CHAPTER FIVE
Oh my fucking God! He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my whole lonely life. I can't even describe him. At times it seemed like golden rays were coming from him. I saw black leather and chains, handcuffs at his waist, a leather strap in his hand and for sure I hoped I would get to taste it. And me? I had never felt more vulnerable in my entire life. Not only that, but I had never wanted to belong to any man before, and yet, this man? This man said he now owns me? I didn't care about anything else. I didn't care about what I was leaving behind. I was ready to die and be born again. As long as I could continue to grovel at his feet, I would realize that's where I'd most feel I'd finally found my way home.
"Tell me something, queer slave, do you write with your left hand or your right hand?"
"My left hand, Sir." Suddenly he slaps me across the face.
"That first slap was because you failed to address me as Master. That is the only word you are allowed to use when speaking to me, because you must never forget I'm the one who owns you and who now rules over every aspect of your miserable faggot life." And then he slaps me again from the other side, so hard that he almost causes me to lose my balance. I immediately right myself again, keeping my hands at my side, wondering what else about me needs to be corrected. "You own absolutely nothing, queer slave. Not even this body standing before me, naked and covered with filth. You presumed to say my left hand,' And you will be severely punished whenever you use a word that suggests you have ownership of this body I am bringing into subjugation. The correct response would have to be this slave writes with its left hand, Master.' Do you think you can understand that, queer slave?"
"yes, Master, your queer slave understands."
"Hold out that left hand palm facing up. Come on, present it to me. Look into your Master's eyes, queer slave." I do so. "A bit higher, queer slave." I hold it higher and in one swift movement, he brings the strap slashing down forcibly onto my hand. I cry out and pull it away, But I'm afraid to lose eye contact with him. "It gives me pleasure to see the evidence of pain in your eyes. I was told you were being trained as a pain pig, but that is only a small part or how I plan to use you. Now put that fucking hand back up into position, and don't you dare move it away again." The strap comes down again and I cry out, almost in a high girlish voice and no that he can see the tears it just came to my eyes. He hits me again, and again, five times in all. My screams echo throughout the cavernous room and I some men draw near to watch him beat me. I hear whispering all around me, but my sobs are drowning out whatever they're saying.
I'm crying now like a little boy. He stands there and watches me and waits until I regain my composure "that should do the trick." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pen. "Hold this in your hand as if you're going to write something." I find I cannot. In fact, I can't even hold the pen at all. The pen falls to the floor. Before I can move to pick it up, he says, "leave it on the ground. The point I'm making here, queer slave, is that I have taken away from you the ability to write. But enough of that. Get back down in front of me and grovel in the filth."
He snaps his fingers and I hear a rustle of a chain, and the next thing I know one end of the chain is reaching all the way to the ground and bumping up against my face. "Take the end of this leash and attach it to the collar that's around your neck." It's not easy, because my left hand is pretty much incapacitated now, and that is the hand i would usually use. I struggle to obey his command, knowing that not only is he watching, but all the other men here are watching as well. "Now get back down on the ground and find the pen you dropped before. Pick it up with your teeth and hold it in your mouth."
Could anything possibly have been more humiliating? I had to practically run my nose along the ground in order to find the fucking pen and when I did, I tried to capture it in my teeth with the least amount of contact with what had been it's resting place. "Queer slave, get up on all fours." I hate to admit it but I don't think I have ever been more high from being subjugated. Can you believe it how sick I am? As horrible as all this is, it's how I've always dreamed of being treated. I believe I deserve to be treated tis way. All the guys who bullied me in school never bothered to look at me long enough to realize I was hard most of the time, especially when they knocked me to the ground and made me kiss their filthy boots. But that's all that happened. They were all far too homophobic to risk letting the school faggot get near their junk.
Right away I wonder if this man is The One who will teach what I need to know, and I'm not afraid that it's going to be tough learning how to be this man's slave, especially in light of what he's already done to me. The last thing I want is to be babied too much like so many of the older guys who think they can handle a twink slaveboy but always end up falling in love with me and that ruins the whole thing because they're all too fucking nice to want to smack around a boy they have feeling for.
But here is something radically different and my aching hand and the filth on my body are all a good start, I guess. at I deserved, and I really believed that. Can he be The One? Dare I hope it will be so?
He raises his voice to speak to the men who have gathered around to witness my subjugation. "May I have your attention, gentleman?" The room immediately quieted down and he stepped around to the side of me raised his right foot, and rested on my back without applying too much pressure. The Master continued to speak. "I don't know what you have called this thing in the past. I know it once had an ordinary name, but Rusty and his associates have renamed it "guzzler" before they turned it over to me. Forget those names. Look at it now. Have you ever seen a more miserable slave? I only have one name for it. I am calling it `queer slave' and that's all.
I'd like you to help me out if you'd like. I want to make sure it will never be able to show its face here again without everyone realizing that it's now the lowest of all slaves who have ever been allowed to hang around this place. I want to make sure it will never again be able to face any of you without shrinking in shame. So I invite you to come help me begin cleaning it up. if you want you can come and spit on it while repeating its name. "Queer slave." Spit on it as much as you'd like before I drag it out of here and so it can begin its new existence."
The number 21 came to mind, because I had taken 21 cocks into my mouth and throat as part of my initiation tonight. This was a different order altogether. 30 men spit at me and told me that I am a queer slave, Some of those men were fellows I played with and talked with and joked with and hung out with within only the past few months. I fully understood what the Master had said. That person is gone now. Those relationships have come to an end. Now a new relationship has been formed with the 30 men who stood around watching this Master drive his slave into the ground and now the spit is dripping from parts of its body, down the crack of its ass and also oozing down its face. Meanwhile, the Master is hauling it through the room into the very back of this establishment and then out of back door.
So there I was, naked, covered in filth and spit, still on all fours, waiting in the dirt for what the Master would next to me. The back door opens again and one of the club's staff members comes out holding a green garden hose and hooks it up to a faucet on the back of the building. "I put the spray nozzle on the end of the hose, figuring that would probably be best for you. If you don't want to use it just unscrew it and leave it on the ground. I'll take care of it later. Good luck getting this thing clean." The Master thanks him and the fellow goes back into the club leaving me alone out here with the Master holding the hose which is now already dripping because the water was turned on full force.
"Kneel up!" As soon as I do I'm hit with an ice cold spray from that fucking hose and I understand he intends to wash me off completely. I've already been through this once tonight, getting sprayed with cold water, but this time I really want to get this filth off me, so I try to move in ways that will help, but the water is so cold and force is so strong that I find myself diving around trying to escape from it almost the same way I have escaped from whips with other Masters used on me at other events. He laughs as he chases me around with the hose taking delight when he's able to get me in tender places.
I'm being driven out of my mind. What must it look like for someone to see this happening to me? That was crazy, wasn't it? But that's what came to mind: how despicable I must look. And then, add to that thought the fact that this Master is taking tremendous pleasure in what he's doing to me and I don't really have any way of getting him to stop doing it.
He makes me stand up and put my hands on top of my head. He inspects me up and down and all over. He sprays a couple of spots that are still dirty and then leans in and tries to wipe them clean roughly with his fingers. Now I'm shivering. My entire body cold as ice.
I hear an engine approaching, a truck engine. It's a big pickup truck with an open back like something used to haul furniture or other heavy objects. The truck comes to a stop. Master opens the back and bids me get up in there and raps me on the ass as I try to make my way up. The man who was driving the truck comes around and jumps up in the back himself. I'm still wearing the handcuffs they had put on me in the office, and this man uses them to make sure I'm secure and won't be falling off the truck as he drives. I'm down here in almost the same position I was in when I was groveling in the club. only this time I'm not filthy dirty. I am so cold as the truck drives around countryside I have no idea where he's taking me and no possible way to get myself out of this. I refuse to let panic set in. I am determined that I am going to enter fully into all of this and not call back and act as if I still have some agency. Nope. None. The Master used a hose to spray off all the filth from the club and my entire body is frigid because of all of that cold water.
I'm in the back of the truck with my arms chained up and I'm being taken away from the club, and he told me it would be a long time before i could ever come back here. I have no idea where he's taking me. It doesn't matter. I think of how throughout the history slaves would have been taken from a market and carted off to an unknown destination can be put to work or put it to use somehow. And that is what is happening to me now. I'm sorry, I have to correct that I should have said this Queer slave.
I finally get to where we're going and the truck pulls up to the side of the house. The driver gets out, lowers the gate and gets in the back with me. "Up on your knees!" There's something about this guy's voice that really gets me going. I get up on my knees and look up into his eyes. A glob of spit form on his lips and then falls down onto my face. He takes out his cock, puts his hand to the back of my head and forces me to go down on him. He holds me there until I'm choking. I really think I'm going to pass out.
Suddenly he lets go of my head and I propel myself back off his dick and start coughing and choking and spitting all sorts of slime out of my mouth "get back up here!" He starts kicking at me, so i get right back up on my knees. "OK, so you know what I can do to you if I want. Give me the best blow job you have ever given. Make love to my cock like the faggot you are. And so I do. Now he caresses my head as I'm working on him and it makes me work even harder to give him as much pleasure as I possibly can. Things have been pretty rough lately, but this is a really sweet reward. If this were another time and another place and I wasn't the slave that I am, I think I could easily have fallen in love with this guy but it's probably not a good idea for me to think about love right now.
I drink down his load as if it were the tastiest milkshake I've ever had. I do a real good job cleaning him off. He tucks himself back into his pants then leans down to releases me from the chains but keeps the handcuffs on me. I get the sense these are pretty permanent. I only hope that whoever gets me next has a set of keys. My wrists are getting banged up and I know I'll be sporting bruises for a long time to come.
He helps me down out of the truck and then brings me into the back door of the house into a room that looks like an interview room in a police station. He has me sit down, and the next thing I know he takes off the handcuffs (thank God!!!) then locks leather manacles around my sore wrists and binds my wrists to the arms of the chair. It's nice and warm in here and finally I stop shivering, but dammit, I have to piss something fierce.
He can see my discomfort. "What?" He asks me. "Sorry, Sir, but I really need to pee."
"So? Pee. Right here. If you gotta piss just do it like an animal."
Do you have any idea how hard it is to piss while bound naked to a chair in an interview room with this guy watching me and licking his lips eager to watch what happens? To make matters ever worse, he brings me a small bottle of water with a straw on it and lays it on the table so I can put my mouth over the straw if I want to drink. Of course, no matter how thirsty I am at this point, if I drink any of the water I'll be pissing myself. Fuck.
Write me at subkodak25@gmail.com
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