Please see original story for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Included dominant/submissive and occasionally coercive sex between men. Includes BLASPHEMY. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like but I will write you into the nasty bits of a future story if you flame me. Donate to Nifty TODAY at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
"Oh, by the way, Damian is the name for a human and a name for a man. You don't deserve that any more. From this point forward, when we want you to pay attention because we are discussing or directing or instructing you, you will answer to the name, Pee-Pee Boy. Sleep well, Pee-Pee Boy, and may your dreams be everything that you so richly deserve."
***** Turntable Rehabilitation Services - Chapter 4: Full-Fill Meant By Bear Pup
M/M, M/M/M; piss; BDSM; CBT; anal penetration; race; humiliation
I wake to the same brightly-lit room, the mirr- NO! the screen that showed that pathetic faggot get his due still in place, now showing me- NO! NO! showing that piece of filth lying in a now-clean bed. Like me, he no longer has a hospital gown at all and also like me, the worm woke with a piss-hard. Why did God even waste a dick, and a nice one, on such trash?
I'm pondering this when Ian arrives, smiling as always. He frowns a question at me as he reaches for the cuffs, but can see that I am cowed and will cause no more trouble... at least for now. He escorts me into the bathroom and again forces me to sit like a twat for my morning piss. He also takes an exaggeratedly-long time to clean my crack even though I didn't shit. I can tell he is still pissed as hell and loving the chance to subjugate me more.
He pulls me up and we exit, but he stands between me and the bed. He reaches out and does something that causes my restraints to lock my arms in front of me, forearm to forearm. He then grabs my shoulder and guides me, for the first time when I was awake, outside the hospital room. The hall outside is, however, nothing like a hospital. The hallway is long, wide and tall, like heavy equipment uses it regularly. Floor, walls and ceiling are polished but bare concrete, glinting darkly. There are periotic doors in recessed niches at irregular intervals.
Ian turns me to the left and begins to walk me down the hall. I suddenly realise that the stupid fag had done nothing, nothing to bind my feet. Just then, I see a door open to what looked to be an elevator and I sense my chance for freedom. I shrug off Ian's hand and run full out for the slowly closing elevator doors. I manage to get a shoulder into the door-gap and they start to open again. I look back and see Ian simply walking casually and slowly toward me, that same fucking idiot-smile on his face. I feel on odd sensation at the base of my skull, like liquid being trickled over the skin. I then see... PAIN.
It is as if a sledgehammer is driving iron spikes into my lower back. I scream as I drop, half in and half out of the elevator. I can see nothing really, my vision taken completely by flashes of red and black. I scream again as someone, Ian probably, pulls me to a sitting position which intensifies the epic pain. He positions me back in the hallway, and I am sitting (and shrieking with pain) against the wall.
Then, like a switch thrown, the pain vanishes. My entire body aches where muscles had clenched and knotted as the intense pain wracked my frame. I take a moment to get my breath back, then looked up at Ian in fury and fear. His idiot-smile is still in place. He pulls me to my feet and gestures a bit further down the hallway. He keeps light hold of my shoulder as we walk, me still shaky and unsettled from the explosive agony. We reach a new door and Ian inserts his entire hand into a slot. A startlingly-loud CLUNK makes me jump again and Ian pushes back the door.
The room inside is dark and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. There are comfortable-looking chairs against the walls to either side of me, at least as far as the dimness lets me see. A loud CLUNK behind me sends shivers as I realise I am trapped, and my breath leaves me and my veins freeze to ice. The reason the edges of the room are dim becomes clear as I recognise the monstrous rack upon which I'd been tied and tortured and the bright spotlight that illuminates it. I begin to shake from the Freon that seems to pulse through every artery.
I cannot move a limb or even an eyeball. I feel huge hands on me and can't even think of struggling. That is until we approach the table and I immediately erupt in violence. I will die by my own hand or that of another before I find myself bound to that infernal, evil rack. I can see in the mirror that there are a half-dozen enormous men, including Top Toy, the nigger and that lumberjack guy. Each one out-masses me with well-developed strength, and each is taller and broader that I.
I scream and cry and beg like a fucking faggot. The men either ignore me or smile in vindictive glee at my noise and my feeble attempts to stop them. They make short work of overcoming me and attach me to the frame. Ankles, wrists. Straps across my upper and lower back and somehow immobilising my hops as well. Finally, Top Toy locks my head in place so that I cannot look away from my own bound image in the mirror in front of me. I watch them walk backwards into the gloom beyond the pool of light and simply... disappear.
"Ah, Pee-Pee Boy, how nice to see you again." That sinister Voice is back and I fling curses at him, loudest as I refuse to accept his attempt to make me believe that I was that faggot they projected on the ceiling about my bed during my torment. He pulls up a chair so his face is near to my head and just smirks at me as I run out of insults and breath.
"It's okay, Pee-Pee Boy, it will take some time for you to recognise that you used to be Damian but have such a more-appropriate name now." I resume my yelling, this time interspersed with tears of enraged frustration as the rack holds me immobile and utterly helpless. My tirade ends more quickly this time as despair begins to grow.
"Shh. Everything is fine... well, not for you and especially not for what little bit of Damian is left to plague Pee-Pee Boy with his helpless rage at the universe. We'll work on that shortly. I hope you recall the first time you were in this room?"
I go still and silent in horror, a physical shudder accompanies the wave of revulsion and fear that rushes through my body.
"Ah, I see that you do. But let's recap at least...
"You are here to be rehabilitated. You volunteered for this programme, which was explained in great detail, as an alternative to a lifetime in prison, undoubtedly to become the sexual toy of the most violent of the inmates. You swore oaths that you felt true remorse and accepted that, to heal, you needed to feel just what you had done to your own victims.
"You are specifically here at the request and expense of Lord Connelly to help you atone for the horrors that you inflicted on his son, Charles Maxwell IV. You have been a bubbling cauldron of self-hatred and rage, especially at those who dare to live free and happy, something you denied yourself so deeply that you felt you were entitled, even obligated, to bring justice to them in the most violent and destructive of ways.
"We will be using the self-same tactics you used to destroy them in our work to rebuild you into a fulfilled and productive member of society, free at last to be at peace. Free in the most-important sense at least, as you will of course never again leave our control. As you beat and raped those young men, you also raped their futures; as you destroyed theirs it is only fitting that we claim yours in a small measure of reparation."
I am openly weeping now, recalling both the speech and the subsequent horrors. They had promised to beat me as I beat those filthy little faggots. Brutally rape me when all I did was give them the rough and brutal sex they begged for with every flirty glance and simpering smile. Break me on the wheel that I used to bring justice to those diseased vermin. Well, it won't work. I pull myself together. Unlike those creatures, I am a MAN, not some pathetic little sissy. They'll learn. And eventually I'll find a way to break free and destroy these monsters.
"You see, Pee-Pee Boy, that is exactly why it is so hard for us to help you, and to bring you the experience you delivered to others. We can show you the physical pain and some of the emotional damage, but you still harbour some deep hope -- within the crumbling shell that was Damian -- that you might one day return to your previous life. Your victims had no such hope as you broke their bodies and their minds with your brutality. Don't worry, though, Pee-Pee Boy, we have infinite patience. We will do this until you realise that this is your life, forever.
"And so we resume. You recall Top Toy, I hope?"
My eyes pop wide as Top Toy approaches with his monstrous satchel. With less emotion than I would have in spraying for roaches, he arranges certain items on a tray. First, several syringes are laid out. He swabs my ass cheek and injects me with one. I recall from the previous session, a 'cocktail' that enhances pain without allowing me to pass out. More things emerge as I feel the fire of that drug work through me, my skin crawling with sensation. Among the items is a long, thick, knotted rope that he'd used to pummel my body. And then the truncheon with which he'd simulated breaking my fingers.
I hear screaming and pleas for mercy long before I realise that are coming from my own throat. In a professional and dispassionate manner, Top Toy walks to my side and I watch with dismay as he bends forward and delivers a crushing punch to my solar plexus, leaving me incapable of breathing, much less screaming. The rope comes next, delivering blow after blow to my body. I writhe in pain. Whenever I manage to unclench my diaphragm and draw in a shuddering breath, Top Toy delivers another blow that locks it into a cramp again. This goes on for a short eternity of agony before the rope goes away and Top Toy takes up the plastic truncheon. I gulp air, every part of me sending news of outrages to my pain-drenched brain.
"We talked about James Vickers. You recall, Pee-Pee Boy? The lovely and talented art student whose hands you crushed?" I cry out and try to clench my immobilised hands, fearing a return to the excruciating pain. "Another one you might recall was Jonathan Masters, a track star. He nearly escaped you with his talent so you made sure he could never do so again. Pee-Pee Boy, you broke nearly every bone in his feet and ankles that night. I think you used a mini-sledge you found at the construction site you selected to destroy that boy. Luckily, he was one of the ones who died that night, so he never had to face the loss of his most-prized and -beloved abilities."
Top Toy is now bent behind me and the truncheon crashes into my right foot. The agony explodes through me. I would vomit if I could. As my scream dies, another blow. I babble, begging, screaming, pleading. Anything to make this agony cease. Top Toy could not be less moved as he methodically attacks each part of my feet and ankles. Blow after blow after blow, each held back until I fall into either silence or burbling sobs then delivered with stunning accuracy and precision to maximise my suffering.
"Oh, look, Pee-Pee Boy!" That fucking sinister queer chirps up. "You just lived up to your name!" I look down and see that I have indeed pissed myself, and my mind flashes back to the humiliation of doing so in my own bed, then cumming afterwards. Of that pervert projected on the ceiling (a tiny voice inside says 'me' before I crush it) wallowing in his own piss and that which six studs rained onto him (me - NO! NO!). I continue to sob as Top Toy returns the truncheon to the tray and instead selects a small paddle, much like a spatula used to ice a cake.
My mind reels from the pain and the mortification and the fear, but I try to puzzle out what it might be for just moments before the first blow smacks into my tender nuts. I bellow in anguish and my gut spasms as the blows come hot and fast, each at a different angle, each hitting a slightly-different part of the seat of my being. I look into the mirror and see my scarlet face, neck stretched and chorded, screaming without breath as wave after wave of misery shoots out of my balls to every extreme of my body, setting my entire self alight with agony.
And just as suddenly, it stops. I hang, weak and strengthless, sobbing and desperately trying to regain my breath. I notice that I have retched up some bile and I taste it in my throat. There was nothing to sick up but the burning acid and stench of an empty stomach consumes my senses of taste and smell.
Top Toy moves up and gives me a second injection, then takes a very large syringe and I feel it poke into my most-private place, the place that nothing has ever entered since I was a baby with a thermometer. I writhe in fear that I am about to be taken in the way I can never allow, but only the tip goes in and I feel something, a cold liquid, expelled into the clenched channel.
My next cry is one of relief. Top Toy is repacking his satchel. Beyond hope or belief, he is moving away. I sob with joy, cut short by the fucking sinister Voice in my ear. My eyes flash to his face in the mirror.
"We'll let that sit for a moment, Pee-Pee Boy. You need time to think about your precious ass and what might -- no, WILL -- happen next. I'll tell you what those last two syringes held when I return." I stare as he stands and moves into the gloom, abject horror gripping me to the core as I watch those emotions flood across my own face in that vile mirror. And suddenly, the world goes black.
In the ensuing quiet, I hear slight noises and it dawns upon me that the chairs around me are filled with people. I sense both men and women. Everything done to me this day was not just my private torture. I weep with shame and humiliation as I realise people had sat there, watching me scream and beg and plead and piss myself and beg and beg and beg. I let the shameful, hated tears flow, unable to block the fact that my degradation was in front of others, perhaps many others, perhaps people I knew or respected, who saw me break.
The darkness and near-silence, broken only by the occasional movement of the audience and the rare clearing of a throat, leave me nothing to ponder other than what they will do to me next. Top Toy will be back. I feel my asshole itch and burn. Whatever they'd put in there is uncomfortable and rough. When I clench, it's like using sandpaper for TP. And it isn't sandpaper that will come next.
I always, ALWAYS, give the vermin what they want and need, a brutal fuck from a straight stud. A fuck without limits or restraint. A fuck they will never forget. And I never, never use lube. A couple were so tight that I used their blood or piss to slick myself a bit, but nothing more. Screams and begging and horrified cries are the ultimate aphrodisiac. I feel myself getting hard with the memories. They had wailed, but I know that they craved the fuck I delivered. The beating and the crushing, that was the lesson they needed and the punishment they deserved. The fuck, though, was nothing more or less than their deepest depraved desires brought to vivid life.
My erection wilts as I realise that I am about to experience that. THEIR dream, their craving, is about to be delivered to someone, ME, who never wanted or imagined such a disgusting and vile act. A welter of emotions flow through me, mainly centred on fear and disgust. The utter darkness and near-silence lets those thoughts fester in a timeless spiral until I am nearly overcome. Just as it becomes too much and I feel the scream build, my eyes are blinded when the spotlight returns. I flinch when I find that the prissy queen is already seated, smiling, and I'd never heard him approach. It multiplies my feeling of helpless dread.
"Ah, Pee-Pee Boy, I trust you had some time to think?" I just stare at him wide-eyed and panting in excitation and fear. "I can see that you did. How does your ass fell, Pee-Pee Boy?" It suddenly rushes into my just how scratchy and itchy and rough I feel back there. Frankly, it is not a part I normally think about feeling, but I realise just how much different and uncomfortable I am after... whatever Top Toy did.
"One of the signature features of your attacks was the dry rape of your victims. Several of them died or nearly died from those injuries alone. As I've promised, you are not going to die... well, at least Pee-Pee Boy is not; Damian will, eventually, as that reservoir of self-loathing, rage and hatred is gradually drained. I promised that you would become happy and productive, and having your asshole shredded and ripped would be something of a problem.
"The medication that Top Toy administered is new one. You should be honoured; it was created just for you in fact. We are quite proud of it, though, and expect to be able to use it in other interventions and the rehabilitation of other victimisers. It is actually a lubricant, both so you are not destroyed and so that our own employees are not injured trying to enter you. But it drastically-heightens your sensitivity and makes your anus feel raw, rough and painful. Top Toy also gave you a booster of the sensitising drug. You have quite a ride in front of you, Pee-Pee Boy." My eyes remain huge and my mouth is open in abject terror of what he had described.
"You actually have given us another problem, Pee-Pee Boy. It seems that a number of our folks have taken an... interest in your particular case. As I mentioned, all of the people with whom you've interacted were themselves abusers and victimisers before graduating our programme. Many, as is sadly often the case, had the origin of their rage and hatred in the fact that they, when young, were themselves abused, often violently. Your merciless and vengeful MO elicited some extraordinarily-intense reactions.
"In fact, I had to resort to a bidding system. Even that was not enough as three of them, all three ones that you already net, maxxed out what they could offer. I went back through the tapes as you became Pee-Pee Boy and watched your reactions. So I am quite sure that the one honoured is the one to give you that absolute peak experience."
The dread ripples through me like illness, shaking me to my core. My first thought is the lumberjack with that fireplug dick that required two hands to encircle. The thought of that monstrosity ripping me open as I lay helpless and already in pain echoes across the faces I watch into the mirror, mine streaming tears and that sinister queer smiling in anticipation.
That is nothing, nothing to what I see in my eyes when the man's form slowly resolves as he slowly enters the circle of illumination. It is that massive, animalistic nigger. That degenerate-raced monster with the blue-black cock of some sort of disgusting jungle ape. I was to be raped, defiled, deflowered in the ultimate emasculating act, and not even by an equal, but by this fucking queer nigger. I scream my denial and struggle hard against the inescapable bonds.
He walks forward so slowly, a giant black panther cat stalking wounded and tethered prey, the black of his body broken only in his ear-to-ear smile of brilliant white teeth. He walks around me slowly, touching me and I quiver and flinch away from his violating touch. Each squirm and jerk increases his apparent joy. When he reaches my face, his body occludes the reflection and all I can see is his rippling, fatless musculature.... and massive blue-black cock. He grips it and I instinctively clamp my jaw as tight as it can go. Nothing short of the Jaws of Life will pry me open to invasion by that, that unspeakable thing.
But my mouth is not his objective. As he nears me I can see that he has been leaking copiously and his foreskin is full and shaft coated with it. He methodically wipes his dogwater across my face, spending at least a minute ensuing that each of my nostrils and the lip beneath are sopping with the reeking slime. The stench is inescapable, especially as I keep my jaw tightly clamped. Just before he moves on, he pulls his foreskin all the way back behind the glans and I get a brief glimpse of yellow-white smegma on his nigger dick and realise a moment too late his intent; he smears the African cock-cheese and the rest of his dogwater across my lips. By the time it occurs to me to bite and wound that prick, he has moved beyond my reach.
I am completely absorbed in what I see before me as he continues to circle and touch me. My face shines with his slime and whitish flecks coat my lips. I see my tongue dart out, shocked, to taste what he'd left. The sickening sour-sweat richness of his repulsive coon-cheese and the salty-sweat of the leaking pre-cum mix in a cocktail that I am appalled to see raises interest in another part of my reflection. My dick rises traitorously at the taste and smell. I long to hang my head and weep, but the restraint prevents it.
All such thoughts -- all thought at all -- vanishes when the nigger finishes and I watch him at my ass. He stands a little to the side so I have an unobstructed view as he teases his blue-black cock to fuller erection and gathers the foreskin as far as it will stretch above the flared head. He then steps behind me and garbs one check, the other preoccupied with his prick. "Me! Isicubu!" he cries out in a fierce, warrior-like shout.
I feel his nigger dick touch me and scream in rage and disgust and humiliation. He leaves it there, pressed lightly against my virgin and unprotected pucker as I quiet, and his other hand grips the remaining cheek. He massages my ass, making sure that I have plenty of time to understand and dread what he is about to do. I shiver in revulsion as his apish black paws stroke my sides, a massive and predatory smile plastered across his face like a white neon beacon of need and loathing. His hands end at my wide hips. I look in horror, realising that my own cock is rampant as well.
Without the slightest warning of face or body, the nigger piledrives into me. My world goes white, then red. The pain is unendurable, but the drugs prevent an escape into unconsciousness. He slams forward, his progress slowed by the friction of my virgin hole as it is ripped open. My soul is ripped with it as I endure the ultimate dishonour, the pinnacle of shameful emasculation and disgrace. Pain upon pain upon PAIN, unbearable but inescapable. I can hear the nigger laugh and shout derision at me, but the main sound it a high, girlish keening or despair and agony... coming from my own harsh and hoarse voice.
The pain stays somewhat constant in everything but my heart and gut as the fucking nigger bottoms out. He waits until I quiet to a simple heartbroken sobbing before sawing in and out. The sensation at the previously-inviolate entrance to my ass is of glass shards and nails ground against your tongue or feet. Every motion sends a wave of agony through me.
I cannot but cry, but the ape-man has no trouble with his voice. I cannot understand his coon language, but he puts enough real words into make it clear. Words like bitch and cunt and pussy and faggot and filth; words I had used in similar situation so, so many times; words that sliced like knives into my soul. His rough thrusts saw apart what's left of my manliness and his insults and gloating pride at my abasement sever the last ties I have to my own masculinity.
He slowly finds a rhythm and I weep. The pain is constant, but the fullness begins to torment me just as much. After a moment, another creature, perhaps Top Toy or the shaved Spaniard, steps briefly into the light and the nigger pauses his rape of my ass long enough to step onto a small platform brought by the other man. His angle of attach changes, finding new places to grind and torment. I have lost the power to scream or beg or speak, and simply sob out mortified tears.
That changes when the nigger finds his next rhythm. Each agonising stroke now pokes something deep inside, making me desperate to piss but knowing I have none left. As he hits it over and over and over, I watch in mounting dread as my own cock begins to fill, stiffen and eventually to leak. This cannot be. The mirror lies!
But my body knows the truth. Even through the pain at my anus, the stroking of that spot is slowly driving me mad. My sobs turn to grunts, then shamefully and horribly to moans. My body and voice betray me utterly until I sound like a faggot-whore, groaning and whining and whimpering as the fucking negro bastard takes me deeply, thoroughly and completely. My face is a mask of terror and grief as I watch my body respond and my mouth moan with increasing need.
It is all, in an instant, too much. The man changes his thrusts to short, sharp jabs aimed directly at that spot and I scream in denial and horrified ecstasy as I watch, unable to turn away, from my cock spewing its load, at the nigger laughing, at the fucking sinister queer applauding. I scream through my powerful, wracking orgasm and suddenly hear others roaring laughter, approval, derision and disappointment that I was allowed to cum at all, or ever again.
The dick slows to a gentle sawing motion as I calm to weeping, trying and failing to close my eyes; trying and failing to deny the unspeakable fact that I erupted in orgasm by being fucked, taken by a barely-human savage. The hall quiets as well and the fucking Voice leans close to whisper.
"Oh, Pee-Pee Boy, you see how much you can enjoy things when you are allowed (or forced) to let your body take over? How your rage and hatred simply melt away as you blow load after load after load of creamy, queer, gay boy-batter onto the floor beneath your violated and stud-claimed ass?" I cannot rip my eyes away as my dick softens and drips.
"And all these people! All of them watched and laughed as you finally realised that you, Pee-Pee Boy, love getting fucked by a big black stallion. Oh, sorry, Isicubu, I should not have interrupted. Please continue."
I try to scream again but have nothing left as the nigger returns to long, hard, driving strokes. The pounding pressure on my prostate is nothing now compared to the pain in both my ass and my heart and I silently beg to die.
Still at my ear, "Yes, Pee-Pee Boy, that's what your victims wished even minute that you took them. Please let me die. Please let this end. Please, anything, please let it stop. How often did you stop before you shot your load deep into their asses, though? And didn't it ever occur to you just how queer it was that the best orgasms of your miserable life were up the ass of a guy? Pee-Pee Boy, didn't you ever see the raging faggot you were in those intense and violent eruptions?"
I can't block the voice. I can't block the sight of my ass taken, claimed, bred by a huge nigger buck, rutting his masculine glory into my core. I can't block the horrible, unthinkable truth. I watch and sob and leak even more from my re-engorged dick as the buck fucks me. I watch drool at my own lips and see my tongue washing as much of his smegma and dogwater into my mouth, relishing and despising the fulfilment that the taste and scent give me.
After and endless time, the black man speeds and begins to fling curse after curse at me. With an animalistic roar -- something from the back of a dark and primordial cave -- the bestial man erupts, every muscle and vein in sharp relief. I feel his seed enter me, each flood of his jism impregnating my very soul with his essence. Gush after gush, I visualise his filthy and diseased juice soaking into my body and invading my bloodstream. I near my own second orgasm just as the fucking nigger pulls out. I watch in despair as I see my traitorous body try to hump back and hear myself whine like a girl, a baby deprived its toy, as I rock on the edge of completion... denied.
As a final measure of subjugation, the nigger reaches over to the tray left by Top Toy and pulls a blunted-spearhead-shaped thing. It is black and rubbery with a narrow tip and flared girth, narrowing again to a tiny shaft atop a large, round base. I scream anew as he plunges it into my ravaged ass. The pain is intense, but more emasculating is the fact that the nigger's semen is now inescapably trapped in my bowels, to soak into every part of me and penetrate my entire body with his conquering seed.
I feel a stirring at the base of my neck, without the pain but with the same sensation as the earlier incapacitation as I ran to the elevator. I puzzle as I hear, "Good night, Pee-Pee Boy. Dream of this and nothing else. Relive it, Pee-Pee Boy, it is the first of many such experiences. And you will come to crave it above all else." Blackness falls during that and the world dissolves.
A few of you directly contributed to this chapter. Your ideas and intense disgust for Pee-Pee Boy (formerly Damian) led you to suggest such remarkably-vivid ideas about how to rehabilitate this monster. Special shout-outs to Roberto, Jeff and Don (thought I am not actually using your ultimate suggestions -- though you're right he deserves it). As all of you know, I am a very new author. I welcome and really do pay attention to your suggestions and criticisms.
Stories so far, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 11 chapters, more coming, .../camping/canvas-hell/ Karl & Greg: 14 chapters, more coming, .../incest/karl-and-greg/ The Heathens: 3 chapters, more coming, .../historical/the-heathens/ Beaux Thibodaux: 3 chapters, LOTS more coming, .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ Mud Lark Holler: 2 chapters, more coming, .../rural/mud-lark-holler Turntable Rehab: 4 chapter, more coming, .../authoritarian/turntable-rehabilitation-services Off the Magic Carpet: 1 chapter, not sure yet, .../military/off-the-magic-carpet Temple Street: 5 chapters (on hiatus), .../authoritarian/temple-street/ Virtual Master: 1 story (not a series), .../authoritarian/virtual-master