THE TIES THAT BIND
Waddie Greywolf

Chapter 4 ~ The Die Is Cast

Part I ~ Gollywog’s Cock Walk

T’was brillig by the slithy troves,
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogroves,
And the mome raths outgrabe
From: Beware the Jabberwocky ~ Lewis Carroll
                                   
We got so drunk that night I don’t remember much.  I do remember being carried from room to room riding on the giant’s cock like a backward papoose.  After I made a slut of myself by impaling my butt on Big Jim’s penis, Master Jeb thought it would be great fun to bind us together.  He took strips of old inner tubes he cut down to three inch wide strips and stretched them over and around Big Jim and me.  People do the damnedest things when they drink, especially with a little killer weed to mellow us out and round off the rough edges of inhibitions and false modesty.  The strips were just the right diameter to keep us together but had enough stretch to allow some movement.  The more strips he stretched around us the more comfortable our physical conjoining seemed and the happier my hole became.  I don't know if one begets the other or if it was true I became a slut.  One peek at my animal master's big cock was enough for me to beget him my hole.  I know there was a silly grin on my other hole, the one under my nose.

There were two rings on either side of my harness.  Master Jeb tied a soft cotton rope to one side, looped it over the giant’s shoulders and back around to the other side of my harness.  It was like the harness became a swing and the giant became my tree whose massive root was growing deep within my well plowed red earth.  Master Jeb was obsessed with his momentary kinky creative powers.  The design was practical and functional, as well as elegant.  Master Jeb crossed my boots behind the giant’s waist and tied them so they wouldn’t come unlocked or fall lower than their optimal position to cause my ass to be firmly shunted to the base of Master Jim’s rock solid shaft.

It allowed a great deal of movement and control for Master Jim.  My giant put on a show for his partner after Master Jeb finished his clever bonding work.  Big Jim showed him how easy it was to fuck their new trainee with his wondrous new reverse-papoose-ambulatory-slave-boy-fuck-machine.  He only had to walk to fuck me.  The give of the rubber and being totally impaled on his huge cock did the rest.  Big Jim could fuck me non-stop simply by moving from room to room.  Approaching something akin to “Where The Wild Things Are,” riding Big Jim’s cock was like I climbed aboard a huge beast of the night on a merry-go-round and instead of riding in the saddle someone pulled me onto its cock underneath and tied me there.  (I was a strange child.)

How did it feel?  Not too shabby.  I had my arms locked around Big Jim’s neck and my head pressed against the bear fur rug of his panoramic chest.  My mouth was just the right height to suck his huge brown nipples.  I went crazy sucking his animal flavors from his tits.  I imagined myself like Maggie Simpson with a new pacifier.  I remember being carried down to the basement and Master Jim laying us down on the leather covered futon making sweet love to me as he fucked me slowly and tenderly.  He invited Master Jeb to watch.  My soon-to-be new owner brought his beer, took off his pants, set down in an overstuffed chair, and began to play with his huge fat cock as he watched the show.

He seemed to have no problem with us pairing off, but I felt guilty.  I thought he should share a greater part.  Good pot can turn you into an altruistic social worker or a non-verbal zombie.  Either is good.  I kept suggesting Big Jim might consider letting Master Jeb fuck me for a while, but we couldn't get out of the rubber and rope harness.  By that time we were so baked we couldn’t do anything.  Master Jeb assured me he would have his time with me, and he was enjoying the show.  I begged him to let me have his come as he began to jack off.  He was generous enough to let me suck it out of him just as his load was coming up through his fat cock.  I barely got my mouth around it to give it a couple of good sucks and my new owner exploded in my mouth so hard it hit the back of my throat.

He tasted wonderful.  I saved some to roll around in my mouth to get his full essence like a good wine taster might savor a vintage year.  Pot enhances just about everything and Master Jeb's ejaculate was no exception.  He kept letting me suck on his cock and I began to pray I was going to get a chaser.  My prayer was answered as he gave me a couple of mouths full of his wonderfully flavored recycled beer.  A vintage year.  It excited me so much with Big Jim fucking me with long, slow, deep strokes and Master Jeb’s big cock exploding in my mouth, drinking his recycled beer, caused me to ejaculate.  I came a lot, shot, hiccuped, and shot again.  Master Jim felt it as my ass spasmed three times while he was taking a long slow inward stroke.  I continued to suck on the big head of Master Jeb’s cock as he rubbed my head and Big Jim spoke in a lilting voice,

“Jeb?” Master Jim asked.

“Yes, old friend?” Jeb asked in reply.

“I feel warm and sticky around my stomach area,” Jim complained.

“Oh, really?  That’s possible,” Jeb replied winking at me.  He knew what happened.

“My cock is sheathed by a beautiful young slave-boy’s hot little pussy, so I know I didn’t shoot,” he said.  Master Jim began to play with Jeb for my benefit.  I just sucked harder like I was oblivious to their developing conversation.

“Your point being... ?” Jeb asked leading him on.

“Is there something about our new slave-boy I don’t know and perhaps should?” Big Jim asked.

“Could you be referring to the unusual fact he’s able to come while being fucked?”  Master Jeb chuckled and leaned over to kiss me on the forehead.

“Why am I always the last to be told these things?” Big Jim wailed mockingly.

“Maybe it’s because when you fucked the shit out a’ him the last time he was here, you ordered him not to come and never found out,” Jeb said as he nailed Big Jim to the wall.

“Well, I can’t fault him for following my orders, and I suppose, I can’t fault him now.  We’ve had a lot to drink, and I’ve been fucking him for several hours.  I ain’t gonna’ stop fucking him just because he came.  It might tightened him up a bit.”

“Master Jim,” I said in an alcohol-pot induced haze.

“Yes, slave boy?”  He asked trying to make his voice ominous.

“I’m sorry I came without permission.  I’ll gladly accept any punishment you feel necessary.  You felt so damn good and Master Jeb’s come and piss tasted so fine.  I felt so warm and useful having both holes fed at the same time.  I let myself go.  I wasn’t paying attention, and it happened so fast I couldn’t hold it.  I realize that’s not a good excuse.  No excuse is good enough to justify disobeying your master.  I’m willing to accept any punishment, but I beg you, please don’t deny your slave emptying your big, bull balls into my gut this evening.  I would consider it a great honor to receive your seed in my hole.  The perfect ending to a perfect day.”

“Jeb’s right, slave, you won’t need a great deal of training.  You do know the right words to say, so here’s my answer,” he said, gently kissed me, and kept kissing me as he began to increase the urgency of his strokes.  I could see Master Jeb in the chair behind Jim giving me a thumbs up and winking at me.  He liked to watch Big Jim fuck; hell, anybody would.

Master Jeb’s cock was getting fat again watching us make the beast with two backs.  Big Jim switched gears, and I was now getting his huge piece of meat slammed into my ass harder, with a steadily increasing rhythm and speed.  I renewed my sphincter strength.  I clamped down harder on Big Jim’s cock knowing he wanted to open my hole to the feeling he needed.  I knew he would fuck me meaner, harder, and faster until he got what he wanted.  I had enough devilment in me I wasn’t going to just give it to him.  I was riding his huge shaft for three hours or more, and I felt I damn well deserved a good hard fucking.  I got Big Jim’s number the last time he fucked me, and I was going to make damn sure I got fucked good before I gave it up to him.  He seemed to reach a plateau with a good steady rhythm pulling almost all the way out and slamming the entire length into me.  Talk about an ‘E’ ticket ride.  No man has ever fucked me better.  He remained at that level for sometime.  It was great, but I wanted to end the day with a bang, so to speak.

He seemed like he had some idea what was happening, but he wasn’t real sure.  He continued at one level and it would seem to wear the pucker out of my hole.  I resolved I wanted to be fucked a bit longer and a bit harder so I clamped my ass tighter on his prick.  Pot works wonders for bullheaded self-determination.  It worked.  He was going to get what he needed, or I was going to have to take my poor hole into a Goodyear tire factory and order a steel-belted radial retread for my ass.  He shifted gears again and started fucking me mean and hard.  The rubber inner tubes would part us then slam us back together in the hardest fuck imaginable.  They would return me to the same position each time so Big Jim could get maximum benefit out of each stroke.  I felt like the rubber ball on the end of a bolo bat.  It was some damn good fucking; best I ever had to that point.  Big Jim was going where no man had gone before.  It’s what I wanted, and I was getting it, all of it, hard, fast, and deep.  He was doing a bang up job of fucking me and deserved to claim his prize.

“You want it, Master?” I spoke softly and respectfully.

“I’m gonna’ take it away from you, slave,” Master Jim growled.

“No, Master, I’m gonna’ give it up to you--- right now,” I said as I relaxed my ass muscle and I felt him increase his stroke.  It was what he needed.  Now, he was fucking the best part of my ass, the part he worked for, his part, that part of my ass he claimed for his own, and yet I was giving it to him.  He didn't need to know the truth.  The thought crossed my mind the truth would set him free.  It certainly did for me.

“This is where we separate the men from the boys my little fuck-slave.  I’m your master fucking my man-slave and getting my part of his hot, sweet, ass.  I own that hole slave.  Whether you give it up or I take it.  I’m always going to get the part of your butt I need, Son.  That little ass is mine now slave you’re getting fucked good.  I’m plantin’ my flag in you hole... NOW!” he roared like an animal at the climax of his rut.

He was so damned hot I shot the second time screaming, “I can’t hold it, Master, I’m sorry,” I cried.  I don’t think he heard me.  He already shipped out to his own world of animal ecstasy.  His eyes were closed as he threw back his big head.  Saliva started flowing from his open mouth while shaking his head from side to side like a wild animal.  I was soaked in his saliva and body sweat and felt myself spinning in a vortex, falling deeper and deeper in love with Master Jim’s wild animal.

Now I know what Beauty saw in the Beast.  If he was anything like Big Jim no wonder she wanted her ugly beast back when she awoke one morning next to a beautiful fey prince.  Poor thing, she was probably devastated when she realized, “My, God!  I’ll never get fucked like that again.  Bring back my fuck’n beast!” she screamed.  Ms. Beauty started running through the palace looking for a razor blade.  She was sure life wouldn’t be worth living anymore.  Once you’ve been fucked by a man who lets the animal within him come through in his sex you can never go back to polite, vanilla sex.  Poor Beauty.  I know how she felt.

Master Jim collapsed on top of me and rolled us onto our sides as I kissed around his face thanking him for the good fucking.  I told him how proud and honored I felt to have his load in my gut.  He grumbled something about a fucking slave boy who was three steps ahead, controlling a master, harrump, some things to work out, as he gently kissed me then drifted off to sleep cradled in the comfortable arms of la petite mort.  I didn’t have much choice, but I was glad I got to sleep all night, locked in the arms of this wild beast with his savage fuck pole safely locked away in my slammer for the night.  I awoke a few times and took a couple of good strokes on it, wiggled my boy butt down to the base, and drifted off to sleep again.  Big Jim would pull me close in his arms and kiss me on top of my head.

The last thing I remember was a tender kiss from Master Jeb as he left for bed.  “Bull Dog Butch the giant killer.  You’re a piece of work boy, and you are welcome to our world.  Sleep well in the arms of your gentle giant,” whispered Master Jeb.

“I love you, Master Jeb,” I whispered to him.

“I believe you, Son, and whether you know it or not you’re teaching this old man to love again.  Thank you for that.  Goodnight, my beautiful, new slave-boy,” he said.

“G’nite,  Master Jeb.”

Master Jim and I slept locked together in Master Jeb’s impromptu harness.  The giant would move, and I had no option but to move with him.  I woke up once lying on the giant’s chest on a soft bed of bear fur and lay my head back down to be lulled back into a peaceful sleep by the rhythm of his big heart.  I was lost.  I sank beneath the surface for the third time from which there was no recovery.  I wasn’t kidding myself, I knew he would rip his own heart out and see me sold at auction rather than tell his true feelings to his friend.  So much for my plans for playing it cool.  Here we were bound together for the night, close enough to breathe each other’s breath.  Was Master Jeb trying to tell us something by tying us together?  Big Jim was sharp enough to think about it, but never questioned Jeb.

I began to see Big Jim was as much in love with me as I was with him.  Actions sometimes speak louder than words.  Since my return to Mt. Washington, as gruff as he tried to be I could look at him, without a word, and a funny little smile would work its way across his incredibly ugly, misshapen, drop dead ruggedly handsome masculine face.  He was the kind of man who had no concept of his own attraction and wouldn’t bother to listen to someone describe him as good looking.  Words like that were meaningless to him, not because he was stupid, but because he always depended on his size to be a drawing card.  It proved to be an effective tool at intimidating folks to see things his way.  It also kept people at a distance.  He didn’t have to be good or bad looking, he just was the giant.  He chose very few people to share his private thoughts and invited even fewer into his world.  Only two men knew very much about Big Jim.  His past was a mystery to all but one, and that was Jeb.

He could not and did not intimidate me, which sent him in conflicting orbits.  He wanted to control me, but knew it wasn’t going to be easy.  Every old trick he tried was meeting with failure.  His size would make most slaves and a lot of masters cringe at the rifle snap of his huge fingers.  I obeyed him, did all he asked without hesitation, but down deep inside he felt it was only because I was falling deeply in love with him I gave into most of his games.  What he didn’t know, the key to his most puzzling conundrum was that in my reality, I already was his slave.  He didn’t have to do anything to win the battle.  He was the victor.  He won.  Like Vercengetorix, I lost  to win.  It was the only battle of Julius Ceasar’s Gallic campaign Ceasar lost; however, he didn’t actually lose, he conceded.  He saw a drop dead, good looking Gall general on a hard charging and spirited white stallion.
 
It was love at first sight, at least on Caesar’s part.  He sent his messengers to Vercentgetorix to tell him if he would come across the river, have dinner with Caesar (nothing fancy, he was just whipping up one of his famous salads) and spend the night in Caesar’s tent, he would give the battle to Vercengetorix, spare his people and install him as Roman Magistrate.  He did and Caesar kept his word.  He became a great leader of his people.  However, later in his life Vercengetorix traveled to Rome and was stabbed to death by a rival political faction who wanted a Roman put in charge of his people.

I conceded  the war and my slave’s soul to Big Jim.  He owned it.  I gave my heart, in all good faith, to Master Jeb for training.  My heart is my faith, my trust, my confidence, and my joy in life and others.  Master Jim was ever more fascinated by little things he was finding out about me.  Every time he thought he had me figured out, all programed macros in place and working, something would occur that would reset his computer to default.  (Much like Microsoft’s failed operating systems)  All he had to do was ask.  As I saw it, it was his job to find out, not mine to take a funnel and pour it in his ear.  My place, the battle won, was to let him find his way to become my Caesar.  He admitted to Jeb that weekend, if he hadn’t made a promise to him he would be in over his head.  I began to realize he, too, was suffering as much as I.  While he was still firm in his resolve, I was becoming less threatened by it and that threw him.

There are some waters deep enough to drown even a giant.  My own bull headed resolve was, I made the right decision to enter training under Master Jeb.  Big Jim secretly felt if I truly cared about him I’d be begging him to reconsider and talk to Jeb.  I didn’t.  I acted like I fully understood I would be sold.  I was fully adjusted to the fact and comfortable with it; case closed.  I offered him no comfort, other than to serve him unquestioningly.  That threw him, too.  If I was in love with him, as much as he felt, then I should be pouting, resentful, and slow to do his bidding.  I wasn’t.  I served him with good humor and love.  If he wouldn’t talk about what was happening between us, then I damn sure wasn’t either.  I refused to be a sniveling slave boy groveling at his boots begging him for his love.  On second thought, strike the part about groveling at his boots.  Let’s not get carried away, here.  The big man wore the hottest pair of boots in Southern California.

I may be a slave in all its meaning and purpose, but I was also a human being with fears, hopes, desires, fantasies, and needs.  You can’t breed basic needs out of a dog and you damn sure won’t find a switch on the back of a man to turn those things off.  They’re default settings put there by a computer programmer much higher than you or me or by eons of evolution's trial and error.  We think, therefore we compute and validate our existence.  I wanted to become the best of slaves.  Whoever became my master would be served by me like no other.  I may feel comfortable, learn to care about a master enough to give him my heart but no man will ever own my soul unless I choose to give it.  As a master, you can order a slave to do your will.  You have choices to be cold, rejecting, debasing, unjustly punish, humiliate, or break your word to your slave.  You can break his spirit, play havoc with his psyche and his soul, but what will you end up with?  A fawning, frightened, insecure, guilt ridden, untrustworthy, subhuman mirror of your on insecurities.  Or, you can become a master who leads by example in the truest sense of the word.  A master, by definition, is a teacher or one who exhibits strong influence or control in shaping another’s life.

You can be as strict a disciplinarian as you wish, it will do him good.  A well-disciplined slave is a happy slave.  It says to him you care enough to shape him into a better person.  You may remain aloof, but you must ultimately care for or even show him love.  You don’t have to be demonstrative or overly emotional about it.  If you choose to show him affection once in a while, it will only bond you stronger.  He’ll know you love him by the way you care for him and your pride in his development.  Anyone can beat a dog, and it will still come back.  You’re all he has, and you do provide some sense of belonging no matter how small.  However, a well disciplined, well trained dog, doesn’t need you fawning over him.  He knows you care about him and love him by the way you care for him.  Should you do less for your slave, a human pet, to provide for him what he needs, and invest the time and effort to produce something you’ll be proud to own?

What then did I want from Big Jim?  Does a slave have a right to expect anything?  Even a dog learns to expect certain things from his owner.  If you don’t want an animal to expect things don’t set precedents.  I only wanted Master Jim to try for a love he knew existed.  As a new, untrained slave it wasn’t my place.  He wouldn’t try.  To make an effort and fail would’ve been enough justification for me to love him.   We lay together the next morning still entwined like ‘Lacoon’ the Greek sculpture of a father and his sons entwined with a giant snake.  (Try one up your butt all night)  No complaints.  Every slave should experience it at least once.  My master woke before me.  I was lying on his massive hairy chest, and he started playing with my hair to gently wake me.  He felt like shit.  So did I, but he struggled to see the humor in our predicament.

“If I didn’t know better I might think Jeb planned this,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Master,” I replied.

“That’s ‘cause you love Jeb.  You stick up for him,” he said joking with me.

“Yes, I do, Master Jim, he’s a good man,” I replied.

“Yeah, he is, kid.  He’s been damn good to me.  Well, I guess we’ll just haf’ta wait for him to wake up to get out of this infernal contraption.  Damn, it seemed like such a good idea last night,” Big Jim allowed.

“It was a great idea.  It still is,” I said as I wiggled my butt back down on his shaft.  I felt it starting to grow inside me.

“I gotta' piss like a race horse, slave,” he groaned.

“Since when does a master need permission to empty into his slave’s butt?” I reminded him.

“Oh, yeah.  Me master, you slave.  Thanks for reminding me, boy,” he said.  He kissed me good morning as he let go inside me.  I’m glad he was fully erect as his large penis created a stopper for my ass.  The more I bit down on his dick so it wouldn’t leak, the harder he became.  Thank goodness, Master Jeb came down the stairs to the dungeon about that time and released us from our bonds.  He wickedly loaded onto the stereo the chorus, ‘Let us break their bonds asunder’ from Handel’s Messiah.  His, none too subtle humor was not lost on Big Jim or me.  Some jokes are unforgivable.  We had a good laugh which didn’t do much for our heads.  We were finally free.  Master Jim picked me up, carried me to the shower area in the dungeon and gently pulled out.  I didn’t leak a drop and made one giant leap for the toilet where I proceeded to give way to a giant piss.

I found myself transferring my affection and need to serve to Master Jeb.  I sensed he deeply needed the services of an empathetic slave-boy, that is, when I could keep my mouth off of Big Jim’s boots.  Big Jim accused me of loving his boots more than him and made the mistake of asking me.  I told him if he cared about me he will never stop wearing his big boots.  He looked confused, then hurt, then threw back his head in laughter, realizing he set himself up and I knocked it out of the park.

“Damn you, Bull Dog, you’re gonna’ be the death of this old giant yet,” he said.

I had several opportunities to be alone with Master Jeb over the weekend.  We were on a new level of communication.  I would sit at his feet and discuss things about my coming period of training.  I would often be sitting on the floor next to his chair, grab him around his legs, lay my head on his knees, and he would rub my head to assure me of his affection and sincerity.  I had a few concerns and told him things I specifically requested he not share with Big Jim.  I explained that while I knew they were the closest of friends, brothers even, I would appreciate the ability to tell Master Jeb some things in confidence.  He seemed almost relieved I asked that bond of him and assured me he would abide by my wishes.  I asked him if he knew about the harness and plug, and he said ‘no.’

“I mean no disrespect, and I’m not complaining, Master Jeb, but that wasn’t my original contract with you,” I said.

“I know, Son, I know.  You’re right, but, I did place you under Jim’s control so he had that right as your temporary master,” he replied.

“I’m just trying to understand, Master Jeb.”

“Nothing wrong with that.  It would seem, from what you’ve told me, it didn’t do him much good,” he said and laughed.

“No, sir, but I want you to understand if I request him to leave it on me.  While I’ll be doing it to please him, I have my own reasons.  I don’t want to say more about it right now.”

“I can’t expect you to reveal everything in your heart right away, Beau.  I’m truly pleased at the progress you’ve made this week.  I think you’ve slain some personal dragons,” he said.

“Master Jeb?”

“Yes, slave-boy?”

“I like it when you call me slave, but what I wanted to say is, I was not so drunk last night I don’t remember what I told you before we said goodnight, and I meant it,” I said.

He bent over and kissed the top of my head.  “I know, but we’ll grow closer in time.  I look forward to it.  I welcome it.  I may never tell you I love you, but you’ll know.”

“I understand, Master.”

“By the way, Big Jim was a little disturbed by Officer Earl D.’s attention to you.  Officer Shaw is a fine master.  One of the best.  He lost his slave almost four years ago and hasn’t had the heart to take another.  I told him when the time was right he would have the right slave boy drop into his life unexpectedly.  From his interest in you, I think he believed me.  What is the mathematical probability of your meeting being a chance occurrence?”

“Don’t know, sir, but I agree he’s a damn fine looking man.  One of the best looking men I ever saw,” I said.

“I couldn’t help notice he gave you his card.  You wanna’ tell me about it?” he asked.

I described in detail our encounter and my faux pas blurting out my request to clean his boots.  He asked me to call and set up an appointment to clean them for him.  He asked me to wear my leathers,” I said.

“You going to?” Master Jeb asked.

“I don’t know, sir, do you think I should?  I won’t if you don’t want me to or it’s not proper etiquette, but he did do me a favor.  I feel I owe him that much,”  I argued gently.

“Indeed you do, slave.  I would encourage you to, but let’s keep it between us, okay?  Officer Shaw is one hell of a good solid man and is well thought of in our community.  His last slave was killed in a plane crash going back to visit his adopted dad and grandparents in some small jerk water town that only had commuter flights connecting to the main terminal in Atlanta.  On a cold stormy night the little two prop plane went down.  No survivors.  Earl D. damn near went crazy.  We had to have someone with him around the clock for about six weeks until he started pulling out of it.  Talk about a Master/slave bond.  You could do worse than Earl D. Shaw for a master, Son.  He has a penis on him to make most men and a few young ponies cry with envy.  He’s bigger’n me, boy.  He’s originally from the Louisiana bayou country; half Cajun, ruddy complexion, jet black hair and lavender eyes.  The most startling eyes you ever looked into.”

“He had his sunglasses on the whole time I was with him.”

“Yeah, that’s part of his persona.  Makes him look bad,” Master Jeb said and laughed.

“No argument there.  He was baaaad!” I said.  We shared a laugh,  “Well, if you think it’ll be all right I’ll give him a call.  He probably won’t remember me.”

“Are you kidding, he wanted me to contact him when you were put on the market.  He may be interested in buying you.  Yes, you call and be on your best behavior.  He’s a stickler for slave manners.  He’s hard demanding, more for his slave’s betterment, and pretty rough in the dungeon; however, he’s sane and doesn’t take a slave further than he knows he can go.  Damn right, give him a call; be good for both of you.  I’ve heard rumors from our family he hasn’t been with anyone since his slave was killed.  His slave was Jim’s nephew.”

“I’ll call him, Master Jeb.”

“I’ll expect a full report,” Master Jeb said.

“You shall have it, sir,” I replied.

“We’ve enjoyed having you this weekend, and you’re welcome every weekend until your thirty days are up.  I’ll understand if you can’t.  You may be busy getting rid of stuff.  You’re not going to change your mind, are you?” he asked.

“Master Jeb, do you doubt me?" I asked like I was hurt.

“Okay, even an old master can say something stupid.”

“You’re not old, you’re prime to me,” I assured him.

He started laughing, “You know?  You just may kill that giant yet,” he said.  We laughed at his joke.  I walked over to the sofa and got something out of my saddle bags and handed it to him.

“What’s this?” Master Jeb asked looking at a small wooden box.  It was an old wine box a couple of bottles of wine came in.  I sanded it down, lacquered it, and finished it.  I wired the top to the bottom and sealed it with melted plastic and a ring stamp with my initials.  You had to break the seal and undo the wire to get it open.  It had a small hasp and lock as well.

“May I leave this in your care?” I asked.

“Of course, Son, what’s in it?” he replied.

"Will you trust me if I tell you it’s nothing that might cause trouble, like dope.  It’s just some personal papers and stuff about my past  I just don’t care for anyone to know about.  There's nothing bad or a blot against my character, just private information.  If anything should happen to me you have my permission to open it.  There are two documents that are signed by me and notarized.  One is Power of Attorney and the other is Medical Power of Attorney if I should need a medical decision made and I’m unable.  I don’t want my family involved.  You decide the disposition of the rest of the contents, give them away, or keep them for yourself if you want them,” I said.

“No problem, Son.  I must have fifteen or twenty trunks in the attic with slave’s names on them.  We’ll get one for you and you can store some stuff here.  It will always be available to you.  You’ll want to keep your leathers.  Some masters may want you to wear them, some won’t.  Some will want you nude in private all the time but might want you to wear them when you go out.  While you’re here you’ll be just like you are now.  I’m a dirty old man and like to look at your fine butch bottom body.  After you work out with Jim for three months you won’t recognize yourself in the mirror.”

I told Master Jeb about Jake, my dad at work.  I told him how it all came about, and I thought Master Jeb was going to bust a gut laughing at my retelling of how Jake fucked me with his big boot not knowing I had a plug in my butt.  “I know you’re not lying because it’s too bizarre not to be true.”  Then he laughed again.  I told him about my concerns, not for me but for Jake and how my leaving work might affect him.  “You know, Son, you don’t have to cut him off,” he said.

“How’s that, sir?” I asked.

“He thinks you have a daddy who keeps a harness on you and a plug in your ass.  Well, it’s the truth.  Now you do.  You could introduce me as your daddy.  He’s certainly welcome to come over here and use you if he wants.”

“Damn, that would be great.  He said he’d like to meet my daddy, but then, my daddy was a fantasy of Big Jim.  I had to create some story for wearing the harness and plug.”

“You were thinking on your feet, and you did well to protect his feelings.  That can’t be bad.  Do you enjoy him fucking you?” he asked.

“Woah.  Yes, sir.  In a way, Master Jeb, he’s become the father I never had, and I love him; not as a master but as family.  Oh, hell, I’m not making sense.”

“Yes, you are, you’re making a lot of sense.  It’s unbelievable the difference in your thought processes from last Friday evening to this weekend.  You’ve come far, Son.  You seem more at peace with yourself.”

“I hope so, Master Jeb, my continued existence depends on it.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Beau,” he replied.

“It’s not important, Master,” I said as I grabbed him around his legs and squeezed.  It was Sunday afternoon late, and my time on Mount Washington was coming to an end.  Master Jim was gone for a while.  When he returned Master Jeb told him he decided I was to continue wearing the harness and plug.  It would be good pre-training for me.  Master Jeb slipped me a key to the lock on the harness with orders not to use it unless someone whose boots I might happen to be cleaning wished to remove it.  I assured him I wouldn’t.

I didn’t want to leave and almost cried as I hugged both Master Jim and Jeb.  How could these two men become so important to my life in a little over one week’s time?  Big Jim was affectionate and kissed me goodbye.  He again saw me to my bike, but I was on top of the situation this time and in good spirits.  I knew I would be seeing him again next weekend, and my heart wasn’t so heavy.  I also formed a deeper relationship with Master Jeb that helped buffer my frustrations.  I didn't figure that factor into my fears and rationales when making up my mind about going into slave training.  It was an unexpected but decided plus.  I experienced a fleeting moment I suppressed to throw myself at Big Jim’s feet and eat those damned boots of his one more time before I rode away.  I was better now.  Things began to take on new perspectives for me, and everything was not as urgent as it once was.  It felt strange to ride away from people and a lifestyle I was beginning to think of as normal and head back to the crazy world of my everyday life.

* * * * * * *

PART II ~ Descent Into The Valley of Smoke

“Anyone lived in a pretty how town, with up so floating many bells down, he sang his didn’t he danced his did" ~ e. e. cummings

Los Angeles has always had a smog problem; always, even before the white man.  During the late summer the valley was known by the Indians to have massive brush fires covering the valley basin with smoke.  The name they gave the area meant ‘Valley of smoke.’  Mt. Washington was a little higher elevation and missed some of the smog.  Coming down off the mountain I descended into a brownish thick air that burned my eyes and hurt my throat.  ‘This shit couldn’t be good for you,’  I thought.  I got home, read my mail, fed the cat, and threw my clothes off to relax.  I reached for the phone and dialed Mt. Washington.  Master Jeb answered.

“Master Jeb?” I said.

“You all right, Son?” he asked with concern.

“Yes, sir, I just got in and started to relax.  I wanted to call and express my gratitude for my extension Friday.  In the excitement and confusion of Friday evening, I may have forgotten to thank you.  I also wanted to thank you for the weekend and to let you know, I already miss you.”

“Damn, boy, what a’ ya' trying to do?  Rip this old man’s heart out?” Master Jeb said laughing.  “I want you to start thinking of this place as your home and you’re welcome here anytime.  If you want to ride up for an evening.  Come on.  If you can we’d love to have you back next weekend.  I think you did thank me, but after you told me why you needed the extension I felt it certainly was for a good reason.  You couldn’t just leave your dad when he needed you.  You tell him you spoke with your daddy, he gets back next week, and is looking forward to meeting the good man who was thoughtful enough to help keep my boy satisfied.  Tell him I said he’d be doing me a great favor to make sure you’re well fucked.  By the way, I miss you, too.  You have a good week, Son, and let us hear from you.”

“I will, Master Jeb— goodnight.”  Master Jeb was quickly becoming family; much like Jake.  I felt a deep affection for him growing day by day.  I thought about how much notice I should give Sam at work.  I didn’t want to let anyone know yet.  Two weeks is standard.  I’ll notify them on the fifteenth.  I didn’t want to have to dodge Jake’s natural curiosity for more than two weeks as to why and where I was going.  I couldn't hide anything from him.  He knew me well enough to know if I was blowing smoke up his ass.  I was afraid of what the news might do to him.  He grew to depend on me at work to bring his spirits up, to do the good-fellows bit, and more and more to do clean up jobs the other mechanics fucked up.  I decided I would tell Jake first, the Friday before telling Sam the following Monday.

I bought heavily into stock options the company offered and needed to find out whether they should be cashed or held on to.  I was making more money than I needed to live on and managed to build up a pretty nice savings account.  I thought, later, I might want to buy a home.  I had eighteen thousand in savings.  I kept more money in my checking account than I should.  I would deposit my pay checks to checking and when it became a high balance would move funds to savings.  Hell, I hadn’t transferred any funds in a while and had eight thousand in that account.  Then there was the long term account I took out when in Nam and added my muster-out pay to it.  Some clerk screwed up and I got extended on my first tour of duty eighteen months.  The regs stated only RA & RN (regular army & regular navy) were to be extended.

I was drafted which made me a reservist.  They extended me anyway.  Then I shipped over after that for another hitch.  When I got out, some sharp yeoman/disbursing clerk caught the error and the regs stated if any man was retained in the military due to error, the government had the responsibility to pay him compensatory what he would be making on the outside for that period of time in regard to his education level.  I received an M.A. degree the same day I received my draft notice.  They had to pay me twenty three thousand dollars.  That was a lot of money in 1967.  I sunk all but three thousand in a long term interest bearing account.  So I had total money assets of close to fifty thousand.  That certainly would be enough to start over again if necessary.

I also collected rare coins and had about three thousand invested.  I decided to hang onto the coins and put them in the trunk.  That evening I began making a neat pile of things in a corner of my living room I absolutely could not part with.  It was to be no bigger than I though a trunk might hold.  There really wasn’t much.  I didn’t have a lot of things.  The only other possession I had to think of getting rid of was my bike, Pegasus.  My 1966 BSA Mark III with dual carbs.  I knew what I was going to do with it.  Jake admired it and helped me work on it in the shop when things were slow.  I bought a complete set of Whitworth tools to work on it.  British bikes weren’t SAE or Metric.  They had their own standard called Whitworth.  Go figure?

Jake would never be able to buy a bike for himself because of his family.  There was never enough money for everything they needed.  Maybe it would cushion the blow of me leaving.  I wanted Jake to have it.  Hell, it ought a’ be good for at least a couple more fucks, I thought, laughing to myself.  Thinking about British tools, I forgot about my tools at work.  I had a small fortune invested in mechanic’s tools.  I bought a lot of single purpose tools.  I’d have to take that one up with Master Jeb.  Some master might want a competent mechanic for a slave-boy.  Not only could I suck him off, I could lube his crankcase and adjust his linkage at the same time.  I was pleased with my joke.  I thought to myself more seriously, ‘Wouldn’t that be a selling point?’  That idea needed Master Jeb’s counsel.  At least I had a workable plan.  I would be fine.  I was growing stronger in my conviction I was doing the right thing and fear seemed to be diminishing by inverse proportion.

* * * * * * *

Part III ~ Nine to Five

“She works hard for the money” ~ Tina Turner

I looked forward to work Monday morning.  I even woke up early and got my act together.  I thought I’d surprise Jake and get to work early; maybe I could give him a hand.  I fed Pussleen and headed out the door.  Damn, I was going to be thirty minutes early.  Sam would faint.  I had the reputation of getting to my bay ten minutes before work started.  Hell, it didn’t take me long to get my tools out.  Those other clowns would stand around eating doughnuts and drinking coffee.  Jake was surprised to see me early.  He didn’t have all the assignment sheets completed.  He couldn’t type and was waiting for the secretary to get there.  I grabbed them out of his hand.  “Follow me,” I said.  I knocked them out on the shop typewriter in ten minutes.

Dad was pleased. “You saved my butt, kid,” Jake said.

“Then we’re even, dad,” I replied.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You saved mine the other night.  If you hadn’t done what you did for me, I’m sure the damn thing would have fallen off,” I said and winced.  Jake laughed so hard he had to get a drink of water.  “By the by, dad, I spoke to my daddy over the weekend, and he said to tell you how much he appreciated you standing in for him and really wanted to meet you when he gets back next week.  He also wanted to know if you’d mind helping out this week?”

“Hell no, kid, be happy, too.  He really said that?” he asked amazed.

“Swear to God, dad,” I assured him.

“Damn, I’ll look forward to meeting him.  He sounds like a good and decent man,” Jake allowed, “Okay, kid, let’s march your ass back to your bay for inspection.  Your old man would want me looking out for you,” he said and grinned.

“You’re the best, dad,” I replied.

* * * * * * *

Monday breezed by.  Jake didn’t say anything about stopping by and had to stay late for some reason.  I got home, was having a beer and my phone rang.

“Hello,” I answered.

“Hello, is this Andrew Beaureguard James, Jr.?” Officer Earl Shaw asked.

“Yes, sir, this is Beau,” I replied.

“This is Officer Earl D. Shaw calling,” he said.

“Thank you for calling, sir.  I was going to call you tomorrow,” I said.

“You were, huh?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, Master Shaw,” I replied.  I thought I’d see what response I got.

“I appreciate your respect, Son, but call me Office Earl D. or Officer Shaw for right now.  I haven’t been called ‘master’ for a while.  Perhaps you understand,” he said.

“I do, sir.  Officer Shaw it is.”

“Thanks, Son.  Now, about that job you were going to do for me.  When will you be available?” he asked.

“Considering what you did for me, Officer Shaw, I’ll make myself available at your convenience, sir,” I said.

“How about being in my driveway on your bike this Friday afternoon at four-thirty sharp?” he asked.
 
I thought, ‘Hell, I don’t get off ’til four-thirty.  I could get off an hour early Friday.  I never ask for time off, and Sam owes me a couple.’  “I’ll be there, sir, Friday afternoon, four-thirty, sharp,” I replied.

“Wear your leathers, Son,” he said.

“Yes, sir, I haven’t forgotten,” I said.

“Good, look forward to seeing you then.”

“Same here, Officer Shaw, and thanks for calling, sir.”

“You’re welcome, Son.”

Damnation.  I had me a date with one of the hottest motorcycle officers I ever met.  I must be doing something right.  “Thank ya,’ Jay-zus!  Gotta’ call Master Jeb!” I shouted to no one but the puss.

The week flew by.  I asked Sam if I could knock off an hour early on Friday.  I had something I needed to take care of.  I came in forty-five minutes early Tuesday morning and helped dad again.  Sam said, sure.  True to his word dad dropped by Wednesday afternoon and threw a really memorable fuck into me.  Shit, it was so good I should've erected bleachers and sold tickets.  Jake told me if he was now an official stand in, he wanted to make damn sure it took and lasted for at least three days.  Talk about imprinting/conditioning.  He snapped his fingers at me and just pointed to his boots.  Then snapped them again and pointed to the soles.  Damn, he was getting cocky.  He loved it, and so did I.  After all, a kid's gotta’ expect a little discipline from his old man.


Part IV ~ Officer Earl D. Shaw ~ L.A.’s Finest

“Come with me, don’t turn to look, become mine and I will show you the physical pleasures of paradise only one man may show another.” ~ Mephistopheles to Faust

Officer Shaw didn’t live too far from my apartment.  Good thing, by the time I left work, got home, showered, shaved, fed puss, put my leathers on it was damn near four o’clock.  I already checked out the address the night before so I wouldn’t have to search.  I was in Officer Shaw’s driveway at exactly four twenty-nine, and he rode up on his cop bike right behind me.  He showed me where to park my bike and slowly got off his.  I remember the way he swaggered up to me on the lake, and my dick started growing in its cage.  He took his sunglasses off with his helmet and I got my first look at his eyes.  Holy shit, they were a dark violet color, almost purple.  They were startling to look into and had the strangest effect on me.  I couldn’t stop looking into them and sensed a deep sadness.  His dark skin, jet black hair and mustache accented an other world eeriness of his eyes.

“Forgive me, Officer Shaw.  I was taught staring is impolite,” I said.

“It’s all right, Son.  Don’t be uncomfortable.  You’ll get use to them,” he said and smiled the warmest smile with a mouth filled with perfect teeth.  He was drop dead, fucking gorgeous.  He wasn’t a pretty man.  There was nothing about him that you could even equate to pretty.  He was a hyper-masculine, handsome son of a bitch.

“Come on in, Son,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” I replied.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.

“A beer if you have it, sir,” I replied.

“Have you had any training, Son?” he asked.

“Not yet, sir,” I replied.

“Who taught you to say 'sir' every time you speak to me?” he asked.

“I’m from the South, sir.  Born and raised in the hill country of West-central Texas.  I had manners beat into me as a kid,” I replied.

“Well, that’s good and bad.  I would loved to have done it for you,” he said and smiled wryly.

 “Sorry, sir, but I'm sure your correction would have been appreciated,” I replied.

He laughed as he handed me the beer. "Then again, perhaps not," he said and grinned, “See that hall there?” he asked pointing the way.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Take your beer and walk down the hall.  First door on the left is a small bedroom.  Go in there and take off your clothes, leave them across the bed, and come back.  Don’t make me send you back because of modesty.  I have no time for that.  If you’re wearing any sexual devices leave them on for right now.  Understand, Son?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” I replied.  I took my beer and walked down the hall to the small bedroom.  His house was situated on the highest point in Silverlake and was tri-level.  It was beautiful and showed expensive taste.  I slowly took off my clothes, neatly arranging them in a pile on the bed.  I wondered what his reaction would be when he saw the harness and cage, to say nothing of the plug up my butt.  I was down to the harness and plug, grabbed my beer and headed back into the other room.  He didn’t look up from what he was doing in the kitchen.  He was wearing a pair of half glasses.  I placed my beer on the bar and stood at parade rest.  He looked up at me, smiled warmly, and looked at me briefly.

“Turn around, please,” he ordered.  I obeyed immediately and stood at parade rest again.  He wiped his hands with a towel, ran some water over them, and wiped them again.  He walked behind me and began to feel the plug in my ass.  “Push back, please,” he ordered.  I pushed back hard with my ass as he firmly held the plug in place.  “Okay, that’s good.  Did Master Jeb put this chasty restraint on you?” he asked.

“No, sir, Officer Shaw, Master Jim plugged me and put it on after my fist interview with Master Jeb.  I been wearing it now for almost two weeks,” I replied.

"Around the clock?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, I go to work with it and sleep with it.  Master Jim and Master Jeb are the only one's who may remove it, sir," I replied.

"Were you wearing it the night I stopped you on Silverlake Boulevard?" he asked.

"Yes, sir.  When I saw you get off your bike and walk toward me the plug in my ass went crazy like it was trying to tell me something.  I think that's why I's so bold to ask about cleaning your boots for you," I replied and grinned sheepishly.

Office Shaw laughed. “Does Jim have have the only key?” he asked.

“Naw, sir, I have one,” I replied.

“And, why do you have one, Son?” he asked.

“Master Jeb gave me his to give to you in case I came to see you and you might wish to remove it, Officer Shaw.  I can’t remove it myself, sir.  I was ordered not to,” I said like a good slave.

“Good, bring me the key, please,” he said.

I thought it strange he was saying please to me after each command.  I would’ve done anything he asked even if he followed everything with ‘shit head.’  Saying ‘please’ was in a way kind of mysterious and ominous.  It also told me this man was one of compassion and consideration.  I brought him the key.  He unlocked the restraint and gently lifted it away from me not failing to notice my dick was getting hard.  He set the harness aside and returned to the kitchen.

“I’ve ordered dinner for us.  It will be here in a short while.  Now, Son, I don’t mean to be mysterious, but believe it or not, I am an almost pathologically shy person, and it takes me a while to get up and going with a person.  I’m all right with groups on a social basis or at work, but I have a hell of a time relating one on one until I get to know someone.  It’s called monophobia, and I’ve fought it all my life; however, to see you in the buff makes it a little easier for me.  Besides, you seem to emanate an empathetic aura, a warmth and compassion that could charm a cobra out of its fangs,” he said.  

I looked into his sad eyes and felt deep pain.  Tears came rolling down my cheeks from the massive hurt I instantly sensed.  I swear to Judas, I was not crying.  It was as if his pain was immediately transferred to my tear ducts.  I know, I know, it sounds weird but it happened, and I was embarrassed.  What must he think?  What the hell was the matter with me?  Surely he would think me nuts and throw me out immediately.  He came to me, put his hand on my shoulder, and I followed my heart like Master Jeb told me to.

“Officer Shaw, I’m so embarrassed.  I don’t know what suddenly came over me.  I’m not crying, sir,” I said with an unwavering voice, “I don’t know what’s going on or a reason for the waterworks.  It came upon me when I looked into your eyes.  What must you think?  Please accept my humblest apology.  Please, sir, forgive me,” I said.  I looked into his eyes and again sensed deep emotional pain; my knees almost buckled.  “Oh, dear God!” I exclaimed in anguish,  “Please, master, please, sir, hold me.  Please put your arms around your slave, Master Shaw,” I requested.  He didn’t hesitate.  He encased me in a bear hug, and I slowly put mine around him.  He held me tight.

“Am I that strange, Son?  Are you frightened of me?” he asked quietly.

“No, Office Shaw, not at all.  I can’t explain it.  It's like I was seeing you through someone else’s eyes.  I’m sorry I slipped and called you ‘master,” I replied.

He held me tighter, brushed his lips behind my ear and tried to calm me, “Shuu... it’s all right.  You’re safe, here.  I was wrong.  I forgot your needs.  A good master wouldn’t do that.  I would be pleased for you to call me master if you feel the need,” he said tenderly.

“I do, Master, from the bottom of my heart.  Not only for me but for you as well,” I said.   He looked at me puzzled.  This was getting weird.  I don’t know where that came from.

“I'll accept that.  No single man has been to my home in three years.  You’re the first, and it’s meet and right for you to call me master.  I believe we live our lives as free agents, but there are some things we have no control over.  Just as I had no control over inviting you here tonight.  It was the right thing to do.  It was the right thing for us.  We’ve come together by an unbelievable chance happening orchestrated by whom or what, I can’t say?  I don’t want to pick it to pieces and overlook the simple joy of a master and slave coming together to meet, who are obviously taken with each other.  Someone or something saw to it.  If it will help, I can order you to be comfortable with me,” he said and laughed.

“Yes, I see logic in that.  Please do, Master Earl, I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but the someone or something has told me to tell you it will reset our playing field,” I replied.

“I’m not sure why, but I believe you.  Listen to my voice very closely, slave.  You have nothing to fear, here.  You’re safe.  You will not feel uncomfortable, have any fear of me, or our joining this evening.  Do you understand, slave?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, and thank you, Master Earl,” I replied.

From that moment I trusted him, felt comfortable, and he opened to me like a revelation.  I wondered about his monophobia, but he showed no signs of it from that moment on.  We talked as he prepared a small salad for us.  I offered to help, but he refused.  Dinner came, he got me another beer from the fridge, and we set down to eat.  He ordered good Italian food and the salad made it perfect.  We talked about everything from my decision to enter training to how and why he thought he became a master.  He saw the scars on my body and asked if I would talk about them.

“I prefer not to right now, but I will if you insist.  There’s not much to tell.  I was young, idealistic, believed in my country, went to Nam, got shot and sent home,” I said.

“I’m not looking for cheap thrills from someone’s war stories.  Your ‘someone’ or ‘something’ told me to ask.  It seems very important to him.  That’s the abridged version you just told me.  There’s much more to your story, isn’t there, Beau?” he asked.

“Yes, Master, please, I beg you, don’t ask me to go there this evening.  I keep it tied behind my back pretty tight.  It only bothers me in the wee, small hours of the night when I wake up feeling lost and alone.  The scared little boy inside me wakes me yelling and screaming sometimes.  I suppose everyone has nightmares from time to time, but mine are like replaying a bad movie.  I'm there in the middle of it, and I can’t run.  I see everything in 3D living color coming at me, but I can't move out of its way,” I said quietly looking down at his boots.  He was still dressed in his uniform.

“May I ask a question, Master?” I asked trying to change the subject.

“Sure, Son, what is it?” he replied.

“When you come home from work, and you’re off duty, don’t you change into something comfortable?” I asked not thinking.

“Usually, but I’m still wearing my uniform for you.  You did say you’d clean my boots for me, or did I misunderstand?” he asked and grinned.

“Oh, God, no, Master, I meant every word.  I can be dense sometime.  That’s wonderful.  I’m honored.  It’s every gay man’s dream, especially in the leather crowd, to clean a cop’s boots.  I never considered you might be keeping your uniform on for my benefit.  I don’t know what I want to say.  I’m sorry.  Usually, I’m more together and hopefully more tactful,” I said.

“Son, I think we share certain fears.  I see parts of myself in you,” he said. Then he did a funny Groucho routine to lighten the mood, “Play your cards right or say the secret word, and you’ll find  a lot more of my parts in you.”  We laughed together, “Seriously, I understand, you’re here at my request.  You won’t be asked to do anything you don’t want to do.  I just wanted you to experience something you might like to take with you from your visit,” he explained.  

He began to clear the table, and I got up and started helping.  Walking behind him to the kitchen I couldn’t help get a good look at his police officer swagger.  It was powerful, self assured, and intimidating to the max.  “Officer Shaw, you have the sexiest walk.  When I saw you get off your bike and walk toward me in my rear view mirror and my plug went crazy, I damn near shot my load in my leathers; not from fear of a ticket, but because of the way you walk,” I said.

He laughed.  “You mean like this?” he asked and did an exaggerated parody of his own walk.

“Uh...”  I didn’t know if I should laugh or shit in my hat. “Well, yes sir, sort of,” I replied.  He roared with laughter and I laughed too.

“That’s okay, Son, they teach us how to dismount our bikes, take our good time, and how to ‘swagger’ up to a vehicle.  It’s all part of psychological intimidation,” he said with a grin.

“Works for me,” I said seriously.  He laughed again.

“I’ve done it for so long it’s become part of my natural walk.  Any motorcycle officer can go to another city and spot another motor-officer in civies by the way he walks.  It’s true.  I’m not blowing smoke up your ass.  They actually teach us how to walk that way.  We practice it in motor school and receive a grade.”  As Master Jeb said it must be the truth it’s too bizarre not to be.  Officer Shaw was almost as big a man as Master Jeb except not as heavy.  He had a lean powerful body that didn’t show an ounce of fat.  He looked liked he worked out two or three times a week.  He told me about growing up on a Louisiana bayou; however, not in a river front shack.  His family were large property holders and were there since before the Civil War.  His father was a Cajun and his mother a mulatto.  Her mother was black, but her father was white Irish.  We finished cleaning the kitchen.

“Thanks for the hand.  I haven’t had someone to help in the kitchen with me in a long time.  I forgot how pleasant mundane things can be when you have someone help you.  Now, you ready to clean my boots, slave?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, and thank you for dinner, Master,” I replied.

“You’re welcome, Son.  Wait here for a moment,” he said.

I stood at parade rest to wait for him.  He was back quickly and had something in his hands I didn’t recognize.  When he got closer I noticed it was a collar with pyramid metal studs.  He raised it to my throat, placed it around my neck and tightened it where it was made to come together in the back.  It had a small dog tag where the buckle attached it around my neck, but I couldn’t read the inscription.  When he was satisfied it was tight enough for his liking he reached in his back pocket and produced a small lock and locked it.  In his other hand he had a dog leash he clipped to the same ring the dog tag hung from.  Without a word, he led me on the leash to a bedroom on the floor below.  He reached under a cabinet and pressed a button.  An entire bookcase swung open to reveal stairs going down to a sub level.  He led me down the stairs into his dungeon.

It was another world.  It was arranged like a library.  Everything in its place.  The most remarkable thing about the room was four, four by eight panels of one way glass on the wall overlooking the city.  The view was breathtaking.  I tried to imagine playing in this magnificent room and being able to see the view.  It was unbelievable.  The walls were black.  There were heavy black drapes which could be pulled across the glass panels and when opened fit in front of a four by eight part of the wall on either side.  The floor had a black hard rubber covering.  Everything in the room was either naturally black or painted black.  It was filled with an aura of mystery, sensual pain, experience, enlightenment, and release.

He flipped some switches that lit two narrow spots.  The blackness absorbed any ambient light.  He led me to the far wall of his dungeon and climbed into a huge throne-like chair.  There were huge floor to ceiling mirrors surrounding the area so you could see everything from all angles.  There were two bootblack irons for him to place his boots on.  The two spots aimed at the irons lit his boots perfectly.

“This is the first time I’ve set foot in this room in three years,” he said with some trepidation.  He paused for a long moment.  “Now, Son, make me proud of you.  Show me I wasn’t wrong to follow my heart,” he said almost as a plea.  God help me, he didn’t have to ask twice.  I was on my knees and started to slowly clean his handsome boots with my tongue.  I didn’t want to go too fast.  I wanted to make the experience last as long as possible.  I wanted the memory recorded on my brain of kneeling before this God-like man cleaning his boots.  I was burning a mental image on the CD in my brain I could playback when I was eighty and get off.

All was going well, when for some damned reason, there was a welling in my soul of empathy and compassion for the man who’s boot I was enjoying.  My eyes began to water again and uncontrolled tears began to form and roll down my cheeks.  I wasn’t crying.  They just came.  I began to wonder maybe I was allergic to something in the house.  God help me, I hope I’m not developing an allergy to leather.  I was again embarrassed as they dropped onto his boots and became mixed with my saliva.  I was drifting in and out of the reality of my body and felt a presence all around me.  It ebbed and flowed.  Sometimes it was almost overpowering.  It wasn’t frightening, but I was certainly aware of its presence.

He saw my tears falling on his boots, but said nothing.  He moved his large foot within his boot as if to communicate to me he was with me, around me, above me, under me, for me, understanding, surrounding my spirit with his strength, authority, approval, and affection.  We were caught up in the ecstasy and poignancy of the moment.  It was like two wounded, partial souls conjoined to form a single purpose.  My spirit fed like a starving child on his attention, affection, strength, and control.  He needed my acceptance, my understanding, my trust and my submission.  I thought at the moment, ‘This man may very well be the reason I was born.’  The walls of individual separation were pulled down.  He was ready in that moment to use me to find the resolve, the peace we both desperately needed.  He knew he didn’t need my permission.  I must have sucked, licked, and cleaned his handsome boots for an hour or more.  He finally broke into my cleaning mantra to assure me I returned his favor; he was satisfied and pleased.

Officer Shaw, Master Earl, was now ready to use me for his pleasure and take advantage of our separate needs.  My need to give and his need to take.  He got down from the chair, slowly put his arms around me and held me close for a good while.  I began to feel his tears drop on my shoulder and back.  I held him tight as his body shook and heaved.  He didn’t have to speak his pain.  I knew and recognized it as my own as it flooded into me.  He was in catharsis.  We were passing through uncharted lands, two adult children, walking hand in hand without fear, knowing they must pass this way to find themselves at healing’s door.  Time passed, he composed himself and he looked down at me.  “I’m going to do something I wanted to do the evening I pulled you over on the lake and you blurted out your request to clean my boots,” he said softly to me.  Officer Shaw kissed me gently but firmly as if to pass a message that he was now in full control, would be using me as he saw fit, and should not be questioned.  I kissed him back only enough to let him know I accepted his lead and trusted him to take us across any uncharted country.  He stopped and moved his head to rest on top of mine and pulled my head to his breast in a warm hug.

“I’m going to secure you and go upstairs to change.  I’ll bring your boots and leathers down for you.  You will put them on while I sit in my chair and watch,” he said.

Officer Shaw went to a wall in the playroom and selected a pair of fur lined leather wrist and ankle restraints.  He led me with his leash in front of the panoramic windows.  He attached one wrist to a chain strung across the ceiling.  He equally spaced the restraints on the chain.  My arms were stretched until I was on my toes.  My ankles were secured, stretched apart, by a four foot piece of galvanized pipe.  I was stretched in all four directions just to the point of discomfort.

Officer Shaw returned to the wall where his equipment hung and retrieved several other objects.  He moved his body close to mine, pressing against me suggestively.  He began to lightly rub my body from the legs to my chest enjoying the feel of my helplessness.  I was falling under his spell, his control, and his strength of purpose.  He leaned his head toward the side of my head and brushed his thick mustache behind my left ear as he held a three inch long, leather mouth plug in front of my face for me to see.  He drew it close to my mouth.

“Kiss it, slave.  Show me how much you appreciate my control by depriving you of one of your senses,” he whispered softly.  He had me.  I was hooked.  He was inviting me into his world to completely control me, to use me, to play with me as his toy, and I was ready.  By kissing the mouth plug I would give him my conscious consent to become his slave for the evening.  I trusted him.  I didn’t hesitate to follow his command and kissed the plug like a man possessed with a passion to show him my trust.

“Open your mouth, slave,” he ordered.  I obeyed and hung there for several minutes as he walked around me admiring his handy work.  “Keep your mouth open, slave... that’s right, a little wider please.  Good,” he said.  In one swift movement he placed the leather plug in my mouth and ordered me to let it lay there for a moment.  He moved behind me again and ordered me to close my mouth around the plug and make it comfortable.  He securely fastened the strap behind my head and it was locked in tight.

Officer Shaw moved around in front where I could see him.  He looked into my eyes and told me not to try to answer anything he might say even if he asked a question.  He explained when he plugged a slave’s skull-pussy it was to remain silent.  He looked into my eyes for the longest time, walked slowly up to me and began to feel my body like a man would examine a fine horse he was considering buying.  His touch was transformed into magic.  A police officer in full uniform gently caressing and feeling my body like he was trying to pick the ripest melon from a produce stand.

“I’ll return in a minute,” he said softly.  He walked up the stairs and I was alone, secured in his dungeon, in front of a panoramic view of the skyline and lights of  downtown Los Angeles.  I was uncomfortable but in no pain or severe discomfort.  I hung there for about fifteen minutes until I heard heavy boots on the stairs and could see in the reflection of the windows his fully leathered shape descending the stairs.  He held my leathers in his arms, set them down, and walked to stand in front of me.  Officer Shaw was no longer Officer Shaw.  He was transformed into Master Earl.  A man who was born to wear leather.  To say he was hot was an injustice to the man, an understatement.  He wore the finest pair of heavy leather pants with a huge, well stuffed, cod piece, a studded belt, a handsome pair of knee length Wesco engineer boots with triple vibram soles, a leather vest open in the front and a master’s leather hat.  He held a long leather whip in his right hands

“You’ve never been whipped before, have you, slave?” he asked.  I started to answer but remembered his order about a silently plugged mouth.  “Good slave, you learn fast.  Don’t answer.  I have all the answers you need this evening,” he said.  He set the whip on a shelf and began to undo my restraints, “Put your leathers on.  If you need to use the head do it now.  You may not have another chance for a while.  If you must go later you will wear a catheter.”  I dressed quickly.  My boots were the last thing I put on.  They were knee high lace up White’s.  The same as my dad’s (Jake).  Like dad, like Son.  When I finished I stood at parade rest, arms behind my back.  He stood on the dais in front of the large black chair.  The two spots focused on his cod piece.

“Come here, kneel, and place your open hands, palms up on the dais,” he ordered.  I moved swiftly, knelt in front of him, and placed my hands between his boots on the dais.  “You won’t feel any pain, slave,” he saod.  He moved first one heavy boot to cover one hand, shifted his weight then moved the other to cover the other hand.  He was standing full weight on my hands.  There was no pain.  Not even discomfort.  It was a trick I learned later that shifted most of his weight onto the heels of his boots, but it impressed the shit out of me at the time.  “This is a symbol of your place within our passage this evening.  As you have trusted me to place your hands beneath my boots so will you trust me in all things.  With trust and humility you will join me in passage to a world we will build for ourselves.  You must trust me to lead you through the darkness into the light of self-awareness and understanding with strength, knowledge, and passion.”

I was deeply moved by his words and his pledge.  I knew this man was different, but as sensitive as I might be to read people, I had no idea of his depth.  He wasn’t joking.  He was dead serious.  He wasn’t going to let me play at being his slave for the evening, I was actually going to become his slave for our time together.  It was the strongest feeling of bonding or belonging I experienced in life to that point.  My usual analytic brain program refused to run.  It was replaced with a new program.  A program which told me I was free to trust and follow.  He moved off my hands, and I immediately wanted him to stand on them again.  He squatted on his haunches, knees spread for balance, arms resting on his legs, slowly dropped his right hand toward me with his palm up.  My leash was hanging from my collar and lay on the dais.  There was no question in my mind as to his purpose.

I immediately moved my head to the dais, caught the end of my leash in my mouth, and gently placed it in his waiting hand.  He slowly closed his hand around it and placed his other hand on my head, rubbed, and patted it as he might a favorite pet.  He reached to his back pocket and produced my mouth plug he removed when he released me from my chains.  He simply held it about halfway between us and waited.  I had no question what he wanted.  I moved my mouth toward it and began to kiss it.  He moved it around so I could cover all surfaces with my kisses.  He made a slight signal as you might signal a well trained sheep dog.  He took one finger and made a small up and down movement and I immediately started to pump and suck the black leather plug as if it were a cock, his symbolic cock, I would be wearing in my mouth.  His final signal was one slight movement down with his finger then he clamped his thumb and forefinger together.  I took the plug in my mouth and closed my mouth around it.  I held it as he secured it behind my head.

Where Master Earl led, I would follow without question.  He led me by the leash to a large black tiled shower area to a small, black leather, covered rectangular table about two feet by four feet.  The bed/table stood about four feet off the floor.  It was thickly padded and had a hole at one end approximately ten inches in diameter.  Another hole about three inches in diameter was at the opposite end.  There were wooden dowel pegs across the end where the small hole was.  He signaled for me to lie down on the pad.  It became clear as my head lay in the large hole flat with the opening so I could breathe unobstructed and my cock and balls fit through the smaller hole.  It fit me perfectly.  How could that be?  Did he ask Master Jeb for my measurements?  He reached down and raised one of my boots and placed it on the peg.  I placed the other on the other side.  My knees were on either side of the table and my boots on the pegs spread my ass to a perfect position for his access.

He flipped something near my shoulders under the table and two more pegs popped up.  He placed one of my hands on one peg and I followed with the other.  It was a smaller dowel covered with leather.  I could put my hands around the dowel like a rider might wrap his hand around a bike’s throttle.  Master Earl threw a strap over my upper body and pulled it tight securing it to the other side.  He threw one over my waist just above my butt.  He attached the leg cuffs around my boots to eye bolts near the foot pegs with spring return clip fasteners.  He did the same with my hands.  He left me there for a while to orient myself.

I felt Master Earl place his hands on my butt and rubbed both cheeks for a few minutes.  Damn, his hand felt good.  I knew he was letting me know he was going to do something with my ass.  Sure enough, he removed my plug with one swift movement.  He placed a small amount of lube on my sphincter and began to insert his plug.  I pushed back and up to help.  He gently pushed my butt down and held it down for a moment.  He didn’t want me raising my ass.  He was the master, and I obeyed.  He worked my ass with his plug.  He would almost put it in, but hold back at the last minute.  By the time he decided to pop it in, my hole was so stretched and relaxed it felt like it was there forever.  The largest part of his plug was slightly larger than my usual plug but the diameter at the base was much smaller.  My sphincter could clamp down tighter on it.  I felt him push on it.  I raised my ass and pushed back so he could seat the plug properly.

Satisfied, he moved to my head and lightly tapped on the back.  I raised my head from the table and he slipped a leather hood over it.  When he adjusted the face as he wanted, he gently applied pressure on the back of my head, and I returned my face to the hole.  I could feel him working as he tightly laced the full hood from the top of my head to the base of my neck.  It fit perfectly.  It was snug but not uncomfortable with plenty of room for my nose and mouth.  It was sexually stimulating to me and my unrestricted cock grew erect, straight down from the bed.  He put his hand on my back near my ass and spoke softly.  “Use your ass, boy.  Fuck my plug,” he ordered.  I raised my ass as much as possible.  I started sucking and fucking his plug with my ass like it was an oil rig piston.  It flashed in my mind, I was in exactly the same position on my bike with the other plug up my butt going around the lake.

“That’s fine, slave, I think you’re ready now,” he said.  I had no idea for what, but I couldn’t wait to find out.  Master Earl undid the straps on his work table and held his hand on the small of my back.  “Before I let you to up there’s something you need to know for your safety.  This plug is a little different from the other.  It has an eye bolt sticking out from the base, so you can’t sit down.  When I let you up move to the back of the table, push yourself to a standing position, and hit parade rest,” he said.  He removed his hand from my back and told me to get up.  I obeyed, and followed his instructions.  I stood at parade rest.  He took my leash and led me to the same spot he secured me before.  As I stood looking at the view he moved behind me and brought a heavy leather patch that snapped over my eyes on the hood.  I couldn’t see.  I couldn’t speak.  His control over me was increasing, but I felt no fear.

I heard him moving about.  He put up a one and a half inch diameter pipe that ran in front of me and secured to two four by fours on either side.  He moved me slightly forward until I felt the cold metal across my belly near my navel.  Next he secured each arm restraint to an eye bolt in the ceiling which pulled me forward with my arms slung out and forward from my body.  The metal pipe kept me from falling forward.  I sensed there were springs on the end of the chains because they seem to give a bit.  He secured my ankle restraints to a shorter pipe than he had before.  My feet were closer together so I could stand fairly steady with my boots forced apart approximately three feet, but not for long.  He fitted a heavy leather belt around my waste and buckled it tight in the back.  There were ‘D’ rings on each side of the belt.

He connected chains to these rings and ran them up and behind me to eye hooks in the ceiling.  They, too, had some give and must have heavy springs on the ends.  He moved in front of me and attached a chain to the bar separating my feet, pulled them upwards, to the sides and slightly forward so I was just off balance.  The bar caught me in front and the chains attached to the belt kept my ass up and back.  He moved behind me, and I felt him attach a chain with a snap hook to the eye bolt sticking out of my plug.  Master Earl ran it to an eye-bolt on the floor and attached the other end.  I sensed there was a spring on the other end of this chain, too.

I didn’t have a clue what my master was going to do next.  He simply removed the heavy pipe holding me across the waste and I floated free in my chains slightly off balance.  My ass was raised almost even with my back.  The springs were a perfectly balanced so I had a feeling of floating in space.  Pictures of people in free fall came to my mind.  I clamped my ass tight around my plug to keep it anchored in place.  Remember the old Navy saying, 'You don’t have an anchor tied to your ass?'  Meaning, take your best shot, or there’s nothing holding you back.  I literally had an anchor in my butt.  The man had a unique sense of design.  This arrangement worked perfectly for his purpose.  He walked in front of me and took my head in his arms and held me close.

“The object of our time together this evening is to teach you the necessity for control.  Control over your physical self while allowing me the control I need.  It will become clear to you in a few minutes.  I'm going to whip your ass with a four foot soft leather flogging whip.  It has about twenty narrow strips of leather bundled together in the handle so each small strip can move independently.  When used to whip someone they effectively work in consort.  I’ll start slow and not too hard so you can begin to get the feel of your position and how best to control its relationship to my stimulus.  Under no circumstance are you to allow my plug to be pulled from your ass.  If it happens it will only add to your time being whipped.  I know you won’t let me down,” he added with confidence.

He was still holding my head tenderly in one arm and running his other hand down my back.  His touch was electric.  “Do you remember when you were a kid, your dad took off his belt and told you what he was about to do was going to hurt him more than you?  You didn’t believe that shit did you?” he asked rhetorically, “Okay slave, let’s begin.”  I never felt a large whip across my ass before.  I remembered the light playful flogging Master Jim gave me while I cleaned his boots.  It was wonderfully stimulating and sensual.  I had apprehensions about it, but the roller coaster already climbed the ramp and was about to plunge down the other side.  To late to yell, ‘King’s X.’  I prayed I would have the strength and courage to get through it.  Master Earl moved behind me and was rubbing my ass with his hands and the whip.  He put on a pair of leather riding gloves which felt good against my skin.  He was conditioning me to the feel of the whip.


Part V ~ A Leap of Faith

“Come ye daughters, share my anguish.” ~ Opening chorus ~ St. Matthew Passion ~ J. S. Bach

Master Earl began our journey.  His first fifteen to twenty strokes with his whip were bearable.  He was accurate in his description about what to expect and my response.  It was a natural reflex for me to move forward with the impact of the whip.  I would be propelled forward by the force and my instinctive response to move away from discomfort.  I could feel the plug in my ass stop my forward motion but my ass muscle was strong from wearing the other plug for over a week.  I was doing all right.  I was amazed at the elegance of Master Earl’s design.  The springs would return me immediately to position ready for another application of his strength.  I found I could raise my ass just a little higher for him to get his best shot. The strength and frequency of his blows began to increase.  I worked hard keeping his plug in my ass and was managing.  The concern for holding the plug in my ass took the attention away from any pain I might be feeling.  Don’t ever believe anyone who might tell you they didn’t feel a thing.

After a while, it hurt like hell.  I was almost ready to mumble for him to let up for a while when he stopped.  I experienced no emotions while he was whipping me.  My brain and body were too damn busy to be concerned with fear or emotional anxiety.  It suddenly hit me, this was how I got through Nam.  I was scared shitless most of the time, but as long as I concentrated on what I was doing and getting the job done, there was no time for anything else.  I was no hero.  Medals ain’t for heroes, they’re for survivors.  For the most part I kept my head down and concentrated on my job.  I left the rest to the unknowing flow of the universe.  He walked behind me and began to gently rub my stinging butt.  His touch was concerned, soothing, and comforting.  I began to sob as if my heart would break.  He continued kneading my ass.  Soon there was no hurt and only the sensuality of his caresses.  I was still a blubbering idiot.  He moved around to my front.  Master Earl gently took my hooded head in his arms and began to soothe me.  He didn’t chastise me for my emotions.  On the contrary, he encouraged me to let it out, give it to him, and let him take it away as a means to cleanse my spirit.

This man took me to the brink of physical pain.  Why didn’t I want to kill the son of a bitch?  Instead, if I was free, I would fall at his feet and thank him again and again.  Something happened.  My epiphany about my time in Nam shook me to my core.  I wasn’t the same man who entered his dungeon a while ago.  My concepts of belonging, pain, desire, creation, affection, dominance, submission, strength, and honor were scrambled.  These concepts were being rearranged an organized in importance in my brain.  How could this be, my psyche actually felt a little better?  Words may describe it, but unless you experience it, you can’t possibly understand.  Some American Indian tribes endured physical pain as a rite of passage.  They describe it in a similar way as the release of mental anguish and stagnant emotions.  To use an overused and misunderstood phrase, you become born again.

“We’re halfway through our journey, my brave slave.  I’m pleased with you.  I never had a first timer get this far without either losing their plug or begging to stop,” he complimented me.

I didn’t wonder.  I’ll admit, while I’m not overly brave, I do seem to be able to bear a great deal of pain.  I remember the times I was shot I was so busy I barely remembered the instant, hot searing pain.  As my blood began to flow it seemed to dull the pain and become almost at like a tranquilizer.  I put it out of my mind to finish the wounded man I was working on until I could call to a buddy corpsman to check me out.  My tolerance for pain?  Maybe it's because I have blue eyes?  What’s that got to do with pain?  The Nazis did pain endurance studies and the only piece of information of any importance to come from the study was people with blue eyes can stand more pain than brown-eyed people.

Master Earl continued to console me.  I began to get a grip on myself, but wondered if I might talk him into a rain check on the second half.  How could I?  My mouth was plugged tight, and I knew he wouldn’t acknowledge me anyway.  This was complete loss of control.  I willingly surrendered control to him, and I must trust him to know what he’s doing.  Master Jeb warned me he was rough in his dungeon.  A picture of a witch on a broom from the Wizard of Ox flashed through my mind and I saw the writing in the sky, “Surrender Dorothy!”  I put my trust in the man and all I had was my faith he would do right by me.  If he betrayed my trust, I never had to repeat the experience.  Nevertheless, I was apprehensive.  I remembered the old roller coasters always took you around twice.  After having the shit scared out of me as a kid I was ready to disembark after the first run, and then,  'Oh, no!  Oh, my God!'  You heard it hit the cogs to take you slowly up the steep ramp for the second drop.  As the bottom dropped out from under me, I prayed my ass wouldn’t do the same.

Master Earl started in again.  There was no warm up period this time.  He immediately launched into an assault on my ass almost where he left off.  What was happening?  I felt the intensity, harder, and faster, but I was beginning to hurt less and less.  I had no problem with the plug.  I had it locked in tight and suddenly felt powerful against his onslaught.  I felt lightheaded, and allowed my mind to began to drift.  I was aware of the whip, but I was beginning to feel unattached as if I was looking at it as an indifferent observer.  A group of observers suddenly appeared by my side.  ‘Ah, yes.  See the perverted slave.  How fortunate for him, his master’s giving him a flogging.  Oh, well, he’s probably been a good slave and deserves his master’s attention.  Come, let’s move along.’  I suddenly let go.  I felt release.  I shot my load.  I didn’t just come, it felt like my guts were being extruded through my penis falling out of my body onto the dungeon floor.  My hard ejaculation was the last thing I remembered.  I passed out.

The next thing I knew I was lying completely nude, no leather, no plug, no pain, in the arms of the most handsome male angel.  Did I die?  Was this heaven or some place between?  He was whispering wonderful, nasty, obscene, and arousing things he was going to do to my body.  I was so relaxed and comfortable I had a hard time adjusting to reality.  At first, I thought it was Master Earl holding me.  ‘Oh, hello, Master Earl,’ I thought,  ‘did I tell you I think you’re an angel.’  No wait, that doesn’t make sense.  The cobwebs were temporarily swept away and I remembered.

“Oh, Master Earl, I’m so sorry,” I said.

“For what, slave?” he asked.

“I let you down.  I lost your plug.  It’s not in my ass anymore,” I replied.

“You didn’t lose the plug.  I removed it, and even then, I thought I was going to have to get the jaws of life to get it out of you.  You were determined you were not going to let go.  I finally talked you out of it, or I don’t think I would've ever gotten it out,” he said.  He threw back his handsome head and laughed proudly.  “I never encountered a more determined ass.  No pun intended.  Do you have any idea how special you are?” he asked.  He sounded proud of me.  I was pleased he was pleased.  I didn’t say anything.  Why couldn’t I remember?  Was he making this up to spare my feelings?  Why did I feel like I had a huge weight lifted from me?  ‘Oh, shut up and bathe in the warmth of this angel who speaks like Master Earl,’  I chastised myself, then thought, ‘For an angel he really knew some nasty things to say about what he was going to do to me.’

“You frightened me for a minute, slave,” the angel said.  I didn’t respond.  “You went somewhere I wasn’t expecting, and I’m not sure where it was.  You were carrying on a conversation with someone, and it was getting pretty emotional on your end.  By the time I removed your mouth plug you were coming back to reality.  It may seem foggy to you now, but you stayed by my side the entire journey, and I’m proud of you,” he complimented me.  He raised my face to his and gently kissed me.  The beautiful man-angel kissed me.  Kissed by an angel.  Maybe I am special?  Then my eyes looked down.
 
‘Holy shit!’ I thought, ‘This angel has the second biggest cock I ever saw.  Wait a minute, does an angel have a penis?’

God only knows.


End Chapter 4 ~ The Ties That Bind
Copyright  © 2000 ~ 2011 ~ Waddie Greywolf
All Rights Reserved~
Mail to: <waddiebear@yahoo.com>
Proofed: 04/27/2011
WC 17208