First, the basics. This is, once again, a work of FICTION. Real-life considerations will take a back seat to erotic pleasure and story-telling; this slave does not exist. Wanna change that? Or just wanna share comments/praise/criticism? Fine: Not_your_Typical_Master@yahoo.com
Copyright 2011
Whittling a Fucktube, Chapter 3
Hmm? What's that, buddy? Oh, you wanna hear more about how My fucktube? Shit, man, I wish you'd said something before we got in the car. I wouldn't have packed it in the trunk. I guess you're gonna have to deal with not having the bitch moaning in agreement on your cock while I tell you what happened next.
Remember, pal, I'm just giving you the highlights. I'm not giving up all My secrets; just enough for you to see how much work goes into whittling out one of your own.
So, yeah, after those first two visits, I really started whittling Myself into its fucking soul. Nice and easy. Real patient and slow. I'd call the faggot up every couple of weeks, keeping it nice and hungry. "Suck My Cock." "Eat My Hole." "Lick My Toes." "Worship My Nuts." Sometimes I'd totally ignore it while it performed. Sometimes I'd take pictures of it in service, as souvenirs. I allowed it to only speak to Me by thanking Me for allowing it to perform the service I just required. Sometimes I'd give it pointers to help it along. Teach it to suck in its cheeks so they'd caress My meat with each stroke like a pussy. Same thing with its lips -- its cuntlips, as I call them -- train `em to crawl up and down My shaft and really make love to a man's prick. I taught the bitch how to open up its throat for a deep ramming and when to exhale and inhale when being face-fucked. To exhale as My cock plunges in, so that
its natural instinct to pull in air now pulls on My meat. To use the muscles in its throat to softly clench and grab My dickhead. To turn its throat and face into a complete and total cunt.
Same with its fuckhole. I started calling the bitch and demanding, "Ride My Prick". The first time it got here, it hadn't completely cleaned out. I told it that any prick up its hole gets licked clean; that problem got fixed. Yeah, buddy. Exactly. I trained it to completely relax its sphincters, both of them, for easy access. Yeah, that took time . . . and lots of large plugs. Once I got its pussy to relax, I then had to fine-tune it, teaching it how to squeeze and massage a cock with its gut muscles. How to hold in a man's load, cum or piss.
And piss. Yeah, pal, that's a whole course unto itself. It had a surprising natural love for the stuff, even for a faggot, but nobody ever took the time to teach it how to be an effective urinal. How to swallow with its mouth wide open so a man can keep filling its gob. And then how to open its throat but close off its windpipe so a man can empty right into its guts. That, bud, took months of training, but I wouldn't let up. I fuckin' enjoyed calling it up and saying, "Drink My Piss." The urinal would be here in 5 minutes, then drain Me and thank Me while crawling out the door within the next 5 minutes. You think that kind of use didn't etch itself into its psyche?
But you know, though, none of that was the most important part. It was the training that the fucktube didn't even realize it was getting. Over those many months, the phone calls came at less and less convenient times. Later at night. Sometimes I'd call right around 11PM. A few weeks later, probably around midnight. Then maybe 6 in the morning. Until, as I knew it someday would, one time the bitch didn't pick up the phone.
No problem. I didn't get angry. I just left a calm and collected message. "If this happens once more, I will never call again. Just find Myself a more convenient hole." Click. I waited five weeks before my next call. This time at 3 AM. "Drink My Piss." The urinal cried as I drained Myself. Fucking beautiful, man. The faggot got Me so hot that after I flicked the last drops of piss off My prick, I jacked off and painted the bitch's face. I watched to see if it was smart enough not to wipe off My load as it crawled out of My house. Yep, it was smart enough. Probably never washed its face again.
Then started the new phone calls. "Clean My House." "Mow My Lawn." "Cook My Dinner." Didn't happen every time, just once in a while. But often enough that it started to see its place in the world. It was here to make Me happy. Whatever that fucking entailed. Thanking Me for allowing it to do My laundry or wash My car. And I made sure it enjoyed its work. Lots of encouragement. Lots of validation. "What a good little bitch." "Nice work, asswipe." That sorta thing. Enough for it to know I was pleased with the service I was getting. Something to feed it and make it want to come back for more. Giving the shithead something it had never felt before and making it a fucking junkie for it.
Huh. You do know you're leaking in your shorts, buddy, don't you? Might wanna take care of that when you get home. Just lettin' you know so you don't embarrass yourself. Might not want to head to the grocery store or, I dunno, to church before cleaning up a bit. Yeah, exactly.
Anyway, training took another avenue, too. At one point as it was leaving I said, "Give Me your driver's license." It stopped, hesitating for the smallest of seconds, and pulled it out of its back pocket. I copied it on the printer and handed it back. "Is this address current?" It nodded. "Got a garage at home?" Shake of the head. "Good. Whenever I see its car there, the front door will be unlocked and I can help Myself in. Day or night." I handed the bitch back its license and went back to bed.
I started showing up a few weeks later. Unannounced. First I'd walk in and sit on the couch and wait for it to see Me before I ordered it around. The usual stuff: suck me off, drink my piss, whatever. Then, slowly, I added more structure to its life.
"Both your holes should always be available. Naked. Always completely naked at home."
"Keep this place clean, fuckface. I like pigs, but not a pig sty."
Then I started coming over and just fucking an end of the tube. Without saying a word. Walk in, screw the bitch, spray My load, and walk out. Or maybe I'd stop by to use My urinal on My way home from work, then just hop back in the car and head home. All while it had been, say, sleeping in its bed. Or scrubbing its kitchen floor.
Oh, yeah, the floor. That's important. I walked in one evening. "Make Me Dinner." I phoned one of My other faggots and had it come over to blow Me while this bitch was cooking. It didn't complain. When dinner was ready, I sent the blowbitch back home and sat at the table. Set for two. I laughed. "Seriously?" I took its plate of food and dumped it on the floor. It was some kind of bean stew. "Lick it up. No hands. I want that floor fucking spotless." Clean floors became a priority for it after that.
One night after I was out with friends, I stopped by to sit on its face. It was probably around 2AM. The fucktube was fast asleep. I just stripped down and helped Myself to its sleeping face. The bitch woke up with My rank crack over its mouth and nose. Like a good little faggot, it just stuck out its tongue and worshipped My hole `til I got up and went home. Before I left, I swooped back down over its face and whispered in its ear. "You make Me proud, cuntface." The little queerhole whimpered. So fuckin' sweet.
Then there was the time I told it I'd be inviting friends over. But, here we are at your place, pal. Hope you enjoyed the ride. And, um, you mind cleaning up the seat here? You were dripping all over. Thanks, buddy; I really don't want to go through the bother of unpacking the fucktube to tongue it clean. Give me a call and we'll have lunch.