A Trial Period of Enslavement

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Stories of the Slave Center The Nation's Largest Retailer of Faggots _______________________

A Trial Period of Enslavement Chapter 6: A Welcome Whipping (Actually, a Caning)

by slave 7

Disclaimer: This is a story of erotic fiction containing fantasy descriptions of Male-male slavery, which may include sexual acts, BDSM and nudity. It is a intended for adults only. You must be of legal adult age to read this work. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Master Rob Carter runs his operation with careful consideration. He aims to maximize both the productivity of his slaves as well as their well-being. All slaves on the property were born to serve. Master's job is to make sure his slaves remember that, and live it.

Every slave that is new to the ranch is welcomed with a whipping. The whipping usually occurs in the evening after everyone has had dinner. The whipping could be quite mild, or it could be quite heavy. It all depends on how the Master reads the moment and the energies of the slave. As a Master, he is not out to cause pain, though he certainly does sometimes. Rather, he is out to release. He is hoping to create some sort of cathartic experience for the slave, one which may lead to it's improved self-clarity.

I had learned much by speaking with slaves in the swimming pool in the afternoon. Otherwise, I may not have known anything at all about being ceremoniously welcomed to the ranch with a whip, though I knew it could be a paddle, a cane, a bare hand, or whatever method the Master felt so inclined to use. Either way, the slave body was welcomed with an experience meant to lead to some sort of growth, small or big, centering or enlightening, opening or closing.

After our spending time around the swimming pool in the early afternoon, Master escorted me back toward the vegetable garden and reiterated to me that he is in need of a slave to be assigned to growing fresh produce for the ranch. Knowing that I was not much experienced with gardening overall, Master explained what I was to do, what I was expected to accomplish in what amount of time, and why I was expected to do it.

Yes, I was put to work, to actual labor. After all, that's what slaves are for.

"The purpose of any slave of mine is to labor for me, so you're going to work all afternoon." Master explained. "As a slave here on a trial basis, I must know if you're ready to actually be a slave and labor as a piece of property, for that is what slavery is about. It is for me, anyway. A slave is far more than a fuck hole, and slave is far from worthless or stupid. Why would anybody want a worthless slave? I want a slave of value. And as for you, as my slave here on a trial basis, you need to know what the labor may be like, and I need to know how competently you obey and how much effort you put into it."

Master had me kneel in front of him. I was naked but for the steel cuffs on my limbs and the collar around my neck. My wrists remained at the small of my back as I knelt before my Master. "Labor. That's how my slaves serve me." He said again. "That's what I require. I can get a fuck-hole for a few dollars. A slave, on the other hand, now that's worth something! So, you're going to work for me as my property must."

"Master, yes, Sir, Master. Thank You, Master."

He suddenly grabbed my nipples, hard. "Tell me what you are."

"Master, I am a slave, Master."

"Whose slave?"

"Master, your slave, Master."

"And what's the purpose of a slave?"

"Master, to serve, Master."

"Yes, so much so that the slave is... The slave is what?"

"Master, the slave is service and nothing more, Master."

"Yes, and for me, that service is largely labor. So, what does that make you?"

"Master, labor, Master."

"Good slave. You know what you are. Now, all you have to do is accept it, and then you will love it, and yourself." He paused momentarily and then went on: "I look at you and see labor. A labor animal. My obedient labor animal with its purpose being to complete its assigned labor, as assigned, when assigned. In my mind, that's slavery. Is that clear, slave?"

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master."

Master then said, "Stay here."

He walked into the garden shed and came out with something in his hand. He walked up to me, still kneeling there, and asked, "Why does my slave have a hard on? Excited to labor in slavery?"

"Master, yes, Master, maybe, Master. I don't know, Master," was all I could say. I wasn't sure I was excited to be put to work. I wasn't sure how I felt about it at all. Still, I was feeling really alive, and I do mean REALLY ALIVE! And maybe that's what it's all about.

"My goal as Master on this ranch is to develop slaves so that they not only labor hard for me, but that they yearn to labor hard for me, that they chomp at their bits to work hard for me, always."

"Master, yes, Master." Surprisingly, I could already feel it. I could already feel the desire to be a good slave for Him, to work for Him and thank Him for it. So what if that is who I authentically am? I was stepping onto the road of self-acceptance, and I could feel a little glimmer of light, and a lightness of being, which is such a far cry from the heaviness I had felt most of my life.

With me still on my knees and Master now standing in front of me, He firmly ordered, "Open."I raised my face toward him and opened my mouth wide, very wide, as an invitation to Him. He shoved a bit into my mouth, the kind with a tongue plate that rendered me speechless. He pulled the straps firmly such that I felt the bit pulling tightly at the corners of my mouth. He fastened the straps behind my head. I heard a clicking sound, so I presumed he locked the bit into place. And somehow that felt good deep within me. "Labor is silent," Master explained.

"Come," he stated and began walking away from the garden patch and tool shed. Once we were about 20 yards from where I believed I'd be working, he had me kneel again.

Master explained the required tasks which He will require from me, including how much of them he expected to be finished in how much time. When he was satisfied that I understood well enough, he reached for the small whip he kept at his belt. "Stand, slave. Turn away from me and show me my labor animal's back. Hands high above your head. Don't move." Then he gave me 5 or 6 powerful lashes with his whip, at various locations on my back, that left me gasping through the bit. Still, I managed to keep my arms raised. "That's to show that I mean business, slave. Without productive labor, a slave has little value to me. Now, make yourself of value to me, if you want to be my slave. And remember: it's a slave's honor to serve me."

I couldn't answer verbally as I had been rendered speechless, so I bowed my head toward my Master and started walking to the garden. But Master immediately called out, "Stop! Get back here and kneel." I thought maybe I had failed to wait for an His dismissal before I walked away, but that was not what He was concerned about. He stood before me. "Listen, slave. Your master ordered you to get to work. Every order is your honor. `Make yourself of value to me' does not mean to leisurely saunter over to your assigned labor station. I expect my slave to high tail it when I give it an order. So, stand still and lift your arms overhead again. Be still." Without delay, Master threw his whip another 5 or 6 times, I believe with more power than before. I was gasping, but I understood Master's meaning.

"Now, my slave is going to show me that it seeks to serve me, that it's proud to serve me. When I say go, it's going to hurry to its assigned place of labor. Get it, slave?"

"Master, yes, Master, thank you, Master. Thank you for teaching Your faggot, Master." That is what I wanted to say, but all I could do is nod, with my entire torso, that I had understood my Master. "Okay. Let's try this again. Go make yourself of value to me, faggot."

I immediately ran, not full blast but at a good clip, the 20 yards to my assigned work station. My cock and balls bounced about as I ran, and my tail swished in all directions. I felt a sense of humiliation, I suppose, but also of purpose. And I entered a dreamlike world. My body worked as Master required, while my mind was able to observe what the body was doing. The mind wondered why I was doing this, but it also noted that I was feeling good all over, in a surreal kind of high.

I gathered the tools from the shed that I needed to complete my slave tasks and then ran to the actual plot of land that was the ranch produce garden.

My back burned from Master's strikes. I was pretty sure they had raised several welts. I could feel the heat of the marks on the back, the tingle of the tail coming from my ass, and the weight of the steel cuffs and collar. I noted that my cock, at least for now, was at full mast, sticking up firm and proud. Why?

I got right to work with a strong sense of purpose, feeling more a slave than I had ever allowed myself to even fantasize about. I had taken a hoe and shovel as my primary tools. I was to remove the weeds from the entire plot and clear any fallen debris from nearby trees and shrubs. Many of the weeds stood quite tall. The garden had been left unattended for too long. Master had told me that the plot size of the garden is well over an eight of an acre. So, I had lots of hoeing and digging to do to rid the plot of weeds.

Master had also explained that I had 3 hours to complete my assigned slave tasks. He told me it would probably take nearly full 3 hours of constant labor to do the job right, and that he always expects a job to be done right. I could stop to drink from the half barrel to one side of the garden, and to drink meant I had to suck up water with the bit in my mouth and without a cup or any use of hands. Otherwise, I had no time to spare.

I had no footwear on and using a bare foot to push the shovel into the ground was a challenge. Luckily, the shovel was specially made, with rubber pads at the foot area, for the possibility of it being used by unprotected slave feet. Plus, the soil was pretty soft.

I had lost all track of time by the time Master rode up on a horse. He dismounted and came toward me. Sweat was pouring out all over me. He pointed a finger to the spot in front of him where I was to appropriately present myself to him. "You're about halfway through your allotted time but you have completed only about a third of your assigned task." He bent over me and spit on my face. "Leave it there, slave. Maybe it will help you labor more effectively. Now, get back to work, and be finished by the next time I come around. Put your slave-heart into it. Let your life thrill you."

I bowed my head toward him, though he was already mounting his horse and didn't notice my bow. I had a slight hesitation, a mild questioning in my mind, about why I was doing this. And what did he mean, "Let your life thrill you?" How was being a slave supposed to do that?

I didn't have time to ponder questions, so I jumped into labor-mode in order to meet his demands. I labored with renewed vigor, and, as the sweat poured off me, I put my back into it, as they say. I dug up earth and cleared weeds, dug and cleared, dug and cleared. When I felt the need of water, I put the hoe down and ran to the barrel, knelt and sucked up water. Then, I ran back to the hoe and got back to laboring. I was still erect, or was I erect again?

Was there somebody nearby watching me? I didn't think so. What need of an overseer when I knew full well what I must do?

I was working hard and diligently. My whole being was somehow involved in accomplishing what Master had required of me, and somehow, in the middle of laboring with all my being, I noticed that I was experiencing a sense of peace and calm that I had never experienced before. I moved in a new kind of tranquility, and even purity, within, if that makes sense, like I was in the moment, in the here and now, as I have heard others say. I felt good. And I felt owned. My movements were the movements of my Master. My body was moving but it was not my body. Its actions were not my actions. They were Master's. I was accomplishing as ordered, but nothing was my accomplishment. I was labor. I was a laboring animal, and I was feeling great! And perhaps I had already fulfilled Master's most important order: I had let my life thrill me. "Good slave," I told myself. "Such a slave am I," I mumbled aloud through my bit.

I had completed all of Master's required tasks and even put the tools away by the time he walked up to the garden area. I was at the barrel hydrating myself with my tail end facing toward the exact place where Master now stood. What must he have thought when he saw my tailed ass sticking up as I was taking in water? He let me get my fill of water and then said, "Come." I saw him glance around the garden, but he did not say a word about it. He did not say, "Good slave" or anything. He simply led me away. I guess a slave just does as ordered and perhaps nothing need be said about it. Internally, I felt oddly but wonderfully satisfied.

I followed Master with my hands behind my back, as I had learned to always do. I noted that my body was still moist with perspiration and was now covered in dirt. It felt good, though. So natural. So real. The whip marks, the stripes and welts, still had warmth to them, and somehow I felt proud to wear them. They were evidence that I had been taught and cared for by a real Master.

We are back near the house, and Master approached the dining area. I knelt as he took the bit from my mouth. He beckoned a nearby slave, "Rinse this slave and get it ready for dinner," Master said.

"Master, yes, Lord, Sir." The slave led me toward an area to the side of the dining space and proceeded to rinse me off with lukewarm water from a hose. The slave quickly patted me dry with a towel. He then led me back to the dining area and proceeded to place me into the same feeding trough I had been placed in for lunch. There were several slaves already placed into the feeding trough, so it felt to me like quite a communal event. The slave attending to me just looked at me, as if I knew exactly what to do and where to place myself. So, I placed myself in the contraption, and, once I had my head in position, he pulled the lever that trapped my slave head into place above the trough, where my slave dinner would eventually be served.

Having just labored in the produce garden for 3 hours, and now being stuck in the trough with my ankle and wrist restraints still on my body, along with the collar, not to mention the plug up my ass with a tail dangling out, I now certainly felt like a slave animal at the trough. And it felt good. I felt free and relaxed. I felt at home. I had nothing to do but let my inner self, which I normally kept hidden, come out and play. I began to breathe more heavily and even to make grunting sounds. Yes, I was feeling my slavery, and I loved it. It felt right. It felt good.

Perhaps I was only in that waiting position for a minute or two, or perhaps it was close to an hour. I had no way to tell, I had lost all sense of time, and I found that delicious. What did a slave need to know of time?

The slave who brought me to the feeding trough came by with a ladle full of the evening's slave feed. The mush seemed, as it did for lunch, a bit like polenta with chopped up other ingredients, perhaps vegetables, perhaps meat, perhaps both. At any rate, all of us slaves ate rapidly and with gusto, though the stuff was pretty dull to the taste. I considered the bland taste for a moment or two, but the overriding thought in my head was that I needed to eat in order to serve my Master, and so I ate... and so even eating became an act of service. Eat so that Master would have a well functioning slave body to put to work and fulfill His labor needs. Eat for Master. That is what I thought, and that is what I did. Everything for Master. All of me. Every part. Every aspect.

Once I was done eating the meal, I had nothing to do but remain locked in position and wait, but what I felt inside was an uncontrollable urge to go back to the field and work for master. I felt the desire to work? What? I was surprised at the feeling. Could Master be right and I am labor and nothing but? "Don't take my word for it," is what Master had told me. "This trial period should help you sort out for yourself what makes you tick inside, who you are in this lifetime, where you best fit in, how you belong."

After eating, just waiting to be released from the trough, I felt I fit in pretty well with Master and what he had to offer me. I was feeling pretty satisfied with my place, but kind of scared of it still, and of myself.

The same slave that locked me into the trough came and released me and pointed to an area of patio that appeared to me to be reserved for slave social periods. "Master said you are to let your food digest. So, just stay over there and relax and talk with the other slaves," the slave said as he went about releasing the others from the feeding trough.

When I stepped up on the patio I had expected some slave or other to be ready and willing to speak with me, but the first thing I encountered was an older slave I hadn't yet met who simply said, "We have decided we will not be chatting with you. We'll wait till after your welcome whipping this evening. So, you stay over there and relax and be quiet. It'll be good for you. Silence is golden."

Wow. That surprised me. It seemed unfriendly. But what could I do?

I laid on my back on the patio, with my tail spread down between my legs. I looked up at the simple wood roof that covered the patio and let my thoughts drift, in the form of questions that could not be answered, of realizations and wonderings, of fearing of who and what I am, of welcome whippings.

I had nearly fallen asleep on the patio when I noticed all the slaves now on the patio circling around me. They squatted down and grabbed my limbs, my earlobes, anything they could reach. One bent down and put a firm hand on my chest, right over my heart. I was alarmed by all of this, and perhaps it showed in my face. The slave with a hand on my chest, whom I had never seen or met until now, said, "Just relax." I looked back into his eyes. He seemed okay, present, kind. So, I began to let myself relax again.

The slave continued: "Let go, slave. All of it. Let go. Of all those thoughts that only serve to limit you. Let go. Of all those voices that tell you this and that. Let go. Until you are air. Until you are only the breath going in and out of your body. Let go. Until all you are is an awareness. Let go. Let it all go. Let everything go, slave."

I listened intently, and I followed the suggestions. I felt my body relax and my anxieties flee. Then, suddenly, somehow, I felt the presence of somebody. Of something? Of what? A spirit? A floating leaf of my imagination? Or was it myself? I noted a kind of awareness. A peace. A calm. What was floating in my chest, and only my chest? I smiled, slightly, because I was feeling good, serene. The slave with the hand on my heart noticed, and smiled back gently. Seconds went by, perhaps a minute, then the slave said, "Welcome." My cock was totally flaccid, and I noticed how good that felt, for my energy was elsewhere, somewhere in my chest, in my heart. Somewhere. And everywhere.

A humming sound started. The slaves all around me had started to softly hum, just a mild sound coming from their mouths. What was this? I was a bit startled, but soon I began to actually drift in the sound, like an aura, like a bed of clouds that lifted me, somewhere, nowhere, just there. "Let yourself be, that is all anybody asks. Let yourself be. Just be. Just be. Naturally."

Again, I noticed how totally flaccid I was, and how nice that felt, as if it added to my sense of being present and purely me. My cock wasn't leading me, for now.

The slaves around me all had a hand on me and then, one-by-one, began to lift their hands from my body and walk away, till at last there was only the slave with his hand on my heart. He let me breathe in silence for a short while, and then he, too, lifted his hand, stood, and walked away.

I was lying on my back alone, with no sense of anybody around. Perhaps the slaves had all left the patio. And I was feeling things I had never felt before. It all felt good. Different, but good. I sensed a stream of blue light, like a shiny river through space, that wandered its way to me. It tapped on my chest, and I let it in. It wormed itself around inside me, first in my chest, and then up and into my arms, hands, neck and head, and down into my gut, groin, genitals, legs and feet. It went up my ass and filled me, till it occupied every molecule of my body, till I became the blue light. What kind of drug did they give me? Or, am I going crazy? No, this all felt right and very real. I knew exactly where I was on Planet Earth, as if I could look down from space and see myself, while also feeling myself to be, finally, an integral part of the universe. I don't know how to explain it. I liked it. I wondered at it. I let it be. Peace is what I felt. Peace from doubts, fears and a lifetime of being taught this, that and other thing. Free of should" and have to" and "ought to". Free of shame and guilt and want. Free. Just me. Finally.

I was erect again. Why? What did it matter? I wondered if I had ever been that hard before. But no yearnings came the erection. It just poked up, full of life, full of spirit, full of energy, full of light, full of me. I felt free and simply there.

I was in a reverie, or whatever it was, when another slave I had never met before came to me and said that I needed to come with him. He led me off the patio and around the corner, where several of the slaves awaited. They immediately encircled me and huddled closely around me so that I was in touch with their naked male flesh against my own. Their arms encircled me as their bodies pushed in. I heard groans and sometimes words: yes, hello, welcome, slave, natural, animal, love, worker, present, here, and servant were all uttered as the slaves squeezed around me. I didn't know whether to feel accepted or trapped, or both.

The huddle suddenly began to ease up, and one slave grabbed me by my left wrist cuff and another by my right. The slaves led me by the cuffs off back onto bare earth. Another slave quickly blindfolded me. Then I heard the word, "Open," and so I opened my mouth. The same type of tongue plate bit gag was fitted firmly into my mouth. Some anxiety and fear toured my body and consciousness, and yet the deep relaxation I had been lulled into by all these slaves remained.

I couldn't see, but I could hear and feel as slaves attached chains to each of my ankle and wrist cuffs and to my collar. "Walk," one of the slaves said. I began putting one foot in front of the other and moved along with slaves loosely holding each of my chains.

We walked for what seemed to be a fair distance, maybe 50 feet or more, till a slave said, "Stop." And so I did, and just stood there a moment. Then the slave said, "My fellow slave, your transport is in front of you, and you need to step up onto it. So, step up with the right foot." I did, as a slave guided my foot to make sure it was firmly on some type of platform. The same was repeated with my left foot. "Now, slave, spread your feet apart." Again, slaves made sure my feet were in the right position. "Bend over." I felt hands guide my upper body down until it reached some sort of support, a flat beam of perhaps 7 or 8 inches wide. I rested my torso upon it, and then the slaves quickly attached my chains to the transport device. I couldn't see, so I wasn't sure how it all worked. Then I felt my tail lifted and pulled away from my body and up high. It did not come back down, so I assume a slave attached it to something so that it stuck somewhat up and away from my body. The slaves retained ahold of the chains attached to my cuffs and collar. We started to move.

I was on some sort of cart, firmly and tightly attached to it at each limb, my legs and arms spread outward towards its corners. My collar was also attached to something, further ensuring my immobility. The gag still held my tongue secure, and the raised beam that held my weight was not parallel to the base of the cart but rather slanted up at about a 45 degree angle, which meant my face was not facing down but rather was up for all to see.

I heard a small whip crack, and the cart began to move. I could only assume that slaves were pulling the transport cart to its destination. The cart rolled along, only somewhat bumpily, and I just concentrated on breathing.

The cart was pulled into a small outdoor amphitheater, like the type you might see at some group campgrounds. I heard and felt the slaves set down my chains and became aware that my limbs were being unlocked from the cart. "Up, slave. Stand, facing this way," said on of the slaves near me. He motioned to where and in what direction I should stand. Once in position, standing tall, head held high, my hands appropriately at the small of my back, I heard my Master's voice. "Come to me to be my slave." At this point, how could I have done anything but walk toward the Man who was offering me his Mastery?

I followed his voice, carefully stepping toward it, as I was still blindfolded, dragging my chains behind me. "That's right. Keep coming. Come to the Man you've been seeking."

I made it to the source of the sound and then knelt. "Smell your Master." And so I did. I began with the crotch, for, when I put my face forward, I found His crotch was right in front of me. Master was wearing, I was told later, a beige cotton jock strap and brown leather chaps. I couldn't see but I could sure smell. Master smelled good, really good. I moved to the back side of him, kissed His hairy ass cheek, then spread the cheeks apart and put my face in there, inhaling deeply, licking to my great satisfaction, and, I hope, His. Ah, the joy of it!

After I had gotten my fill. No, I don't think I could ever get my fill. After I felt a notion within myself to move on, I did. I obeyed that notion. I began to move up his torso, confirming that my Master was shirtless. I moved to his pits and took in the magic there. When I had had a sniff of both pits, Master suddenly grabbed my chin in his right hand and made sure my face was facing his, even though I was still blindfolded. "Tell me what you are," he stated.

"A slave," I replied.

"Louder, for all to hear. Proudly."

"I'm a slave," I proclaimed strongly.

"Again."

"I'm a slave!"

"Well, that's what we're here to find out for sure," Master said not so loudly, like it was not meant for the audience in attendance but just for me. He suddenly pulled the blindfold off of me, and I found myself looking directly into his face and right into his eyes.

"Tell me again. What are you?"

"Slave."

"Again, so all can hear, so all believe it."

"I'm a slave!" I nearly shouted.

"And who am I?"

"My Master!"

"Again."

"My Master."

"Help me believe it."

"Master! Master! Master, Master, Master!"

"Look me right in the eyes and proclaim it."

"Master! Master! You are my master!"

"Are you worthless?

"Master, no, Master!"

"Are you giving up on life?"

"Master, no, Master."

"Then, what are you doing? What's happening?"

I paused a little, not having expected a line of questioning, not having ever answered such questions. "Come on," Master interjected.

"I am finding life. My life!" I suddenly blurted out quite clearly, definitively.

There was brief lack of talking. I could hear the silence of the people observing, from out there in the seats of the amphitheater. I could hear the night. And in a way, I thought I could hear the stars. I felt my body stretch into the universe, and I felt the Universe approaching me, enveloping me.

Master continued: "Do you have value?

"Master, yes, Master!"

"How?"

"I'm a decent person, Master. I have lots to offer!"

"And how are you offering it? How can your qualities be fully realized?

"Master, as a slave, Master. As service, Master."

"Really?"

"Master, yes, Master, I seek to be of service, Master, to have all of me put to use, Master!" I was aware enough to know what I was saying, and I was amazed at what I was saying. Did I believe what I was saying? Yes, I think I did, at least in that moment. I decided to save doubts for later, to forsake my usual and habitual defenses, which I had developed through living and had never had full awareness of. But this was not the time to let my mind ramble from here to there but rather only to now.

"Say that word that defines you again."

"Slave."

"Look out to all these people and tell them that word that defines who you are."

"Slave! I am a slave. I am slave, to serve, to labor. I am service. I am labor." And, to my own astonishment, I said this: "I am love!"

I may have paused a second or two, as it felt like time stood still, but then I went on: "I am a slave. I was born for this. I'm a slave and I need my Master!"

"Good, slave. Enough. Excellent. Relax, if you can. Tranquilo," He stated, in Spanish. He noted my breathing becoming softer, so he added, "Good slave," and I felt a kind of gratification for the compliment and found a kind of ease deep within my being, like nothing I had felt before.

Master moved a couple steps back from me. He proclaimed out toward those in attendance, "This slave is here for a trial period of enslavement, and we are here this evening to welcome him and give him an experience of what slavery on this property is like, and what it means."

There was mild applause and some calls from the audience, but I could not make them out. It wasn't the right time for me to be bothering about things. Then, Master said, "Slaves."

Each slave grabbed one of the chains attached to the cuffs on my wrists and ankles and collar. They pulled the chains taut, thus putting me into a type of spread eagle stance. I was near the front of the staging area and facing the audience. The slave holding the chain attached to my collar was kneeling on one knee out in front of me. He pulled me forward so that I was bent over, sort of leaning forward. Another slave wheeled in this thing, this structure, which allowed the weight of my body to rest on it while still presenting my back to my Master behind me. There was a place for me knees to rest comfortably on pads. A slave pulled a wide leather strap from one side of the structure and wrapped it around my waist and lower back, effectively locking my body right where it was. The slaves continued to hold the chains attached to my collar and cuffs. My genital area was free to dangle, or do whatever.

"Gentlemen, we are here to welcome this slave. And welcomed he shall be! With my cane!"

His cane soon sliced through the air and across my butt. Then a second time. And a third.

He began speaking as He swung. "Feel it, slave. Let it feed you. Let it support you. Let it lead you. Let it own you. Let it nourish you. Let it energize you. Let it free you."

Whoosh, the cane sailed, now against the backs of my thighs.

"Mine, slave. This body is mine."

Whoosh.

"It exists to serve."

Whoosh.

"Rise from within, slave. Let My slave be free. Let life flow exactly as it should, and must."

Whoosh.

"A slave needs to belong."

Whoosh.

"My slave likes to serve."

Whoosh.

"My slave likes to obey."

Whoosh. Whoosh. And on it went, the cane striping my ass and thighs.

I lost track of time and even of the awareness of all that Master may have said. The attending slaves held me fast. I must have been sporting beautiful raised red stripes on my ass and thighs, along with those still on my torso.

At some point, the caning stopped. There seemed to be silence for some minutes, I know not how many. As my quivering and heavy breathing subsided, my cock rose to full attention. I noticed knowing smiles in the audience. Pleasant faces.

After I had rested some and seemed more composed, I, of my own accord, without any order or urging from anyone, proclaimed loudly to the people, the land, the universe all around me: "Slave! I am slave! Slave. I am slave! Slave! Slave is what I am!" And suddenly, Master was standing before me, shirtless and sweaty. I felt increased pressure on my butt plug. Somebody was pulling my tail, then letting it rest, then pulling it again.

Master stepped closer to me. I loved the look of his hairy chest and belly. I so wanted to suck his nipples and smell his pits, to kiss his tummy, to lick his body. I let the worship within me live.

He put his face within inches of mine, and said, loudly, for all to hear, "We will leave my slave here for now: to feel, to think, to experience, to be." Then he just walked away.

I wasn't aware of it, but a slave had distributed, to anyone in attendance who wanted one, a clamp. I was held in a new position by attendant slaves holding my chains, my slave body now raised to make my frontside open to any who wanted to pay attention to it. Then, one by one, men and slaves in the audience came to me and welcomed me to my slavery by placing a clamp upon my body, wherever they wanted. There was no rhyme or reason as to where the clamps were placed. Each just placed a clamp wherever. Some did so silently, and some did so with a single word, like: pig, servant, labor, natural, good, property, obedience, woof, love, welcome, worship, chattel, slave, worker, etc.

And each clamp and voice added to my sensations, both physical and, perhaps, spiritual. Was I being brainwashed and indoctrinated, or was I finally being seen for who I am? My backside roared with the intensity of the welts Master had left earlier in the day with his small whip and now with his cane, and my front roared with the clamps I was being welcomed with, on my nipples, my navel, my scrotum, my arms, my legs, anywhere there was skin supple enough to place one of the clamps, even my cock. I wasn't counting, but there must have been two dozen or more placed upon my body, each clamp communicating its own message.

Here was another gap in time which I cannot totally account for. Was it five minutes? Fifteen minutes? Fifty minutes? An hour and fifty minutes? I had no idea, for time became nonexistent to me on that evening.

When Master again appeared before me, I looked at his face, his arms folded across his bare chest, the bulging pouch of his jock, his firm stance, his eyes simply perceiving me. I loved what I saw, and who I saw.

He spoke, loudly enough for all still present to hear: "Welcome, my slave. In my service, as my slave, to obey me, fully and constantly, until that is the only thing you are: my obedient servant. Nothing else. Just total servitude. My slave, free of hang ups, free of selfish concerns, free of doubt, free of desire other than to be. Free to be slave, as you truly are. Welcome to my ranch."

Master stepped closer to me so that I could hear his breathing and smell his body. He began to unceremoniously remove each clamp on my person, silently at first, but then with occasional words: slave, servant, obedience, natural, happy, pure, grateful, real...

When Master had removed the clamps, each leaving my body with great intensity of feeling, the slaves holding my limbs then relaxed them. They helped me off the bondage structure I was on and allowed me to go on all fours.

Though my head was facing down, I caught a glimpse of my Master's boots, letting me know He was still right there. I moved toward those boots and began to kiss them, lightly at first, and then in earnest. "Master. Master. Thank you, Master. You're my Master. I'm a slave. Your slave, Master. Slave. I am your slave, Sir, Master. Thank You, Master."

"That's right," was all he said before walking away.

Slaves began removing the chains from my collar and cuffs. One released my tail from whatever was holding it up and out and then exerted a pull that let me know the plug was to come out. I raised my ass high and he pulled steadily, until the thing plopped out. I felt both relieved as well as empty, and almost immediately I was yearning to be plugged again. My slave brothers knew the feeling and petted my ass softly. Then, they surrounded me with their bodies up tight to mine, in a kind of group hug. We were one, a group of slaves owned by the same Master. I belonged. I felt more alive than I ever had before. I was free. I was where I needed to be.