Master and His Pack Mule

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Stories of The Slave Center The Nation's Leading Retailer of Trained Faggots _______________________

Master and His Pack Mule Part Five

Disclaimer: This is a story of erotic fiction containing fantasy descriptions of Male-male slavery, which may include sexual acts, BDSM and nudity. It is a intended for adults only. You must be of legal adult age to read this work. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

On the patio, after Master spent the early afternoon reading and napping, as did his slave, he awoke, and, automatically, as I, his slave, have been practiced in doing, awoke with him. I am not sure how I wake up when he does, if I pick up on some energy field or something, but when Master and slave are asleep very near each other, then when the master awakes, so does his slave. We are just in sync that way.

I rose up from the mat I was on and put my nose in Master's pits. I so loved his smell. He let his slave soak up his pit smells and then said, "I bet I smell good in other places as well." This was Master's subtle way of saying he was offering up his more private areas to me.

He reached down and grabbed the waistband of his swim trunks. He lifted his ass off the lounge chair and slipped the trunks off. His hefty uncut 8-incher flopped to one side of his balls and toward his left inner thigh. I was always thrilled by the sight of my master, in all his natural beauty.

"Smell only," he ordered. And so I began to take in his amazing scent. Man sweat and musk, two of a faggot's favorite things. I put my nose right into his groin. Master did not allow me use of hands, so I just nudged my nose into all the best places. Right into his groin, all along his balls, smelling and softly kissing as I went. I used my face to nudge his cock so that it flopped upward, giving me better access to his balls and inner thighs. Finishing my scent tour of his balls and groin, I slowly moved my nose up along his shaft, sniffing the entire length and girth of it. Up and down I went, smelling it all over, feeling my worship rising more and more. I reached the head of his cock and stuck my nose there, smelling the end of the foreskin, trying to get right in there.

Master suddenly said, "Yes, slave, it's time." So, I opened my mouth and took the head of his cock in. Such a glorious moment for me, always. As soon as I had the head in my mouth, he let flow with his piss. I sometimes wondered what it felt like for a man to lie back on a lounge chair, have his dick in a slave mouth, and piss. It must be so relaxing for a man, so nice. For me, a faggot-slave, it was always glorious. I sucked down every last drop of gushing stream. When done, I knelt with hands behind my back, bowed my head, and said, "Master, thank you, Master. You honor your slave with your piss, Master."

Master simply laid back and relaxed for a minute or two while I remained kneeling, silent, head bowed, whole body motionless, as was Master's standing order for such times. I could still taste his piss in my mouth.

"So, slave," Master broke the moment of quiet, "did you learn anything from your assigned reading?"
"Master, yes, Master. Your slave learned a few ways to serve it had never really considered, Master. But, most of all, Master, it learned that this slave is not yet a good enough slave for you, Master, and that it needs to improve to become a more complete property, Master."

"Correct, slave. I expect improvements. Tell me more."

"Master, to improve this slave is to never have a desire outside of serving you, Master. Any time spent considering anything but serving you is faggot selfishness, Master. This slave has no right to faggot selfishness, Master. A slave dishonors its Master with any amount at all of faggot selfishness, Master. Faggot selfishness is shameful, Master, and a true humiliation for your slave, Master. Faggot selfishness is to be totally eradicated, Master."

"Very good, slave. I know some masters think it too extreme to eliminate every drop of non-slave will from a faggot slave... but I don't! And what did it say near the end of the article, slave, about why it is good for a slave to have lost any possibility of having a selfish thought or performing a selfish action, of being anything at all but a total service faggot-slave?"

"Master, it explains that it is via total service that a faggot experiences fulfillment, Master. It says that a faggot self-actualizes in full slavery, Master, that a faggot becomes fully its true self when it lives only to serve its Master, Sir. That a faggot feels most fully realized and at peace when its focus is on its Master, Sir. So, in a way, Master, being such a total slave is in itself faggot selfishness, as what the faggot truly desires for itself is total slavery, Master. Another way of looking at it, Master, is to say that a full slave loses all of its selfish desires, except its one true desire, which is to be a slave, Master. Being a slave is the main thing a faggot desires, Master, and this is the only selfish desire a faggot should strive for, Master."

"And does my slave have that one selfish desire?"

"Master, yes, Master, very much so, Master."

"And does my slave agree with the article?"

"Master, it is not totally sure, Master."

"Or maybe the slave is just resistant?"
"Master, maybe, Master."

"Then why does my slave have an erection?"
"Master, oh, Master, it hadn't noticed, Master."

"The truth about itself gives a slave an erection. Look, it's even given me one!"

I hadn't noticed his, either. We were both erect.

Master turned his body and rose to a seated position, with both legs on one side of his lounge chair, facing me, still kneeling on my mat. He leaned back a bit and spread his legs. His cock was at full mast, and it was a beautiful sight. He was displaying his erection to me, an erection, he said, only due to the truth that was being spoken. "Truth gives erections, slave."

He locked his eyes onto mine, and so I locked mine onto his. He allowed a very pregnant pause. Then, while his eyes were boring into me, said, "You have no right to anything, slave. Nothing at all. You are service to me, the living embodiment of obedience. That's why I own you. I will help you, I expect you, to live up to your one true desire, slave."

"Master, yes, Master. Thank you, Master. You have the right to expect and demand full service from your slave, Master, Sir. This slave had thought it was already living in full service, Master, but the article showed that this slave still has a way to go, Master. Thank you, Master, for the opportunity to serve you more fully, Master."

"Nice words slave, and nice erection."

"Master, yes, Master, Sir, thank you for teaching your slave, Master."

"Good slave. Its gratitude is noted and, under the circumstances, very appropriate. I want my slave to admit right now that it knows it is currently subpar and that it has growth to do in becoming the best slave it can be. And I want my slave to pledge to me right now that it will purify itself of all faggot selfishness but for its one true desire of living in total slavery."

"Master, yes, Master." I took a few moments of silence to clear my head and consider what to say, and then I began, "Master, my Lord, this slave has not been a good enough slave for you, Master. Please forgive its failings, Master. Your slave pledges its growth in becoming your fuller and more devout slave, Master. This slave's one true goal, as you have so kindly offered, Master, is 100% servitude in full slavery, Master. Your slave pledges to become purified of any and all things that interfere with it being nothing but service for you, Master, as it is meant to be and as it desires to be, Sir. Thank you, Master."

"And I will ensure that you do just that, my slave." He smiled and reached out his hand to pet my bald head. I loved these moments of affection and appreciation.

"Okay, now let's get you to your favorite place to smell and lick and suck." With that, he stood up and took a couple steps so that he could lean against a patio roof support beam and stick his ass out slightly. I admired his man body, in great shape with a round ass with just enough man hair to add to its beauty. "Take care of my asshole, faggot."

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master."

I scooted closer to him, remaining on my knees, knees hurting somewhat as I had to leave the slave mat and kneel on concrete. I put my face between into his crack and really burrowed into it. I sniffed, inhaling deeply, loving his man musk. Master never cared about the cleanliness of his asshole before having his slave lick it up. Why should he? I licked and sucked up all his goodness till he told me he had had enough. I then asked, "Master, is it faggot selfishness to enjoy smelling and licking your asshole so much, Master?"

"Ah, no, only if the slave had been ordered to do something else and instead was focused on cleaning its Master's asshole. But I ordered you to do it, you did it, and enjoyed it, as a slave should. Enjoy your obedience. Enjoy your servitude. That's just what a slave does. There's no way around that. Keep enjoying, my faggot, because such enjoyment actually serves your Master, too. I don't want a miserable slave on my hands. A slave should be happy in its service."

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master."

"Okay, slave, now that we agree that my slave needs to make improvements in its slavery, I'm ready to start the rest of my afternoon. So, first, go make me a mocha latte."

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master." I stood up and rushed into the kitchen, because he expects his slave to snap to it whenever he gives and order.

I returned in a few minutes, saw Master was standing out on his lawn, still nude. I walked briskly to him and knelt, with my face near his round ass, holding the latte up to him. "Master, thank you, Master," I offered.

He took the cup of coffee without any acknowledgement of me. As it should be. I remained on my knees, silent and still, grateful to be near my Lord, awaiting his next order.

"Mow the lawn."

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master." I retrieved the mower and mowed his back yard first, and then I moved through the gate and mowed his front lawn. Master did not outfit his slave in any way for this weekly task. So, I was nude but for permanent ankle and wrist cuffs and collar.

While I mowed Master's grass, he went into his house and got dressed. When he came back outside, he had jeans on and his whip was coiled at his waist. He saw me and what I had accomplished so far and said, "Pick up the pace, faggot. When you've got a job to do for me. Don't dawdle."

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master." I was surprised by his statement but picked up the pace with renewed purpose. Soon, my breath was coming heavily, like during a workout, and I was perspiring all over.

Some minutes later, when he came to check on his slave again, he said, "That's better faggot. That's the way to do it. When I give you an order, you complete it like it is the only thing that matters to you, because it is the only thing that matters to you."

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master. The only thing your slave is allowed to care about is serving you to your satisfaction, Master. Thank you, Master." And to my surprise my slave cock began to rise.

I was happy. Mowing the lawn with a hard on, serving my Master, focusing on completing the task assigned to me. I felt connected to him, a part of him.

I finished with the lawns, put the mower away, got on all fours to drink from the slave water bowl on the back patio, and then presented on my knees within Master's view, on his back patio.

"Did it finish both lawns?"

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master."

"Good, but remember. I expect quick and efficient service, always, slave. You are to serve me with energy and enthusiasm. No let up, slave."

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master."

"Now, stand at your whipping post. Hop to it."

Out of surprise, I sucked in a quick breath. I wanted to ask Master why, but I simply replied, "Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master." I stood at my whipping post, in a standing present position, and waited for Master. My mind raced, looking for a reason why I was about to be punished. I was teary-eyed, not for fear of the whipping to come, but because I hated to fail my Master."

Master soon walked up and stood to my left and slightly behind me. Still, I could see his whip hanging at his waist and the fact that he had one hand on it already.

"Master, why, Master?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"Master, no, Master."

"Well, there you have it. But, as it happens, I do have a reason, slave."

He slipped the bit into my mouth again and fastened it tightly, rendering me unable to speak.

The whipping post was really more of a frame, and Master began attaching me to it. First, he took the upper chains and attached them to my wrist restraints. Then he did the same with the lower chains and my ankles. Lastly, he took the two chains that hung from the overhead beam and attached them to my collar, one chain on either side of my neck. He pulled all the chains tight. So, there I was, standing spread eagle. Legs spread wide, arms spread way out, and head held high.

He then walked in front of me and spit on my face. He already had his whip in his hand.

He walked behind me and soon, before I could try and prepare for it, he threw the first strike. It was intense, and I writhed against my chains and wanted to scream but couldn't, being so firmly gagged with bit and tongue plate.

He threw the whip again, hitting my upper back. Then again. And again, on my left ass cheek. Then back to my upper back.

"Take it as your just desserts, slave. You've earned this. Just be a part of me, at the end of my whip. It's who you are."

I heard his words, but the strikes kept coming.

"Be a part of me, faggot. Be a part of my manhood. Live inside me, as part of me, just an extension of me, a part of me, my slave. Connect with me via your obedience."

Master had never spoken like this before. He had never uttered such messages as this.

"Good slave," he said with a raised voice. "I am whipping you because you are a good slave, and this is your reward. This is what a slave gets. This is what my slave deserves for serving me properly over the years. This is what my slave deserves for pledging to serve me more completely from now on."

I could still hear his words, but my mind was sort of wild and blown. What was he saying?

"Good slave. I have a good slave," he said as the strikes kept coming. Swish, across my shoulders. Swish, against my upper thighs.

"With each strike I assure my slave that it is my property, and I empower my slave to be more of what it is." Swish, swish, swish.

So many strikes of his whip, each as intense as the previous. I was able to remain standing only because of the chains. I let go. Let go of excess thoughts and concerns. I let the whip warm me, explain to me, become me, a slave connected to its Master via his whip. Each strike made the Master-slave connection, like wires completing a circuit. I could say nothing audible or intelligible with the bit in my mouth, but I was indeed uttering, as much as I could, "Master, yes, Master. Master, yes, Master. Master, yes, Master. Thank you, Master," and on and on.

Master said no more, but his whip kept flying. Swish. I could hear the sound of the strike coming and then hitting my slave body. Swish. Swish.

Master doesn't draw blood, ever, from a whipping or a paddling or anything. I knew I had welts, beautiful welts, but I knew there was no blood. That's just how my master is.

There was a period of near silence. This whip stopped flying through the air. I could hear him breathing heavily. He had put his energy into this whipping.

I hung there for I don't know how long. Then, Master released first the chains at my collar, then my wrists. I started to crumble, to fall to the grass.

"No, stay standing, slave," Master told me in a soft voice.

He released the chains at my ankles. "Now, proper position, slave," he ordered, and I knelt in the grass with my hands at my lower back and my face raised at attention. "Stay," he uttered and walked away. I believe he merely went to get a drink of water for himself.

Soon, he was back and standing in front of his slave. His whip was back at his waist, coiled and secured there. He was shirtless and his jeans rode low in the waist. He was moist all over from his perspiration. He removed the bit from my mouth and stood very near to me, only inches from my face. I reached my face forward and lightly, lovingly, kissed him just above the waist of his jeans, just above his pubic patch. Then, I looked up toward his face and said, "Master, thank you, Master."

"Good slave." He grabbed the back of my head and pulled the side of my face back to his bare midriff, to his treasure trail, just above his jeans. He held me there tightly, hugging me like that.

He put his thumb in my mouth and pressed down firmly on his slave tongue, letting his slave know he required its silence.

"You're a good slave. But more, I need more." After a few seconds, he continued, "Pick up the pace for me, for every order. Better and more efficient service, every time. Life is about growth, and this is your area of growth: better living through pure slavery. That's what I provide for you. You are nothing but service and worship. A full slave. That's what I want, and you're it."

He kept his thumb pressed firmly on my tongue, and I remained silent. He held me there, his other hand holding my head tightly to his body. I felt the heat on my back. The whipped up heat on my back. My knees were well spread, and I felt the strain of that. I loved his thumb being in my mouth, and I sucked it as best I could. Then, I focused once again on the roaring heat on my whipped back. It was hard to ignore. But my breathing was normalizing, and my mind was calming down. I noticed my full hard on, a reaction to the truth of what was going on.

It could have been 10 or 15 minutes of time that we were in this position. I really don't know. What I do know is that when Master was ready he led me to my water bowl, and I lapped up all of it, such that he refilled it and set the bowl back down for his slave to drink. Then, he led me to his pillory near the stable and placed me in it.

"Time for you to be alone for a while, my mule. Time to consider what your Master requires. That's all that matters to you. Time to examine the truth of what you are. Time to consider how to improve your slave-self and be a better piece of property, for me. Quicker actions. A more complete worship. Full worship. That will help you become a more devout faggot. That's what you're going to be. That is what I order." He then walked away and went into his house, leaving me in the pillory to consider how to improve myself as his complete slave.

I believe Master was gone for a long time, but what did I know of time anymore? I was locked in a pillory.

I had time to consider: Did Master's demand for deeper slavery and better slave service warm my slave-heart? Did I have a slave-heart? Of course I did. I surrendered my life to The Slave Center and was thoroughly vetted and admitted as a slave. Yes, I have a slave-heart, and Master wanted me to experience it to its fullest. What could be kinder than that?

As I remained in the pillory, for however long it was, thoughts and feelings ran amuck through me. But finally they gathered and coalesced. I began to feel shame and remorse that I wasn't already the slave my master required me to be. I wanted to beg for his forgiveness. I felt shame at not having always obeyed quickly and enthusiastically enough. I vowed to improve, to "hop to it", as Master had expressed. I vowed to actively put my slave-heart in my master's hands, for Master to shape it, use it, and make demands of it. I trusted him to take responsibility for, and to act responsibly with, the slave-heart that he already owns.

Time kept going by, and still I remained in the pillory. My breathing became heavy. My desire to be out of the pillory and actively serving was overwhelming me. I yearned to serve him. I am nothing but service, as Master had told me, and I was feeling the truth of it. My slave-heart was pounding. I wanted to be with my Master. I was feeling the worship I hold for him. Master is my lord. I live to serve my Lord-Master. I became lost in a kind of trance. I repeated over and over and over and over and over, "I live to serve my Master. I live to serve my Master. I live to serve my Master. I live to serve my Master."

It was at this point that Master came back outside. He heard his slave sort of chanting its truth from behind the bit. I presume he was pleased with this. He took his prison strap and applied it to his slave ass without warning. One, two, three good strikes. It startled me, but it felt right, accurate and deserved.

"I am taking you all the way, slave. To your promised land, to where I am your King, your Lord, your God. Accept it slave. Know it." Whack! The prison strap hit my slave ass again. "It is just the simple truth." Whack! The strap landed on my ass again. "It's what's good and right for you, slave." Whack! "And for me!" Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

He hung the strap back at his waist and came around to the front of me. He playfully shook the pillory with both hands, with me in it. Nothing fierce, but enough that I felt my surrender to him. He whispered in my ear, "I love a good faggot-slave!"

Wow. Did Master just tell me he loves me?

Master continued speaking softly in my ear as he moved behind me. "Slave! You're my slave, for life. I love owning you, slave. You're my slave, my property," He said over and over as he rammed his lubed up cock into my ass. Then he pounded away, "Slave! Mine! My slave! All mine!" His cock kept ramming my asshole. "Every ounce a slave. Every cell. Every inch. Everything about it. All of it. All slave. My slave." Master pounded and pounded and pounded, lost in his own experience of mastery, and I felt so honored to be his. Soon, he was gushing cum up his slave's ass, still pounding his thick 8-inch. His groans were loud as he had the kind of orgasm reserved only for Masters.

When he came down from his apparent euphoria and his breathing began normalizing, he pulled his cock out of his slave's ass, and, though I was unable to see it, picked up his prison strap again and brought it hard across this slave's bum, one, two, three more times.

He kept the prison strap in his hand and walked to the front of the pillory and stuck his cock in my face. "Clean me up good, my faggot." And with great gusto I licked and sucked my master's big cock, cleaning every last drop of cum and sticky stuff and whatever came out of my slave ass. Then, I licked his groin and inhaled all the man smell I could. He smelled so fucking great.

"That's enough, mule." Master took a step back, rested his prison strap right on my bare and recently whipped back, put his cock back in his jeans, buttoned up his fly, and then retrieved his prison strap. He stepped to the back side of the pillory and gave his slave two more hard swats with the strap. He meant business today.

I was still far gone in faggot-land, but Master's voice entered my consciousness, "I expect to hear its gratitude always, slave!"

"Master, thank you, Master! Thank you, Master!" I answered, almost shouted out, with no hesitation at all. I almost felt proud of myself for my lack of hesitation and my strong voice that I hope conveyed my actual gratitude.

He left me there alone again. Who knows for how long, but by the time he returned, I was sure it was late afternoon.

Finally, he came back to me in the pillory and gently ran his prison strap over my ass cheeks, but he did not swing for any impact. He hung the strap back at his hip and then began unlocking the pillory.

"It's been a big day, slave." He pointed to the ground, so I immediately knelt in proper position. "Master, yes, Master," I attempted to say through the gag.

"Silence, my slave," he said gently as he began to remove the bit. My slave will not speak unless spoken to." Once the bit was out of my mouth, he took my lower jaw in one hand and the top of my head in the other, and then he began to wriggle my jaw around, as if stretching and massaging my jaw muscles.

"Now it may speak and answer my question: What does my slave feel compelled to do?"

I thought about it for a moment. I knew what I felt compelled to do but thought the answer he may want would be `To serve you, Master.' But I gave the honest answer. "Master, to worship you as it lord, Sir."

"Correct answer, my slave. Go get your worship matt from the stable."

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master."

I remembered to high tail it rather than simply walk. I quickly went about the simple task of getting my worship mat and ran back to my master. I knelt before him, holding the mat under one arm.

"Good slave. Good mule. You made it pretty snappy. That's a better, slave."

"Master, thank you, Master."

"Now, lay your worship mat right here and go and get me a beer and The Slave Center Journal that's on the kitchen counter. There's another article I want to read."

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master." Again, I did not walk but jogged at a quick pace to perform my ordered tasks. I grabbed his favorite beer from the fridge, twisted off and discarded the bottle cap, grabbed The Slave Center Journal, rushed back out onto the patio, knelt while offered up his beer and Slave Center Journal, and said, "Master, thank you, Master, for allowing your slave to serve you, Master."

"I am going to sit here and read and enjoy my beer. You get on your mat and worship, but in silence. Let me feel it, though, my slave. Let it all out."

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master."

And so I placed my self on my worship mat and prostrated myself, my body facing Master as he casually sat on his patio chair reading and sipping at his beer. He still wore only his jeans and no shirt. My back and ass still bore the heat of this afternoon's"Now it may speak and answer my question: What does my slave feel compelled to do?" activities. I felt proud to carry the welts I no doubt had.

I allowed myself some meditative silence, which cleared my mind, which made space for the pathways of my slave-heart to open broadly, and then I began to worship my lord and master. My love for him began to rise from within and seemed to flow in radiant beams from my entire being and right to my master, rinsing him, flooding him, him bathing him in my love and respect, my worship. I felt my adoration and devotion rise, as well as my mounting commitment to be a fuller slave for him. I reared up from my prostrate position, hands clasped in front of me in prayer position, and I prayed to him in silence. I honored my Master. I felt love for my Master. I became teary-eyed from the power of my feelings. To myself, silently, I began chanting, "Master. Master. Master. Thank you for the opportunity to serve you, Master. Thank you for my slavery, Master. Thank you for demanding I become a better slave, Master. Thank you, Master, Lord-Master. Your slave loves you, Master. Master is my lord. Master is my god. Master is my life. Master is why I live. I am born to serve my master. I am born to worship my Master.

I sat down in the lotus position, with my hands still clasped in front of me in prayer position. My cock was rock was totally soft and at peace as my mind went quiet. I was directing all of my life energy toward my master. That is who I am. That is what I do. I pray to him for the opportunity to serve him with my life. Thank you, Master.

Master never looked up at me from his reading, at least not as far as I could tell. He continued to drink his beer and read the article he had interest in. When he was finished doing both, he said, "That's enough for today, slave."

I immediately moved into a kneeling present position with my hands behind my back and my head held up and alert as I awaited his next order.

"It's time for me to get ready for my date with Jenn. Go lay out some choices of clothes for me, slave."

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master." I jogged to his room and carefully laid out some pants, shirts and undergarments for him to choose from. I ran back to find my Master and kneel before him, thereby letting him know I had completed my orders. He did not acknowledge my presence at all. But soon, he said, "Shower time."

"Master, yes, Sir, thank you, Master."

This was routine behavior for us. I rushed to the bathroom and started the shower for him. I quickly undressed my Master. When the shower was the right temperature, I opened the shower door, and he stepped in. I bathed him with a washcloth. When finished, he stepped out of the shower and I towel dried him. I checked his fingernails and toenails for cleanliness and to see if any trimming or filing was needed. Then Master stood in front of the basin, and I brushed his teeth. He has an electric toothbrush, and I carefully took care of his dental hygiene. I held up a glass with water for him to rinse. He did so and then discarded the rinse into my mouth. I swished it around in my mouth and spit it out in the sink. Then, he rinsed his mouth again and the same pattern repeated.

"What did you lay out for me to wear, faggot?" I explained to him and he seemed reasonably satisfied. He then ordered, "Living room, kneel, wait." I rushed to obey.

Master came back to the living fully dressed, and boy did he look hot. He had a very manly look in his black jeans, plaid shirt and boots. "Time for you to eat, slave. I have it all ready." I moved to my regular designated feeding area and waited on all fours. Master retrieved my dog bowl from the kitchen counter. He scooped up some Slave Center brand slave feed and dumped it in my feed dish. I knew it would be the same thing I had for breakfast and lunch, for it is the only thing I ever eat. It is guaranteed to meet every nutritional requirement of a slave.

He set the bowl of feed down before me and said, "Eat!" He did not require me to answer him at feeding times. He simply expected me to obey and eat. So I moved forward on all fours, put my face in the bowl, and gobbled up every last drop of the tasteless mush. The whole event was over in about a minute. "Good slave. Wash up." I washed my dog bowl and my face.

"No more sitting around the house for you when I go out, slave. You are either working or locked up, and since I have no work that needs doing right now, let's get you safely locked up for the evening."

I was a bit confused and taken aback, but I said, "Master, yes, Sir, thank you, Sir."

He motioned for me to follow him out the back door and to the stable. Once inside the stable, he showed me a device that looked somewhat like a sawhorse. I had never seen this device before. "I bought this for you, slave. It will help you grow into your slavery more.". I had never seen this device before. "I bought this for you, slave. It will help you grow into your slavery more."

I lay my torso on the 9-inch wide flat beam that ran nearly the length of the device, and my limbs were tightly secured to either side and down. I could barely move my arms and legs at all and my ass hung out invitingly. Once my limbs were secured, he put the bit back in my mouth and I felt my tongue securely held down. I didn't see him reach for it, but Master grabbed one of the paddles that hang from hooks on the wall. He gave my ass three strong strikes, in rapid succession. These opened my eyes wide. I was surprised but still aware that Master was up to something else behind me, and within moments I discovered what. He shoved a butt plug up my ass and I felt my mule tail hanging between my legs again. He petted my rump gently and then said, "Good faggot. Good animal."

Master came back around to the front end of me. He seemed to admire his mule bound before him. "No more lounging around for you, slave. You are either serving me or I store you away until I want your service. There's nothing left in your life but serving me, slave. And just being bound here for the evening is one way to serve me, for I know you will become a better slave for it.

He dimmed the lights so that it was pretty dark in the stable. "I have installed a monitoring system, slave. I have a constant live feed of what is happening in this room. So, you are safe, my slave. And here, in easy reach, is a water nozzle, so drink as needed, mule. I know you can get water even with my bit in your mouth. So, just relax and be my slave, as that is the only thing you are. I'm meeting Jenn at 7:00 and expect to be home around midnight. I'll probably come out and check on you then. Otherwise, goodnight, slave," he stated and walked away. I had about 5 and half hours ahead of me of being bound, plugged and alone. Or did he intend to leave me this way all night?

It is hard to describe those several hours as a bound mule in Master's stable. I drifted in and out of sleep. My mind blanked out for who knows how long. And I began to love the plug up my ass. I felt the tail tickle my legs, and I felt proud to have it hanging there. With what brainpower I could muster, I thought about my master and of how important it is for me to serve him properly. And somehow I felt good, free of all concerns other than to just be. I noticed that the more I felt like I was an actual animal, the better the plug up my ass felt. The hours drudged on, and I found myself saying silently to myself, "Master, thank you, Master. Master, thank you, Master. Master, thank you, Master. Master, thank you, Master..." Somehow, while I sank into my animal nature I elevated my master to the height of manhood, the height of male greatness. And I was overwhelmed with a yearning to serve him. Totally overwhelmed. All I could think of was the next time I could serve him, the next time he would allow me to kneel before him. I felt my slavery wrapping me in warmth and glory. My dick was hard and unable to touch anything. The device I was bound to was designed in such a way that I could not possibly touch anything with my cock. And I loved the state I was in. Images of my master flooded my head. His good looks, his big cock, his charming smile, his intelligence and kindness. I don't know how many hours may have passed already, but it was clear to me that Master was making me a more full slave and a truly devout faggot. I felt a swelling urge to drink his piss and to clean his shitty asshole. I longed for the next time I could bow in worship of my Lord-Master. I longed to show him my gratitude for his enslavement of me. Master, thank you, Master. And in time I had a sense of being a pure faggot, so clean and pure. Only faggot. Only servant. Only slave.

I must have fallen asleep as I didn't notice Master had arrived home. My first awareness of him was when he opened the door to his stable. "Good slave," he announced jovially. "It looks like you're doing fine!" He petted me lightly along my back as he walked to the rear of me. He grabbed the fur of my tail used it to jiggle the plug in my ass. It felt glorious and I squealed in delight. "Yeah, that's right. Good slave." Then he pulled on the plug. "Give it to me, boy. Let Master take care of your tail." I relaxed and my hole gave way. The plug popped out, and I felt that emptiness again, almost a loneliness. He then removed his bit from my mouth and proceeded to unbind me totally. "Come slave. Let's go in the house."

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master," I said in a kind of pant, somehow more animal than human.

I followed him to his room, undressed him, put his laundry in the washroom and then knelt to await further orders. "Open," he said. I did so and received the gift of his piss. My mouth has been his urinal for years already, just one of the many perks of my slavery. He sent me into the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a piss. He then pointed to my bed, a small mattress on the floor in a corner of his room. He didn't bother to bind me in any way for the night. He knew he could trust in my proper behavior: to stay ready to serve him, to not touch his slave cock, to get up and sit on the toilet to piss if needed, to sleep and be rested for another day of service. This is how we have spent nights for a couple years now.

I slept fairly well that night, though I tossed and turned some and had several dreams and nighttime erections. I felt great allure in becoming a more complete slave. My cock got hard every time I thought about it. When I recounted the day that had just ended, when I remembered being whipped for being a good slave and the resultant welts all over my back, ass and thighs, I got hard. When I thought of my enslavement, I got hard. When I thought of completing any and all of Master's orders with improved energy and enthusiasm, I got hard. When I thought of becoming a better and more devoted slave for my Master, I got hard. When I thought of Master, I got hard.

And by morning I felt the yearning of any good faggot-slave: to serve. I felt the yearning to become a fuller slave, wiped clean of any sense of self that was not slave. I felt the joy of having only Master in my thoughts. I felt my spirit expand in slavery with every reduction of my freedom. And I felt an overwhelming need to be the slave my master insists that I be. Master, thank you, Master. My life is to serve you, Master.