Timmy and his Masters by Ghostwriter_XYZ@yahoo.com Chapter 1 Weekend in Hell Part 1
AUTHOR'S NOTES. This story contains intense scenes of male sex and sadomasochistic activities. If it offends you, or you are not of legal age, do not read; get thee gone, already. This story, people, & places are figments of my warped imagination & don't exist in the real world whatever / wherever that is. Resemblances to real people are coincidental and/or wishful thinking! The Limerick of my story has no semblance to the real Limerick NY, population 32. The Levittown of my story has no correlation to the real Long Island city. The Toy Box, Thrift Shop etc., are equally fictitious! Above all, DON'T TRY THESE THINGS AT HOME, KIDS. Someone could end up critically injured or dead. If you don't know what you're doing, DON'T! ERs have enough messes to clean up! Nuff said...
In this fictional world, unlike the real world, whatever/wherever that may be, slavery is the norm. As stated in the Masters Council's Laws, and will be reiterated many times, a slave has no consent to give or withhold. The MASTER CONSENTS. In the "real world," keep it sane, safe, consensual. In my fictional world there is a "Supreme Being," if you will, in The Ubermaster, with ultimate authority over all things and people, GOD, as Timmy says. BTW, NEVER force someone to retain urine for more than 24 hours. A urologist friend says he would develop uremic poisoning, pulmonary edema, congestive heart failure. You'd have a very dead slave on your hands and be in very deep doo-doo! (what is "normal" anyway? I've been a therapist for >40 years and my parameters of "normal" are constantly expanded!)
A Dramatis Personae is appended and periodically updated. There are a LOT of characters in this story. Some may just be names or make occasional cameos. The Dramatis Personae will facilitate your understanding of who's who, who isn't who, who belongs to whom, who's fucking whom, who isn't fucking whom, who had better NOT be fucking whom!
DEDICATION: This story is dedicated to "Joel and Baruch" The real-life Joel makes Timmy a wimp! Shalom, guys, PLAY SAFE! And to NY's Gay Mens SM Association wherein I had my "second coming out" into the world of SM and learned the ropes of BDSM. Thanks, guys. I miss you!(c)2012 Ghostwriter_XYZ. And now ON WITH THE SHOW!
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CHAPTER ONE WEEKEND IN HELL Preparations Part 1
Mid-December ...Friday 0300 hours
Brrrring...brrrring. My cellphone blares. "Get yer ass outta bed, Timmy! It's 3:10. Don't make us come and get you!" "I'm very sorry Mas..." Click. What time is it? Three AM?! Shit. Masters never had to call to wake me before. I'm 2 hours late getting up. I have less than 3 hours to complete a routine that requires 5. I gotta be at the bus stop by 6:20. If I miss the 6:30 bus, the next is 7:10. That'd make me 40 minutes late and in deep shit. But if they come and get me... I want to call back, plead, "Please don't be angry with me, Masters!" ask if I should skip part of my routine to be on time or complete it and be late. They would ask, "Which do YOU think, Timmy?" then whip me for bein stupid and wastin their time. And I'd use up cellphone minutes. It's the 12th of the month. If I use up my prepaid minutes this soon, I'll be whipped. Shit...Guess I'll cut part of my routine and face their wrath. Screwed one way, fucked the other. Gotta get going or I'll be later. Fucking oversleeping...
I struggle to get going, wish I had more sleep. I'm usually in bed by 7:00 Thursday to rest for my Weekend in Hell. Gotta be up by 1 to do my preparations and get the bus to Masters. I usually fast after lunch, Thursday. But mommie dearest--as much "Town Drunk" as Stepfather--had enuf residual sobriety to prepare a big "family dinner," waylaid me when I got home from school, demanded I eat with them. Stepfather woulda beaten the shit outta me if I didn't. I didn't get to bed till after 11. I'll endure 72 hours of hell without rest. I'll be "fed" formula via tube down my nose into my stomach, all weekend. Masters caught me dozing last weekend. They slapped my face so hard so many times to focus me it still burns. They'll make sure I'm awake all weekend. Monday, I'll have 2 hours to go home, shower, change, and get to school. At school, if I show any sign of my Weekend in Hell, Goons will drag me to the gully and whip me for hours. Thanks to The Network ("spies") Masters know EVERYTHING. SOP for ALL slaves. We check and give each other heads-up, email infractions to badslave@themasterscouncil.com. [NOT a real email address--I hope! GW] Will and David, Headquarters communications slaves, process communications from 5 AM--Midnight, duty slaves from Midnight-5 AM. If we miss something, we're punished with that slave. The Network texts and email reports 24/7. They're so omniscient they make God more ignorant than the proverbial 3 monkeys!
Everything is codified in detail by The Masters Council, governing body of the International Community of Masters and slaves. We are punished for violating the most seemingly trivial rule. For example, all slaves wear underwear at all times and slaves' underwear is always plain white t-shirts and briefs. T-shirt must be tucked under slave's dick but cannot pull down undershirt collar. Undershirt must be visible through opened top button of shirt. One inch of undershirt must show around leg bands of briefs. If Masters dress us in something else, no excuse. A few months ago, for their amusement, Masters dressed me like a "ghetto kid:" t-shirt over "wifebeater," boxers pulled up to my navel, shirt half unbuttoned, jeans sagging so my boxers and half my ass showed. I got an hour with Mr. Bullwhip for that. I protested, "You dressed me like this, Masters!" That made it 2 hours. "No excuses Timmy!" "Yes, Masters." Sigh... Once I cummed in my underpants and threw them away. Minutes later, Masters dragged me to the Private Room, confronted me with the evidence and paddled me for an hour.
A wave of racking cramps from last night's preliminary preparations hits me and I almost double over. Preparations include: 4 Ex-Lax, 6 tablespoons of castor oil, 4 suppositories inserted in my boyhole, prescription diuretic, and laxative. I sleep slightly on edge lest I piss/shit my bed. Before I shit this morning, I gotta retake those meds plus first of 4 enemas, and do a round of exercises. The cramps will be hell. I hurt, need to piss and shit sooo bad. I'll lose some enema--can't help it. I'll be punished, but it's Masters' game plan--Catch-22. Sigh... My regimen must be followed precisely, or I'm whipped. Today, I gotta skip a round. There will be hell to pay, but if they come and get me... I run water for my enema. Gonna take hours to get hot. So while I'm standin here naked, waitin, I'll tell you who I am, how I got myself into this mess and who all these are people in my story!
I'm Timothy Charles O'Hara, age 17, 5'7" 130 lbs., brown hair and eyes & a 5-inch cut dick. I'm a typical 17-year-old except I'm a SLAVE, owned body and soul, under the absolute control 24/7, of 14-year-old twin Masters, Billy and Sean O'Malley. They are themselves slaves to their father, James William O'Malley III, MD, FACFP, 3rd generation "Doc O'Malley" to serve Limerick, Long Island New York, population 12000. He is "Jamie" to friends and colleagues, Doc O'Malley to townspeople, Master James to Masters and slaves, Master Dad to Billy, Sean and moi--respected and feared. Billy and Sean are "Masters-in-Training" while slaves to Master Dad. Slaves often master slaves. Billy and Sean may be made full Masters at 21, if Master Dad, The Masters Council, and The Ubermaster all concur. Big if. My name is TIMOTHY, btw. I HATE being called, "Timmy," or "Tim." Pookie calls me "Timster," just to be a pain in the ass. If you weren't so CUTE! We know who has his Master wrapped around his pinky, Patrick Michael Zulu! Masters decreed "You are Timmy." I said, "That's a little boy's name." Master Billy declared, "But you ARE a little boy,' Timmy! You have no hair on your dick or balls!" "Or anywhere else!" his twin chortled. "If we don't email Erik a list to put out your clothes each morning, you'd go to school naked! We're potty training you like a toddler. That says little boy' to us, TIMMY!" they declared together. They took turns spanking me for my insolence. My ass was on fire and I was sobbin like a little boy before they were halfway done. Then they fucked me. I hate that. Or do I...
My Masters, Sean Michael II and James William O'Malley IV, are identical twins, impossible to tell apart, with magnificent "Dicks of Death" 6 cut inches soft, 12 inches long, 3 inches thick hard--fuckin tree trunks! I caught myself drooling over them 3 years ago. I couldn't help it! Billy and Sean are 5'5" 120 lbs., perfectly proportioned. They had shoulder-length golden hair now kept in buzzcuts. Billy and Sean have sparkling blue eyes, the most dazzling, perfect smiles, and seductive voices--still half boy/half man. They are, abso-fuckin-lutely BEEYOOTEEFULL! Few guys are unaffected by their beauty and charms. Guys who'd never give another guy a glance, would eagerly cut off their nuts for a fuck with the O'Malley twins, either, both, any combination imaginable and UNIMAGINABLE. Billy and Sean even have a priest, Father Bobby, our Associate, gone for them. I've seen the padre in his boxers (yuck!) slurping on one dick then the other unable to open his jaws wide enough to take them both. Have you had it up the ass yet, Father? Not that I'm a saint. Bless me father... (Father McMahon, our Pastor is too busy fuckin Lucy, St. Patrick's Secretary, to give a shit about Billy and Sean! Quite a Peyton Place we have here!)
Yesterday, changing for gym, Billy and Sean stood there in white t-shirts, and yellow polka dot boxers. Every goddam one of us--gay/straight/whatever--shot a load--some TWICE! Billy and Sean slowly lifted their t-shirts over their heads, smirking as we gawked. They played with each other's titties, gave each other deep kisses while they stroked each other through their boxers. They are each other's lover, top/bottom, Master/slave. Then, together, v e r y s l o w l y slid their boxers down and stood naked, stroking their Dicks of Death. They smirked as every goddam one of us creamed ourselves again as their Dicks rose to attention from their hairless groins! They took their time adjusting their jocks, donning t-shirts and briefs and gym suits. They shared a kiss, gave us shit-eatin smirks as we creamed ourselves yet again. It should be a mortal sin, don't you think, Fr. McMahon, for 2 boys to be so beautiful? Like I said, every one of us would cut off his nuts if that was the price for a fuck with the O'Malley twins.
They even have a 1st grader--little Sam--nuts for them. I've seen Sam in the locker room, kneeling before our Gods, hands tied behind his back, clothespins on his titties, his tiny dicklet tenting his size 8 briefs, eyes glazed over, drooling, sobbing shamelessly, lust-crazed like the rest of us. Billy and Sean tease Sam, play with him through his briefs, drive him mad. Sam cries, begs them shamelessly, "Please Sirs, just let me SEE them, Sirs! PLEASE, SIRS!!!" Kid saw their Dicks of Death once. He shouldn't have been in the locker room--he's in an earlier gym class--but forgot something. Poor bastard saw Billy and Sean naked and went nuckin futz! No matter what Sam endures, how much he pleads, they never let him see more than he can through the flies of their boxers. They drop their cargoes and boxers but Sam can't see anything cuz their shirts and undershirts cover the important stuff. Sounds like Fr. McMahon's description of hell. You see the "Beatific Vision" once, then are condemned, deprived of the presence of God forever. At least Fr. McMahon will have Lucy for company! (All of Limerick knows he's fuckin Lucy!) Billy and Sean play with Sam, pull his briefs off, leaving him naked on his knees, eyes glazed over, drooling unashamedly over his GODS. They play with Sam's make him rock hard, twist the clothespins on his tits, but poor fucker can't do anything to relieve his hardon for another 6 years. Heartless bastards. Are you gonna take his cherry, Billy and Sean? Either Dick of Death would split Sam in 2 but he'd die grinnin. Sam's aunt has custody, don't give a shit about Sam, didn't want him. Rumor is Sam's daddy killed mom then himself but no one knows the truth. Age don't mean shit in our Community.
We have a new slave named Samuel. Master Nico paid mucho dinero for Samuel, had the kid fixed before he knew his dick had a use other than peeing. Master Nico wasn't gonna have his investment ruined by Samuel stickin his dickie where it didn't belong! Samuel is 11. Age DON'T mean shit. Moi took his cherry! Jayzuz--what a tight hole! Yeah, I ain't no better than anybody else. I don't pretend to be OK? Master Lee, "Butcher of Levittown" fixed Samuel, left the kid a bloody mess! Master Donald, anesthesiologist, had to increase meds to maintain Samuel's pressure so he wouldn't bleed out. Jayzuz! Masters Montgomery and Gonzalez, nurses and boyfriends, shook their heads,. "There he goes again!" Samuel had nuthin left to scream before Master Lee was halfway finished removing his balls and sac. Poor fucker couldn't even whimper. Unspeakably cruel to fix a kid so young, but like Timmy sez, kids, slave is a slave is a slave. When I assist in fixing, I'm a professional, don't care if slave bein fixed is 7 or 70! Do not judge and all that shit eh, Fr. McMahon! Slaves don't make policy! Nobody gives a shit what we think.
Master Stanley, "Goon Squad" Commander, just bought Wyatt, Samuel's 9 year old brother but has not yet taken possession. Wyatt will be delivered to Headquarters and fixed next weekend. That's the process: slave is purchased via online auction or Slave Broker, delivered to Headquarters and fixed. After our "festivities" and Goons' "fun," newly fixed slave is sent to our Training Facility where 3 shifts of Training Goons train and condition him to be a slave. After 6 weeks of intense, nonstop, brutal slave training, Master's new property is delivered to him--fixed, trained, ready to be used, abused...That's all we are guys--PROPERTY--bought, sold, like all other property. Sad case, Samuel & Wyatt. Daddy killed in auto accident; mom lost her job. Desperate situations make desperate people do desperate things. Kids vs. house and food... Somebody makes mommy offer she can't refuse. Who knows what bullshit story they give her. She sure as hell don't know they're Slave Brokers, on retainer by The Masters Council to buy new slaves. Kid is enslaved forever; Broker gets nice commission (25%, David, tells us.) Mommy gets a ton of cash. What happens to kid, mommy don't ask, nobody tells.
I DON'T think it's right to enslave young bois, fix them, put them through the torments of hell, preclude them ever having pleasurable sex, a life. But nobody asked me and NOBODY gives a fuck what slaves think--not no one not no how! We obey, submit, do as we're told, obey our Masters in ALL things and yeah, goddammit, SUFFER. It's our LIVES, guys, from little James age 7, to Franklin age 56, our electrician and oldest active slave. Samuel and Wyatt have been told don't acknowledge each other. "You're SLAVES, not brothers. You don't know each other. First sign of recognition, `sympathy' and you both get whipped!" Slaves, regardless of age, learn from day one, submit and obey. We fuck up; we're punished. We gotta be careful. "Particular friendships" between slaves and freebois are forbidden. Slaves and slaves, OK. But we can be separated in an instant and never see each other again. Gonna be damned tough for Samuel & Wyatt. Hell--no picnic for any of us but to have your brother enslaved is special hell. You can't acknowledge him. You gotta "rat on" him, treat him as a slave. Everybody gonna be on their asses 24/7, just like Master Dad is on Billy and Sean's. One twin fucks up both get punished. Btw--Master Nico is Nicolas Diego Landeros, Ed.D. Middle School Principal!
Billy and Sean always dress alike--even their underwear! Each wears an gold locket centered on his undershirt collar and has Master Dad's brand, "JWOM3," on his right ass cheek. Billy has "Daddy" tattooed above his brand. Master Dad had a cow--messin with His brand! Both were caned for that but what's done... Their hair now is kept in buzzcuts. Master Dad caught them preening over their then shoulder-length blond tresses. He put an end to that "stat!" No need for Harrigan, our Barber. They take care of each other under Master Dad's supervision. He decreed if they take 20 seconds too long to cut each other's hair or either's hair is a millimeter too long, he will end their Apprentice Masterships stat. They will be fixed and sold to a Master who will make him kinder than Mother Teresa!
Billy and Sean's body hair was permanently removed when they were 11, just as it began to grow. Master Dad wanted them hairless to display the Dicks of Death he had genetically engineered. Madame, a stinking old crone in Bronx, does full body electrolysis in 1 long, agonizing session. The more you tip her, the more painful and degrading she makes the procedure. Master Dad tipped her very generously. Billy and Sean sobbed for days. Madame even inserted electrolysis needles down the insides of their dicks! Master Dad punished them for getting blood on Madame's needles! The norm is permanent hair removal at 16, fixed at 21. We are then irrevocably slaves. A slave has no balls--don't need'em. Slaves are not sexual beings. We have no "pleasure." We exist solely for our MASTER'S pleasure. Slaves are fixed with NO anesthesia. You're 21, happy birthday to you, slave, goodbye manhood!
Fixing" is a step beyond castration, now the norm--EMASCULATION. The Master castrates you, removes your balls, plumbing, sac, etc. He inserts a urethroscope down your dick and slowly, deliberately, excises your prostate, urinary sphincter, and nerves that enable you to get hard. He ligates--ties off--both ends of the corpus cavernosum then excises it so you have nothing to fill with blood to make you hard. No nerves to stimulate a hard on, no prostate to make seminal fluid. No balls--just bare skin and an inert dick, a hose for pee. For Masters, surgery is routine. For you, it's HELL.
///You scream in incoherent agony through 4+ hours of "surgery." You get no anesthesia, no pain medication, no nuthin--not even a fuckin Tylenol! You cry for your momma but she don't know/care where you are. You cry to God but no God hears you. Surgical team tunes you out. We've had hundreds of slaves on the table screamin their asses off. You can't not scream. The agony is more than you can bear but you are restrained too tight to move. Your head is held by tongs used to stabilize a broken neck. You feel exquisitely every cut. You know what they're doing to you. Even Little James kinda understood. They fixed him when he was 5. Shit. Masters are licensed, board-certified surgeons, but it ain't no hospital. They make the procedure gruesome and excruciating. When they're done, Master Robert, Chief Surgeon, declares, "All the things that make you a man have been cut out. You are no longer a man but a SLAVE." They castrated you and removed all your man parts. They cut out your urinary sphincter so your pee flows outta you like Niagara fuckin Falls.
We put you in a "Recovery Suite," lit only by a Mickey Mouse nightlight. We chain you so you can't lay flat or sit up. That's a slave's position. Blood and pee flow through your catheter into a bag below you. You hurt too much to BREATHE let alone cry or scream. We give you meds so you don't bleed out. We leave you alone in profound agony for 6-8 hours, let the shock wear off, pain build up. Then we give you 5cc Valium in your ass, every 6 hours. Valium does nuthin for pain--lets you doze for 30+/- minutes. You awaken in agony yet more profound. 48 hours later is your "Coming Out Party." We fuck/use you for hours. Everyone participates, Masters and slaves alike-at least 3 rounds. Slaves who can't fuck or are not allowed to, have "toys" available for their pleasure if not yours! Master Shane welds a collar around your neck. Master Jesse, our Tech Guru, inserts a computer chip in the collar with your vitals. The WORLD knows you're a slave. Nothing on earth can cut the collar.
The piece de resistance comes a week later: you are BRANDED. Master Shane does the job but your Master has his hand on the branding iron. We brand you on each ass cheek and your abdomen, above your now worthless dick, with your slave name and property of--(your Master's name)--makes it final as it gets. You are "bonded" with your Master. Master T-Bone branded Nickie across his denuded pubis, big block letters: "Property of MASTER T-BONE." We all cheered wildly! The world knows to whom Nickie belongs.
We place you on your knees before the assembly and bid you stroke yourself. You grasp the horror: you CAN'T get hard--nuthin to enable you to get hard. We have Pookie give you a blowjob. The best pleaser of men in the world, can't get you hard. We pull your catheter. Your piss flows in a river too heavy for a diaper to contain. You grasp the enormity and horror of what was done to you. You have been EMASCULATED. You are no longer a man but a SEXLESS THING. You have no sex organs, are incapable of sexual arousal.
You also can't control your pee; you no longer have a sphincter to control it. You depend on your Master to open your catheter and drain you when/IF Master is so inclined. Slaves get injections of diuretic in their asses to "help you pee," yet their catheters are clamped shut or a plug is inserted into the urethra. You pee when Master LETS you pee. Your dick is an insensate hose. You are no longer a man but a SLAVE. Fixing leaves you anatomically, physiologically incapable of man functions. No longer distracted by "temptations of the flesh," you focus exclusively on a slave's sole existence, PLEASING YOUR MASTER.
The Ubermaster now has slaves fixed before onset of puberty, before they can "cum." Newly purchased slaves are fixed immediately regardless of age. The rest of us are done at 21. A fixed slave has no raging hormones to distract him from PLEASING HIS MASTER. If you no longer please Master, he can sell you. Slaves are PROPERTY, bought and sold like all other property. Master Dad would sell Billy and Sean if they no longer pleased him and the price was right. If I were fixed, I could focus on pleasing Masters. They always tell me how "blessed" I am to have TWO Masters when some slaves are waiting for one! Tell me again, Billy and Sean, when I'm suffering the torments of hell at your hands! Fixing is a cruel, barbaric procedure. But IT MUST BE DONE. The Ubermaster decrees it. There are no appeals. On my 21st birthday, it will be MY fate. So be it... I accept--not that I have a choice...
After we've had our fun, the Associates, Goons, have theirs. Where they take you, what they do, we don't ask... They bring you back 48 hours later. You stay in the "recovery suite" for a week. We exercise you 4x daily, just like a dog! We often have Puppy exercise with you. The riding crop makes wonderful encouragement! Then you're sent home with your Master, a slave FOREVER. Nothing can free you from slavery. Not in this life; perhaps not the next.
We are an international community of Masters and slaves under the command of The Ubermaster, Raymond Matthew O'Clair. He is GOD. No king, prime minister, or dictator, has The Ubermaster's ultimate authority. He has power of life and death over slaves and Masters. All Masters report to Him, owe Him their fealty. The Ubermaster is now 60 years old, retired Executive Director of Levittown Medical Center. He is a man of regal bearing, 6'2", 185 lbs. solid muscle, blue eyes, grey hair. He exercises his power judiciously but NO ONE trifles with him. He is a caring social worker and a first-rate administrator, but a cold, brutal Master. He once had a slave executed for punching his Master. The Master himself argued it was self-defense but The Ubermaster had none of it. He had the slave CRUCIFIED in front of our Community with as much concern as sipping his ever-present Diet Coke!
The Ubermaster is a skilled, breathtakingly cruel Master. At our Parties, he picks a slave at random for a demonstration that makes the Masters quail. Last month he caned Ryan so viciously his ass was in ribbons. Master Murdock said he almost pleaded, "Don't kill my slave, Ubermaster, he has a recital tour next week!" Ryan is a sophomore at Limerick High School, and a concert pianist, tours for a week at a time. Not to worry. The Ubermaster knows what he's doing. God knows how Ryan sat down for 2 weeks. But Associates Andrew and Harold, Ryan's chaperones, tutors, and surrogate Masters on his tours, made sure he did. Andrew and Harold are nurses, necessary because Ryan is fed formula via gastrostomy tube through his abdomen into his stomach. (Master Murdock is Dr. Murdock, our high school math teacher. He is, "JW" (Jeffrey Will) or "Murdy" to his friends & fellow Masters, NEVER "Jeffrey, Jeff, etc. Dr. Murdock could've been a college professor but finds teaching high school more fulfilling. I'd love to be a fly on the wall in the faculty lounge to hear the conversation between Masters Charles, Murdock, and Ms. Frances, who taught biology to Darwin's grandparents!
Seamus tells us 30 years ago, a group of Masters called Master Raymond as he was known, to take command of a then nascent Master/slave Community. Seamus, our resident historian, explains in his lilting brogue, "Things needed organizin here, laddies. They was gettin crazy. Lotta men kissed the blarney stone, laddies. Begorrah, laddies, this Raymond O'Clair was called to take charge. Next thing ye know, laddies, he organized this council. Ye see, laddies, he's the power in this town. Mayors come and go, laddies, but this Mister O'Clair keeps everythin perfectly ordered. I tell ye laddies, he got everythin straightened out real fast. Knocked heads together, he did! And that Hospital, laddies, she was hurtin bad, too. I tell ye laddies, this whole town she was hurtin real bad! And laddies, Mr. O'Clair, he straightened everything out in 40 days and 40 nights!"
Slave James says a young slave died under suspicious circumstances and there was no authority to investigate and remedy the situation. Master Raymond was making a name for himself as a first-rate administrator, endowed, it seemed, with Solomonic wisdom. He did not hesitate to set things "straight," on both fronts. As the youngest licensed administrator of Levittown Medical Center, he indeed, knocked heads together, and lay down the law. He established the Masters Council and developed with them, a canon to govern Masters and slaves. It covers the most seemingly trivial thing, even how slaves dress.
Slave James says pre-Ubermaster, there was no governance, no way to deal with a rogue Master, or slave who could not be trained. The entity evolved into today's International Community of Masters and slaves. Master Verdi was engaged to manage Master/slave operations. Master Jerry was recruited to manage administrative matters. Coach Mark and began his "Morning Training Class" for selected bois. Everything was brought under control of The Ubermaster and Masters Council. Nothing is left to chance or is too trivial not to be codified and enforced.
Thomas Francis Grabowski is The Overseer. Thomas sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty, is His second in command. Many of us think Thomas and The Ubermaster were once lovers. No one asks; they don't tell. Overseer Thomas is 55 years old, 5'10" 175 lbs, with grey hair, and deep brown eyes, a brutal Master in his own right. Like The Ubermaster, Overseer Thomas is a Social Worker by profession, Executive Director of Levittown Medical Center. "A bureaucrat!" he complains.
Master Verdi Dinero is Chief Slave Officer, who manages all Master and slave issues including assignments, reassignments, purchases, sales, etc. If Overseer Thomas sits at The Ubermaster's right hand, Master Verdi sits at His left! Master Jerry is Chief Administrative Officer, in charge of all non-slave, business operations: accounting, etc. Master Jerry is NOT Gay--"Master" is titular. He's happily married with 4 kids and 2 grandkids, has no interest in Master/slave stuff. He supervises Master Frank, our Chief Fiscal Officer and Master Todd, our Chief Accountant, and their staffs.
Our slaves range in age from "Little James," age 7," to a man we respectfully call "Slave James," age 85. Slave James had a stroke, lives in Huckleberry Gardens, a specialized facility that provides a continuum of care for Masters and slaves from assisted living to skilled nursing and hospice. Slave James is sharp as a tack but can't walk or use his left side, has trouble speaking clearly. Franklin, our electrician, is our oldest active slave at age 56. Master Joseph (our plumber) gives Franklin great freedom because he's on call 24/7. We call James Fredericks "Little James" because we have a 15-year-old slave James Schultz, we call "Teen James." Sometimes brothers are enslaved together like 11 year old twins Garrett and Jarrett, and Louis and Anthony, 13 and 11 respectively, who have different Masters. Anthony is a choirboy who will sing soprano forever. We fixed him and his brother together last month.
All slaves go to school or work. No one lies around a dungeon all day! Our paychecks go directly to Limerick Bank where Master Danny manages Community banking. Slaves are given allowances; we must account for every penny. Franklin is an exception but he's been a slave for almost 40 years, is a role model for other slaves. He handles cash, checks and credit cards in his daily work. We're all watched constantly, intensely by Masters, brother slaves, "Goons," Network, even freemen/bois.
Daniel, Kent, and Nick are our "bottomest bottoms." The Ubermaster condemned them to a fate worse than death. EVERYBODY fucks/uses/degrades/shits on them, literally and otherwise. Nuthin/no one lower in our Community and maybe the universe. They pray for death every day. Daniel downloaded $5000 worth of explicit kiddie porn & bought >$2000 of adult toys on the internet with daddy's credit cards. He supposedly tried a dildo he bought on a classmate. Kent got caught with his dickie in the wrong boi's ass. "I was just experimenting!" Yeah right--and Clinton did not have sex with Loosewinski! (sic!) Nickie's daddy lost >$350 000 to a local bookie, more than he coulda covered in 350 million years. The price: his only son enslaved, fixed, condemned to a living hell. Nickie-poo tried to run away. Stoopid move! Then he tried to "off himself." stupider move! Goons intercepted him before he ever got to the path to The Clearing. It's impossible for slaves to commit suicide. We're all watched too carefully.
Daniel's father and parents of the boi Kent allegedly abused, implored The Ubermaster for justice. Nick's daddy faced very special "justice." The Masters Council paid off his gambling debts. Nick was taken, fixed and enslaved. Justice rendered: Daniel, Kent, Nick, condemned to be our bottomest bottoms. Their Masters are Nico, Daniel, and "T-Bone," respectively. Master Nico is Dr. Landeros, our Middle School Principal and The Ubermaster's "Representative," to the Limerick School District. Master Daniel is Co-Commander of the Associates, "Goon Squad", big Black man, former professional boxer. "T-Bone," is our Community's youngest Master, our high school star linebacker. These slaves' REAL Masters are all other slaves in the Community. Nuthin lower than these bottomest bottom slaves.
The ultimate bottoms are Master Jim's laundry slaves. Theirs are fates worse than death! Most are men of limited intelligence/schooling, purchased cheap in bulk by slave brokers. They run the laundry facility on Headquarters Compound 24/7 under Master Jim's seemingly unsleeping eye. We rarely see these slaves. The Community Laundry makes hell colder than Antarctica! It's 4 stories below ground level with 50 huge washers and dryers going 24/7. Many Laundry slaves don't speak English. Not necessary for the "job." They work 18+ hour shifts--live/eat/sleep where they work, drop utterly exhausted, step around each other as they work. Rumor has it when these slaves die, they're sent thru a wash/dry cycle, skinned, their hides tanned and made into mannequins, whatever is left dumped into a common grave. Master Jim is a burly man who somehow prefers the hell of his laundry to the outside world. Laundry slaves don't have names. Most last less than 60 days in Hell.
Master Jim owns 2 slaves. Donel is his senior slave, Laundry Supervisor and liaison to the world. Donel is spared much of Master Jim's brutality, as long as he keeps the Laundry running efficiently and takes care of Sergio. Sergio is our "Seamstress." He repairs slaves' clothes. He comes "home," from school, strips, impales himself on a dildo. Donel or a Goon inserts a feeding tube down his nose into his stomach and gives him "dinner," bag of formula followed by bag of ice water "chaser," slaves' "food." Sergio does his homework and clothing repairs till he falls asleep where he is, impaled on a dildo, "fed" formula and water, locked in a tiny, bare concrete room. Next day, cycle starts anew. Donel, is spared much of Master Jim's brutality. As long as he keeps the Laundry running efficiently and takes care of Sergio. No picnic--for any of us. War is hell, bois, but slavery is "heller!" Donel is 25; Sergio is now 13. Age don't mean shit...
I knew nothing of a "Community." I "topped" myself in The Clearing, center of the woods that separates Limerick and Levittown. I stumbled on The Clearing one day when I missed the bus and meandered home through the woods. Rumors abound 60 years after the sudden death of Ellis, Caretaker of then Limerick Town Park. Ellis reputedly lured young bois to his cabin, tortured them, ate them, fed leftovers to Brewster, Hound from Hell, who woulda made Stephen King's Cujo Lassie! If Seamus knows the truth he's so full of "blarney" we don't know what to believe--don't WANT to know!
Someone/something maintains The Clearing the way it was in Ellis' day. The cabin door was unlocked, I was dumbfounded to find it well-stocked with all kinds of supplies, devices and "toys," including a dusty rack that still worked if hand-cranked because the cabin has no electricity. I tried some of the "toys!" I tied 3 limbs, inserted a dildo in my ass, put clothespins on my titties, around the corona of my dick, pulled my free wrist around a cabin post. I cummed, jumped back into my Tommy Hilfiger undies and clothes and ran. I did this almost daily for several months. I assumed no one saw me. The Clearing lies between thick, dense woods, accessible only by a barely navigable path. The path is dense and overgrown, so few people chance it. Most travel around The Gully via perimeter road. Billy and Sean discovered me, declared me their slave, tortured me, fucked me repeatedly. They took me home to their "Playroom," did all kinds of terrible (wonderful) things to me and the rest is history!
I live in the basement of my family home. It was my "man cave," refuge from the world and Stepfather. Now it's a prison cell. The day after Billy and Sean waylaid me in The Clearing, they came with 6 Goons. Goons stripped me, impaled me on a huge dildo in a highchair they brought with them and locked me in it. They stripped my "man cave" bare--took EVERYTHING--even the clothes on my back. Everything I owned gone in 6 hours, 3 trips by 2 U-Hauls to the Levittown Thrift Store. A crew from Master Shane's construction company, along with Coach Mark's "boys" Kevin and Luis, under direction of Walter, Master Shane's slave/foreman, transformed everything in 6+ hours.
Walter and his men demolished the inside stairs and secured the door to the main house. They built a large walk-in closet to hold clothes and stuff with a complex system of locks. Anything that don't "hang," underwear, shoes, etc., is kept in 3 large footlockers each with 3 custom locks. The room is locked with a triple-locked electrified steel door. The door from outside was secured with a coded lock. Steven DePaula, Master Wayne's son/apprentice/slave created and keyed the locks in 4 hours. Billy and Sean and Erik have the keys. Steven changes locks and combinations every 6 weeks and gives new ones to Masters and Erik at school. (Goons have master keys for everything.) I can't access the ROOM where my stuff is kept never mind closet or footlockers. The chances of getting through the partition, doors, and locks are less than the Pope opening an abortion clinic in the Vatican!
My bed is pieces of other beds and a mattress thrown out by the City Mission. Bottom of fuckin barrel sleepin on a mattress too foul for bums! My only furnishings are a small stand from a neighbor's trash, rented computer, and battered alarm clock. A footlocker holds tit clamps, dildos, devices, and "tools" I use at Masters' direction. Every slave carries a prepaid cellphone. Cellphones and computers are communication devices not luxuries. I can only make/receive calls only to/from designated individuals. My computer access is limited. A few months ago, I found a great site called "Nifty"--hot stories about slaves who have it worse than me--sounded so real! Next day, Goons took me to the gully and whipped me for hours. Amin and Joe, our "geek slaves," installed Net Nanny to monitor my computer activity.
Slaves' clothes are requisitioned from the Community Clothes Closet managed by Master Phil, or bought cheap from the Levittown Thrift Store. My clothes have labels, "Timmy O'Hara, Limerick NY." A number is printed on each label. Masters' computer puts together combinations at random. Each night, Masters email Erik my clothes list for the next day. He comes over in the morning, helps with my preparations, gives me my meds and administers my enemas. I think Erik emails Masters reports, including how long I held each enema and any "leakage." Erik helps me shave my ass, boyhole and backs of my legs. He does his paper route, comes back and gives me my clothes. Yesterday, e.g., they assigned undershirt #12, underpants #21, (plain white tee and briefs, of course), shirt #17, red polo with missing buttons, jeans #11, black, 2 inches too short, socks #2, plain white crew, footwear #9, raggedy sneakers a size and a half too small, and jacket #4, grungy grey formless, parka, God knows where Masters found. Despite 6 inches of snow Wednesday, I got no boots, rubbers (either kind!). My feet got wet and I was punished for that. Despite a --15 windchill, I got NO hat, gloves, scarf, etc. Slaves do not get such luxuries. Jacket pockets are sewed shut so we can't stick our hands in our pockets to keep them warm. Masters punished me during morning strip search because my socks were wet and my underwear was "grungy." Sigh...
Erik's help isn't entirely altruistic. Yeah, he's my best bud--my ONLY friend. Like Timmy keeps tellin ya, guys, we gotta be on guard about "Particular Friendships." Anything more than casual friendships between slaves and freebois is utterly forbidden. An exception was made for me and Erik, but Erik was made my "Co-Master." Masters live across town. They have morning rituals Master Dad "prescribes," and must be to school for "Training Class" at 0530. They could not come here, supervise routines and get to school, change and be in "Training Class" on time.
Coach Mark's "Training Class" is 0545 every morning in the Training Room behind the gym. Attendance is mandatory for its select participants. Coach tells daddy you need "remedial physical fitness," daddy makes sure you're in the locker room, in "uniform," and on the floor at 0545 waiting for Coach. Uniform is briefs over jock, sneakers over bare feet. No t-shirt, no socks, no gym suit. Briefs over jock accentuate what you got--or DON'T got!
Class starts 0600 with exercises led by Corey Hawk, Coach Mark's Assistant (flunky, personal fucktoy, maybe slave) Corey and Coach watch you intently, note if your form is sloppy, anything isn't perfect. Then Corey pairs you up, boy on boy. You put on a show for Coach--the kinkier the better--fucking, sucking, 69, rimming, spanking, paddling, fisting. Stuff you could not imagine. Stuff, guys, the Marquis de fuckin Sade could not imagine! When class is over, 0730, everyone feels utterly degraded, like a cheap whore. Asses, bodies, dicks--and bois themselves--are red, boyholes drip with cum. No one is allowed to shower. At 0730, Coach takes the 3 bottomest bottoms, Daniel, Kent and Nick, + 2 bois at random, into his office and he and T-Bone sew up their dicks. (Coach, Corey and T-Bone are Certified Athletic Trainers.) Before Daniel, Kent and Nick can dress and go to homeroom, they must put mats and equipment away, clean the gym floor, get everything ready for 9:00 seniors weight training class. I was in Training Class for 5 weeks. I was revolted. Got over that fast. Coach paddles revulsion outta you with his "Board of Education." It's not that Billy and Sean don't want the Class to see my "marks." Participants display an array of them. By the end, everyone has all NEW marks. Slaves wear tit clamps, catheters or dick plugs, buttplugs, dildos, etc. Fixed bois, of course, are missing their "equipment," their dicks catheterized or plugged. Rather, Billy and Sean don't want me to see their degradation by their classmates.
Adam had the satisfaction the other morning, of spanking and fucking Billy then rubbing his dick coated with his cum and Billy's rectal secretions on Billy's buzzcut. As a "coup de grace," Adam made Billy suck his dick clean! Adam's dick is shorter but fatter than Billy and Sean's. Adam tells me everything! Wednesday, Adam covertly made a video of Class via digital camera "borrowed" from Grandpa Seamus' Pharmacy. Henry Carter had his hand deep inside Garrett's tiny boyhole, while brother George was getting dicked on both ends by Billy and Sean. Other bois connected Adam and Dustin, (Master Montgomery's twin sons/slaves) with a huge doubled-headed dildo, suspended them from the ceiling, clamped their tits and dicks together, & had at them with belts, riding crops, even wet towels.
Bois' fathers swear by Coach Mark's Coach Mark's "training." Many are "alumni" of Coach's Training Class and swear Coach made men outta them and will make men of their sons. Alumni of 30 years unanimously support Coach Mark's training methods, eagerly sign up THEIR sons for Coach's class. They have endowed the athletic department so Coach's annual bonus exceeds Dr. Lorenzo's salary. The halls of Limerick High are lined with cases of Coach's trophies. If Coach prefers "trophies" of other kinds ain't no one complaining. Dr. Carter, our "Stoopidintendent," was himself one of Coach's first eager and willing participants 30 years ago and eagerly enrolled HIS sons, Henry and George. Goons haul their asses outta bed 3:15 every morning, give them enemas, feed them formula via naso-gastric tube, get them dressed & to school for Training Class. The Ubermaster Himself recruited Coach Mark. Dr. Lorenzo, our Principal, knows the score. The Ubermaster tells him via Dr. Landeros/Master Nico, to jump, Dr. Lorenzo jumps, don't ask how high. Dr. Lorenzo has 2 ½ years till retirement. That beachfront condo in Key West gets closer every day! Henry and George may not be legally slaves but are treated as such. Someday, we assume...
Erik being my de facto Co-Master is degrading. That's the idea! Me and Erik had no secrets. We grew up like brothers, jacked off together (but Erik never knew I was jerking off over HIM!) even dared taste each other's cum. That was then, this is now. Erik does Masters' dirty work so Goons don't have to. Erik agreed on the condition that he have nothing else to do with our Community. Billy and Sean demurred, but Master Dad, Master Verdi, and The Masters Council approved. The Ubermaster declared HE thought it fine, so they made it so. I cried the first time Erik shaved me and administered my meds and enema. It's still so difficult to keep from getting hard when Erik handles my dick and balls to shave them.
The first time, I cried even more from the utter shame of shitting in front of Erik in my hideous potty-chair. Masters called Erik. Erik put me over his knee and SPANKED me. Damn that hurt! Erik works out every morning with a kewl weight set his dad gave him before he left 8 years ago, and is in the Weight Training Class at school. God knows what Meagan Casey saw in Wilhelm Schultz, but they seemed a happy couple till Schultz abruptly left without even a goodbye. "He's coming back. I know it, Timothy!" Whatever you say, bro! I still can't believe the power my Masters have given Erik over me. It's a good thing we're tight as brothers. Erik could easily sabotage me. I can live with Erik doing everything else--even disciplining me--but administering my enemas--Jayzuz! It's so intimate to give a guy an enema and watch him shit! "They would hurt you very badly if I didn't do this Timothy." Bullshit. Erik is a 3rd degree black belt. He could wipe the floor with Billy and Sean together and not break a sweat. I bet Goons would gangbang Jenna, Erik's girlfriend. It's the only thing that makes sense. Yeah--Erik ISN'T Gay-he's got a girlfriend. At least, they haven't (yet?) made Erik fuck me. I shudder to think how Erik's long pointy dick would hurt rammed up my boyhole dry. (No one uses lube to fuck slaves.) Erik has been like a brother for 17 years. He would NEVER betray me.
Slave clothes not obtained from the Community Clothes Closet are bought cheap from the Levittown Thrift Store. The Thrift Store sells packages of a dozen plain white undershirts and dozen plain white briefs for $1, each. Packages are a mishmash of mens and boys sizes. Thrift Store stuff is cheap--price and quality. One can buy a sport coat for $5--not Macy! Clothing can be ripped, missing buttons...not Masters' problem! The Thrift Store is operated by Long Island Catholic Charities, sells clothes and furniture to low-income folks. The Masters Council has an agreement to buy slaves' clothes from it. Ironically, given its operation by Catholic Charities, Ms. Jones, Thrift Store Manager, is Mistress Sandy, Partner of Mistress Amanda, Director of the women's slave community. Mistress Amanda hasn't The Ubermaster's authority but her "empire" is not as vast and her "girls," are whores vs. slaves. Amanda and Sandy were NUNS for 15 years!
God don't wanna know where Clothes Closet clothes come from! Master Phil, its Manager, is a retired Navy Master Chief Quartermaster. He knows where all clothes are at any given moment. Jeffy, his slave, gets flogged if anything is amiss. Jeffy is 10. Don't count for shit. Slave is a slave is a slave is... Thank you, Ms. Stein! Nobody is cut slack in our Community--not even Little James our 7 year old "baby slave." Slaves own NOTHING--not even a toothbrush. All clothes, personal items, etc., are requisitioned from the Clothes Closet, bought cheap from the Thrift Store or salvaged from clothing bins, etc.
Masters "rescued" my pajamas from our next door neighbor's trash. Jacob musta cummed and pissed in them a dozen times a night for months till his mom tossed them. All the bleach in the world can't clean the grey "ski pajamas" I wore last night. Not Masters' problem... Jacob is 13 but looks much younger. He gives me funny looks when he sees me. Is Jacob a slave? Does he know what happens to his pjs? Jacob brags he cums 15 times a night and his mom thinks he wets his bed. He sez he does--deliberately! I wonder about this kid! Gotta admit-- Jacob James Shawn McGuillicutty is cute; his spiky hair makes him younger and cuter. I could go for him! A romp in the sack? In a heartbeat, Jacob! I wonder: is Jacob preparing NEW pjs for me? Is he "under contract" by Masters to produce cum/pissy pjs every few months? Like Timmy sez, kids, stranger things... I don't ask, nobody tells! (How do I know Jacob's full name? I went to his confirmation! I'm a good little Catholic boi!! The Archbishop "deputizes" Fr. McMahon to confirm St. Patrick's kids. Too much trouble for His Emptiness to come out! They listed everyone's full name on the Program. Jacob's undershirt showed over his tie and top button of his white shirt. I thought that was sexy! Jacob half smirked, half leered when I hugged him after the service. Hmm...
At 1 AM, Laundry slaves assemble slaves' clothing: one each, t-shirt, briefs, shirt, pants, socks, belt, per bundle assembled to the tune of Goons' whips. Nobody pays attention to sizes, or colors then load trucks. Trucks leave the Laundry by 2:30. Goons drive trucks and slaves deliver clothes between 3-5 AM. One bundle per slave is left on a doorstep just like the morning paper! A second truck picks up dirty clothing and brings it back to the laundry. You get what you get & if it don't fit, it's YOUR problem. You don't look appropriate, brother slave takes c/o problem without bothering Masters! We are our brothers' keepers! We cut NO ONE slack. We miss something, we're punished with that slave. Strictest standards and accountability keeps us all on our toes. Only Franklin is exempt, as he is for many slave rules. He's on-call 24/7 and, after 40 years of slavery, is a role model.
Outerwear for slaves-jackets, coats, etc., is a Master's option, requested from the Clothes Closet or bought cheap from The Thrift Store. Hats, gloves, scarves, boots, etc., are luxuries to which slaves are NEVER entitled. If our shoes are wet, damaged, etc., we pay the price. Daniel, Kent and Nick learned that. They walked home through a foot of snow 2 weeks ago and were brutally caned for ruining their sneakers. (This is, of course, on top of their standard morning punishment plus "marks" from Coach Mark's "class," and anything we brother slaves administer during the day. Like I said, bottomest bottoms...) Our clothes are washed and reissued, washed and reissued, till they fall apart on our backs for which we are, of course, punished! Nothing is tossed till Master Jim and Master Phil decree it CAN'T be repaired which, like I said, is usually when it falls apart on a slave.
Sergio's mom taught him to sew when he was very young so he could repair clothes for his 11 younger brothers and they had hand-me-downs. Sergio is supposed to show Master Jim clothes he thinks need to be trashed. If Master Jim agrees, it is discarded. If not, Sergio gets the skin flayed off his ass. So, Sergio don't say it can't be repaired till it falls apart on a slave and that slave gets whipped not Sergio! He's a bright enuf kid! Like Timmy says, bois, our LIVES are "Catch-22." We fixed Sergio on his 13th birthday 3 months ago. Master Lee outdid himself! He separated Sergio's pelvis cuttin out his sphincter. "Tougher than usual--almost couldn't cut it out!" Master Lee said! Gonzalez and Montgomery laughed their asses off. We needed a special cath with a 70-cc balloon to hold it in. A week later, Master Robert wired Sergio's pelvis together. That was fun...for us, NOT for him! For Sergio, it was like bein fixed all over again.
Most slaves live in cells. I will when I'm fixed and permanently enslaved. My basement living space might as well be a cell. Stepfather (as I must call him) banished me to the basement when he moved in with mom 10 years ago. I made it my "man cave," my refuge from Stepfather and his drunken rages and beatings. Stepfather would have to go outside and through the garage to get down here! That's a helluva lotta trouble on rare occasions he's half-sober, never mind when he's had a dozen gin and 7-Ups at his watering hole and 3 more when he gets home. It kept Stepfather away from me as long as we don't meet elsewhere. Demolishing the basement stairs gives me protection from Stepfather if it leaves me isolated. I can't live with Masters. Master Dad would be glad to have me--as his sons' co-slave! No way they'd allow their slave to witness their harsh, severe life, their slavery.
Billy and Sean, my Masters, are "Masters in Training," yet slaves to Master Dad. It's not unusual. I am Master to Jayson, while a slave myself. Jayson has Aspergers Syndrome, a form of autism. Overseer Thomas says Jayson is the deepest submissive he has come upon in >30 years. Jayson chose me as his Master, irregular as it is. The Ubermaster gave his blessing and that's all that matters. Slaves can have slaves. Master and slave can be fixed together, kept in different "Recovery Suites." Penalty for slaves and freebois who develop "particular friendships" is to be fixed and enslaved together. Me and Adam gotta be careful. Master Dad will not allow Billy and Sean to keep me and Adam as "co-slaves." We've discussed that. Master Dad says he will look the other way, and make sure his sons/slaves do. Other Masters, Goons, etc., are another story. If me and Adam get caught no one can/will protect us.
Like I said, age don't mean shit. Garrett and Jarrett, the McSorley Twins, were fixed together a few weeks ago on their 11th birthday. I told you, Master Stanley just bought Wyatt, Samuel's 8 year old brother . He will be brought in next week. Got another new slaveboi named Richie. Today's Richie's 11th birthday. Happy Birthday, Richie! Your "present?" You were fixed! Slaves have no balls, their dickies don't work, they CAN'T stick their dickies where it don't belong. You depend on your Master for EVERYTHING, feeding, toileting, your very LIFE, so you learn to please him. New slaves are fixed ASAP, regardless of age then trained and given to their Masters. We can't /don't take chances. The Ubermaster don't want slaves stickin their dickies into something that's gonna get them in trouble.
An AIDS outbreak in Kingston has everyone acutely aware of keeping slaves' dickies out of where they don't belong. It's the ultimate "safe sex." Your dick don't work, you can't do anything with it, nobody's gotta worry about you stickin your dick where it don't belong, or of you contracting AIDS/HIV or other STDs. The Kingston AIDS epidemic is scary. An entire county of Masters and slaves had to be quarantined. We can't associate with them. They can't come to our parties. The Ubermaster appointed a Regent, Master Richard, physician specializing in infectious diseases (including AIDS/HIV), to command operations in Ulster County. AIDS/HIV is NOT casually transmitted. It's spread by sharing needles or bodily fluids. But The Ubermaster had to quarantine Ulster County till Master Richard can determine who is infected/at risk to seroconvert, and implement required protocols. It's why we fix slaves "stat." Can't risk slavebois stickin dickies where they don't belong. It's also why relationships between slaves and freebois are forbidden. Even The Ubermaster can't control where freebois are stickin their dicks! The Ubermaster used to like slaves to experience orgasm, ONCE, then never again. One mind blowing cum, then rendered forever sexless, incapable of arousal let alone orgasm. Now, due AIDS/HIV risk, we fix slaves BEFORE onset of puberty, before they can engage in sexual activity, wet dreams, cums, etc.
Training Goons condition slaves to associate sex with pain and degradation. Sex is pain, sex is shame, NEVER pleasure. Slaves are taken regardless of age or "consent." Slaves have NO consent to give/withhold. We SUBMIT. Slaves' lives are pain, shame, hardship, deprivation. Training Goons teach new slaves from day one to focus exclusively on PLEASING THEIR MASTERS. If their dicks don't work; no need to worry about them being preoccupied with their own needs, sexual pleasures, or sticking dickies where they don't belong. Thus is our lives. Once slaves are fixed, slavery is final. You cannot be freed. Master Shane welds a collar on your neck, Master Jesse inserts a microchip w/your info and you are a slave FOREVER.
When slaves die, we're thrown into a common grave with 100+ other slaves, naked, shackled, catheters still draining pee. No funeral, no padre, no casket, no fuckin nuthin. No one mourns us. We live as slaves; we DIE as slaves. It's our lives... Slavery is HELL, guys; there's no escape. It does NOT matter how young you are. Slaves are fixed BEFORE onset of puberty. Adam and Dustin, Master Montgomery had his cute twin "sons"/slaves, fixed when he bought them at age 9. Master Montgomery, a Nurse Practitioner, made the first incision to remove each twin's balls and sac under Master Robert's supervision. Theirs was the first fixing I saw. I had to fight not to be sick. Such savage mutilation of such cute bois. I never heard anyone scream like that. The screams of a slaveboi being fixed are inhuman. Now I tune them out. I was the first to take Dustin's "cherry." It's an incredible rush of power! Adam and Dustin are champion wrestlers. Master Montgomery expects them to win every match. He CANES them viciously if they lose. Not HIS problem...
I knew Billy and Sean as cute kids. They were sent to a private boarding school in Virginia, then abruptly returned home at age 12 after fucking the wrong boi. There was, by all accounts, no real harm done. A full-tuition scholarship by The Masters Council for the rest of the kid's school years and college of his choice assuaged any outrage. Billy and Sean's immediate withdrawal in lieu of expulsion and Master Dad's generous donation to the school kept the incident from being escalated to the local constabulary. Another offense, and all the king's horses and all the king's people and all The Ubermaster's power might not put Humpty-Dumpty back together again.
Master Dad also decided they needed a more "normative educational milieu" as Dr. Carter says. Erik, the O'Malley twins, and 4 other guys are in a programmers group run by Amin & Joe, our "geek slaves," that meets at Master Dad's house weekly. Erik sees what I rarely do--Billy and Sean as slaves themselves to Master Dad. Erik thinks there's something askew in their "superego function." [They are deficient in consciences. Capische? We "shrinks" talk like that! GW] Discipline is administered immediately, regardless who is there. One twin fucks up, both are punished. Billy and Sean HATE being disciplined in front of their friends. Master Dad starts with a basic spanking--50 to each twin's bare ass. Master Dad has his own "Board of Education." Billy and Sean are sobbing before Master Dad administers 10 strokes of paddle to bare "posterior," never mind 50.
Last month, Erik watched Master Dad CANE Billy and Sean and was almost sick. He said he never heard anyone scream like that, never saw guys' asses slashed to shreds like that. (You wanna hear screaming, bro, watch a slaveboi being fixed! Torments of the damned!) Master Dad requires Billy and Sean's friends to watch their punishment. "It's important for your development for your friends to observe your punishment. Keeps you from getting high and mighty, boys!" "Yes, Master Dad!" they reply, knowing they will get TWICE the strokes of the paddle and/or cane if Master Dad thinks they're not sincere/respectful enough. Thank God, my punishment is in the Private Room or Gully.
Like I said, I was bewitched by these GODS standing before me those 3+ years ago, their then shoulder-length blond trusses blowing in the breeze. They seemed unaffected by the attention they attracted. In truth, they're most aware, "get off" on other guys creaming themselves over them. "Earth to Timothy, come in Timothy!" Erik grinned as I stood, mouth agape, shamelessly drooling over the GODS standing before me. Erik introduced us. I was speechless! They smiled those dazzling smiles and I creamed my jeans! I wanted them desperately! I dreamed of them day and night, cummed over them 50 times a day! I did not understand: they were the predators, I the prey.
Six months later, they waylaid me in the gully where I "topped" myself. They tied me up, raped me violently, repeatedly, filled my holes with gallons of thick cum. Due to their unique genetic engineering, they have no "refractory period." They cum gallons and are immediately raring to go. They never go completely soft or deplete their cum. Master Dad had them "designed" by the finest geneticists in the world. I wonder how scientists created such GODS with just sperm and egg. All I know is they are drop-dead BEAUTIFUL. Mom? Meagan O'Malley left when the twins were 5-- reputedly when Master Dad made them slaves. Everyone knew the marriage was show. Everyone knows Doc O'Malley is Gay, as was his dad, and reputedly granddad. Master Dad's father, James William Jr., "Will," reputedly the first "Master Dad," is in his late 70s retired in Key West. Story goes, he taught Master Dad and his brother Master William everything they know with their younger brother, the first Sean O'Malley, as their slave. What happened to him, no one asks, no one tells. The Annals of the International Community of Masters and slaves, ("The Community") are extremely comprehensive, from its origins many years ago, the calling of The Ubermaster, 30+ years ago, to its development today. Yet, there is no mention of Sean William Senior. (Sean is Sean William II; Billy is James William IV. Pay attention guys--gonna be a test!)
Billy and Sean are shameless flirts and exhibitionists. They are most aware of their effect, amused by "straight" guys mesmerized by their "sideshow," creaming themselves again and again. Coach Mark is NOT amused and eagerly wields his Board of Education. He makes sure they get their share of pain, humiliation and fucking in Morning Training Class. Dr. Lorenzo don't give a fuck. Pookie drives our Principal mad but Pookie drives ALL men mad! Spawn of Satan you are, Pookie!
Adam tells me everything! Adam Michael Ian Arthur O'Shaughnessy is the great-great grandson of Seamus O'Shaughnessy, our Town Pharmacist (great-great-great-grandson? Seamus may be older than God!) I confess, I love Adam, but it's utterly forbidden. Slaves and freebois NEVER form relationships, "fall in love." The Masters Council forbids it. We'd both be fixed immediately and packed off to God knows where, ripped away from everything. I don't want to envision what they'd do to you, Adam. I don't care that you know I'm a slave, if you see my utmost degradation, if someday you watch me being fixed and you're the first to take me at the gangbang afterward. But I could never endure that being done to YOU, Adam. If only we could find a way. It's utterly impossible. The consequences are too dear.
Sometimes Adam takes advantage! Tuesdays, after school, I pick up my "meds" at Limerick Pharmacy. Adam works after school in Seamus' Pharmacy to earn spending money, cuz his daddy gambles away what he doesn't drink up. Adam's mom died in an auto accident 6 years ago and daddy copes via the bottle. Tuesday, Adam was doing stock work in his t-shirt, red stripe boxers showing over the waistband of his jeans. I creamed myself 3 times! He winked and asked me, smiling, "Are you ok, Timothy?" I creamed myself again! I was horribly embarrassed walkin out with cum dripping down my legs! Masters knew before I ever wrote it in my notebook. They had 8 emails before I got on the bus. "Timmy cummed 5 times over Adam O'Shaughnessy." Shit.
Is Arthur, Seamus' Pharmacist, part of The Network, Stefan, Seamus' clerk/delivery boy, or Justin who staffs the front counter? Arthur is in his mid-20s, a newly licensed Pharmacist. Cute dude, "vertically-challenged." He's pleasant, professional, rarely says much, watches me intensely. Arthur is Seamus' heir-designate. No one in Seamus' family has any interest in the Pharmacy. Stefan is a nerdy kid in his teens, with a thick Polish accent despite mom paying big bucks for speech therapy after they came here from Gdansk 4 years ago. He never says much--very self-conscious about his accent... I KNOW Justin is Gay. Pookie and Benjamin report seeing Justin at an LGBT Youth Group they and other slaves attend to maintain a façade of "normalcy," (and secretly recruit slaves!). Justin eyes me intently, like he's undressing me with his eyes. Justin reputedly has eyes for LOTTA bois. If he's a slave, who is his Master? Me and Adam sneak away when we can for a quickie in Ellis' Cottage in the Clearing. There's a raggedy cot and we found some old blankets. We're taking a terrible chance. Like I said, I don't give a shit what they'd do to ME. But Adam... We've sneaked out to the cabin in the dead of winter freezing our balls off. We know the consequences if we get caught but, we got needs, you understand. Adam has no one else. Seamus is the father Adam never had. Adam's grandpa, Mickey, is a high-powered lawyer in Joisey, don't give a shit about family, pharmacy, or granddad. Artie, Adam's daddy, is too drunk to know who Adam is. So, Adam stays with "Great-Grandpa." I wish things were different. I value the little time we're together. Like I keep sayin, slaves and freebois NEVER "fall in love." It's utterly FORBIDDEN.
The day Billy & Sean enslaved me, I was "topping" myself in the gully, lost in throes of intense orgasm, oblivious to the world. They secured me before I knew what happened. They undressed before me. I was stunned. I did not know there were such GODS. I gawked wide-eyed, at first vision of their Dicks of Death, rising rock-hard from their hairless groins. They smirked, "How bad do you want it Timmy?" I couldn't say. I wanted them sooo bad. They took turns on me again and again, cumming thousand times in my holes, never going soft for a minute, fucking me till I was limp as a rag doll, covered in gallons of their thick cum. They hanged me by my arms from a tree branch and whipped me. They cut me down and fucked me again and again till they were finally sated. They bound my arms and legs to a thick tree branch and carried me home to their "Playroom." They stretched me on their rack till I thought I'd be torn limb from limb. They used instruments on me I never knew existed: dildos of all sizes, sounds, stuff I never imagined. I thought I died and went to heaven! I was and am THEIRS. They knew; I knew. They knew I knew. "Timothy Charles O'Hara, we claim you. You are our slave; we are your Masters! Worship us!" "Yes, MASTERS!" I said for the first time. I wanted it. There was no going back. I knelt, worshipped them, slobbered their feet with kisses, sucked them, drank gallons of their cum and piss. They took me again and again. Each time, I eagerly cleaned their Dicks of Death with my mouth, drank gallons of their cum and piss like nectar of the gods. They are my GODS. They sent me home, covered in their cum and piss, bedraggled, stunned, , uncertain what happened, what it meant, except I WANTED to be their slave. I wanted every terrible, wonderful thing they did to me. Like Timmy sez, guys, be careful what you wish for!
Next day, The Associates, "Goon Squad," came, stripped me, impaled me on a hideous dildo high chair without a drop of lube, slapped my face hard a dozen times when I screamed in pain. They took everything I owned, my furniture and Tommy Hilfiger clothes--underwear and socks! I still shake my head disbelieving: everything GONE in 6 hours, 2 trips by 2 U-Hauls to the Levittown Thrift Store. They even tore up my life-sized nude Nick Jonas poster! [You have your fantasies, guys, Timmy and I will have ours! GW] I was left with nothing but bare concrete floors and walls. (I hid the crucifix Grandma gave me. I don't believe in God but figgered couldn't hurt to have somebody keep an eye on me! No one will ever find it.) The Thrift Store paid almost $5,000 for my furniture, clothes, and stuff--$2500 just for my big 4-poster bed. Dad gave it to me before he left, said I'd grow into it. I did, but without dad, dammit. I was left with NOTHING--not the clothes on my back, not a thing to call my own. Slaves have/own nothing. Slaves' funds are controlled by Limerick Bank: Masters Ron, President, Marc, Manager, and Danny, Trust Officer. Once a month, I submit to Puppy, Master Danny's "dog" to pay for his services. Slaves get allowances from Masters. We must account for every penny. We're punished for any spending Masters deem "frivolous." I hate submitting to Master Danny and letting Puppy fuck me. How would YOU like to fucked by a dog? Yes, Timmy knows, some of you would like that very much, you dirty bois!
Master Shane's construction crew, along with Kevin and Luis, Coach Mark's "boys," under the supervision of Walter Krestgill, Master Shane's foreman/slave, built partitions and demolished the stairway, in 6+ hours, working quickly, efficiently. Master Shane woulda whipped Walter bloody if they weren't finished on time. Master Wayne's son/apprentice/slave, Stephen, installed and keyed the locks. Master Shane inspected the work, and declared himself pleased. Master Wayne, however, was displeased that Steven took too long to create, install & key the locks & whipped Steven bloody. Then they whipped ME. My first bullwhipping. Wasn't pretty-never knew I could hurt like that and live! They left me with NOTHING. I learned that's a slave's life. Slaves have nothing. Everything belongs to our MASTERS. WE belong to our MASTERS. Every aspect of our lives, everything we have/do, when/IF we piss and shit--is under our Masters' control 24/7. We have NO rights, make no decisions for ourselves. MASTERS decide EVERYTHING. We are held to absolute obedience to our Masters. Potential penalty for disobedience is death--CRUCIFIXION--not "pretty."
Oh yeah--"son" makes a nice cover. Most people know the score. The Ubermaster is damned good to this town and its people. But "son" makes a convenient cover. Dr. Lorenzo subscribes to the fiction because it gives HIM cover. NUTHIN coming between Dr. Lorenzo and his beachfront condo in Palm Beach-2½ years... Mrs. Lorenzo can go fuck herself or find someone to fuck her! Kids are grown, he's tired of her, she's tired of him... Everything is arranged with The Ubermaster. Dr. Landeros/Master Nico, tells Dr. Lorenzo what he needs to know and Dr. Lorenzo asks no questions. Dr. Lorenzo's oldest son "Rico" (Enrico--as in Caruso!), Dr. Landeros' assistant, is being groomed to take over. Daddy don't know Rico is also MASTER Rico and once daddy departs for Florida with a 401K generously sweetened by The Masters Council, Rico will be named Principal. Mr. Jones, Principal of Limerick Elementary, now in his 70s, will be pushed firmly out the door and Dr. Landeros will take it over. Dr. Carter will long since have Henry and George formally enslaved, fixed and sold for a damn nice price. Then, he'll retire to a condo in Houston with a "secret boyfriend" and never suffer another harsh Long Island winter. All planned. Nothing left to chance. Quite the little Peyton Place we have here!
Goons brought me second-hand clothes from the Community Clothes Closet, Thrift Store, and other kids' discards including these pjs. I couldn't believe what they gave me. "Briefs??? I haven't worn briefs in 10 years! Guy wear BOXERS!" Goons lashed me with the riding crops they carry on their belts. Jayzuz--it hurt! "Too goddam bad, slave. You're not a guy' anymore. You're a SLAVE! Put these clothes on or we will whip the skin off your sorry ass!" "Yes, sirs!" I'm no candidate for Mensa but figgered it out real quick. The riding crop hurts like hell and leaves vivid welts. And I had already had my first real whipping. Didn't need anymore, thank you! I learned what being a slave means. I couldn't believe the trashy clothes The Goons brought me--BOYS undies and clothes!!! I learned slaves' underwear is ALWAYS plain white generic t-shirts and briefs--NEVER boxers, bikinis, "wifebeaters," boxer briefs, etc., Never brand name, not even Hanes or Jockey--except Pookie and Benjamin. Pookie gets Fruit of the Looms but Pookie has Gonzalez wrapped around his pinkie! And what Pookie gets Benjamin gets. Pookie jumps in the Hudson River, Benjamin jumps with him! "Slaves are not fashion plates.'" The Masters Council decrees. Don't matter if "other guys are wearin `wifebeaters' and boxers." We're SLAVES--not "other guys."
We're punished if our clothes often don't fit, are ripped, have broken zippers, missing buttons, etc., even though Masters know clothes CAME like that! "Slaves are to be squared away at all times." It also don't matter if "other guys" are wearin Tommy Hilfiger, Sean John, etc. Slaves wear what we get and be sure to THANK our Masters for that. Slaves own NOTHING--not even the clothes on our backs. It's convenient if we're sold. Slaves are sold naked, shackled hands and feet like Kunta Kinte [Roots] without even a fuckin toothbrush. Personal items--brushes, combs, etc., are sterilized and reused, Clothing laundered and reissued. Not our will but MASTERS'. Slaves' lives are shame, pain, suffering, deprivation. We are PROPERTY. Masters may do what they wish with their property. Slaves are hairless below the eyebrows; hair kept in "buzzcuts." Slaves not fixed are kept in strictest chastity. I have the burden of having to cum at the slightest "twitch"--not even a full-blown hardon--even in the middle of the night. I gaze at my body in my full-length mirror, seem to look through my image. What looks back looks strange. I'm hairless below my eyebrows. I look like an overgrown 11 year old. My body bears the marks of my punishments--bruises, welts, and scars everywhere. A welt across my boyhole from Mr. Bullwhip may be permanent. Like all slaves, I am spanked, paddled, and belted daily. My ass is so sore I can barely sit. My tits hurt from Masters working on them last Sunday. Red hot pliers yet--Jayzuz! Thought I was gonna die!
Wednesday, Chadwick used his new custom-made tit clips--an idea he "borrowed" from the Japanese--on my tits causing all new agony. The greater the tension, the tighter the clamps get, the more the teeth dig into your titties! Chadwick strung the clamps to hooks in the ceiling then fisted me. The more I twisted to try to get away from his bony forearm deep inside me, the tighter the clamps got. Thought I was gonna tear my tits off! Chadwick's arm twisting deep inside me hit a sweet spot and I cummed gallons. He smirked and whispered in my ear as I cummed the 3rd time, "You like this doncha Timmy? You get off on other guys usin you. Happy to oblige, Timmy!" Then the fucker KISSED ME--big sloppy, tongue-in-mouth kiss! I cummed another gallon! He licked it all up & smirked at me with a "cum moustache!" Smug fucker...
Chadwick is Master Jordan's slave at The Toy Box in Levittown. The Toy Box is an "adult store," and our "Commissary." Master Jordan and Chadwick provide much of the supplies, equipment, and "toys" we use. Masters across the world eagerly pay Master Jordan top dollar for Chadwick's custom-made "toys." Chadwick is an odd fucker. No one knows his real name, how old he is, or anything about him. Chadwick is about 5'8 but barely 115 lbs dripping wet. He has a mop of curly brown hair rivaling Pookie and deep brown eyes that suck you in! He hasn't aged 8 minutes in the 8 years since Master Jordan established The Toy Box at The Ubermaster's invitation. He has no beard, no body hair, a little boy's unchanged voice. No one knows what Chadwick has/don't have. A "cup" always covers his groin, via modified jockstrap, tightly fastened around his waist by a belt, locked with 4 small padlocks. This hides whatever Chadwick has, leaving his butt and boyhole free.
Chadwick's "uniform" is jock and cup, Marky-Mark t-shirts and briefs and an orange prison jumpsuit over that. Chadwick's ankles are always tightly secured by old-fashioned leg irons with barely 8 inches of chain between them. When Chadwick is working, his hands are free. Otherwise, his wrists are secured behind his back by cuffs so tight they've left permanent marks on his wrists. The cuffs themselves are secured behind his back by a "belly chain" so tight around his waist, dunno how he breathes. No one has ever seen Chadwick naked. The jock/cup never comes off. No one knows if he's got a dick, balls, whatever. He always has a massive dildo deep in his boyhole.
At our parties, Chadwick removes his jumpsuit and Marky-Mark undies and folds them to Master Jordan's satisfaction. (Marky-Mark, indeed! Such garb does not become a slave, you know! What next--Tommy Hilfiger and Sean John creating fashions for the well-dressed slave?!) He bends over and Master Jordan yanks out the dildo smacking Chadwick's bony ass if he even gasps. Chadwick deep throats the dildo, cleans it thoroughly before he's allowed to play. The belt and cup NEVER come off. Chadwick's jumpsuits are from the County Youth Correctional Facility. In return, the prison gets use of Chadwick every 6 weeks! He's locked in the hole for 72 hours, for the "pleasure" of the Warden, Guards, and their friends. Sex, we understand, is the least of it. We don't ask... We love to play with Chadwick at our Parties. He squeals so purty! Last month, Pookie draped his fat monster dick down Chadwick's throat, all but choking him with gallons of pee from Pookie's open catheter. Tony inserted a stock prod in Chadwick's boyhole and let it rip. Chadwick tried to scream around the fat dong down his throat & gallons of pee cascading into his gut as George stretched his clamped titties overhead. Great screams, great fun! The Ubermaster was delighted!
We'd all kill to know what Chadwick's got (don't got?) under his cup. When Chadwick is not working, he's locked in a puppy cage in his jock, cup and belt. The puppy cage bars are electrified, giving Chadwick a helluva jolt whenever any part of his almost naked touches the bars. Chadwick's body is wet down with piss to enhance his "pleasure." Shocks are inevitable because the cage is so small he barely fits. His only "food" seems to be a retention enema that drips in all night long--some kinda shit devised by Master Charles, our "Mad Chemist." Chadwick says every drop burns like acid. Master Jordan and Chadwick have been here just over 8 years so that's gotta make Chadwick-well, who knows? We figger he's gotta be in his mid-teens but hasn't aged 8 minutes. We have a complex love-hate relationship with Chadwick. He's a bright friendly dude, helluva gossip queen, with a weird sense of humor!
We love trying Chadwick's toys--like his kewl ass-spreader--a 4-pronged speculum that digs deep into your anal walls, hurts like hell as it spreads your boyhole wide enuf to shove in a double tractor trailer. Dustin howled like a banshee when I used it on him last month. Chadwick is a cutie. He has the softest lips to kiss! But like I said, no one knows how old he is or if Chadwick is his first/middle/last/slave name. We love his toys, are eager to try them in either role. He's a great teacher. But we hate submitting to Chadwick because he delights in lording it over us. Still, I'd druther my bare, cold basement than Chadwick's electrified puppy cage, retention enemas and shackles so tight they've left permanent cuff marks on his wrists and ankles. There's so little chain between Chadwick's ankles, dunno how he walks without going ass over teakettle! Hands cuffed behind you throws you off balance. However, we'd all druther Chadwick's unchanged voice than Master Rafael's cooing Castilian cadences as he expertly uses his electrical equipment to get what our Master wants via dreadful pain. Five minutes of Master Rafael's electrotorture, and Castilian cadences, and we'd confess to assassinating JFK, and Martin Luther King! (Rafael Consuelo is Master Dad's Partner, a world-renown Art Historian & specialist in electrotorture.)
When Chadwick was finished with me the other night, I stood naked before Master Jordan, lube dripping out of my boyhole, cum dripping from my dick. I recorded everything in my notebook, had Master Jordan sign it. I felt like a little boy whose daddy had to sign his report card--not trusted to record my infractions truthfully and completely. Master Jordan wrote my Masters a report, sealed it in an envelope, and signed across the seal to prove the contents intact. Imagine that--not trusting me to bring the report to Masters unopened. Am I so untrustworthy? Dunno what he wrote. Sure not, "Timmy is a good slave and you should be proud of him!" Chadwick gave me a big sloppy kiss, smirked and said, "Be a good boy, Timmy! Fun to play with you! Y'all come back now, heah?!" I had to force myself not to respond. Chadwick is so goddam sexy, and those lips... He likes to affect a southern drawl. Master Jordan is from "Gawjuh," has worked hard to curb his drawl. Sometimes he lets Chadwick get away with his mimicry. Sometimes he whips it outta him! This time he laughed then lashed Chadwick with the crop. Chadwick shrieked more in surprise than pain, winked at me and smirked!
I dressed, aware I was a sodden mess but was too proud--stupid--to accept Master's offer of a diaper. "No Master Jordan, I'd prefer not, Sir!" "Very well, slave. Suit yourself!" I was wearing boy's size 16 white boxer briefs and tight white jeans. By the time I got home, both were permanently stained with cum, lube, and shit. Masters called as I got on the bus "You're gonna be whipped for cumming and bein messy, Timmy. We have more important things to do than pay for clothes for our slave! `A slave is clean, neat, and squared away at all times.' No excuses, slave." Of course, it's MY money but if I talked back, Goons woulda dragged me to the gully for a "date" with Mr. Bullwhip. (Slaves' are charged $25/month for clothes and laundry). They reminded me I'm NEVER allowed sexual pleasure. I'll get an hour with Mr. Bullwhip for cumming and messiness. What could I do? Chadwick fisting me was strangely arousing. Chadwick is sexy. I didn't WANT to enjoy it but my climax betrayed me. Of course, if I said I did NOT like Chadwick fisting me I'd be punished--sigh... If I submit to Chadwick, I get a 40% discount on my order. Master Jordan's merchandise is expensive, especially Chadwick's custom-made "toys." (We're not talking Legos and X-boxes and Wiis, oh my!) Masters place an order once a month.
Slaves are not supposed to clean ourselves after being fucked but accept given punishment for doing so--less than for being messy. Catch 22? Our LIVES are Catch-22. We keep each other on our toes, check each other at random, report all infractions. If we don't and someone else does, we're BOTH in deep shit. We all get sloppy! I'm stunned when Masters show me the reports. Timmy's sneakers were untied. Timmy's shirt was buttoned wrong; his t-shirt showed outside his pants and was not properly tucked. ALL slaves wear white t-shirts and briefs. Undershirts tucked tightly into briefs. Front of t-shirt tucked under dick without pulling down t-shirt collar. One inch of undershirt shows around legbands of briefs. Shirts tightly tucked. All shirt buttons buttoned except top. That fuckin precise! We're punished for any deviation.
Few weeks ago, I was tired, did a perfunctory check on Kent, didn't notice his undershirt wasn't tucked into his briefs or under his dickie. Someone else reported us. Goons hauled us to the Gully in the middle of winter, clamped our tits and dicks together, put a double-headed dildo in our boyholes, strung us up, whipped us front and back for an hour, then sent us home wearing each other's clothes. Kent is 5'3," 112 lbs. dripping wet. I felt stupid wearin his clothes. His t-shirt barely came down to my navel, I could barely button his shirt, zip or buckle his 28" waist jeans. My t-shirt went below Kent's knees, he had to pull my jeans up almost to his tits. Looked like Urkel! Goons split their sides at 2 stoopid lookin slavebois!
We keep each other on our toes, do "preemptive strikes." "Yo--tie your sneakers!" "Dufuss, your shirt is untucked!" "Your undershirt isn't showing." We text/email major infractions to Headquarters. David, Will or duty slave immediately forwards them to Masters. We cut each other NO slack. Yesterday morning, I reported Kent running out of the locker room 8 minutes late for class. I knew someone set him up, but that's not MY problem! I grabbed Kent and cummed inside his briefs, wrote him up for both. Master Daniel whipped him for 2 hours. Not MY problem either! Daniel, Kent and Nick are the bottomest bottoms--fair game for all. Dunno if I enjoyed fixing any slave as much as I did these 3. Yeah--there but for the grace of God... Goons had lots of fun with these slavebois! Jose said Kent had the tightest "cherry" he ever took! Master Daniel laughed at that. "Not any longer!"
Master Daniel, Goon Squad Co-Commander, has massive hands, barrel chest, and a huge, tree-trunk dick. Master Stanley, Director of Community Security, Associates, "Goon Squad," is not a big man, but his business suit belies a powerful physique. He's a 3rd degree black belt in Karate and Mixed Martial Arts. He's a consummate professional, first-rate slave trainer--he trained Master Steve and the first cadre of Slave Trainers--and a demanding, pitiless Master. Nick's Master T-Bone is Limerick High football team linebacker.
Associates, "Goons," are on call 24/7 to do Masters' "dirty work." There are about 100 under Masters Stanley and Daniel's command. Goons are consummate professionals, work with utmost efficiency and discretion, and are very well compensated for their work. They're NOT big dumb brutes, rather well educated and trained. Every man--Gay or not enjoys a piece of slaveboi ass! Their "bonus" is having their way with a newly fixed slave, to do whatever they wish for as long as they wish after we've had our "fun." They're also "Enforcers," take care of anything needing done: disciplining, transporting, escorting slaves, returning "property" to its Master, carrying out/supervising slaves' routines.
At our monthly Parties, Masters and slaves socialize in separate areas. Masters relax, eat/drink/schmooze in the Masters Lounge, furnished with sofas, plush chairs, climate control, ample (non-alcoholic) refreshments. Slaves socialize in the slaves room, a big open room with bare concrete floors. We have no "amenities," not even chairs. We are free of restraints and Masters' controls. We play with each other and GOSSIP! Pookie, who misses nothing, and David Augustus and Will Pierpont, Headquarters communications specialist slaves, tell us everything! A Master may demonstrate a new "toy," or teach a new technique. We put on shows for the Masters. We all top/bottom for each other. No one refuses anyone at either role, no Master refuses another slave use of his.
Slaves are expected to be adept at both roles. (Except Nick, Daniel, and Kent-our bottomest bottoms NEVER top.) We amuse our Masters with scenes--nothing too extreme or bizarre. The converted airline hangar where we have our parties is equipped with a plethora of toys, instruments, whips, paddles etc. Chadwick always brings a duffel bag of his "toys." He often demonstrates a new toy he's created. Each of us gives as good as he gets, gets as good as he gives. When we're not "performing", we GOSSIP! Like I said, David and Will tell us everything! We tell of the latest poor fucker who was fixed, how gruesome it was, etc. Inquiring minds want to know--did the poor fucker fight us? Every slave fights us tooth and nail. Can't blame poor fucker--he knows what will be done to him. Everyone insists he will go willingly, but everyone struggles, bargains. New slaves wanna know what fixing is like but no one can describe the horror and ghastly agony of fixing, followed by profound shame as, 48 hours post fixing, our entire Community gangbangs the slave for hours. Then the Goons have their "fun." No need for embellishment. Fixed slaves never talk of it. Too unbearable to relive. Alex Augustana cried so hard when I asked him what it was like, I never asked again! We're always eager to see new marks, whose Master has done what to him! Then it's "playtime." We enthusiastically play both sides of the equation to show the latest technique Master Steve and his Training Staff have taught us, with of course, Chadwick's toys! Nobody is a better, crueler top than a brother slave. Donel, in particular, is a MONSTER as a top! Ariel and Baruch rarely attend. Parties are usually held on Saturday, their Sabbath.
Every morning I report to the "Private Room" at 0645, strip, fold my clothes precisely, clean my buttplug thoroughly with my mouth. ("What you dirty with one hole, you clean with the other." And it's our BOYHOLE not "asshole!") I place the cleaned buttplug on top of my clothes. I stroke myself hard (yeah, I'm punished for that--duh!) apply a pinprick cockstrap & tight ball separator. I lock my ankles into leg irons. I tie a rolled-up neckerchief tight across my eyes and slide a blindfold over it. I cuff my hands behind my back. I await Masters kneeling naked on the concrete floor. God help me if I'm not ready when they enter.
Masters make sure I'm wearing the clothes they emailed to Erik, whip me if I'm wearing anything incorrect. I can't even say Erik puts out my clothes and I have no access to them. That earns more punishment. Masters check carefully for anything amiss--missing buttons, stains, tears, etc. Don't matter if clothes came that way. "No excuses slave!" "Yes, Masters!" They check that my buttplug is clean. They examine my entire body including inside my boyhole and pisshole. I must be shaved below my eyebrows. They feel my belly to make sure it has an appropriate amount of piss. I take a prescription diuretic daily to "help (me) pee." If my bladder isn't full enuf to their touch, they assume I've peed after my permitted 6 AM piss and add punishment. (Yeah--it's full after an hour! I'm on a potent diuretic.)
It's humiliating yet arousing, to have Masters shove their fingers up my boyhole, in my mouth, even in my pisshole. No matter how much I will my dickie not to even twitch, I get hard, even cum as they handle me. More punishment--sigh... After inspection, I slowly jerk off relating EVERYTHING in detail for the last 24 hours: every fuckup, fantasy, every time I got hard, how long it took to cum, how much cum I cummed, and, of course, what caused the arousal. "Just got hard," don't cut it. Shit--I'm a horny 17-year-old, my dickie gets hard by itself! I don't have to have a conscious fantasy. Masters compare my narrative to my notebook and Network and webcam reports. Webcams transmit images to Masters' computer. Damn things never shut off. Dunno where most of them are or how many. I heard 50, but that may be tip of the iceberg. I bet there's one inside my potty-chair to measure my piss and shit and if I splash or gush. Joe and Amin, our geek slaves, set them up. Masters paid Master Jesse well for their services--out of MY money.
I can't cum till I finish my recitation, and Masters say, "Cum, boy!" Of course, I'm punished for cumming, punished more if I can't cum or cum before they tell me, or if there's the least discrepancy between my narrative, notebook, and the reports they receive. I must have my notebook on me at all times. I record every infraction, fuckup, arousal, cum, how much cum I cummed. I record everything I eat/drink/pee, every time I get hard. I keep the notebook on me at all times. I sleep with it inside my pajama top. If I get hard at night or have a "wet dream," I record it "stat." If I get hard in the shower, I cum, step out, record everything in detail. I'm punished for cumming and for getting my notebook wet. Thanks to brother slaves, notebook, webcams, and, of course, The Network, Masters know EVERYTHING. They know to the second how long I was hard before I began jerking off, and cummed and how much cum I cummed, to the milliliter. They know if someone used me.
Excuse me--I have to cum now. I'm under an absolute One-Minute Rule. I MUST CUM in ONE MINUTE. One minute from the first sign of arousal--a "twitch"--not full-blown hard-on. No one can bring himself off in 1 minute. Don't matter...I cum in ONE MINUTE, 60 seconds. I cum on the floor, lick it up--even in a public restroom. I record what/who I was fantasizing about, how long it took from the first sign of arousal to climax, how much cum I "cummed." God help me if there's any discrepancy between my record and Network reports. Sometimes, recording an incident, I get hard all over again. I cum again, and record it. NOTHING exempts me from my One-Minute Rule. I'm punished if I take more than one minute to cum, don't take care of "business," stat. If I go soft, I cannot abort. I MUST CUM, no matter how long it takes. When I finally cum, I record I lost the erection, started over, how long it took before I finally cummed.
Last Monday night, it took me 3 hours and 21 minutes to cum because I couldn't sustain my erection. I'd already cum 38 times that day, couldn't get it up. I cried in frustration and humiliation, shook my fist at the webcams, cursed, demanded, "Why are you doing this to me, Masters?" They called immediately and said calmly, "We're not doing a thing to you Timmy. You're doing it to yourself. You have an hour with Mr. Bullwhip for your insolence." Shit. No matter the circumstances or how long it takes, I MUST CUM at the slightest arousal. I have no excuse for not noticing. I must be vigilant and take care of business, stat. At school, I excuse myself, go to the boys room, and jerk off. I hope no one sees me. Yet, ironically, I hope someone DOES and reports it. Masters know how long it took me to cum--to the second--every milliliter of cum I cummed and if I cleaned floor! The Network--whoever they are--make God look like the 3 Monkeys!
At night, I get outta bed, pull down my pajama bottoms, cum on the floor, lick it up and record my cum immediately in my notebook, hoping I don't get cum in my pjs. Thanks to webcams, recording to 100th of a second, Masters know if I record a cum in my notebook immediately or wait till morning. Someone informs if I do same in school or public. "Timmy got boned in History and waited 20 minutes till class was over to go to the boys room and cum. Timmy got hard at the bus stop, came in his pants in 3.47 minutes." If I get hard in public, I furtively bring myself off in my pants or get to where I'm going and take care of business. I can't win: I'm punished for cumming, NOT cumming. I'm punished if I delay or mess myself.
Tuesday morning, Masters found a tiny cum stain on the hem of my undershirt, and I immediately got 25 strokes with the razor strop on the backs of my legs. Jayzuz--it hurt! They reinforce--ONE MINUTE, Timmy, from the first sign of arousal to climax, or you're punished. Not five, ten, thirty... We don't care how often you gotta do it, how much it hurts. ONE MINUTE, Timmy! Cum on the floor and lick it up. You're punished if you ignore your erection, take too long, mess yourself, or can't `get it up." We know, Timmy; we always know!" Yeah, they do... They know if I ignore an erection and try to will it away. Thanks to brother slaves and, of course, the dreaded Network, EVERY Master knows EVERYTHING about his slave. Alex cried when I reported him last Tuesday for wearing wifebeater and boxers instead of t-shirts and briefs. "Please don't write me up, Tim. I wanted to remember what it was like." Sorry Alex--your ass or mine and I prefer YOURS! I also wrote him up for trying to weasel out of the infraction. Alex would cut me no more slack. Master Gonzalez was most appreciative! He had suspicions...
After my recitation, I dress, make sure I'm squared away- tucked, undershirt showing etc., pants not sagging, belt on 4th notch no matter how tight it makes pants/jeans. (No 4th notch? No excuse!) Shoes/sneakers tied, shoes shined, sneakers clean. Everything exact; SOP for ALL slaves. Franklin has more leeway but he has been a slave a long time and sets a standard. We keep each other squared away. We give a brother a heads up over a minor violation but text/email Headquarters everything. (All slaves 16+ are on rotation as Headquarters duty slave one week a month. Sleep deprivation, pain and shame are our lives. My rotation as Headquarters slave is to assist in fixing other slaves. More hard work than fun.
After Billy and Sean inspect me, I dress. Then when they order, I push up my shirt and t-shirt, push pants and underpants to my ankles, lay across Billy's then Sean's lap for 50 spankings from each. Fifty spankings is a slave's basic daily discipline, before any earned punishment. We are spanked daily to remind us we are slaves! I get 50 per Master. I try not to cry but, Jayzuz, my ass hurts so, I'm bawling before Master Billy is halfway through his 50. It's degrading as hell to lie across each Master's lap, spanked like a little boy, humiliation compounding pain. I hate giving Masters the satisfaction of sobbing like a fuckin toddler. It HURTS, goddammit--you get spanked 100 times a day, day after day! Then there's the shame. Boys are spanked with everything pushed up/down--far more humiliating than being spanked naked.
I do have it easier than most slaves. They are "put to bed" by 10:00 impaled on a dildo, chained by their collars to the wall of Master's dungeon so they can neither sit up or lay flat, awakened by a Goon by 3. Most Masters believe it most benevolent to allow a slave 4 hours of sleep! There are morning routines: enemas, discipline... Slaves get enemas, shit, "repeat until clear." Bladders are filled, catheters clamped, morning discipline ensues. Slaves wait naked, eyes down, not even shifting their feet till a Goon gives them their clothes and supervises their dressing.
The least deviance in dressing results in the slave being stripped and disciplined all over again. "Grocery Alex" was sleep deprived the other day. He pulled a double at Limerick Supermarket, staggered in at midnight. A Goon woke him for a fuck at 2:45. He put his undershirt on backward. Master Verdi whipped Alex bloody. It's our lives, guys. NO EXCUSES.
A slave's daily basic discipline is 50 of each: spankings, paddle, belt, hairbrush, razor strop, riding whip and/or whip. Slaves' sins (Bless me, Father, etc.) are serious business, require serious punishment. The hairbrush is an unforgiving instrument. It leaves a cumulative hurt and a very red, sore ass. The heavy wooden paddle causes deep bruises that take hours to develop and days to fade. The strop leaves immediate welts that take 3-4 days to fade. The riding crop leaves bloody welts first time, every time. Our underwear sticks to the welts. Then, of course, we're punished for bloody underwear. Sigh... Taking off our underwear off rips everything open. Sometimes Masters let me "choose" the instrument for my punishment. Some "choice!" Sometimes they say, "Wrong choice, Timmy! You get double for that!" Shit. If there's time, they fuck me. I'm punished next day if there's no time or time for Billy but not Sean. (Billy is older by 3½ minutes). Their Dicks of Death drive relentlessly into my holes with no lube--like being fucked by telephone poles. After each Master finishes, I clean him thoroughly with my mouth, dry him with my undershirt. "What you dirty with one hole you clean with the other, regardless of what `it' is!" God help me (him again!) if there's cum on my undershirt--the tiniest drop.
It's why we check each other throughout the day. We pull each other into a boys room stall, strip, check for cum, blood, soiled clothes, etc., and report. If a brother's tits are bleeding, we apply styptic pencil prn. I do this to other slaves; they do it to me. ALL slaves wear tit-clamps and buttplugs--even Franklin. (Daniel, Kent & Nick check no one. The bottomest bottoms are checked, "manhandled," fucked over in more ways than one, and punished by everyone.) Masters punish us if there's a drop of jism or blood in our underwear. We're punished, too, if we cum when someone handles us or we show any sign of discomfort--sitting too gingerly at our desks, e.g.. Hell--we're punished if Masters can't find something to punish us for!
Andrew, "Grocery Alex" boyfriend learned that. He's new and didn't understand why he was whipped when The Goon checking him at college couldn't find any violations. We like to cum inside Daniel, Kent and Nick's underpants then write them up. They're fair game. The bottomest bottoms get NO mercy. They made their bed... We watch them carefully so they have no chance even to PLAN to off themselves. That did in Nickie-poo as much as trying to run away. Goons thought that was hilarious!
When Masters leave, I lay on the concrete floor of the Private Room, a mass of pain and shame, covered in cum, cum pouring out of my boyhole. I clean myself, shove a butt plug up my boyhole, lest I lose a milliliter of Masters' precious cum, and dress, square myself away, get to class "stat." We're punished if we're 30 seconds late for class. Serious infractions mean a "date" with Mr. Bullwhip. (We address it as "Mr. Bullwhip," kiss it before/after.) I scream my ass off after 5 minutes with Mr. Bullwhip, never mind an hour. It's a devastating instrument. Welts from Mr. Bullwhip last for months. I have one across my boyhole that may be permanent.
I'm conflicted: I want it to stop; I want more. I DON'T set myself up--don't have to; I fuck up enough on my own! I hate it when I cum being fucked. It's RAPE not sex--violence, degradation. But those Dicks of Death hit something deep inside me and I cum. They make me admit, sobbing, "Yes, Masters I LIKED IT." I hate them for making admit it. "A dick has no conscience, Timothy!" Erik always says with a gentle smile. The problem, kemo-sabe, is I have one! Masters' typical baggy teen clothes belie their strength and stamina thanks to Coach Mark's morning "Training Class." They know how to hurt. And you gotta appreciate, all this punishment has a cumulative effect. My ass is so sore I don't know how I sit down. But if I show the least sign of discomfort--sitting too carefully in class, someone notices. Ditto if I don't take care of a hardon, "stat," or record a cum in my notebook.
Masters take me to the gully. I strip, they bury my clothes, hang me by my arms from the great oak tree in the clearing, 4 feet off the ground, and bullwhip me. I shudder at the agony just the thought of Mr. Bullwhip evokes. Each Master has a special punishment for his slave, one his slave hates most. For moi, it's Mr. Bullwhip; for Billy and Sean, it's the cane. For Daniel, Kent and Nick, it's the hideous degradation and use by Coach Mark's "training class," 6 mornings a week. For Nick, it's the special hell of Master, T-Bone. T-Bone is merciless and insatiable, has access to Nickie 24/7. T-Bone can't sleep, neither can Nickie-poo. T-Bone caught Nick wearing his-t-shirt and boxers in the locker room when Nick was still a freeboi. T-Bone bided his time till he could do something. Nick still don't know T-Bone saw him wearing his undies and cumming gallons on the locker room floor, playing with his titties through T-Bone's t-shirt. All Nick knows is he was a freeboi, football team quarterback. Daddy's "creditors" called in their markers. Six Goons came at midnight, with a warrant signed by The Ubermaster demanding payment. There was no payment. Two Goons went to Nickie's bedroom, stripped him and dragged him away as others removed daddy.
My life is paradise compared to the harsh, Spartan, lives of most slaves. At home, they're naked, shackled hands and feet, chained by the neck to the wall of their cell so they can neither sit, stand, or recline. Catheters drain into community chamber pots, proceeds shared each morning. They drink it, savoring every drop. A senior slave has a "room" that makes a monk's cell a 5-star hotel suite. He, too, strips naked when he gets home and locks himself into leg irons if not cuffs. He has little more freedom than the others. Escape is impossible. Most slave quarters are solid concrete underground bunkers--TOMBS. Even if you got out somehow, where would you go--naked, shackled, catheter draining pee? If you DID get out, a Goon would catch you within minutes. GPS locators are embedded in slaves' welded collars. I wouldn't get very far, either. Goons would come after me.
Back to reality. Sigh... I wait for the water to get hot and suddenly realize I'm in deep shit for cumming over Adam, Tuesday. Oh Adam, Adam, Adam!!! Adam you're so hunky, Adam you're so handsome, so adorable, so SEXY!!!! Oh Adam, ADAM, AAHHDDUUHHMM!!! Fuck--I just cummed gallons all over myself and the floor. Brrrng... "Timmy, you just blew 10 minutes swooning over Adam, cumming all over. Clean up your mess, get going, and get your ass here. You have an HOUR with Mr. Bullwhip. Don't make us come and get you!" Click. Shit. I am fucked. I am so fucking fucked to hell. I was already 2 hours late. I got carried away daydreamin about Adam and cummed all over the place. Fuck--I got a gallon of cum all over my floor. I hope none splattered on my clothes. The water for my enema is barely lukewarm. It must be HOT. Sigh... I'm so far behind I'll never catch up. I am so dead. What am I gonna do? God, if you are up there, tell me, WHAT AM I GONNA DO??? To be continued...
Will Timmy's Masters say, "It's OK, Timmy, skip an enema and you get here when you get here!" Will the Pope open an abortion clinic in the Vatican tomorrow? Stay tuned for the next thrilling episode of Timmy and his Masters!
*FACFP= Fellow, American College of Family Practitioners. Master Dad is a Family Practitioner.
Postscript: Thanks to several Nifty authors who and gave me valuable feedback on early drafts of Timmy, especially TopLegal, Istari Olias and Jarrod. TopLegal was very patient w/my innate verbosity in early drafts. Istari gave me great feedback. His Mastering Alex remains my favorite of all Nifty stories over the last 10-12 years if my Alex Augustana is NOT based on HIS Alex. "Jarrod" has become a close friend--we know each other's "alter egos" and several of his stories remain special to me, especially The Quarry.
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