Day 4 - Part 1

As C walked toward the airport terminal James followed, half walking, half

skipping, two feet behind his left arm. The boy couldn't stop grinning.

The pilots and flight crew were twenty feet behind them, bringing up the

rear.

As they were about to enter the building a square shouldered man, 5'9', 160

lbs, green eyes, with a shock of brown hair that stuck up and seemed to

have a life of its own, brushed past James and intercepted C; he half

tackled Control in a bear hug. It startled the hell out of James, who

didn't know what to do.

One second later C had the stranger face down on the ground crying, 'Uncle,

Uncle, Uncle! You big giant asshole... Is this any way to treat your

little brother? What would mom say?'

C, smiling brightly, said, 'She'd tell you to practice, practice, practice

or you're going to be eating a lot of dirt. What are you doing here?'

C's brother Scott replied, 'Organization business, very legal, quite

boring. When I heard you were coming I got excited. I figure you're here

to break the monotony. Please tell me you've come to California for some

kind of Organization adventure and how's about letting me up you big

creep?'

C helped his brother up, 'Didn't you have enough excitement last year in

Mexico?'

Scott answered, 'What? That little incident hardly made it into my day

planner. You are referring to that disagreement I had with that fat fuck

in TJ... right?'

Eleven Months Earlier:

Scott's mind flashed to a day eleven months earlier. At the time Scott, a

lawyer, was working at the Organization's El Paso Office. He had been

senior control for about ten years and still tried to master one candidate

every other year. At the time Scott was falling in love with an English

guy, Jack, also a lawyer for the Organization's London Office. They had

met at a conference on human rights in Geneva. Jack had just left the

ranks of junior control and was still pretty green. Scott loved that Jack

still blushed, head to toe, when someone told a dirty joke. Naturally

Scott delighted in embarrassing Jack. He loved to get the younger man all

flustered and then jump him. Scott had been raised in an extremely close

'Organization' family; all eight of his brothers had gone through candidacy

and continued to serve the company in various capacities all over the

world. Of all his brothers Scott was closest to C. Not the eldest; C was

third in line by age. Always an overachiever C has started college at 15

and was one of the youngest candidates ever inducted when he was just 20.

His candidacy ran ten months longer than average because C's will stood

between him and his best interests. The senior controllers were at their

wits end with C. They tried everything to break him; when the conventional

techniques failed they moved to experimental drugs and harsher mind control

protocols, still no yield. His Board of Senior Controllers finally moved

to sensory dispossession, severe food and water limitation, and sleep

deprivation, and they worried that the training might kill him. At the end

C hovered near death for three days, and in the last minutes, just before

his handlers were about to call it quits, mercifully Control One finally

transitioned. The story of his candidacy and ultimate yield was known to

every senior control in the Organization and was used in Senior

Control-Master training. The actual details of his 'yield' were only known

to its three creators and C himself. (Details of any 'yield' are

considered Top Secret and are never shared.) Scott had always been close

to C (David), from his early childhood. Now C ran the Western half of the

Organization and Scott was a senior control who knew the Organization

inside and out.

Scott was easily bored and had several hobbies and avocations. He sailed

and yachted; he loved being alone on the ocean, sometimes for months; it

allowed him to clear his head and figure things out. He was an

accomplished musician, something he inherited from their mother, herself a

concert violinist; Scott played keyboards and diddled with strings (from

the guitar to the cello to the violin). And of course, like all

controllers Scott worked out 5 or 6 times a week, to maintain a beautifully

healthy body with not a single ounce of fat. Scott was also an animal

lover and had no less than nine dogs of various breeds from coon hounds to

German Shepard's to English Setters to mutts. Between his many interests,

his legal endeavors, his outside activities, and his new love, Scott was a

busy man. In spite of all that he was restless, always looking for the next

challenge, some new adventure.

So it was eleven months earlier and Jack was on an extended visit in El

Paso. Scott wanted to take Jack everywhere, show him everything, and show

him to everyone. Just over the border in Juarez there was a little cantina

where Scott and a group of his friends heated up the bandstand once or

twice a month. Scott was anxious for Jack to meet his musician buddies and

hear them play. So Friday afternoon they drove into Mexico for a

harmonious weekend with lots of playing anticipated, in and out of the

cantina.

Around ten PM Scott excused himself and went to the john. As he stood at

the urinal he felt a sharp pinch in the side of his neck and then

everything went black.

Two hours later Scott opened his eyes. He was tightly secured to a

restraint table. Someone had removed his clothes and bound him wrists,

waist, ankles and neck to the 'body shaped' table, which was quite an

accomplishment in hydraulics. The table was constructed in a way that

allowed it to be shifted into almost any position. It could be folded along

any of six axes; it could be flipped into an upright position; it could be

turned 180 degrees, placing its occupant on his head. It could even spin

on its axis as many as 60 RPM. (You could literally play a vinyl record on

it, if that was your pleasure).

Scott followed his training and took a mental inventory of the situation.

The room had two metal doors, the six windows were glass block and near the

ceiling (he could never fit through any of them). He strained to turn his

head. The restraints were rubberized nylon (he'd need help from Superman

to break them). He became aware that he was sporting a painfully hard

erection. He closed his eyes and willed his dick to retreat... no response.

They had either drugged him or done something to his cock. His own sexual

prowess was honed by years of Organization training, the very best in the

world, and Scott had been an eager student, when it came to sex he wanted

to know everything. Long after his candidacy and master's instruction was

complete he continued to attend every seminar and study program the sex

research division of the company sponsored, and the Organization was at the

very pinnacle of sex research. Their drug divisions were currently working

on six different aphrodisiacs. They held patents to thousands of drugs and

various sexual apparatuses that continued to astound the medical community.

The Organization believed that good sex was at the core of every man's real

happiness and they made it their business to research every aspect of

sexuality. The divisions that specialized in sex made billions of dollars

every year from their many products, which supported their views on the

subject's importance. So Scott knew something was up if in fact he was

'up' and couldn't will himself 'down.' They'd given him something to keep

him hard and it was working; his prick was painfully erect. He strained

against his neck strap to get a better look at the room.

Before he could finish his examination of the surroundings one of the doors

opened. When Scott got a glimpse of the first man to enter he let out a

loud groan and said, 'I should have known it was you. You miserable

cocksucking fuck.'

Fat Sam responded, 'Still the wordsmith I see.'

Scott returned the words in a mumbled falsetto voice, 'Still the

wordsmith..... You're still a miserable fuck.'

Fat Sam walked next to the table and directed three of his goons to various

points in the room by pointing with his index finger. The 'goons' were

huge; all dressed alike. The shortest, a dark skinned Latino, with bright

bleached yellow-orange hair and dark brown roots, must have been 6'2' or

6'3.' He had an enormous chest and arms that strained the sleeves of his

wrinkled tan suit. Under his suit coat he had on a pink t-shirt. They

called him 'Shorty.' The next tallest at 6'6' was somewhat less muscled.

He wore the same suit and had the same yellow-orange hair over blond roots

(go figure), and even though he was darkly tanned he had a distinctly Arian

look. Thug number three was black and at least 6'8' with the same suit,

same yellow-orange hair, and because he was bare chested you could see the

large gold hoops going through his big black nipples under his tan suit

coat. All three men wore large gold earrings shaped like the Greek letter

alpha (It was Fat Sam's trademark. It meant that these three men belonged

to him; they were his property, his chattel; his, every bit as much as the

shoes on his feet or the gun in his holster.)

Sam was christened 'Fat Sam' not because he was pudgy, on the contrary he

kept himself in tip top shape, and at age 50, 5'9', 150lbs, he was lean and

tight, with salt and pepper hair, Sam was reasonably good looking. They

called him Fat Sam because his dick was six inches long and nearly one foot

around. Yup, his dick looked like half a salami, a real freak of nature.

It may have explained why Sam was such a miserable prick. Needless to say

Sam had spent much of his life trying to find holes large enough to

accommodate his short (for its diameter) thick, fat dick..... and there

weren't many takers. Women ran screaming from Sam's dick. Men limped away

with bloody assholes and TMJ (jaw problems) from Sam's major league prong.

So Fat Sam was a miserable prick who liked to kidnap young men and break

them and break them and break them and eventually sell them as personal

slaves. He had three highly secret, very guarded 'dude' ranches where more

than the horses were ridden hard and completely domesticated. Fat Sam was

a practiced sadist who would have made the Marquis De Sade blush with some

of his needlessly cruel methods. You see Sam couldn't handle failure so he

gave his captives a choice: his way or a very protracted painful death, and

he always followed through on his promises. When the men he captured

'finished' their training there was nothing they wouldn't do, no pain they

wouldn't endure, no humiliation they wouldn't suffer, no command they

wouldn't follow to the letter. In the final act of their 'education' they

were paraded out naked onto a shiny stainless steel platform they all

recognized, a platform connected to a high voltage generator; once they

were standing on the metal plate a thick ground wire was shoved into their

mouths (other times an anal probe was stuck up their asses) and a current

was trickled through their bodies to 'remind' them they could be killed at

any second; then they were handed a gun and told to blow their brains out.

If they hesitated for even a second they were immediately electrocuted.

Most of the time the gun was loaded with blanks, but the slaves didn't know

that. They believed that they were about to die as a test of their

absolute obedience to Fat Sam's wish, at his whim. All of them, every

'trainee' had been through 'rehearsals' of this event where they were

brutally shocked over and over, sometimes as punishment, sometimes for Fat

Sam's amusement; in addition they'd seen the actual death ritual carried

out before in some of their 'educational' films. They saw their

predecessors shoot themselves and they saw others horribly electrocuted.

The only thing Fat Sam cared about was that his merchandise was exactly as

he advertised; 'trained to follow any and every order regardless of pain or

personal injury.' That and the sadistic son of a bitch celebrated his

unbridled love of torture.

After many years of personally torturing and raping men and women (Fat Sam

abused whoever was handy); during one of his 'snatches,' Sam kidnapped a

really sweet kid with a trick jaw who could accommodate Sam's big fat rhino

cock. Fat Sam put the kid on a fast track through his slave ranch which

not only washed the young man's mind it lowered his IQ by ten or fifteen

points. Needless to say the boy, tagged 'Jaws' by Sam's crew, was never

far from Fat Sam's side or his circus dong.

Three Years Ago:

Fat Sam had been running a successful business for a long time. Then,

three years before that night in the Cantina, enter Scott. He got wind of

a college student, Stephen Vogel, who had gone to Mexico with some friends,

disappeared, and hadn't been heard from in almost four months. Scott knew

the boy's parents so he put a couple of the Organization's investigators on

the case. They had the story and found the boy in a matter of days. They

reported that the kid had been taken by one of Fat Sam's 'plucking teams'

and was being 'trained' on a slave ranch in a desolate part of Cancun.

Scott, being a real 'hot dog,' always looking for a good cause and some

'action,' called five other senior controllers with a taste for adventure

and put together a quick rescue mission. (The senior controllers were:

Nick, Ted (a physician), Mark, Ace, Ham, and of course Scott himself)

Under cover of night they made a surgical strike on the ranch. The place

was well guarded and had fairly sophisticated surveillance equipment, but

it was no match for the Organization's technologically advanced equipment

that Scott had 'borrowed' for the occasion. Before any alarms sounded the

strike team was inside the compound. Fat Sam's army of golden haired

musclemen was no match for six well-trained senior controllers. It took

all of twenty minutes and three broken necks to overpower the guards and

take over the camp. Unfortunately Fat Sam wasn't there at the time, so he

remained at large. Scott's strike team injected Fat Sam's men with two

different drugs which left them with no memory of what had taken place;

next they used an NG tube to fill each of their stomachs with cheap liquor.

Finally they drove them to a nearby town, where the Organization had

friends on the police force and left them in a drunken heap to be arrested

as drunk and disorderly. By the time the goons sobered up and made bail

Scott and his buddies would have the kidnapped boys safely over the border

and on their way home.

Scott and his fellow controllers freed 5 young men at various stages in

their slave training. It was easy to see why these guys had been singled

out for capture. Each of them was good looking, very good looking. It

would have been difficult to choose which was the most handsome. In spite

of all their injuries, and they were an unholy mess, their sheer beauty

showed through; each had his own special, definitively striking face. BUT

they were drugged, confused, and brainwashed. The boys were found naked,

in tiny rectangular cages, with bars on all six sides. The cages were

designed to be so small and confining that the occupant had to remain on

his hands and knees as long as he was locked inside; it forced them to

kneel either on or between the hard iron bars, and that's how they had to

rest, between bouts of torture; it's how they were forced to sleep. In

spite of their rigorous daily work-outs it was obvious that all 5 guys had

lost quite a bit of weight. Scott learned why they were so gaunt when he

found their records. For months the only 'food' these slaves were allowed

was cum. They were forced to nourish themselves from a host of farm and

domestic animals from horses, to pigs, to goats, to dogs, and of course

there was a constant supply of jism from Fat Sam's men and the various

'guests' to the ranch. Other than semen, the only other liquid they'd been

drinking was piss.

There were problems with these trainees from the very beginning. They had

been subjugated to Fat Sam and his guards for months; they saw their

torturers as their absolute lords and caretakers; so when they saw these

goons overpowered the slave boys became terrified. Even as Scott and the

senior controllers freed them from the awful cages they began to wail and

plead for the well-being of their guards. They begged the rescuers to

please leave their 'masters' alone, and not hurt them anymore.

Nick said, 'Scott these guys are a mess. They look undernourished, and

they keep begging us to beat them... and Scott they are really pushing us to

fuck them and give them cum.'

Scott answered, 'Look, they're out of their minds, on drugs, under God

knows what kind of mind control. We can't fuck them. We can't have them

sucking our cocks. It wouldn't be right. Jesus, they look like they've

been tortured for days without relief. So no matter how they beg and

plead, we can't take advantage of their condition. They're not like our

candidates; with our candidates it's their absolute choice to be in

training. The minute we release our guys from their conditioning they

revert to their normal selves. What we do to them and with them is a whole

different story. They've chosen the life. These kids were all kidnapped;

and they've been drugged, and mind-fucked. We have to break through to

them and get them to understand that we're here to free them; to take them

home to their families. Christ, I had no idea how difficult this was going

to be. If only I'd known I'd have brought along a couple of our

psychologists, or at least someone with more programming experience.'

Nick said, 'And you've got to figure out why this kid with the swollen ball

sac keeps pushing his crotch into my hands. He's begging me to crush his

balls, and I don't mean a good squeeze, or even some pain. He wants me to

hurt him..... hurt him bad. So what are we supposed to do?'

And even as Nick spoke, the boy next to him kept rising onto his toes,

whimpering, and thrusting his huge 'marble bag' into Nick's hand.

Scott replied, 'You're supposed to do you best, dammit. Just do your best

to help these poor kids.'

Mark called from the other side of the room, 'That's a lot easier said then

done. This gorgeous kid with the bloodshot eyes is licking my shoes and

begging me to choke him with my cock! And Jesus Christ Scott, he's a very

persuasive kid.'

Scott shot back, 'Hey Mark, 'control' yourself for god's sake.'

It took more than an hour to calm the slave boys down to a point where

Scott could attempt to carry a conversation, and as Scott began to talk to

them he realized this wasn't going to be easy. He asked one of the guys

who seemed to be the oldest, perhaps twenty-five, 6' tall, maybe 140lbs,

jet black hair, with cloudy blue eyes, and a haggard face, 'What is your

name?'

The boy returned, 'I am Ashtray. Please bring back our lords. We belong

to them. They own us. Please sir, bring them back......I am a cum pig.

Would you like me to be a pig for you sir? Please use me. Please hurt me.

I love to be hurt. Please hurt me sir.'

It didn't take a genius to figure out how the kid got his name. He had

circular burns all over his chest, ears, neck, inner thighs, back, legs,

and even his prick and ball sac, where the bastards had been putting out

cigarettes and/or cigars. As the boy spoke Scott could see the same burn

scars on his tongue.

Scott shook his head, 'I am not here to hurt you. We came here to free you

guys..... to bring you home to your parents and families. Do you understand

me?'

Ashtray began to cry softly, 'Please sir, I am a cum pig. May I please beg

for your cum? Won't you please hurt me sir...punch me....pleeeze hurt

me.....beat me... pleeeeze whip me..... pleeeeze! I love to be beat, or

whipped. It is what I am for. I am good for beating..... I am good for

punching... I am good for whipping..... Please may I show you? Would you

like a cigarette sir? I can hold the match between my lips, or even with

my asspussy. May I light your cigarette sir? Please sir, won't you hurt

me? May I drink your piss or french your asshole..... please sir? May I

have some cum.... pleeze may I have some cum.... pleeeze'

Scott moved on to the next boy who couldn't have been older than twenty,

maybe 5'10', 120lbs, with blond hair, and green eyes (with dark circles

under them). His back was striped with the bloody trails left by a cat 'o

nine tails. 'Son, what is your name?'

The boy looked back with pain in his eyes, 'I am Punchme sir.' Naturally

the boy's abdomen was covered in old and new bruises and abrasions from

being savagely pummeled.

Punchme continued, 'Please sir, please beat me. I am a good cum pig sir.

May I please be allowed to oink for some cum? Please sir, I will die

without cum. I am a cum pig. I was too slow to suck the neighbor's dog

and for my punishment I've been given no cum for two days. I am very

hungry sir, and if you would please beat me I would feel better and then

maybe you would let me have some dog cum or even a little horse piss?'

Scott said, 'Listen to me Punchme, I think your name is Stephen... Stephen

Vogel. Do you know that name boy? I think you're Stephen Vogel.'

Punchme's eyes grew large and filled with abject terror, 'No sir, no sir,

no sir, no sir, no sir. I am not Stephen Vogel. There is no Stephen

Vogel. I am Punchme... my name is Punchme.....sob....sob....sob... I am not

Stephen Vogel. There is no Stephen Vogel. I am Punchme... my name is

Punchme. I am not Stephen Vogel. There is no Stephen Vogel. I am not

Stephen Vogel. There is no Stephen Vogel. I am not Stephen Vogel. There

is no Stephen Vogel. I am not Stephen Vogel. There is no Stephen Vogel.

I am not Stephen Vogel. There is no Stephen Vogel. I am Punchme... my

name is Punchme.' And with that the boy fell to the floor and began to lick

Scott's shoes.

Dr. Ted, with a file folder in his hands and another slave boy wrapped

around his knees nuzzling his crotch, said, 'Scott, you'd better eighty-six

the (he spelled out) S - T - E - P - H - E - N stuff. In his file it

says they stuck an electrified anal probe up his ass and gave him a heavy

jolt of electricity over and over until he stopped identifying himself as

'that name'.... It says here that the bastards kept up the shocks for six

hours. After the six hours they were convinced that the kid had given up

his name... and Jesus, Scott they kept it up another two hours just

because they were having so much fun listening to him scream and cry and

beg for them to stop. Oh my God, it says they shocked him about 20 to 30

times an hour! God Almighty, they had to resuscitate him five

times..... his heart stopped five times. It's a miracle it didn't kill him.

There's a note here that they have the whole 'session' on tape to amuse his

eventual buyer. When they finished shocking him they had a bunch of field

hands gang rape him. That was his first day here. Sons of bitches, we

should have killed them all when we had the chance.'

Scott went to the kitchen with Mark (Ashtray and another boy followed them

on all fours, all the while begging for abuse and cum); the controllers

(and the slave boys) came back with some milk. They literally had to force

one of the young slaves to drink some, and in the end he got very sick and

vomited it back up. The senior controllers were at a loss. They didn't

know what to do next.

Scott continued to debrief the abductees in hopes of finding the best way

to get through to them. The kid who was still 'attached' to Dr. Ted's

crotch was named 'Fisted.' He was twenty-one, sandy hair, 5' 11', 140 lbs,

with brown eyes. Dr. Ted surmised that Fisted may have been the most

recently kidnapped boy because his body was still in good condition

although his asshole was stretched open and the surrounding area was red

and swollen into big asslips.

While Scott spoke with one of the other slaves Fisted was licking and

sucking on Dr. Ted's crotch. The good doctor's pants were saturated with

the slave boy's spit and truth be told Ted had coated the interior of his

jock and his pants with his own oozing precum. The kid, Fisted, was so

cute, with curly hair that hung down into his eyes and while he sucked on

Ted's crotch he was softly moaning and humming. The heat from his mouth,

the slick mix of saliva and precum, and the kid's throaty vibrations were

driving Ted crazy. Finally he came in his pants. What else could he do?

The boy could smell Ted's cum the instant he began to shoot. The poor boy

was starving for his only form of nourishment... cum. He began to moan

and plead with his eyes. Surreptitiously Ted snaked his hand into his

pants, scooped out his cum and fed it to the boy from his fingers. The kid

went crazy licking and sucking on Ted's fingers; to the boy this jism was

manna from heaven and he made yummy noises as he gobbled it down. Ted

blushed bright red, and continued to reach into his jock for more of his

control-cream to feed this poor, starving slave boy.

The boy who had followed Scott and Mark into the kitchen; the one who had

puked up the milk was oddly enough called 'Gagme'--nineteen, reddish brown

hair, 5'11', 115 lbs, green eyes. This boy had red circles around both

eyes in addition to cracked swollen lips and a swollen throat. When they

looked in his file they discovered that he was routinely forced to fuck his

own throat for hours with a huge rubber dildoe; the kidnappers forced him

to hold the cock down his throat till his face turned purple, and his nose

and eyes ran freely, and often till he passed out. He was so pacified that

he would often pass out with the dildo still down his throat. When that

happened it was Ashtray's responsibility to run and pull the dildo out of

Gagme's throat, otherwise Gagme would suffocate. (Scott noticed that

Ashtray always kept one eye on Gagme. Apparently the kid with all the

burns was aware of his responsibility to keep the other slave boy from

killing himself on his dildo. Later they discovered that the boys, Ashtray

and Gagme, were brothers. Fat Sam was training them to be sold as a

'matched pair.' As Scott read the file and thought about this diabolical

ranch, and this pair of brothers, still bonded to each other, he thought of

his own brother, David, and his eyes began to tear up; so he had to stop

reading.)

The boy who was still on his toes pleading with Nick for abuse was named

'Crushedballs.' He was also twenty one, dark brown hair, 5'10', 120 lbs,

brown eyes. This young man's balls were quite unusual. His scrotum hung

three or four inches below his bit uncut dick, probably from being wrapped

with more and more rope over time. In addition his balls were swollen to

three times their normal size from repeated abuse. He had to keep his

knees bent in order to walk or he'd be kneeing his own balls.

Three hours passed and the extraction team was still stuck on the ranch

trying to rescue Fat Sam's slaves. They decided to pack up the slave boys

and get the hell out of there, but it was easier said than done. The slave

boys didn't see Scott and his team as 'masters' per se. They were

terrified by these 'strangers' but they weren't under the same control as

with Fat Sam or his men. So they didn't simply obey the controller's

commands. The kids were convinced that these strangers were going to kill

them or torture them in new and horrific ways. It was absolute chaos. The

slaves cried; they begged to be hurt; they fell to the floor and threw

their arms around the controllers' legs; they pled for cum; they cried and

cried; they sobbed, and when the rescuers wouldn't hurt them or fuck them

or cum in their mouths or piss on them they grew even more scared and

certain that something truly awful was about to happen to them.

It was still dark and cold outside. Ace and Ham tried to put clothes on

Punchme and Ashtray. Both boys became hysterical. They were so scared

they both pissed themselves; and as all the boys got more upset they began

to feed off each others' fear.

Ham said, 'Scott, we've got to DO something..... fuck them... or slap them

around... We're scaring the shit out of these boys and it's getting to

me..... It's getting to all of us.'

Ashtray sobbed, 'We are so sorry to have angered you. We are stupid cum

pigs. Please sirs, please beat us. Please whip us and then perhaps we

could have some cum or a little piss. Please beat us.' And the boy tried

to crawl back into his cage.

Fat Sam's drug induced mind control was tighter than a drum and it was

proving very difficult to RESCUE these young men.

Exasperated Scott said, 'Look Ted, you're a doctor, can't you give them

something? Can't we just knock them out and take them to one of the

Organization's safe houses?'

Senior Control Ted responded, 'I'll do it Scott, but only as a last resort.

Three of these guys are in pretty fragile condition. I have no idea what

drugs they've been given. From the look of them I'd say they receive a

steady diet of strong hypnotics along with one or more hallucinogens and

god knows what other psychotropics. If I give them the wrong drug it could

kill them. Do you really want to take that kind of responsibility? As it

is these three are dangerously malnourished. Semen isn't mother's milk,

they need nutrition and they need it as soon as we can get them to take

it.'

Scott shot back, 'So what do we do? We can't stay here all night. What if

Fat Sam or some of his guys show up? We have the phones off the hook. It

won't be long till someone figures out there's a problem here and comes to

see what's going on. What do we do?'

Ace said, 'Scott, why don't you give C a call. If anyone will know what to

do, he will.'

Scott responded, 'Shit, I hate to call him. He doesn't even know about any

of this. I should have called him and told him what I was planning, but I

never got around to it. Look, I know my brother, and I know he'd have

given us his blessing... but now that there's a mess I hate like hell to

suddenly call him and make it sound like we don't know what we're doing.'

Mark pried Gagme off his neck and chimed in, 'Look Scott, C knows more

about MC than any of us, even Ted. If anyone will know what to do next

it's your brother. We need to get out of here. These kids are a mess. If

we handle this wrong we could screw them up permanently. I'd hate to have

this little rescue turn sour because we didn't ask for help.'

Scott came back, 'OK, I'll call my brother.' He went into one of the

offices, took out a small satellite phone, adjusted the antenna, and put in

a call to David.

Fifteen minutes later he returned to the others. The five boys had all

gone back into their cages and were actively punching and slapping and

hitting themselves.

Ted was next to Gagme's cage pulling the kid's fist out of his throat,

'Jesus Scott, what do we do?'

Scot answered, 'C says we've go to meet them at the level we found them.

He gave me a bunch of instructions. Do what I tell you. Find rags, ties,

towels, anything you can use to blindfold these guys. HURRY UP!'

Nick went to one of the windows and pulled down the dark brown curtains.

He grabbed the material between his fists and his biceps bulged as he tore

the material into strips. Meanwhile Nick had found a cabinet and rummaged

through dildoes, and gags, and catheters, and dozens of whips and torture

devices. In a cardboard box on the bottom shelf he found three blindfolds.

He grabbed them and tossed them one at a time to Ted and Scott.

In a few minutes they had the slave boys lined up in a row, standing at

attention, blindfolded.

Scott went up to Ham and began whispering in his ear. Then he turned

toward the slave boys and Scott bellowed, 'YOU WILL LISTEN AND OBEY YOUR

ABSOLUTE MASTER..... SAM.'

Scott handed Ham a little black box, maybe four inches square. If you

spoke into the little gizmo it altered your voice. Ham whispered, 'I have

no idea what Fat Sam sounds like. I sure hope this works.'

Scott whispered back, 'C said it will work if you are absolutely

convincing...... so be the hard assed prick I know you can be and say what

I tell you to say. Listen, Ham you have to command them. You have to

believe..... and you have to convince them.'

And as Scott whispered Ham spoke through the little box in a strong booming

voice, 'I am your Lord Sam. You will listen and obey!'

Scott noticed Ashtray was moving a bit, as if he was hearing something

strange. Scott walked up to the slave boy, closed his own eyes to say a

little prayer; then he slapped the boy almost as hard as he could. Ashtray

hit the floor. The other four slave boys snapped to total attention and

trembled. Ashtray scuttled across the floor, quickly got to his feet, and

stood painfully straight. There were tears in Scott's eyes, but a moment

later he noticed that all five boys were sporting huge erections for the

first time in hours. Thank God, it was working!

Ham continued with the script that Scott spilled into his ear. 'Fat Sam'

commanded his slaves to obey their 'new' masters. He told them that they

had been sold to these new lords; that they were to obey or die; obey or

die. Then they made it appear the Fat Sam left the room. Scott slammed

the door and said to his fellow controllers, 'Treat them like disobedient

candidates. C gave me an idea about how to give them something to eat.

Then we need to load them into the trucks, and get to the airfield so that

we can fly out of here.'

The blindfolds were removed from the slave boys and the controllers began

to order them around. Thankfully, the boys complied as they had for Fat

Sam's goons. The other controllers followed Scott's lead.

Scott grabbed the back of ashtray's neck and said, 'Come with me boy!'

He pushed the boy ahead of him toward a counter. He picked up one of the

cartons of milk, 'Boy, get my cock out and into your mouth...NOW!'

Ashtray eagerly dropped to his knees, opened Scott's pants, and pushed

aside his jock to free up the controller's very hard cock (Scott was as

turned on by these beauties as the rest of his men). As Ashtray slurped

and sucked on Scott's dick, Scott opened the milk carton and dribbled a

little milk down the shaft of his cock. Scott smiled and winked at the

other controllers; he held up his other hand and crossed his fingers. The

milk trickled down Scott's cock into Ashtray's hungry mouth and he didn't

seem to notice.

When Ace and Ham and the others saw this they followed suit. There were

six controllers and five slave boys so Dr. Ted walked around and helped out

where he could.

Scott said, 'Look Ted, I think Crushedballs is the worst off so when Nick

gets finished why don't you have the boy do your prick too. That kid can

use all the 'jiz' he can get.'

All five boys got a healthy dose of controller-cream and a carton of milk

to boot. Crushedballs got two cartons of milk and two doses of mancream.

The controllers half walked, half carried the boys out to the waiting

trucks. They didn't try dressing them; in the end they settled for

wrapping them in old blankets. Once they were in the trucks the slave boys

latched onto one controller or another and continued to worship their

cocks. Those Organization dicks kept the boys pacified.

Once they got them onto the Organization's plane the controllers expanded

on what they had learned.

Ham fed Ashtray some yogurt by dipping his cock into the container and then

having Ashtray 'clean it off.' Under those circumstances the boy couldn't

have been happier.

Ace spread deviled ham all over his cock and balls and let Punchme go to

town. By the middle of the morning each of the slave boys had a belly full

of wholesome food and each controller had cum four or five times. Men and

boys were quite contented. The rest of the story you can guess. It took

many months of intensive deprogramming and good nutrition to bring the

beautiful young men back to reality. They were all quietly reunited with

their respective families.

Scott told C all about what they had found on Fat Sam's ranch and the two

brothers spent the next six months putting Fat Sam out of the slave

business.

For his part Fat Sam blamed Scott for ruining his slave trading empire. He

swore that someday he would have his revenge. Fat Sam moved his business

interests into other areas of human depravity, and of course he made

millions.

For three years Fat Sam kept tabs on Scott. When he got word that Scott

regularly crossed the border to play with a combo in a Mexican cantina Sam

knew he had his chance. When he heard that Scott had a boyfriend and that

the boyfriend was going to be with him in Mexico, Fat Sam knew the time was

right. He had waited three years to get his hands on Scott.

Now he had him!

Eleven Months Before 'Day 4' in California:

Scott found himself on the table looking up at Fat Sam.

Fat Sam smiled, 'I've been waiting three years for this little rendezvous.

I can promise without a doubt that this will be the most exciting night of

your life, little Scottie... May I call you Scottie?'

 

Controlone

[email protected]

Top


Rate Story Choose rating between 1 (worst) and 10 (best).

Bookmark and Share

blog comments powered by Disqus