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 Nine

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.

Master Matt went to his Uncle Joe's house one afternoon the following week to drop off some things Master Joe didn't have, such as the pack mule tack. The visit also gave the men a chance to discuss certain details of caring for Master Matt's slave while Master Matt was away on vacation.

Master Matt trusted his Uncle Joe completely and had little concern for how his slave would fare under Master Joe's control. Still, there were a few things to clear up.

First, Master Matt was fine with his cousin, the young Master Kevin, being active with his slave, but he insisted that Master Joe always be present. At age 19, Master Kevin was just far too young and inexperienced to be taking on full responsibility for a slave.

Second, Master Joe, once again, questioned Master Matt on the idea of feeding the slave shit. Master Matt gave a hard no on that activity. "I've never fed it my shit, so I certainly don't want you feeding it your shit. Use it as toilet paper, if you like, but do not feed it your shit." Master Joe understood and agreed, though it was apparent that such kind of feeding was something Master Joe expected to do with a slave, and he seemed to believe the slave, and its slavery, benefited from it. Still, he understood that Master Matt is the one who decides what his property would eat.

Third, Master Joe asked about having the slave in a chastity device. Master Matt explained that such a device would be totally superfluous with his slave, completely unnecessary. He explained, "My slave has been in chastity since the day my father bought it, and no device has ever been needed. When my slave sees its cock, it knows that it belongs its Master and that its Master has ordered the slave not to touch it."

"Yeah, but wouldn't it be better to be sure?" queried Master Joe.

"I am sure! I trust my slave. I know my slave. It doesn't touch what it has no right to touch. End of story!"

"Okay, but I'd want to exert exact control over it," explained Master Joe.

"I am exerting exact control over it, and so did my dad when he owned it. Look, when my slave sees its hand, it knows that that hand is my property and that I control it. When it sees its dick, it knows that that is also my property and that he has no right to touch it. It knows that, thoroughly! It accepts that! It lives that!"

Master Joe was actually fine with not having his guest slave not wearing a chastity device, but still he wondered about Master Matt's point of view on the subject. "I don't know. A cock is a cock and man is a man. And men masturbate. That's all there is to it."

"Maybe so," retorted Master Matt, and he went on, somewhat emphatically, "but my slave isn't a man! It's a slave. It's a faggot. It's a piece of property! It doesn't even have a cock. It may have something that looks like a cock, but it isn't one, not a real one anyway. It's not for fucking any kind of hole. It may get hard, but it doesn't want to screw anything. It's just there, full of life and showing me it's happy in its slavery, and I like that. Just make sure my slave doesn't play with it, but you'll see that it won't even try. It hasn't touched itself in years! In fact, I think my slave would break its own heart if it played with it, because that would destroy its connection with me in slavery, and it's not going to do that. It would rather be my slave than play with itself. That may be hard for a man to imagine, but I guess that is what separates slaves from men. I understand the interest in using a chastity device. And the look fucking hot! I feel it, and I know many slaves yearn for one. But this slave doesn't get one. Doesn't need one. Its chastity is via trust. I trust it to follow my standing orders."

"Well, sounds fine, but I still like those devices!" exclaimed Master Joe.

"And so do I, but still... my slave doesn't need one. And I like to think that chastity is for the slave to give, not for the master to take," offered Master Matt, "as a sign of its acceptance and devotion. And anyway, if you fuck it right, it'll cum, device or no device," Master Matt kept going. "I fucked my slave's brains out after you and Master Kevin left the other night, and it shot a big load, no hands. Just me fucking it hard up the ass made it shoot its load. My slave is such a faggot! What does it know of having a cock!"

"Okay, okay. I won't put your slave in a chastity device, just like I won't feed it anything special. Don't worry. It's your slave and will only be treated as such," confirmed Master Joe.

Master Matt looked at his Uncle Joe with a small amount of skepticism, so Master Joe countered, "Really, really! That's one thing we really agree on: it's your slave and you set the rules. I have no problem with that! That's exactly as it should be. But if I ever own a slave again, I'm gonna lock its cock up but good and feed it my shit!"

Master Matt and Master Joe were just about done discussing the responsibilities of taking care of Master Matt's slave when Master Kevin showed up. He walked through the front door with a small suitcase. The three men all greeted each other, and Master Joe explained that Master Kevin would be staying with Master Joe for the next couple of weeks.

"Well, I guess that's good, because I want my slave kept busy. It's either serving in some way, worshiping its Masters, or spending time in bondage until its services are required again. Nothing else, ever. Total slavery, just like you taught me, Uncle Joe."

"Now, that is something I can support!" Master Joe responded.

"And don't forget, writing journal entries, essays on slavery, devotions, poems and stories... all count as service. So, perhaps it would be a good idea to set aside a block of time once or twice a day for the slave to write. It can do that in its slave e-journal. I'll read its entries every day I'm gone, and maybe even write comments back."

"Yeah. Sounds good," said Master Joe. "Just stop worrying. Everything will be fine." Master Joe was ushering Master Matt to the door. "I'll come pick the slave up around noon tomorrow. Master Kevin will be at uni, so it will be just me."

"Okay. Sounds good. Thanks, Uncle Joe. I'm sure my slave will be completely obedient for you."

"Yeah, I'm sure of it, too," replied Master Joe.

Master Matt gave his uncle a hug, waved so long to Master Kevin, then got in his car and drove home.

It was Thursday morning. Master Matt was flying out of town for vacation that afternoon. Master Joe was due to pick me up at around noon, but he called and informed Master Matt that he had made other arrangements. Rather than Master Joe driving across town to pick me up, he had called and paid for The Slave Center's slave transport service. The vehicle would be at Master Matt's house at 11:45.

Master Matt, just a couple hours before The Slave Center slave transport van arrived, informed me that I'd be staying with Master Joe for a while. He said he expected slave perfection from me and reminded me that Master Joe would be my legal overseer. Finally, in an almost a tender and loving manner, he said he was sure he'd be proud of me for my proper slave behavior with Master Joe.

Before the transport van arrived, Master Joe put his ball stretcher back on my sack. It was a 3-inch long steel device he could lock closed once he had it on my nuts. I often had this device on. Master Matt, while placing the stretcher on my nuts, explained, "Someday, I plan to have my slave balls stretched way out there. Once the permanent stretcher I ordered from The Slave Center arrives, I'll put it on my slave and once a year add another ring to it. I'll just keep stretching my slave balls till they're way down to its knees!"

The slave transport van arrived pretty much on time, and Master Matt walked out with me to the van. The driver and his assistant, for all slave transport vans were required to have at least two overseers on all journeys, stepped out of the van and opened the side door. Both of the men, I noticed, wore Slave Center uniforms with tall black leather boots, and each carried a small kind of whip at the waist. I wondered how often they needed it. I doubted they used them often, as all the slaves I know try so hard to be properly obedient.

I knelt in the grass before my master, and we said our good-byes. As Master Matt inserted the bit with tongue plate in my mouth and fastened it securely, he said, "Just be the slave you are and let your slavery define you. Make me proud to own you, my slave. You always do!"

I wished to answer him, to tell him that I'd miss him, that I hope he has a great vacation, that I'd be looking forward to his return, that I love him... but with the bit in my mouth, all I could do was mumble.

"I know, slave. I know," he said in return. "Just be a good faggot for your Master Joe!"

I got to my feet, turned and showed one of the van overseers the bottom of my right foot. He scanned my slave registration tattoo and motioned for me to climb into the van. I took the only available seat remaining, back row and center. The van door closed and we took off. I looked over my shoulder to see Master Matt walking back into his house, and as the van made its way out of Master's neighborhood, I wondered what my time at Master Joe's house would be like.

The common Slave Center transport van holds eight slave passengers in regular bucket seats with seat belts. The seats have covers that can easily be removed and washed, as virtually all slaves travel in the nude, and sanitation laws therefore require the laundering of the seat covers after every single use. Available at each slave seat was a small bottle of water for the slave's safety. Slaves traveled pretty much like free citizens, except all slaves were required to be fully bitted to ensure a quiet journey for all.

I read the sign placed on the back of every seat in the van: Except in case of emergency All Slaves Must Remain Seated Remain Silent Remain Still

I looked at the slaves next to me. The female to my left had really large rings in her nipples. They looked heavy. The male slave to my right was middle-aged. He had a thick septum ring and was covered in tattoos, even his cock and balls. While the gag in my mouth effectively held my tongue down, it allowed me to nearly close my mouth. But the slave to my right had a bit that kept its mouth wide open, over an inch. He noticed me looking his way. His eyes sparkled, so I presumed he was a happy slave.

Except for the female slave next to me and one in the front row, whom I couldn't really see, the other slave passengers were all male. All of them had septum rings and shaved heads or close-cropped hair. None could say a word, but they seemed healthy and amiable enough.

Since the Slave Transport Van was full, it took nearly an hour for me to arrive at Master Joe's house across town. I watched as each slave disembarked and knelt in front of the master who was receiving the slave. Many of the masters, it seemed to me, gave the slave a friendly and warm greeting. One man, in full Slave Center mastery garb, including pants with a genital pouch, was standing on the sidewalk in front of his home before the transport van arrived. His slave did not walk out of the van. It crawled out and then across the sidewalk. Upon reaching its Master, it kissed each of his boots and then rested its forehead between them. Its hands, of course, were firmly behind its back. Before the van drove away, I could see that the master spoke a word or two, and the slave came to a standard slave kneeling position. I watched as the master clipped a leash to its nose ring, but the van drove away before I could see more. The scene seemed so loving and tender to me.

I was the second-to-last to be dropped off. Master Joe walked out of his house as the van drove up to his sidewalk. The van pulled to a stop, and I undid my seat belt and stepped out of the van when the van overseer opened the sliding van door.

I stepped out, wearing, of course, nothing but my collar, ankle and wrist cuffs, ball stretcher, and bit.

Master Joe was standing on his front lawn, just beyond the sidewalk. So I walked to him and knelt in proper slave position. He waved to the van workers as they prepared to drive away. He then put a hand softly behind my head for few moments, and said, "Welcome, my slave."

He had a Master's Tool Belt around his waist. He retrieved some nipple clamps, and before I knew what was happening he attached these powerful clamps to my tits, causing strong pressure and, dare I say it? Real pain. It was all I could do to keep breathing regularly, but Master Joe helped me. He said, "That's a good slave. Just breathe. That's all you've gotta do. Just breathe normally and give me those tits. They're mine. Just let me have them. They'll feel good in a little bit. You know they will. All a slave has to do is just be."

And sure enough, in about a minute the pain turned to glory. I remained on my knees and looked into Master Joe's eyes. He looked down at me and smiled, while his hands again were at my nipples. This time, they grabbed each clamp, and he pressed on them to create even more pressure on my tits. I breathed in very deeply, trying to cope, and yet finding myself liking it, too. "Good slave," Master Joe cooed. "That's a good slave." He said in a relaxed fashion. He let go of the clamps and said, "Come, slave, let's go into the house."

With a small sense of trepidation, with my hands behind my back, with Master Matt's bit still firmly in my mouth and holding my tongue down, with a half hard on, and with seriously strong tit clamps on my nips, I rose and followed Master Joe into his house.

Master Joe immediately took a seat in his living room, in a chair he had moved there from his dining table. I guess he didn't want to welcome me while sitting on his sofa or love seat. He spread his legs out wide and pointed to the carpet in front of him. I knelt there, bowed my head, and then looked up to his face.

"Good slave," he said matter-of-factly, then he leaned forward to grab the little chain that ran between the nipple clamps. Once his right hand had a hold of it, he leaned back in his chair and held the chain rather tightly, such that my nipples were pulled toward him a bit. And once he was satisfied with how he was situated in the chair, he said, "Lean back a little slave. Show me those nipples are mine."

I leaned back as much as I dare, which wasn't much. The tautness of the chain added a great deal to the intensity of the sensations on my tits. My face must have showed Master Joe my distress.

"That's it slave. Do it for me. Do it. More," he said, and I'll be damned if I didn't lean back just a little bit more. "That's it! Good slave. They're my tits. You've got nothing to do with them. They're mine. Show me you understand that, accept that, know that." And with those words I leaned back just a little more again. He was right, after all. They're his tits, not mine. And if he wants them to hurt, it's his right to make them hurt.

He remained silent for perhaps half a minute, just sitting there with tit chain in hand and observing his slave in front of him. Then he said, "Look at me slave, right in my eyes."

I obeyed and looked into his eyes, those deep hazel orbs that seemed to bespeak of both confidence and stability. My tits were on fire, burning with both pain and pleasure.

"I'm the one who's been teaching your Master Matt how to keep you in total slavery. My goal, while you're here with me, is to take you even further and return you to him as a more complete slave. How's that sound, faggot? That's what you want for your Master Matt, isn't it, to be an improved faggot?"

I could not really enunciate an answer with the bit in my mouth, and I wasn't really sure what to say anyway.

Master Joe reached forward to take hold of one side of the bit and wiggled it a bit. "Go ahead and talk with the bit in your slave mouth. I bet I can understand you. You may as well start practicing because this bit, or one like it, is going to be in your mouth a lot while you're here."

I spoke, or mumbled, as best I could, "Master, yes, Master. Thank you, Master. Very good, Master."

"See! I understood you just fine. I see no reason to not have a bit in your faggot mouth until such time as I wish that mouth to serve me."

"Master, yes, Sir. Thank you, Master, Sir!"

"So, let's get started with further clarity." He sat up straight and looked me right in the eyes. "Why does a slave speak?" he asked.

"To serve its Master." My eyes met his as I answered.

"Why does a slave breathe?

"To serve its Master."

"Why does a slave eat?"

"To serve its Master."

"Why does a slave rest?"

"To serve its Master."

"Why does a slave live?"

"To serve its Master."

"Yes. Believe it, slave. I do. In the next two and a half weeks I will continue your faggot education, and you'll be a better slave for it. How does that sound?"

"Master, thank you, Master."

"Correct answer, faggot."

"Master, yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

Apparently Master Joe had some things he needed to say: "Nothing but slave. That's what I see in front of me. Nothing but slave." He pulled to apply more pressure on the tit chain again. He looked me in the eyes. "There's no such thing as a reward for you, faggot. There's no such thing as a punishment for you. There is only what you are, faggot service and faggot obedience, and nothing else. You know I'm right. A total slave. Service and obedience. That's all you are. Nothing more. And you'll get no reward from me for being who and what you are, and there's no punishment I can dole out that can make you be more of who and what you are. You are just you, so be it. You know you love it. The rewards are intrinsic, and so are your punishments. Am I right, slave?" He relinquished his grip on the chain and sat back in his chair again.

"Master, yes, Master. What could this slave earn as a reward anyway, Master?" I asked through my bit and was kind of surprised he understood what I had said.

"Good question. You can earn more slavery, stricter slavery, which you are going to get anyway."

"Master, very good, Master. Thank you, Master."

"Has any punishment ever made you a better slave?

I thought about that for a moment and then answered, "Master, no, Master, I don't think so, Master. I serve because I seek to serve, because it is such a deep part of me, Sir. I don't serve out of a desire to avoid punishment, Sir. Punishment doesn't help the process of self acceptance, Sir. No punishment has ever helped me find my slave heart, Master. And knowing my slave heart, and living by it, that's my reward, Sir. Thoughts of punishment only interfere, Master. They don't motivate, Master, Sir. My slave heart motivates me, Master."

"Hmmm. Interesting. You know, I've been a master for a long time, and I know from experience that many slaves fail in their obedience, or make mistakes on ordered task, just out of a selfish desire, subconscious or not, to be punished. Some slaves are manipulative little shits and try to top from the bottom, but not you. Right, slave?"

"Master, no, Master. I hope not, Master. I only seek to live true to my slave nature, Master. My nature is clear to me, Sir. I have accepted it, Master. I am a slave, Master. And my happiness lies in being true to my slavery, Master."

"Very good. Living true to your slave nature is what you're going to do while you're with me. I'll make sure of it."

"Master, thank you, Master."

"Then we are in complete agreement. Good. I thought so, but it's good to hear it directly from the slave's mouth."

"Master, yes, Master."

Master Joe leaned forward again. "Now, let me tell you something about me, faggot. I'm a born Master, and I'm happiest when I own a slave and feel the full responsibility of slave ownership. It fulfills me somehow, deep down. More so than the services a slave provides. And way more than the erotic pleasures, though I love those, too. And since I'm homosexual, I really like faggots! And you're a cute faggot. So, I think we'll do well for the next couple weeks or so."

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

Master Joe suddenly leaned forward and reached out toward my big tits. He gently and carefully removed the clamps. This caused a wild rush of physical and emotional sensations through me. It was all I could do to maintain my proper slave position on my knees and keep my hands behind my back. Wow, how intense! "Let it go, slave. Let it go," Master Joe soothed.

Then, he took the clamps, switched the direction in which they'd clamp my tits, and put them on again. It was about all I could take. Such a rush of `pain'. "Let go. Just let it go," Master Joe continued to coo. I, of course, listened to my master and tried to do just that, succeeding reasonably well. I kept breathing as normally as I possibly could and let the clamps do their thing. I was better for it, in the end, more focused on my master, more awake, more alive. "That's it, faggot. They're my mine. Just give them to me." He grabbed the chain again and pulled it taut, playing with the pressure of the pull a little bit, perhaps experimenting for himself to see how I'd react to his control.

After the initial rush from the repositioning of the clamps was winding down, I looked Master Joe in the eyes and calmly said, "Master, thank you, Master. Thank you, Sir." I was in a refreshed place of peace and acceptance, with a determination to be Master Joe's focused and obedient slave.

"Good. Now, show me know your place. Stand up, bend over, grab your ankles, or place them on your knees if you can't reach your ankles, and stick out my slave ass."

I took my ordered position in the middle of his living room. He took a wood paddle, like a frat paddle, from his coffee table. He took his position behind me. He stood with his legs spread to give him balance and the ability to swing the paddle well.

"You're a faggot," then he landed the first swat. Whack! I took it and remained quiet. "Answer me!" he said with a raised and determined voice.

"Master, yes, Master. I'm a faggot, Master! Thank you, Master."

"You're a slave!" Whack! Master Joe said loudly and insistently.

"Master, yes, Master. I'm a slave, Master! Thank you, Master."

"I am your legal overseer." Whack!

"Master, yes, Master. You are my legal overseer, Master! Thank you, Master."

"You will obey." Whack!

"Master, yes, Master. I will obey, Master! Thank you, Master."

"I have all rights to this slave." Whack!

"Master, yes, Master. You have all rights to this slave, Master! Thank you, Master."

"I hold all the slave's limits." Whack!

"Master, yes, Master. You hold all the slave's limits, Master! Thank you, Master."

"You're a slave and nothing but a slave."

"Master, yes, Master. I'm a slave and nothing but a slave, Master! Thank you, Master."

"A slave's purpose is to obey."

"Master, yes, Master. A slave's purpose is to obey, Master! Thank you, Master."

He finished and took a seat on his sofa. He pointed to me, indicating where I was to present in a kneeling position. I took to my knees right between his knees. The paddle was still in his right hand and resting on his upper thigh.

I knelt and raised my chest high. I let out a deep breath. My face was probably flush, and my ass was burning red. My hands were at the small of my back, and my cock rose to full mast. I looked at Master Joe. "Master, thank you, Master."

I took some more breaths, as Master Joe sat calmly, just watching his slave before him. He seemed very relaxed.

"Master, thank you, Master," I offered again. And then again, until I found myself repeating: "Master, thank you, Master. Master, thank you, Master. Master, thank you, Master. Master, thank you, Master."

I began to slip in other words, other communications, as Master Joe had pulled my slave self out of any level of inner seclusion: "Master, I am slave and only slave, Master. Master, I am here for you, Master. Master, thank you, Master. Master, thank you, Master. Master, please allow this slave to serve you, Master. Master, thank you, Master."

Master Joe accepted all this with quiet ease, as if it were his natural due.

I leaned forward, my hands still behind my back, brought my head to his knees and thighs, and rested my cheek on his knee. I brushed my cheek against the denim of his right inner thigh. I lifted my head and kissed his paddle, caressingly, lovingly, adoringly, worshipfully.

"That's it, slave," he stated as he reached a hand out and caressed my hairless scalp. "That's it. A slave loves whoever controls it." He felt so good, so caring, so accepting of what I am, so appreciative, so loving.

He used both hands to guide my face to his crotch. I sniffed and rubbed my face against his bulge. I knew this was not about sex, but about bonding. And Master Joe made it easy for me to to bond with him.

As I kept my face in his crotch and nudged my nose and mouth in there as much as I could, he reached under my torso, grabbed my already tenderized nipples, and squeezed. Hard. "That's right, slave. Show me how much you love me. Show me how much you love my cock. You remain gentle and loving around my cock," as he squeezed my nips much harder still.

All I could do, all I wanted to do, was be his good faggot. I kissed his denim covered crotch gently as he used his powerful hands on my slave nipples. I loved it.

Master Joe pulled his t-shirt over his head. He gently nudged the back of my head to tell me to come up his torso. I brought my lips to his hairy stomach and luxuriated in his forest of man hair. But he indicated again for me to move upward. He brought me to his left nipple. I placed my mouth on the hairy little nip and suckled. "That's it, slave. Nice and gentle. Make me feel good. Nice and gentle with my man tit."

He allowed me to suckle for a short time, then he moved me to his other nipple. "A man has nipples. They get nice and gentle sucking. That's it. Softly. A man has nipples, but a slave doesn't. A slave has... What are they called again?" He feigned not knowing. "Oh, yeah, pain nubs," he answered himself as he squeezed and twisted mine. It felt intense, but I kept gently sucking his small, soft, tender man tits. I could smell his body, his nearby hairy pits, as he gave my pain nubs what they needed. "It's good for slaves and their slavery," Master Joe stated as he squeezed with all his might now, and all I could do was let go of them, let him take possession of them, as I, as his slave, must do. I nestled in my place of slave-calm and admired Master Joe's body, appreciating it, my cheek brushing up against his chest hair, my lips caressing his nipple, my pain nubs in his masterful grip.

I didn't really want this time to end, but Master Joe had other ideas. He took his hands from my pain nubs and pulled a different type of clamp from his kit of slave tools. These were not connected to each other by a chain. Rather, they were small and not so intense, though they clamped firmly and had some weight to them. Hanging from each was a small bell that rang with a slave's every move. They seemed part decoration and part aural communication as they kept a firm pressure on my pain nubs. "These will be part of your basic wear while you're here, slave. And, don't worry, I've got more just like them that are a lot more intense," Master Joe explained. "I like to hear where a slave is at all times, and every jingle reminds a slave of what it is."

He then produced a large ring, thick and perhaps 2 inches in diameter. The ring had a removable segment. He slipped the ring through my septum piercing and screwed the removable segment back in place. "This will also be part of your life here as my slave," he said as he rose to his feet.

"Here's your prayer mat." He rolled it out on his living room floor. "Get on it in a proper slave kneeling present position." I did as ordered, and he took a few photos of me. "Chest out. You're proud of the slave bells on you. Head up. Look at the camera. Nice smile," he instructed me. "Yeah, nice." He showed me the pics and then sent them to Master Matt. "Your Master Matt will be happy to see his slave is already doing so well."

Within a minute, I heard Master Joe's phone ding. "Ah, a message from Master Matt. He says he likes the nose ring and the little bells," Master Joe told me. "And he has a message for you, slave: be a good slave and let Master Joe have your beautiful slave heart." A second message came in: "I'm heading to the airport now."

My time with Master Joe, my overseer, had begun.