Master and His Pack Mule

Master and His Pack Mule

Part Six

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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And so my further development in slavery continued. I spent not a moment doing anything that was not in direct service to my master. And, somehow, I was more at peace.

Master did not have his slave rented outside his home for service, so this slave stayed home while he was at work. I used to spend such times in relative leisure, but now Master wrote me a slave to-do list for every hour of the day. His goal was to have slave labor assigned to me all day long, everyday. The list contained the basic things, like cleaning and cooking, but he also came up with projects for his slave to attend to. One project was starting a vegetable garden in his back yard. Another area of labor was to use its carpentry and woodworking skills to build things. This week, Master provided a choice of 3 items to build. He said it was my choice, but stated that the choice must be the item best suited to further my journey in slavery. He would approve or disapprove my choice based on my slave-reasons for making it.

I looked at his list and knew immediately what I would build first: a large and fancy wooden throne for my Master to sit on so that I may more easily worship Him. The design and instructions were provided. Master readily approved his throne as my building project.

Master allowed me to walk alone to the hardware store nearby. It was one of the few stores that allowed entry to slaves who were unattended by a free person. I walked through Master’s suburban neighborhood to the store. I had Master’s mule pack on my back, as Master taught me how to place it on myself. I used it to carry my purchases home. Getting all I need to make Master’s throne took a couple trips. I was naked on these trips, of course, but for collar, cuffs, and mule pack. The store did not permit slaves to be barefoot, so I wore slave sandals. Very simple foot coverage, indeed.

I had finished the first stages of making the throne. It was to be a raised seat on a small platform and fit for any king. What caught my attention about the design of this throne was that offered a dual purpose. A luxurious cushion may be placed for the Master to be seated, but that cushion could be easily removed to reveal toilet seat. A large toilet-sized hole opened to a large space beneath the throne, where a slave could be placed. Sounded good to me, for I loved worshiping at my master’s asshole, and he knows it.

Seeing this design feature of the throne immediately caused my cock to swell, so I took that as reason enough to choose this design: a throne, a rim seat, and a full toilet all in one.

It took me the better part of two weeks to complete the throne, but it turned out pretty well. I built it outside on the back patio, and Master instructed me to place the finished product at one side of his patio and leave it there. He said he wanted to be outside when seated on it.

Master surprised this slave when he left instructions on how to build another simple item. It goes with his throne, a simple kind of platform that rose only 3 inches from the ground. It was like a worship mat, but rather a worship platform. Master ordered me to build it and place it directly in front of his throne. It was a simple build and took only 2 days of my labor. I placed it in front of Master’s throne, and the two pieces made a good match. When Master saw it, he approved.

Master tried his new throne out that first evening. He sat fully dressed on his throne and I prostrated naked on the worship platform and prayed to him. Most times since that first time, Master has had something to read while his slave worshiped him, but that first time he did not. He looked down at his slave from his elevated position and verbally encouraged and enticed and even ordered his slave’s prayers and worship, claiming them as his right. He began using the throne most evenings, soon after returning home from work. It became my favorite time of day.

On the first Saturday since the throne had been built, Master said, “Okay slave. Let’s try the rim seat.”

I demonstrated to Master the slide out platform under the throne which provided a place for the full length of a slave to lie down. Master was immediately pleased to see that a slave could be secured from head to toe with ease, as fixtures were in place to lock onto the slave’s ankle and wrist cuffs as well as to the slave’s collar.

“Lie down, slave.”

“Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master,” I replied and moved my body into place. He affixed my ankles, wrists and collar to the device, and there I was, flat on my back under Master’s throne. My face looked up into relative darkness, until Master lifted the toilet lid.

He peered down at my face and spit. Then, he turned, dropped his pants and sat down. His asshole, depending how he sat, could be some inches from my mouth and it could rest right on my mouth. When he first sat, his hole was few inches from my face. He adjusted his legs a little, which brought his ass deeper down in the seat, practically right up against my nose. I inhaled the glory of it all, and began lapping at his beautiful hole. I loved the smell, I loved the hair, I loved the taste. His hole wasn’t freshly washed, but it wasn’t truly dirty either.

On Sunday, however, Master had me prostrate myself in front of him on his throne and worship for a long time. “More,” he kept saying. “More. Tell me, slave. Tell me. Let me know how lucky you are to be my slave. Give everything to me, slave. Everything. Your life is mine.”

As my worship slowed down and came to an end, Master said, “Now, show me.” I was unsure of what he meant, but it occurred to me that he was sitting on the rim seat. So, I moved to place myself under his ass, but without being bound under the throne like yesterday. As I moved to get in proper position, I saw Master stand up from the throne seat and lift it to reveal the rim seat. He then dropped his pants and sat back down, so I knew I was right in my actions. As I moved myself into position, Master called out, “Show me you know where you belong, slave.”

“Master, yes, Master,” I replied as I laid myself on my back and placed my face under his throne. He then sat down, his hairy asshole right at my face. His hole was a mess. He must have taken a shit earlier and not wiped. This was new for my Master. I inhaled deeply and felt drunk on the smell. Then, I dove in with my mouth wide open to suck on his hole. I licked and slurped. I noticed my cock got raging hard. I happily took in the smears and remnants of his shit. I licked and sucked the pieces shit right into my mouth. This was a first for me, and I loved it. I thought about from whom the shit came and felt privileged to be tasting it. It had been in my Master’s body, right inside my Master, and now I had the honor of taking it into me. Delicious. My cock was raging. I pushed my tongue into his hole and slurped with a frenzy.

Master said nothing, but I finally thought I heard him open a magazine to begin reading. Soon, though, his phone rang, and he began a conversation with Jenn. I just kept rimming his ass and loving it. I had long since licked it clean, but I wanted more. I continued to rim him until he got off the phone and told me I was done. Heaven. I had been to my heaven. Master is my heaven.

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The following Saturday, Master had just gotten home after running his Saturday errands with his pack mule in tow. Master removed his mule pack from my back but left in the tail and bit. He filled my water bowl and told me to drink as needed, and then ordered me to get to work on quickly mowing the front and back lawns, as was our weekly routine.

I had already become an improved slave. I executed every order with a quicker response time and with better results. I moved with a happy slave bounce in my step. I retrieved the push mower and powered it over first the front lawn and then the back. The neighbors were accustomed to seeing this slave doing its tasks in the nude, but some took a second glance upon noticing the tail and bit. A couple teen boys walked by and looked up from their phones. One said, “It’s about time! My dad says you’ve got to let a faggot-slave know every second that the thing it’s made for is slavery.”

Master hadn’t told me his Uncle Joe was coming over for the evening, so when I saw Master come out to the back patio I was surprised to see how he was dressed. I had expected to see him in his swimsuit, or even nude, for his usual Saturday afternoon time on the patio and in the sun. But he was dressed in black jeans, cowboy boots and hat, with his short-sleeved shirt open down almost to his naval. He had his whip coiled at his right hip and a wood paddle hanging at the other.

Sweat was dripping all over my body as I made the final runs across Master’s backyard with the mower. When I saw Master dressed as he was, I knew something was up. As I completed mowing the lawns, I returned the mower to its storage place, drank plenty of water from my bowl, and then went to my knees next to Master to present myself for his next order. “Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master. How may your slave serve you further, Master?” I said firmly.

Without ceremony, Master removed the bit from my mouth and then had me get on all fours as he pulled out my butt plug tail. He then took the water hose to me and sprayed me down.

“Now, let’s rinse out my slave ass again. We moved over to the hose just outside the little stable, where this slave normally washes. Master has a rim seat stool that is placed over the outside drain. His slave sits on this, enabling Master to easily shove the nozzle of the hose up his slave’s ass to clean it out. “Yeah, my slave needs to be clean because Uncle Joe really likes to fuck and play with a slave’s ass.”

This was how I learned Master Joe was paying a visit that afternoon.

I have met Master Joe several times. While my first master (my current Master’s father) was a firm but gentle slave owner, his brother, Joe, had tried to convince him that much firmer control was needed for a slave, that it produced better service and a happier slave. But my master paid him no mind. Then, when his son inherited me, he began to accept advice from his Uncle Joe.

Master Joe is gay. Having had a slave of his own for some years until he was forced to sell it due to financial need, Master Joe was practiced in slave ownership and longed to experience it again. He just couldn’t afford to buy one.

Once Master was convinced that my ass was properly cleaned out, he took me into the kitchen and explained the dinner plan for the afternoon. This slave was to barbecue pork ribs and serve them with potatoes and salad. He told me to complete some prep work for the meal and, when I was finished, to go to my prayer mat for my required afternoon prayers. He explained that he had already placed my prayer mat in the middle of his freshly mowed backyard.

He also explained that his Uncle Joe would be here around 4 o’clock and that dinner should be served around 6 o’clock. “Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master,” was my only possible response.

Then, I hopped to my tasks of doing some prep work for dinner. Sometimes I wondered where all the vim and vigor came from in my development as a more energized and enthusiastic slave, but for some time now it had become my norm, just as Master wanted. And, surprisingly, it pleased me as well. I felt the process of becoming a more quick-stepping obedient slave to be very purifying. Maybe the article in The Slave Center Journal was right and the way to a faggot-slave’s happiness and life satisfaction is through a better, stronger, more complete slavery.

I had been on my worship mat in the yard for probably 20 minutes when I heard the front doorbell ring. Master was wise to have had me in prayer prior to his Uncle Joe’s arrival, for in my worship, my prayers, my mediations, I opened my slave-heart fully. By the time I heard that doorbell ring, I was eager to serve both men, as a slave must be.

I hadn’t seen Master Joe in about a year, and I yearned to get a look at him now because I always found him pleasant to look at. But I hadn’t been dismissed from my prayer mat and prayers. So, I continued my worship session in Master’s back yard as my slave cock became fully engorged just knowing Master Joe was near.

My master and his uncle Joe stayed in the house for a short while, probably just catching up as they had not seen each other in a good long while. When they did emerge from the house, they had beers in their hands and seemed in good spirits. I saw immediately that Master Joe came prepared, with a small whip coiled at one hip and a cane at the other.

I heard Master Joe’s voice, “Ah, there it is! When it is not working, it’s worshiping, eh?”

“That’s right, Uncle Joe!”

“So, unlike your dad, you’re taking my advice. Good. Glad to hear it. Your slave will be happier under your absolute and complete control and in your total service. It’s just natural for some faggots.”

“Well, it sure seems to be working, and I’m enjoying it, too.”

“Good. I sure miss having a slave at my beck and call and worshiping me for its enslavement.”

“Yeah, that’s a trip, isn’t? It seems like the more I master the faggot the more it’s full of love and gratitude.”

“See. I told you! And I tell you again: give your faggot total enslavement, and it will live a happy life.” Master Joe took a sip of his beer and continued, “Give your slave proper discipline. Teach it that the only freedom it wants, and the only freedom it’s allowed, is to serve its Master. You’ll reap the benefits as a man, and the faggot will reap the joys of full enslavement, which is the only joy it can ever fully appreciate. And I say if enslavement is the only joy it can ever truly appreciate, then give it to him full throttle. Give it everything you’ve got. Master the faggot. Master it completely. And it’ll worship you for it.”

“Well, so far, since I’ve been taking your advice, I’d say you’re right. I’ve never been happier with my slave’s service, and my slave seems so satisfied lately.”

“So, you’ve done what I said and started to take away everything from it that isn’t its slavery. No time for lounging around. No time for time for thinking about anything but you. Only time to serve and worship you.”

“I’ve already taken away pretty much everything. It hasn’t had a free moment in a week or so. And I guess I’m a little surprised, but I love it! You told me I’d be developing a more complete slave, and now I don’t want my slave to ever have a conscious moment outside of slavery to me. Just the thought of controlling its life that much makes my dick hard. So, seems like I’m becoming a more complete Master, and liking it.”

Joe looked at his nephew’s crotch, saw the bulge, and smiled in understanding. “I see you like it!”

My master chuckled and said, “Yeah, I love it! For about a week already, my slave is either serving me or worshiping me. Otherwise, it’s locked in storage.”

“Good. That’s what a faggot-slave needs, and you’re going to find, more and more, that as you strengthen its enslavement, your slave will love you more and more, to the point of true worship. To a slave, its master is a god.”

“I’m a little ashamed to admit it, but it feels good to feel its worship. It feels good to me that the slave trusts its life in my control, that it is safe in my control. It feels good to me when it looks at me with those lusty puppy dog eyes of his. And, most of all, it feels good… No, it feels great, when I give it an order and it absolutely hops to it with that eager readiness to serve me. I LOVE THAT!”

“Good ! You should! It’s your right to expect eager service from your slave. Just accept that you’re a man, and that thing right there is a faggot-slave. And such faggots exist to be enslaved, nothing more, nothing less.”

The two men had a quiet moment sipping on their beers. Soon, though, Master Joe suggested that he give the slave, since it was still on its prayer mat, someone to worship. With the okay from his nephew, Master Joe took a chair from the patio and placed it about a yard in front of the slave. He had stripped himself of all his clothing and then sat naked on the chair. He leaned back comfortably and spread his legs, putting himself on display to the slave before him. He clasped his hands behind his head to reveal his armpits. He held his position for a minute or two as I started breathing more heavily. Man and faggot-slave made eye contact, at which time the man simply said, “Show me.”

I must’ve looked sort of stunned at first, but soon a low moan began sounding out from deep within me. The sound started out low and began to rise in volume and force, till it became a primal yell. I lifted my slave arms over my slave head as if I were looking to the heavens. But my heaven was right in front of me, and within me.

I prostrated itself again and did everything physically possible to show Master Joe his due reverence. My slave cock became rock hard, further revealing my worship of the man before me. But that’s all my slave cock is for, to show reverence, to reveal my truth, to be an outward manifestation of how I, a slave, feel inside. My cock is by no means a sex organ. Slavery is the only sex I get. I would rather serve my master than touch my cock. I would rather obey my master than touch my cock. I would rather worship my master than touch my cock. I would rather be put in storage than touch my cock. I would rather be whipped than touch my cock. I would rather be Master’s toilet than touch my cock. This is simply my nature. Like The Slave Center, my master promotes a slavery in which I don't need a chastity device.

Master Joe, as an experienced master, knew what he saw in front of him, and liked it.

He stood up from his chair sporting his own large erection. Good genes run in Master’s family, as all the males were beautifully endowed. Master Joe positioned his hard cock inches in front of me, now on all fours on the prayer mat. He brought his cock to within inches of my mouth. “Look but don’t touch, slave. Smell if you can, but don’t touch. Just observe and know what you are: Servant of man. Servant of cock. Servant. Lifelong servant, and nothing else. Slavery is right for you. Slavery is good for you. Slavery is what you deserve. There is nothing else for you in life but slavery. Your slavery is all you are.Your slavery defines you. Your slavery suits you. Your slavery is man’s gift to you. Be good in your slavery. You know it’s the best you can be. Be proud in your slavery. Puff out your chest. Smile. Work all day. You’re a slave, the only thing you ever can be. Chattel. Property. Servant. Honor the man who enslaves you. Give him all your love and respect. Slavery is good for you. Natural for you. It’s just who you are, slave.”

“Master Joe, yes, Master. Joe. Thank you, Master Joe,” I replied. I was resting on my haunches. My hands were clasped in front of my torso in standard prayer position. My cock had gone totally soft, because the more deeply I felt my slavery, the more my cock went limp and just hung there, lifeless. A slave cock may communicate this or that at times, but it doesn’t really matter. A slave cock just doesn’t matter. Leave it alone to do what it will. When it is hard, that can be worship shown for its master and its slavery. But when it is so totally limp, as mine was now, perhaps it indicates the slave is lost in its slavery. Good. As it should be. Hard or soft, either way, a slave cock doesn’t really matter.