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A slave's Induction
Ch 14 - Master's property affirmed
Like the most loyal dog in the universe - which Bill had turned Nick into -- as if bringing its Master his slippers or the newspaper in its mouth, Nick delivered the mail to Bill during his daily custom of office work first thing in the day. Today it included a package from France. It was from Andre. Bill opened it first. On top was a note, "I wanted to wait till you returned from your much deserved vacation before sending this, so you would receive it personally." The letter went on to say, "Thank you for the fine specimen you last supplied me with. Of the ones I have purchased from you, this is one of the best. It has supplied me with one of the largest pieces for my unusual collection, giving me great satisfaction. I wanted you to have the full collection of its video and extracted still pictures for your entertainment, and for whomever of your friends and associates with whom you should choose to share it. Enjoy - and welcome the fuck back my sorely missed friend. Our world is a considerably more amenable and much more accommodating place when you are in your high and revered saddle."
Nick knelt at his Master's side, receiving those dog-like head rubs and behind the ear scratches he'd grown to love so much, "Looks like a nice appreciation gift from Andre for the Latino he purchased before I left on hiatus," Bill offered aloud.
"Great Sir. He certainly was a beauty. One of the biggest cocks I've ever seen you procure Sir.
"I'd have to agree with that one MY boy," Bill handed the small box down to his favored slave, "See what's in there for me."
Nick pulled the contents of the package out and gave its litany, "There's two videos marked before - two marked after - and one marked procedure Sir, and three discs marked extracted stills labeled the same way Master, before - after - and procedure.
"I think we'll have movie night -- be an excellent thing for my toilet to see with its forthcoming debut."
Nick told his Master there was more information in an envelope which he read at Bills direction. It said regarding the DVDs marked "Before," two weeks ahead of time, ads were put in appropriate places to attract interested participants. The call was for guys to pay bare unprotected homage to a hot (no diseases) Mediterranean man's horse cock on the sixteenth and seventeenth of the month. They were to write to a given address with their contact information - phone numbers included.
Anal or oral worship were both invited. Due to its size, however, the disclaimer was, that oral past the head would be a likely challenge. A private location in Paris was rented under an assumed name for the proceedings, and appointment times were scheduled for the two-day period. Concealed mini cameras were set up and monitored from another room, for capturing the action from many angles. To guarantee the slave's persistent performance with its distasteful all male lineup, erection was insured with the use of shots."
Andre's insurance policy with the Latino, while having him off site and performing, consisted of pictures of the slave's family. He was simply warned of his need to protect them from unnecessary tragedy. The exceptional performances Bill would be enjoying would reflect the slave's understanding. The victim had no idea yet of his intended nullification.
Regarding the "After" DVDs, the nullified slave would be shown as two bit anal whore to the dozen men it serviced, the ruination and stretching of its hole beyond their use -- its time in the thought chair - and consequential offering of its toothless oral cavity and throat as its users substitute fuckhole.
The "Procedure" DVD was of course self explanatory as an instructional of the slave's nullification in full detail - from the first injection of lydocane and the first scalpel cut, to the last stitch - start to finish. Footage even of the Plastination process to preserve Andre's collection piece was willingly offered up by the company - believing it was of a deceased loved one's appendage -- and included.
Bill knew of Andre's particularly well-developed market for pre and post op video and or stills or both - as well as a more specialized market for things procedure related. They had plenty of covert material with his women "tricks" - his victims more accurately - for the straight market. There were a lot of straights - both male and female - that liked seeing a horse hung man forcibly fucking women.
I woke up feeling extremely hung over from all the chemical augmentation the Master had seen fit to introduce into his property for its mental allignment. I looked up at the ceiling and read the large reminder. Everything came back to me with total recall. As I lay there alone, completely naked and exposed, attached spread eagle to the cot on which I was often bedded, I felt so privileged to be alive - to be here - to know my Master had chosen to save me from the darkness of the hellish pit into which I had fallen created by my improper, wrong thoughts. My continued realization and acceptance that the mind here between the Master's two ears was his - not just a concept, or an idea, or a principle, but reality - consumed me. There really was nothing left of this object - not a thin hair, or a tiny synapse, that did not belong to the man who had requisitioned it - not a fingernail, or body part, or internal organ, or even a thought, that wasn't his, as a literal and rightful belonging.
The result of accepting that truth - of celebrating his power and authority and ability to make of me what was best for him - instead of begrudging the Master his pleasure, or my lack of freedom - as I had done in the pit, did several things. Instead of a black shroud blanketing my spirit, blocking out all his light creating confusion and misgivings, there was a sense of being bolstered up - clear - cognasant of his right to eliminate mine - to remove my humanity - to display me as his pleading toy in front of my family and friends and the world - clarifying my purpose as his object.
I focused on his power. How it was undeniable, and unnatural, and worshipful. It was what kept me from being unable to look away from him that fateful night in the bar. That never happened, no matter how handsome the creature in my sights. When led into his presence by his servant I felt it. Once he made up his mind, my future and fate were sealed. I just didn't know it. I was his in that instant - but it would take me till now to realize the extent of the veracity and complexity of that fact.
I heard the doors opening. As I looked over, it was the big man. He had been Bill's "number two" for years before he'd taken the hiatus. Number two had used the time to do some traveling of his own, and now he was back. He loved everything about Bill's operation and persona, and he loved being so intricately involved in the workings. With no acknowledgement in my direction, the big hairy giant had one of the six side displays I recognized from the party in tow. Short stepping the chains of his ankle irons - hands cuffed behind him, and being lead by a leash attached to cruelly stretched nuts, the expression on his face was indicative of his discomfort.
As I watched horrified from my remembrances of the cage, he led his charge over to the torturous instrument. Shirtless - the way I would find out the Boss liked him most of the time - the big man wore a pistol locked to a holster on his belt with a corresponding Sam Brown strap over one massive trap muscle and across his hairy muscled torso - further accentuating his sexiness and look of authority - as if anything were needed to magnify either one. He wore tight uniform pants exaggerating his bubble ass and thick columnar legs, tucked - military style - into the tops of black boots on his size fifteens. To say he looked formidable would be a gross understatement - a creature every eye would turn to when he walked into a room. The beautiful, macho, less than six-foot, ginger, hairy chested, slave I remembered seeing on display at the party was allowed speech - and pleading, though being ignored, was how he was using the privilege, "Please Mister. Please Sir. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."
I didn't know what he had done but I DID know, that after this - what ever it was - he wouldn't be doing it again. The giant backed him into the minimal cage and worked efficiently to get him set up. The hole penetrator was pulled all the way out though - a luxury I never knew. As I was installed I was backed right onto it. All the while he was being positioned he begged and pleaded. As the cage was lifted off the floor, the surprise of it silenced him. Some final adjustments, and the big man approached my bed. "So shitface - time for you to meet your maker."
I had no doubt about the reference he was making as I responded, "Yes Sir - thank You Sir." There was that entrancing aroma. As he leaned over me to loosen my far hand, his exposed, sweaty, deep forested, pit engulphed my face. NOW, the overpowering aroma I had wished I could enjoy, was enrapturingly, overpoweringly, sexual. NOW, not only did it have its fully intoxifying effect, but I wasn't confused. There weren't any misgivings about my place - my appropriate position as my Master's object. Things were clear. I was clear. Abuse and use and humiliation were my deserved lot for which I had my Master to thank and praise. In my Master's clarified head, the smell consumed me and his slave cock gave affirmation to the fact. It hit Max in the back.
"You really like that don't you shithead?" he said turning around and stroking the unavoidable evidence of the undeniable fact.
"YES SIR!" was my exuberant reply.
He loosened the rest of the restraints holding me spread-eagle to the cot - the one I had spent so many nights in - the one (from familiarity sake) I had to be careful not to consider mine. Nothing was mine anymore - and he sat me up, "First come over here." He stood me and held onto my arm to assist me till I gained my stability, "You ok?" he said easing off the hold of my arm.
"Yes Sir. I think so." I hadnt remembered feeling so spazmotic in my life as I did standing there after being on display, then seated for so long, and bedded down right after, but my strength came back and I followed my beastly leader over to the cage. He led me around behind and put my hand on the retracted plunger pipe. As I watched, he greased the plunger and the crack at which it was aimed while addressing me.
"When I say go, I want you to find the sweet spot for the entry of the instrument you are holding. When you find it, I want you to push forward and bury the plunger deep inside this slave's cunt. As he screams keep pushing steadily until your hand touches the cage pipe. That should bury it far beyond the second sphincter. Wait a few seconds and pull it back out before repeating the exercise, and then tighten the screw to keep it in place. Do you understand?"
I understood alright -- more then most anyone could have understood. My heart went out to the victim I was about to so excruciatingly rape. I wondered if he was straight, or gay, or a virgin, or had ever even had anything other than the Dodtor's gloved finger inside him. None of it mattered, nor to my idol curiocities would I be privy. What mattered was my compliance with the direction I was just given. I indicated politely to the handsome giant that I understood, and nervously awaited my signal to hurt this man no doubt more than he ever dreamed he could be hurt.
The dreaded word came and my own hand guided the instrument able to be moved in the upward and downward direction as well as in and out. I aimed and moved the greased contraption of torment against the exposed ass crack pushing gently as I went. Almost not wanting to feel that place of least resistance, I found it as the victim begged for mercy.
I pushed forcefully to overcome the resistance of what felt to be virginal, and just the pressure spreading his rectum apart sent him into orbit. As ordered, while he screamed I pushed. The instrument unyieldingly inched forward by my force until I felt the resistance give way and the raped hole close around the lesser diameter pipe. Without slowing I began to feel the resistance of the second sphincter. Again with necessary additional force, I spread it open to accommodate the unwanted invader with which I was assaulting him. The screams were ungodly. I waited a few seconds - began the withdrawal, and was instructed by my dirrector to go more slowly -- especially when coming back through the strictures created by the sphincters.
I couldn't have imagined causing such pain, but I was. My mentor allowed me to withdraw the instrument, and then surprised me. He wrapped his gigantic mit around my hand and as he said, "Go," he pushed both with me and for me, reinserting the device all the way to the max in about two swift seconds, "tighten it down," he said. I did, watching the victim (what felt like my victim) writhing and screaming uncontrolably. I couldn't take my eyes off him as the big man yelled at me from the door regaining my attention. I scurried to his call and to an astoundingly stinging swat from his huge tough hand on my ass.
"PAY ATTENTION!" he yelled.
"Sorry Sir!"
With sound proof chamber doors closed and all noise quelled, the giant walked me the now familiar route down the cellar hall and up the stairs to the main house. As usual I was naked, but different from the usual, I bore no appliances of any kind -- no bindings -- no restraints -- no plug -- no gag -- nothing. I walked freely and unencumbered next to my amazing keeper. He spoke not a word to me but directed me by his hand so large it nearly wrapped around my neck. He guided me up to and through the door of the Master's vacant office.
There was an unfamiliar addition to the furnishings. About fifteen feet in front of Bill's desk there was a tall sturdy steel pipe affair. Built of two and a half inch thick black piping, two vertical pieces fifteen inches apart rose almost to the ten foot ceiling. There were horizontal connecting members at varying heights connecting the two verticals turning the artful looking piece into a cross of sorts. To keep the affair upright, pipes on the floor protruded - two forward and two aft - five or six feet out.
There was a twenty inch high, forty eight inch deep box with a padded top -- looked like a bench for sitting -- pushed up against the verticals. It was a little longer than the horizontal pipes were wide. Max directed me to stand up on the platform-like box. He produced long lengths of hemp rope and the "what" became clear. I was to be tied to the configuration of crossed pipes. It was the "how" that would be revealed in Max's good time. Visions of being mounted for the Master's gathering were in my mind, but the anxiety and indignance accompanying that experience was absent.
I stepped up onto the padded platform and by his touch I turned to face him. Words would not be necessary. With studied accuracy he began artfully tying me to the configuration of crossed pipes. My forearms were lashed outward to the horizontal member even with their position. He labored creating a work of art with both the rope, and my body as his medium. My torso was crossed and looped with perfect symmetry -- wrappings were designed to support my weight as my legs were spread and tied to a pertinent horizontal, and feet brought up with ankles bound together under me. I would eventually see myself on video as would the rest of the world - the work of contemporary art Max was creating. For now I could only feel the strain of my weight hanging from all the rope bindings holding me in place. Everything was tied to keep me flat and secure against the cross -- and as at the party - visible from all sides. This however was a creation for the Master's viewing enjoyment in one of his most private of retreats -- his office.
Max tucked my cock inside me and wound some rope tightly around my scrotum and cock skin. The binding kept my cock from escaping or being seen, and stretched my balls painfully downward. To intensify their pain, he added about fifteen pounds of led balls to maximize the stretch. They hung even with my upraised feet.
He stepped down and stood casually back, "I like it," he said to himself. The finale was alligator clips on the tits with weights and a blind fold. The anguish from being mounted/ hung from the contemporary cross, balls stretched and weighted, and tits angrily clamped and pulled, was growing. The longer Max worked the more difficult my predicament became - and now that he seemed finished creating his work of art, it became harder and harder to endure. With a video camera he circumvented me and then put it on a tripod aimed off to one side at his finished sculpture as the Master entered,
"Good job Max," he said, to a gracious acceptance of the compliment, "Jake's coming by shortly. I'm sure he'll enjoy seeing what good use you've put his display mechanism to." As a part of the art hanging from and including Jake's pipe apparatus, I looked straight ahead into the darkness of my blindfold - and heard commentary on me as a display piece -- but in the growing intensity of my suffering, there was no animosity or resentment. I was in pain, but at peace. My Owner was present. He was satisfied with how I was being displayed as one of his art objects.
"Enjoy Sir," Max said, as he shook Bills hand and left the room. Bill sat down and picked up the phone to make some calls. He put his feet comfortably up on the desk, and facing off to my side focused on his conversations. Between calls he got up and circled. He felt what he could reach, "Describe what's hanging here," he said, "Give me as many appropriate identity tags and attributes as my mind can come up with. When I snap my fingers just begin. Mix Ôem up" Bill returned to his seat -- opened his notebook and began to type. There was a knock at the door, "Yes?" Bill queried.
"Jake," was the answer from outside. Bill snapped his fingers and I began my assignment. As Bill's associate entered, he stood a moment to examine my placement -- walked over and grabbed the ball weight attachment, "Max did an artful job of mount it. I like the combination of your object roped to my contrivance. He let the ball weights fall a short distance -- makes for a compelling piece. What's the vocalizing about?" he asked, as my words were strained from the added pain of the balls being dropped.
"The artwork is giving descriptive adjectives of itself."
"Nice touch." Jake sat on the bench below me -- took out a cigar cut and lit it. The men discussed and exchanged about the success of the party -- the resultant sales of all six displays -- three taken as is, and three left to be trained to the buyers specifications before delivery. My identity tags and the qualities I now possessed as a result of Bill's use and training of me were spouted at an adjusted volume -- all degrading, disparaging, denigrating, and maligning titles and qualities -- and all factual - came with such clarity and recall. Occasionally Jake would comment, "Oh, I like that one, or, "Good one," and would go right on with his conversation. His smoke wafted up to my nostrils from below as matters discussed of such a terrifying nature confirmed my status as mere artwork - just an ignored part of the decor in this den of privacy, where my Master and anyone of his choosing could confab with impunity -- without concern -- knowing it would go no farther.
Everything here in this world was his. Everything mounted on this display was his. My understanding of my property hood was now clearer than ever. What my Owner and Master had done to me -- where he had taken me - made the fact of that reality inescapable. What I had considered my most private part -- more than genitals or the inside of my rectal cavity was my mind. I paid lip service to the Master's ownership of it but I hadn't believed it. I believed it now. It was as much his to augment or play with or torture or fuck as any other part. After Jake left, the Master laid his work aside -- propped his feet up on the desk -- lit up -- leaned back -- laced his fingers behind his head and looked right at me.
"Tell me about what's on display in front of me between my ears." It was my chance to reveal my newly gained understanding of my unconditional object hood. I confessed while hanging there painfully as my Master's object of art enhancing the decor of his office, my transgression of in acceptance of his ownership of his slave mind. I thanked him for the pit -- for his revelation of the reality, and promised not to abuse any part of his property, "Your toilet fears you Sir and worships and respects you Master. It does not question your revelation and exposure of your property before its family and friends and the world - establishing your rightful place as its sole owner, authority, and its exclusive need.
"Seeming satisfied and without a word, he got up -- extinguished his cigar and left the room turning out the lights. In the dark I hung - my anguish increasing seemingly by the moment. I don't know how long it was. I woke from having passed out, to that wonderful smell. My keeper was here. He was releasing/ untying me. My feet were lowered to the bench adding to my support as he worked on the rest of the exotic involved bindings -- unwinding this -- unknotting that -- pulling lengths of rope and freeing me little at a time. How I wanted to hug and kiss him for my merciful salvation.
With the ball weights left attached to the scrotal windings, I was helped down -- marched extremely bowlegged trying to avoid the swinging weights striking my legs, as Max led me downstairs to my cot. The lead weights and scrotal windings were mercifully removed as I stood in front of my cot. Max pushed me down on my knees -- took out his big cock - pulled my head onto it and roughly fucked my face till he dumped a big load in me. He shoved me down on the cot as he put himself away and walked out locking the door behind him -- no restraints. I was free to curl up on the mattress. How good it felt to do so - the giants cum in my stomach, and his taste in my mouth.
There was no noise from the cage -- my presumption was that he'd passed out. That popcorn movie night happened - footage of the once proud horse hung Latino shown fucking enough men I lost count. Some tried to back out and were held down and threatened with terrifying consequences if not cooperative with their essential rape by what they hadn't anticipated. The nullification was as detailed and close up as anything the Master had exposed me to, and the cast off much larger than any I had ever seen.
The slaves conversion to cockles nut less anal whore was consuming to watch until its resultant in-appreciation of the men's abuse and rape resulted in the destruction of the hole it was servicing them with. I identified partly with the stretching, and hoped my Master would not be inspired to do that to me. I watched it stretched so far apart it could no longer close and was kept gigantically plugged. The finale was seeing the once tall, dark, handsome, horse hung, stud man, reduced to pleading with his attackers and users to accept his toothless orifice for their pleasure and as their substitute cum receptacle. The evening ended with a slide show from hell - interspersed photos of a full fledged man "before" -- a nullified sexless anal whore "after" -- a bloodied surgical procedural victim -- back and forth -- whole and fucking -- minimized and whoring -- restrained and being mutilated -- toothless and throat fucking its rapists...
This was a world few knew existed. I looked from my place on the floor at three of the most magnificent macho creatures I had ever seen being thoroughly entertained by Andre's gift chronicling the once arrogant hung Latino's modification, alteration and transformation. This was Bill's world. Here he reigned supreme. I watched him relaxing recreating and exchanging with his men -- one his valued loyal and free employee and one his loyal dedicated slave and property.
He owned me. He had made it inescapably clear. He was my Master. He did things to me no one could imagine. Presumptively and with rightful impunity he manipulated abused and tortured me for his pleasure. I feared him and I revered him. He had made himself my universe - addicted me and washed my mind of resisting him -- made me his toilet, his object, and denied me my humanity - and yet I worshipped him. He had told me not to try to understand -- that he was removing that need, and creating something of me that acted on instinct and the need for one thing only -- HIM - his service -- his pleasure -- and his benefit.
How different what knelt here was from what had focused on him from across the room those months ago -- how taken -- how consumed -- how transformed this object was now. How powerful he was as I stared seemingly unable still to avert my gaze. Before I would have wondered what made him so commanding. That was something I had no further desire to understand. Accepting it as fact was all I needed.
Next - and soon - the final chapter... Movie Day -
Comments welcome: mackxwayne@hotmail.com MY web site - the man behind the words - http://www.MACKsf.com curious about images that serve to inspire the scenarios - let ME know...