Master and His Pack Mule

Stories of The Slave Center
The Nation’s Leading Retailer of Trained Faggots
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Master and His Pack Mule
Part Ten

Disclaimer: This is a story of erotic fiction containing fantasy descriptions of Male-male slavery, which may include sexual acts, BDSM and nudity. It is a intended for adults only. You must be of legal adult age to read this work. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Slave check-in July 7, 2054

Sir, Master Matt, Sir:

Your slave hopes you are having a great vacation, Sir. Your slave misses you, Sir.

You left your slave in good hands with Master Joe, Sir. He is a hard-driving and deliberate master who keeps me firmly enslaved for you, and I find I am doing well under him, Sir. Thank you, Master. He’s a strong believer in discipline, and he says I am already becoming a better servant due to his enhanced discipline routines, Sir. I sincerely hope that I am an improved servant for you when you return, Master. Thank you, Master.

Sincerely,
Your property

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Master Matt had instructed that I do quick check-ins from time to time. The above was my first.

I had been staying at Master Joe’s for 3 days already. The days had been full, and it took me a very short time to realize that Master Joe was secure in his experiences as a Master and sure of what I needed for my further growth toward a more complete slavery. Every second slavery was his motto. Every second slavery.

But, as Master Joe explained to me, one has to realize what service is, how service may be defined. If I eat a healthy meal, that is service as it keeps me healthy for my master. If I relieve myself of piss and shit, that is service, as these actions are needed to keep me functional as a slave. If I engage in laughter, creativity or play, then that is service, as these things keep me in good mental-emotional health, which in turn allows me to be a more effective servant. Everything is service. It just depends on how you look at life.

The key, Master Joe impressed upon me, is that the slave only does what is authentic. Nothing conniving. Nothing forced. Nothing but obedience to the natural self, to that authentic voice within. We all have one. We just need to isolate it and obey it. But that is sometimes far from easy, at least at first.

——————

Master Joe was living off investments he made as an younger man, enough to keep him afloat financially, but not much more. He remained hopeful that he’d make an investment that would create him substantially more wealth someday, enough to own a slave again. But for now, with a slave under his roof for a couple weeks or so, Master Joe, with no job outside the home to be concerned about, could be home 24/7 and control the slave all day long. Having not had his own slave for some years now, Master Joe planned to make the most of his current opportunity as my interim master.

I was now kneeling on my slave prayer mat, just waiting, just listening, just obeying.

Master Joe was standing, shirtless and wearing his typical blue jeans, looking down upon this slave. “You’re not a toy to me. You’re a slave, a servant, a laborer, a tool for me to use. Isn’t that what you surrendered yourself in slavery to become?”

“Master, yes, Master. That’s this faggot’s destiny, Master, to be a man’s slave, Master.”

“Good.”

“Master, yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”

“It’s time for the morning affirmation of your slavery. Get up high on its slave knees, put those pain nubs up and out, and keep its slave hands tightly behind its back. When I sit down, it may begin.”

“Master, yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”

On my first full morning in Master Joe’s house, he had me write an affirmation of my slavery. I sat down to write thinking it might take some time to complete, but the words flowed out of me pretty easily. When I finished writing it, I knelt on my prayer mat and read it to Master Joe. He stated that my affirmation was acceptable and proper, but he ordered me to ditch the notepad and commit it to memory by the next morning. Now, for the first time, I would be attempting to affirm my slavery to Master Joe from memory, by heart.

I waited for him to sit on his sofa. He took a sip of his morning coffee and kept the mug in his hand, resting it on his right thigh. I looked him square in the face, noted that he was ready to receive, and began:

Why do I bow and serve?
Why do I live and love?
Why do I walk and talk?
Why do I see and think?
Why do I listen and speak?
Why do I eat and sleep?
Why do I laugh and enjoy?
Why do I?
To serve my Master.
I embrace my enslavement as the best life for me.
Master, thank you, Master.

Yes, it was simple, but it was true. When I had completed giving my affirmation, Master Joe had me remain kneeling in silence, with head bowed. I suppose he did this to let the meaning of what I had affirmed set in and nestle deep inside us both, as if it weren't already. I liked these moments. They felt delicious, and intimate.

He then kicked his booted right foot out a bit, and I knew this to be an offering. "Kiss it, you lucky faggot," he stated, and so I did, many times. I kissed, slobbered and licked, and then I rubbed my cheeks against his boot. It feels great to be where one belongs.

For the duration of the time I spent at Master Joe's house, this became a daily morning ritual, after which I began my assigned slave-tasks, from preparing Master's breakfast to any number of different jobs in and around his house. Master Joe, being impressed with the throne I built for Master Matt, even selected a simple throne design and ordered me to build it.

Master Joe didn’t live within walking distance of a hardware store, so he didn’t completely outfit me as his pack mule. Rather, he placed the hoof boots on me and tightly secured my bit so that I was mute. He then placed blinders on my head such that I could only see in a very limited forward direction. Finally, he placed my mule tail where it belongs and secured a simple leather-strap device around my waist and groin to make sure the plug stayed securely up my ass. 

He owned a pick up truck and had me ride shotgun, which wasn't easy for me as I was sitting directly on my tail.

Upon arriving at the big national chain hardware store, Master Joe had me stay seated in his truck until he came around to the passenger side, opened the door, and then placed a short, meter-long lead to my nose ring. "Come," he ordered me out of his truck. I stepped out and immediately placed my wrists behind my back. "Good," said Master Joe, and off we walked across the parking lot and into the store. Master Joe ordered me to select one of those big, flat lumber carts. He let go of the lead in my nose and allowed it to just dangle, as I used my slave hands to push the cart around the store.

I don't think many paid much attention to a man and his naked slave walking through the aisles of the store, but, while we were in the lumber department, I heard some men speak of how humiliating it must be for me to be paraded around the store collared and tailed, but I didn't really understand them. I felt pride in being who I was and how I was living, not humiliated.

Somewhere during Master's rounds through the aisles of the store I noticed I had a full erection. It had sprung up without me thinking of anything erotic and without me noticing. I just felt good, energetic, full of life. Master Joe, after a few minutes, noticed also. He nodded his head in approval but said nothing. I had come to learn that Master Joe believes a slave should always be erect, to give physical evidence to the gratitude, happiness, worship and general positive energy of the enslaved. He says a slave erection has nothing to do with sex or sexual appetite.

As we rounded a corner to get to the next aisle, a kid, perhaps 16, saw me with my erection and simply said, "Good slave!" as he continued walking on by. After all my years of enslavement, I still feel the satisfaction of being accepted for who and how I am. I like being a good slave, and I liked having the kid notice. It helped me feel at peace in my slave heart.

About midway down that same aisle I heard a man say,  "You ought to stick a flag at the end of that thing!" He was about the same age as Master Joe, and I noticed he was addressing Master Joe as he quickly pointed a finger toward my erection. "Hey, I'm serious," he continued. "You can buy them at The Slave Center, in the equine section. They're called pony flags."

"Really? This must be something new. I've never heard of them."

"Yeah, pretty new, within the last couple of years, maybe. It comes with a flag pole and a flag made with a design of your choosing. If you're going to let your slave walk around sticking up like that, you may as well have it wave a flag. At least then you'd be getting some use out of it."

"Thanks, I'll check it out." We continued on our way down the aisle.

Master Joe shopped for about an hour. By the time we reached the check-out area, my erection was at half mast. I put all his items on the counter and Master Joe paid. I loaded all his items in the back of his truck, and he drove us home.

I unloaded his purchases into his garage, and then Master Joe said, “Slave, since you are properly outfitted, go and mow my lawns, front and back.”

“Master, yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”

Some readers may remember the old push mowers. Just a rotary of blades and powered by a human pushing it. Back in the corner of Master Joe’s shed and not used for years, was not a push mower, but a pull mower. This is the one Master Joe wanted me to use.

I brought it out to the lawn and Master Joe hooked me up to it. First, he removed my bit and placed a different one in. This one had attachments that led back to the mower. It also connected to the harness that Master Joe strapped on me, with leads that attached back to the mower. The harness held my wrists at the small of my back. All I had to do was move like a mule to pull the thing across his lawns and complete my assigned tasks.

My blinders were still on, as were my hoof boots, and my tail flowed from my asshole. I don’t know if I became erect while mowing Master Joe’s lawns, but I may have, as I was pleased to be outdoors and to be serving him.

It was Sunday afternoon and Master Joe’s nephew, known to me as Master Kevin, came home after being out with some friend or other for part of the day. He came out the back door and watched me mowing for a bit and then went back inside. I suppose he confirmed something about my performance with Master Joe, for Master Kevin soon appeared outside again, this time with a cane in his right hand. 

He walked out onto the lawn and, before I even saw him approaching, grabbed ahold of the reins that went from my bit back to the mower. He pulled me to a halt. His face came right up next to mine, as, with my hoof boots on, I was nearly as tall as he is.  He didn’t seem too happy. 

“Let’s stop this nonsense right now, slave.” He gathered up my tail and pulled it high to my shoulders. I couldn’t see, but he was apparently able to loop the tail into some strap or other and leave my tail secured there, high and out of the way of my ass cheeks and thighs.

“This is what lazy slaves get.” He had grabbed hold of my reins again and then proceeded to rapid fire several strikes of his cane across my buttocks. I couldn’t move away, as he had a firm hold of the reins and there was a mower attached to me, but I could sort of wiggle and jump under the strikes. “Hold still, faggot, and stick your slave ass out. Hold completely still and take it, like the good slave you usually are.” I settled and held my ass out for him to strike. “That’s it. That’s a better slave. You know you deserve this.”

He rained down several more blows of his cane across my ass, which I continued to hold up and out so that it gave Master Kevin an easy target and demonstrated my acceptance of his authority, presenting my slave ass as the proper place for his cane to strike. But my upper thighs made easy targets, too, and Master Kevin began striking these as well. One thing I had learned about Master Kevin in the few days that I had known him is that he, just like his Uncle Joe, is a very no-nonsense kind of master. He is very strict and holds a very high bar to which a slave must perform, or else. It seems he doesn’t want a slave to get away with anything. Thank goodness! I was already very fond of Master Kevin and hated to displease him.

The blows came to an end, and Master Kevin stated, quite firmly, “You’ve got to remember to hop to it, faggot. You’re not here for a leisurely walk. If you haven’t worked up a good sweat, I know you’re not working hard enough. Now move! You know your masters deserve better than what you’re giving.” He gave my slave ass one last swat with his cane, very hard, and wow did it burn.

I wanted to say, “Master, yes, Master. Thank you, Master,” but with the bit in my mouth it all came out a mumble. But I took off with that mower behind me and pulled it with a renewed sense of purpose. I knew I was doing right when my cock became hard. Master Kevin noticed and said, “See, slave, I know what makes a faggot happy! Now keep moving and don’t slow down!” As quickly as I could, I moved across the lawn and effectively pulled the rotary lawn mower, with Master Kevin standing on the patio and watching me, cane in one hand and a beer in the other.

When I had made my last lap across the lawn, Master Kevin walked over to me and attached a leash to my nose ring. Without a word, he led me toward Master Joe’s tool shed. He undid the various clips and straps and removed my harness and bit. As usual, I wriggled my jaw around, as it needed some stretching after being constrained by a bit for so long. “Kneel,” he uttered before he left to place the mule tack in their proper storage places. I knelt.

He returned and stood right in front of me, all 6’4” of him. He drew his large hand under my chin and lifted my face so that I was gazing into his. It is in moments like this that I feel utter contentment with my fate. I could feel the large plug up my ass and the tail which flowed from it, and my ass and thighs radiated with the heat of the caning he had just given me. I knew I must be sporting several welts back there.

When I looked up at Master Kevin, all I could see was the greatness of mankind and the goodness and beauty of a man. I inhaled a long and soothing breath. Oh, how I love kneeling before a good man. He hadn’t said anything, so I concluded he was waiting for me to inform him of something.

“Master, thank you, Master, for ensuring that I serve you properly, Master. This slave understands that it is to serve you in full at all times, Master. Thank you for helping this slave achieve the level of service you deserve and which I’m obliged to give you, Master.”

He looked down on me and didn’t say a word, but I could tell he was satisfied, for now. He undid his fly, took out his large cock, and held it out to me. I took the head of it in my mouth and sealed my lips around it. He gifted me with his piss. I sucked down the calming elixir with great satisfaction. When he was finished and had put his cock back in his pants, I said, “Master, thank you, Master. It’s always a great honor to receive your piss, Master.”

——————

Unbeknownst to me, Master Joe and Master Kevin had worked together yesterday to develop a kind of slave report card, a daily self-evaluation that I was to fill out each evening and not only turn in but also report aloud to my masters. The slave evaluation form they had prepared was a combination of pertinent service areas that Master Joe remembers from the evaluation form he used back when he had a slave of this own and parts of sample slave evaluation forms Master Kevin reviewed during a Slave Center workshop he had recently attended.

Master Kevin allowed me to get my fill of water from my outdoor water bowl as he called Master Joe to join him out on the patio. When the two men were settled in their usual patio chairs, Master Joe simply said to me, “Slave mat,” and motioned that I was to place it at their feet, which were somewhat splayed out in front of them both in a fine example of man-spreading.

I retrieved my mat and placed it right before them. I got to my knees and immediately crawled forward just enough to kiss the tips of their boots. Then, I knelt up tall and proud, chest out, pain nubs on full display, hands firmly where they belong. I looked straight ahead and said firmly, “Masters, thank you, Masters! Ready to serve, Masters!”

There they sat, in all their clothed glory, with only Master Joe being shirtless in the summer warmth. I, on the other hand, was naked, wearing only my collar, wrist and ankle cuffs and a 3-inch ball stretcher, plus the giant slave ring in my nose. I truly gloried in the distinctions between man and slave.

Master Joe and Master Kevin spoke quietly with each other for a few moments such that I could not quite make out what they were saying. Probably just small talk. I, as their slave, remained kneeling and waiting for their next communication to me, the only one I ever need care about. Again, my cock showed my happiness as it rose.

Finally, the men turned their attention toward me. This is when I found out they had developed a slave evaluation form that they intended to use for the duration of my stay with them.

“Slave,” Master Joe began, “how are you doing?”

I was somewhat surprised by the question but answered, “Master, fine, Master.”

“Fine in how you feel or fine in how well you serve your Masters?”

“Uh, Masters, fine in both ways, Masters?” I answered without confidence.

“We’re not too sure about that, and it doesn’t seem you’re too sure, either,” stated Master Joe.

He looked me in the eyes and said, “Slave, we have something new here. We’re going to document your service with daily evaluations. Everyday we are going to know if your have served us fully and appropriately or not. After all, it’s your one duty in life, and you ought to be good at it.” He took a sip of his beer and went on. “We considered a long evaluation form, but since you’ve been a reasonably successful slave for over 10 years, we figured we can use an abbreviated one. Your Master Kevin and I came up with 3 main areas of your service we are concerned with and a simple PASS/FAIL kind of evaluation. Either you appropriately embrace a particular area of your required service, or you are not good enough and fail in that service.

Master Joe had a large touchscreen monitor on his patio table. He turned it more toward me so that the men and their slave could all see. “And this is it. Everyday, right after you have cleaned up after dinner, you will self-evaluate in these 3 areas: protocol, effort and obedience/attitude. For every 24-hour period, you will state whether you embraced your slavery, and thus succeeded in service, or that you were not a good enough slave and failed.”

“That’s right, slave. It’s easy,” chimed in Master Kevin. “You will come to this table after you finish serving us dinner every evening. You will place your slave mat right here up close to the table, and you will use this touch screen to record your answers. We, as your masters, will record our own answers.”

“After you have logged in your own answers, you will come to one of us, kneel and kiss at least one foot, and state that you are ready for your daily evaluation. Is that clear and easy, faggot?”

“Masters, yes, Masters. Thank you, Masters.”

Daily Slave Evaluation

Protocol                      Fully Embraced           Not Good Enough - Failed

Effort                           Fully Embraced           Not Good Enough - Failed

Obedience/Attitude    Fully Embraced           Not Good Enough - Failed

All during my preparation of their dinner, I, of course, contemplated my new evaluation form. Why was it needed? I have been a slave for several years, and I was a good slave, was I not? How had I performed since arriving here at Master Joe’s house? What would happen if I was not good enough, even in one category of my slavery? I knew very well that Master Joe intended to further my journey to a more total slavery, and I supposed this was one technique he was ready to employ.

After cleaning up the kitchen, I moved to the touchscreen monitor and viewed my new slave evaluation form. Protocol? I always followed all protocol, as I had been trained to do, didn’t I? Sure I did. I marked Fully Embraced. Effort? Uh-oh. Master Kevin caned my ass because I was not giving enough effort to mowing Master Joe’s lawn. I hated to do it, but I marked Not Good Enough - Failed. Lastly, Obedience/Attitude. I remembered my training at The Slave Center and recounted that obedience, in the way many Masters use the term, is not the same as compliance, not the same as simply following orders. Rather, it is living in sync with the master’s will, aligning the slave will to the master’s will and accepting the master’s will as its own, such that master and slave seem to have the same will. Often, when the slave is the right match for the master, the slave does not even need a verbal order from its master. Rather, the slave can just know his order from within, from its own inner voice. But why did my masters include attitude in this category? I supposed because one cannot obey without having the right attitude, the right lack of resistance, the right openness to and acceptance of the truth. I gave myself a Fully Embraced. Thus, I was Not Good Enough in only one category, and that hurt me emotinally. I wondered what kind of punishment I might receive for my failure.

I found Master Kevin, kissed his boot, and informed him that I was ready to report my slave self-evaluation.

Back out on the patio, Master Joe ordered me to move my slave mat back away from the table, so that the two masters and myself could view the screen together. I knelt on my mat in a standard slave kneeling position, and then I became teary-eyed. My failure hurt. I felt embarrassed to have my master’s see the Not Good Enough - Fail evaluation under Effort. I read out my evaluation to them and justified my ratings.

“Very good, slave,” Master Joe announced. “Master Kevin and I came up with our own combined evaluation, as we told you we’ll do every night, and here it is.” He brought it up on the monitor, and I was shocked. For all three categories, my masters had marked Not Good Enough - Fail. My breath caught, and normal breathing did not easily return. Rather, I began to cry in earnest, and then sob. How could I have disappointed my masters like this? How could I endure them seeing me as such a failure? I had no words and no clear thoughts, only my tears.

“Good slave. Cry it out. Go ahead,” Master Joe said. “You earned those tears with your own failures. You have reason to cry, for being a weak slave.”

When my sobs subsided enough to that I could talk, I said, “I deserve to be punished, Masters. Please punish me, Masters!” I said this from my heart, but my mind was reeling in fear of the punishments they could devise.

“No, slave, we’re not going to punish you. You do that to yourself well enough. What we seek is improvement, so you need to be mindful of how you are going to improve as a slave, as the useful creature you should be.”

As my tears dried, I pulled myself up in a more appropriate faggot kneeling position, with my face held up with pride and my whole countenance one of properly alert attitude, or so I believed. And as I knelt there, still shaky from my tears and heavy sobbing, my cock became fully erect. So there I was, with sex and eroticism far from my consciousness, kneeling naked in front of two Masters, and yet my cock was raging hard. Why?

“Good slave. Your cock knows who you are. Let it speak,” Master Joe offered.

Master Joe seemed quite present in the moment and ready to share the wisdom attained from years of experience in dealing with slaves.

“Slave, you don’t need punishment. You need greater self-acceptance.”

“Master, yes, Master?”

“Did you surrender yourself, as a wannabe slave, to The Slave Center because of punishment? If you did, then you surrendered yourself for the wrong reason. No, you surrendered yourself in slavery out of self-acceptance, out of the self-realization that you are a true faggot that needs to live as a piece of property, as a slave.”

He paused for a moment and then leaned forward a bit. “All we want to do is elevate you in what you truly are: a slave.”

He paused again, perhaps a little longer this time, and my breathing began to normalize. Then, he went on: “Yes, you will improve, but not due to punishment. Does a slave embrace protocol because of punishment? Does a slave show full effort, obedience and proper attitude due to fear of punishment? No! A slave must embrace, of its own accord, the reality of what it’s meant to be in life, of what it’s most suited for. And no punishment can cause this embrace. Only self-acceptance can, and self-love.”

And, somewhat slowly, what he was saying became clear to me: my journey to total slavery is really my own journey to my self. It’s a journey toward greater self-actualization. If I just allow myself to be, without my brain getting in my own way, I will journey into a fuller slavery and, probably, earn a better evaluation from my Masters. Yes!

I had started to feel the presence of a light, of a successful way to go, but the young and not yet wise Master Kevin clumsily, youthfully, broke in. “You’re not good enough, slave!”

Master Joe, perhaps concerned about what Master Kevin, who was not exactly wise at age 19, might say, leaned way forward, put his face a few inches from mine, and looked me in the eyes, deeply, thoroughly, searchingly. “We demand what we deserve, and that is you, the real you. Don’t you think we should get what we deserve?”

“Master, yes, Master. Absolutely, Master.”

“Then, what are you going to do from now on?”

“Master, be a better slave, as appropriate for you both, Masters.”

“Good. And how can we help?”

I took a few moments to think, but then I said, “Let me know when I am not being all I should be, Sirs. Please, Masters.”

“We can do that, slave. We will do that. Did it help when Master Kevin caned you for not mowing the lawn with the proper effort that we deserve, and that you deserve?”

“Master, yes, Master!” Master Joe was not so close to my face anymore, so I looked over to Master Kevin, still seated in his patio chair but more upright and attentive than before, and I said, “Master Kevin, thank you, Master Kevin, for helping your slave be a better slave. Thank you, Master!”

Master Joe continued, “And what is the only thing you should ever be, slave? Tell us.”

“Masters, a slave, Masters,” I answered.

“Right, at total slave. And what is a total slave?” Master Joe kept the dialog going.

“Masters, a slave that is nothing but a slave, at all times of everyday, Masters. One that lives its life in total obedience and servitude, Masters, constantly and only, Masters.”

“Well said, slave. That’s right. And are you a total slave?

“Master, yes, Masters.”

“How do you know?”

“Masters, I feel it, Masters. I feel it in my heart and in every molecule, Masters. And look at my faggot cock, Masters. It has never been so hard, Masters, and it is the most reliable truth barometer I know of, Masters! It tells me I am feeling my truth, Masters.”

“I see that. Very good. And are you ready to improve and be the total slave you believe yourself to be?”

“Masters, yes, Masters. Very much so, Masters. I yearn for it, Masters.”

“Then how do you become it? What are you going to do for slave-improvement?”

A floodgate within me was now open and I flowed with answers. “Worship you, Masters. Worship you often and purely, Sirs. Be attentive at all times to the needs and desires of my Masters. 
Just let myself be, without hesitations or hang ups, Masters. Just live as I truly am, Masters, a faggot born to worship, serve, grovel, honor, obey and live for its Masters. Forsake everything but obedient service, Masters. I will become service, Masters. I am service. I am obedience, Masters. That’s what I am, Masters. I devote myself to my total slavery, Masters. A fully attentive and obedient slave, Masters. Please and thank you, Masters. You are right, Master Joe, I am a total slave. That’s how I was born. That’s how I’m made, Masters. Please allow this slave to serve with its life, Masters. Please. I beg of you, Lords. Allow me to be your total slave and serve you with all that I am, Masters. In slavery I am real, Masters.”

“You already are our total slave, legally. We own you, or at least my nephew Master Matt does. You are a piece of property, and we simply demand that you live as such. We will accept nothing else. Your job is to show us that you accept and love what you are: our slave. Embrace it. Embrace that you are property. Embrace that you are servitude and obedience. Embrace that you have no personal rights. Let your obedience satisfy your slave soul. Obedience is what it craves. Embrace your obedience and give it to us. It’s legally ours anyway.”

Master Kevin listened to all this and finally cut in with, “Just be a good faggot,” as if that is all that ever needed to be said. Perhaps he was right.

Master Joe was now sitting with his torso leaning forward and his forearms resting just behind his knees, leaving his hands to sort of drape deliciously in front of me. I moved forward slightly, now on all fours, and kissed the back of his right hand. “Master, thank you, Lord Master.” I uttered with sincerity. Master Kevin, apparently appreciating this, leaned forward and offered the back of his right hand to me. I kissed it lightly, reverently. “Master, thank you, Lord Master.”

“Yeah! That’s the way it should be!” Master Kevin expressed enjoyment of his role as master.

Master Joe sat upright again, patted his leg, just above the knee, softly ordering me to rest my head there. I put my cheek on his leg and let my body relax, setting the side of my ass on the patio and grabbing onto Master Joe’s leg with both arms, sort of hugging him, a very loving position for me to be in and for Master Joe to invite and accept. 

Master Joe ran a hand over my scalp. “It’s okay, slave. You’ll improve. You’ll get to where you need to be. Growth is just a part of life. I’m sure you’ll get better at embracing every aspect of your slavery. It’s the only thing left for you to do. Just let yourself become more of what you already are: a legally owned slave,” he said softly. “We’re just letting you know that we not only accept who you are, we like what you are and appreciate it. We like it so much we demand it and seek full ownership over it.”

People don’t often talk of the intimacy of slavery, but I sure feel it, and often. These moments with Master Joe were some of the most intimate I experienced while staying at his house. I loved the moments I spent in his care. I think he enjoyed it, too.

Master Kevin, on the other hand, being a horny and not all that mature 19 year old, didn’t seem to notice that Master Joe and I had had a moment together.

The tender moments with Master Joe were coming to an end by the time Master Kevin stood up, dropped his pants, and turned his bare ass toward me, saying, “Here, I’ll give you the chance to be yourself, faggot.” He even spread his cheeks for me. I didn’t hesitate. Why should I? Admiring the beauty of his round and firm man ass, I got up from my position with Master Joe and brought my nose to his glorious ass crack. I took a deep whiff, and my heart warmed. I took another whiff, and another. Ah, did his musk smell good to me! So satisfying.

I buried my face in his ass crack and began to lick with great enthusiasm. His asshole was so delicious. Why go on vacation anywhere when all one has to do is spend time in such a fantastic place as a good man’s asshole?

I slurped and sucked at his hole, and it is hard to describe how totally satisfying it felt to me. I could only hope that Master Kevin received pleasure from allowing me to kiss an lick his asshole.

But all good things must come to an end. Master Kevin suddenly stood up straight, saying, “That’s enough, faggot,” and pulled his pants back on. I moved back to my slave mat and returned to the standard slave kneeling position. I said, “Masters, thank you, Master. This slave is ready to serve, Masters.”

To which Master Joe said, “See, that’s it right there, faggot. You just demonstrated how you have not fully embraced protocol.”

Master Joe wanted to take the time right then and there to teach me what he expects. “Slave, your job is not to just follow protocol and blandly utter things. You must embrace protocol and show that you fully live up to it. So, think about it a second, about how you only gave lip service to protocol.”

I tried to process what Master Joe said. I raised my torso and moved my chest out, thus attaining a more formal and strict slave present posture. “That’s better,” Master Joe confirmed, “and now what does a slave say? Try it again.”

I hesitated only a moment before bellowing out, in military fashion, “Masters, yes, Masters, thank you, Masters. Your slave is ready to serve, Masters.” It took some energy to speak in this way, as it required a pulling up of energy from deep within, but, strangely it felt good and right and seemed to bring meaning to the words I spoke.

“Ah, much better, slave,” Master Joe even smiled a bit. “Try it one more time, a little better still. Come on, show us you’re ready to be what you are.”

I took a quick breath, put my pain nubs out further still, and firmly, with strong volume and conviction, proclaimed, “Masters, yes, Masters, thank you, Masters. Your slave is ready to serve, Masters.”

“There you go, slave! That will earn you a positive evaluation tomorrow, if you keep it up. Well done. That’s what we expect, and that’s what’s good for you!”

“Masters, thank you, Masters! Thank you very much, Masters!” I stated equally as firmly and with teary eyes, made so out of appreciation and satisfaction.

“Now, like I said, don’t waver from addressing us in this way and you may pass your evaluation for protocol tomorrow. Remember, all you’ve really got to do is just embrace who and what you are. Everything will follow from there.”

“Masters, thank you, Masters! Thank you, Masters!”

“That’s it. Just love yourself, and be yourself. We’ll appreciate you for exactly what you are, faggot.”

Quietly to myself, I worried some about having to speak out like this always, but I had to admit  that it created a change within me. How could I hide my slavery even from myself if I spoke out in this way? Speaking in this way seemed to demonstrate my subservience and make me feel more confident, self-accepting, and even full of pride and power. I don’t know if my cock got hard, but I knew that whether it became hard or not did not matter in the least. A slave cock is perhaps best left ignored, even from consciousness, at least at times.

Master Joe had decided that it was time for me to write in my slave journal and to make my report to Master Matt. When he told me to go and take care of these duties, I very confidently and appropriately replied, “Master, yes, Master! Thank you, Master!” Ah, that felt good.

——————

After 90 minutes or so, once I had completed writing in my slave journal and e-reporting to my Master Matt, I returned to Master Joe’s living room to find Master Joe and Master Matt near the end of movie. I knelt at the side of the room and did not disturb them. When their movie ended and they rose from their seats, they turned toward the kitchen and noticed me kneeling at the edge of the living room. “Masters! Yes, Masters! Thank you, Masters! Your slave is ready to serve you, Masters!” I said in my new fashion, oozing conviction. “Good, slave,” Master Joe said nonchalantly, taking my improved embrace of protocol in stride. After all, I was the one to improve, not him.

My masters ignored me for a few minutes and spoke between themselves. I began to listen in as Master Joe spoke: “Master Kevin, let’s talk a moment.”

The two men sat at the kitchen table, and Master Joe began: I’m sure you learned at your Slave Center mastery workshops that slavery these days is not about punishment and reward. Rather, it’s about each participant accepting their own role and the responsibilities that come with that role. So, for you, being a master, you will retain many responsibilities which you will learn and handle over time. With a slave that is a slave by nature, then punishment doesn’t work as well as encouragement. I’ve found that what faggot-slaves want as much as anything is to be seen and accepted as they truly are. No punishment is needed of that. So, and here is the distinction I am leading to: I don’t punish slaves, but I do regularly discipline them, and sometimes rather severely.”

Master Kevin must have looked a little confused, for Master Joe said, “Just let me go on. I think you’ll get it.”

And so Master Joe went on:  “BDSM is something most faggot-slaves crave, not for something they did wrong, but for who they are and for the lives they need to live. Their lives make sense to them, and somehow come together in a holistic sense, under the guidance of a man with a whip, so to speak, and I am only too happy to oblige. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I guess,” answered Master Kevin. “So, if a slave fucks up, it doesn’t get punished?”

“Well, I guess it depends on the type of fuck up and the slave’s intention and state of mind at the time of the fuck up, but normally, no. Regular discipline works. In time, you’ll see.”

“That’s hard to accept, because I want to beat its ass when it isn’t good enough.”

“Well, it’s not just about what you want. Yeah, I understand your inclination, but masters have to grow, too. And you’ll come to find that you’ll have a better and more natural slave with regular discipline rather than with use of reward and punishment. That’s my experience anyway, and it’s what The Slave Center promotes. You see, use of reward and punishment is based on what slaves do. Discipline is based on what slaves are.” I couldn’t see the men where they sat, but I imagine Master Joe paused to give a long look at his nephew, wondering how well he had understood or taken his message to heart.

Master Kevin, being only 19, replied with a short, “Yeah, okay.”

Master Joe went on: “Well, in my experience, a slave is a better slave when it totally accepts its true nature and seeks to fulfill that nature. Punishment doesn’t promote that. Invitation and acceptance do. And I can’t tell you how many times, in my early days of mastery, a slave fucked up on purpose because he wanted to be punished. The manipulative little shits! Topping from the bottom. Experience now tells me that these slaves did not want to be punished, but were seeking the regular discipline they deserve. Anyway, our slave here is going to be disciplined, perhaps daily while it’s here, because that’s what a faggot deserves, just for being a faggot. A slave needs to know that it can’t escape discipline no matter how well it performs as a slave. In fact, the discipline can serve as its reward, as its just desserts, for being a good slave. It learns that what it needs and deserves in life is to belong and serve, and regular discipline shows that its masters know and accept that, too. A faggot accepts that it deserves its slavery, just for being what it is, and that we, as actual men, accept what the faggot needs and are quite ready to provide it: a full and disciplined slavery. So, let’s get started.”

I had listened to all this while kneeling at the edge of the room, and it did cause me some apprehension. What kind of discipline was I in for?

I didn't have time to wonder for long, as Master Joe wheeled out a strange piece of furniture, or bondage table, or whatever it was. He set it in the middle of his spacious living room and motioned for Master Kevin to join him in retrieving their slave. The two men, one about 50 and still shirtless, with his hairy chest calling for my worship, and Master Kevin, young, tall, handsome and athletic, stood before me and waited. I figured out what I needed to do pretty quickly and, in my new vigorous manner of speaking to them, firmly, loudly and clearly declared, “Masters, thank you, Masters. Your slave is ready to serve you, Masters!”

“As you are required to be, slave,” said Master Joe as he motioned for me to stand. He grabbed me by the back of the neck and both he and Master Kevin led me to the odd piece of furniture now in the middle of the room. He explained to his nephew that it was an old slave device he obtained years ago and hadn’t used since he had to sell his previous slave. He ordered me to get situated in it as he sort of pushed me toward it.

The main parts supporting my weight were under my thighs, as well as the very basic back and head rests. My masters strapped my thighs in place, as well as my torso. But my ass hung totally out, with no support at all. My back and thighs supported all my weight. And my legs were spread out wide, leaving my balls, with the 3-inch ball stretcher, to hang freely and heavily. Next, leads were connected to my ankle restraints, holding my feet well into the air. Similarly, leads were attached to my wrist restraints, securing my hands out wide from my shoulders. Then, mitts were place over my hands, effectively turning them into paws. Next, Master Joe clipped the back of my collar to the headrest, such that I could not move my head much. Then, he handed Master Kevin something and told him to do the honors. Master Kevin approached and inserted my pack mule bit into my mouth, making sure the tongue plate held my tongue down tightly. He fastened the whole thing securely behind my neck. Then he added a strap I had never had before. It came from the back side of the bit strap, went over the top of my scalp, and ended with two hooks in my nostrils. Thus, not only did I have a giant 2-inch snout ring hanging down from my septum, now I had two hooks in my nostrils pulling in an upward direction. Master Joe then went over to the front entryway of his house and picked up something from the floor there. I was surprised to see that he had my mule hoof boots. He handed one to Master Kevin, and the men put them on my feet, even though they were up in the air and I obviously wasn’t going to walk anywhere.

I felt confused until Master Joe came close to my ear and whispered, “Animal. Just an animal. Born to serve. Beast of burden. Just an animal.”

Master Joe then retrieved another item, I know not from where. He handed one to Master Kevin. Then, the two men were at my sides, one at each pain nub. They attached powerful tit clamps such that I tried to scream out from behind my bit. I squirmed and shook with the intensity of the clamps, but I had nowhere to go and nothing to say. I watched as Master Joe and Master Kevin attached leads to the nipple clamps that went up and away from my body and ran over pulleys in the ceilings. On the other end of each lead they attached a ball weight. I don’t know the actual weight of each ball, but I know they pulled my nips taut such that they hurt with each movement of my body. So, I determined to remain calm and still, but it wasn’t easy.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Master Joe suddenly stated. He stepped out of my vision for a moment and came back with my mule tail. I caught of glimpse of the butt plug, and it was larger than any I had had in my ass before. As I described, my ass was just hanging out, totally open and available. Master Joe stood between my widespread legs, lubed my asshole with his fingers, and then began to insert the large plug. “Relax, slave. It’s going in no matter what you do, so you may as well find a way to enjoy it. I know you will!” And he seemed to smile warmly at me, like he was being kind to me. Perhaps he was.

“Do you deserve this?” he asked me.

“Masters, yes, Masters.” I mumbled from being the bit in my mouth.

“Yes, because you’re a faggot, and this is what faggots deserve just for living.”

He paused as he pushed the plug a little harder.

“What else does a faggot deserve?” He knew I could not really answer, and so he supplied the answer for me. “To be enslaved and to serve with all the life energy it has, constantly. There is no life for a faggot outside of full slavery. Embrace your truth faggot. Embrace it, and you will be happy. We’re here to help you. We’re here to help you be more of what you are.”

I wanted to hug them both, but I was securely bound. My pain nubs were stretched out far from my chest, as the clamps held their firm grip. But somehow I was breathing more easily, and everything started to feel… so right. My asshole relaxed and then was stretched beyond anything, and in plopped the butt plug. My tail hung to the floor. “Good faggot. Doesn’t that feel good?” Master Joe questioned rhetorically.

So, there I was. What else could they do with me now? Soon, I found out, and I discovered why the leads attached to the clamps on my pain nubs pulled each toward either side of my body. The Masters wanted the center of my chest open and available.

Master Joe stood between my outspread legs. He held a light flogger, but I soon found out it carried quite a sting. He flung it right between my nips. “Your heart, slave. Give us your heart.” He flung the device again. “We already own it. So let it go, all the way.” He flung the flogger again and again. Its tails spread out across my chest, creating both pain and incredible warmth. I began to experience a love-hate relationship with the flogger and with Master Joe.

Master Joe then began to move to my belly. He strike left my stomach red, and welts soon arose. He threw the flogger relatively lightly over my cock, and then firmly struck my hips and sides and the fronts and insides of my thighs, right into the groin. Over and over again. “Property, slave. This body is not yours. It’s ours. Not yours. Ours. All slave. All faggot. All legal property. Chattel. An animal born to serve men. Let it be, slave, because you know its true, and it’s what makes you happy.”

On and on he went. I writhed with some of the heavier strikes, but I soon learned that if I did then the clamps on my nubs were pulled this way and that, causing intense sensations. So, I tried again to still myself, and in a short time I was successful. I relaxed under the throws of his flogger. I embraced each strike as the right and just thing for me, just for being alive, just for being a faggot. I’m a slave, just as I should be, and I was learning to better embrace my masters and what they provide for me. And then everything turned to warmth, even glory, or bliss.

“Invite it, slave. You know you deserve this. You know it’s good for you, because you want to be a better slave. Invite what Master gives you. Invite it. And let yourself belong, in order to serve, totally.”

He may have said more, but it didn’t matter to me anymore. I was just receiving the strikes of the flogger, to the center of my chest, to my torso, my belly, my pelvic region, my inner thighs and groin. I must have been truly glowing red, for I sure felt the heat.

“This isn’t punishment, slave. This is to let you know we seek a disciplined faggot that lives in total and appropriate servitude,” Master Joe offered.

Finally, at some point, Master Joe finished throwing his flogger. He stepped up close to my crotch. I could feel his blue jeans against my balls, stretched down heavily. He laid the palm of his right hand on the center of my chest, softly, lovingly, masterfully. “Mine,” he stated. “Mine.” I looked up at his face and now felt only love and respect. Oh, how I wanted to worshipfully serve him. It was in my blood. I had known for years that I was born to be a slave, but now, somehow, I knew it even more.

After several minutes of peaceful aftercare, with Master Kevin mostly just standing off to the side, with his hand on his crotch and rubbing, Master Joe reached toward my asshole and began to pull the butt plug tail out, which was no easy job, given its girth, but come out it did. Oh that emptiness! How can a faggot deal with all that emptiness?

Master Joe moved away from me and placed the butt plug tail somewhere or other. I knew I’d be cleaning it in the morning. Upon returning to my body, Master Joe waved Master Kevin over, and the two removed the clamps on my tits. Wow, what a sensation, when tit clamps are removed! Then, for a glorious moment, each master took one of my pain nubs in hand and squeezed and held firmly. Ah, the joys of being slave, with these two beautiful men giving me their energy.

Master Kevin looked over to his uncle, lightened his grip on my pain nub, and asked, “Can I use the slave now?”

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead. I’ll watch.”

Master Kevin took off his pants and stood naked between my legs. His beautiful fat 9-inches stood tall and straight. The young, you know, sometimes all they can think to do is fuck. He brought his massive cock to my ass and easily pushed it in. Since I had had the large plug in for a long time, my hole was well stretched. Master Kevin tried to fuck but soon said my hole was too loose. “No matter,” said Master Joe, and he went to get something out of his supply room. He handed it to Master Kevin and said, “Put this on.”

It was a black penis sleeve that didn’t extend the length of Master Kevin’s already large penis, but it did make it about as thick as his wrist or forearm, about the girth of the plug that had just been up my ass.

Master Kevin happily put the sleeve on and jerked himself a bit with it. “Hey, this feels good. My cock slips around inside just right!”

He brought the tip of the sleeve, with his cock inside, to my hole. He began to slip it inside me, and even though the hole was already stretched, it wasn’t easy. But Master Kevin was determined and firm. “Open up my hole, faggot. I know it fits!” I took a good deep breath, tried to relax, and the thing slipped past my sphincter. Ah, such glory!

Soon Master Kevin was fucking me in his youthful earnest, pounding my ass to the hilt with his enlarged cock. What a beautiful sight and feeling! The great Master Kevin fucking my ass with a huge thick sleeve on his cock! He pounded away, and I squirmed as little as I could, what with all parts of my body bound. All I could to is embrace the tool in my ass and the man putting it there, repeatedly. In and out, in and out, he went. He took glee in pulling the entire thing out of my ass only to shove it right back in again, and again. I embraced it, took glee in it, too. What faggot fun!

Master Kevin kept pounding my ass but now had both my pain nubs in his hands. He squeezed hard, twisted and pulled. Master Joe suddenly appeared at my side. He leaned over and put his face close to mine. “It makes you happy to serve us, slave. You love to serve us, slave. You want nothing else but to serve us, slave. It’s what you live for, slave. You’re a faggot. An animal. And you live to serve us. Totally.”

Master Kevin continued to hold on tightly to my tender pain nubs as he thrusted his giant sleeved cock into my ass again and again and again. Master Joe, having delivered his message to me, had backed away and was out of my range of vision. Soon, Master Kevin was nearing orgasm. He pumped and pumped and pumped. Sweat was pouring off his whole body. He was loving it, and did he finally let fly! His groans were loud, almost shouts. His mouth opened wide and his body shook and writhed in the awesome power of a man’s orgasm. All my ass could do was take it.

He then rested for a couple minutes, with his sleeved cock still up my ass. When he had regained a more natural kind of breathing, he pulled out from my ass, leaving me to miss his presence. That emptiness! What is a faggot to do about that?

Master Kevin sure seemed satiated. His body glistened in his sweat, and I could hardly imagine a sight more beautiful. He glanced toward his uncle, who I could now see standing a bit off to the side. Master Kevin smiled at him, removed the cock sleeve, and proclaimed, loudly, firmly, like I had been taught to do in protocol:

“God, I love faggots!”