Once again, THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. The narrative that follows did not happen to Me or to anyone else by Me. Don't contact Me to meet this slave. DO contact Me if you want to become this slave. Also contact Me with any praise, criticism, or suggestions. All feedback is good.
Satanic Slave - Part 7
And that was the start of the "routine" of life as a chained faggot cocksucker.
It's damn near impossible to explain life at that point. There was this endless flow of "now" ... time just fucking stopped. i have no idea how many days, weeks, months or years went by. It's nearly impossible to transcribe things in order because there was no milestone by which to remember what happened when. The best i can do is describe what life was like during that period and then highlight some specific incidents.
There were no meals; we were fed cum, piss, and the fortified water of the stone Phalluses. Yes, there was a Phallus in every room, all identical: huge stone Cocks providing faggots' nourishment. There were no rest periods; we all seemed to fall into many light naps throughout the day/night, easily awoken should there be a Cock we had the chance to service. It's probably that lack of deep sleep that created such a sense of submissive stupor. We were all weakened mentally into a state of compliance with any and all orders to serve Cock. We were very willing Cockslaves. i never saw or heard of any faggots rebelling or wanting to leave; there was nowhere we'd rather be. Maybe it was just an effective application of the Stockholm Syndrome, but we were all worshipful of our Captors.
There was no routine, no repetition. Sure, there were Cocks that were serviced more than once, but there was no regularity and therefore, again, no way to judge the passage of time. Was it a week ago i had serviced this Cock? A month ago? There was no fucking way to know. And there was no reason to care.
There were many special rooms in the compound into which a Man led one or more of us for use. One of the more commonly used was "the family room". There were a few recliners there and a TV. There was a refrigerator in the corner. Men would often come by, toss some beer in the fridge, and use a faggot to worship Them as they watched pussy porn on TV. One time a faggot (this faggot) was lucky enough to be pulled in there by a group of frat boys watching a college football game; there was no cocksucking, but they wanted a servant to fetch them beers and to drain their bladders so nobody missed a play. Hours of pissload after pissload, each one thanked for in the most depraved and degrading terms. "Thank You so much, Lord, for Your delicious piss." "Sir, Your faggot is so grateful for Your nourishment."
Another time a faggot was led there by a Man in his 60's or so ... a faggot could only judge by the color of His pubes. In the room were His son and grandson. The grandson had apparently just turned 18 and they were celebrating by showing him what Men did with faggots. Each of them were serviced several times and all their urine and seed were happily swallowed by a "perverted cuntface" (the grandson's disgusted compliment).
It was especially wonderful when being used by more than one Man, being passed around like a toy. One time a table was in the family room and a faggot was blessed with the opportunity to crawl under and service. It was a poker game where whoever had won the previous hand was pleasured during the next.
There was a series of simple bedrooms within the complex. Sometimes a Man wanted to lie down to be worshipped or He wanted to fuck a faggot in bed. One time a faggot was positioned here face up on the bed, my head hanging over the side and a group of 4 men took turns throat-raping me. My face was thickly covered with throat slime, snot, and cum when it was over and I was not given permission to wash for a long long while.
From time to time (again, there was no way to know how much time passed between events), faggots were milked so our prostates could release some fluid. A faggot didn't necessarily look forward to this event.
A random number of faggots (always an even number) were always stationed in the milking room. Half of the faggots were bound standing spread-eagle. Beneath each of us was a mechanical fuck-tube that would slowly slide up and down inside our holes. These tubes vibrated which added to the incredible sensations we experienced.
The other half of us were positioned kneeling, one in front of each of the spread-eagle faggots. Our job was to lick up and swallow the release from the milking. There is no way to measure which position was the more cruel.
The pace and pulse of the fuck machines could vary, but normally it was maddeningly slow, not enough to get off but only enough to make my fagdick drool uncontrollably. A faggot could spend hours, days, weeks in this state of near-orgasm without ever doing more than continually churning out a slow drip of worthless fagseed and never experiencing the pleasure of release. To look down was to be further frustrated by seeing a cocksucker's mouth sucking up my dickdrool without providing me more than the suggestion of pleasure. A faggot, every faggot, often cried during the experience.
And there there were the lickers, unable to provide orgasmic release to the cocks straining in front of our faces. Only able to suck up the drool from a permanently caged prick. It was a room of endless frustration.
Sometimes a Man would enter the room. Often He might just sit in the back, having dragged in His own cocksucking faggot and getting blown watching our torment. His presence, His orgasm, would often make us sob. But it could get even worse.
Just like with the faggot clock in the hallway, a sensor responded when a Man was in front of one of us milked faggots. As long as He stood there, the pulse and pace of the machine increased and a faggot could truly be machine-fucked. Men took advantage of this and would bitchslap, punch, or work over a faggot's flesh, knowing we would beg for more just to keep Him standing there so the fucking would continue. We were cleverly being trained to become fucking masochists, associating pleasure with pain, making them one and the same. After awhile, whenever a Man bitchslapped me, even if i wasn't being milked, my fagdick would swell and drool. We eventually begged for abuse from any Man at any time -- the crueler, the better.
Imagine the power these Men had -- to walk into a room of faggots and have us all pleading to suffer for His enjoyment. "Please, Lord, whip this worthless faggot for hours" ... "God, this cuntfaced whore would love to be slapped by You again" ... "Sir, please show a cocksucker what its nuts are good for." Men often came here to release Their frustrations.
Every once in a while a faggot actually orgasmed from the experience. There was no punishment for this and it became the carrot at the end of a very long stick. Making orgasm possible but damn fucking unlikely was far more cruel than denying it altogether.
And then there was the "fucking room." Another place where a faggot's orgasm was nearly, but not quite, impossible.
From time to time (again, there was no way to anticipate) a faggot would be stationed here. Each wall held a different positioning for faggots. Along the back wall faggots were locked spread-eagle along the floor and wall. Men just fucked to Their hearts' content. A faggot rarely got to see who was fucking it in this position, but it was the most intimate of the three. When stationed here, a faggot could at least feel a Man's body against it and have His sweat on its flesh. It was my favorite place to be when stationed in this room.
Next to that wall were a series of chains hanging from the ceiling. Faggots were hung by our wrists and ankles, which were locked together to completely expose our fuckholes. We got to see our Fuckers unless we were screwed from behind. When a Man entered the room, He would often demand we beg for His Meat. We were gagged though, so the only way to beg was by using the muscles in our holes to make them open and close, to pout ... there seemed to be no limit to the degenerate ways we made our fuckholes desireable. Sometimes a Man would come and sit watching us beg harder and harder for what seemed like hours. i could never compete with the other faggots and would often spend what felt like days here in constant frustration.
Once there were a group of Men in the fucking room and i was "lucky" enough to be positioned here. The Men enjoyed a fun game. Each would enter me once, sliding all the way down my hole. Then He'd back away and fuck another hole to orgasm. For god-knows-how-long, I was just given a single stroke of Cock at a time. The Man who made me sob was the winner. There were many winners that night.
Opposite that wall was "the bench". The bench was waist high and we were positioned here bent over the bench so our fuckholes were wide open and available. Our upper bodies were covered with a dark cloth so there was nothing but fuckhole visible to the Men in the room. Our faces, however, were positioned to be visible from the room next door, "the bar".
The bar served liquor at an open cabinet next to the door. There were comfortable chairs for Men to use as they watched what was going on in the neighboring rooms. Each of the three neighboring walls had what looked like two shelves running from corner to corner. We were positioned in the neighboring rooms so our heads, between these shelves, could easily be seen from the Men at the bar. There was, however, a 2-way mirror in front of our faces. All the Men in the bar could see us, but we had no choice but to see our own pitiful faces staring back at us. It was rough being watched but not knowing by whom. It was also hard worshipping a Man in the bar being surrounded by suffering faggots.
One time a faggot had serviced a Man in one of the bedrooms. While happily licking His Cock clean, the Man engaged in a little conversation. This was a very rare event; most Men didn't acknowledge us verbally except to insult/compliment us.
"So, I think I've got a new cocksucker here. No complaints, cuntface; just saying I don't think I've seen this faghole here before. Any questions?"
A faggot spoke to Cock. "Lord, a faggot has no need to know, but just how does this place work? Who are these Men and how did They learn about this compound?"
"It's not all that complicated, dickbreath. These compounds are stationed throughout the world. There's no advertising; with services like this, there's no need. It's all by word-of-mouth. There are those who use the glory holes without realizing there's an entire complex on the other side. The glory holes are part of a bookstore. Men pay a buck for entry. They don't necessarily pay for the blowjob, so it's all nice and legal. They rate potential cocksuckers thinking the ones with high ratings stay there. They don't realize the faggots who pass end up here. Those that don't pass... well ... I'll talk about that another time.
"The actual compound is made up of members like Me. We each pay a fee for membership. Memberships are available for a night or for an entire year. And again, we don't pay for sex, just for membership to the club. There are a whole bunch of rules we must agree to. Like how to behave if We see somebody We know has become a faggot. How We can arrange to take a faggot home with Us. Shit like that.
"Then there are the Initiators. It's a small group that every member hopes to become a part of. I have no idea on what basis they decide, but an Initiator chooses faggots to go into the deeper cells of the complex and chooses members to become a part of their league.
"And then there is the Founder. Scary fucking man, but He's got the respect of all of us. He did found this network, but nobody seems to know when it started He and the Initiators share some deep shit. I only know Him by reputation, but I think that's all I want to know Him by. Rumor has it that He and the Initiates practice some bizarre rituals as they move from compound to compound. And as if that wasn't strange enough," he added, cocking His head toward the room's Phallus, "he's apparently only half-human. Probably half-donkey as well."
"What do You mean, Sir?"
"Those big stone dicks that you bitches drink from? I hear they're are all copies of His cock. Life-size copies."