Stories of the Slave Center
The Nation’s Largest Retailer of Faggots
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A Trial Period of Enslavement
Chapter 8: Slave Labor
by slave 7
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.
It was Sunday, but Sunday is not a day of rest for any slave on Master Rob Carter’s ranch. Perhaps if there was any divinity to be found on this Sunday, it wasn’t in a church or a book, but rather within the self, just there, waiting. Or maybe, for a slave, its connection to the so-called divine is found in the Man, or via the Man, whom the slave calls its Master. Feeling connected to something special, whether you call it spiritual or something else, I was soon to discover, happens in many ways.
I was awakened by an alarm going off in the stables. It was time to get up and begin the day: 5 AM. All the slaves in the stables were roused. An overseer saw to it that all slaves were getting up and becoming ready to serve. The Overseer on duty, whom I had noticed yesterday but with whom I had yet to interact, unlocked the gate to my stable. He came in with a hose that had a rubber nozzle. The Overseer motioned for me to get in the corner where I had already pissed a couple times during the night.
“We’ve got to get you rinsed out for Our day,” the Overseer said, and he reached behind me and shoved the already-lubed nozzle up my ass, quickly, with no nonsense. “Yeah, that’s it. That’ll wake a faggot up and get it ready for service.”
He turned on the water and let it run for some seconds,. Then, He pulled the nozzle out, and I shat myself in the corner. He shoved the nozzle right back in, and we repeated the process, I believe 4 times, until he was satisfied I was clean enough to get through the morning.
“Good slave,” he patted my rump. “Just remember that a slave is in service and obedience with every breath it takes. So, when a slave wakes up in the morning, one of the first things it should do is make sure its asshole is open and ready to take anything Master puts up there. You see, We know that one way to energize a slave’s service is through its asshole, and being energized to serve is a slave’s happy place.”
The Overseer left my stall and closed the gate. I was left there kind of stunned from the wildest morning awakening I had ever experienced. I could feel my hole. Maybe it throbbed a bit? Maybe it was feeling empty and wanted filling?
Master Rob Carter soon came through the gate. Luckily, I had regained my composure after my ‘rude awakening' and was in a proper slave present position and waiting for Him. As soon as I saw Him at the gate, I became fully erect. Why?
I began to tremble a little as Master entered my stall and stood near me, His hand on His hips. He asked what my trembling was about and what my erection was about. “Master, your slave is very happy to see you, Master,” was all I could think to say.
“Good. That’s as it should be! A good slave is pleased to see its Master. That truth barometer down there informs us both of something, doesn’t it, slave?”
He knew my answer and didn’t need to hear me say it. I merely bowed my head, and He seemed to accept that as an answer.
He had his stool with Him. He set it down right in front of me and sat. He was wearing cowboy boots, blue jeans and a tight tank top. I felt like a dog greeting its master, so excited, so wiggly, so eager. My Master was near me, and I was thrilled.
My excitement was too much for me. I moved forward, brushing the side of my face against His jeans, at His left thigh. He didn’t tell me to stop, so I rose up to His torso, and then to where I really wanted to go, where there was no clothing, right into his armpit. Ah, it smelled so delicious. Manna from heaven. I inhaled and sucked and licked, loving the Man’s hair and scent. When I had first moved my head toward his thigh, Master began petting my back gently and speaking to me softly, soothingly, “Yeah, I know, slave. You’re happy to see your Master. Good. Good slave. All you’ve got to do is allow yourself to be yourself. I know you’ve been waiting for this for a long time. Just let yourself be. Just let it happen. Fantasies are one thing, but experience lets you know, and grow.”
After I had settled down a bit, Master had me rest my head on his thigh. “Settle down, slave, settle. Settle and let’s have a little chat. Since you’re new to me, we will often need to have some check-in time,” He explained.
He removed the bit that had been lodged in my mouth all night. He asked if I had slept well, and I told him that I had slept reasonably well but woke up often. He said that was okay and that my sleep patterns would improve over time. He then asked if I had any doubts about continuing my education, my trial period of enslavement. I told him absolutely not! He chuckled and said, “Yeah, so I can see.” He was looking at my firm barometer.
I hesitated nervously, with Master seeming to know that His slave had something on its mind, and then asked Him, “Master, is it okay for your slave to have a hard on so often, Master? I keep hearing about slaves in chastity devices and never getting hard ons.”
“Hard ons? I don’t see a hard on. Men get hard ons, slaves don’t.”
“Master, Your slave doesn’t understand, Master.”
“Well, it’s pretty easy. Men get hard ons. They feel horny. They want to fuck and be sucked. They want to shoot their loads. It’s a sexual thing. Men get hard ons. It’s only natural. But slaves have barometers that get erect while the slave does not want to fuck or be sucked. Slaves don’t get horny to do anything with the erection. It is just sort of there. It does say something, though. Tell me what my slave’s erection is saying. Is it saying you want to fuck somebody, or get sucked by somebody?”
“Master, no, it doesn’t say that at all, Master.”
“Then, what does it say?”
“Master, it says that I’m excited to see You, Master, that I enjoy being your slave, at least so far, Master. And,” I felt a little hesitant to admit, “that I love to serve you, Master.”
“Good! That’s it! A man’s cock gets hard because He wants to have sex and get his rocks off. A slave’s barometer gets hard because it enjoys being what it really is. Isn’t that right, slave? Are we in agreement?”
“Master, yes, Master. I feel turned on, but I’m not thinking about fucking or anything like that, Master. I don’t like to use my cock for fucking, Master. I’ve never been much interested in using it to fuck, Master.
“Yes, I understand that. That’s true of all the slaves I own. A slave hard on doesn’t say, ‘I want to fuck!’ It says, ‘I’m so happy to be myself!’” He gave me that great little smile of His and then asked, “Tell me, slave, what’s my slave erection telling me? What’s that thing saying?”
“Master, it says that Your slave is happy to be right where it is, Master?”
“And why wouldn’t I want to know that my slave is happy? Why would I put a cage around that? I want to know it all the time!”
“Yes, Master, thank You, Master.”
“Is that slave cock being honest?”
“Master, yes, Master, very much so, Master! It feels true, Master. I think a cock is always honest, Master.”
“And that cock, my slave’s erection, is mine. And I don’t need it touched, ever. So, don’t touch it. Just let it be, in happiness. That’s an order. Leave my slave cock alone.”
“Master, yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”
“Just be proud of it and let it tell you, and me, what you are. Be proud of your slavery. It’s a good thing, a nice thing.”
“Master, yes, Master,” I said, perhaps somewhat dubiously.
“Now, kneel up tall and push my slave pelvis way out front. Show me my slave truth barometer. Show me what’s mine. Give it to me. Show me that my slave understands that its dick has nothing to do with sex at all. Show me that it’s proud to be erect in slavery. Show me that its proud to be rock hard in slavery. Show me my slave enjoys its slavery, that it yearns for it, that it craves to serve me, to labor all day for me. Show me my slave erection. Let it speak to both of us. Point it out and up high, like it’s trying to touch the sky. Let Master see that the faggot’s hard because it’s enslaved. Let me see that you love your enslavement! Let me see that! That’s it, keep pushing as high as possible while keeping those knees on the ground. Push that barometer out and up. That’s right! Show your Master! Show me what you are!”
He had me hold that position until it was becoming a strain, then He stated, “Good slave. Relax back into the normal slave kneeling position. At ease, in slave position.” Once I had resumed my normal position and regained my regular breathing pattern, he added, “Now, tell me again what my slave erection means.”
I began in earnest, speaking quickly, like I was eager to inform Him: “Master, this slave cock says that I yearn to serve You, Master, that I love to serve you, Master, that I only want to serve you, Master. Always and only, Master.” Then I went on in an almost uncontrollable begging manner: “Please accept this slave, Master. Help it be Your slave, Master. Help it be nothing but service, Master. That’s all I am, Master, total Service, a piece of property, Master. A slave. Please, Master. Please accept this slave, Master. Please allow this slave to serve you, Master.” I was begging now, and my slave erection showed the truth of my words. There were glistening drips of pre-cum sliding from it.
“Good slave. That’s easy for you to say now, but I wonder what this faggot will say tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. For now, I do accept. And not only that,” He grabbed hold of my chin, like He has before, and held my head in rapt attention, “I demand, without limits on my ownership, my slave’s service till there is nothing left of the superficial part of you that you’ve been passing off as the real you all your life. I demand to see your authentic nature, the authentic you. I want the real you. Only the real you. I want the false gone till only the real remains. A servant being. A slave. A being that seeks a Master. An authentic slave. A creature that lives to serve.” Master paused and looked at my erection, standing as firm as it ever had in my entire life. “I know what a slave is. Is that what you are, a slave? Can you feel it? Am I looking at a natural slave?”
“MASTER, YES, MASTER. OH, MASTER, YES, MASTER!!!” I responded wholeheartedly, from the bottom of my being, almost crying. I think my cock was dripping even more.
“Good. That’s what I see, and that’s how I am going to treat you: as a slave that lives to serve its Master. I plan on giving it exactly what it needs, slavery.”
Master stood up from His stool and came behind me to paddle my ass. “Stay still. This is just a little something to help you remember this morning’s thoughts and feelings… and to power you through the day.” The paddle must have struck over 20 times. When he was finished, he pushed me over and down into the muck. “What does my slave say say to me after I take care or its ass so nicely?”
“Master, thank you, Master!”
“That’s right. Good slave. There’s nothing like a good paddling to wake a slave up. Now, every morning when I say, 'Attention!' the slave will kneel in a perfect 'present' position and be ready, maybe even eager, for anything, for whatever. Is that clear and easy?"
"Master, yes, Sir, Master! Thank You, Master!”
“Good.” He paused for several seconds, and then he bellowed in a military fashion, “Attention!"
I rose to my knees and took the proper position. Hands firmly behind back. Back straight. Chest out. Stomach in. Face up. Eyes Forward. Ears open. Pelvis held forward and erection full.
Master Rob then pulled something from the Master’s Tool Belt which He kept at His waist and moved toward me. He began fitting something on my head: a head harness. He pulled it over my head. Above my existing steel collar He tightened and locked the 1-inch wide leather collar that was the base of the head harness. Then He pulled the 2-inch wide strap which came from the back side of the collar up and over my shaved scalp. Master adjusted it so that it fit snugly against my skin. This strap ended in the middle of my forehead, where another strap ran perpendicular to it. This strap Master wrapped back around my head. He locked it into place. It all seemed quite snug to me. Then, from the strap crossing my forehead came 2 more straps, perhaps a half inch wide. These traversed right over each of my eyes, ran near the sides of my nose and down to rings that were at the corners of my mouth, where the bit protruded on both sides of my mouth, and where these straps crossed with straps that wrapped around from behind my head and under my ears. From these rings ran another strap that ran under my chin. I realized Master could pull it very tight and clamp my jaw closed, but he didn’t do that. He left some slack so that my mouth could open, somewhat. With the harness totally in place, I could still see, but not directly in front of me, as its straps were interfering with my line of sight. I could not easily speak.
“There, that’s better. It suits my slave well. You look good! I like the straps that go right over the eyes and block any direct forward vision but allow peripheral vision. That’s all the vision my slave needs to do its job today, and I think it’ll help keep my slave mindful that it’s my property and doing my slave’s labor.”
“Master, thank you, Master.” Trying to speak with this head harness on was strange, but I could still enunciate just enough to be understood. And Master was right. It was hard to have the head harness on and not realize my status as slave. Still, I liked it. What was wrong with me, I wondered. What was I becoming?
Master Rob had sat back down on his stool. He leaned over somewhat so that his face was but a foot from mine.
"The next step to accomplish in the garden is tilling, slave. There is a light cultivator already out there and waiting for you. I had another slave place it in just the right spot. It has no motor. My slave is the motor. My slave will pull it. The soil is fairly soft and somewhat tilled already, as it gets tilled a few times every year. So, I know my slave can do the task, and the soil needs only a shallow tillage. So, in a moment, your order will be to run out there, find the cultivator, and begin pulling it across every inch of the plot. I’ll be out there shortly to get you fully situated. Is that understood, my slave?
"Master, yes, Sir, Master. Thank You, Master!”
"Good, now show me your value as my slave. Move it! Go!”
"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master!” I said as I was in the process of getting to my feet and beginning to run.
I ran to my post, as ordered. Exiting the stable building and entering the outdoors gave me a kind of thrill, with the warm early morning sun shining on my naked body. “Yeah!” I thought to myself. “This is the way to greet the day!” Being naked outside felt so good. I noticed my balls and cock bouncing as I ran. I noticed my bare feet on Mother Earth. I felt the ankle and wrist restraints on my limbs. My slave ass radiated the warmth of the morning paddling. I was running as a slave that had been ordered to till a garden in the nude… and I was happy, finally.
I reached the garden area and saw the cultivator. It had been put in exactly the right spot to begin the task before me. I grabbed the handlebar and started to pull, but I found the cultivator to be somewhat awkward to move. Should I grab the handlebars and pull while walking backward? Should I get behind the handlebars and push? I tried both ways, and both were difficult. I decided pushing from behind the handlebar was most effective, even though Master said I’d be pulling.
I may have tilled only about a yard by the time my master walked up. I saw him out of the corner of my eye at first, and, as I looked his way, he kept walking right on by. So, I kept pushing the cultivator. I saw Master walk into His garden shed.
He soon came out holding a bundle of leather straps. “Okay,” he said, almost jovially, as he arrived at my side. “That’s not quite what I meant when I said my slave would be pulling the tiller, so let’s get my slave fully situated to do its work properly.” As he began to get me properly situated, He continued to speak: “Masters have slaves, and slaves have work. That’s just how it is. But don’t worry. An authentic slave loves serving its master. It seeks to serve and can’t get enough of it. A slave serves until service is the only thing the slave is, a service animal, a beast of burden. But to a slave, the burden feels light. Lucky slave.” All this he said while attaching a body harness and reins that he somehow affixed to what I thought were the handle bars of the cultivator. I pulled the harness straps and reins tight behind me as I tested the weight of the cultivator. “That’s right slave. Eager to work for me. I look at you and I see nothing but a servant. Let service become you, because it is you. That’s what a slave of mine is. Pure service. Nothing else. Nothing matters to the slave but being of service to its Master. Just think how good and satisfying it feels to serve your Master. Lucky slave, getting to live as it’s designed to live!
Although I was feeling so much excitement and joy, I also had a moment of panic, but then the animal within me quickly rose, somehow free in the bondage, free to surface because Master was there to control it and keep it safe. I was becoming that animal. I shook my head from side to side, and my Master said, “That’s a good boy. Take it easy,” as he patted my rump playfully. He must have reached into his tool belt again, but I could not see as Master was behind me, just in front of the cultivator. He pulled on the body harness straps that went under my groin and back toward the cultivator. This forced me to put my ass out toward him, enough for him to shove a large plug up my ass, at least as large as the nozzle that administered my brief morning enema. I gasped and writhed and bucked from the pain of the quick anal stretching. I couldn’t see it, but I felt my tail swishing from my hole. Despite any difficulty I had accepting the plug, I soon began to breathe deeply, gloriously, soothingly.
“Good boy. Now my slave is fully situated. It will till this entire garden today, or there will be consequences. Just be the slave you naturally are, and all will be well.”
Master came back around to my front side. He looked me over again and checked out the harnesses and straps. “Nice, but I think I will add one more thing.” He reached into his tool belt once again, and soon I had clamps on my nipples, not to powerful, but powerful enough. I bucked wildly, partly due to the physical sensation and partly due to the energy it spread throughout my body. “Woe, good boy. Nice energy. You’re going to need it today, to show me what a good work animal you are. Your barometer is saying my slave is feeling really good!”
“Finally,” he said as I saw him pull the cane he kept at his waist, “one last thing.” He ordered, “Stay, don’t move a muscle, pig. Just breathe peacefully.” And in quick succession he brought the cane down hard, first on the front of my right thigh, then my left, then my right again, until each thigh had taken 3 firm strikes. Yes, I hurt sort of all over, but I felt so alive and so full of energy.
My brain no longer seemed to function as usual, as I had been struck and clamped while bound to a garden cultivator. There was nothing left for me to do but to move forward, and I felt such a desperate need to move. My legs came up, with knees rather high. I was ready to move. I shook my head forcefully, feeling the bit in my mouth. I was becoming an animal, and I loved it. Freedom from so many thoughts and perceived needs. Freedom from cares. The only care I had was to move, to work, to pull. I had no concern if my cock was soft or hard. It just didn’t matter.
“Too bad my slave doesn’t have a snout ring yet,” Master said as his fingers went into my nostrils and gave a little shake of my nose.
“Now, slave,” he said, “you get what you need.”
He stepped away and to the side of me. “Show me what you are, slave. An effective laborer. A slave worthy of my ownership. Do your work, slave. That’s all you have; that’s all you are. Pull!”
And so I strained against the straps around my torso that connected me to the till. I pulled, with my bare feet almost digging into the fairly soft ground. I leaned forward and gave it my all, the light chain between my tit clamps swaying as I moved. Such a sensation!
The cultivator began to move. “That’s it, slave. Be what you are. Be my work animal. You know it suits you. Get moving. There’s a lot of ground to cover.”
Master must have been confident that his slave would not need supervision, for soon I realized he had left me there alone. I strained and pulled, my only thought being to complete my task so that Master would be pleased with me and with the work this slave accomplished for Him.
The work was hard and the hours passed, but I was at peace. Men walked by as if they didn’t even notice me, just conversing as they moved by.
How was I to drink situated as I was? I pulled the cultivator over to the water trough, lowered my head as much as I could, and suck up enough water to satisfy my need. Then, I got back to my labor.
I had never felt so much a part of a place before in my life. I discovered it to be an amazing feeling, soothing, even elevating. My whole body tingled, so full of life and spirit. And on I pulled.
Around midday, the same young man that secured me for lunch yesterday came by with a bottle of water. He stuck the nipple in my mouth and squeezed. It felt so refreshing. I was getting needed water, being taken care of, and being seen and appreciated for who and what I am. The young slave Handler patted my ass and told me it was time for some nourishment. He placed a bowl in the dirt and, releasing a few clips, freed me from the cultivator while leaving my body harnessed.
“Kneel!” H ordered. He reached toward my nipples and removed the clamps. Such a rush passed through my being, a mix if pain and life and good and bad, all ending in a smile crossing my face as I regained my composure.
“Eat!” He ordered.
I fell to my knees, put my face to the bowl, and chowed down. It was a mixed up mush of something or other and didn’t taste like much. “That’s it, slave. A good, healthy slave lunch!”
He had me kneel before Him again, and he replaced the tit clamp, but oriented on the nipples in the opposite direction as they had been in the morning hours. That rush hit me again, energized me, elevated me.
He had me rise to my feet and back up toward the cultivator. He snapped my harness back into place, slapped my ass, and set me off to work again. The whole lunch break took about 15 minutes.
I lost track of time. On occasion, I know my mind, in dreamlike fashion, ran through various periods of my life. Had it all come to this? Was this the logical outcome or my life? Is slavery what all my experiences would amount to? While a small part of me rebelled against the ideas going through my head, I could not discount how good I was feeling, how satisfied, how at ease, how normal.
I still had a plug up my ass, with a tail hanging from it. I was working hard, and liking it. I was laboring on the earth, in the earth, but somehow flying. I knew it couldn’t always feel this way, so I let myself just enjoy it. I let myself take note of everything that was going on within me without trying to control any of it, without trying to change it, or judge it. I just let it all, and myself, be.
I thought of kneeling in front of Master again later in the day, when my labor would be finished. I imagined Him being satisfied with me, and I imagined how satisfying that would be for me. And I imagined his smile, his torso, his man-smells, his hairiness. I imagined yearning to hug Him, but not being able to in my place as His slave. Was I hugging him now with my labor? Was my slavery an expression of my love? Was he expressing His love of me by treating me as I am, a slave?
These questions ran through my mind, but I felt no need to answer them. I let the day be my answer. I let the here and now be my answer. I just let myself be, which was a new experience for me.
I remained cognizant enough to realize that this trial period of enslavement was either going to be one fantastic vacation, or it was going to be the real me and my real future.
