3TB_18

THE TIES THAT BIND
By Waddie Greywolf

Chapter 18 ~ Pilgrim's Steps

Part I ~ Tea For The Tillerman

may came home with a smooth round stone,
as small as a world and as large as alone,
for whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea
From: maggie, molly, millie, and may ~
e e cummings

That night I slept in the arms of the biggest man on Mount Washington. Big Jim didn’t try to interest me in sex. I was devastated leaving Master Earl. Jim didn’t tell me to shape up, get a grip, man-up, or get hold of myself. He just let me hang my wash out to dry. Hopefully, they both might someday be considered for canonization because of their patience with me. I was like a young girl on her first day at boarding school. I cried in his big arms and apologized.

“Nothing to apologize for, Son. If you weren’t a little broken up leaving your master then I’d be suspicious you might be cold and calculating. You really love him, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, Master Jim, I do,” I replied.

“Well, Hell, Kid, three months will be over before you know it. You’ll go to sleep one night and whisper in my ear. ‘You were right, Master Jim, today's my last day, and I’m going home with my master tomorrow,’” he said. The big man had a way about him. He could simplify the biggest problem.

I rolled over and kissed him. “Thanks, Master Ox, for your wise words. I know they’re true, and to suffer a couple of bad rhymes, I love you, too. You chase the clouds away and let the sunshine through,” I said and we shared a laugh.

“Ah, Hell, it’s easy, Beaver, when I got the light of ma’ heart lying here next to me,” he said with a decided cowboy twang to his voice. I melted and he kissed me with a message of welcome back that made my ears smoke. I was home with my giant. Back in his saddle again. No harm could come to me. Still, he didn’t try to take me.

I had my head on his stomach and Babe kept winking at me as if he were trying to talk to me. “Come on, Kid, just a little taste. It’s been a while and you know how good I smell. Go ahead, take a deep whiff, maybe touch me with your tongue, a couple of licks, he won’t care. I’ll tell him to cool it. That’s it, Kid, just a little further with that tongue, and you’ll be right in my piss slit. Ah, yes. Now just the head. You don’t have to take it all. Just let me lie here for a while and relax. Let me rest in your hot little mouth for a few minutes. Come on, be a buddy, Kid. You know how good I taste. That’s it...ah yes. Feels fine, Son. Suck on me just a...ah, yes. See, I told ju.’ Didn’t I tell you? Un-huh! I do taste good, don’t I? See how you are? Forgot all about me for that big hot cop dick. Ummm, see how good I am to you. I’m giving you a lot of extra juice. Lap that shit up, Kid! It’s good for you. Make you feel warm and needed; put hair on your chest. Um-hum.

Yeah, you like the taste of that big man’s fluids. Want some more, Slave-boy? Can’t get enough of him can you? Suck that good man-juice and let it slide down that tight little throat of yours; go on! Do it! Suck it down! Make you grow big and strong, like daddy. Um-hum. We’ll get that little throat all lubed up. Get it ready for you to do some good face fuck'n with his big-old piece of meat. You know you want it bad. The old man ain’t let anyone suck on me since you left. Yeah, I knew you’d like to taste me again. Them juices are pretty damn tasty ain’t they, boy? Now, you don’t have to take no more of me. I’ll live up to my end of the...ah, shit, yes! Oh fuck! God, the old man’s gonna’ love that. I know I do.

See how much better I taste when you get my head down your throat like that. I feel how tight that little throat is. I ain’t had a good workout in a while. Your cop buddy likes your back door better than the front. We better take care of that right now, boy. Holy shit, Son! You take two or three more hits like that on me, and that old man I’m attached to ain’t gonna’ be able to hold back. You’re gonna’ make me spit down your throat. You’d better hold back, Kid. I ain’t just a’ whistling Dixie here, Son. That old man’s building a head of steam what’s gonna’ blow your head clean off. Oh, Sweet Jesus, that feels good, Son, you taking me all the way down your throat like that.

Can you feel me working that tight little throat of yours? Um-hum. Gettin’ it loose so you can work that big thing. Um-hum. I know that old man up there is about to lose it so you better back off quick if you want to catch me in your mouth when I explode, boy. You know how crazy you are about sucking up my spit. You love the taste. Here it comes, Slave-boy, you earned it. Better open that little skull-pussy a bit wider slave. You’re getting two week’s worth of a giant, king-size load.” Babe spit into my mouth a bodacious load, once, twice, and again until I had a mouthful of giant ox come. Boy, was my jaw sore. I rested Babe in my mouth, and swallowed a bit. Swallowed a bit more, until I consumed every sacred drop of Babe's tart, creamy goodness, and it slid down my throat like a good banana pudding.

Finally, I used Babe like a plumber’s helper to push the rest of it down my throat hard. I Thought the old man was going into orbit since Babe was so sensitive after coming. He laughed and grabbed me by the head and pulled me up to him. I didn’t have to ask the giant Babe was attached to if he liked what I did. He had a silly grin on his face as he pulled me up to kiss him goodnight. “That was a mighty sweet blow job, Slave-boy. Your old man appreciated it. Babe said to tell you he did, too,” Big Jim said.

We were up early the next morning, showered together, and laughing like two kids as we came into the kitchen for coffee. Big Jim knew how to tap the kid in me and my boy-child was only too happy and ready to play with his. Except today was going to be a work day.

"Glad to see you’re in better spirits, Son,” Master Jeb said.

“Thank you both for being understanding last night. I was a mess and I want to apologize,” I said.

“Not necessary, Son. Hell, I’d probably feel the same way if I’d just left Officer Shaw,” Jeb said and laughed. “He is a bit of a heart throb no matter who looks on him,” he added.

“I’ll second that,” Big Jim agreed, “Damn fine looking man, especially now he’s in love.”

The morning turned out to be a whirlwind of activity. I read and signed the contract Master Jeb handed me. It basically gave him ownership of my person until sold. Since I already notarized health care papers with him as final say, it saved him some time and explanation. We squared away my bank papers and I took him to my bank to be signed on as co-signer only. He wouldn't be able to withdraw any funds but his signature must be present for me to withdraw. I added in case of his untimely demise this arrangement was null and void and returned to the original state. He agreed. Total on account after transfer of my checking account and money held back for personal needs my savings account ballooned to forty eight thousand dollars and change. Master Jeb shook his head as we left the bank. “You never cease to amaze me, Son,” he said.

“Why, Master?” I asked.

“You just deposited the most money of any slave I ever accepted for training. Not only the largest amount but almost ten times what anyone else ever placed into savings,” he said, laughed, and patted me on the back. He hadn’t considered the stock options I had from work in the trunk at the house. That was another ten thousand dollars. I mentioned it to him and he almost turned blue. “They’re in your trunk?” he asked with amazement.

“Yes, sir, ten thousand dollars worth,” I said.

“Ten thousand dollars worth of stock options in your trunk?” he asked excited.

“Yes, Master, is that bad? What?” I asked for clarification.

“If the house burns down what happens to your stock options, Son?” Jeb asked.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” I said softly and somewhat shamefully.

“Holy macaroni, Son. Let’s get them out tonight. With that large a deposit the bank will give you a free safety deposit box with two keys. One for me and one for you. When you’re sold I have no problem turning my key over to Earl D. but if it should not be Earl, God forbid, then I’ll keep the key.”

“Gees, maybe I should put the eight thousand in rare coins in there, too, huh, sir?” I asked sheepishly.

“Sweet mother, you have eight thousand worth of rare coins in that trunk? he asked incredulously. I smiled and sort of winced. I apologized for my stupidity.

Master Jeb just laughed and muttered under his breath. “The fucking kid has ten thousand dollars worth of stock options and eight thousand in rare coins in an old trunk in my attic. Son of a bitch! You were right, God, or whatever voice can hear me, you were right, to send him to us. He needs a good master to hold his hand until he learns to walk,” he said to no one. He laughed like Hell and put his big arm around me and hugged me tight. “Wait’ll Jim hears about this. I better make sure he’s sitting down,” he said and laughed again. We were through by noon and headed back to Mount Washington. We were in his old truck.

“One more thing taken care of, Little Beaver. One more hurdle out of the way. You excited about entering training?” he asked.

“I would be if I knew more about what to expect,” I said sort of wistfully.

“Did you know what to expect when they sent you to Nam, Son?” he asked seriously, but I could tell he was playing with me.

“God, no, I never would have gone,” I replied. I surprised myself with that answer, but it was the truth.

“Hopefully, slave training will be a bit more pleasant for you than your experience in Nam,” he said and grinned.

"I didn’t mean to compare them, sir. For one thing I don’t think two people I love and who love me are going to do any harm,” I said with some resolve.

“Exactly, Son. I’ll stop using the term ‘trust.’ Let’s try ‘faith.’ Have faith in Big Jim and me,” he said.

We picked up ‘In and Out’ burgers for us on the way home and Big Jim was waiting for us. We ate lunch and rested for about an hour.

I took a quick nap in the giant’s arms and he woke me. “Time to start training. This part of your time belongs to me,” he said. He removed my plug and told me to put on a strap, gym shorts, and a loose fitting top we were going to the gym. I climbed on the back of his Harley and we were off. He wore only his big ‘Farmer John’ overalls with no shirt underneath and his big boots. His big hairy chest and upper body development sort of poured out the top of his overalls. He looked hot. I was interested to see what looks we got at the gym. He took me to a small gym on Hyperion in the Silverlake district. It was early afternoon and there were only a handful of people there. Obviously Big Jim made previous arrangements with the owner/manager for me to come with him to the gym. He knew my name and asked me to sign a card and insurance release. I did and he handed us two towels.

“We won’t be showering here,” Big Jim spoke to me softly. “Some of these queens get rabid when they’re in heat. You and I ain’t here to tease the girls. We’re here to work out. We’ll shower in the big shower in the dungeon when we get home. Always take the towel. You may need it to wipe your hands or head. They’re good for placing on a bench if you don’t know how clean it is.”

I worked out before but never kept it up. It became boring after awhile and unless you have a regular partner to workout with it was dull city. I had a feeling this was going to be anything but a dull work out. I used to have this little ‘running buddy’ I’d go to the leather bars with. He was a little bottom and had a mind up in lights. His name was Mike Miller. I’ll never forget him. He was wonderful sidekick to go trolling with. He’d keep me laughing all night. He could say some of the most outrageous things. A well built man would walk into the bar and Mike would take one look at him and declare, “He’s a bottom” and just dismiss him. One night I confronted him, “Mike everyone with a buffed body who walks thought the door you immediately label as a bottom. You don’t know that,” I challenged him.

“Are you kidding? You’ve got to be a masochist to go to a gym long enough to get your body to look like that,” he said. I had no rebuttal.

“Okay, Little Beaver. This is our plan. Monday and Wednesdays we work upper body. Tuesdays and Thursdays we work the lower. Friday is Hell day. We make the big push to get both in because we won’t be coming on the weekends. Besides, it gets too crowded with the flex and chatter crowd on weekends. Takes hours to get through your routine. Once you start your routine, it should be completed at a steady pace with not too much rest in between for best cardiovascular stimulation. Besides, your life right now is on a schedule whether you know it or not. I have to have you back by a certain time because Jeb and I have further things to get done before you drop around eight tonight.”

This sounded very much like boot camp, and I told him so. He laughed his big bear laugh and added, “Yeah, but it’ll be a Hell of a lot more fun and you get to be fucked by the DI and the officer in charge. Did you get that in boot camp?” Master Jim asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said innocently.

I thought Big Jim was gonna’ bust a gut laughing. He shook all over. “I just had to ask. Damn, Kid, you’ll be the death of this giant yet. If that came from anyone else I’d dismiss it in a minute. Now you got me wondering, and I don’t even wanna’ know the truth. It’s too damn good like it is. Wait’ll Jeb hears this one. Come on, Honcho, let’s get to work,” he growled.

Why is it people are lazy about building projects and yard cleanup but will go to a gym and work their tits off to be better looking? Go figure? I’ll have to say it beats crawling under one of those big trucks and getting dirty, but I can't see immediate results from my work. After busting my butt at the gym I still looked the same. After about an hour we were beginning to attract quite a bit of attention. The queens couldn’t take their eyes off Jim and me. They would gather to quietly discuss their guesses as to our relationship. “Boy and Daddy?” I heard one ask the other.

“Naw, probably master and slave,” declared another.

“Could be a trainer and bodyguard for a boy being kept by a rich sugar daddy,” another harpy allowed.

“Yeah, that’s probably it. The big one has some limited animal appeal, but he ain’t real pretty. He’s certainly too ugly to win the heart of that drop-dead gorgeous hunk he’s with. Poor thing, he sort of gives the term ‘mud fence’ and ‘homely’ new dimensions,” they agreed and cackled like rude hens. I had to laugh at the last comment. It didn’t go unnoticed by Big Jim whose ears started turning bright red. I lost my concentration and almost dropped the bench press on myself. Master Jim had to give me a two finger assist. I winked at him, grinned, and shook my head in disbelief. It didn’t help. The big man was justifiably chagrined. We finished after one more set, turned in our towels and headed for his bike. He was muttering something to himself and was not amused by the queen’s comments. I got on the back of his Harley.

“Do you remember the story of ‘Beauty and the Beast’?” I asked him.

“Yeah, what of it?” he barked in disgust.

“Well, to me, you’re the most beautiful beast in the world. If I ever woke up next to you and found you changed into one of them, I would slit my throat,” I said with considerable resolve.

The big man bellowed with laughter. “Damn, Little Beaver, you could make a midget feel like a giant. You just made this old giant feel like a God. You’re really gonna’ get yourself fucked long, hard, and deep tonight for that sentiment. Think them ‘queens’ in there can look forward to that?” he asked as he hit the starter on the bike.

“All I can say is, I’ll take your beast over them any night of the week, Master,” I yelled up to him as we took off. “Master Jim?" I asked.

“Yes, Son?”

“Could we stop by a department store on the way back. I wanna' buy a pair of ‘Tuff Nuts,’” I said.

“What?” he asked.

“A couple pair of Farmer John’s like ‘my daddy's,” I mocked.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. They’re loose fitting and look more comfortable than these damn shorts. Besides, we can really torque them old girl’s tits. Talk about chatter boxes. They won’t know what to think if we’re dressed alike,” I said.

“Have you ever been told you have a delightfully wicked streak in you?” he asked.

“No, sir, but I’ve suspected it for a while,” I said. He laughed again as we pulled up in front of the Value Center on Sunset and Hyperion.

“This looks like a surplus store,” I said.

“Yeah, it is, but they got ‘em. Come on,” Big Jim said. He was carrying my money, and I knew I had enough for a couple pair, maybe even three. They did, indeed, have my favorite brand ‘Tuff Nuts.’

“Take a tip from me,” Big Jim advised, “buy ‘em a size larger than you wear, and you’ll have all the room you or I may need,” he said with a grin.

“Why would you need...? Oh, I see,” I said as he took my hand and urged me to run it down inside the front of his overalls. He had no underwear on, and I could play with Babe and his two bull balls hanging free.

“‘Course we’ll cut the pockets out of yours since you don’t need to carry anything anyway. I can hold you in front of me, and it’ll look like I just got my hands in your pockets. Deep in yoe’ pockets, Little Bro,” he said and grinned real big.

“Dirty old man,” I said and he threw back his head in laughter. I bought three pair. Two too large and one pair that was more of a good fit for wearing when we weren’t going to the gym.

Big Jim wore overalls a lot, and I got to where I liked the looks of them. They’re damned comfortable. Gives a man breathin’ room. Yeah!

Big Jim took them to the counter to pay. The bored looking Jewish lady chewing gum looked over her half rim glasses at Big Jim. “These for your son?” she asked in a nasal tone.

“Yes, ma’am, he wants to look like his daddy,” Jim replied. She looked over her half-glasses and looked me up and down.

“I’d say he’s got a couple more years growth left to be as big as his dad. He better eat all his veg-e-tables, then ask for seconds,” she said in a droll voice. She was serious. I thought I would bust a gut until we got outside and both let loose with laughter. Needless to say, I was an impertinent slave boy calling Big Jim, Daddy Jim all afternoon. He didn’t mind. He was having a great time with his love.

During that first month of training we became more than lovers, we became brothers, buddies, mates, whatever you want to name it. We bonded as friends and partners. A bond that can never be broken by separation of place or time. I loved being with the big man. Despite his size, he and I could be little boys together getting into all kinds of secret shared mischief. He could just glance at me and tell what I was thinking. I could do the same with him. I could read his facial expressions like a book. Something would happen and we would look at each other and burst out laughing because we knew what the other was thinking. He would finish sentences I started. I would finish his. Communication between us took on a whole new level.

Because of his size and intimidation factor, few people really took the time to know Big Jim. Underneath the mountain was one of the warmest, giving, caring, and thoughtful hearts. He could also be ruthlessly strong, bullheaded, and demanding when he knew he was right. If he gave me an order, as an order, I never questioned his seriousness. I could probably suffer his punishment, but I could never endure his disappointment. Big hearts break easily, remember that. That afternoon we had some quiet time together in his room, and I asked about a picture on his dresser with him in cap and gown at a graduation. I just assumed it was from high school.

“Where was this taken, Master Jim, and what occasion?” I asked.

“My graduation from Oxford,” he replied nonchalantly. I almost giggled thinking he was putting me on. He wasn’t.

“What did you study at Oxford, Master?” I asked.

"Biophysics,” he replied. What the Hell was Biophysics? I had an MA and never heard of Biophysics.

“Interesting,” I said in a musing manner. I had no fucking idea what Biophysics was about. I was stunned. He showed me his diploma. PhD in Biophysics. Graduated with highest honors. ‘Summa Cum Laude’ I barely squeaked out an MA. ‘Thank ya’ lordy!’

Son of a bitch! All this time I thought I was making love to a good hearted ‘Bubba.’ A country bumpkin biker type. To find out the big man was better educated than I was rocked me on my ass. Why should it? Do we think of big people as being smart? Not often. We tend to think of them as bumbling, oafish, sometime good hearted, good natured creatures. I needed a wake up call and this was it. I knelt at his feet, took his hand and gently kissed it.

“What’s this for, Slave?” he asked and looked at me questioningly.

“All this time, I’ve been attracted to you for the wrong reasons. I made love to your boots because of your size and potential strength that’s a sexual turn on to me, never considering beneath the trappings of masculinity there was a man with a fine well educated brain. I won’t make that mistake again, Master. When I make love to your boots it will be because I’m overwhelmed by your complete person,” I said.

He mused for a moment. “I can handle that,” he said, “I appreciate your epiphany but the ‘turn on’ part is still here, Son. Regardless of education, I’ll always demand you pay homage to my boots. That will always be a given between us,” he said firmly.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Master,” I said. As I went down to clean the big fuckers one more time he laughed and petted me on the head like a good puppy. I was his good puppy. I would be satisfied to sleep at his big feet for the rest of my life. Did I forget my previous commitment? Not at all. It was just a figure of speech, but a sincere figure of speech.

“Let’s shift gears a minute, Son. Do you think every time you suck me off or ride old Babe to the barn I’m lying there thinking, ‘Woah! This is a real turn on to have a highly decorated Vietnam war hero riding my cock for all he’s worth'?”

“I hope not, Master. Okay, I see your point, and you’re right. So you’ve got a fucking PhD in Biophysics, whatever the Hell that is, you’re still my big blue ox and always will be,” I declared.

“That’s much better, Slave, we can live with that,” he said.

“However, sometimes when you chase my blues away with Babe, and I tell you he’s medicinal, you won’t mind if I call you Doc Ox will you?” I asked.

Master Jim rolled on the bed laughing. “Fuck, Beau, you can come up with the damnedest shit. Jeb and I laugh half our day away telling each other the latest Beaverisms,” he said.

“Like Spoonerisms?” I asked.

“Yeah, Spoonerisms, Wellerisms, we call ‘em Beaverisms. The drop dead funny, sometimes innocent shit that comes out of your mouth. This training thing is starting to be so much fun for us we joked about paying you. Just joked, mind you,” he said and laughed again.

Later that evening Master Jeb took me down to the dungeon. In the slave cells there was what might be called a common area. There was a couple of small writing desks with banker’s lights which provided plenty of light for writing. He pulled out a lined ledger and set it on the desk top. “Each day you will write in this ledger your thoughts, your dreams, your past, people you know, past, present, and future if you care to muse about it. For each new idea you must start a new page. You may skip several pages if you think you want to come back to a topic you started before and add more. That way, you give yourself room for expansion. It will become your slave journal and will only be read by me and sometimes Jim.

"You may write anything you wish about him or me in your journal. Good, bad, or indifferent, you won’t be judged by your opinions. In fact, you won’t be judged at all. This is to empty things out of your mind that are happening, may happen, or did happen in the past. It might be a time to consider leaving Vietnam behind. You might want to think about going into this new life and not carrying the baggage of Vietnam with you. I want you to understand the purpose of this exercise. Do you have any idea why I might require you to do this?” he asked.

“I think so, Master, but please give me a push in the right direction,” I requested.

“Have you ever received any therapy or counseling?” he asked.

“No, sir, we came back from Nam and that was that! Jack! No disrespect, Master,” I replied.

“I know what you meant. None taken. No wonder you guys are so messed up. Jim told me you suggested to Blaine and Breed to get together and talk about your experiences in Nam. Sounds like a good therapeutic idea to me. In the meantime, I’ll explain since you’ve had no exposure to therapy. This is a form of therapy. You can talk to your friends or a therapist ‘til you’re blue in the face, and it may or may not influence you to change. If you write it, come back and review it from time to time, continue to write more, I guarantee you’ll begin to notice major changes in yourself and your attitudes.

"You’ll set this wind up alarm clock and write in this journal for a minimum of two hours a day. It doesn’t have to be together, but it's probably best for continuity of thoughts. You can do an hour in the morning before we get started for the day or in the evening. You may do more than two hours depending on your schedule. I would urge you to write as much in your journal as you can. Whenever you have a free moment, I want you down here writing. The more you put into your slave training the more you’re going to get out of it.

"Likewise, with this journal. If you don’t have anything to do or one of us doesn’t require your services, I want to know I can find you down here writing. Neatness counts. If I can’t read it, then it’s of little use. From time to time, I’ll ask you about the contents. I need it as a guide to your training. It’s important. The more you write in your journal the more I can help you become the slave you want to be. You do want to become a slave, don’t you?" he asked and grinned.

“Yes, of course, Master. No disrespect, sir, but that’s why I’m here,” I assured him.

“Then you must start thinking today why it's necessary for you to become a slave and why you need to. Any and every reason you might think of. Write it down. However, there is only one real answer to that question and you must find it. It won't be given to you. You must find it for yourself. It then must be written in your journal for me to read. Then, and only then, will you be allowed to proceed, become a slave and progress to the next level.

"Now, I have to get out announcements to all family members and eligible masters, we will have a new slave on the market in approximately three months. Notice I said approximately. We’ll leave it up to you. Now, the way it’s suppose to work,” he said with a chuckle, “those interested in bidding on you may put up a two hundred dollar non-refundable deposit and be allowed one weekend with you from Friday evening at six to Sunday evening at nine. You will be expected to conduct yourself as their temporary slave. It’s original purpose was to give prospective master’s exposure to a slave they might be interested in purchasing. As it stands right now, I have six firm two hundred dollar cash on hand deposits to bid on you.

"There are only two more, possibly three available. You may be surprised to know, one of them is the fine young master you referred to me, Master Red Feather. I foresee no problem with him being accepted into our family as a fledgling master. He will develop quickly into a stable good master, I have no doubt. You did right to suggest to your master he refer him to me. There will be an equal number who put up a one hundred dollar deposit to bid and they may spend an evening with you but can’t have sex. Why? Because it’s my rule,” Master Jeb said.

All these people putting up that kind of money for me? For one weekend? It was overwhelming to me I made that kind of impact on these people so quickly. Then I considered they loved and respected Master Earl D. Shaw and were doing it for him as well.

“Another area of your training will be one-on-one counseling. There’s one cell with two over stuffed chairs that has a black curtain between them. We’ll talk for a couple hours each day. You'll do most of the talking about yourself and why you need or want to become a slave. The curtain will be between us because I don’t want you to see my facial expressions. People as bright as you, sometime read people’s faces to tell if they’re saying the right thing to get the correct response. I’ll direct where the conversation is going. If I lead you down another path, then I expect you to go with it. In thirty days, if all goes well, there will be a ceremony in the auditorium and anyone in the family who receives my announcement may attend. All masters will be invited to participate in the ceremony. Slaves may attend and observe but can’t take part and must remain quiet except when their master’s applaud or cheer.

"It will be a ceremony where your past life will be taken from you and you will be reborn to a new life as a slave. From there on you will be a slave, having given up the rights of a free man. You will belong to me, as specified in the contract, as my property to do with as I please. Your weekend visitations will began at that time,” he said and smiled.

“Last, but not least, for the next four weekends you will have extended periods of inner contemplation. You will prepare yourself buy cleaning out first, then submitting to a higher colonic cleaning from Jim or me. Probably Jim, since he’s taking over some things for me I can’t handle anymore. That’s why you’re the last, Son. You’ll be placed in total bondage from six o'clock Friday evening to six o'clock Sunday evening. There will be someone sitting with you the whole time, although you won’t be aware. You’ll be subjected to a variety of stimulus of our choosing. It will break up your monotony. When you are not being stimulated, you are to think of becoming a slave. Why you want to become a slave and why it’s necessary for you.

"You will wear a full leather hood that’s padded in the ears so all outside sound will be suppressed. You won’t be able to hear what’s going on around you, but you’ll hear things from time to time, and we’ll be able to communicate with you. There are small speakers sewn into the hood at the ears and a small connection wire comes out the base of the neck in the back so we can hook you up to a small amplifier. We can speak to you through the speakers and you’ll hear various sounds and music from time to time.

"You’ll be fed a liquid diet approximately every six hours. I say, approximately, because it may vary one to two hours either way. That way you can’t tell time or how long you’ve been in suspension. Your mouth will be plugged and the hood has a heavy snap-on mask that will block out all light. You will essentially be cut off from all distractions and be forced to go inward and meet yourself. Somehow, I have the strangest feeling you won’t be alone in there,” he said and grinned.

Obviously, Master Earl told him about Wes entering me one evening and Master Earl’s growing conviction it was Wes inside me the night of our first date. I was convinced. Did I want Wes to visit during these sessions, or did I want to look at myself alone? I would figure that out as I went along. I felt I could summon him any time I needed him. He would be there for me as I was for him.

“This is another form of control, direction, or manipulation. It is also a lesson in trust. You will be conditioned to trust those you’ve allowed to place you in this position,” continued Master Jeb, “If you have any questions about the techniques, I will be using or why, I'll gladly discuss them with you. They work whether you know about them or not. I have no secrets about how and what I will do to you and for you. If you’re interested, I’ll provide you with literature to further explain this form of conversion therapy.

"Nothing I do will harm you, but it will redirect your life to become a total slave to another man. Once completed, you will never again be happy with any other form of relationship. This is not play, Son. This is for real. I want you to stop and consider for a moment or as long as you need. These are proven mind altering techniques we will be using and in essence, your brain will be reprogrammed or in the case of a natural slave, reinforced,” Master Jeb said and was silent for a while waiting for me to respond.

I didn’t really realize the training would actually contain mind alterations, but I knew how strongly they could work. I got to thinking about the last five weeks, and would I have done anything different? Not really. I feel like I’ve been a slave all my life to people and causes which brought me nothing but a sense of emptiness and despair. Making the total leap of faith and becoming something to someone who might possibly bring me even a modicum of happiness would be better than the pain of the past. Was this why Master Earl wanted me to take slave training? He knew it entailed much more than just summer camp. My master knew what it meant to him when he went through slave training to learn to become a master. I understood enough about psychology, I realized there probably were differences and considerations in a program designed for Master Earl than I would experience. After all, it was not Master Jeb’s intention to make an unhappy slave of a good potential master.

His approach to Earl was indeed one of introspection but into why he needed to own and care for another human being. After Jeb found Earl’s need and his understanding to be devoted to his need he encouraged and shaped Earl to become one of the finest master’s in the family. I thought about Yoshie and what he’d said about training and wanting to go through it again. What was so wonderful or so bad about having your brain altered? It happens to us every day. Television, radio, newspapers, billboards, and movies are asking our brains to accept new information every day. All I knew, at that moment in time was, I wanted to trust and have faith in these men. I did have faith in them, and by God, I would put my trust in them.

“Master Jeb, I’ve thought about slave training a lot. I’ll submit to your training willingly. I'll give it everything I got, but I want you to understand something. All my life I’ve been a slave to people or causes which have only brought me heartache, pain, guilt, and disappointment. I’m not faulting anyone as to why this occurred in my younger life. It just happened. We can't go back and change the past, and to harbor anger over something we had no control over is a waste of time and effort when you could be building a super highway from the past to take you so far away you will never consider looking back. Compared to the overall length of our lives, we spend a small portion in childhood, maybe eighteen years, but many, myself included, spend the rest of their lives getting over it.

"Unfortunately, some never do. While they may take the super-highway and get as far away from their past as they can, they carry the baggage of a wounded childhood with them. They can’t escape it. There’s no getting away from the damaged child within. Like many children with dysfunctional parents, I became a victim of circumstances. I accepted it then, and I accept it now. I allowed myself to unwittingly become conditioned to thinking of myself as less, not good enough, not as deserving as others no matter how hard I tried to gain my family’s approval and to add to that, a draw to the same sex only added confusion to the roux.

“I learned early on to gain any modicum of affection or acceptance I had to become a useful tool to those whom I wanted to love me. I never understood love could be as simple and uncomplicated as a unexpected gift. In my family, it was never unconditional. It became a tool of control, greed, power, and manipulation. They were like trying to love a black hole. Nothing could fill them, and they always wanted more. They sucked me dry and returned nothing; yet, I was the one who lived with the constant implied guilt I let them down.

“Love was never given to me unconditionally. I lived my life trying to please others and do for them, not to win their approval and acceptance, but to buy it, and whatever scraps of love they threw under the table. I was encouraged to do for others without any thought for myself or my own needs. I adjusted my expectations accordingly. In essence, I became a slave, and as I accepted it then, I accept it now. To put it more simply, I already am a slave, my good master. I have been a slave for as long as I can remember.

“Your family's idea of a natural slave has some merit, but I've considered it, and come to the conclusion one isn't born a slave; after much pressure by his circumstances a man has to finally admit it's only operating system he knows. It's all he has experienced. It's all he's ever been. It's imprinted on him he can only be happy when he's serving others. I like to think on it as a 'Cinderella' syndrome. I never had a choice in the matter for many years. I’ve lived this persona so long it would take a team of therapist working ‘round the clock for several decades to bend my mind otherwise.

“From my education, and deductive reasoning I know all the therapy in the world can’t make me into something I already am. I never had a choice, I’m already there. How do you make a slave out of a slave? The idea, itself, becomes more than a simple conundrum, it becomes an oxymoron. As I see it, you will simply be redirecting me down a path, hopefully the right path, a better path, to find some modicum of understanding for myself. If, by redirecting, strengthening, encouraging, and educating me by your methods will bring me a small amount of happiness, perhaps by making me a better slave, one more comfortable with himself and his world, the sooner we get started the better. I kneel before you naked in my soul, stripped of facades or any pretenses. I'm knocking at your door, Master Jeb,” I said without emotion.

The fine looking, older man sat silent for a long while. He made no effort to look at me. It was as if he were processing the words I spoke to him, and was trying to think of the best response. I became concerned, perhaps I was too bold and spoke out of line, undermining his resolve. He picked lint off his pants, breathed deeply but continued to sit there. Finally, he looked at me with tears in his eyes and spoke. “As off-the-wall funny as you can be sometimes, Beau, you also have a fundamental profundity which is at once reasoned and sound as it is remarkably perceptive. You’ve just blown my whole exercise in why you must become a slave.

"You just told me the correct answer. It’s taken others weeks or months to come up with that deceptively simple answer; they must become a slave because they look into a mirror one day and saw who they really were. It’s elusive in its simplicity. You just blew the Hell out of that exercise,” he said and chuckled fighting back tears. "However, I insist we still proceed in the manner I’ve described, and I promise you will benefit from it for some of the reasons you put forth and a few more you might not have considered. You no longer have any fears, do you?” Master Jeb asked.

“No, Master, I feel as if a huge stone has been lifted from my chest. Just then, when I said the word ‘master,’ in respect for you, it took on a new, wonderfully different meaning,” I said, and added, "I can imagine there is such a thing as a master of the physical body and a master of the mind. Until now, you have been the master of my physical body, but I now see you as becoming my teacher, my master to learn your ways. I'm ready, sir," I said quietly.

I fell to my knees in front of him and kissed each of his boots with great love and deepest respect to be kneeling in front of this great and honorable man. He truly had become ‘my master’ in all respects. I was ready to give myself to him, “Master,” I whispered, “I’m yours. Take me, mold me, teach me your ways,” I said pledging myself to him.

I reached down to my leash that lay across his big boot, took it in my mouth, raised up without meeting his gaze and held it ready for him to accept. He held out his big, gracious hand under my mouth, and I let it drop. He immediately and forcefully clamped his tightened fist around it and said quietly but with the strength of a bull, “You are mine, Slave. It’s time to give yourself totally to someone who will set you on the path toward your future of serving another man unconditionally with a loving and good heart. I make my pledge to you, my beautiful and worthy Slave, together we will make the journey to find and insure your bliss,” he pledged himself to me.

He paused for a moment, “You're my last pilgrim, Beau, my last sojourner, and my last life to breathe freedom into,” he declared. He pulled me to him, hugged me tightly, and kissed me on the neck. He held me for a few minutes then spoke again, “There’s no doubt in my mind, a greater intelligence in the universe arranged for you to be my last. Indeed, the best has been saved for last. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve this honor, but I ain’t gonna’ question the all knowing presence for the bounty of its gift. I like to think of a universal creator as Don Ho or the Big Kahuna. I’m just gonna’ hope he has one of them god-awful, ‘scuse me, sir, day-glow Hawaiian shirts in my size,” he said and grimaced. We both laughed through our tears at his metaphor.

Master Jeb had nothing more for me, so I set down at the desk and began to write until he called me to dinner. I found myself pouring my heart into my journal. I would write and cry, write and cry, then stop because I was getting the pages wet. I would count over twenty pages and begin a new topic. Write and cry, write and cry, on and on. I slowly began to see the method in his madness. Master Jeb was far from mad. He had both oars in the water and was the tiller-man of his own small barque. As the days went by, my respect and love for the man grew in intensity by the day.

My awe, faith and trust in him increased logarithmically by the hour. Day by day, I was falling deeper in love with the man just as Oscar and Billy predicted. I also knew Oscar’s statement about leaving him was one of the hardest things he ever had to do would become my plight as well. The further we went, the more I wanted to serve this man forever. I knew in my reasoning brain, it’s a natural occurrence to fall in love with your therapist, but I just couldn’t seem to convince my romantic brain. I didn't want to. I wanted to love him deeply. By doing so, I was replacing a weak father figure from my past with one who held the secret wisdom on the ages in his heart.

I even talked to Big Jim about it, and he laughed in an understanding manner. He leaned back to stretch and yawn. “Sweet Slave, every man who has come though here, over three hundred, has said those exact words to me. Would it help to tell you, it’s all right? Listen to me carefully. It’s all right, Beau,” he said softly with compassion and good humor. “Would it help to tell you, it’s a normal response? Watch my lips. It’s normal, Beau. You're normal,” he added with care. “Would it help to tell you he’s a wonderful old man who you should respect and love deeply? You already know the answer to that one. You don’t need to hear it from me,” he said quietly and smiled at me.

It did help. As I said earlier the big man could take what seemed to me an insurmountable problem and reduce it to a size I could deal with. Now, that’s a talent. I no longer felt so much like a school boy with a crush on his gym coach.

Master Jim said something earlier in the day about ‘dropping’ around eight o’clock, and I thought he was kidding. I was falling asleep at my writing desk as Master Jeb called me to help with dinner. I tried to listen intelligently to their conversation, but found them becoming a comfortable background drone for my nodding head. I would snap to if asked a question then slowly drift back into the land of nod. They left me alone and continued to talk. I felt a giant paw pull me over to a warm fuzzy rock I could rest my head on. Funny, the rock could talk. I couldn’t make out the words, but they sounded familiar, pleasant, furry, and comfortable. Translated from the original rock language, I thought I heard the following; “Our tiger’s had a full day,” said the Big Rock.

“Indeed, he has,” a deep quiet wise voice replied.

“Do you love him as much as I do?” the Big Rock asked.

“More,” the wise voice said softly.

Suddenly I felt the Earth move and the Big Rock sprouted arms and legs. It lifted me up and sailed through the sky with me, away from everything. It lay me gently on the softest bed of yellow California poppies. It removed my clothing, covered me, and then the Big Rock did the strangest thing. It kissed me on the forehead and whispered to me, “Good night, my beloved Slave-boy, and that old man don’t love you a whit more than your ox.”

* * * * * * *
Part II ~ The Acolyte

“Silence and memories, hopes and dreams are as liquid as the days,
my master bought me and brought me into his home to be his slave.
He didn’t seem to want my love, I worked and tried to served him well,
but every night, without his love, I cried myself to sleep, I lived in Hell.”
From: Canto 8 ~ Slave Songs ~ W. D. Dux ~ Posthumous

We gathered the stock options and rare coins early the next morning. Master Jeb told Big Jim of the trunk full of stock options in the attic, and they both went into orbit scolding me, then broke up laughing. “Well, it's just the way he is. I knew it from the beginning. Money is only important to him for minimal creature comforts. He’ll never have much in the way of possessions because he’s like you, Jim, they just aren’t important to him. He could care less. Those damn overalls he bought are more important to him than a new sports car might be to some other man,” Master Jeb said with a hint of exasperation.

He was right and I nodded in agreement. Big Jim pulled me to him and ran his hands in my pockets. The dirty old man already cut the bottoms out of my pockets. I thought it was enormously funny he would actually do it. I leaned against him as he played with old swinger, got me roaring hard, grabbed hold of my dick and made it stick straight out so my overalls looked like a circus tent. "Look at this, Jeb,” Big Jim motioned with his head for Master Jeb to look.

“Playing a little pocket pool, are you, boys?” he laughed. Jeb didn’t look good that morning. He looked drawn and pale.

“Jim, can you and Beaver work out early today then take him by the bank with those options. He can get a deposite box. He’s a big boy. They offered him a box with the deposit, but he turned it down. They’ll give it to him. Just make sure it has three keys. Theirs, yours, and mine. I need to see my doctor this morning. It’s nothing serious. I need to have him adjust one of my medications. I’ll be fine. Not to worry,” he said.

* * * * * * *
The days began to pass quickly. Big Jim kept me regular as clock-work going to the gym. The ladies at the gym were a twitter like a gaggle of nervous geese the first day Big Jim and I walked in dressed alike. By the fourth day I asked Master Jim, “Was it my imagination or was the gym a lot more active today, with a lot more bodies?”

“T’weren’t your imagination, boy. Word gets around. People are curious. Most of these queens have seen me come in here day after day for years, and never paid me much attention. When I ain't training a slave I get in and out pretty quick and only do minimal reps to keep me defined but not build. I rarely ever speak to any of them. I ignore them so they don’t bother me. Things are different now. I have a handsome young man on my arm whom I obviously love very much, have control over, and who loves me. Appearances, pheromones, and the way we relate to one another makes our love palpable to them. They’re like milling cattle uneasy before a storm. It makes them unsettled and anxious. They can sniff it like a pack of hounds after a wounded fox. Once they get the scent, watch out,” he said and laughed.

The best part of getting home was heading to the dungeon to the big steam room shower Master Jeb and Jim built. It was enormous and cleverly made. They gathered old shower doors from any source. All along three walls they mounted them above glass block in slotted aluminum extrusions. It was framed and the glass block extended to the ceiling. It was highly caulked and sealed so not even steam leaked into the main area of the dungeon. There were plastic benches along the shower door walls. You could turn on the hot water only on one shower jet and it would produce so much steam you couldn’t see each other three feet away.

The hundred gallon water heater was turned up to the ‘Hell’ setting. There were warning signs in all baths and showers not to turn on the hot water without the cold as well. At the far end, away from the entrance, was a hot rocks gas heater. It would heat a pile of rocks you could pour water over and produce lots of steam. It was relaxing. Most of the time we just showered and got out due to the schedule we were keeping. There was another two-jet shower in the slave quarters I used most of the time. It boasted a clean out hose attached to the shower; a handy gadget.

Once in a while Big Jim would let me rub him down in the steam. He must have designed the plastic benches because it was one of the few things, other than his specially made bed, he could lay the length of his body comfortably. J’ever try to rub down a giant man? Take it from me there’s a Hell of a lot to rub. It was worth it when he’d roll over, grab me and pull me on top of him for a few minutes of love making. It was like making love on a bear rug. He actually had so much hair on his belly I could part it down the middle, lay Babe in the part, then comb the hair back over so you couldn’t tell he had a dick. You couldn’t see it. It was one mass of reddish brown hair. My very own Sasquatch.

Friday night came, and around three o’clock in the afternoon, Master Jim told me to go to my shower in the dungeon and clean myself thoroughly. He would be down in about half an hour. Each shower had exhaust fans vented to the outside. I was about through when I heard Master Jim lumbering down the stairs. “Take your time. I’m just getting some stuff together,” he said. I got out of the shower and found him moving things into the larger shower. He placed his equipment on one of the plastic benches. “Help me move that table into the shower, Son,” he ordered me. I grabbed one end and he the other. It was lighter than it looked. It was made of plastic as well. It had a rubber padded top and looked like it bent in the middle. One end had a ‘U’ shaped area I assumed for easy access to one’s ass.

“I’m about ready for you, Slave. Hop up here on the table, and I’ll be back in a minute.” I did as I was told and lay there with my legs dangling over the edge. He returned with two ‘L’ shaped plastic tubes and fitted them into the ones at the end. He took each of my legs and they fit perfectly into the cradles on top of the ‘L’s’. There were straps that fit across and buckled at the ankle, below the knee, and around the thigh. He pulled one over my stomach and one around my chest and cinched them up pretty snug.

“Do you want to sit up and watch or would you rather lie back and enjoy the ride. I recommend about halfway up to drain better," he said. Without waiting for a reply he moved to my head and lifted me about halfway up and placed a brace in the back for a stop. I felt like an astronaut ready for blast off. Master Jim excused himself and was gone about twenty minutes. When he returned he was wearing a huge pair of heavy duty black rubber hip boots and an almost ankle length heavy duty black rubber apron. It had a strap around the neck and one which tied in the back. He looked hot. Like something out of a fantasy S&M drawing. I could see his naked ass framed by the rubber apron when he turned to walk away and decided I was glad to be sitting up; so was old swinger. He saw old swinger standing at attention.

“Something turn you on, boy?” he asked wickedly.

“Oh, no, sir,” I lied, “I usually get an erection about this same time every day,” I replied and smiled at him.

He laughed. “Well, your master’s gonna’ fix you up here. This will be easy and simple if you listen and do what I tell you,” he said. He already hooked up the plumbing, and I could see a large red rubber colonic tube at the end of a larger hose. It was approximately three feet in length.

“You gonna’ put all that in me?" I asked with some trepidation.

“I’ll explain it to you. We start by cleaning the lower colon. Stuff you can’t get out. Then, this will easily slip into you upper colon. This is how much has to go in,” he said. He held his thumb at a black stripe across the end of the tube about three inches from the base. Shit! It may as well be the whole damn thing. He adjusted the water temperature and let it run while he pulled on a pair of heavy black rubber gloves and lubricated my hole with Vaseline. He grabbed the colonic tube and started inserting it into my ass. He explained as he went. “Try to hold as much as you can and when you think you can’t hold it any more let me know. Now, if I tell you to hold it a bit longer do it until I tell you to release. It’s good training for you. Got that?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I replied. I was trying to hold as much as I could and started cramping. “That’s it,” I said.

“Hold it! Hold it!” he admonished me.

“Please, Master,” I replied.

“Hold it!” he ordered firmly.

I tried hard. Somehow, I managed to hold it. "Master Jim, I can’t hold it any longer,” I was insistent.

“Yes you can, Slave! Now, hold it! he growled. Again, I somehow summoned the strength to hold it. I don’t know where I found the inner reserve but I did. “Now, you may release, Slave,” he said. Water shot three feet across the shower. He let me relax and drain. I wasn’t too dirty as I cleaned out pretty good in the shower. He was satisfied and told me to relax. He was going to insert the tube. He walked to the bench and retrieved the largest black butt plug I ever saw. It was considerably bigger than the one I wore. He brought a tube of lubricant and lubed my ass.

“This is a deadening agent to put your ass muscle to sleep. He put it on and massaged it in good with his large black rubber glove. Damn it was hot. What was hotter was my ass was numb and hungry. I wanted all of his big rubber glove inside me. He took the plug, screwed it into me a couple of times and popped the big son-of-a- bitch into my waiting hole.

“How’s it feel, Slave-boy?” he asked.

“Big, sir, full, but not too uncomfortable,” I replied.

“There’s a hole in the plug just the size of the colon tube through which I’ll insert it,” he explained. He turned off the water and began inserting the tube. “Don’t watch, Son, close your eyes. That’s good, it’s going in so smoothly, I’ll have it in before you even realize it. See?”

I opened my eyes and looked. Damn he had the whole thing up me. I felt something snaking through my gut, but it didn’t hurt. Then he gently turn on the flow.

“Now, it’s gonna’ come rushing down and hit your asshole. Try as hard as you can to hold it. The plug will take most of the impact. I’m gonna’ fill you up until I can shake your belly and hear it slosh,” he said. I squeezed my ass tight and felt the water filling me up. It did hit my ass with a huge force but the plug held and only leaked a bit. I was beginning to cramp pretty bad and told him so.

“Just a little more, Son. There, that should do it. Now, relax, and just hold it for a while,” he said. Yeah, I heard that line before. Relax, Hell.

He placed one of the huge gloves on my extended belly and began to kneed it and made it wiggle from side to side. I didn’t voice my discomfort. I knew it wouldn’t do any good anyway. He could tell from the anguish on my face, I was getting near panic point when he reached down and pulled the plug. What a relief. Water and stuff went all over the shower floor. He hosed it, and me down quickly.

“Now for the easy part,” he said. ‘There was an ‘easy’ part to this?’ I thought. "Lie back, relax, and let your master do the driving,” he said.

He again inserted the hose, but instructed me not to hold it. I didn’t. He was good to his word, and once again inserted the hose all the way inside me. This time the water coming out was clean. He was satisfied I was clean. Master Jim took a metal device I saw Master Earl use. It was a speculum that forced and held the asshole open. He opened it pretty wide to let me drain. He said he’d be back in a minute and left me with my ass gaping open. It did the job of draining me. Gravity, one of the most mysterious forces in the universe did the rest.

He returned in a few minutes and ask if all the water drained out. I told him, I thought so. He removed the speculum and allowed me to relax as he continued to clean the shower. I kept watching him in his rubber outfit as he hosed himself off, then soaped down the front with a huge sponge to clean it then rinsed. I could see his big furry ass from behind and wanted to run my tongue as far up his hole as I could get it and pray for a cracker jack prize. Old Swinger was standing tall and proud. Big Jim didn’t miss eight’s salute and smiled to himself. He didn’t offer a comment.

“Master?” I asked quietly.

“Yes, Slave?” he asked in reply as he turned to look at me. I looked him up and down slowly.

“Oh, nothing,” I said resolutely. He continued what he was doing.

“You want me to fuck you, Slave?” he asked and grinned.

“I would be a most grateful slave, Master. You’re so hot in that rubber outfit. I can’t imagine anything I’d rather have right now,” I replied. I tried to sound as needy as possible. Maybe a little too needy.

“Well, you can’t get away. You’re strapped down with nowhere to go. I dare say you’d be prime for a wild animal to come along, slam his big cock in your hole, and have his way with you. You couldn’t do much about it, and you certainly wouldn’t have much choice, would you, Slave?” he asked.

“No, sir, I can’t get loose. I’m strapped in this clean-out seat. I’d be ripe for fucking if some wild beast were to come sniffing around me. You wouldn’t let an animal take advantage of me would you, Master?” I asked coyly.

“In a New York minute, Slave, I’d let him in the door and point you out to him," he assured me and laughed.

Master Jim came to me slowly, raised his heavy apron and laid it on my belly as he leaned in close to me.

“I’m gonna’ grease your ass because it might be a little raw from the acid in your gut,” he said. He leaned closer and gently kissed me as he began to work a small amount of oil based lubricant into my hole. He was being so gentle, and it felt wonderful. He was translating his passion and teasing my hole into his kiss. He stopped and positioned his huge, hard cock at my hole, and pressed slightly to hold it in place. I knew I was about to be taken hard.

He wiped his heavy black glove on a towel hanging from the table. He leaned forward again and kissed me more passionately and deeply. While we were in the throes of our kiss he took me hard; harder than he ever took me. So hard the damn table jumped a foot. I groaned deep in my throat to feel his goodness instantly fill me. To take me as the slave I was becoming, and the slave he knew I could become. My master didn’t stop kissing me, and wouldn’t let me stop to thank him. I could only manage a few deep guttural moans and groans. He kept his huge tongue rammed as far down my throat as he could, and I used my neck muscles to suck on it. I melted with both holes being filled at the same time.

He only had to lean just a bit, and we were face to face. Well, really more like his big tit to my mouth. I took advantage of it and began to suck on those beautiful brown nipples. They hung out from his apron right where the cut came from the neck. It was hot. He fucked me good and as promised, long, hard, and deep. He wasn’t kidding about the wild animal raping me. I was really getting into sucking his tits, and he loved it. He put his big hairy arm around my head and pulled me into his tit to lock me onto it as he began to fuck me harder. He didn’t want me falling off his tit while he was getting some of the best fucking in his slave’s ass. I moaned in lust as I sucked harder and faster on his big tit. I was so hot I was ready for him to crawl inside of me. He was making every effort. If God could part the red sea for Moses, I was praying he could do the same for my ass so Big Jim could get more inside me.

I pulled off his tit for a second and spoke. “Master?” I asked.

“Not until I do, Slave. I’ve only begun to take it away from you, and I’m gonna’ enjoy this part. Oh, Yeah! I’m gonna’ give you what every slave-boy prays for, Son. His master’s fuck juice way up his little slave-cunt. I’m fucking your slave-pussy, boy. Oh, God! That’s the good stuff, right there. That’s it! I’m getting it! Give it to your master, Slave! Gonna' ride me to the barn, Son. Give it to me! Auurrgg! Get it Slave!" my monster yelled.

Saliva began to go everywhere as I shot, feeling his come being pumped into my clean gut. I was sucking so hard on his big tit something broke, gave way, and my mouth received a small amount of man milk. He came, and came again, and I did too. He gave me some memorable fucks, but that one was special. Damn, he fucked me good that evening. “Thank you, Master. Thank you for that good fucking. You’ve fuck me many times before, but that one had to be of landmark proportions. Thank you, Master. Thank you for the man milk, too,” I said.

"I like a grateful slave, but you're not through yet, Son. Use your ass, and suck on my cock to get the rest. There, I can feel it! Yeah! A little harder, uh-huh, all right! Once again, yeah! Again! Oh, yeah! Feel that? You’re getting the rest of it. Good Slave. That’s your first meal for bondage,” he said.

“Thank you, Master. I appreciate it. It was a good fucking. It’s a meal what would satisfy any hungry slave,” I declared. He kissed me again gently, looked me in the eye, winked, and asked,
“Got milk?”

* * * * * * *
Part III ~ The Other Side of Tomorrow

I cannot recall the time of day, nor draw you maps of lands I’ve never seen.
For love with me is guessing wild, as someone throwing darts might pierce a universe
of mysteries; where light is lost to time, and time to curves in space, not meant for us to see,
nor find a meaning for it all.
From: Canto 104 ~ Slave Songs ~ W. D. Dux ~ Posthumous

Master Jim ordered me to get dressed. He instructed me put on my leather pants with the removable ass patch and cod piece. He ordered me to lace up my high top boots over my pants. I was to include my leather shirt, and gauntlet gloves. He explained, for my time in bondage, they wanted me to feel comfortable in my own clothes. I hurriedly dressed, tucking my leather pants down into my boots, lacing them snug but not so tight to be uncomfortable. When I finished, I returned from my cell to find him waiting for me. He changed, too. He wore his beautiful leather pants with cod piece and his tall boots. The boots worn over the pants and only his vest for a top. I fell to my knees and kissed his boots and found his hand waiting. “Come, Slave, show your love to the master who is about to guide you through your inner journey of discovery,” he said in a commanding way. I stood and he took me into his arms. I kissed him, placed my head against his huge chest, and held him.

“Afraid, Son?” he asked.

“Not with you as my helmsman, Master. I would put my life in your charge,” I replied.

“In a way, you will be,” he said quietly, “Now, hop up here on the gurney,” he commanded.

I sat on the gurney while he placed a hood over my head. He adjusted it carefully so my eyes and nose fit perfectly where they were suppose to. He let me adjust it to feel the most comfortable. There were receiving snaps for an eye patch that would cut off any possibility of vision and there were snaps where a mouth plug could be inserted. Master Jim slowly, carefully, methodically, laced it tightly from the top of my head, down the back of the neck and tied it in the rear. He placed a wide four inch collar around my neck and locked it from behind.

He ordered me to lie prone on the gurney where he spread out a leather harness. I was ordered to place my hands by my sides. I closed my eyes as he began pulling the straps over and around, fastening them into place. He checked periodically, to see if something felt too tight, telling me he would be loosening and tightening straps during my session. I felt like a rump roast being prepared for cooking. He grabbed one side of the harness with his two huge hands and in one swift jerk I was on my back. He leaned over me and looked into my eyes.

“You okay, Slave?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I replied.

He leaned over and kissed me gently one last time. He produced a mouth plug, held it for me to make proper love to, then plugged my mouth securing it behind my head. He held the eye patch and with one last, concerned look, gave me a wink before he snapped it snugly into place. Master Jeb was right. I could hear nothing, I could see nothing, and I definitely could not speak evil; not that I'd want, too, you understand. For all practical purposes, I was cut off from the world.

I began to think our worlds, as we perceive them, are predicated largely on our senses. We live as we sense. That's why blind musicians make great organist. The play with a great deal of feeling. I wondered if this was what it was like for Helen Keller. Unlike her, I didn’t even have my hands for tactile sensing. I wasn’t afraid, but I was a bit apprehensive about spending forty eight hours unable to move. I could feel him moving me on the gurney to another area of the dungeon. He purposely spun me around several times to disorient me, traveled to his destination, then began to raise the gurney into place.

I felt Master Jim lubricating my ass, then felt the point of my faithful plug at my hole. I raised my ass to receive it and he deftly, expertly docked it in its dark hangar. It felt good, like an old friend dropped in to help me through the ordeal. I welcomed it by sucking on it and giving it a few good humps with my ass. I felt the Dungeon Master hooking me up to chains, but I couldn’t hear anything. It was totally quiet inside the hood. It allowed no ambient sounds to be heard or light to be seen.

When he finished he lowered the gurney. I was hanging free in the chains. I was suspended me in mid-air. It was one Hell of a weird feeling; not a bad feeling, just strange. I could feel Master Jim adjusting straps here and there; tightening one, loosening another until he was satisfied I looked comfortable, or as comfortable as possible in bondage. I felt him connect the wire to the hood speakers and in a moment I heard soft distant music of an mystic Eastern sound. Then I heard Big Jim voice cut in, not loud but plainly audible, “I’m going to place two cylinders in your hands, one in each. Don’t do anything until I tell you to,” he ordered. He placed them in my hands and told me to press the button on the end of the right one. “Now the other. Okay, the right one activates a green light and will be a ‘Yes’ response. The other activates a red light that’s a ‘No’ response. Light them both and your ass falls off," I heard him laugh, "A little master humor there, Beaver. Light them both and it means you’re in distress; something’s wrong, please help me, understand?” he asked.

I pressed the right button for the green light to convey I understood.

“You’ll do fine, Slave, I’m proud of you,” he said. He patted me on the butt then snapped on my rear patch over my plug.

“You’re adrift, Little Brother, on your journey of self-exploration. Several people will be watching over you; one, maybe two or more. You won’t know who or how many. We can sit here and have a rousing game of poker and you won’t hear a word. Journey inward and find yourself. Find the slave you want to be and make peace with him. Journey to the future and try to see yourself living and loving your master as his possession. Imagine redefining yourself as his total slave, serving him, and putting him above all others. Let your soul place him above the time wasting ideas of material possessions. You can never own anything again, yet all creatures must have a purpose for living. Your master must become your purpose, your identity. You will be his possession, his chattel, his property, and his treasure.

“Your master must become your new definition of yourself. Nothing else must matter, but don’t allow yourself to become overwhelmed with the seeming enormity of concepts and ideas. Take comfort to recall and remember you are not alone. You’re being guarded on your journey by those who love you. Your family will be monitoring you, people who love you, care about you and above all, will protect you with their last breath. Go with your two master’s love in your heart. We’ll see you on the other side of tomorrow,” he said as a sign off of communications. It was exactly six o’clock.

Master Jeb descended the stairs and walked over to where Big Jim was sitting having a much deserved beer. “You did a fine job, Dungeon Master. He looks good enough to eat, don’t he?” Master Jeb complimented his friend.

“He’s certainly an eyeball full when he gets his leathers on. I fucked him before I put him into bondage, and damn near climbed on top of him again a minute ago. He does something to my old dick I can’t seem to control. Hell, I don’t think I want to control it; it’s too damn good,” Big Jim said and laughed as he confessed.

“Doesn’t help when he’s on a first name basis with your cock,” Jeb said. Both men laughed.

“He’s inventive, I’ll give him that. What time are the desert folks due to arrive?” the Dungeon Master asked.

“The two B’s around nine or ten tonight and the two E’s with Bert will arrive tomorrow morning. We’ll have a houseful until Sunday evening late. Hell, I had to turn folks away. We've never had a response like this for another slave. Everyone in the family wanted to be here,” Jeb said.

“You gonna’ let ‘em stay ‘til we bring him out?” Jim asked.

“Your opinion, Dungeon Master?” Jeb asked in reply.

“Yeah, let ‘em stay. Let him know they went out of their way to be here, and they care about him. I think it would be a good lesson for him,” Jim said.

“I agree. To be honest, I was leaning that way myself. I think it’s time we changed that rule. It will give him reinforcement his family cares about him more than he knows,” Jeb agreed.

“What about Earl D.?” Jim asked.

“I told him he could drop by for a while tomorrow, and I invited him for brunch on Sunday. I’m going to tell him I don’t want him spending a great deal of time down here. Our slave trainee has extraordinary sensing powers and is sometimes helped by a confederate, your late nephew,” Jeb said.

“Yeah, he scares me sometime. That card reading trick the afternoon of the pool party was nothing short of miraculous,” Big Jim said shaking his head.

“I agree,” Master Jeb said, then added, “but the spookiest thing was, it wasn’t a trick. I believe he saw those things. Look at his call on Jim Red Feather becoming Sam’s new employee and becoming a member of our family. That was dead on. Aside from that, he looks fine, Dungeon Master. I’ll come down and relive you in an hour or so,” Master Jeb said.

“No need, Bro, I’m strong ‘til Beryl and Blaine get here. The eunuchs with Master Bert might be here before them. They’ll help. Master Bert knows the drill. I got me a good book to read and I plan to sleep down here on the leather futon. He’ll be fine. I’ll have enough help. Get some rest, Brother. If anything out of the ordinary occurs or I need help, I’ll buzz you immediately,” Jim said.

“Jim, you and I have never been overly sentimental with each other. We don’t have to be. We been though so much together we know how we feel about one another; however, it recently occurred to me, if I went suddenly and never told you how much I loved you all these years, I couldn’t rest in peace,” Jeb said quietly. He turned and walked slowly away.

“I’ve always loved you, Jeb, I always will,” Big Jim replied quietly.

The old man nodded and continued on to the stairs so his old friend wouldn’t see the tears start to run down his face.

* * * * * * *
I was adrift. They left me in complete silence for a long while. There seemed to be a low white noise in the speakers. It wasn't loud enough to bother, but was just loud enough to drown out any and all ambient sound. I began to hear a train whistle in the distance. At first, I thought I was imagining it. It sounded like it was far, far away. It got louder, and I could hear drops of rain on a tin roof of a cabin. I suddenly found myself sitting on an old iron bed inside the cabin looking out the window at the cold rain.

The train whistle kept getting louder until I could finally hear the sounds of the old steam engine locomotive. It began to fade, like it was going away into the distance. I wanted to leave the cabin and run after it, but it was raining. Coming down pretty hard, too. I could hear lightning and thunder. Suddenly a huge flash of lightning lit up the room, and I could see bentwood cabin furniture. Wait a minute. I couldn’t have seen a flash of lightning. Could I? I was drifting and I knew in a moment I was in Wes’ secret place.

“Hello, Handsome Slave,” Wes said. I started crying. "Don’t cry, Beau, you scolded me the other night to stop crying, or I’d miss the fuck. Glad you did, too, what a fuck that was. The old man’s developed some new techniques and they’re hot. I think you inspired him to new heights, Slave. You know how lucky you are, don’t you, Bro?” Wes asked.

“Hell, yes, and thank you, my love. Damn, you look hot. You never were a bodybuilder before,” I said.

“I’m not stupid, Bro. I knew to keep my master's interest, I had to pay a price, and I did. I never regretted it for a second. So far they let me keep this form. Oh, Beau, look,” he said and dropped his pants. I could see his little man-cunt. “You wanna’ fuck me? You have to try it, Beau. Our master loved it. Don’t go gettin’ no ideas about asking him to do you this way. I did it because you know how damn useless my penis was to me after the demon got through with it,” he lamented. Wes never referred to his birth father as ‘father’ or ‘dad’ just ‘the demon.’ The only father Wes admitted to was Walker Johnson.

“You know I’d fuck you anywhere, anytime bro, but I just got fucked a little while ago and well you know...” I said.

“Yeah, I watched. My uncle is a fucking animal, ain’‘nee? he asked with a grin. He ain’t real pretty but damn, can he throw a mean fuck or what? You’re in love with him, too, ain’t cha,’ Darlin’?” Wes asked in his thick Southern accent.

“You know I am, Wes. It eats me up sometimes; not because I want him, but I would genuinely like to see him have his own slave to care for him,” I said.

“You’ll be enough, on the side, for him. Trust your old buddy, it'll work out. You’ll get plenty of loving from him as well as our master. I know him and his big heart. He’ll never stop loving you long enough to love another slave,” Wes said.

“Can I summon you later in this journey for that fuck, Sweetheart?” I asked.

“Sure, time means nothing to me anyway. All you have to do is come to this room, think about me, and I’ll be right here. If I’m busy it may take a minute, but don’t give up on me. I’ll be here. Besides, you know me, Bro, I’d never pass up one of your fucks. Master Earl was great, but he never fucked me with the love and passion you did, Beau. Master loved me but showing it through fucking was not his forte. His love came with his control and pride in ownership. I’ll leave you alone, my slave brother, enjoy your journey. Relax and let it wash over you. Don’t try to separate yourself. Try to become a part of the experience. You might not think so now, but you’re always gonna’ wanna’ come back here, wait and see. Oh, by the way, how’d you like the Chief?” he asked.

“He’s fucking gorgeous. Well you know. Were you around the night...”

“...the night he threw them two mean, wild ass Indian fucks into your butt? Yeah, I thought he might let me enter him, but he was frightened. He won’t be the next time. I always wondered what it would feel like to have the equipment to fuck you, Beau. He’ll let me, next time, I just know. Would you mind?” Wes asked.

“Hell, no. I can’t think of anything hotter, Darlin.’ You know what a pervert I can be. To have two men fuck me at the same time? Woah! You know he patched me up in Nam, don't you?" I asked.

“Yeah, we know all that stuff over here. I made sure you two got together. He needs you, and you need him. He’s gonna’ be a great comfort to you through this period and later. Lean on him, he’ll never tell you wrong. Gotta’ run, now, Dear-heart. Call for me, and I’ll come to you,” Wes said.

“Wait, Wes, the demon, is he...?” I asked.

A stoic smile crossed Wes’ face, he slowly shook his head, and he was gone. I left Wes’ secret room and was back in my own body again. I was warm, comfortable, and controlled. I can do this, no sweat. I relaxed and listened to the mystic Indian music I could barely hear in the head phones. That music finally faded and the nascent sounds of some other soft music began in the head phones. It was a floating, ethereal tinkling kind of music with no particular melody. Chimes, a drum, a tam-tam, cymbals touched softly, and bells, lots of bells.

I felt someone unbuckling the straps around my legs and hips. My legs were spread apart and moved forward under my stomach and chained to my sides so my ass was in a prime position for easy penetration. I felt a large hand surround my plug and pop it out. A towel blotted my ass gently. I remained in the position for a short period of time. I felt the large head of something at my hole and felt a large well greased dildo head working its way into my ass. I managed to raise my ass to receive it and felt a gentle hand touch my back to tell me to relax. I did and just went with the person inserting it. They were gentle but forceful and I knew they weren't going to stop until it was all the way inside me. Finally, I couldn’t feel it going in anymore but felt a belt being strapped under the dildo and it was cinched up tight. My hole was filled. It felt like someone strapped me underneath a stallion getting ready to ride him and me in tandem around the ranch to receive his seed.

They left it in me for a long time and my whole body began to accept it as it became a protection around a sacred icon that was secretly placed in my body for safe keeping. When it was removed I felt empty. There was hollow feeling in my gut. I felt my plug, my friend, being replace. It felt comfortable. I heard the voice of Big Jim gently come over the ear phones. “Your mouth plug is going to be removed. I’ll place a plastic tube in your mouth to feed you some warm broth. Take it slowly, and I’ll hold the tube while you swallow. Take your time and take as much as you feel like then press the left button when you’ve had enough. If you need more press the right button-- understand?” he asked.

Green light.

I felt him undo my mouth plug and slip the tube into my mouth. I sucked and wonderful warm flavors filled my senses as the soup flooded into my mouth. Best damn soup broth I ever tasted. It had to be homemade. Wasn’t from a can, I can tell you that. I must have sucked up a cup. I wanted more, it was so damn good. It was replaced with another, and I finished that. I was feeling kind of warm and fuzzy and thought I probably didn’t need a lot. I signaled to stop. My mouth plug was returned and I hung in silence for a long period of time. My legs were stretched out, and, believe it or not, I drifted off to sleep.

* * * * * * *
Part IV ~ Road Signs and Sea Serpents

All who watched at the midnight hour,
from hall or terrace, or lofty tower, cried
as they traced the meteor bright,
moving along through the dreary night.

"This is the hour, when forth he goes,
the Dong with the luminous nose.
yonder,— over the plains he goes;
despite his woes still on he goes,
The Dong with the luminous nose!" ~
Edward Lear ~

Master Jeb met Big Beryl and Blaine at the door. They brought two enormous pizzas with them. Neat trick on the back of two Harley’s. However, they managed, and everything seemed in order.

“How’s our boy?” Beryl asked

“He’s doing fine. Jim’s doing a great job as dungeon master and had him adrift at six sharp. It’s about time for his late evening fuck’n. We thought you might like the honor if you think you’re up to it, old man,” Jeb said and gently punched Beryl in the side.

“What? Are you kidding? You know what that kid does to me. My old dick’s drooling just thinking about fuck’n his little ass, but right now, me and my gut's hungry. Let’s have some pizza and brewskis before I plow his lower forty. Blaine, Honey, go down and relieve Jim so’s he can come up and have some 'za and ski.' We’ll save you some, Son,” Beryl promised.

“Sure, Dad, be glad, too,” Blaine replied, was away and down the stairs to the dungeon. Quietly, he went through the ritual greeting with the Dungeon Master and spoke in quiet tones, “You taking good care of my little brother, Master Jim?” Blaine asked.

“Sure as Hell trying to, Son,” Jim said.

“Looks good to me. He’s not gonna’ have a bit of problem with this. I wish dad would put me in bondage more’n he does. It always makes me feel better about everything for weeks after. Dad’s a damn good dungeon master. Well, you know, you’ve helped him with me in bondage before. Don’t think I don’t remember some of the good shit the two of you arranged for me. Especially, that ass beating you gave me that one time and the gentle ass fucking you gave me after that. Woah! Still makes my old pussy drip. Forgive me, Master Jim, I got carried away and almost forgot. I’m here to relieve you so’s you can go upstairs and have some pizza and brew with dad and Master Jeb. Go on, I’ll watch him and call at the first sign of distress,” Blaine said.

Big Jim pulled Blaine to him and kissed him gently. “Don’t think for a minute I ever forgot fucking you either. That was one sweet fuck you gimme’ that night, Slave. You did your old man proud. Feel,” he said.

He took Blaine’s hand and placed it on his cod piece. Blaine gently felt a rock hard cock beneath the leather. “Well, if you need any later tonight, Master Jim, front door or rear, I’d be proud to give you my best,” Blaine offered.

“I’ll talk to your dad, Son,” Jim said.

“You may if you wish, but he done told me before we left, if you needed me not to bother asking, just let you have it,” Blaine replied.

“Thanks, Sweetheart, you just may get a little of the giant this evening. You’re old man’s gonna’ get to give our boy here his evening fuck. Wonder if the kid will know?” Big Jim asked and grinned.

“Master Jim, that’s Beau you’re talking about,” Blaine said.

“Yeah, you’re right, he’ll know,” Jim replied. Big Jim gave a high five to Blaine and was off up the stairs to find Big Beryl and Jeb at the kitchen table waiting for him.

He gave Beryl a big hug. “Dad?” Jim said to Big Beryl as he reached for a big slice of pizza.

“Yes, Son?” Beryl replied.

“While you give our boy down there a good, long, slow, deep dong’n would it be all right if I tore me off a piece of yore' slave-boy's pussy?” Jim asked.

“I told that silly twit to give you anything you needed tonight,” Beryl said strongly.

“He did, Dad, he told me. I just wanted to be polite and ask. I never had a lot of sex with Blaine because, well, you know how I am. But, tonight, this dungeon master thing’s got my juices flowing. I’m gonna’ need some relief to lie there and watch you fuck our boy. I couldn’t imagine anything sweeter than Blaine’s pussy,” Jim said.

“Sure, Son, take all you need. He’s been itching to serve you again ever since you hit him in the shitter out to our place last time. Matter of fact, he can’t wait to try the four way thing again. Ain’t talked about nothing else since that night. You gotta’ admit it was pert-damn hot,” Beryl said.

Big Jim smiled to himself as Big Beryl explained the details to Jeb. Jeb was laughing so hard he almost choked on his pizza. Big Jim and Beryl finished and excused themselves to go to the dungeon. Jeb gave them instructions to send the hungry slave up, and he would sit with him while he ate. In a few minutes Blaine came up the stairs, across the kitchen, knelt in front of Jeb and kissed each of his boots.

Master Jeb held his hand down for Blaine. The good looking slave kissed it and held it to his forehead. “Forgive me, Master Jeb, for forgetting my manners a while ago. You know I love you and would never do nothing to slight you, sir,” he said humbly.

“If I remember correctly, good slave, your master was barking orders to you, hustled your ass off to the dungeon to relieve the Dungeon Master and didn’t give you a chance to remember your manners. You’re a fine slave and you know you should always follow your master’s orders without hesitation. Another master will understand your situation. And, you know I love you, too, Son. Get your ass up here and show me some love,” Jeb ordered.

Blaine practically crawled into Master Jeb’s big arms and kissed him. “Hungry, Son?” Master Jeb asked.

“Yes, sir,” Blaine replied.

Jeb handed him a paper plate and told him to help himself as he went to the fridge to get Blaine a beer.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome, Son. You never went through a formal slave training program, did you, Blaine?” Jeb asked.

“Naw, sir. I can see the way the other slaves you’ve trained adjust to slave life. It probably would've been a Hell of a lot easier for me if I’d gone through your training. Maybe, if I had, I’d still have my cock today. That ain't to say I miss my penis 'cause I don't. I'm just fine with my cunt. My master loves it, and I love it because he loves it; to say nothing about the way it feels when he's fuck'n me. Dad never said anything about slave training, and I didn’t even know about it until I met you several years after we were together. I guess dad thought it was too late. Besides, he already cured me of chasing cunt by that time. The rest was just acceptance, I guess. Except, I know in my heart, I accepted that old man as my master the first night he took me all them years ago.

“I never had a man’s cock up my butt before. I was scared to death he was gonna’ split me in two or wreck my insides. I never figured how damn good his old dick would feel once he got it up inside me. After he fucked me good I didn't worry no more. All I knew, after that first night he fucked me was, I had to have as much of that old man’s cock in me as I could get. I remembered Beau fucking Wes in that cave in Nam, and I wanted to experience that kind of intensity in my life. I got it. Boy, did I get it. Sometimes a little too intense, especially when I found myself strapped down to that operating table in Tijuana. Fuck, Master Jeb, it was my own damn fault. My old man never lied to me. I signed his unconditional contract. I had the damn thing read to me and gone over with me, line by line, paragraph by paragraph, by Booger Red, Walker Johnson, and the cowboy.

“They painted graphic pictures of what could possibly happen to me if I signed his unconditional contract. They explained to me I would become his personal property, just like his bike. He could take me to a body shop and have me chopped just like he could his hog or to a vet and have me neutered like his pet dog. There was no difference. By signing his contract, I gave the man my permission to do whatever he wanted with me or to me. I didn’t give a shit, I wanted to be his slave so bad. No one in my fucked up life ever gave a shit enough to demand something like that from me. Here was this old man who not only cared enough but demanded a commitment from me. He wasn’t gonna’ take 'no' for an answer. I didn’t want to tell him 'no.' I never told him I consider it. Weren't no reason, I wanted to belong to him in the worse way. I couldn’t sign my name to that fuck’n piece of paper fast enough and never looked back.

“He warned me. He told me exactly what he was gonna’ do if I didn’t stop chasing them damn cunts. I couldn’t understand what he was gettin’ so upset about. I wasn’t going with no other men. He knew that. Hell, you can’t keep something like 'at secret among a group of scoot bums. Fuck! They gossip worse than a bunch of old women. He would’ve found out. He would’ve known. Besides, my old man was give’n me all the cock I could handle. He was keep’n my tank filled, but good. I was never a quart low. I never said 'no' to him when he wanted a piece of my ass. I even got to where I loved to suck his big dick, get him off, and I never said 'no' to him for that either. To be honest, I thought I had the best of both worlds for a while. I was wrong. The best world was serving my master, but I was just too damn immature, hardheaded, and stupid to realize it at the time.

“He put up with me whore’n around with them stupid bitches for damn near two years. He warned me over and over again. He had Booger Red talk to me. Red warned me. Told me not to test the old man's patience, he knew him too damn well. He would take and take and then he would snap and do what he said he was gonna’ do, but when it happened, he couldn't be reasoned with. If I wanted to keep my cock and balls, I damn well better listen to him. Dad had Cowboy talk to me. Cowboy knew dad better’n Red. He told me the same damn thing. He had Cowboy’s dad talk to me. Even Walker Johnson tried to get through to me. I wouldn’t listen to none of ‘em. Oh, I listened all right. I just didn’t wanna’ believe ‘em, after all, I’d been fuck’n around on him with them worthless cunts for well over two years. I guess I just didn’t really believe he’d do it.

“I gambled and lost. Damned if he didn’t. He gave me some knockout drops, and I didn’t wake up until I was strapped to an operating table in a clinic in T.J. He told me I had a choice of losing 'em altogether or he was willing to spend the money for an operation to have them turn my penis into a cunt. At that moment, I knew he was dead serious, and I asked him if he still planned to keep me as his slave. That was more important to me than losing my cock and balls. He assured me he loved me and I would be his slave until I drew my last breath or he drew his. That’s all I needed to hear. I told them Mexican doctors to make me a pussy and make it a big one.

“Afterwards, lying in that Mexican clinic, I woke up and saw dad sittin’ in a chair next to me asleep. My hands were strapped down. I couldn’t reach down and feel myself, but I knew there was a difference down there and figured my penis was probably gone. It wasn’t. They just sliced it down the middle and inverted it to make me a cunt. I looked at dad and thought about how much I loved him and how I gave myself to him that first night to be his slave. He had ever right to do what he did. “What could I have been thinking? I knew he was a man of his word. I’m damn glad he is. He loved me enough to make me his. He forced me to keep my commitment, and I ain’t sorry he done it. Now, all I wanna’ be is his good and faithful slave. Ain’t nothing else in life important to me,” Blaine said.

“Do you ever regret the operation, Son?” Master Jeb asked.

“God no! You ain’t had me since the operation, have you, Master Jeb?” Blaine asked smiling.

“No, Son, I haven’t. Never has been the right time. Can’t say’s I ain’t thought about it or didn’t want to,” Jeb replied and chuckled.

“With your permission, sir, I’ll talk to dad and we can get that taken care of pert-damn quick. I'd love for you to take my cunt for a good ride and not just around the block either,” Blaine said and winked at Jeb.

“I’m sure I’d enjoy it, Son. You have my permission to asked your old man. We both know what he’ll say, but it’s good manners,” he said.

“Hot damn, Master Jeb. Once you’ve tried my cunt, and we’re lying there together, afterwards, I want you to ask me that question again about whether I regret the operation or not,” Blaine said and laughed.

Jeb gently boxed his ear. “You know, Slave, I think you’ve done fine without my training, and that’s a compliment I wouldn’t give many slaves.”

“Thanks, Master Jeb, coming from you, that means a lot. I thought many times about asking dad to let me go through your training. To be honest, I don’t think he could could do without me that long. We ain’t spent a night apart since the night I moved into his tent. When I was in that hospital in Tijuana for the several surgeries, he was right there. Night and day he was there. He slept in a chair beside my bed," Blaine said with tears in his eyes.

“Son, I’m here to tell you, as many years as I’ve known your old man, I can verify for you he couldn’t do without you for one night. You’re his life. He loves you with the height and breadth his soul can reach. If anything should happen to you, God forbid, he would cease to exist. I watched what happened to him when Jimmy was killed, and he took the blame on himself. It was a fucking accident. Everyone knew it. I saw it happen. There was nothing he could've done. He grieved all those years until the day you walked by. I’ll tell you this. It was the luckiest day of your life,” Jeb said.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve told myself that, Master Jeb. I’d be dead now if it weren’t for that old man,” Blaine allowed.

Blaine finished his pizza and beer then asked if he might have another beer. Jeb handed him the beer and pulled him close. He held him for a moment and kissed him on the neck. Jeb let Blaine go and patted him on his butt as he pointed him toward the dungeon stairs.

“Thanks, Master Jeb,” Blaine said over his shoulder then stopped and turned at the door and added, “...for everything.”

“You’re more’n welcome, Son,” Jeb said quietly.

* * * * * * *
I was half-asleep, drifting on a dark sea when I felt someone playing with my plug. No, they weren’t playing with it. They just popped it out. Damn, it felt good. I suddenly heard soft music. Don’t know who did the programing in this dungeon, but they had damn good taste. I recognized the piece immediately. Ravel’s ‘Daphnis and Chloe.’ An hour and a half of musical orgasms. I felt myself drifting back to sleep during the slow quite opening section. My sleep was terminated in an instant when I felt a whip hit my leathered ass. It was not meant to be sensual either. It was an awaking stroke. It certainly got my attention. It was followed by about nine more and I had a Hell of a time not coming for the last three. My ass was hot from the heat generated by the whip. My legs were lowered and brought up under me and to my sides. My hole was once again exposed for any purpose.

I felt a real cock at my hole and knew I was about to get fucked. I felt two big hands on my shoulder and the person pulled himself into me with one swift stroke. Surely my cup runneth over. My tank was certainly filled to capacity. It wasn’t Master Jim, I knew how his fit. This man was considerably larger. No, It couldn’t be. Could it? No, I don’t believe it. Whoever it was, left it in until my ass stopped arguing and then took a couple of small strokes to help me relax. That’s all I needed to make positive identification of my mystery fucker. It was my desert dad. No question in my mind. The whip and now the fuck. I should have guessed from the whip.

How wonderful. He and Blaine rode in from the desert to be with me. My heart suddenly swelled bigger than my ass was filled. I was going to give the old man a good fuck if I could. I had just enough movement with the lower half of my body I could control the position of my ass. He started fucking me deep and slow to get me stretched so he could do some harder riding a little later. I made sure my ass was right there for every stroke. The music was getting more frantic. Long phrases that built and built only to die down and start to build again. He couldn’t hear what I was hearing or could he? It began to feel like he was fucking me to the music. How could he fuck me to the music? He would stop completely when the music died down and slowly build in his intensity as the music swelled.

Damn, the old man couldn't have that much sophistication to...wait a minute! Remember how surprised you were to discover Big Jim had a fucking Doctorate Degree from Oxford? What’s wrong with you, Beau? Of course the old man could be sophisticated enough. I had no way of knowing, but he was wearing a set of earphones and was doing exactly that. I was the one who felt stupid and unsophisticated. Me with all my superficial knowledge of fine arts, never considered the possibility of being fucked to music; however, it was a new and terribly sensual experience I was beginning to love.

I knew the piece well. (Of music, that is...) I even conducted portions in student orchestral rehearsals. The old man fucking me obviously knew the score by heart, certainly better than I did. He knew when and where each nuance of the music would be best served with which stroke. I was not only being fucked by a sensitive old man but Maurice Ravel by proxy as well, who was never known to have a sexual experience in his life. I was beginning to wonder if there was life after ‘Daphnis and Chloe?’

Dad Beryl continued his fucking ballet for almost the entire score. He rested for a minute or two and knew the chorus signaled the final ‘dance of death’ and set in to do his own very special, sensual interpretation. In his capable hands, his nuanced choreography with his enormous penis became the ‘fuck of death’ which lost absolutely nothing in the translation. The old man knew what the Hell he was doing. He was damn well going to climax this performance with one Hell of a finish and I was going to share in that climax with ‘un petite mort’ in this unbelievable pas de deux. He hit his climax with the ultimate, final surge and up-swell of the music. He squeezed me around my waist to tell me to go with him.

This was our one chance to come together as a team for greatness. A performance which only happens once a lifetime and is whispered about by fucking mavens for years afterward. Perhaps, they had a huge audience watching my good master's fucking ballet? I certainly hoped so. God, I hoped they sold out. I didn’t know, but I wasn’t going to disappoint him or the gathered audience. Oh, God, how I wanted an audience even if it was only in my imagination. That sweet old man, master to many, took a boy from an obscure beginning on a black-land farm in West Central Texas, worked with him, taught him and elevated his ass into the spotlights and made him into a primo bondage slave-fuck. My cod piece was removed by Master Jim at the beginning, and I shot all over the place. I pushed back to meet his climaxing thrust.

The music came to a crashing end as my mentor, my partner, my fucking-master, my beloved desert dad collapsed on top of me, still plunged into my depths, with both arms around me holding me tight. I could imagine the stage gone to black and the curtains dropped to thunderous-- no, no-- tumultuous applause. The lights come up and my partner is still in character lying dead with his enormous love-muscle thrust into my depths. More applause and then I could smell the flowers being thrown onto the stage. Cries of, “Bravo!” “Bravissimo!” I imagined I could hear. The performance was complete. I wondered what the reviews will say?

* * * * * * *
Big Jim was kissing Blaine gently after having come in his man-cunt and Blaine was thanking him for the good fucking when they looked up and saw the green light flashing on and off quickly. Jim and Blaine looked at the light. “It’s Morse code,” Blaine said, “It says, ‘T - h - a - n - k - s   d - a - d!” They must have gotten my message, because I felt the old man shaking with laughter with his dick still up inside me. He took it almost all the way out and then very gently put it all the way back into me as if to say, ‘You’re welcome, Son.’ Damn, I loved that old man. He could express more with his penis than most men could with their pie holes.

I lay in bondage once again listening to sounds of the night; crickets, frogs, a passing carriage with horse hooves on cobblestone, soothing recorded sounds played though the earphones. My ass was cleaned and my plug reinserted. I had two hot man loads in my ass, Master Jim’s and Dad Beryl’s, to help float me across the deepest seas of nothingness. A repository for their sacred trust, their seed. An anal feeding that would add more male hormones to my already overloaded system. Their DNA was being absorbed into my system. The product of their bodies were become a sustaining, however small, portion of my being. I was once again adrift. My soul satisfied from warm food in both my guts. I was loved, being cared for, and my soul was at peace.

I was drifting ever further in to the abyss of myself; no longer afraid of what I might experience. I knew the terrors and horrors of Nam were still there lurking around a mental corner hiding in the darkness; kept away by the baying hounds guarding my consciousness. They would wait. They knew I would eventually have to sleep. I thought about Chief. I thought of him risking his life to save me when he could have left me alone for the final e-vacs. He didn’t. I did the same for many other corpsmen and so did he. We were brothers, and I was glad of Blaine’s presence with his master. In the excitement of the past week I forgot to call and tell Blaine the news of finding Chief. He knew him well; much better than I did.

There seemed to be an electricity in the air. I could smell it. The power in the dungeon was overwhelming. Those who have escaped sure death and lived to tell about it, who cry in each others arms at the closeness of their peril, have an unspoken bond the average man will never know. He may only sit and observe the wonder of the human spirit being reborn to a new life; a life which came close to breathing in the dank, foul, rotten breath of the dark stranger. The biggest hurdle was not accepting the gift of life, but the guilt of survival. Try as you may, you can never explain to someone why you feel guilty for surviving. It follows you the rest of your life. You may go to the ends of the Earth and never find the answer, but you will try.

I hung suspended in mid-air and all at once the final duet and chorus of Benjamin Britten’s masterpiece against the horrors of war, the 'War Requiem,' came flooding into my mind. I could see the full orchestral score as I recalled the music in my mind. The final lines of Wilfred Owen's poem 'Strange Meeting' is sung as a duet, back and forth between baritone and tenor. 'Let us sleep now,' one softly sings to the other as if he were comforting his brother, then the full chorus and orchestra with a boys chorus singing 'In Paradisium' from the requiem mass swells to the greatest piece of music since the opening chorus of Bach's 'St. Matthew's Passion.' The 'War Requiem' is built on the smallest grain of artistic genius, an augmented fourth.

It seemed that out of the battle I escaped,
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped,
Through granites which titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.

Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared,
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen pall;
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell,
With a thousand pains that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.

“Strange friend," I said, "here is no cause to mourn."
"None," said the other, "save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was as my life also; I went hunting wild,
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, nor braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something had been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.

Now men will go content with what we spoiled,
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress,
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery,
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery;
To miss the march of this retreating world,
Into vain citadels that are not walled.

Then when much blood had clogged their chariot wheels,
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
From sweet wells, we dug too deep for war,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint,
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.”

“I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark; for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now...."

In Paradisium

End Chapter 18 ~ The Ties That Bind
Copyright ~ © ~ 2000 ~ 2015 ~ Waddie Greywolf
All Rights Reserved~
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WC = 20410
05/30/2015