Remote Slave Part One By: bamaboi2serve
If you had told me a year ago that I would become the remote control slave of a doctor a world away from my rural Alabama home I would have been too stunned to even laugh. Yet here I sit on a bench in the center of the largest shopping center in the state looking on the outside like anyone else, but having my body largely controlled by the man I am permitted to refer to only as Master.
One part of me is glad it is late Fall, because that allows me to wear a long raincoat that covers much of my otherwise public debasement. Another part of me, the part the Doctor has been uncovering little by little, like the peeling of an onion, that other part wants to to stand up and remove the raincoat right now. Here are some of the things I have done on command from my Master:
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before I left for the mall, I took two table spoons of the piss I now routinely store in a baby bottle in my refrigerator and combed them through the short hair Master allows me to keep on my head. I am not allowed deodorant or any soap or shampoo that has a scent. That's to make sure the smell of the piss stands out to anyone walking nearby.
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That hair on my head is my only body hair, by the way. Each morning I inspect myself, shave or pull out with a tweezers any hairs that show signs of growing, and then take digital photos to e-mail Master. He will enlarge them for inspection purposes and His punishment will be swift and sure if even a single hair is showing on my worthless body. My name is shithead, by the way. The name I was given by Master after he realized how worthless I am.
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Inside my ass I am wearing the third in an increasingly large series of ten butt plugs that Master ordered me to buy online. He specified the pink ones, to show off my worthless shithead status. Each week I graduate to a larger one, and when I am done with this series I am confident he will find a web site with a larger series. He is preparing my ass for his hands. He wants both inside me when the time comes that we meet in person.
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Underneath the raincoat, I am wearing only little girl's panties, since I long ago lost the privilege of wearing men's underwear. For a while Master allowed me to wear an adult sized little-boy underwear with fire-trucks on it, but after a while He decided even those were too manly for a shithead like myself, and made me go to the women's section of a department store and buy the frilly lace girly underwear I have on now. Under the panties is a diaper. It is wet, as demanded by Master.
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Most elaborate, and expensive of all, is the combination cock-ring tit-clamp devise that I wear. They are tied into a beeper strapped to my chest with duct tape. The beeper is one of the more physical ways Master controls me. With a single phone call, he takes control of the unit and can send an electric shock to my tits or cock and balls. Pushing another code into the phone tightens either the clamps or the ring, painfully so I might add. I have never seen the device in any of the online S&M catalogues Master orders me to study, so I presume he had it custom made. I am honored that he would do so for a shithead like me. I, of course, sent him the money to pay for the device. Each month he sends me the phone bill for the international calls he has made to it, and I pay it with my miserable shithead money. The internet has made it easy for Mater to find the articles of my public shame and send me a shopping list. Digital photography has made it easy for him to check up on me, though by now I hope he knows I will obey.
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On this particular Fall day, Master has ordered me to sit on the bench for two hours. Also as ordered, I was to find a tough-looking teenaged boy and convince him to take my photo from across the way so I can show Master my obedience. It is difficult to find a boy who will even talk with me because of the piss smell and my piercing. Yes, I have a septum ring in my nose, the first of many Master has said I will wear before he is done with me. Today I had hold out a $20 bill to get a boy to even come over to me. I feel like such a perv, and I know anyone watching thinks I am soliciting the boy. I will be lucky if nobody calls mall security on me. I am such a shithead. Finally a boy comes over and I explain what I need. Hs smirks and asks what's under my coat. "Nothing," I say. "Then open it up," he orders. I do as told, trying to use him to block the view for any passersby, and he laughs. "I knew you were a pervert...what's you fucking name"? "shithead," I answer. He takes the photo, but orders me to write my phone number down, saying he can use a good shithead like me. I give him the number, knowing Master will be displeased and punish me.
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Master has ordered me to wear a high collar shirt today, so the plain brown leather dog collar I am wearing is not visible. I offered to wear it in public, but Master said I was such a shithead I have not even earned the right to display that symbol of my shitheadness. Idly I wonder what will happen when the warmer weather comes and I will wear more revealing clothing.
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As ordered, I am carrying my piss-filled baby bottle in the pocket of my raincoat, and every fifteen minutes I walk to the nearby public restroom, stand at the urinal, and drink from it. So far today, there has been someone else in the bathroom twice. The first man either didn't see what I did or ignored it. The second looked at me, cursed and called me a faggot and ran out. I am worried that he will alert the authorities, and so I rush back to my bench to finish up my two hours.
How did I come under Master's control? Without him ever setting foot in my country, much less my state? Did the mall boy every call me? What kind of a Doctor is he...I fantasize him as a surgeon, but even if he never holds a knife, I know he can change me...has changed me. I am his shithead, ready to obey.
Comments? Bamaboi2serve@charter.net