I hear running water. Master Morgan is in the shower. A few moments and he's standing in front of me again. Looking immaculate in white trousers and white coat buttoned at the neck. Now what? A doctor, chiropractor, dentist? I can't decide, but none of these options sound that appealing.
"Time for your special treatment boy. I love experiments with slaves, don't you?"
He moves out of my line of vision before I can think of a reply other than no. And I begin to feel scared about his intentions until I feel a soft sponge being used to wipe down my back, my armpits, between the cheeks of my arse and then the back of my legs. A soft towel is used to rub me down. He releases me from the stocks and I stretch up. He sponges my face, chest, thighs, legs and finally my crutch. He uses the towel to rub me dry. His hand grasps my hardening prick as he looks into my eyes.
"Has anyone ever said you have lovely eyes boy?" He twists my hard prick viscously and I squirm in pain.
"Now that's what I like to see boy. You're lovely eyes showing pain. Now turn around." He lets go of my tool and I turn on my toes.
"Hold still, don't move. This is good for you."
I stand rigid. Using a hand he begins to apply something cool to my back. There's a strong smell of hospital antiseptic. An instant later and my back is on fire and I'm breathing hard and whining. It smarts like hell and the further he moves down my back the worst it gets. I start jumping up and down as he applies the lotion to my ultra tender arse cheeks and down my thighs and legs. I clamp my mouth closed to stop myself screaming. I have to believe it might be good for me - eventually.
"Kiss my feet slave."
Dropping to my knees I kiss his boots.
"That's a good slave. Get up boy."
Rising up again, helped by him tugging on my ears, he's still looking intently into me eyes.
"Did you enjoy that boy? Is it still smarting?"
It is and I'm still fighting back the tears I can feel forming in my eyes. He smiles, obviously enjoying my pain. He walks me over to the stainless steel contraption looking like a medieval rack.
"Time for your next treatment boy. Lie down on your back."
I do so, flinching at the cold touch of the metal on my naked and tender shoulders and arse cheeks. I can view myself in a long mirror above the table and. more importantly, can see also see what he's up to. Master Morgan raises my hands and arms above my head, stretches them apart and uses metal clamps to fasten my wrists to the top corners of the table. He does the same with my legs and fastens my ankles to the bottom corners of the table. I notice him picking up what looks like a remote control hanging from a plastic cable attached to the table. He looks at me smiling and presses a button. I feel my wrists being gradually pulled until my arms are at full stretch. It's uncomfortable, but not painful. He presses another button and my ankles are now pulled until my legs and thighs are at full stretch. He smiles down at me and I can see him pressing the buttons again until the combined result of being pulled in opposite directions causes my whole body to be stretched in tension, as quiveringly taut as a drawn bow. Now painful enough for him to observe and enjoy the pain in my eyes and my screwed up face.
"You look good stretched out and vulnerable boy. Another press on these buttons and your legs and arms would pop out of their sockets. But not today." He grins and drops the remote control.
From a roll on one side of the rack he pulls out a clear sheet of what looks like kitchen glad wrap, stretches it over my stomach, attaches it to a metal roll on the other side and starts to tighten it. As he does so my belly and bladder begin to feel more and more compressed. It's not only unbearably painful; I need desperately to piss.
"Please Master I'm afraid I need to piss."
"Of course you do boy, but if you do so without my permission, you'll be in serious trouble."
He walks away as I struggle in pain not to let go my bursting bladder. He returns holding a long odd pencil shaped piece of plastic attached to a long tube with another plastic bag at the end. He kneels down next to me.
"This is what you need boy, a catheter. You'll be okay in an instant."
I'm past caring. Almost! He takes hold of my half-hard prick and begins pushing the thin tube into my piss slit. I can't believe it. It's far too thick and yet it is steadily passing down into my prick. And it hurts like hell. I moan and then scream. He grins down at me and continues pushing as I yell my head off. When he has what must be at least six inches of the tube embedded in me, he deliberately gives my face a sharp slap.
"Don't be such a baby. Go on dog, you have my permission to piss. Let it go."
I can't describe the utter relief of emptying my bladder. He holds up the almost full plastic bag to show me my piss and then detaches it from the tube and reattaches an empty bag which he hangs on the side of the rack.
"I love medical role-play, don't you boy?"
"Er... sometimes." Having never done it before and not liking what he's been up to I decide it's better to be vague.
"Good boy. Now something you're going to love."
I rather doubt I will, but can only watch his preparations. First he places the sort of drip stand I've seen in hospitals at the side of the rack. From it he hangs a plastic bottle of water and attaches a clear plastic tube running down to my prick. He plugs the tube into a second outlet from the catheter and then clicks open a valve on the bottle of water. I can see the water dribbling down the tube and then I feel it entering me.
"Does that feel good boy? Now for the last part."
He hangs up the bag containing my piss on the rack and attaches this to another length of tube that has a baby's dummy fixed to the other end. He releases the valve on the bottle and I can see my piss dribbling down the tube.
"Open your mouth boy."
He inserts the dummy and stands back to gloat as I suck on the dummy. Drinking my own urine is nothing new and it's running slowly enough for me to cope.
"Piss when you wish boy. Enjoy the treatment."
So I lie there pissing out through the catheter, feeling the water entering me from the bottle, drinking my own piss and then pissing again. It might be humiliating if happening in public, but with only Master Morgan as audience, I lie there almost content, on the verge of sleep.
When I wake up with the early morning sun streaming through the windows, Master Morgan is still there watching, obviously fascinated by having a slave under this sort of control. I've finished drinking my bottle of piss and the water bottle is also empty. Master Morgan dismantles and removes all the apparatus. The only pain is when he withdraws the catheter. At last he removes the plastic compression and finally releases me from the rack.
"Go shower boy."
In the bathroom I'm able to view the damage to my back and arse. Red and purple welts and numerous grazes and cuts, but nothing too bad to cause permanent scars I hope.
After showering I return to stand in front of Master Morgan with my feet apart and hands on the back of my neck. Now he's into a new day's mode wearing full black leather including peaked cap, leather waistcoat and knee high boots. Most striking are his crutchless and backless tight leather chaps revealing his huge and erect gorgeous looking sex organ. Head bowed, I gaze at it, my mouth open and ready.
"I'm going to make you my very own slave. You understand boy?"
Can he? Surely I belong to Master Sinclair and, in particular, my Master Rollo.
"Do you understand boy?" He slaps my sore bare arse hard. I wince.
"Not really Master. I thought I belonged to..."
"To Sinclair? No boy, he signed you over to me even before I arrived here."
"I really meant Master Rollo."
Morgan gives a sarcastic laugh. "How can he be a Master when he's branded as a slave of 'School Charles'? You now belong to me boy."
I look up into his face and shake my head. This can't be.
"You belong to me completely. I can do anything I like with you and believe me I've so many more experiments I want to try. I've two male Greyhounds at home for instance that need a bitch companion like you."
"Please Master, you can't. I won't." I'm looking around, thinking of how I can escape this man I no longer trust.
"On your knees boy and suck my cock." He orders.
It's an order and his cock is there, glowingly red and inviting. My slavish instinct is strongly to obey, but if I do I know he'll have me truly in his power. I start to kneel down, but suddenly turn and dash for the door, open it and run for the stairs screaming as I go.
"Rollo, help me... Rollo where are you? Help... help... "
At the head of the stairs Morgan is almost on me. I can hear him laughing, enjoying the chase. I swerve away and run through the open doors of Master Sinclair's room. He's asleep in bed. Viv, completely naked, is curled up asleep in the dog basket. I run through the open patio doors and along the terrace yelling as I go.
"Rollo... I need you Rollo... help... help..."
Morgan is not far behind. I climb up on the terrace rail and as Morgan grabs for me I dive into the pool. Surfacing as quickly as possible, I clamber out of the icy water on the far side of the pool. Morgan's up on the terrace pointing at me and grinning. Sinclair at his side wearing shorts.
"You're mine boy. Stay there." Morgan shouts his order.
But I'm up and running, making for the tennis court side of the house when I know Rollo has his room. I look up at his windows and start yelling.
"Rollo... are you there. I need help... Rollo..."
Before I can say another word, a hand is clamped over my mouth and I'm held fast by someone's arm around my waist. I twist and struggle.
"Behave yourself Ian." It's Viv and I know I can't escape the older guy's grasp.
"It's time for me to clean and shave you Ian."
He drags me away. I'm still struggling. I look up at Rollo's window, but if he's there, he gives no sign. I allow myself to be led down to the basement and once there it all seems so normal. Viv in his silly pink knickers and me being cleaned out, shaved and showered. As he turns me and dries me off with a towel, I see Master Sinclair in his shorts and Master Morgan in his leather chaps with his huge erect cock on show. They stand watching us.
"You can't escape your destiny boy," observes Master Sinclair. "You were my slave and now I've given you to my friend Morgan. You're his property. Do you understand boy?"
"Yes Master," I know it's pointless saying otherwise.
Master Morgan holds up a thick stainless steel cylinder, removes a cap and presses a button. The end, about an inch in diameter begins to glow red hot. I can feel the intense heat as he brings it near to me face and can see the brand-mark of capital S and lowers case m contained within two circles of scarlet blazing red. I cringe back, but Viv holds me.
"Bend over boy." Morgan demands.
I hesitate. Master Sinclair grabs me by the neck, bends me over and holds my head firmly between his thighs.
"Get down and hold his legs slave," Master Sinclair orders Viv.
Viv drops down onto his belly and wraps his arms tightly around my feet. I close my eyes and then scream like I've never screamed before as Master Morgan presses his brand down on my upper left arse cheek. I can hear the sizzle and smell the burning flesh as he continues pressing the brand down firmly. When he lifts it away, I continue screaming and sobbing.
"Get some cream slave."
Viv releases my legs and runs off. Master Sinclair relaxes the pressure on my head, pulls me to my feet and turns my tear and snot covered face to my new Master. Morgan grins delightedly and grips my chin with the thumb and fingers of one hand.
"You're mine boy. Capital M for Morgan, small s for slave. Everyone will know you belong to me."
Viv returns with some cream he applies to my naked branded arse. The coolness helps a lot although I still feel generally weak and faint.
"Take him away slave and keep an eye on him." Master Sinclair orders.
Part supporting me and part carrying me, Viv leads me upstairs, down a corridor and into what looks like a bedsitting room. It's comfortably furnished with bookshelves packed with books and ornaments. I can see the swimming pool through the long net curtains drawn across the wide patio doors. Viv helps me to lie face down on a duvet-covered bed. He applies more soothing cream to the brand and to the cuts and bruises on my back. He gives me a couple of pills and a drink of water.
"Now try and sleep. You're safe here in my room. I'll come back later."
Viv leaves and, despite my pain-wracked body, I eventually drift off into a fitful sleep. How much later I don't know, but loud shouting awakens me. It takes me a few seconds to clear my head and to realise the yelling comes from outside. Morgan and Rollo are having a slanging match on the terrace. Slaves Col and Raj stand off to one side.
"I'll ask you once again scumbag, where's my boy?" Rollo sounds incensed.
"You're going to regret this. Master Sinclair has signed him over to me. He's my property. Nothing you can do about it slaveboy." Morgan yells back.
I peep through the edge of the curtain to see Morgan, wearing only a black swimming thong, being threatened by Rollo holding a thick cane. He's wearing flimsy running shorts.
"If you think that Morgan, you're a fucking moron. Where's Sinclair? We'll ask him."
"He can't go back on our agreement. Your fuckboy belongs to me."
"Where is he?" Bellows Rollo, moving forward, raising the cane.
"He's not here Master. Gone to town with Viv in his car," Raj screams.
I push open the patio door.
"Do you know where my boy is?" Rollo points the cane at Raj.
"Behind you Master," Raj shouts triumphantly.
Rollo turns to see me. It's painful doing so, but I limp forward, drop to my knees and smother my Master Rollo's feet with kisses. Having him there is the best medicine I could have.
"Who's been beating you boy?" He can see the scars and welts on my back.
"His owner. Who do you think? Show him my brand boy. Prove my ownership."
"What brand boy?" Rollo strokes my growing hair.
I stand up and half bend so Rollo can see my latest mark of ownership. He examines it closely and then runs his hand gently over my back.
"This ain't nothing to do with slavery man, it's fucking brutality. Did he do this?"
I nod my head and slump down to a kneeling position feeling very tired, mentally and physically. Rollo heads towards Morgan swishing the cane.
"Your turn you bastard."
"Don't be ridiculous Rollo. He's only a slave." Morgan backs off. He realises his role-play cops and leather Masters are no match for Rollo's muscles and street-wise experience.
"Yeah, my slave. He don't need no skinning alive to be an obedient boy. That's what he is. How about you, are you obedient?"
"What is this shit Rollo?"
"Simple question Morgan. Are you going to be obedient to me?" Rollo lashes Morgan twice across his naked thighs.
Morgan yelps, turns and moves away hastily. Rollo follows quickly and lands a series of hard thwacks on the cheeks of Morgan's arse. Morgan waves to Col and Raj.
"You two, help me. Stop this stupid maniac."
Col stares at Morgan for a moment before walking away without saying a word. Raj, finding himself on his own, shrugs his shoulders helplessly and scampers off towards the kitchen. Morgan tries to dodge around the sunbeds, but Rollo simply jumps from one sunbed to the next caning Morgan viscously as he goes.
"Are you going to be obedient boy?" Are you... are you? Rollo yells.
Morgan eventually crumples to the terrace at the edge of the pool and covers his head with his arms. Rollo lashes him unmercifully over his back, arse and thighs until the cuts bleed freely.
"Well, are you going to be obedient to me boy?" Another hard swishing cut.
"Yes." Morgan whimpers.
"Yes what?" Rollo insists with another lash.
"Yes Master."
Master Rollo bends down and using both hands tips Morgan into the pool. Morgan threshes around, turning the blue water pink around him and then back strokes wearily to the other side to escape his tormentor. Master Rollo walks back to where I'm still kneeling and presses my face into his crutch. I can feel his rock hard cock against my face and start sucking on it through the cotton of his pants. My Master Rollo.
I hope you like this last chapter of Obeying Rollo. Your comments would be most appreciated. will.obe@btinternet.com
Will Obe (c) Copyright