Master Paulus - Part 5 A Gathering Storm (or, if you like) A Basic Mind Fuck
By: Christian Xavier Gartrip
(christianxgartrip@gmail.com)
So for those of you who have been following my saga, and for those of you just joining us, what have we learned, exactly, about "our narrator" (me) thus far? Well, here's what we know. I, Christian (or Chris, as so many of you have taken to calling me in your emails), a simple 40 year old white guy, got a little brave one weekend and finally decided to scratch that proverbial itch known in the South as "The Fantasy." You know the one: white guy wants to suck a black cock just to see what he's been missing out on all these years but only if said black cock is attached to a black man who resembles a certain Hollywood actor or professional athlete. It's the gay man's version of a straight man's Brad or Tom or George 'man-crush': "I'm all man and I live to fuck pussy, but if I have to suck a cock, I'd want it to be Brad's." Whatever.
Well, our narrator (me again) got "kidnapped" by the hot black man, not once but twice, then used, then abused, and then "given" to a couple of thugs in a rundown dive on the outskirts of town ONLY to be rescued at the last minute by an aging do-gooder (and budding sadist) of a motel manager. At some point along the way, even I don't really know when, our hero (still me) discovers that he kind of likes being a plaything for rough trade and has an epiphany of Shakespearean proportion in which he actually begs the aging do-gooder to consider keeping him as his own personal sex slave. Yep, that's pretty much it thus far.
After a number of bizarre adventures and tragically painful training sessions, the hero is still unshaken in his resolve to be everything his Master demands him to be. He fails, he makes horrible mistakes, he forgets things, he endures much, but he still keeps coming back for more. He will not give up. Now living in a state of existence best described as somewhere between "willing-masochist" and "unwilling-torture-victim," he has been forced (yet again) to think more seriously about the questions "who am I" and "what do I want to be". As of yet, he can't honestly answer either one. Maybe that's because he has too many options in his life, and he just doesn't realize it yet. Maybe he hasn't really been in the position of having to make an actual decision. Maybe that will soon change.
After my disappointing performance as the Grand Prize at Master's poker tournament, I went home, licked my wounds (literally, if you know what I mean) and promised to do better next time. For all intents and purposes, I lived up to my own expectations. For the next two consecutive weekends, I was the perfect slave to my perfect Master. I did EVERYTHING he asked of me. Yes, I even managed to shit every time he barked the order (no easy task!). Life was grand.
So why am I rehashing all of this again? Because it's all about to come back into our story, completely redefined. I just wanted to remind you of it and to point out just how relevant past events could sometimes be. Also, have you ever heard of the "Butterfly Effect"? It's a philosophical concept that basically says that even something as innocuous as a butterfly flapping its wings can ultimately cause death and destruction on the other side of the world. Basically, it's a chain-of-events kind of thing. Yeah, well, it works. Let me explain.
I got a new boss at work. A Vice President who is actually a wonderful lady... let's call her Judy. Judy loves her job and loves her students and loves the administrators who work for her, myself included. So to express just how much love she has for us, she threw the entire staff a very festive surprise party just as the clock struck 5pm on the last Friday in October. And it wasn't optional. Yep, I know what you're thinking: "Oh dear, what about the Master?" What, indeed. What, indeed.
So here we go.
It was raining and it was cold. That much I remember. It wasn't JUST raining; it was REALLY raining. No lightning, just thick endless sheets of cold rain, the kind that cause flash floods from overflowing creek beds and ten car pile-ups on the interstate. So even though I was over THREE HOURS LATE, I drove safely and pulled into the motel parking lot at 9:15. I assumed that Master would understand, give me a firm whipping to punish me, and then fuck the living daylights out of me as he had done numerous times the previous two weekends. Not exactly.
As I drove my car to my usual space, Master jumped out from behind a van parked near the office and rushed my car. He ripped open my door and pulled me out of my seat and literally hurled me onto the flooded pavement. I barely had time to pull up the emergency break. Fortunately no one was seriously hurt. Funny thing was, all I could think about was how fucked up my wool trousers, suede shoes, cashmere sweater, and silk tie were going to be after being tossed into the muddy water like that.
Master grabbed the silk tie and jerked me to my feet and then proceeded to run us through the parking lot to the back corner where a couple of semi tractor trailer cabs were quietly parked. By the time we arrived at our destination, I was soaking wet all the way through to the skin, and despite my woolly wardrobe, I was freezing cold. That's when things got really bad. Master hadn't even opened his mouth. His silence told me all I needed to know.
Master pushed me hard up against the tall silver grill of one of the rigs and whipped out two sets of handcuffs. Not the leather cuffs with chains attached that we normally use; these were real handcuffs, the kind that cops use on bank robbers and rapists. The kind that leaves marks and scabs. These I'd never seen before.
In a matter of seconds, I was spread eagle in a "frisking" position and chained to the front of the truck, completely drenched and shivering. Master reached around and unbuckled my belt and unfastened my wool slacks and pulled them down to my ankles. He then took my white briefs into his fists and ripped at them until they were in four or five pieces and floating in the two inches of water puddling at my feet. Pissed is not the word.
I waited for something to happen. Nothing. I looked over my shoulder and Master was running across the parking lot to room 12, our room. I could see my abandoned car as well. It was still running, door open, and the headlights were casting an awful lot of light in my direction. I was on stage.
Master came bounding out of the room with something long and slender in his hand. He ran to my car and drove it down to my end of the parking lot. He stopped about 30 feet from where I stood, but left the engine running and the headlights on.
He jumped out of my car and climbed into the cab of the truck then honked the familiar horn several times. He then climbed down and came up behind me. That's when I felt it: the crop. He had grabbed the crop.
Master didn't bother giving me any "warm ups" as he often does. He just tore into my backside at full strength with the very first stroke. "SHLAAAP!" The slim razor-like form of the crop ripped into my cold wet flesh like a nuclear bomb exploding in Alaska.
"SHLAAAP! SHLAAAP! SHLAAAP!" I arched my back in a failed attempt to escape him, if only for a second. He showed me absolutely no mercy. None.
"SHLAAAP! SHLAAAP! SHLAAAP!"
"Paulus? Paulus? What the fuck... PAULUS!" I heard the husky voice from a distance growing louder as it approached.
"SHLAAAP! SHLAAAP! SHLAAAP!" Master ran up behind me as the voice approached. "Here comes your new MASSA! You'll like him. He's a fuckin' sociopath. Just what you need faggot. Just what you need... been nice knowin' ya."
"Paulus! What the fuck are you doing, man... who IS that? That's my fuckin' truck! PAULUS WHO IS THAT!?"
"He's whatever you want him to be, Bill... He's ALL YOURS! Here, have at it!" Master tossed Bill the crop and the key ring and walked away.
"PAULUS! COME BACK HERE! PAULUS!"
"Look BillyBoy. I'm giving you your very own faggot. HE'S ALL YOURS! Got it? HE'S ALL YOURS! I don't give a fuck what you DO with him. You can FUCK him. You can WHIP the life out of him. You can DUMP him on the side of the road. Just get that FAGGOT off of my property. And you can consider your bill PAID IN FULL for the week. I done told you before that I don't tolerate fightin' here. You and Glen been beating up on that African kid again for kicks, and if I see you around here again I'll fuckin' shoot you myself. Now pack your goddamn rigs and get the FUCK outta here!"
"You got some fuckin nerve Paulus telling me what's right and what's wrong. SOME FUCKIN NERVE. You're out here runnin' some sick whorehouse for lettuce pickers and now you're out here in the freezing rain horsewhippin faggots tied to my rig in the parking lot goddamnt!!"
"GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!!!" Master jumped into his own car and sped out of the parking lot.
Well! There I stood. Half naked, freezing, soaking wet, and probably bleeding to death while chained to the front of Bill's rig on a Friday night in North Carolina. Ain't I something!
"Whadya do boy? Piss off the old crazy black man? Huh? Did you not like the bra and panty set he gives you for your birthday?" "ANSWER ME YOU FILTHY COCKSUCKER." Bill grabbed a wad of my whipped red ass and leaned in close as he spoke, exhaling with a fierce stench of breath in the process.
"I was late. That's all. I was late!"
"HA! Late? And 'cause you was late, I get to play Master for a while? Damn, Chris'mas done come early, huh?"
"Please, I just need to go home. I'm not feeling very well."
"Yeah right, I'll bet. I seen you parading around this place in your little dog collar and your slop pail. I know what you are. I seen it up close. Through that winder. Some sick shit right in there. I might just have me some fun after all. Now you wait right there little lady, I'm just gonna go get cleaned up and then you me and Glen we'll be on our way. Now, don't go anywhere, you here?"
Bill laughed loudly all the way to his room. I stood against that truck in the cold heavy rain for almost half an hour before old Bill and his partner Glen finally came out with their bags.
"Sheeiitt" said the new voice that turned out to be Glen's.
"I told you. Paulus fuckin' lost it this time. He's damn lucky someone didn't call the cops on him again. Damn lucky." Bill seemed to know a lot about Paulus. And did he say "again?"
"So now what? I mean, what do you propose we DO with this guy? Let him go?" Glen seemed to be the logical one of the pair.
"Let him GO? Hell no we ain't lettin' him go. He's a gift from Paulus. Might as well have a little fun first before we hand him off later. Hand me that stick." Bill is referring to Master's crop. "I'll show ya."
Bill stood close behind me and started slapping my ass for fun. He got really into it pretty quickly. He didn't hit me like Master hits. But he was having a very good time doing it.
"See, he kinda likes it. Take off your belt. Give his backside a good whallop."
Surprisingly, Glen didn't hesitate. He pulled off his belt and started whipping my thighs with enthusiasm. As he got more and more into it, I braced myself against the truck and tried hard not to scream or squirm. The old training was starting to show, I guess.
"SCHMACK SCHMACK SCHMACK SCHMACK SCHMACK SCHMACK!"
Glen had a really good time, too.
So I don't know a whole lot about truckers. Not my scene. From what I could tell, Glen and Bill each had a rig, but neither one was pulling a load at that moment. They were on their way to some other part of the country to pick up freight and then drive it to another part of the country later in the week. I assumed they were freelancing. I may be wrong of course. I'm just speculating based on what I overheard peiodically.
Bill and Glen were classic good ole boys: white as sheets, ruddy, rednecked, and deeply troubled. They like to fight, drink beer, fuck whores, fight, eat, fuck a few more whores, drink beer, and well... you get the picture. Both men are just under 6 feet, hefty, beer-gutted, loud, frisky, and totally without manners or shame. They are NOT gay. They actually seemed to hate pretty much everyone they meet equally. Fags included. But they do tend to operate with an any-port-in-the-storm way of thinking when it comes to sex. In other words, they lived up in everyway to the trucker stereotype. A hole is a hole. Their job was just to fuck it.
This attitude, along with their hatred for fags and their love for fighting, is what led them to take me with them. After a few more turns with the belt, they uncuffed me and hoisted me into the back of Bill's rig. Before we left for the night, they did have to work out a few details though.
"Take off them wet clothes, before you get in there. You won't be needin 'em no ways. Go ahead, get nekkid, my little faggot." Bill was very direct.
I left my entire outfit in a muddy pile on the pavement. I did manage to convince Glen to toss my wallet and cell phone in the car. Glen turned off the engine, locked the door but left the keys inside. Nice. I still couldn't really believe that Master was just going to "give me" to these two asswipes. Where the hell was he? Clearly, I thought, this has been "pre-arranged."
I sat on the small dirty mattress in the back of Bill's rig, with no clothing on, and waited as the two men talked outside in the rain and made a few phone calls. Glen climbed up into Bill's cab and helped him secure me. They decided to cuff my hands behind me, lay me on my stomach and "figure the rest out later." For added security, Glen decided that a piece of rope tied to my cuffs and then tied again to the back of Bill's seat would help if I tried to "escape". Bill thought a gag would help, so he pulled out from his bag the absolutely filthiest pair of old briefs I've ever seen and casually stuffed them into my mouth. He patted my ass, whistled mockingly, and then pinched me on one of my cheeks. I got the distinct impression that he had decided that it would be ok to fuck the faggot, if only just the one time. We pulled out, caravan style, a few minutes later and hit the interstate.
At this point I was just glad to be out of the rain. Most people would have been furious at this point... trying to call the cops, looking for a weapon, etc... I'm a slave who kind of gets off on weird bondage scenes, so although I was scared shitless, I was also thinking that maybe these brutes would probably just take me down to the parking lot of another motel, fuck me silly, slap me around a little, and then drop me off later back at Master's motel. Master would throw me in a cage, maybe let some foreigners piss in my mouth, and then send me home. In other words, a typical weekend. So if you're wondering why I'm not running buck-naked down the freeway, that's why. Besides, Bill had the heat pumped up on high, and it felt really good. I like heat.
We made one pit stop. A block or so from the motel is a truck stop frequented by a LOT of truckers. Gas, showers, dinner, the works. I get gas there on Sunday's. That's about it. Bill smoked in the cab while Glen ran an errand and then we were back on the interstate. We were headed west.
Thirty minutes down the road, just outside of Winston-Salem on Interstate 40, the two rigs pulled into a darkened rest area and parked in the lot marked for truckers. I could see several rigs from where I was positioned. This is where a lot of truckers sleep. Interstate 40 is very wooded, so I can only imagine what sort of stuff goes on there. I've used the bathrooms there as well (to piss in). They're clean and well maintained.
Glen joined us in the rig a few minutes after we arrived. He had a small brown bag with him. Supplies. They talked for a little bit about their route and schedule, and then Glen turned around and dumped the contents of the bag onto the mattress. A box of condoms and a plastic bottle of cooking oil. Idiots. These fuckers didn't even know that cooking oil and condoms aren't exactly compatible. What a waste of air.
Bill wanted to go first. Glen wanted to watch. So we were good. Glen climbed into the back and sat down on the bed and took off his jacket then untied the rope that they had used to "secure" me to the seat. He left the cuffs on (which had started to cut into my flesh) and the nasty briefs in my mouth.
"Yep, gonna get me some tight AAAASS this time. Lift up faggot and spread your legs open so I can moisten ya up a little. I aint fucked a good piece o'tail in months. Get ready, cause I got a fatty, and you aint gonna like it much."
"HAHA... Oh I bet he'll like it just fine, Bill. He probably puts all sorts of shit up his ass. It's a faggot thing. They like it."
"Yeah, well we'll see about that, huh, faggot?" I could hear Bill unfastening his belt and then pushing his jeans down onto his thighs.
Glen reached over and smacked my ass a couple of times while Bill fussed with a condom pak and covered his precious fat little dick. "Just hurry up and fuck me," I kept thinking. I really did need to go back. But a quick fuck in a rig would be fun too, so I just laid there and waited for it.
Bill poured Wesson oil on my crack and then pushed his cock against my asshole. He was right. It was a fatty. Before he even started pushing, I could feel what was coming.
"AAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHH!" I screamed out through the dirty briefs. He shoved it in my ass quick and then he fell on top of me. BAMBAMBAM. He fucked me deep, hard, fast, and for a VERY LONG TIME. Holy shit. This man could not cum to save his soul. He just kept fucking me and fucking me and fucking me. Glen was mesmerized. Clearly, Bill was a God. Bill seemed very content. He knew that he was going to need to go at it for a while and he was more than prepared to go the distance.
"Damn, he's got a tight ass. I love fuckin a tight ass.... Feels damn good. Damn Good!"
"BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM. Bill's cock rubbed the lips of my ass raw. But it felt really good to have a cock inside of me again. I squeezed my ass muscles around it and started to enjoy his pace. I liked that he hadn't cum yet. I started praying for it to last even longer.
Glen was rubbing his cock through his jeans. He wanted it too. Real bad.
"Pop that cock out and let him suck it. Fags love to suck a cock."
Glen crawled into the back and unzipped and pulled out another fat cock. A Really fat cock. It had almost no length on it, but plenty of thickness. That one was going to hurt. Lucky me. I opened my mouth and let him put his cock inside. He tossed the old briefs in the front seat.
Glen's cock was rank. Honestly, I don't think either of them had had a bath since Wednesday. On top of that, his cock meat tasted like fresh pussy. Damn if these fuckers hadn't been screwing one of Master's whores. I hated the taste of pussy, but I love to suck cock, so I just went for it. I opened my mouth wider and used my tongue to clean every grimy inch of it. He loved it.
After about half an hour of constant pounding, Bill finally got to the point of orgasm, but he sure did struggle to get there, and I appreciated it. Yes, I had a raging hard on myself at this point. And Frankly I didn't care. I loved the way my hard cock felt swinging between my legs and I liked that the cuffs kept me from playing with it. "FUCKME FUCKME FUCKME, I screamed just as Glen pulled his cock out and slapped my face with it. "HARDERMAN... HARDER... FUCKMYASSHARDER! HARDER!"
Bill fucked me as fast as he could then blew a nut all over the inside of that (probably) broken condom. "How's that faggot? How's that for a hard fuck?" Bill collapsed.
"Now YOU. Come on buddy, get back there and ride my ass good, and you'd better make it hurt. Goddamnt Glen, You'd better fuck the living shit out of me!!!"
"Looks like I already done that man. You done got shit all over the place. Goddamn."
"Well whadya expect Bill, you just fucked a faggot's DIRTY ASSHOLE... That's why I bought the dang rubbers. Now move I need to fuck this faggot's ass too before he goes postal on us. Go up there and clean up in the bathroom. It ain't gonna kill you."
Bill was gone in a flash, and Glen had his mega-fatty buried deep in my asshole before Bill could even slam the door to the truck.
"Now FUCKME RAW!" I honestly have no idea where this was coming from. I really just needed this man to rip me wide open.
"You got it!" Glen grabbed a handful of skin and started pushing and pulling me back and forth on his fatty. Rough, really rough. I couldn't feel anything deep down inside, but my ass felt like someone had just impaled me on the wrong end of a soda bottle. I wanted him to make it hurt even more. I needed him to make me scream. "How's that you sick little fuck? Huh, how you like this cock up your dirty shitty ass... you like a cock up your shithole faggot, huh... that what you want? TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT FAGGOT.... TELL ME!"
"GODFUCKMERAWDAMMIT. FUCKMEFUCKMEFUCKME! FASTERFASTER!"
"You worthless piece of shit... I oughtta fuckin kill you right now... I oughtta beat the living shit out of you with my cock!"
"FASTERFASTERFASTER"
"GODDAMNFAGGOT!"
FUCKMEFUCKMEFUCKME! GOD JUSTFUCKME"
"I know what you need faggot!" Glen grabbed the plastic Wesson bottle and popped the top and pulled his cock out and shoved the bottle's tip into my ass. "TAKE IT IN FAGGOT TAKE IT IN" He pushed it inside about a third of the way and then tipped it upwards and squeezed the contents into my aching rectum. When the bottle was empty he pushed it a little further and held it with one hand while he spanked my legs and cheeks with the other.
"GODDAMN YEEESSSS FUCKME MAN FUCKMEFUCKME!"
Somehow he managed to spin me around and shove his cock back into my mouth as he fucked my ass with a plastic Wesson bottle. He wasn't wearing a rubber. I don't think he'd bothered even to put one on.
"Suck on that faggot... yeah suck my shitty cock.... DAMN you nasty faggot DAMNYOU DAMNYOU! Eat it, FUCKIN EAT IT."
He stretched over me and held onto the Wesson bottle while face fucking his way to a huge orgasm. He screamed out really loudly when he came and would not let go of that bottle until I had swallowed every drop of cum that shot out of his fat shitty cock.
Grinning, he fell back against the wall of the cab and zipped up his fly. He'd never even taken off his shoes. I still had the Wesson bottle inside my ass (half way) and some of the oil was starting to pour back into it. Not good.
"You okay, fag?"
"Yeah. Great."
You need to go to the toilet, huh? I got the keys to the cuffs." Glen unlocked my shackles, but failed to notice that I was naked and not about to "go to the toilet."
"No... just look outside and see if anyone is standing around."
"Uh, ok...." He looked around for a second or two. "Coast is clear, come on down."
I gingerly stepped down to the pavement. It was STILL raining... which was actually good. I reached up and grabbed Bill's underwear and tossed it on the wet pavement, and then I squatted by the tire and let it all out. Everything. Glen was freaked.
"Fuck man... you crazy faggot. Bill's gonna kill you."
"No he's not. I need a water bottle."
Glen gave me 2 water bottles, and I finished cleaning up and then wiped off my ass with Bill's rank underpants. He'd never notice. The rain washed everything away and I tossed the Wesson bottle under the truck. I still had a major boner though. Glen didn't seem to care.
"Now take me back."
"Uh, I donno, I think Bill made other plans for... Uh, well, here he comes."
I climbed into the truck and took my place in the back again. It smelled pretty bad. I thought about jacking off right there, but I had just been fucked up the ass by two straight truckers AND a Wesson bottle and I liked showing off my big hard cock to them. I'd hoped they'd be flattered by it.
Bill wasn't having any of this. He reached in and grabbed my ankles and pulled me back out into the rain. He re-cuffed my wrists behind my back and wrapped the second set around the first, locking them into place. He pushed me onto the cold wet pavement. It felt good for a second, but then I started to shiver. Glen looked like he felt bad for me, but he didn't do anything to help. Fucker.
A minute later a very tall black bearded black man came up. He was bundled up and held an umbrella. He was at least 6-7, 6-8, and about 50 years old. He looked like a prison guard gone native.
"That's him. That's our best faggot. He'll do what you said you wanted, trust me... Tight ass too, and likes a good whipping. 300 bucks and he's all yours for the night."
(WHAT!?)
"200."
"Okay. Just take him before somebody sees you." The man gave Bill a roll of cash and then told me to come with him.
Bill looked at Glen and said, "See, I told you he'd drive out here for some white faggot ass. Let's get on the road." I was willing to go anywhere that might be warm. I didn't care.
I ran around the front of the truck and saw a large white van. The tall black man opened it and pushed me in the side door and onto a mattress. He climbed in right behind me, closed the door, and then slipped into the driver's seat. He was dead quiet. Tall, dark, very dark, with a full beard and thick glasses. He had on a black ski jacket and a black stocking cap. It was really cold outside. His umbrella was bright red and very well made. Everything else was kind of crappy looking.
We headed into downtown Winston-Salem from the interstate. The man finally started talking once we hit the exit ramp.
"You rest stop pro's sure are gittin bold. Butt naked and sellin yo asses out on the street to truckers and shit seems kinda des'prate. You'd betta be worth it bitch. If not, I got something for yor pimp. We ain't never paid that much for a piece of ass... not faggot ass."
"Where are we going and what am I going to be doing?"
"I ask the questions faggot. OK? But since you ask, we've been havin' us a little party with some of my buds. We been wantin' to get a little freaky so the Man ponied up a little extra and got yo sorry ass after Bill called and said his best freak was available and was we interested. So I jumped in the van and drove on out here, just for you. You do look kind o' freaky. What's your specialty, your gig?" (Bill was turning out to be a bigger asshole than I thought.)
"Uh, I do it all. I'm a full service pro. I don't do pussy, but I do everything else. There is nothing I won't do for a client. How many men are we talking about here?"
"A bunch, you know, it's a party and we got a lot goin' on. You ain't the ONLY entertainment. You ain't THAT special. You need anything to get it goin?"
"HUH?"
"You need anythin'? Weed, pills, junk,... what stuff you want?"
No, I'm good. I had something already," I lied. I don't do drugs.
"Yeah, whatever. You be wantin' somethin' soon enough. You just let me know. My names Willy. I got your back."
"Thanks Willy. Listen, when I'm done with my, huh, gig, you think I can get a ride back somewhere else. I don't really think Bill is gonna want to see me until I get cleaned up. Think that'll be ok?"
"Sure. Willy take you back to wherever you need to be. Ain't you got some clothes somewhere?"
"Yeah, that's the thing, I left 'em in my car at a motel earlier today. I wasn't supposed to be working tonight, but Bill needed a favor, so I jumped in his rig and just didn't think about it."
"Got it. We'll work it out in the morning."
"Thanks. How about I blow you before we go in... just to say thank you."
"Nah. Save it for later. I think I might want a piece of yo' ass though before the sale. I'll find you. Don't you worry."
"Can't wait! How about right back here... get me loosened up, you know." (SALE? What the fuck had I stumbled into?)
"I SAID I'll catch you later. Now shut up." Oops. Guess I'd gotten a little too friendly.
I sat quietly shivering in the back of Willy's van until we reached our destination. Willy was under the impression that he'd rented a professional call-boy for the evening (what time was it anyway?) and apparently I was the entertainment at Willy's party. I really don't know why I played along. I could have had him call the cops, but I still felt as if I wasn't in any serious danger. And what would I tell the cops?
We pulled into a gravel lot and Willy took me by the arm and walked me into the back entrance of a typical two-story row house, through the kitchen. There was booze everywhere and the music playing throughout the house was shaking the walls and the floor. It was rap and I don't listen to rap, so it kind of gave me a headache. But the house was warm and Willy was "watching my back". So I was good.
Willy picked up a bottle of whiskey and took a swig. He then pulled my head back and forced a little into my mouth as well. I signaled for more and he gave me a few more swigs and then forced a pill down my throat with a "trust me" look on his face. Maybe I did need a little something to help me out.
I could hear talking and laughter through the music coming from another part of the house. Sounded like a lot of people. A lot of men. Then we suddenly had company. I looked up and in walks a tall, muscled black tranny. What a sight! Whoa. What a sight!
"Olive" (some name, huh?) was a dark skinned black 'man' sporting an athletic build, implants kept in place by a red sequined bra, 6 inch red stilettos, several strands of fake pearls, and a red garter belt. "Her" cock was hard and swinging back and forth as she walked. Big cock, I thought. Olive also wore a lot of make-up and a blond wig. She was kind of a mess, but seemed nice enough.
"This the white boy for the everyroom?" (I had no idea what an 'everyroom' was.)
"Now whatyou think he is? The milk man?"
"Mmmm, he can milk me anytime. Pretty! Nice little cock. Nice." Olive was flirting. She ran a long red fake fingernail across the length of my "little" cock and then placed it in her mouth, simulating oral sex. I smiled and nodded. She could be of some use, I thought, if things get out of hand.
"What's your name, hun? You sure is a cutey. How old are you?"
"Stevie. I'm 32." More lies, but who cares. "Nice outfit, Olive. What do you do?"
"I'm a dancer, honey. But I do A LOT of things for my suppa. Ain't that right Willy?"
"Yeah. Olive is a woman of many skills. Let's get you set up. Come on."
Willy led me up a small tight staircase off the back of the kitchen to a hallway on the second floor. We walked down the hall and into a small empty bedroom that had nothing in it but a small single mattress on the floor. There was a bulb in the overhead light that seemed to be of low wattage (mood lighting!). That was it. The closet door was missing, but there was a half-bath in the room as well, just a toilet and a sink. No shower.
"You need to douche or anything?"
"Uh, no, I'm good. I greased up before I got here." Well, I did have that Wesson bath earlier from Glen and my ass still felt really greasy. "You wanna go for a quick butt-ride now, Willy? I feel like I owe you."
"Damn, you sure is a horny little faggot. I think I'll pass for now. Maybe later."
"Right. Just let me know. So how does this gig work, exactly?"
"Damn, did Bill not tell you anything?" Truer words were never spoken.
"No, he just said that I had a last minute freak-party, cuffed me up, and dropped me off. I blew a few guys at the rest stop though before you got there. One was a cop." Lies, lies, and more lies.
"Big Tom is having a business meetin' downstairs. This his weekend house. He invites his boys over and let's us have whatever we want in appreciation for our hard work. We do it every month or so. Tom's generous like that. Mostly, we like the pussy, you know. But sometimes, after a lot junk and booze, the boys will start lookin' for some alternative fun. That's where you come in. You the alternative."
"What does Big Tom do?"
"Sells shit to the kids at the college mostly. Weed, pills, ho's. Frat boy stuff. We move it for him. He sets up at the queer bar too. He likes the fags. They pay for the really good stuff, ya know?"
"Yeah, we fags like the good stuff. Snobs. So what's this, the everyroom?"
"Yeah. You gonna get it good. Mostly, Tom sticks with the ho's and fresh cut trannies he runs downtown. He got 25, plus Olive. Olive's his. Don't fuck with Olive. She ain't been cut yet. But every once in a while Tom buys us somethin' special to fuck around with... no rules and shit. Ya know? No strings. Bill said you'd like a good whippin and whatever else the boys might come up with?"
"Uh, huh."
"Yeah, well, you'll get a lot o' belt tonight. I hope you like choc'late. Ain't a white man in sight. Not a one."
"I told you I like it all."
"Yeah, well. We got it for ya."
"So when is this 'sale' and what is it exactly?" I was curious.
"Oh, that's the lockdown. After everybody sees what Big Tom has in all his rooms, the boys get to bid on a private session in the room of they choice. One-on-one."
"I see. How many rooms does Big Tom have?"
"That ain't really none o' yo concern. You just get ready for what we payin you fo. Don't worry 'bout ev'rybody else. Olive and I got that job. You dig?"
"Yes. I dig. Can you take off these cuffs and maybe wrap my wrists or something. These aren't my normal bracelets."
"I got some duct tape downstairs. I'll get it."
Willy came back and wrapped my scarred wrists with silver duct tape, returned one set of cuffs to my wrists (behind my back, of course) and then pocketed the spare. I never saw those again. I guess he's keeping them in a drawer somewhere as a souvenir. The thought of that makes me laugh even now.
"So Willy, how EXACTLY do you know Bill, anyway? You two don't seem like you run in the same circles."
"Bill and Glen sometimes brings us our merchandise. He called earlier tonight wantin' to know if I might know someone who needed a boy that was kinda freaky... I guess he meant you. I didn't think he dealt in ho's anymore, him bein' in his rig all the time and shit. Apparently he's been meetin' pro's at truck stops and shit and helping em find john's for a cut in the action. I didn't know he did fags though. You one of his new ho's or something?"
"Yes. He just started representing me a few days ago. I needed a change."
"HA! Wise ass faggot. 'REPRESENTING.' That's funny. Now turn around and let me see that pricey tail of yours."
Willy closed the door to the everyroom and took off his coat and cap. I turned around and bent over with my ass pointing in his direction. Willy's hands went right for it. He pushed his index finger in my asshole and checked it out.
"Damn. That's a greasy ass all right. Nice and tight too. Just like Bill said. You ok if I just make this a quick one ain't you. I don't really git into the whole whippin' thing."
"Whatever you want Willy. Just give it to me."
Willy dropped down to his knees and unzipped his pants. A few seconds later I felt his cock slide into my ass. Damn it felt so fucking good. I could tell that his cock was in proportion to his tall frame: long and skinny.
"Oh, yeah, baby. Nice piece o ass. You like Willy's dick, huh?"
"God, yeah. Fuck me hard Willy. Really give it to me good. I'm not much of a cuddler."
"Damn straight!" Willy pushed the rest of his pole into my shit chute and started to fuck me with a series of really fast and short strokes. He held onto my wrists to keep me from moving as his hips pumped back and forth against my butt. "Take Willy baby, take it."
I did. I took all of it. It didn't take long for Willy to blow. He pulled out and aimed his spray onto my back. I felt his hot splash of spunk, and it felt good on my skin. This was going to be easy. And fun.
"You gotta piss Willy? I'm kind of thirsty."
"Damn, the boys really are gonna have a good time tonight. Yeah, I got some piss for you... you nasty fuck." Willy gave me the piss I needed. I could see now how pretty his long cock was too. Nice.
I heard the door open again along with some footsteps. Lots of footsteps. The men had come upstairs and were checking out the talent Willy had set up in the different rooms. I assumed the other rooms had been reserved for Big Tom's best ho's and trannies I'd heard about and that I was the odd man out, so to speak. I just wanted some more cock.
"Come on in boys! Have some of my ass." I don't know where this came from either. I guess it was the whiskey talking and that pill that Willy gave me earlier.
Yeah, I got yo ass right here. SHMAAACK!" I don't know who that was, but someone had just delivered a really heavy belt to my freshly fucked ass. "SHMAAAK SHMAAAK!" Damn. Not really what I wanted.
The lights overhead suddenly went dark and a body straddled my back. He wrapped his belt abound my throat and pulled it tight, cutting off my windpipe for a moment. I felt like a cow headed for slaughter. These were drug dealers after all. I should have thought about that sooner.
More whippings followed from someone else. The first man was still sitting on my back and a second was delivering a series of painful blows to my rump. "SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP." No one seemed all that interested in fucking me. They just wanted to whip the white boy. I don't know where Willy was, but I had now been turned over to the savages and suddenly the term "everyroom" made a lot more sense to me.
The whipping continued unabated and the man on my back seemed content to stay there for now. Then a third man pushed a cock into my mouth. I felt denim on my chin and could taste sex on his cock. It probably came out of some tranny's new pussy or butt and now he wanted the white boy to clean it up for him. I tightened my mouth a bit and let him face fuck for a few minutes. I hoped a load of cum would follow, but he just pulled out and walked away.
Then I felt piss. Someone else had walked up and was pissing on my forehead. I opened my mouth, hoping he'd push his cock in, but he just needed to piss. A second stream followed from someone else, and then a third. They were using me as their urinal. Nothing more.
The ass whipping I had been getting stopped, which I appreciated. But then someone else took over and the pain from another belt made its way through my ass and the back of my thighs. I started to feel really humiliated and used and suddenly my cock was hard as a rock. The man on my back stood up, but he'd left the choke collar on me for others to play with. Now it was just the whipping. No cock, no cum, just constant blows from a belt. They were torturing me. I screamed out in pain to let them know that they'd crossed a line, but all that earned me was another piece of duct tape across my mouth.
Over the next few hours the "everyroom" would fill up and empty out over and over again. Mostly, all I got was an endless stream of brutal whippings from countless angry drug dealers. A couple of them did manage to fuck me though. The periodic taste of some stranger's cock in my ass was the only thing that really kept me going. I didn't like the whippings. They weren't foreplay. And of course, there was the piss. I think every man in that house took at least one piss on me at some point that night. I was soaked. I also reeked of it. The room's darkness saved me. I never really got a good look at any of them. Was Big Tom there? I never knew. For all I know, Master might have been among them. I doubt it though. He was through with me.
I must have fallen asleep during one of the down times. When I woke up, I was in the van with Willy and Olive the Uncut Tranny. We were on the interstate.
"Wake up, hun. Time to go home."
"Huh?"
"Wake up... you're done."
"I thought I was going to be sold to somebody.?"
"SOLD?" This was Willy talking. "Ain't no one gonna buy yo' ass. Please."
"Where are we?"
"Rest stop. End of the road."
"No, I need to go to the motel. My car, my stuff."
Olive opened the door of the van as Willy dragged my stinking naked body out onto the pavement. "Honey, that ain't my problem. Willy and I done all we gonna do for you. You on your own."
"NO!!! You can't just LEAVE me here. WHAT THE FUCK I'M I SUPPOSED TO DO?"
"See ya hun." Then they sped off.
The dawn hadn't broken yet, and the rain had stopped. It was bitter cold, and I was still naked and aching all over. My cuffs were gone, the one good thing I guess. I looked around and saw nothing but a few tractor trailer trucks sitting in the darkness. Nothing else. No cop cars. No maintenance people. Nothing.
I ran inside and took a look in the mirror. Holy shit. I looked like hell, and smelled even worse. I turned on the hot water in the sink and cleaned up with a stack of paper towels and liquid soap. Not knowing what else to do, I went into a stall and sat down on the toilet and waited. I figured the janitor might show up at some point and help me out.
About an hour passed, and then I heard someone come in and take a piss in the stall next to me. There was a glory hole there and I could see an eye peering at my naked body. A few seconds later, a short white trucker cock pushed its way through the hole. I took it in my hand and squeezed it until it got hard and then sucked it. Dirty. Another dirty cock. The man face fucked me until he came, then he ran out of the stall before I could stop him.
I sat back down and waited, trying to figure out why I had devolved into such a state. I say "why" because I already knew "how." HOW wasn't the question. It was WHY. Here I was, naked and sitting on a rest area toilet seat sucking dirty trucker cock in exchange for nothing. It had come to this. I didn't even have a Master anymore who would swoop in and rescue me after an allotted period of time. This place was not a test. This place was not a punishment. I had been "turned out" and a toilet stall seemed to be my new home. Scared is not the word.
Eventually a janitor did come in. He knocked on the stall door and told me to come on out. I did. I took one look at him and knew that he had no patience for this kind of thing or for people like me. I was not a welcomed guest at his fine establishment, and would not be putting his cock in my mouth.
"Where are your damn clothes?"
"Look, I was left here. I have no clothes, no car, no phone, no wallet, nothing. My name is Christian and I just need to get home. Can you help me?"
"You a hooker?"
"No, not really. CAN YOU HELP ME?"
"I think I need to call 911. You can't be in here turning tricks in the toilet. We don't allow that kind of thing here. This ain't South Carolina you know."
"I'M NOT A HOOKER!"
"What's the problem here?" I looked up to see a fat and aging black trucker with a shaving kit under his arm. "What the...?"
"I'm stranded. I need help."
"I caught him in here waiting for a trick. He's a hooker I think." This janitor was relentless. "I think we need to call a cop."
"He looks harmless enough. I'll see what I can do to help him."
The janitor left and returned with a blanket then left again. I covered up and waited.
"So let's hear it. Talk to me while I shave." He seemed ok, I thought.
"Well, last night when it was raining so hard, I pulled off into this motel parking lot to wait it out and these white two guys pulled me out of my car. They tied me up and brought me here. They took all my clothes and sold me to some black guy for 200 dollars. Can you believe that? THEY SOLD ME FOR 200 DOLLARS. And then HE took me to a crack house downtown and stood by and let a bunch of men rape for kicks. I woke up on the floor of the bathroom back here this morning. Now I'm stuck and I don't know what to do." Ok, so I sort of lied... a little.
"Sounds fishy. Didn't I see you last night getting in and out of a couple of different rigs?"
"Probably. I got passed around a lot. But I swear I ended up in a crack house. I SWEAR."
"Uh huh. I dunno."
"Look at my ass! Look at what they did to me." I dropped the blanket and showed him the red marks.
"Damn. You might need to see a doctor. You got the herpes?"
"NO! Can you help me?" I told him where my car was.
"I'm headed west. That's east of here. Too far. I'm from Greensboro though. You go sit in my rig, and I'll call the shelter people and they can take over from here. They'll help you find your car."
"I'm not homeless you know."
"That may be. But that's the deal. That or the cops."
"Ok."
So I sat in the truck. No sex. Just me, a blanket, a bible, some coffee, a couple of blueberry muffins, and a fat black Baptist trucker. We sat there 'til the sun rose.
Eventually a car pulled up and a kindly old woman and her husband took me to Master's motel. I didn't see my car, and I didn't see Master. I lied about which car was mine and sent the couple on their way. It was still really early and no one was up at the motel. I wrapped the blanket tightly around my shoulders and sat down on the curb outside room 12, my room. I waited.
"How about we go for a ride, boy?" I turned around and there stood Rev with Master. They had come out of the office. What was Rev doing here?
Master pulled the blanket from around my shoulders and tossed it off to the side. "You going with Rev for a while. I told you I'm tired o' seeing your ass around here." Master grabbed my wrists and held me tight until Rev could retrieve a pair of leather cuffs from room 12. Neither of them seemed to want to talk much. They put me in the back seat of Rev's car and covered me with the blanket, face included. Rev opened his car door and then started a rather surprising conversation with Master.
Pay close attention:
MASTER: This is gonna change things up some. I really didn't think he'd be back. I figured that Ben (!) had been wrong about this one. I didn't think we were gonna break some guy that old. But he just keeps coming back for more. I'm gonna call Ben again and let him know what we found. I'll call you back in a few days. But you call me if he runs.
REV: He's not running anywhere. I think he's locked in. It's in him now. We've got him, we just need to figure out what to do with him. He's gotta be worth something to somebody. Ben will know. We'll meet when he gets back and talk about it. I gotta get going. Enjoy Blake. I'll miss his black ass. Damn, that boy's gotta nice piece of ass. Mmm Mmm.
MASTER: Damn straight. Speaking of which... Hmm. Yeah. You get going. I'm gonna hit up Blake again. New meat. I love the taste and feel of new meat.
We drove south for over an hour and ultimately landed at Rev's house in Charlotte. It wasn't what I thought it would be. Rev lives outside the city on Lake Norman at the end of a long dirt road. His house faces the lake, but it's pretty isolated from the other homes. We were completely alone.
Rev knew I'd heard the conversation, and he sensed my confusion. So when he got me inside, he took me to a safe room and chained my wrists to a steel rod in the ceiling. I looked around. I was standing in an unfinished add-on space that seemed to have been built to serve as a soundstage for snuff films. The floor was concrete with several drainage grates, and the windows were boarded up. The walls were unfinished and the pink insulation was showing. WHAT.THE.FUCK?
"I guess you got some questions, huh? It's ok. You can talk... for now."
"Yes. What is this and what does Ben have to do with it? Actually, I think I might just like to leave now."
"Yeah, well. You ain't going no where yet. Not till I say so. As for Big Ben: Well, I guess you need to know what's going on, so we can get this thing finished. We got others to worry about too you know. You're really starting to get on everyone's nerves."
"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"
"You. I'm talking about you. Tell me about Big Ben. How'd you meet him? What happened?"
"I met Ben at a bookstore near my apartment last summer. He was nice. We hooked up. So what."
"You mean he roughed you up and you liked it, huh?"
"Kind of. Yes, I guess."
"And then...?"
"And then he called me a couple of weeks later and we hooked up again at Master's motel. Then I met Master. That's all."
"AH HA! That's what you think, but that ain't all there is."
"WHAT THEN??? WHY AM I HERE!? WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS PLACE?"
Rev circled me and started talking. "When Ben called you back and you jumped at the chance to get up with him, he figured he'd found another candidate for Paulus to work on. That's what they do. Ben and Paulus. Ben finds young fags who are turned on by rough play and who seem to get addicted to it really quickly. We call those types 'naturals.' When he finds one, he calls Paulus and brings the guy out to the motel. Paulus takes over and does the dirty work. The training. Then, when the boy is broken, in love, and refuses to leave "The Master," Ben swoops back in and they sell the guy off to some rich sadistic fuck somewhere else. It's all consensual. The slaves WANT to be sold. It's the kind of life they want to lead. No responsibility, somebody to take care of their most basic needs. It's not all that uncommon you know. That's what Blake is doing with Paulus right now. Blake's already been bought and sold to some old coot in Pennsylvania. Blake just don't know it yet. But he will. When Paulus is done with him, he'll be screaming to go with whomever takes him. It's what Paulus is good at. That's his job. Think of us as a group of guys who run the world's most exclusive dating service. We find and match the unmatchable... for a price."
"That's crazy. You're just mind fucking me."
"No, it's true. But you're right, it is a mind fuck. You had Paulus fooled. He really didn't think you had it in you. Too old he said, too successful, too polished. But Ben thought otherwise. Paulus just figured you were out playing slave boy on the weekends, but eventually you'd move on to some other kink. Fine with him. He likes having a slave boy to fuck with. He just didn't think it would be permanent. That's why he called me. I came up and tried you out for myself. Unlike Paulus, I agreed with Ben. You really do have it in you. You're a loner, a masochist; you hate your life. You LIVE to be treated like shit. I sensed it right off. So did Ben. Paulus wanted one last big test. So when you showed up late, he took the opportunity to see how far you'd let him go with it. He threw your ass out in the street. Gave you away to some crazy inbred hick of a truck driver and his baby brother. I'm guessing you let 'em take turns fucking you every time they stopped for gas. It's what they like to do... it's what you do. Paulus figured you'd end up in the hospital somewhere, unwilling to tell anybody what had really happened to you. Imagine how surprised he was when we found you sitting on the curb this morning, butt naked and looking for more cock to shove up your dirty ass. Face it. It's what you are. LOOK AT YOURSELF. I've got you chained up in a lakehouse, and you haven't even yelled out once. YOU LIKE THIS SHIT."
"So I've been bought and sold already? Some GUY is just gonna waltz in here and give you a million dollars for me, and I won't have a say in it? I'm just suddenly part of the white-slave-trade? Is that it? Is that it? WHO OWNS ME?"
"No one. Not yet. Paulus still thinks you're too old for all of this. No one would probably want you now, anyway. These men we deal with like their boys young. Ben just sold off a young Japanese kid he met in a Boston t-room to some Nazi Fuck from Bulgaria who lives in Nashville. They'll be very happy together, trust me. That kid's only 26 yrs old. You're almost twice that age. You'll be harder to match."
"You're not selling me off. I'm not like that. I have free will you know. I have A LIFE!"
"Your life is about finding someone to beat the shit out of you and fuck you like a wild dog. I've seen you beg for it. It's like a drug for you. Your life consists of hoping some sadistic negro will come along and take a quick piss down your throat. Your life is about sitting in your own shit if Master tells you to. I know. I've seen it. You have no FREE WILL anymore. You gave that up months ago. YOU made that choice. YOU. Hell, you practically live in handcuffs. You don't even need clothes anymore. You live like trash, like filth... like a piece of horse shit that I just scraped off the bottom of my shoe."
"Ok OK! So why am I here? Do you own me now or something? Are you some sort of new Master? Is this my new home?"
I don't own. I train."
Rev took off his coat and removed his leather belt and draped it across my shoulder. The texture made me shiver and I felt my cock grow a little stiff. He smiled at that. Slowly, the spry wicked old black man removed his clothing, one piece at a time. When he finished, he stood naked in front of me, but still possessing all of the power he needed to break me. The only questions in his mind, were "could he?" and "for whom?"
CXG