Remote Control Love Slave
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REMOTE CONTROL SLAVE **THE END** (PART 12) free porn video
Remote Control Slave
Part 12
During the drive back from the mall, Piss-Master kept cock-master on the floor next to the front seat. His job was to lick Piss-Master’s right foot clean of mall-dirt. From what I could hear, he was doing an unexpectedly enthusiastic job.
I remembered when cock-master had shown up at my door, how superior he had been, how he had abused me, eventually introducing me to the friend I came to know as Piss-Master. I had witnessed cock-master’s fall from superiority to servitude, and wondered where he now fit in next to me. I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
We arrived back in the parking lot of my apartment complex, and Piss-Master ordered cock-master to the back of the van with me: “Get your faggot-cocksucker mouth back there are make sure the boy is clean enough to enter the apartment, and then get back up here and do my other foot!”
Cock-master climbed over the seats, removed my sandals, and started licked my feet clean, then working his way up my calves and legs. Remember, I had not only been pissed on by the guard, but the bag of my own pee had been pierced underneath my pink sweatshirt. I was a pissed-on sweat-stained mess, but that seemed to turn cock-master on. Whereas he had earlier been surly about obeying orders, now he was into it, eagerly licking my skin clean, quickly reaching the point where my flimsy pink shorts ended. His tongue stretched up underneath, lapping against my pissy jockstrap and the hard-on underneath. Not having been ordered to remove any clothes, he moved up to my bare belly, my arms, and even my shaved pits. My top was pulled over on one side, giving his access to one tit, which he licked and sucked like a madman. He was a non-stop automatic tongue body-washer and I think he would have licked my clothing clean too if Piss-Master hadn’t called him back to the front to do his left foot.
“OK cocksucker, up here and finish my foot…and don’t miss between the toes.” cocksucker (the word “master”, even without the capital, seemed no longer fitting) left my saliva-covered body and jumped to the front where he absorbed more of the dirt from the mall adventure. Finished with that task, he kneeled on the front floorboard of the van, head down in submission, a new and eager slave. Piss-Master attached a leash to cocksucker’s collar and ordered us both out of the van.
It was after eleven o’clock at night, so we were again able to get into the apartment without being confronted by anyone (although I found myself hoping at least one neighbor would show up, so I could be seen as no longer quite on the bottom of the shit-pile).
Inside, Piss-Master ordered me to strip, removed the tape attaching the harness holding the remote-control devices, and then had cocksucker finish the job he had started outside, carefully licking every inch of my body clean. When he licked my penis, it was all I could do to not cum…and then Piss-Master issued the ultimate order the sealed his position: “OK, cocksucker, do what you do best! Shithead here has had a rough night and was a good slave-boy in the mall…get that mouth of your around his tool and suck the juice out of him!”
Cocksucker did just that, kneeling in front of me in classic cocksucker position, and it took all of thirty seconds till I was spurting into his mouth, my first orgasm in days, despite all of the stimulation. He swallowed it all, averting his eyes from mine, another sign of his newly lowered status.
Yet I was still a slave-boy, and Piss-Master was quick to remind me of that. He ordered cocksucker to attach my arm and leg restraints and used rope to secure me naked to my own couch. He turned off the lights, grabbed cocksucker, and headed for my bedroom. But he stopped briefly at my side, patted me on the head like a favored dog, and pulled a light blanket over me against the cool air conditioning in the living room. Then, leading cocksucker on the leash, he went into the bedroom, half-closing the door behind him.
For the next two hours I lay in the dark listening to cocksucker’s abuse. Piss-Master fed him the evening worth of piss, causing him to gag. Piss-Master had him spend a half hour riming his ass, fucked him endlessly, and eventually shot down his throat, tossing him off the bed to sleep on the floor. Cocksucker whimpered like a struck puppy. Following my canine-analogy, he was the last sled dog now, destined to look at my ass for the remainder of the ride. Piss-Master stretched out and was soon asleep. I had followed each event in the other room by sound alone, still horny and hard despite the orgasm I had courtesy the new slave-boy cocksucker. Then I too fell asleep. My arms and legs were stretched out, leaving me open for any abuse that should happen to come my way.
None did. When I awoke it was dark and completely silent. Then I realized the darkness was a product of the blanket that had slipped over my head as I tossed during the night. I shook my head and it fell off, leaving me blinking in the daylight that shone through the windows. I was alone. Someone had loosened my right arm restraint to the point that I was able to untie it and the rest of my bondage. I walked shakily into the bedroom. It was empty. The sex-stained sheets had been pulled off the bed and lie on the floor in a pile. A quick look in the bathroom and kitchen and I knew I was truly alone.
There were no notes…the computer was turned off…and for a moment I wondered if it had all been a dream. Then I saw my skimpy sweat-stained pink mall outfit on the floor next to the couch. It had been real, but where were Piss-Master and cocksucker?
I showered, threw on a fresh pair of women’s panties, made the bed and slept for eight hours straight. When I woke up, the room was dark again. It was evening, and I was still alone.
A week dragged on with no news. I returned to work, depressed and out of sorts, arguing with co-workers who had been friendly before. I jerked off at home each night, getting no pleasure from it. The e-mail addresses I had used to contact Piss-Master, Cock-Master and Master in S. Africa were all dead ends. But a week after the mall experience, I needed to find some action, and logged on to some chat-rooms. After several hours of cat and mouse on some master/slave boards I was about to give up when I clicked on one more, entering as a “master” by mistake. My nick included the name of my town, but was otherwise vague enough that it didn’t label me as a bottom boy.
Almost immediately I was IM’d by someone calling themselves armature-slave, who asked if I was really located in that hometown.
“Of course,” I send back…only then noticing my mistake about this being a slave seeking master site.
“Let me serve you!” came the next message.
Before I could dismiss him and leave, he IM’d again.
“I will do anything you ask!”
After a week, any action was beginning to sound good, and I decided to give it a try. There’s a saying that the best masters have once been slaves themselves.
Starts now! I ordered.
He complied, they seemed reasonable enough, and so I went way out on a limb. I gave him m address and told him he had ninety minutes to be here ready to serve.
While I waited, I surveyed my available toys, took off the panties and replaced them with a jockstrap and a pair of black leather shorts. With a black boy-beater added, I made a reasonable looking master. My hair had begun to grow back during the week and I figured the rest was attitude. I was ready to try my hand at being on top.
Eighty-nine minutes after I had logged off there was a knock on the door. Something about his not using the bell appealed to me, like some unwritten rule that electronics weren’t for slaves to use.
With collar and leash in hand, I opened the door to my apartment.
He was about twenty years old, wearing a torn pair of cutoff shorts…kind of a daisy-duke outfit that could be either macho or fem depending on other factors. And the factor that turned them in decidedly Daisy was the frilly cut off top. It screamed fag-boy. But the most amazing thing about the potential slave at my door was this: it was Brian, the former classmate from the Save-Mart store, the one who had provided me with the women’s panties, who had pissed on me in the storeroom that night.
“Brian? What the…?”
“Yes Sir, it’s me, Sir, I know I don’t have any right to come here after the way I treated you at the store, but I was just going along with what I thought you wanted. This is the real me, Sir. I need to be serving you, Sir.”
He said all of this from a kneeling position in my doorway, his eyes on the door jam. I reached down an attached the dog collar and leash to his neck, pulling him not so gently into the tiled entryway to the apartment.
I pulled my cock out and squirted him, marking him as mine. Keeping his eyes averted, he opened his mouth, ready to take my piss, ready to do what I asked. A few minutes later he was servicing my feet, and then my cock. I had my eyes closed; envisioning a thousand and one adventures Brian and I were going to have. First I needed to get rid of all of that hair on his groin and pits and head…then there should be a tat and some metal. In no time at all I was settling in to my new role. As was my first slave-boy: the newly named “bitch-Brian”.
**************************************the end**************************************
Part 12
During the drive back from the mall, Piss-Master kept cock-master on the floor next to the front seat. His job was to lick Piss-Master’s right foot clean of mall-dirt. From what I could hear, he was doing an unexpectedly enthusiastic job.
I remembered when cock-master had shown up at my door, how superior he had been, how he had abused me, eventually introducing me to the friend I came to know as Piss-Master. I had witnessed cock-master’s fall from superiority to servitude, and wondered where he now fit in next to me. I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
We arrived back in the parking lot of my apartment complex, and Piss-Master ordered cock-master to the back of the van with me: “Get your faggot-cocksucker mouth back there are make sure the boy is clean enough to enter the apartment, and then get back up here and do my other foot!”
Cock-master climbed over the seats, removed my sandals, and started licked my feet clean, then working his way up my calves and legs. Remember, I had not only been pissed on by the guard, but the bag of my own pee had been pierced underneath my pink sweatshirt. I was a pissed-on sweat-stained mess, but that seemed to turn cock-master on. Whereas he had earlier been surly about obeying orders, now he was into it, eagerly licking my skin clean, quickly reaching the point where my flimsy pink shorts ended. His tongue stretched up underneath, lapping against my pissy jockstrap and the hard-on underneath. Not having been ordered to remove any clothes, he moved up to my bare belly, my arms, and even my shaved pits. My top was pulled over on one side, giving his access to one tit, which he licked and sucked like a madman. He was a non-stop automatic tongue body-washer and I think he would have licked my clothing clean too if Piss-Master hadn’t called him back to the front to do his left foot.
“OK cocksucker, up here and finish my foot…and don’t miss between the toes.” cocksucker (the word “master”, even without the capital, seemed no longer fitting) left my saliva-covered body and jumped to the front where he absorbed more of the dirt from the mall adventure. Finished with that task, he kneeled on the front floorboard of the van, head down in submission, a new and eager slave. Piss-Master attached a leash to cocksucker’s collar and ordered us both out of the van.
It was after eleven o’clock at night, so we were again able to get into the apartment without being confronted by anyone (although I found myself hoping at least one neighbor would show up, so I could be seen as no longer quite on the bottom of the shit-pile).
Inside, Piss-Master ordered me to strip, removed the tape attaching the harness holding the remote-control devices, and then had cocksucker finish the job he had started outside, carefully licking every inch of my body clean. When he licked my penis, it was all I could do to not cum…and then Piss-Master issued the ultimate order the sealed his position: “OK, cocksucker, do what you do best! Shithead here has had a rough night and was a good slave-boy in the mall…get that mouth of your around his tool and suck the juice out of him!”
Cocksucker did just that, kneeling in front of me in classic cocksucker position, and it took all of thirty seconds till I was spurting into his mouth, my first orgasm in days, despite all of the stimulation. He swallowed it all, averting his eyes from mine, another sign of his newly lowered status.
Yet I was still a slave-boy, and Piss-Master was quick to remind me of that. He ordered cocksucker to attach my arm and leg restraints and used rope to secure me naked to my own couch. He turned off the lights, grabbed cocksucker, and headed for my bedroom. But he stopped briefly at my side, patted me on the head like a favored dog, and pulled a light blanket over me against the cool air conditioning in the living room. Then, leading cocksucker on the leash, he went into the bedroom, half-closing the door behind him.
For the next two hours I lay in the dark listening to cocksucker’s abuse. Piss-Master fed him the evening worth of piss, causing him to gag. Piss-Master had him spend a half hour riming his ass, fucked him endlessly, and eventually shot down his throat, tossing him off the bed to sleep on the floor. Cocksucker whimpered like a struck puppy. Following my canine-analogy, he was the last sled dog now, destined to look at my ass for the remainder of the ride. Piss-Master stretched out and was soon asleep. I had followed each event in the other room by sound alone, still horny and hard despite the orgasm I had courtesy the new slave-boy cocksucker. Then I too fell asleep. My arms and legs were stretched out, leaving me open for any abuse that should happen to come my way.
None did. When I awoke it was dark and completely silent. Then I realized the darkness was a product of the blanket that had slipped over my head as I tossed during the night. I shook my head and it fell off, leaving me blinking in the daylight that shone through the windows. I was alone. Someone had loosened my right arm restraint to the point that I was able to untie it and the rest of my bondage. I walked shakily into the bedroom. It was empty. The sex-stained sheets had been pulled off the bed and lie on the floor in a pile. A quick look in the bathroom and kitchen and I knew I was truly alone.
There were no notes…the computer was turned off…and for a moment I wondered if it had all been a dream. Then I saw my skimpy sweat-stained pink mall outfit on the floor next to the couch. It had been real, but where were Piss-Master and cocksucker?
I showered, threw on a fresh pair of women’s panties, made the bed and slept for eight hours straight. When I woke up, the room was dark again. It was evening, and I was still alone.
A week dragged on with no news. I returned to work, depressed and out of sorts, arguing with co-workers who had been friendly before. I jerked off at home each night, getting no pleasure from it. The e-mail addresses I had used to contact Piss-Master, Cock-Master and Master in S. Africa were all dead ends. But a week after the mall experience, I needed to find some action, and logged on to some chat-rooms. After several hours of cat and mouse on some master/slave boards I was about to give up when I clicked on one more, entering as a “master” by mistake. My nick included the name of my town, but was otherwise vague enough that it didn’t label me as a bottom boy.
Almost immediately I was IM’d by someone calling themselves armature-slave, who asked if I was really located in that hometown.
“Of course,” I send back…only then noticing my mistake about this being a slave seeking master site.
“Let me serve you!” came the next message.
Before I could dismiss him and leave, he IM’d again.
“I will do anything you ask!”
After a week, any action was beginning to sound good, and I decided to give it a try. There’s a saying that the best masters have once been slaves themselves.
Starts now! I ordered.
He complied, they seemed reasonable enough, and so I went way out on a limb. I gave him m address and told him he had ninety minutes to be here ready to serve.
While I waited, I surveyed my available toys, took off the panties and replaced them with a jockstrap and a pair of black leather shorts. With a black boy-beater added, I made a reasonable looking master. My hair had begun to grow back during the week and I figured the rest was attitude. I was ready to try my hand at being on top.
Eighty-nine minutes after I had logged off there was a knock on the door. Something about his not using the bell appealed to me, like some unwritten rule that electronics weren’t for slaves to use.
With collar and leash in hand, I opened the door to my apartment.
He was about twenty years old, wearing a torn pair of cutoff shorts…kind of a daisy-duke outfit that could be either macho or fem depending on other factors. And the factor that turned them in decidedly Daisy was the frilly cut off top. It screamed fag-boy. But the most amazing thing about the potential slave at my door was this: it was Brian, the former classmate from the Save-Mart store, the one who had provided me with the women’s panties, who had pissed on me in the storeroom that night.
“Brian? What the…?”
“Yes Sir, it’s me, Sir, I know I don’t have any right to come here after the way I treated you at the store, but I was just going along with what I thought you wanted. This is the real me, Sir. I need to be serving you, Sir.”
He said all of this from a kneeling position in my doorway, his eyes on the door jam. I reached down an attached the dog collar and leash to his neck, pulling him not so gently into the tiled entryway to the apartment.
I pulled my cock out and squirted him, marking him as mine. Keeping his eyes averted, he opened his mouth, ready to take my piss, ready to do what I asked. A few minutes later he was servicing my feet, and then my cock. I had my eyes closed; envisioning a thousand and one adventures Brian and I were going to have. First I needed to get rid of all of that hair on his groin and pits and head…then there should be a tat and some metal. In no time at all I was settling in to my new role. As was my first slave-boy: the newly named “bitch-Brian”.
**************************************the end**************************************
Maddy
- 04.05.2020
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