the pack, the arms had real freedom of movement. This slave reached its arms out, caressed its master's jeans-covered thigh, and looked up at his face, showing him his slave's affection for him. He looked down and smiled, patting its bald head briefly, and said, "I know, faggot." He then grabbed the leash attached to his mule nose and brought his hand right to his mule face. He gave a couple playful shakes of the leash and then unclipped it from the mule septum. "Good boy," he stated.
"I love having the bit in my slave mouth, but I am going to have to remove it for my slave to eat." With that, he removed the bit, and this slave exercised its jaw muscles to loosen them up. It stuck out its tongue and moved it around, too, feeling freedom of movement again.
"How's my slave doing?" he then asked. He hadn't ordered this slave to begin using human speech again, so this slave simply grunted an affirmative. Master understood. "Good," was his return.
Master's hand seemed to look for a place to be, and it landed on handle of the cane hanging at his waist. After a few moments, he detached his cane from its holder and let his slave look at it. "Yeah, this is good for my slave, isn't it?" He didn't expect an answer. He guided the cane softly against his slave back, a loving caress that his slave appreciated. "Such a good faggot." Then, suddenly, he said "Get on all fours," and this slave, without hesitation, as it had been trained, took the position ordered yet still looked at him with all the love and respect it had to give. He released the cane from his hand and let it rest on his slave back.
It was a delicious moment, and this slave's cock got hard. Master gave no sign of noticing, but this slave is sure he did.
Master was in a good mood, as was his property. We usually enjoyed running Saturday errands.
Master lifted his right arm to pull his hand through his hair. He noticed his slave eyes look at his now exposed armpit, which was sweaty from all the walking. Master never used any underarm products.
This slave knew from experience that it could express its adoration of its Master, within reason, without any expressed permission. So, this slave placed its hand back on its Master's thigh and pulled its face up toward his pit, slowly, as Master expects no sudden free movements out of a slave.
He knew what his slave was about to do, so he kept his armpit completely accessible. "Come on. I know what it wants."
With that, this slave moved its face toward his hairy wet pit. As it did, he used his other arm to quickly take his cane back in hand so it wouldn't fall off his slave back. He then held the cane on his left thigh while the slave moved its slave face into his open and inviting armpit. Upon nearing his pit, this slave had inhaled deeply, glorying in the odor of the man who owns it. Such a delicious place for a slave to be. This slave began to lick, to slurp, to sniff and lick and slurp again. Master moved his left arm and let the business end of the cane tickle his slave back. This slave was in slave heaven until Master said, "Okay, faggot, that's enough."
This slave immediately pulled back from his pit, but before it returned to its previous position on the mat, brought its lips to Master's nipple where it protruded gently through his tank top. This slave kissed the nipple softly and returned to sitting on the mat. Master returned his cane to its holder at his waist. It was a beautiful sight. This slave was grunting slightly, as was natural.
"Did my slave like its appetizer?"
Again, this slave answered with a grunt in the affirmative.
"I know it did," he returned.
The waiter came and delivered Master his lunch, a large juicy burger. The waiter placed the slave dish at the edge of the table and left. "Thank you," Master said to the waiter. Then, to his slave, he said, "Position!" and this slave immediately got on its knees with its slave hands behind its back. Thus, it was facing its master in a full kneeling position. Master took clamps from his pocket and placed them on his slave pain nubs. They were powerful clamps, and this slave sure felt them. "Stay," he said began eating his lunch. This slave was to remain in its kneeling position for the duration of his meal, with the clamps hanging from the slave chest and doing their thing. While he ate, why shouldn't he put his slave in its proper place? This slave knew from experience that it was to show no sign of being in discomfort or even in pleasure while he ate. It was simply to remain there kneeling, silent, still and neutral, for the duration of his meal. When he found himself glancing at his slave, perhaps he the saw devotion in his slave eyes.
This slave loves the clamps, intense as they are, loves kneeling before him, loves being his.
Master sat quietly eating for perhaps 10 minutes. Then, a young woman came walking along the sidewalk and noticed my master sitting there eating lunch. "Matt!" she said with some joy. "Jenn! What are you doing here?" my master returned.
"Can I sit down?" she asked.
"Sure."
Master stood up somewhat, bent across the table, and gave the woman a soft kiss. This must be the woman he had recently begun dating.
After a bit of small talk, Jenn said, "I'm headed to have lunch with my mother, so I don't have much time." She looked down at the slave animal and exclaimed, "So, this is the slave you've been telling me about! It's kind of cute!"
"Yeah, I like it. Well, I love it actually. I love being its master. It feels good to be responsible for a slave, and to have my slave serve me, always. And this slave loves it. It's a good set up."
"What are those clamps for? Don't hey hurt it?'
"Sure, but my slave likes it. Watch. I'll make them hurt more, and my slave will be happy about it."
Master brought a hand to each faggot pain nub and released the clamps simultaneously. This slave almost gasped with the sensation it caused, but it only breathed deeply and relaxed into the feelings it was having. Master then switched the orientation of the clamps, of how they would squeeze each nub, and placed each back on. What an intense feeling for this slave! What a rush! Hard to take, but glorious. After a few moments, it smiled back at its master.
"See, it only makes the slave want to serve me more. It is just so naturally a slave it couldn't be anything else."
I barked a positive response. The woman was smiling.
"Do you want anything to drink?" Master asked her.
"No, I don't have that much time, but I can sit here till you're done with your lunch."
"Okay. Well, I'm just about done, but my slave still needs to eat."
"Oh, is this its food here?" She picked up the slave dish and handed it to my master. "What exactly is it?"
"It's the Slave Center's basic slave feed. It has all the nutrients a slave body needs. Very healthy stuff, a kind of a mush, and I'm sure it doesn't taste like much."
"And you haven't tasted it?"
"Me? Uh, no way!"
"But your slave doesn't mind the taste?" "No, not at all. A slave's job is to focus on its master, not on what it eats. Anything to serve its master. That's all a slave cares about. It'll eat whatever I give it."
Master set the slave dish on his end of the table. He then turned to his slave, still kneeling by the table. He reached out a hand and grabbed the chain that connected each pain nub. He pulled it taut, just enough to have his slave's full attention. "Isn't that right, slave? A faggot lives to serve its Master and doesn't care what it eats."
The slave gave two grunts in the affirmative, and master released the chain from his hand. Then he removed the clamps entirely and put them back in his pocket. The slave pain nubs were alive with sensations, and Jenn could tell.
"Wow, that's amazing," Jenn exclaimed.
Master turned in his seat, and it seems that was enough to reveal to Jenn that Master had a cane hanging at his waist. "Do you really need that?" she pointed.
"No, not really, but it is good for me, and for my slave. Watch."
Master stood up and ordered this slave on all fours. "Stay on all fours and put my tail end up proudly." This slave did so, jutting its new tail up as high as it could while still remaining on all fours. Master brought the cane down on the back of his slave thighs, one, two, three times, harder with each successive strike. He paused for some seconds, and then fired one more. This slave released itself, as always, into its master's power, authority, ownership.
"Now, turn toward Jenn and kneel."
It did so, and in moments it was kneeling toward Jenn, revealing a full erection.
"Oh, that's amusing!" she said.
"That's what a faggot is. My slave usually loves when I cane it. It helps it feel its slavery, and that's what it craves: slavery," my master explained. "After all, it surrendered itself voluntarily to the Slave Center.
"Oh, is that where you got it?"
"Yeah, my father bought it about a year before he died, and he left it to me."
"I see," Jenn stated. "Well, it sure seems like a happy faggot, and it looks like you take really good care of it. But, hey, Matt, I've got to get going. So, bye for now," she said as she began to stand up. "I'll see you tonight."
They said their goodbyes, kissed lightly and then off she went.
Master looked down at his slave and seemed to notice the welts on his slave thighs. He said, "My slave always looks better with a caning. Maybe I should do it more often."
Master took the last drink of his soda and then gave his slave a large drink from the water bottle he carried on these journeys just for that purpose. "Drink up," he said, "My pack mule needs plenty of water. It's got a load to carry home."
When he had determined his pack mule had had enough water, he put the bottle back in its holder at his left hip and then patted his mule on the head. "Glad my slave got to meet Jenn. I like her." He looked over to where the slave dish rested and said, "It's time for my slave to have lunch."
Part Four
Disclaimer: This is a story of erotic fiction containing fantasy descriptions of Male-male slavery, which may include sexual acts, BDSM and nudity. It is a intended for adults only. You must be of legal adult age to read this work. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Master reached for the slave dish, took off the thin cardboard cover and lowered the pie tin like dish to the cement, right in front of the mat upon which his slave was kneeling. "Dig in, faggot."
And so it did. It ate the lukewarm mush like a good animal, as if getting the food down was all-important. It didn't taste like much, but it felt good to eat for Master. To nourish the body that serves Master, that's reason the faggot eats.
"A little more water to wash it down," Master stated, and he gave this slave another drink from his bottle before firmly placing his mule bit back where it belongs, quite tightly, it seemed to this slave. His mule appreciated it.
Master stood up from his dining table, having already paid the bill, and told his slave to hold its position on all fours. Then, he did something he had never down before. With his left hand he lifted his new mule tail high above the small of his slave back, revealing the butt plug portion of the tail as well as the bare assed bottom of the mule. He gave a little tug on the tail just to jostle to the plug in his slave. He knew his faggot would like. Master is so kind. Then, he again unsnapped the cane he keeps at his waist. He flicked it a couple times and then landed a hard shot right on his slave ass, sending a line of fire across both buns, on the tender area just below the slave asshole and plug. "Good slave," he said calmly. "Good slave."
He flicked the cane harmlessly through the air again, and then struck his mule ass again, and again. Then another. He took a brief pause and struck the fifth and hardest blow. This slave retained its position on all fours, but barely. "Good pack mule." He must have taken a moment to admire the marks he left on his slave ass, for he soon added, "I love red stripes on my slave. They make me feel good."
He rested a moment and then began, "Now, my animal has a couple miles to walk with a fairly heavy load, so I am going to provide it one more strike, to keep my slave right and focused on what I need. Here it comes." He paused only momentarily, and then he struck the hardest blow yet, and wow was it intense, full on across both butt cheeks, below the base of his mule tail.
He guided his slave through its current sensations, "Let my animal live freely. No holding back. I own it all."
Again, he waited for a bit, seemingly just taking in a pleasant moment.
"Kneel," he then ordered, and this slave did. It was breathing heavily through the bit and long gone in animal headspace, or whatever one calls. This was a pack mule and nothing more.
Master began placing the mule pack back where it belongs. He seemed comfortable with and adept at placing all the straps where they need to be. The slave snorted. The caning had helped release its inner animal. Master sure knew how to care for his slave.
He then stepped in front of his mule and brought the clip of his leash up to his mule snout. He clipped it in place, and with his hand holding the leash up close to his mule face, he gave a gentle upward tug and said, "Rise." And his slave rose, with some help from Master pulling up on the leash, all the way to being back on the heights of the hoof boots.
As it stood for the first time in about 30 minutes or so, and even though it was in a complete animal mind space, this slave noticed, as it glanced around, the setting it was in. Master held his slave by a leash through its slave nose. It was totally hairless and naked all over, except for the slave accoutrements. It's animal cock was fully erect, and there it stood in front of a sidewalk cafe, having just eaten as an animal, having just been briefly caned on the ass with a half dozen good strokes of Master's authority, with pedestrians passing by, as well as cars, and with some diners admiring the view of a well-trained pack mule.
Master made sure his pack mule had a sense of balance and then said, "Move." And so we began the walk home.
Master walked along for a block and then turned the corner toward his home. This slave then realized that Master was, after eating in a new place, taking a different route home. His pack mule didn't care, of course, but as he neared the boulevard that Master needed to cross in order to get home, this slave saw the store sign for where its real life began: The Slave Center. It was exactly at this location that this slave, previously a free person, accepted itself and surrendered to its slavery.
As we neared the boulevard, a man came up and seemed to walk alongside Master for a moment before saying, "Hey, you're Matt, aren't you? How're you doing? Wow, we haven't seen each other since college!"
My master stopped walking and responded in a friendly fashion, "Hey, it's Peter, right?"
"Yeah, yeah! Cool, you remember. Nice slave you've got there!"
"Thanks. It was my dad's, but I inherited it when he died a few years ago."
"Oh, sorry to hear that, but glad you've got yourself a nice young slave. You should be able to have service out of this faggot for basically your whole life!"
"Yeah, and I love owning it! It's a good faggot."
"Are you headed to The Slave Center?"
"No, I live just a couple miles from here. I'm heading home now."
"Cool. I work at The Slave Center. I'm training to be a Slave Trainer someday. Did you ever take a class at The Slave Center?"
"Yeah, when my dad was alive he wouldn't let me handle this slave without first taking some workshops. Then, when he had cancer, he told me he'd leave this slave to me but that I had to take more classes."
"Wow, that's great! That's a wise dad. What classes did you take?"
"It was one of those short series of workshops The Slave Center offers. It was called something like, "The Care and Handling of a True Faggot."
"Oh, yeah, I know one of the Masters teaching that now. It's a good series."
"It worked for me. I learned a lot."
Peter stepped behind Master's pack mule and noticed the cane marks, the welts, across the pack mule ass. "These are fresh. Have you had some problems with your faggot today?"
"No, no, not at all. I just use basic discipline techniques. They really keep the slave going. It likes getting caned, and I prefer to cane my slave when it is especially good, to let it know it earned it and that I am happy with it. It's a positive reinforcement. My faggot always gets hard with a good caning," Master chuckled.
"I believe it. Look at it now!"
This slave had a full on mule erection, though this mule itself had not even been aware of it until the men mentioned it. Its erections generally mattered to no one.
Now at the front side of this slave, Peter noticed the tattoo work at the slave pubic area. Where there would be pubic hair on a man, there were words in a simple half circular design tattooed there: "Serve, honor, obey" the tattoo proclaimed, with "obey" being the largest and most prominent word, placed at the diameter forming the bottom of a half circle just above the base of the slave cock. It's the official faggot motto of The Slave Center, the proper motto for any faggot, some people say.
"Wow, that's cool! So, you're a supporter of The Slave Center! Good to know. That tattoo says it all, doesn't it! Well, hey, Matt. It was great running into you, but I've got to get to work. I'm participating in a Mastery class right after my shift, too. I've got to run."
"Okay, well, see you around."
But before rushing away, Peter added, "Hey, you know The Slave Center is always looking for Masters willing to give demonstrations in their Mastery-slavery classes. Maybe you should think about bringing in your faggot and giving a guest presentation."
"Hmm. Never thought about that. Maybe."
Peter took my Master's phone number, then the two men parted ways. Master resumed his walk home, with his pack mule in tow.
Being a mule, this slave didn't really think about how much a walk it had ahead of it, but in retrospect it figured it was more than two miles, perhaps two and half miles. Master held it by the leash attached through the pack mule septum and walked almost casually, like he was in no hurry to get home. He sure seems to like running his Saturday morning errands with his pack mule.
We came to the big boulevard as the light changed to red. So, this slave stood there waiting as traffic went by. A few pedestrians crossed the street on the opposite light, taking no notice of Master and his pack mule. One man, however, said, "Nice mule, dude," and kept walking.
Before the light turned green, Master said something softly and stunning, something he had never said before. He almost whispered in his slave ear: "This is your life, my slave. For decades to come." Master may have wondered if that felt gratifying to his slave. It did.
His pack mule walked all the way home with a kind of bounce in its step. When he came to his house, Master led his pack mule through the gate leading to his backyard. He entered his house using the sliding glass door to the kitchen. He pulled his mule in with him and said, "Kneel, faggot." This slave did so, its knees resting upon the kitchen throw rug. "Such a good pack mule," he added, kind of affectionately, like one talks to a pet dog. Then, he quietly removed the mule pack from his slave back and placed it on the kitchen floor. Then he removed the bit in his slave mouth but left his leash clipped through his slave septum. He retrieved the slave water bottle, the one he keeps on his kitchen counter, the one with the big nipple, placed it in his slave mouth for a long and needed drink before saying, "Put my stuff away, slave." He was standing right in front of his slave, so this slave followed its impulse and reached its slave face out to his free hand and kissed it, lovingly, respectfully. He didn't say anything in response, but this slave had a sense that he noted it and liked it.
This slave, with the 6 foot leash trailing from its nose, put away all of Master's groceries, but it put his Home Depot purchases on his kitchen table. This slave knew it was not allowed anywhere except on his tiled kitchen floor when it was a dirty mule.
Master went to some other room in his house while his slave put all his purchases away. When he returned, in about 20 minutes or so, he was wearing only his swim trunks and carrying some print reading material. Whenever he was outside on his patio, he preferred to read printed material rather than material on a screen. Once he was back in his kitchen, he grabbed a beverage from his refrigerator but didn't open it.
"Finished, faggot?" He looked into the mule pack, saw that it was empty, folded it and put it away. "Stable," was all he said as he went out onto his patio. His mule followed. He stood near the hitching post just outside his small stable, and his mule went to be with him. He took the leash draping from his mule snout and wrapped much of it around the hitching post. He knelt on one knee and began to remove the pack mule boots. It was now a strange feeling for this slave to stand on both feet without those boots. He then removed the leash from the hitching post and led his slave into the stable. Once he had his slave in the stable, he ordered it onto all fours. His slave obeyed as his right hand grabbed the base of the mule tail up his slave ass. "Yeah, I like this tail. It suits my slave fine."
He seemed to fondle the tail lovingly and even jiggled the plug playfully. He knows how to give his faggot pleasure.
"Yeah, I like it, but it is time to come out." He applied some pressure, but the plug was not about to pop out too easily. "Give it to me, slave," he ordered. This slave relaxed and then expelled the plug. "Good faggot," he noted as he took the plug and tail to his wash room just off from the kitchen. His slave felt empty.
"We're going to enjoy the afternoon sun, slave." So, just in its permanent slave collar and various restraints, along with the leash still trailing from its septum, this slave followed Master from his stable back to his patio.
It was a beautiful early Saturday afternoon. Master took to his favorite lounge chair, set his reading material and drink on the patio table, and ordered his slave down on the slave mat he kept next to his lounge chair. Next to the mat was a slave water bowl, just like a dog's. He had filled it with water before he went on his errands. This slave knew it could drink from it as needed.
"Ah," he let out, "such a great day, faggot." He lifted both of his arms up. This slave didn't need to wait for an order for this, so it buried its face first in one pit and then the other, soaking up his goodness. "Yeah, enjoy your master, slave. I know it does. Good slave."
"Okay, I am going to relax for a while. My slave will serve me now by reading this. I have the latest Slave Center Journal. Look at the cover!"
This slave did. The lead story of this month's journal was entitled: A Good Faggot Always.
"I've already read it, faggot. It discusses a lot of ways a faggot can be good for its owner. I agree with pretty much all the ways the article lists. A lot are pretty general, like: serve, honor, obey... and worship. But some of the things are more specific, as in precise ways to serve and various ways to demonstrate its worship. So, read it, faggot. I want it to learn that there are ways to improve itself, that there are more ways to serve me, and that it can always be better property. So, read and learn, faggot, for me. There is still more to achieve in complete slavery."
"Master, yes, Master," this slave said as it received the magazine from his hand. He then took his own reading material, opened it, and began to read while his slave relaxed on the slave mat, laying on its slave back, shaking out its slave legs and arms, loosening its slave muscles after a pack mule day. This slave took a deep breath, noticing the great weather and Master's pleasant little suburban lawn and garden, as well as how nice it was to be on the patio with its master. Then this slave settled down and began to read the article.
We were home.