The second honeyroom was built hundreds of yards from the original. The first one was placed for the convenience of the hands and Buck. The new one was centrally located to fields worked by the field slaves and monitored by the trustees. The latest addition to the ranch's collection of buildings was built not entirely with slave labor. Sam got a contractor to design it and provide some 'overseers' who would make sure that the slaves who did labor on it, did so correctly, safely. The contractor and the 'overseers' were paid as all professionals who help Sam out around the ranch.
New Protocol
Little has been said specifically about how the trustees live. They share three shanties-shacks with better walls, roof, and actual floor, all wood, but it beats the dirt floor their charges must sleep on. They generally slept in the shanty nearest their slaves' shack, however, there were no specific rules regarding this. Typically they shared guard duty by each shanty splitting night duties between two trustees each. Except every other year or so, the guard duty is more formality than need. But after an incident like the one between Dax and Ty, the guard duty takes on a little more urgency than formality for a while.
Buck gathered the trustees together while their charges were getting their lunch. They had all seen the new building go up in a couple of days; they each had to donate at least one slave to the task, but none of them knew what it was or what it was for.
Buck had them kneel as he presented them with the new conditions. He said: "The new building is a new honeyroom, but instead of being for hands, it is for you." He paused to let this sink in. "You will use it the same way the hands use theirs. The only differences are in the number of slaves and the speed of their turn around. Instead of the 6 that service the hands, there will be 3-since there are fewer trustees than hands, it didn't make sense to have the same number of slaves. The honeyboys in your honeyroom will be the new type of slave the man himself wants to include here, the ones whose intention it is to be sold at auction. Their time in the honeyroom will be about half that of the slaves intending to stay for the duration-about 10 days. After they finish their time, they will be circulated among you as normal slaves. Their attitudes might be different than your normal slave, but it is your responsibility to remind them, with the whip or boot or whatever, that they are no different and definitely no better than their permanent brethren." He paused again. Then, "One last thing, you now have something to reward your slaves with if you think they deserve it; you can allow them supervised visits to the honeyroom. Dismissed!"
Chip had been a trustee for about a year and a slave on the ranch for 3. He came from near by. He had the look of a long time slave, mostly muscle, dried and weathered skin and hair, attractive but worn. He pretty much summed up the majority opinion when he said: "I doubt I will try very hard to be a trustee if I get to shower and use some honeyboys like they used me way back when."
A New Perspective
I know some things that I may not know when I finally get out of here. I know my name is Peter. I know I chose to be here. I know I was hard all the time I thought of this place after chatting with Buck online. I know that I have been here for two days. I know that I might not make it.
I am naked except for the collar around my neck (chained to the wall behind me) and the leather cuffs that have my hands bound behind me. I am in a tile trough between two other slaves. I do not know their names and only barely know what they look like. The one on my left is a bit shorter than me (I am 5' 11"), short brown hair, cute in profile. The one to my right is a little shorter still, but it is hard to tell when we are kneeling in a trough. He has black hair and is kind of intense looking as far as I can tell.
The trough catches our waste. The one drain is almost directly below my asshole so their piss, along with the piss from the men who use us that drips or sprays out of our mouths runs over me in some way. They hose us down once a day to take care of the shit in the trough-again, either ours or theirs. My only jobs are toilet, toilet paper, cock sucker, whipping boy.
I studied the Holocaust in college during my time as a history major. As sick as it might sound, it turned me on almost as much as it disgusted me. Like many slave types, Nazi storm troopers made me rock hard as much from fear as from attraction. After asking Buck some pointed questions-which I have to say he answered truthfully so far-I got the impression that the ranch was a little like the labor camps in Nazi Germany. So far it is. The biggest differences are of course that I chose to be here and none of the victims did, and once I leave this toilet, I can leave the ranch if I choose.
I may choose.
I do not know the names of the men who use us. They come in to do their morning stuff. They shower and shave, then they piss and shit in or on us (if they choose, some seem to prefer the toilets we are chained next to), whip us, scream at us, disappear.
We are expected to kneel as much as attention as we can bound as we are when the masters arrive. This morning I snapped to when the door opened and they came in. One comes directly to me and screams: "Open faggot!" I said the "Sir yes sir" they seem to expect-this jock strap wearing master didn't want it this morning.
"I don't expect my toilet to speak to me!" This was followed by two quick swipes across my chest with his crop. The pain was unexpected and very hot, not hot like a good fuck, but hot like a match. I opened my mouth and he started pissing into it. I couldn't do it yesterday or last night and wasn't much better at it this morning. He kept his cock away from my mouth and just sprayed his stream into my open mouth. I couldn't swallow fast enough so much of the steamy and sour-salty piss after the first couple of seconds ran down my chest. He aimed the rest of his bladder at my head and the rest of my face. He unhooked my collar from the wall and forced my head down. He kept his boot on the side of my face, the other side pushed into the pissy tile. I knew what was coming but he said nothing, just laid on the crop. I stopped counting in my head after 8. I jerked a lot after each one, but they were all delivered fast like he was swinging it in both directions over my back. I squealed as I jerked which moved my head and forced his boot slime to spread over my face. He finally stopped and pulled me up by my collar and reattached me. I was bleary eyed when he bellowed:
"Hey Alex, Jake, get over here." The sound in the all tile room is astounding. Two other masters in jocks come over. "This piece of shit hasn't learned to swallow yet. You remember how to do that don't you?" There is general laughter from the masters nearby.
"Tom, I'm sick of that shit."
"Not my fault you was in this things position a few weeks ago. Haw Haw. Anyway, it needs a lesson, why don't you and Jake help it learn?"
"Whatever." Then to me. "Position yourself so your throat makes a straight line from your lips down to your gut." I followed his order. "Now make the guzzling motions with your throat, like you are thirsty as hell and drinking lots of cold water." I did as he commanded. Then he started pissing down my throat. It was very difficult, but I was able to get most of it down. Some still spilled out and I was very nervous that he would whip me too, but he just stepped aside and the other did the same thing. "Practice makes it a better urinal." I was able to get his load of piss, which was not that big-not nearly as big as the other two-all the way in without spilling any. He walked off with the others to shower. I was actually proud which made me alternately very ashamed and very proud.
I didn't have time to consider it too much before I moved from urinal to toilet paper. A tightly crack presented itself. I had to crane my neck against the collar to reach the hole he gave me. Thankfully it was a hairless ass so not much shit was on it. I licked quickly and tried not to taste it. He didn't bother to check anything, he just let me lick for a few seconds and walked off.
Another freshly showered master came over. "He have much shit on his hole slave?"
"Sir no sir!"
He presented his cut and semi hard cock. I opened up and he fucked my face like he was fucking a pussy, hard and without thought to anything. I figured if I let my teeth graze any part of his fat pole, I would get another beating and the last one was still stinging and beginning to itch. He began to go faster, so I knew he was going to cum. He grabbed my hair with one hand and forced me back and jerked a huge load of cum onto my face. It was very hot and very thick. It stuck like glue in all the steam created by the showers and the heat of so many men.
They all filed out after that.
Now I wait for the hosedown and the food bowl. There is no way to tell time in here even if I believed that they delivered the food at the same time every day. During this time I have time to consider what happened.
In less than 5 minutes and with a back full of lashes, I was able to learn to swallow piss coming straight from the cock. My cock is hard as hell thinking about the humiliation of it, my face is red and burning from the humiliation and embarrassment. This is a storm I don't understand. I want to be able to jerk off, I think this will help marry the conflict. But my hands are behind me. I want to talk with my trough mates about it to see what they have done. When forced to learn at the end of a lash, only what is in front of me and the sight of the lash are in my vision, I completely forgot that there were fellow slaves in here going through similar stuff. But I fear getting us all in trouble by saying anything at all. When Buck put us in he said he would whip us unconscious if anyone caught us talking. At the point I sort of took it seriously, after the first use, I believed him totally.
The master with the food arrives. He puts the food by the door and goes to the hose that is attached to the shower wall. He turns it on and without a word starts hosing us down with chilly water. I open my mouth to get some of the water in me, but it is spraying too hard for me to get any really. Then he moves to the trough and washes the waste down the drain beneath me.
Then he places the food bowls in front of us and unchains us-none of us make any moves, we stay at kneeling attention-and says, "You know the drill, you have 2 minutes."
We throw ourselves down and wolf as fast as we can. There is lots of stuff in the bowl. I eat as fast as I can because I don't realize until I get the first mouthful just how hungry I am. Just as with the piss and shit, I don't bother thinking about the taste as it goes in me. I am not quite finished when he pulls the bowl back. He orders us up and chains us back to the wall. He squirts a bit from the hose into our mouths to give us some water to get the stuff down. Then he leaves.
The food has no real taste. It is like plain oatmeal-I know it is mostly oatmeal anyway. But it has a sort of crushed vitamin taste to it too. Nothing that I have in my mouth has that much taste, it is all either plane, salty, a little sweet, or really bitter. Piss is salty mainly and a bit bitter. Cum is familiar and runs all tastes from none to salty, bitter, sweet. Shit, when it has a taste at all, is bitter and sour. I had no idea before being chained here, but it does not taste like it smells-at least none of the stuff I've had does.
I hear the slaves on either side position themselves and start grunting. One thing about the food, or the fear, or whatever, it makes the shit coming out of us smell awful. It isn't long after they start that my guts start stirring. It has to be by design that they hose us off and hose down the trough before they feed us. They want us in our shit and our smell.
Day night cock hose food cock piss crop ass piss hole licking shit stink hose day hole lash boot day cock hose whip. Cock running piss like a fountain all the time, no longer with control over how it pisses or how the ass pushes out the shit, mouth open all the time and dry except when filled with piss cock cum SUCK SLAVE WEAR MY STRIPES SLAVE EAT THIS SLAVE SLAVE SLAVESLAVESLAVE. Meaning word with no out and else ouch sleep want ouch want want want SLAVE SLAVE.
"Slaves, time to get up."
The master unbinds hands and neck. I and my brothers struggle with all we have to get on our feet, it seems to take forever, but it feels fantastic.
New Perspective (The Annex, Colorado)
I'm bound like this for a long time, not sure how long. My legs and hips are tied to one post, my torso is stretched parallel to the floor and my wrists are tied to a rope whose other end is around another post. Hanging on the post opposite is the flogger I have a relationship with-it has hurt me more than any woman ever did. I try not to look at it, to focus on the floor, but my eyes keep moving to it like it was a car crash you drive past and cannot make yourself not look at. I know what's coming, but I don't know when. Scott tied me like this, then left. Breathing is taking effort now, sweat drips off all of me. My legs are asleep, my feet are so numb they are starting to hurt. My back is cramping as is my back. This general pain will be overrun soon.
Noah calls this name training. I've been out of the dungeon working for three days now, but he is still not convinced I know my new name. I know my name. I know both names and no amount of whipping will erase Craig. I can adjust to Rex like I adjusted to being called 'soldier' which is another 'name' I hated. I didn't mind being one, just didn't like being called one-it was rarely used in a good way, mostly it was used as an insult.
Noah comes in. I jerk as much as the ropes will allow. I hate myself for jerking-I can't help it because I know the pain that will come, but I hate myself for the weakness. He is in his normal uniform of Navy shorts and combat boots and nothing else. If I had a chest like his I would walk around like that too. I admire his body even if I hate the person inside it.
First day out of the cage, I worked with Crete. Scott stayed along side me as I carried the material from his truck to the site where we will be building Scott's house. I had only a collar and cuff on ankles and wrists. The only thing I did all day was to carry the wood from the truck to the site. Back and forth with Scott keeping pace whipping me with his riding crop if I didn't do it fast enough. It sucked, but it was at least movement and I could sort of try to consider how I could make an escape, especially on the trots back to the truck empty handed.
Day two started the same way, but half way through the day Noah called me Rex and I didn't respond, then he called me Craig and I looked over to him. Then I had my first session in here. Today is the second.
"Yesterday was just a warm up." He says calmly as he takes the flogger from the post. My back is still stinging from yesterday. I will not make it long if he is going to make today worse. I try to find the place in my head that I made when I went through boot camp. "Ready Craig?" I lift my head slightly. FUCK.
"Christ." He laughs. I want to cry. He pulls a sock from the back of his shorts and forces it into my mouth. "Had a bit to drink last night and don't want your screams making my headache any worse." The sock smells like a zoo. "Hope you like the taste Rex, it's been on Master Scott's foot for three days."
Yesterday he said Craig over and over again and whipped me as he said it. It may have gone on for half an hour or half a day. Today starts very differently.
He spits into his hand and grabs my cock. It immediately busts rod. I have been bound when not at work and have not been able to touch it even to piss. My eyes roll back in my head and the nasty taste of the sock disappears. He whispers "Rex" into my ear while stroking my cock. My whole body tingles and the asleep parts begin to wake-causing its own pain. Then things take a very different tack. He pulls his hand away, I moan through the sock, it is the worst torture so far. Then he says "Craig" and lands lash after lash on my already fried back and ass. Tears and snot pour no matter how hard I try to stop them. He stops the assault. Spits again in his hand and says "Rex" again softly in my ear as he rubs his hand up and down my rod very slowly. I want to buck, to thrust into his hand, to cum like I never have before, but no movement is possible except for my head which I do move like I was fucking a tight puss.
Then "Craig" again and more pain. Then he stops. He goes out of easy eyesight for a moment and comes back with a tube of some kind of ointment. He says "Rex" again. He squirts some of the ointment onto his palm and he rubs a little on my shoulders. At first it stings, then it is without pain.
"Craig." The whip starts again. I can no longer feel the individual lashes, they just increase the general pain running from the middle of my ass to the part just below where the ointment was spread. He must know this because the flogger changes directions and he whips upward and catches my pecs. The pain is horrific. I squeal through the sock where before I just grunted. He recognizes it and lashes me like that again. "Rex." Again he palms my rod. He says Rex over and over as he does, and I am almost ready to shoot, he stops. I scream "I HATE YOU" into the sock over and over again, to me it sounds only like grunts, like I was still being whipped.
"You hate me?" I can't believe he knows what I said. I do nothing. He grabs my balls this time, my very blue balls that would burst if a small breeze blew across them. My stomach tries to leap out my back. "I will ask again, I think you know how important it is to be honest if you want to keep these intact. You hate me?" I don't want to pause, so I nod my head. I shut my eyes as tightly as I can anticipating him to either whip my balls or squeeze them off. Nothing happens, he just lets my balls go and steps aside.
"Good." He laughs. "It isn't a feeling you will have much longer, but revel in it now slave."
He pulls out the ointment tube again. "Craig." Then he squirts some of the ointment. Hehe he fucked up. I'm still tied here but I can enjoy his fuck up. He rubs some on my balls and my asshole. Immediately it becomes evident that he didn't fuck up. I've heard of icy hot on the balls, but the pain is impossible. Sweat pours from everywhere. It starts to hit the floor like rain. I scream into the sock with everything I have. He keeps saying Craig louder and louder he must know I couldn't hear it if it was anything but a full on scream.
"Rex." He rubs some more ointment on my sac and my asshole. The pain subsides after a few seconds. I am exhausted. I am thirsty as hell, mouth is totally dry and throat is ragged. He whispers Rex over and over, licks my ear as he says it. He rubs a little ointment on my ass and the sting from all the lashes goes away. I collapse entirely and allow the ropes to do all the work. Any more pain and I will just pass out. I don't think he would let me pass out. I am not giving up, I am not giving in, I am doing I don't know what other than hurting and hanging. This man is standing next to me, he is larger than me, he can break any bone I have and I can do nothing about it. He has made me suck his cock. I have tasted cum for the first and second and all times in my life over the last couple of days. It won't be long before he takes that huge cock and puts it up my ass. At this point I don't think it matters that he is going to do that. At this point it is just important that I get water, that I get down from here. I know I can do it, so I would suck his cock again if he would let me down. I would tell him so if he would take this disgusting sock out of my mouth and gave me some water so I could say it.
This makes no sense. He has put his arm at my waist and is untying that rope. "I doubt your legs will work, but try not to flop when the rope comes loose." When the rope is loosened, I try not to flop, but don't succeed, my legs aren't working at all. He has zero problems keeping me from falling though. "I didn't think you would be able to." He says this like a nurse would, I don't get what's happening at all. He places me on my side as much as possible and unties the ankles next. The feeling is beginning to come back and my legs are jerking on their own, like fish in a pan. Then he unties my hands and lets me lay on the floor. "Let me know when the feeling comes back in your legs." He takes the sock out of my mouth as he says this. I basically collapse and watch him walk out of the room.
He returns with a huge glass of water. He sets it down next to me, I can't keep my eyes off it as he lifts me by my underarms to a sitting position. My legs continue to jerk. "Can you hold this glass?" I move my arms a little, but they are like spaghetti. "Sir no sir" I rasp. He takes the glass of water and holds it for me as I guzzle it. He is extremely good at it, he doesn't spill any of it as it goes down my throat. He pulls it back, lets me catch my breath and tilts it again until it is drained.
"Sir I can move my legs a little sir?"
"Can you kneel?" No slave? He hasn't said that in a very long time. I am very confused.
"Sir I will try sir." It takes me a good minute to do it and takes lots of energy to keep my balance, but with each movement, I gain more control.
"When was the last time you came?"
"Sir before Master Scott brought me here sir, six days sir." I won't call him just Scott, I won't risk being tied like that again.
"Well then, jerk, by all means take your time and enjoy it."
"Sir yes sir." I fist my rod, slowly and very tenderly because it hurts like hell. He wanders behind me and I can feel him looking over my shoulder. I care but don't care. Jerking off is intensely private for all but the strangest of men. So having a guy look over your shoulder while you do it doesn't make it easier, but I am so horned up I wouldn't care if half the world was watching.
He starts blowing in my ear, licking the top of it. I tingle from the top of my head to the tip of my cock. The blowing gets a little better and it starts taking on a sound. He starts whispering Rex very softly, and it gets louder and louder as I get closer to cumming. My cock is about to explode, just crack open at the top and explode in a mess of white goo. I fuck my fist with everything in me trying to hold the cum as long as I can and he says Rex loudly and my cock hoses. I fall over on my side. My fist keeps pumping my cock like it was its own machine. I spurt and spurt and spurt, some of my spooge shoots ten feet away. I realize I am making rutting noises that turn into a scream. Finally the spooge stops but the cock keeps jerking like it was going to start launching one of my balls out of it. My chest is heaving. I am having lots of trouble staying conscious. This is like the first cum I ever had, better than that. I have a smile on my face and my whole body is hot and cool and gooey.
"Craig." My body jerks and tries to go fetal.
"I didn't think it would take much longer Rex. Master Scott will come get you when it's time for dinner." He walks out of the room without a look back, he only makes sure to step over my spooge on his way.
I think my name and I get a chill. I think Crrrr and I get a cramp in my gut like he whipped me across the chest again. I start to cry. He took some dignity when he made Crete shit on me, he took more when I had to suck their cocks. I may still have a little somewhere in me, but now he has taken my name. I am now losing what I belongs to. I used to be Cr, Cr, me, but now it is Rex, I think. I think, I think I need to sleep. Having trouble keeping my eyes open, having trouble keeping my head and heart hating Master Noah . . . . . .
Communications Overseas
One unforeseen benefit of having Seth as part of the communications team was the fact that he spoke three other languages. He could easily chat with French, German and Dutch slaves. Yes they often could speak English, but having someone chat with them in their native languages often made them more comfortable.
Seth couldn't last long before having to check out the website for his crew. He put it together after all and wanted to see if it was being maintained. It was like a tongue searching out a missing tooth, it was impossible for him to avoid staying while he searched throughout it to see if it was being maintained. It hadn't changed, but it was still up and running.
He noticed something when he went to the picture section though. The group shot he was part of had him blacked out. And below it there was another picture of him, the one they took to mark him as Communications Director. It had this in red letters over his face: Wir ihm Tod mochten. 1000 euro.
His blood ran cold. He closed the window and tried to calm himself down. Fortunately he was already disappeared. They would never be able to track him to this piece of dusty Texas. He told himself that over and over again, but couldn't make himself really believe it.