The Voynich Enslavement
“Thus endeth the lesson!” the Dungeon Master said, in a very passable Sean Connery impersonation, which earned him a real standing ovation.
It was another hour before Binky was returned to Del and Rod, cleaned and scrubbed, and the three of them could return to Del's place so that the two free men could relax. ... and Del had planned that Binky could wait in the Dungeon's single cage, well-shackled, so he couldn't relieve himself. He was so rampantly frustrated, with a desperate, burning sexual need ... and could only wait helplessly for his fate to be revealed.
Chapter 4
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Binky waited in his cage in Del's dungeon and worried, as he was constantly doing, whenever he was allowed to spend time with Del. He was as horny as possible, but was unable to deal with it like a man. He kept remembering what Del had said earlier, there in the dungeon, about how his balls 'needed some of the not-so-gentle attentions of the CB-antenna,' and the thought gnawed at him relentlessly. He liked Del, a lot, but, at the same time, feared him more than any man he'd ever known.
Binky sighed a sigh, much as slaves have sighed sighs for thousands of years, resigned to their fates, yet . . . always hoping for a miracle which never happened. Not ever. But Binky was damn good at what he did ... and proud of being able to play the role of slave to the hilt.
His reverie was interrupted by Del's noisy approach down the cellar stairs, whistling, 'Camp-town Races' as he approached the locked dungeon door. Opening it and entering, with Rod at his heels, he granted Binky a nice smile and said, “Can you guess what's next for ya, Binks ol' boy?” to which Binky, always uncertain as to how or when to reply, both nodded and said, “Yes, Sir!” hoping that would be OK with Del.
It wasn't.
Del, sharing a grin with Rod, said with mock sternness, “That's not exactly the detailed kinda answer I was expectin' from ya, Binks! Looks like we're gonna hafta do the ol' 'Breaker, Breaker 1-9, good buddy!' for longer than I'd figgered on! That sound like a plan to ya, Binky-boy?”
Binky was royally screwed ... again. He tried answering, “Yes, SIR!!!”, hoping Del would accept that.
He didn't.
Laughing out loud for a minute or two, Del walked over to the cage and reached through the bars to get a nice tight grip on the slave's balls, and said, “You want me to teach ya some lessons about CB radio, don'tcha, Binks?”
Binky was on surer ground here, he hoped ... he answered, “SIR, Yes, SIR!!!”, and Del rewarded him with a nice, long, hard squeeze, and, of course, Binky returned the gesture with a nice, long, hard scream.
Rod laughed so hard, he had tears in his eyes.
Del held the slave's gaze for at least a full minute while squeezing his balls as he looked deep within those agonized eyes. Although Binky was, indeed, screaming in pain, he maintained eye-contact, out of a combination of fear, respect, and puzzlement.
Del finally let go of the, by now, well-taught balls, and without looking away from Binky's eyes, asked, “Rod, ya think we oughtta help this slave's balls learn all about CB radio?”
Rod had just stopped laughing his guts out ... and this started it all back up again. He thought, 'Del is such a riot!' and sat on the floor, too silly to stand.
Del glanced at Rod, acting stupid and foolish, and back at Binky and smiled, jerking his head in Rod's direction as if to say, conspiratorily, 'Ya wanna???'
'Oh, how Masters do set traps for their slaves!' Binky was thinking, as he nodded and smiled at Del, figuring he was screwed, one way or the other . . . but helping Del 'punk' Rod would be a lot of fun, for both of them, if Del were really serious. Not so much fun for Rod, though . . . most unfortunately.
While Rod was incapacitated with his silliness problem, and blinded by tears of laughter, Del very quietly released Binky's manacles and let him out of the cage, shushing him needlessly with one finger to his lips. Del stepped back to the cabinet and stealthily got out a bottle of ether and a rag, and dousing the rag liberally, gestured to Binky to quickly get a strong-arm hold on Rod.
Del first clicked a remote-control unit in his pocket, which activated his stereo unit upstairs to play a loud recording of a violent police raid, with the sounds of bullhorns, the front door being smashed in, glass breaking, trampling jack-boots and the shouting of many officers of the law. Rod stopped his foolish laughing to look at the dungeon door in fear and . . .
Like a well oiled machine, or a well trained military squad . . . faster than a speeding bullet . . . 'the song-and-dance team' of Del & Binky pounced on the fear-distracted Rod, who lost consciousness almost immediately, without ever actually seeing that it was his erstwhile buddy and the slave who'd done him in.
Rod was about to take his first step on the irreversible path to enslavement to Del . . . in all ways, that is, except for a legal declaration . . . and Del even had a plan in mind to deal with that sticky issue, ever-thoughtful 'buddy' that he was.
Between the two of them, they made short work of Rod's clothing, ripping and cutting it off him. There was no sense of Master or slave, just a team working well together . . . as they'd done so very many times before . . . secretly.
Del did the work of suspending Rod from chains hanging from the ceiling, and chaining his wide-spread legs to recessed eyelets in the floor . . . a St Andrew's Cross, without the cross.
Telling Binky to go and get the hair-clippers, shaving cream and disposable razors, Del placed a hood over his new acquisition's head, making sure to ear-plug his 'buddy' first, and left the eye-flaps in place on the hood. He also inserted a long, thick cock-gag into the adjustable mouth-opening, forcing only four inches in for starters, and secured it there . . . until it needed to go in a bit further. It was fully twelve-inches in total length, providing lots of room for growth for the about-to-be slave.
Binky returned in no time, and began the task of defoliating the formerly free man, leaving no hair at all below the hood. He went and got the enema kit and plastic tarp for that part of the process, knowing where it was from having 'been there and done that' with Del so many times before, with so many other hapless pre-slaves.
Del, meantime was selecting the accoûtrements he wanted his new property to be wearing . . . rings, plug, collar . . . and turned on the electric branding-iron to let it heat up for that wonderful and ohhhhh-so essential part of the process, which wouldn't happen till the former-Rod, stiff as he could be, was fully conscious. He could have chosen the newer, more 'humane' cold-branding unit, which caused a slave to merely whimper at the intense frigidity . . . but Del believed in traditional, time-tested methods. He set up the tattoo unit and started in on the upper-left-bicep identification number, and proceeded to the upper-right-chest tattoo.
Binky had returned and was setting up for the enema, which would be all the more messy as Del preferred to have it done while the slave was in an upright position, claiming it was just that much harder for the newly enslaved to 'get it right' . . . that and the fact that Del liked watching the additional suffering it caused. Binky was filled with admiration for Del, thinking about what was happening, and had happened on so many other occasions.
Del was almost finished with the left-foot tattoo, on the sole, when again the former Rod began to waken, and Binky quickly and efficiently re-adminstered the ether, thinking, from first-hand experience, of the pounding headache 'Rod' was going to have when he was allowed to regain consciousness.
Del was finished with the tattooing, and putting all the equipment away, grabbed the kit for slave-ringing.
All the rings and other accessories Del used were always large, thick and heavy, and made of stainless-steel. Punching a hole through the new slave's septum, he cauterized it and quickly installed a ring, which hung below the lower lip.
Binky installed the permanent two-inch cock-ring and using Del's piercing kit, and installed the special two-inch bar through the slave's frenum, making sure it wouldn't slide left-to-right, thus insuring that this slave would be doing no fucking.
The two finished with the last of it . . . ear-rings, tit-rings, a ring through the slave's perineum, as Del knew how hard it was for a slave ever to sit down with one of these.
Del cleaned up and put away the piercing kit while Binky went to the drawer, which contained the collars and cuffs he'd need next.
It took the experienced Binky only a few minutes to install a permanent three-inch-high collar and four-inch-wide wrist- and ankle-cuffs, and they were finished . . . till the slave awoke, and the real fun began!
They went upstairs to share a shower and relax a bit, taking turns washing each other . . . and pleasuring each other, as lovers are wont to do.
Later, as they were having a bit to eat in the kitchen before returning to their labors below, they heard the chains start to rattle . . . first a little, tentative jerk or two . . . and then violently. The laughed a comfortable laugh with each other and Binky said to his lover, “Looks like the slave needs some attention, Studly!” and Del leaned over and kissed his partner, a deep, loving, spit-swapping, tongue-wrestling kiss, which was, of course, enthusiastically returned.
Del, finally satisfied that the love of his life knew the depth of his feelings for him, broke away from their oral-orgy and said, “Lets' get 'er done, buddy!” which broke them both up with laughter.
Once they were back in the dungeon, Binky locked the door behind them. Del stepped up to the attractively displayed and utterly helpless new slave and proceeded to explore his body, from head to toe. Binky walked over and started in, too. They made a few tentative slaps at the dangling balls, which gave the slave cause to jerk just a bit, and he tried to yell around the impressive cock-gag filling his mouth. The two played with the newly installed tit-rings, twisting them just enough to get a 'rise' from the slave. They played cat and mouse like this for quite a while, getting the new slave used to being pawed at and man-handled . . . or slave-handled, as the case may be.
Then Del said, “Let's clean this dirty-birdie out!” making Binky laugh as he reached for the hose and unceremoniously seated its large butt-plug-tip into the unsuspecting slave's fuck-chute, which made the slave twist and shout very amusingly. When Binky turned on the warm . . . perhaps hot . . . water, though, the dance went from “waltz” to “break-dance”.
Del had read much erotic literature on the computer, and knew that many writers would spend a great deal of time, meticulously describing the fine art of enemization, but he'd always thought that was pretty dumb, and that any reader who felt that he needed such a detailed description probably needed serious therapy . . . and he just smiled. He and his partner had Binky finished in less than forty-five minutes.
Del and Binky hosed down the freshly enemized slave, cleaned up the tarp and equipment and stowed it away . . . for the next time. Both were most eager to get started on the next and last step, the slave-branding.
Del had always felt very excited and powerful whenever he'd branded one of his slaves, and he felt sorry for all the free men who'd never held a branding-iron to a slave's unblemished flesh and heard the desperate sounds made by a slave receiving this most irrevocable of symbols . . . permanent proof to a slave of his complete loss of personal rights, and the beginning of its life as a man's property.
Del had gone upstairs to get a pork-chop, and was about to 'brand' it . . . to get that unmistakable stench into the room . . . to alert the slave through his nose of what was going to happen next . . . to push the slave into a quivering lather of terror.
It worked.
The two began to feel and knead the three places where the slave would be granted his owner's brands . . . places the former-Rod also knew all too well . . . and the slave began a truly awe-inspiring tango of expectancy. He danced, with head thrashing wildly up and down, to and fro, buttocks clenching and relaxing in a manner which showed great promise for future pleasures, genitalia bob-bob-bobbing along in rhythm to the dance. Del and Binky couldn't stop laughing as they enjoyed the increasing terror in the slave's impromptu fandango, no doubt being performed for them to demonstrate the pre-slave's delight at knowing what lay ahead.
But, all things must come to an end at some point, and they were both eager to get their latest meal-ticket nicely branded.
Binky rolled an actual St Andrew's Cross over to a position immediately in front of the now macarena-dancing slave. He lashed him to it with wide leather straps, arms and legs both. He then inserted a vertical 'Y-bar' into the top 'V' of the cross, giving him a place to strap the slave's head into, which he did.
With the slave now safe from self-injury, Del wheeled the branding table over and Binky scrubbed the slave's chest for his first brand, on his upper-left-chest. The formerly free man was at risk of a coronary now, his dance steps becoming more complex, more energetic and frenzied, despite his being so well-strapped down, and then, Del removed the cock-gag to allow the slave better to express his gratitude, and . . .
“SSSSSSSSssssss!!!” and the slave went rigid, and was totally still for just a moment, and then . . .
. . . the scream of someone being eaten alive by a thousand hungry, red-hot, mechanical rats. He thundered out his feelings of outrage, betrayal and blindingly-hot agony.
While he was distracted by the first brand, Binky scrubbed down his upper-right-bicep, and . . .
“SSSSSSSSssssss!!!” and the slave again went totally rigid for a few seconds, gasped for air, and the roller-coaster ride started all over again, with renewed enthusiasm. Like an 18-wheeler's air-horn, the slave roared, pausing only to gasp lungs-full of air to resume again . . . and then . . .
Del carefully and very s-l-o-w-l-y, lovingly, lingeringly, wiped the slave's left buttock down with cold . . . frigid . . . alcohol, and the slave realized the finale was about to happen . . . the attempted-thrashing resumed again in earnest, and Del moved aside, handing Binky the branding iron and . . .
“SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSsssssssssss!!!” much longer than the first two brands, and the slave yet again went rigid, for the longest time held that pose, when finally, let loose with a protracted, ear-splitting, horrific scream, and then, no doubt gratefully, passed out.
Del grinned at Binky, and held up his hand for a high-five, which was returned with a smile. Taking advantage of the slave's unconscious state, they carefully coated each of the brands with a thick layer of an antibiotic healing salve, and went upstairs for a snack and a beer, their day's work nearly done.
They were accustomed to working in relative silence like this, both realizing that habits, once formed, are very hard to break . . . and neither could afford to slip out of their assumed roles at the wrong time, by forgetting and speaking in a way not proper for a Master and a slave.
Del prepared a couple of big, thick Dagwood sandwiches from a defrosted meatloaf he'd made a while back and frozen, while Binky took a couple of cold Shiner Bock's from the refrigerator, and they stepped out onto the back deck to enjoy some down-time and the bright sunny day. The two were at peace, together, for the first time in a long while.
Mike Tucker Becomes Binky
It started many years earlier, when both Delbert Stedge and Mike Tucker worked together as slave handlers and trainers at the Federal Slave Intake Facility in Oklahoma City, in the Stockyards District to the southwest of downtown proper. They'd been hired on the same day and had created the impression that they'd just met there as co-workers, although they'd been passionate lovers and partners for several years already, both living discrete, 'straight' lives to the world, while sharing their private passions with all their intensity.
In brief, they'd been running cons and scams, black-mailing the wealthy, and extorting a lot of money from, ostensibly, honest folk.
One fine day, as fate would have it, Mike was arrested, charged, found guilty and enslaved, all in the space a few hours. It was for a crime for which the state had no evidence against Del, no link to him at all, in fact . . . which was unbelievably fortunate for the two of them. Del heard about what happened minutes after the fact, and although he'd broken no end of speed-limits to get there, showed up at the courthouse only in time to see his lover receiving his mandatory first public whipping in the courtroom before being hauled off to the basement for new-slave processing. It nearly killed him seeing and hearing Mike going through such hell . . . he raced out of the courtroom holding back tears, and wasn't totally successful at it.
Del knew that time was of the essence, and that any grief or outrage would serve no purpose. Quickly, he got on the cell to a powerful politician with whom he'd done 'business' some months back, and agreed to trade the incriminating documents and photos he had, in return for the politician's guarantee that the slave would be sold immediately to one of Del's many false identities. The politician agreed eagerly.
Del rushed home to get in disguise, to match the photo ID of the identity he'd chosen, and returned just as quickly to the courthouse, where he saw the politician nervously pacing back and forth in the lobby. Recognizing Del immediately, as it was this false identity who'd set the politician up in the first place, they nodded to each other and headed to the banks of elevators. They spoke only briefly before taking the elevator down to the new-slave processing section, where they met a third man, unknown to Del, but who seemed to carry a lot of heavy clout down there. The politician and the new man shook hands, ignoring Del, and then Del realized who this man was . . . it was Wilibert Pilkington-Smythe. 'Damn!' he thought to himself, 'It's no wonder people are nervous just looking at him!'
Del knew from the TV news and from newspapers who he was and what he was . . . a high-priced, high-power lawyer with an almost 99% 'kill rate'. But he couldn't waste time pondering how this pairing between the lawyer and the politician had come to be. He could only concentrate on getting his man back home to safety.
It took only fifteen minutes from start to finish, and Del's false identity was awarded custody and full ownership of the new slave. The paperwork made it clear that any costs were waived in gratitude by the state for this fine upstanding citizen's act of turning the slave in for his crimes, and for being willing to save the state any further time and money by accepting him immediately as his own slave.
It was all bull, but it was legal, and Del couldn't possibly have been more happy and relieved. Del handed the politician the large envelope containing his dirty laundry, and the politician looked at him with hatred and took the envelope, saying in a very low voice, “We're finished. If I ever see your face again, you're dead meat!” and then he turned and walked away.
They went home and cried for the longest time together, standing, of course as Mike couldn't possibly sit, after the thorough and vigorous whipping he'd received in the courtroom. They'd used an electrified Mylar whip, of course, and Mike would have no scars from it. That is, at least, no visible ones.
They had to develop a long-term plan, and it had to include, at least for the short-term, Mike's present slave status. Del had heard about slave GPS-trackers being safely removed, and he had a lot of connections. He just had to find out how to get it done safely, and one day, have Mike's removed from him. They could then start a brand new life together under assumed names in a place no one would ever recognize them. But for the moment, they had to think clearly and quickly.
The men at the Federal facility would be watching Del closely, assuming that he'd known about his buddy's felonious activities. If Del skedaddled, it would raise suspicions and sound alarms, which neither man easily survive.
There was also the problem of the social thing . . . he and Mike and some of the other guys at work played poker on Saturday nights, taking turns at each man's house or apartment. Having Mike there would be a serious problem, to say the least. Mike had to go into hiding, but how? Del's mind was burning up with all the possible plans he was thinking of, and all the reasons each plan was no good, and then . . .
“Bryan!” Del suddenly yelled out, sounding almost like he was grateful to someone for saving his life! Mike came out of his glazed-eyed stupor and grinned at him, being quick on the uptake, especially when it came to Del's often hare-brained schemes. The two of them just sat there and relaxed for a bit, knowing now what had to be done.
Del And Mike First Meet Bryan
The two men had met Bryan several years earlier, before they'd, themselves, committed as lovers but while they were 'carrying on' with each other. It was on a construction site where they'd been hired as carpenters and Bryan was already working as an electrician. The three had hit it off immediately, and although Bryan was perfectly straight, he had some very good 'gaydar' and knew the two new men were queers, which he thought was great. He'd always had a fantasy about watching two masculine men having sex together, and jacking himself off while they did, all of them watching each other in action. He didn't want to take a physical role in what they'd be doing, just watching and enjoying it. He'd pretty much given up on the idea as a foolish and embarrassing pipe-dream, but if these two were partners, maybe he had a chance after all.
Only a week later, Bryan got his wish. All three men were asked to work late. It seemed that inefficient workers on the late shift had fucked up, and they had been tasked to remedy this. Del and Mike enjoyed working late, because it not only meant extra cash, but also the chance for some high-risk fooling around. The possibility of being caught in the act magnified the thrill of what they were doing, and they both loved it.
They were in the building where they'd finished up the assigned work, and were very busy exploring each other, naked as jay-birds, when their new buddy, Bryan, unwittingly stepped into the room, and saw them . . . and saw that they'd seen him . . . and were lasciviously smiling at him, with that 'Come hitherish!' look. They continued to play, putting on a show for him.
Bryan simply could not believe it . . . here, before him, in the flesh, were two amazingly handsome, masculine studs, and they were performing his wildest fantasy, for his enjoyment. And they were totally naked. It seemed too good to be true.
Del and Mike gestured for Bryan to join them, but he just smiled back and said, “Thanks a lot, but . . . is it okay if I just watch you two men having fun? Please?”, and there was just a hint of desperate want in that last word.
Either of them could have just hugged him and eaten him up, he was so damned cute, but they grinned back at him and both nodded, and then they returned to what they'd been doing, before they'd been so wonderfully interrupted.
Neither of them was what you'd really call an exhibitionist. But that night, for Bryan, they could've won an Academy Award for their performance. They took it nice and slow, made sure that Bryan could see all the juicy details of their coupling, and made him feel welcome and included, with smiles and grins thrown his way.
Mike gestured to Bryan to whip out his cock and have some fun, and then Bryan really did feel like he'd died and gone to heaven. He went a step or two further than that, in fact, to the delight of the two love-birds, and stripped down completely to give his own one-man-show.
All three men were feeding each other's eyes now, and at least one pair of those eyes had been too starved for too long. Bryan was clearly hypnotized, staring like a child in a candy store. He was trying to see every detail without missing anything, slowly stroking his cock as he watched, fondling his balls or tweaking his tits, and occasionally muttering obscenities of enjoyment, or approval, or encouragement. Del and Mike did their very best to make what was obviously this straight stud's first time as a voyeur the most special experience that they could.
What finally sent Bryan over the edge was when, near the end of the 'show', Mike took charge of Del, who was on his back, and with Del's legs over his shoulders, plunged his needy, throbbing cock all the way into Del's greedy pucker with one mighty thrust, causing Del to moan so loud Bryan was afraid the old guy working security would come running to investigate. But Bryan's fears were far outweighed by the overload his brain was receiving, from his eyes, his ears, and his hands, and he totally outperformed Del with the awesome roar he let loose, as he started to shoot rope after viscous rope of hot, thick, opalescent cum high into the air, illuminated softly by the moonlight shining through the unfinished windows behind him, only to fall to the rough, sawdust-strewn floor in softly-heard splats.
Feeling quite drained, he slipped slowly to the floor, nearer to the two rutting studs, to get a better and closer look at the incredible tableau they were presenting to him. He was still awestruck by it all, but . . .
Bryan's eruption had fueled the passions of the two lovers, who, hearing and seeing Bryan's monumental acts of ejaculation, both oral and penile, were sent swirling down into their own abyssal implosion of orgiastic pleasure. Seeing him sitting so close to them, they were even further inflamed, and they kissed deeply throughout the entirety of their multiple detonations, trying to keep the noise down to a 'dull roar', and thanking Divine Providence that the security guard was, apparently, profoundly deaf.
Bryan watched as his new friends held each other tightly, each occasionally remembering to give Bryan a smile, to make sure he didn't feel like 'a third wheel', and, at long last, they all started laughing at themselves, both to break the slightly awkward silence, and to congratulate themselves on 'a job well done'!
Knowing he had to handle the situation carefully, Mike was first on his feet, and offered Bryan a hand-up, which he gratefully accepted, and once on his feet, he slapped Mike on the shoulder and just said, “Fuckin' fan-TAS-tic, guys!”
Del looked up at Bryan, and at his still only half-soft cock, and smirked, saying, 'You were pretty damn fantastic your own self, Stud!” and they all laughed, a comfortable kind of shared laugh.
It had been quite a night for all three men.
They took their time getting dressed and as they were walking out to their pick-ups, Bryan said, “You guys up for a few brews? Maybe a pizza? I know a great place near here . . . ?” and this time, it was Del and Mike who were being included. They realized that this was Bryan's way of accepting them, both as a couple, and as his friends. It made them both feel damn good, and they answered at the same time, both of them smirking, “Depends, Bry . . . they serve queers?”
Bryan hesitated for only a split second before smirking back, “Don't rightly know... I never ordered one!” This reduced the three of them nearly to tears as they laughed the rest of the way to their pick-ups.
The pizza was great.
Back To Mike's Enslavement...
They talked about what they were going to say to Bryan, whom they hadn't seen in several months, due mostly to a lot of recent overtime at the Slave Intake Facility. And then the phone rang . . .
Mike picked it up, but Del grabbed it from his hand before he could speak and screw things up royally, and said, “Hello?”
On the other end was a very, very worried Bryan, who'd just heard the news. Del almost screamed with happiness, “Bryan! Oh, man, you gotta come over here! Please!”
It was only ten minutes later when Bryan was welcomed into Del's living room and the two of them hugged and cried, and then sat down. Bryan, of course, wanted to hear the whole terrible story from Del, but Mike and Del had a special surprise for him.
Del started to say, “Well, I heard what happened about five minutes after they hauled poor Mike away and...”
And into the room, naked as the day he was born, looking like nothing special was happening, strode Mike, still wet from a shower, red stripes from the whipping still clear and crisp. He smiled at Bryan and said, “Hey, Bry! It's been a while!” and then to Del, “You seen my shaver?”
Bryan was in shock. It felt like . . . like attending a funeral and having the dearly departed sneeze behind you and ask you for a tissue.
The two pranksters let it ride for a full minute before cracking up, but Bryan was still very much in shock. 'There're are far too many serious questions here for them to be jokin' around like this,' he thought to himself.
Mike and Del sat on either side of Bryan, after Mike had the courtesy to put on a pair of jeans, in deference to their straight friend's sensibilities, and slowly explained, and answered questions, and explained, and . . .
It was several hours later that the biggest and most important secret, which any of three had ever kept, was born.
While Bryan was not a big supporter of blackmailers, extortionists and con-artists, he listened as Del and Mike explained their “Robin Hood Philosophy” on the subject, and then Bryan was on-board and ready to accept everything else.
While it was true that the two had indeed done these things, and not just once, it was from a feeling of public-spiritedness or civic-mindedness. They'd been correcting problems they'd seen around them, when they'd seen a way to do so.
The politician responsible for getting Mike released to Del, or rather, to his alias, for example, was caught by the two on camera and on microphone, on three separate occasions, paying for and engaging in sex with minors, one of them very minor. He was far too powerful to 'bring down', but rich enough to fleece for a lot of money, which the two made funneled to the kids who'd been victimized by the bastard. And so it went, case after case, the pair of vigilantes striking blow after blow for 'truth, justice, and the American way.'
Bryan and his new wife, Becky, would take ownership, as far as anyone knew, of a brand new slave, named Binky, thoughtfully presented to them as a late wedding gift by Bryan's friend, Del, who'd stumbled on a great deal that he just couldn't pass up. Becky hadn't met either of the two lovers, so it would not raise her eyebrows seeing Binky for the first time. They'd had a great time picking a real good slave name for Mike, and when one of them had suggested 'Binky', in jest, it had made them all laugh so hard, they just had to pick it.
They all three agreed that they had to stop even thinking of the name 'Mike Tucker'. It had to die, and now, to prevent any mistakes later on that would be hard or impossible to explain away. The problem with the slave GPS locater chip would not go away until such time as Del and his many connections could find out how safely to remove it from Binky's neck. It seemed that a clumsy attempt would result in Binky having permanent paralysis below the neck, and an alarm being sent out to the authorities. They had to accept the fact that Binky was a slave, and would remain one, till the chip was removed.
Along the way, using various excuses which would sound plausible to Becky, Del would 'borrow' Binky so they could have time together, and they'd started to experiment with 'rough stuff', and it turned out that they were both born for it. Del really got off on the 'domineering tough-guy slave-handler' routine, and Binky, it turned out, was much happier being dominated roughly than he was being in charge. They became so accustomed to this role-playing that people who saw them out together had no reason to suspect that they weren't what they seemed to be, namely a tough no-nonsense Master with his (mostly) obedient slave. Their appetites for it had just kept growing as time passed.
The fact is, they grew so comfortable with the role playing that the show put on at The Garden was not only possible for the two of them, but was actually enjoyable to both. Del was getting off, seeing his lover being savaged on stage, and Binky was getting off knowing that Del was there watching, and getting off.
The hard part, of course, was the constant separation. Del could 'borrow' Binky just so often, without making people wonder what was going on. And Binky, when he was at Bryan's place, had the mind-numbing job of being a domestic slave. At least Becky never called upon him for sexual servicing, but Bryan did when Becky was on vacation, visiting at her parent's home. Legally, of course, it was their right to use Binky in this way, and both Del and Binky were grateful to the both of them, but in silence.
When their kids started to come along, of course, Binky became a nanny. He used to joke, in guarded moments, that 'Crap-R-Us' should be tattooed across his chest. And there were three blessed events, which meant that, in time, Binky became a tutor, a coach, a confidant, and even a sex-counselor ... when Greg turned eleven and puberty started to rage within him, he'd answer the boy's questions, when he was too embarrassed to ask his Dad.
And still, Del had not found out how to remove the tracking chip.
Rod's Enslavement Continues . . .
Binky carried the empty beer-bottles back in from the deck and Del brought the plates and napkins back in. They shared a deep kiss in the kitchen before returning to the poor, lonely slave below.
The slave, formerly known as Rod, was limp, sobbing and whimpering, and when he heard the two enter the dungeon, he surprised them both by not speaking. Del was not one to take chances, however, so he re-inserted the cock-gag, driving it in five inches this time, guaranteeing silence from the slave, who accepted it with a minimum of fuss. Though not an outright protest, it won him a twist of his nose ring.
The next step was to phone Del's contact with the detailed information on the proper and safe removal of Binky's chip. It seemed it was going to be needed by a new host, and soon.
Ringing him up in Tecate, Mexico, took almost an hour, but he was there as promised, and had found a skilled doctor who'd lost his license to practice, and who would be happy to do the procedure, for a stiff fee. Del and Binky would have paid all they had to get this over and done with. The former-Mike's assets had been hastily transferred over to an off-shore account as part of the deal with the politician who'd taken care of the problem years ago, and was now much larger thanks to Del's astute investments. So, money was no problem for the two, and the fee was agreed upon.
Arranging for the loan of a Piper Cub belonging to one of Del's poker buddies, they bundled the now-tranquilized and fully dressed slave into Del's van, and drove to the small local airport. An hour later they were airborne, Del thanking Divine Providence for having had the wisdom to get his pilot's license some years back, in preparation for this long awaited day.
Arriving in the area immediately north of Tecate, on the American side, Del had no problem finding the field used as a make-shift landing strip by pilots flying in on small craft like the Piper Cub. Once they were parked off to the side, a black van pulled up and their contact got out and introduced himself. Once they'd secured the still-tranquilized slave into the back of the black van under some tarps, they negotiated the small, minimally-manned border crossing without problems, arriving at the doctor's residence in less than ten minutes.
“Money first...?” the nervous and timid doctor said in his heavily-accented English, to which Del made it clear that payment would be half before and the other half after the job was done, if all went well. Del's face and tone of voice were menacing enough to the uncomfortable doctor, who read the situation as, '¡Si no logro sacarlo bien, me mataría!' Loosely translated, the doctor was thinking, 'If I screw this up, I'm dead!'
The transfer of the chip went flawlessly, despite the visible nervousness of the doctor. Del worked as an assisting nurse in the small surgery, wiping sweat from the doctor's forehead and face, and handing him the items he'd gesture towards as they became needed. All in all, it took about ninety minutes, but it felt like they'd been in there for a week.
Del had been amazed at all the small and obviously expensive special tools the doctor had needed to safely remove the chip, as it had to be temporarily disabled first, and then successfully re-enabled in its new host, without setting off its radio-alarm, or triggering an untimely neural-explosion in either of the men, who were lying side-by-side for the procedure. But all went well, and the new slave, when scanned, showed up as Binky, the slave owned by Del's buddy Bryan.
Grateful to the doctor for his services and for doing such a great job, they insisted that he take fifty-percent more than agreed on, and, after a minimum of weak objections, he deigned to accept, clearly quite grateful and relieved.
No recuperation time was needed, as the procedure had required only a local-anesthetic, so they headed to the plastic surgeon, with whom Del had set up an appointment, once they'd known that Tecate would be their destination. The surgeon quickly and skillfully lasered away the one slave tattoo Binky had received before being suddenly released to Del that awful day so long ago. He also received a healthy chunk of change for doing so, money neither of the partners begrudged him in the slightest.
Binky was now a free man, finally, and as might be expected, he felt very good.
The slave-formerly-known-as-Rod was now Binky, and that not going to feel very good.
The two still had a passel of problems to solve, but they'd been solving hard problems together for years, and they felt confident that this time would be no different, especially since the biggest problem of them all had just been erased.
To be continued...
Your feedback is the fuel of my
imagination;
[author's note: I hope this chapter has surprised you as much as it surprised me writing it! I thought I had a plan when I started, but it quickly morphed into the chapter given here, a totally different story-line altogether! the unanswered questions left here are plentiful and will be answered with all due haste!
gentle reader, your thoughts and opinions really do matter to me... they feed my mind, in fact! please don't hesitate to drop a line now and again, eh?
tune in next week... same slave time, same slave channel! - hs]
Posted: 09/14/07