He was standing in the kitchen and sipping a beer, as if everything that had happened was merely an inconvenience to him. I crawled through the doorway and onto the front porch. Suddenly, I felt a kick to my balls. I groaned and fell flat to the floor.
“I’m calling your Master faggot; you’re not going crawling away so people can gawk at you and see you were my toy. Embarrassing me? Who the fuck do you think you are?”
I was too exhausted to respond, so I just laid on the porch. Two minutes later, the man came back outside.
“Well if you’re going to lay there you need to be punished for not walking home like your Master clearly wanted you to,” he said.
I felt a warm stream of liquid on my back as he pissed all over me. The heat of his piss was a welcome feeling in the maybe 30 degree weather (though my ass wounds stung as it flowed over them) and I lay there still. Finally my Master arrived. I picked myself halfway up, and half-crawled half-stumbled to the car where my Master sat.
I opened the passenger seat door.
“What do you think you’re doing faggot?!” he screamed. I froze.
“You’re filthy with piss and in fucking huge trouble for disobeying me,” he gestured to the open bed trailer attached to the back of the car.
“Get on there motherfucker, and sit on the dildo, so the whole neighborhood can see what a slut you are,” he said.
I crawled back to the trailer and hauled myself on board. The dildo had been seemingly glued to the bed of the trailer. It was a horse cock, and it must have been at least a foot long. I lifted myself up (quite painfully because of my legs and wrecked boipussy) and sat down on the dildo. It felt as if it was expanding in my gut, and though my fag cunt hurt wrapping around its wide girth, I loved feeling every inch of it inside me.
Suddenly we started moving. My Master was driving slowly through the neighborhood, going maybe 5 miles per hour, ensuring that the men that were outside of their houses mowing the lawn, checking mail, or just enjoying a beer in the sun, could watch me as we drove by, rubbing their cock imprints through their pants. After a humiliating almost half hour, slowly cruising through the neighborhood, we reached home. I pulled myself up off the dildo painfully, and proceeded to go to the back patio; my post-appointment routine.
After every appointment, I would come to the back patio. There was a doorbell-type mechanism that I was to push, that would let my Master know I had arrived home. Once I pushed it, I was to get on my hands and knees, and lower the upper half of my body while pushing my cunt up in the air. He called this ‘Presentation’.
He would come outside with the plug he had had custom-made for me; 12 inches long, and with a circumference of 7 1/2 inches. and walk over to me, retrieving the money from my waistband. He would adjudicate on the amount later; first he would remove the container with the keys from my pussy, and then insert the plug. He had always said “A fag’s pussy should be filled with the shape of a real man’s penis as often as possible”.
Once he had stuffed me full, he would come around to the front of me. Then I was supposed to lick his shoes clean, as a thank you to him for letting me work. After his shoes were as shiny as he wanted, he would go back around to my behind. He would pull my cock up as far as he could, crouch down a little, and examine it.
This was the one area that my Master varied from what I had heard of other Masters. Where often they did not allow their slaves to cum, and even resorted to permanent chastity to make it impossible for them to, my Master had always held the opinion that slaves should be not just allowed, but MADE to cum, as often as possible. He said that “Fags are dirty animals, and their cum was even less valuable than dishwater, and as such they should be forced to reconcile with the fact of their filth regularly”.
He would usually do some ball-busting first, most likely with a hammer or paddle he had brought with him. Once my balls were red enough for him, he would start pumping my cock. Pumping isn’t the most accurate word, since my penis is pretty pathetic (a maximum of 1 inch when soft and maybe 2 1/2 when hard). When I finally came, he would collect it in his hand, and with the other hand pull out my buttplug. He would slather my cum on it, mixing it with my pussy juices, and then slide it back into my cunt.
Another thing to note was that, under my Master’s orders, I never ate real food. This ensures that my gut is always empty and ready to use. He would get vitamins and other supplements from the drugstore, so he could keep me relatively strong; at least enough so to do my jobs at home and fulfill my clients, but other than that, the only things to enter my mouth were piss, cum, spit, and dicks.
After making me cum and feeding that cum into my boipussy, he would count how much money I made. If it was enough for him (which it only rarely was) he would hose me down, and usher me inside the house for training (which usually only really consisted of fuckings (face AND pussy), and physical punishment) before sending me back outside to my cage.
The cage was a sphere, maybe three or four feet tall, with a diameter obviously the same. He had attached it to a spare pipe that emerged from the ground in the middle of a huge ditch of mud, so it sat upright. The front half would open and I would sit on the dildo inside. Then I would close the door and try to rest until my next appointment or when he would come to get me for more training, or to do my chores.
In the much more likely event that I had NOT made enough money to satisfy him, he would make me stand up and walk over to the trellis on one side of the pergola. He would order me to raise my arms and spread my legs such that I formed a sort of human ‘X’. Using wires that were already attached to the trellis (which would often cut into my wrists, upper arms, thighs, ankles, and neck) he would tie me so that my face was smashed up against the thick and splintery wood latticework and my ass was exposed to the air behind me.
He would then remove my plug, and insert a hose into my cunt, and start filling me up with ‘The Potion’. I had never been able to ascertain its exact contents, but I believe it consisted of some mixture of his piss, his spit, water, and coconut oil. That last one I knew was in it for sure, because of the smell. He would fill me up until my stomach (which as you can imagine was almost concave in its natural state as a result of my non-food diet) was distended to almost three inches at its farthest point, and pushed painfully against the wood in front of it.
Taking the hose out, he would place a bucket under me; if, when he came to get me for my next appointment, I had prematurely spilled any of the solution, he would devise his own punishment for me. Usually he would call and tell the client I would be an hour late (which would serve to heighten their already high straight male anger levels; ensuring that I would receive a much angrier fucking at their house) and then do one of two things. If it was cold out, he would pour two piles of rice on the patio.
He would untie me, and still full of however much liquid was inside of me, he would have me kneel on the rice. Then he would dump the liquid on my head, letting it cascade down and coat the rest of my body. If it wasn’t enough, he would piss on me, or if it was easier, go inside and get some honey, and then come out and pour some on me. This way, I would be suffering through the cold while wet, suffering through the pain of kneeling on the rice, and potentially be agonized by the numerous flies or other insects landing on me.
Before going to an appointment after this, he would hose me down with ice-cold water, and then pour more coconut oil on me to make sure I was nice and slippery. If it was warm or hot outside, then the punishment would be much worse. The patio was made of concrete, which was not only uncomfortable like rice, it also retained heat from the sun.
He would untie me similarly, then have me kneel on the ground, my knees hurting and being burned by the patio. Instead of pouring the liquid however, he would do something quite different. If I spilled a substantial amount of liquid into the bucket, he would still tip the contents into my mouth first (he was never one to waste a punishment method). He would then go into the house and return with clothespins.
These were not normal clothespins though; they had been rubbed against some hard surface to make their tips much less smooth, and more splintered, and then been coated with icy-hot. He would stick as many as he had time to, onto my various erogenous zones; often it resulted in about twenty shoved onto my cock and balls, ten on each ass cheek, five on my taint, three around each areola and one directly on the nipple, and seven ‘stapling’ my mouth closed.
While these each ‘burned’ and ‘froze’ my skin or other body part, he would put on gloves and use nettle leaves from the numerous nettle plants he had growing directly to the left of the patio. He would surround my knees with them, and they would sting the areas around where I was kneeling.
Today I knew I would receive a unique punishment though; not only had I disobeyed my Master’s orders, I had made him drive four miles and waste gas (almost $3 worth of it). Once I had presented myself (as my legs burned with pain), and he had counted how much money I had made, he spoke.
“I’m very disappointed in you. You are akin to an object in the eyes of people, yes, but you are also my nephew. We are related by blood, and still you insist on making me feel an intense hatred for you. I have pushed your fourth appointment to tomorrow, so I can spend the rest of the-” he checked his watch; “-nearly 7 hours we have left until midnight punishing you,” he looked back at me.
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