Stories of The Slave Center The Nation's Leading Retailer of Trained Faggots _______________________
Master and His Pack Mule Part Thirteen
By slave 7
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.
Lunch was just ending. The majority of slaves had all been lined up and had eaten like animals from bowls laid out before them. We, the flag-bearing slaves, were still hitched, en masse, to a post, fortunately in the shade. We were sweaty, hungry, thirsty, and tired, but we, or at least I, felt great.
I had put my body (or, actually, it is Master's Aidan's body) to obedient use for several hours already. Now, I was relaxing and breathing in relative calm. My asshole was accommodating the butt plug tail just fine. I think I would have missed it if it were to be taken out. I felt the calm that one feels after putting forth some serious physical exertion in addition to the calm of a mind well at ease. I don't know how. I can't tell you why. But I just felt good.
No matter how we like to say that everything a slave does is for its Master, the reality is that much of what a slave does is for itself, for much of what a slave does makes the slave feel wonderful. And feeling wonderful is what the slave seeks. That's just the way it works. Pure selfishness, but the key word is "pure". Pure service, pure joy, pure slavery.
The master gets services and profits that please him, and the master feels good inside as a man able to live in mastery, but a slave feels the joy, comfort, bliss, purity, calm and worship that result from living its natural life, its destiny, as the property of an appropriate man. That's what the slave does it for, to find its place and its peace, its connection within the universe, its fulfillment. A solid connection develops between a slave and a good Man, and that connection is totally symbiotic and beautiful, with no one being forced into any place or any role. Real Slavery is not about force. It's about deep and healthy self-acceptance and human connection.
An essential question, then, that some may forget to ask is: how pure is the master?
Master Aidan sure felt pure to me. He is not a big man, but his modest height didn't matter. The modest size of his dick didn't matter. His soft demeanor didn't make him weak, but rather it revealed a calm strength. His naturalness matters. His emotional stability matters. His firm expectations, which seem to magically flow out of him and to his slaves, matter. His acceptance of the tremendous responsibility of caring for slaves matters. His thorough ability to provide what faggots need matters. His ability to enslave them, and thereby fulfill his own purpose in life as well as of his faggots, matters. Master Aidan matters.
This slave was actually thinking all this when lunch time was announced for the flag-bearing slaves.
I was expecting to eat from a dish on the ground, as the other slaves had, but what actually happened was that the flag-bearing slaves were lined up in a standing position. Then, our overseers stood before us, removed our bits, and placed a kind of nutrition bar in each of our mouths. "Chew it up good and swallow," I was told. "That's it. Chew and swallow." The bar didn't taste like much of anything. It wasn't exactly dry, but it wasn't exactly moist. "All the nutrition a labor-slave needs."
When the overseers were finished feeding us, they led us to the edge of a shade structure. The roof had a row of inverted bottles hanging from its edge. The overseers lined us slaves up so that we each had a bottle to drink from, to suck from. "Drink down every drop, slaves." I'd guess the bottle held about a liter. I was informed later, by another slave, that the liquid was more than just water, as it was infused with electrolytes and some vitamins. It didn't taste any different than water, though.
So, the actual feeding and watering of the flag-bearing slaves was a quick affair. Mostly, we rested while all the ranch overseers and other slaves ate, and then we were done with our meal in about 5 minutes. Very efficient, I suppose.
I was actually relieved when an Overseer Master put the bit back into my mouth. I was already craving that long tongue plate that dipped down at the opening of my throat. "That's it faggot. I know you like it," said the Overseer Master, who probably sensed the relief I was feeling as he secured the bit back in place.
All morning I had been hooked up to a small flat bed wagon loaded with tools, supplies and drinking water. It had been my task to pull the wagon all over the ranch, to wherever men and slaves were stationed, so that they could have any supplies they may need. I was often left alone, unattended by an overseer, as I was never out of sight and my task was quite clear. And everywhere I went Master Aidan's flag, sticking up out of my cock, let my way, waving with pride. I was certainly beginning to feel some pride and satisfaction in my obedience.
For the afternoon and early evening I was put to a different type of labor. On the south side of the property, Master Aidan was putting in a rock wall. I had built a garden retaining wall once before, and the formed bricks for this wall were similar to those used in the retaining wall I had built. The blocks were large and heavy and nice to look at. Master Aidan has good taste, I thought to myself. Anyway, my task was to move the blocks from where they lay in storage to the place where the slaves building the wall could use them.
The Overseer Masters ordered one other flag-bearing slave and myself to a flatbed wagon. He hooked us up to it like mules and led us over to where the blocks were stacked on their pallets. I noted the sturdiness of the wagon we were pulling and felt how much of a pack mule I was now becoming. Being who and what you naturally are, if you should ever be so lucky as to experience that, can be glorious. I snorted behind my bit, shook my head, and yearned to pull the wagon for my Overseer Master.
As soon as we brought the wagon to rest near the pallets, the work-slaves began loading it with the bricks. We, as mules, could only wait silently. We couldn't see whether the work-slaves had finished loading the stones, and to get our attention and inform us that it was time to move on, our Overseer Master flicked his small whip across our backs. We got the message and began to pull. We soon realized that it would take us quite an effort to pull our heavy load, but we born down and got the wagon moving.
"That's it, mules. You know what you're good for," encouraged our Overseer Master. So, there we were, naked and harnessed to the cart, cocks upright with Master Aiden's flag a-waving. It felt good to be outside and put to be put to good use.
All afternoon and into the early evening we worked, pulled and slaved, with the flag of our Master waving from our cocks. My body huffed and ached, but in a way that felt satisfying. I felt a sense of pride in serving Master Aidan and his overseers well. I felt useful. I felt in my element. I felt myself, totally, unabashedly, unashamedly, truthfully, purely. I felt ME, alive and happy, like this is what I was born to do, who I was born to be.
What I did not know was that I was being closely monitored and that tabs were being kept on my slave performance. I learned later that Master Aidan's view is that slaves can be pushed to labor but that it is far more effective to allow a slave to fail, as the slave will, as a result, gain in motivation to succeed, honor more its desire to meet its Master's labor standards. It is better to have the slave want to succeed in its work-production rather than have the Master attempt to extract that production with overactive overseers with whips. A push from inside is better than a push from outside.
Master Aidan has a monitoring system to see how much benefit each of his slaves generates based on the workload ordered per day. He and his Overseer Masters set expected daily targets for each slave to hit, and they check to see if each slave hit that target or fails to hit it. Each slave is informed of any substandard performance and of the need to improve and hit all of its production targets. The unsatisfactory slave, whether punished or not, feels internally motivated by the internal carrot of emotions, of wanting to be a good and admirable slave, of wanting to serve its Master well, of wanting to be a good slave. A successful slave gets absolutely no reward for performing at expected standards, other than the satisfaction that comes from knowing it served its master well. A slave does, after all, have its pride and its desire to retain its place of security, safety, peace and warmth within its Master's purvey.
But, as I stated, I knew nothing of this while working in slavery on my first day on Master Aidan's ranch.
After my day of being what I thought was a hard-working slave for Master Aidan, and about half an hour after being fed dinner, I was led into the slave barn and to an area in the back corner. I didn't notice a small red tab near the gate leading into this small partitioned area that signifies, I later learned, that a slave's productivity targets for the day had not been met. I did notice, though, that I seemed to be isolated with only a few other slaves, including the slave that I had been hitched to a wagon with all afternoon and early evening. As we were all tightly gagged, we could not speak with each other. But Master Aidan's flag had been removed, as had the plug up our butts. My whole body was free, in a manner of speaking, except for the restraints still around my wrists and ankles, in addition to the gag in my mouth. The gag was not the same one I had worn all day, the one that had a tongue plate that reached way back to my throat, but it did have a tongue plate that made it impossible for me to utter a word. Mules are mute animals, it seems.
I soon saw Master Aidan in the barn, speaking amiably with his Overseer Masters. He spent some time speaking with various Overseers, slowly making his way to the area of the barn where I was being held. The closer he got to where I was penned, the more excited I became. My cock was hard, and I wasn't sure why. I was happy to see Master Aidan, and I felt a desire to serve Him, not sexually, but actually serve Him, in all ways possible. My hip were actually moving in a humping kind of manner, so happy was I that Master Aidan was near.
Master Aidan was in conversation with the Overseer Master who had supervised me all afternoon and evening. Seemingly satisfied with whatever they spoke about, Master Aidan approached the area in which I was kept, and, to my surprise, he motioned for me to come to him. Of course, I immediately did so, with my hard cock leading the way, my hands behind my back, my mouth gagged with the bit now in it. When I neared him, Master Aidan stated, "Come with me, slave. There's something you need to experience."
He took me over to near the stockades and pillories. "Kneel," he simply said. I did so, about a meter in front of him, my cock jutting up. Both Overseer Masters who had worked with me during the day came to Master Aidan's sides. While looking me squarely in the face, he asked, "Master John, did this slave meet its production targets for you today?"
"No, Master Aidan, it did not," came Master John's quick reply.
I was crushed, shocked. My jaw would have dropped if it were free to do so.
"Master Miguel, did this slave meets its production targets for you today?"
"No, Master Aidan, it did not," came Master Miguel's ready reply.
"Thank you," Master Aidan addressed both of His Overseer Masters. "Take your positions."
Both Masters John and Miguel moved somewhere behind me, and Master Aidan ordered me to stand up and move to a particular stockade a few meters away. Once I was there, "In," was all he said, softly but with his masterly authority.
"Master, yes, Master," I said, as I had been trained to do.
Upon placing my neck, wrists and ankles in their required places, both Master John and Master Miguel reappeared and locked me into my place.
Master Aidan pulled up a stool and sat in front of me, his face about level with His slave's. Then the whipping began. "So, slave, you failed today, and I expect better, for your own sake and for mine."
"Master, sorry Master!" I replied.
"Don't apologize to me. Don't ever apologize to me. Just fix the problem," Master Aidan retorted.
The whip strikes kept coming down on my back, and also my ass and the back side of my thighs. I was gasping, trying to breathe, yet keeping my attention focused on Master Aidan as best I could.
Sensing the struggle I was having, Master Aidan stated, "Just relax and keep your eyes on mine. The whips are mine, as are the physical sensations they are creating in my property's body. It's all mine, so let it be mine. Focus and Me and let it all happen."
He allowed me time to let this happen, then he continued, "That's right. Just relax and focus on the Man who owns you for the weekend. Everything is better when you do that, for me and for My slave. Let us both be who we are. Let us both feel how wonderful this is for both of us."
After a few minutes of silence, with the whips still striking, not super hard, but hard enough. The sensations on my body were intense, but also kind of warm and wonderful, a mix of too much and just the right amount. I was feeling something release within my body, and my spirit.
"Why did you fail today, my slave?" Master Aidan asked.
"Master, because it didn't work hard enough, Master," I answered, with a question in my voice.
"Well, yes, but how did that happen, slave?"
"Master, because the slave didn't know it had to work harder, Master."
"Really? Is that the reason. I don't think so. Think again. Why did my slave fail to met its production targets today?"
I was a bit confused, even dumbfounded, and wanted to say so, but then the answer began to rise within me. "Master, because I wasn't focused enough, Master."
The whips kept striking my body, sometimes with great strength, sometimes softly, almost lovingly.
"There you go, faggot. Focus. Always remembering what you are. Always remembering who you serve. Always knowing that service is what you are, what you were born to provide, what you need to give, for yourself as much as for me."
"Master, yes, Master! Thank You, Master."
"Serving is what you need. Serving is what satisfies you, deeply. It is what gives you purpose. Service is how you express love and the deepest part of who you are. Is that right?"
"Master, yes, Master. Yes!" "Therefore, constant focus is what I expect. Constant focus and constant labor at a proper pace with the proper energy. That is what I want. Is that what you want?"
"Master, yes, Master!" I really felt the truth of this. I felt a deeper and stronger yearning than I had ever felt in my life. It was sense I hadn't known was possible, a deep desire to live completely for my Master, to do nothing but serve Him, to be nothing else but a property that serves Him as He orders.
"Good. I thought so. I know so. Now, tomorrow, slave, you're going to move its body harder. You're going to push it harder. I need my slave body to serve me to my satisfaction, as I know it can do, and the slave's only job and only concern is to ensure that that happens for Me, that I get what I want out of the body that I own." He paused briefly and kept his eyes boring into mine. "I don't care if you're tired, and I don't care what you may want to do other than work for me. A good slave only wants what its Master wants. And what I want is that tomorrow you meet the target goals I set out for you. I'll make sure my overseers help you do that. Then, we can call it a successful day, and I'll be happy, and so will you. You'll experience service-satisfaction, a slave's best possible feeling. Service satisfaction. For a slave, there's no better feeling in life. To know it served well, that it fulfilled its orders, that it obeyed its master and pleased him, that is what a slave wants and needs."
"Master, yes, Master. Thank You, Master. Service satisfaction. Please, Master. Help it get service satisfaction, Master."
"I am helping you, slave. I am pointing out to you that Master and slave want the same thing. It is not my job to do his job for him. You do it. You reach Service Satisfaction. And then, I know, you will thank me for it."
The whips landing on my backside were coming less and less. Finally, Master Aidan, as he came to standing position, said, "Slave, tomorrow you will focus, you will reach Service Satisfaction, and you will be happy. And you will thank me." "Master, yes, Master. Thank You, Master," I said through the drool dripping profusely from my slave mouth.
That night, I slept well, though my head and heart were full of thoughts, feelings and yearnings.
The next day, though the work was similar to what it had been the previous day, I somehow felt a natural focus on my labors and much less focus on myself and how I might be feeling or of what I might be thinking. I just was, in the moment, very much a slave, living purely and simply as what felt to be the purest form of myself. A property. A creature. A servant. A man that wasn't exactly a man. I like being owned. I like having expectations, even demands, put upon me such that I serve Men properly, to their satisfaction and pleasure. I became more convinced than ever that a slave is who and what I am, through and through.
The next evening I was not put in the holding pen with the red tag. When Master Aidan came to me, I was still locked into a stockade and, this time around, paddled. Master Aidan squatted before me and waited. He didn't have to wait long.
"Master, thank you, Master. Thank You, Master. Lord, thank You very much, Master. I feel it, Master. I feel it!"
"That's right. Of course you do. And it's good, isn't it, my slave? Slaves are proud of their service, too. Is this slave proud?"
"Master, yes, Master, yes, Master, yes, Master!"
"Good slave. Let Me see how proud you are." Master Aidan locked toward my crotch. What he saw was the biggest hard on I could possibly have, which I began to thrust out toward Him to show my happiness. "That's it. Excellent! That's what I expect, slave," he said. "What's a fine faggot?"
I knew that answer to his question, from practice over my years in slavery: "One that serves properly, in slavery, constantly, Master, and feels gratitude for the opportunity to do so, Master."
"Good boy," was all Master Aidan said, with a pleasant smile on His face. But then the paddling stopped and Master Aidan walked away. I was left with a very warm ass and a mind and heart at peace.
I had been educated. Nay, I had been led to more truths about my inner self. To wit, I learned that Service Satisfaction is a slave's main source of happiness, that Service Satisfaction is the greatest feeling a slave can have.
How many in this world know what their purpose is in life? Not many, I'd wager. And yet I knew mine.
"All I am doing is giving you an opportunity to live your purpose," I had heard Master Aidan say to another slave on the day I arrived on His ranch. "So live your purpose and serve. It's a good life, a happy life, to live one's purpose, one's authentic life, one's duty, one's responsibility, one's love, one's happiness, one's reason for living, one's everything.
I slept well that night, and looked forward to living.