Masterman, Part FOUR - I am Reclaimed Bamaboi2serve@charter.net
My head was spinning from the revelation that Masterman had somehow found me and was, in fact, in the bathroom with Paul.
I was hanging in the shower, gagged and blindfolded with my hands tied above my head. And now I was sweating too.
I reacted to the presence of my former Supreme Master with a gagging sound caused my attempt to scream, and a twisting of my body. Paul slapped my ass twice sharply and told me to be still.
Then from the new presence in the room:
"Slut, you know I've been looking for you. We have unfinished business from your stay as my slave boi. You were supposed to finish your service, but you decided to leave instead, didn't you dickhead?"
It was purely a rhetorical question...I couldn't have answered if I had wanted to, which in a way I did. I wanted to explain, to say I had left because I had reached my limits, that I couldn't do the final thing he had asked of me. I shivered, remembering, and it was as if he could read my mind: "Did I go too far, boi? Did you reach you puny limits?"
I mumbled around the cock-gag, trying to communicate but knowing it wasn't working. The next thing I knew he was there at my side, whispering into my ear the same way Paul had described about that night in the bar when they had first met.
"All I wanted from you was to make my mark on you, a little tattoo on your ass proclaiming you my property. Just a little two-inch tattoo: property of Masterman, but that was too much for you, wasn't it! Too bad, slut. Your choice. I need you to be really quiet for a while, so do this for me...breathe deep..." He held a cloth over my face and eventually I breathed in the fumes that put me to sleep, or something like sleep. It was quiet and dark and warm...and somehow wet. Unlike anything...before...drifting... But before unconsciousness I distinctly heard Him say to Paul: "Good work fag-boi. Now you don't have to worry about your little brother seeing those pictures...now get on your fucking knees and suck this dick!" And then everything was dark and quiet.
Waking from my deep sleep, my jumbled thoughts collided with one another. Paul, I wondered...did he know all along? Had he been an accomplice with Masterman in getting me back? It seemed logical. I felt a sharp stabbing on one of my ass cheeks...then a drowsy, weak feeling...then...someone blowing me? A probe in my ass? None of it made sense. Scrapping on my skin... I fell back into the blackness.
When I finally awoke for real I was not even a little surprised to find myself tied down tightly in a prone position. I was naked and stretched over a stone platform of some kind in an almost dark, silent room. If I raised my head a little bit, I could look down my body toward my feet. They seemed a mile away.
My body was hairless and pale. I couldn't see my cock, perhaps because my head could only rise up a few inches. A look to the left and right confirmed the lack of hair. My pits were smooth...I was like a piece of marble, like some friggin' statue of smooth cold pale stone.
Then hands reached from behind to my chest and attached test-tube like glass devices to my tits, which I realized were about an inch long, they were like pig-tits, not at all their normal size.
The glass cups were like vacuum tubes, and quickly sucked my elongated tits into them, puffing them up even more.
The machine ran in a cycle, sucking on maximum strength for a while, then lightening up, then repeating. It felt fantastic, and my cock quickly filled with blood. I wanted to look at the hard on, to confirm what I felt, but the same hands that had attached the tubes suddenly placed a leather strap over my forehead and tied it firmly to the platform, adding to the arm and leg restraints already in place.
Suddenly the position seemed familiar, and I realized I was in the basement playroom in Masterman's country house.
It was an old farmhouse a good hour away from Atlanta, a place that was still very rural, but would probably become part of the growing monster that was the city in a decade or two. The house sat on about thirty acres, far from any neighbors. The huge old basement was Masterman's favorite place, and I had both been on this platform before and had helped Him secure others to it.
I felt another jab in the side of my ass and the blackness returned. Once again, I could hear a voice before the sleep: "Get Jale and Samo over here soon, I want to finish this job up and get paid today."
The next time I awoke there was a cock-shaped plug in my mouth. I could see a tube running out from the end, though not where it ran. Suddenly I had an overwhelming need to piss, and did, only to feel the liquid splash through the tube into my mouth. I had to swallow quickly to keep up. I was in a recycling getup, pissing into my own mouth, swallowing and returning it to my kidneys to end up back in the tube again.
The lights in the room were dimmed, and I was on the same slab like platform as before. Despite my bonds, I could turn my eyes left and right, up and down a bit. And I could tell that the hairless state I had noticed before was complete. I couldn't see a single hair, not an eyelash or anything.
"Welcome back, slut. Glad to see you're over the effects of the cocktail I prepared for you."
It was Masterman...again I could smell the cigar and baby powder. But this time he reached over to my side and made some kind of adjustment: my mouth was instantly flooded with piss.
"That's' just one of the, shall we call them "adjustments" that I've made. I control when you pee...and...yum yum...where you pee too."
I knew he had inserted a catheter in me, and was able to control the flow completely. He reached over and turned it off, to prove his point, and his piss stopped flooding my mouth.
"You shouldn't have run away, you know. We would have had more and more fun together. Well, obviously I would have enjoyed it a bit more than you, but you were learning towards the end. Before you abandoned me and caused me to hire little Paul and a few others to seek you out in the big bad city. Only took them a month too! Oh, another adjustment you may have noticed a chemist friend of mine developed a kind of hair remover on steroids. It works so well that just two applications and the hair doesn't come back. Ever. We used four treatments on you, just to be sure."
I was going to be hairless for the rest of my life! How could he do that? How would I ever explain it to anyone else?
"I know what you're thinking," he interrupted my thoughts, "you're worried about what people will think, other fag-bois you go to bed with and all. Don't worry. I'm not sure there will ever be any people other than me in your life...but we'll worry about that later. Are you thirsty?"
He knew I couldn't answer because of the gag, so he answered for me. "Sure you are...well here's some refreshment!" As he spoke, he stood up on a small stool next to me so I could see out of the corner of my eyes him pissing into a funnel that led to a hose attached to the gag in my mouth. It was a brief piss, but then he grabbed a large jug and poured the contents into the funnel too.
"After you abandoned me I was lonely, so I adopted a companion, a nice German shepherd I call Rex. This is his piss, so treat it with respect just like you would treat mine!"
I gagged at the revelation, but managed to swallow all of the dog piss, sending it to the recycling station that my body had become.
To add to my degradation, he poured what was left in the container onto me. I was totally humiliated, save only the fact that so far it was only Masterman witnessing my debasement. Traitor Paul as around somewhere too, I knew. Then from the corner of the room I spotted a brief flash...a red spot for just a moment. There it was again! A blinking of some kind.
Masterman was ahead of me, as usual: "It's a camera fuckwad. You don't think I'd go to all this trouble without making a nice video record of it, do you? I have a web site now, you see, and you're going to end up being a star! In fact I'm thinking of adding a live feature soon...charge extra for net visitors to suggest things for me to do to slave-punks like you!
Was there anything more he could do? Could I be humiliated any more than I was? And why was my fucking cock still hard? Did the thought of an audience watching live turn me on? I knew it did, and I secretly wished the live camera had been operating for the past hour.
To be continued Bamaboi2serve@charter.net