VAL BREAKS IN A

TOGRAPHED BY JIM WIGLER! BERT PAYNE.

VAL MARTIN should have been a darine drill sergeant. Maybe he was one once, at least he never lost the knack. He is more gentlemanly, perhaps, and nowhere near as profane. And it could be that some Marine feeruits would pr we had every right to, since Val won the guy from us poker game.

VAL MARTIN DRUMMER COVERMAN and STAR OF SOME OF THE GREATEST LEATHER FILMS EVER MADE GETS CARRIED AWAY IN A TRAINING SESSION

It was one of those games where, after you play for money, you play for clothes, In this case I made my houseboy strip as my cards got worse and worse. Finally there was nothing left to lose except the kid himself. He exchanged hands over a full house. I don't know where his clothes ended up, but I'm sure he hasn't seen them since that night.

When I turned Chris over to Val, the kid was clean-shaven and looked like a college boy, if a little street wise. A couple of weeks later when we took these pictures , he had spent most of the time locked up in Val's basement and needed a shave.

'I didn't have time to do anything with him," Val apologized to me.

"So what are you going to use him for?" I asked, somewhat naively. Val fastened one of his new Fetters chains around each of the kid's ankles and then his wrists.

"He's going to be a good boy," he stated in his own sweet understated way.

They went through the motions of showing the kid how to vacuum the floor. When that didn't go too well, Val simply pushed Chris' head down to the carpet and told him to suck it up. Simple and direct. Val's new houseboy was discovering some new talents he didn't know he had, including pushing a Hoover around, and tonguing a rug.

I will have to admit that I was becoming impressed by Val's ingenuity in thinking up uses for a houseboy rather than have him around underfoot. His instructions were direct and crouched in very few words, sort of like when you train a dog. "Sit!" "Kneel!" "Suck!" "Drink!" were all directives that require very little elaboration. A sharp smack to an exposed buttock got immediate attention and I noticed that grabbing a houseboy by the hair on his head to direct where you wanted his face, or mouth, is quite effective.

But it wasn't all beer and skittles— or piss and dog food, as the case may have been. The kid was rebellious and needed a firm hand. When Val pissed into a goblet to toilet-train Chris and the kid refused to empty it, Val simply made him drink direct from the tap. "I said 'drink' not 'suck' you cocksucker!" He pushed the eager head away, at least far enough to receive but not participate.

During a lull in the action, I felt it was my turn to ask a few dumb questions. Besides, Val always cuts through the bullshit as few men can.

"How do you dress him, Val?" I always made the kid wear cut-offs and a torn t-shirt when we went out. With his faded, torn and holey sneakers to complete the effect.

'Dress him?"

"Yeah, what does he wear?"

"He doesn't need clothes, man. I tol' him if he didn't like running around in his birthday suit, I'd shave all the hair off him, then he'd really be naked." The kid isn't too hairy, but since I assume Val was including the hair on his head as well as his chest and crotch, it was no wonder Chris was content with just being naked.

Val was happily working on the fellow's tits. They had been enlarged somewhat since I last handled them. I can only imagine what all they had been subjected to.

"He was always running around with a hard on when I

"Jerk him off. How many times you come today, asshole?"

"S-s-seven, Sir."

"How many more times you gonna come, boy?"

"A-a-as many as you say, Sir."

Val turned to me and said, "Look, I'll show you. Want some coffee?"

I said "yes" just to see what was coming next. Val snapped his fingers and the kid went to put on the coffee. He came back quickly and handed it to us black. "I want cream in it, you jerkoff," Vall demanded in a quiet, even tone.

"Sir, there isn't any."

"What do you mean, there isn't any, cocksucker." He grabbed Chris' cock. "I said I want a load of cream." Val began manipulating the cock harder and faster. It sprang to attention. Seven times or no, it wasn't long before Chris was on the verge of delivering. "Shoot, boy. Shoot now." And by God he did! Right into the cup. I halfway expected Val to use the kid's still hard dick to stir up the hot coffee w / cream with, but he let it drop.

"YOU want some cream?" Val politely asked me. "No. No, thanks. I drink it black." A ninth shot, only a

couple of minutes later was too much to ask.

Chris knelt at Val's feet. He was unshaven, disheveled and could use a shower, but he never looked more beautiful than he did right then in his chains and bare skin. I had never figured out what to do with him. Streetwise and overly energetic, he had been more than I had bargained for. Maybe this was what he needed and perhaps he was smart enough to know it.

'Can he cook?" I asked. I had never bothered to find out.

"He's getting better," Val said. "I was making him eat it when it was bad but now I can honestly say he's getting good. He's pretty well broken in to dog food. Guess he started preferring it to his own cooking." "What kind of dog food?" I asked incredulously. "Good stuff," Val pointed in all seriousness. "Lotsa vitamins and stuff. Dogs love it." He pointed to a huge bag of a top name dry dog food. I guess with a dog AND a houseboy, it paid to buy in large quantities.

I was impressed. We were watching a dishwashing session during which Val threatened to make the kid drink the dishwater, new lemon-fresh Joy and all. Of course there were interruptions during which a lot of bootlicking asskissing went on. I'll have to admit that Chris' technique was improving minute by minute. But, alas, he let something slip and fall to the floor. It crashed loudly and Val gave a sigh. Getting up from his chair, he went to the kitchen and I heard him demand, "Get down on your knees!

The sound of a belt across some naked flesh intrigued me to follow Val in to see what was going on. There was a bit of rough and tumble and the houseboy was getting far the worse of it. His back, rump and legs got flayed good and proper with a belt and he was squirming, trying to get out of the way of it. Then the unthinkable happened. The kid gave Val the finger. I didn't hear him say anything but this seemed to be his big moment of rebellion. It was short lived. He got his ass whipped with increased intensity until he was crying and begging for forgiveness. Val put him over his shoulder and took him down to the basement. He dumped him on the hard and cold concrete floor, then drug him across it over to the garage door. There wa a cast-off real estate sign boldly exclaiming in big red and white letters: FOR SALE BY OWNER.

'You're gonna wear this around your neck until I get rid of you, you sonofabitch!" Val screamed at him. "Nobody says that to me!" The boy simply knelt on the garage floor and whimpered. "What did he say?" I asked.

"He told me to go fuck myself— can

Unforgiveable. Val took Chris over to a beam and grabbed some rope. He tied the kid spread-eagle to the overhead beam, then tied his ankles each to a pair of upright supports. Chris now looked frightened, ashamed and bordering on scared-to-death. Ah, the trials of disci- pline training. "Lemme see that ass, boy," Val growled in his best no- nonsense voice. The kid stuck his ass out and got a half-dozen blows across it with the belt. He continued to hold it out, almost begging for more, anything to

"I didn't mean it, Sir. Honest. It was just when the belt hit my nuts…

Val pointed to the kid's groin and bellowed , "Those are MY nuts, and you are going to lose them if you don't straighten up, you asshole. "Y-y-yes, sir." And with that Chris shut up.

Val hung the big sign around the kid's neck and stepped back, admiring the effect.

'You think I ought to put a price on it, or shall we auction him off?" "Please, sir. I'm YOUR boy…"

The rest of the story we'll have to fill you in with when the book comes out. There is a lesson there for all of us.

EROTIC ENEMAS

By David Barton-Jay

All of a sudden I hit the floor!

The room spun around my dizzied head while I lay without motion, wondering whether I was still alive. Huge swollen balls covered with thick crops of wiry pubic hair, dripping with stale sweat, swayed above me. Great rubber hoses with shiny steel nozzles molded of monstrous thick pricks shot hot liquids at me with stinging force. The scary music of sirens screeched from a distance , coming closer.

"Jesus Goddam Christ!" I shouted out. "What the hell is happening to me?"

"It's okay," sang mysterious voices, in an unsuccessful effort to counter the chaos. Okay? A big fucking ambulance is coming to get me and they're telling me Okay? What the fuck is going on here?

Everything turned red. My body was getting hot. I felt like a flame. Formless faces of detached heads floated everywhere above me. They had no color, not even red. They danced over my head in a strange perfect harmony like strands of tall grass in a wind.

Then, crashing through what I supposed was a door came, "Well, where is the sick sonofabitch?" with an obvious lack of concern for my comfort. Sick sonofabitch? Who the fuck is calling me-a sick sonofabitch? "Over here," answered an anonymous voice. "He's over here." Big men, their mouths covered with masks, wearing blindingly white uniforms, framed by what had become my new red world, were gaping down at me.

"Well, here's the little candy-assed faggot," grumbled one of them. "What's the matter with you, sucker? Did ya take too much cock, ya little sucker? Swallow too much of the salty nectar tonight. Huh? Well, answer me!" he bellowed. I couldn't respond. Another mammoth man arrived next to me. "Well, let's have a look at it," he said loosening my pants. "Let's give him a little more exposure," he continued, pulling them down to my lifeless knees. 'Not bad,'' he observed and announced, examining between my legs, "Not bad. I'd say it might even get to look respectable if he'd put his cock-sucking mind to it. Right? Am I right, you little cocksucking pussy? Am I right?"

I tried to answer but no words could force their way through my fearfully frozen face. I heard one of them talking about giving me something to inhale to bring me around, to revive me. "Blow the fucker away," suggested a piercing voice. "Think so?" came a quick response. "Yeh, that's what the fucker needs. Give 'im a blast. That oughta do it." Looking up, I saw a pair of log-like legs straddling me; an immense pulsating asshole was lowered over my face. "C'mon, blow him away!" encouraged a tormenting voice. "Here, boy, take a whiff of this boy," my captor warned as a hot gust of pungent wind thundered from the big hole hovering just barely a hair above me. "C'mon baby, take a nice, deep, refreshing breath," urged the gruff, course statue. His fumes were disturbingly strong, but seemed to do the job as he grabbed my cock. There, squeezed in his hand, it began to harden. His relentless paw showed no signs of loosening.

Hundreds of hands swarmed over me, yanking my balls, pinching my startled nipples, pulling my pubic hair. "Let's go boy," whipped his command. "Let's get this thing going!'

Still captive in his hand, my cock continued to obey, becoming harder. "This thing ain't goin' noplace till it really gets goin'. No limp-dicked little nellie's gonna ride with us," he decreed. My cock burned as it continued to swell. Hairy fingers were all over me, pinching, tugging, pulling. One of them was forcing its way between my legs up toward my asshole. I tightened, hoping to stop it, but it was determined not to be detoured. It found my tender bud and thrusted right in. I knew it was only a finger, but I remember thinking it felt like an arm; it dominated my entire being. I was impaled mercilessly, without any possibility of rescue.

"Shit!" came a cry, resounding over all else. "Shit! This faggot's full of shit!" The discovering finger remained locked deep inside me as the proclamations continued. "Clean it out, clean it out," reverberated a thousand voices. "Give 'im the hose, the hose, the hose,' echoed endlessly among the strange beings filling this foreign new universe.

With my cock now large enough to satisfy my attendant, and without feeling the hands that moved me, I was lifted to the stainless steel stretcher. My pants, revealing my manhood in command performance, now rested at my ankles. "Strap him down, strap him down," the voices sang again. Thick black leather straps coiled around my body, joining me inescapably to my horizontal jail. The hand holding my shaft held it even tighter; the powerful probe in my asshole sunk even deeper. Exposed, entrapped, enveloped, I was removed to the waiting ambulance. The doors swung open, the stretcher stationed quickly into place.

"Don't worry," whispered a dark, young attendant who'd been waiting for me. "We're gonna take real good care of you. We're gonna treat you just fine, give you just what you need." The ambulance sped off.

I felt slightly safer with him aboard until I looked up to see his big, dark dick hanging over me, pissing into a towel that had been placed on my chest. After the last drop had been milked out, the attendant, who had just- I thought-promised me kindness, covered my face with the sopping cloth. I felt my eyes burn. "Here, honey," he said. "It's my nice fresh stinking piss. Just breathe it in as hard as you can; it'll do wonders for you." I felt myself choking and fought to get some air, my head thrashing back and forth, a strong hand stopping my movements. "That's it," he insisted. "Nice deep breaths. Throughout the traumas I was aware that my cock had remained hard, and thick surgical gauze had been wrapped tightly around it, secured with white adhesive tape.

My restraints were temporarily loosened while I was turned, not unlike a pig on a spit, onto my stomach. The straps which bound me were refastened without delay. The finger, from which I was given only slight relief, was replaced by another, more menacing prod. This one was ice cold and I screamed as it entered me

"Goddammit!" I protested to unsympathetic ears. "It hurts! Take it out! Please! Please! Please take it out!" For a moment I thought my captors had been overtaken with pity for me as the intruding object was quickly removed.

Ah," I sighed in ecstasy, about to thank them for their consideration. But before I had another second to experience my anal freedom it was forced back in.

"No, not again please!" I pleaded.

"We'll take it out whenever you request, sir," offered a sarcastic warden, "but we're gonna shove it right back in again, too. So you decide how you like in / and / out, [×3+] entertained of being catered to, evaporated at that moment. The piss-drenched towel now forced under my face was accompanied by a hard slap on my ass; both cheeks at once.

"Now we're gonna hang this strap right nearby just in case we need to use it. Now you just remember it's only a reach away. Do you hear me?" shouted one of them, sounding possessed. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes!" I shouted back in anger. "Yes! I hear you!"

"Don't you dare to yell at me, you little goddammed sonofabitch! Don't you ever!" Another, more brutal, swing of the strap whistled through the air, terminating in pain on my bare stinging butt. "Now, do you hear me?" my keeper asked quietly.

"Yes," I almost whispered to please him.

"I can't hear you," he answered. "What did you say, little pussyboy?"

"I said I hear you," I said.

"I still can't hear you, pussyboy, you'll have to speak a little louder." In a slightly louder voice, I repeated that I had heard him. It still wasn't loud enough. I said it louder. He insisted that he still couldn't hear me. This went on and on and on until he made me scream it again. When I did, as I knew he would, he hit me once more for screaming. It was hopeless. I decided to fight off the compelling urge to utter any other sounds. Whatever was in store, I realized . I would have to surrender to in total and silent submission. The ambulance continued its flight through the streets.

"It's ready," came an announcement. "It's hot and it's ready. All nice and ready."

"Well," said the young, dark attendant I mistook as I friend, "Very, very well." I listened for signs of what they might be talking about, but heard no clue. Something was happening with the prod sticking up my ass. They wer'nt changing its fucking position, but they were definitely doing something to it. I didn't move. I didn't risk making a sound. I was terrified. Suddenly someone said, "Okay, let 'er go." That's all I heard. Then there was silence. For a few seconds I didn't know what was going on. I didn't feel anything happen, but then, taken by complete surprise, I was able to identify the torture. They were giving me an enema! Jesus Christ, I thought, an enema!

The second thing I thought was that I wasn't going to be able to hold it. I felt the water gush into me. It was hot. I wanted to yell, but didn't. No one in the ambulance was saying a word, Suddenly , as suddenly as the water started, it stopped. Still not a word. Not a sound except that of the siren, still blaring through the streets. I felt a strange fullness in my ass, but got used to it. For a fraction of a second I even thought it felt good- like geting fucked. I was about to enjoy the thought, only to have it forestalled with more water. The pleasant fucking sensation changing quickly to torture again. Then, just as I thought I'd surely have to scream, it stopped. It still hurt, but, at least, it wasn't getting any worse. Still silence from my attendants . Again, the water inside my belly began to feel strangely good.

My face was lifted from the piss-wet towel by someone pulling my hair. A new stream, a forceful, fresh, foul-smelling piss drenched the towel. I dreaded my face beig forced back down into it. The cock that had just delivered this new supply to my towel rested at my lips. I realized then how parched my mouth was. I was, by then, insanely thirsty.

"Thirsty, aren't you?" came the timely question.

I said nothing. I looked up to see who was connected to this now empty penis. His mouth was covered with a gauze mask, but I could tell by his eyes that he was smiling. A sinister smile, no doubt, but a smile nonetheless.

"Well," he said. "Had I thought about how thirsty you must be before I pissed into your pillow, you coulda had some. But now it's too late. It's all down there," he said, gesturing to the towel.

I looked down without thinking, licked my dry lips.

'Go on," he said, "wet your lips in my piss; go on wet them.'

I moved my lips down to meet what he had called my pillow and brushed them against it.

"Now look at me," he requested. "You wanna suck the piss out from the towel, don't you? You're so thirsty that you wanna suck the piss right out of that fucking towel, don't you?'

I quietly answered yes.

"Well," he motioned with his hand, "go ahead."

As I began to do just that, he took the towel out from under me, and as he repeated and repeated and repeated how it was okay for me to suck every drop of piss from the towel to quench my thirst, he twisted and twisted and twisted the towel in his hands until every drop of piss was wrung from it, his yellow rain falling on my head. I managed to catch a drop or two as it trickled from my head, down onto my face, and near to my mouth. He untwisted the towel, folding it neatly, and returned it, pushing my face back down into it.

Sonofabitch, I thought. You mother-fucking , cocksucking, shitlicking, fart-smelling sonofanogoodgoddambitch! I fought back my tears.

The siren continued to scream through the streets. Where are we going? How long will it take? Where am I? Will I survive? My life was no longer in my control. I couldn't even say I was at the mercy of my captors; they were showing no mercy.

The enema continued. Into my ass it gorged. The panic in my belly almost made me forget about the nozzle lodged inside of me. I had gotten used to it.

'More," I heard someone say. "Give this shitty ass more, More! More! More!"

My insides felt like rapids in a wintry storm. I expected to bust wide open at any moment. No strength left to think about protest. Then, I heard a strange new term, "backflow." One of the attendants ordered, "backflow, flush the fucker out," and the water drained mysteriously from my body. The relief was the most exquisite sensation I had ever had. It was so wonderful I almost hoped for another enema just so that I could feel the sensation of relief again. I got my bittersweet wish. Once again I was filled; this time the water was cold. And just when I wanted again to die, the water was flushed away. I lost count of how many times they did that to me. I was beginning to enjoy it. And then it stopped, the nozzle was removed, my ass was dried and powdered. Someone was rubbing my ass soothingly. My cock wanted to burst out of its bandages. My body still strapped down.

"Let's see his washed-out asshole now," someone suggested with obvious glee.

"Spread him apart," came another suggestion.

Release his legs," added another. And so I was released, and so I was spread apart. My legs were held so far apart from each other that I expected to hear the skin tear right up the length of my back.

"Raise your ass pussyboy, raise it high so we can all see your pussyboy ass-hole ." I complied quickly, afraid of the possible consequences.

"Some asshole you got there, pussy-boy . Is that where you take all them cocks? Huh, pussyboy? Huh?"

'Yes," I answered meekly. "Yes."

"Yes, what!" shouted a mean voice that was almost drowned out by the simultaneous slaps on my butt.

"Yes, sir, that's where I take all them cocks, sir.'

"That's right, pussyboy, and you're gonna get you some cock right here and right now.

"Fuck him, fuck him, fuck the pussy-boy good! Fuck him, fuck him, fuck the pussyboy good!"

At first, I thought this must be my

reward for taking my punishments, and just when I realized it was too good to be true, I heard: "This asshole ain't tight enough to take a decent shit!"

Oh god, I thought, what now!

"You're gettin' fucked with some kinda big prick pussyboy, but I don't fuckin' feel a thing. This asshole's like some goddammed stretched out old bag of a pussy. It's gonnatake more than a prick to fill this pussyboy hole.'

"Grease 'im up," came the next command . "Grease 'im up. Pussy's been a good boy; he deserves a little hand. Let's give pussyboy a little hand."

"How about a big hand?" suggested an enthusiastic attendant. "He deserves a big hand."

For a bizarre moment I expected to hear applause, but then the spell was broken. I was getting the hand.

"Pussyboy's asshole's all emptied out now; give 'im a hand," they repeated over and over again. "All emptied out now, give 'im a hand." Something was placed beneath the center of my body and my ass was even higher than before. Surely, I thought, if anyone can see into this ambulance, they will surely see my rump. I felt something cold and smooth cover my entire ass. It was not unpleasant . And then the fingers began to vincing man-to-man shake." enter me.

"C'mon pussyboy, open your hole. Let's be friends," he said, "let's begin by shaking hands."

"C'mon," he persisted, his fingers now inside of me. "C'mon pussy, pussy, pussyboy, grab holda my hand and give it a nice man-to-man shake. Yeah,

"Every few seconds, the big strap landed hard on my ass… my sore, helpless, shitless, sorry ass." pussyboy, how do you do? Glad to make your acquaintance. Don't be afraid to reach out for my hand, pussyboy, just take it, wrap your fucking asshole around it and give it a shake, a real con-

Powerless to keep out the hand now offered in forced diabolical friendship, it had entered me with a brief, but excruciating pain. My entire body pained. I was about to cry out but the pain began to subside. Here, at this point, just like with the enema, it began to feel good- but not for long.

"Shake my hand, pussyboy!" he screamed at me. "Here I am offering you my nice big hand in friendship and you're not shakin' it! Shake it!"

I got his message and began to bob my ass up and down as much as I could. Without announcement, I discovered then, my leather restraints had been quietly removed, but still I had no freedom . Deep inside my empty ass, the maniacal hand insisted it be greeted with a man-to-man handshake. I did try, with whatever energy I could feebly muster, I did try.

"You fuck like a pussyboy, and you shake hands like one, too! C'mon be a godammed man! Shake my goddammed hand! Grab it, you fucker, and shake the fucking hell out of it. C'mon, tighten up that old loose bag of a pussy you got there and shake my god- dammed hairy fuckin' hand!" This torment was accompanied not only by an internal stinging, but an external one as well. Every few seconds, the big strap

less, shitless, sorry ass. If ever the term "spanking clean" was appropriate, it surely was now.

Finally, forcing my ass in exagerrated fuck-like movements, I got my master's approval.

"Well, now," as I continued to bounce, "Look at that fairyass fly. Fly, fairyass, fly." Another stinging series of slaps was served as I pleased those gathering around.

"Move your ass, faggot."

"Ride high, Mary."

"Shake those shimmering mounds at me," are just a few of the calls I can remember.

'Okay, pussyboy, Let goa my hand. You've enjoyed it long enough." As his last word fell from his tongue, so did his hand flee the grip of my burning asshole— with a pop sounding funnily like a champagne cork signalling the start of a party.

The ambulance sped and swerved to its seemingly too distant destination. For the moment I felt content and hopeful; the end of this anal odyssey was near.

"Piss time," obviously a favorite moment by the excited chatter the announcement evoked. "Get your piss-cocks ready for pussyass, fellas. Fill 'er up," came the order.

My insides were flooded with what felt like gallons of hot steaming piss-indeed another enema! They took turns relieving themselves into me as I was cautioned to hold "every yellow drop." I squirmed and wiggled to accommodate them and their foamy liquids until, finally, the last in line had had his turn.

"Good boy, pisshole," came the ver-

"They took turns relieving themselves into me as I was cautioned to hold every yellow drop." bal reward. "Fuckin' pisshole's filled to the brim. Get the bucket," someone instructed. "Set him on it," added another.

I found myself stradding a stainless steel container with rolled edges that felt unexpectedly, but welcomely, com- fortable. "Hold that pissload till I tell 'ya otherwise," rang out, cutting off my hope of instant relief.

My audience gathered around me atop the bucket now in the center of what little floor this chamber had. "Okay, now piss outta your pussy," my attendants allowed. It felt like giving birth to an ocean, as I squeezed it out with such force that waves splashed up, washing my now communal ass.

"Emergency Romm's in sight," alerted a navigator. "Get him ready for transfer."

I was placed back on my belly, hooked up again to the enema…

"…Danny? Danny? Wake up Honey. It's twenty 't eight," Ted was saying, with his arm over my back as usual.

"Hi- good morning, Honey," I answered happily. "Jesus, you're not gonna believe the dream I was havin."

Well, tell me while I empty my piss-hole ," he said, referring to our usual morning ritual. Moving to my hands and knees, I held my hole open as he entered his personal, loyal, and loving toilet. "There was this ambulance, see, and … '

Excerpt from "The Enema as an Erotic Art and Its History" by David Barton-Jay. Copyright 1982. All rights reserved.

17 by Frank O'Rourke

G. Hurd

DRUMMER 25

It was a cold winter night. The streets of Nice were dusted with billows of damp fog which wafted their way through the narrow alleys. I had been living outside of Florence, Italy, and had come to France on business.

Along the murky waterfront was a small bistro, Le Cog Noir, which was a gathering place for a few members of the Sardinian Corse, gangsters who had their fingers in every illegal venture along the Riviera from Marseille to Nice. Pimps with their whores used it as a meeting place. I had always found it a promising place to pick up some sailor who might have jumped his ship in Marseille and didn't want to hang around because the flics might pick him up.

The place was pretty quiet when I entered. A number of faces turned to the door, giving me a brief once over and returning to their drinks or conversations. When I left the samll pension where I was staying in Juan-les-Pis, I wore old jeans, a sweat shirt, boots and a jacket. I knew better than to give off an aura of prosperity in this dive. Many of its habitues would cut your throat for a centime.

It was not until my eyes adjusted to the dim light that I spotted him. He was seated at a small wooden table in a narrow alcove by himself, nursing a drink in a teacup. That was one of the unique things about Le Coq Noir; the owners never served their drinks in glasses, always in tea cups. According to the story I had heard years ago, Maurice Tur-geon , the owner, had a small ceramics shop in Nice and he found it cheaper to furnish his own cups rather than expensive glasses for this rowdy bunch where, at any moment, a fight would erupt.

I walked toward the alcove, not sure where I would sit, but I saw an empty table just to the left of the niche. As I walked casually toward the empty table, the sole occupant of the alcove rose from his table, saying, "Andre, great seeing you." I almost blundered by looking behind me, but his warm grin alerted me.

Gay men didn't make obvious pick-ups in this sort of place, because there was always the chance that someone would resent it and the shit would be in the fire.

Smiling, I approached the table, offering my hand which he quickly gripped in his hard, massive hand. "I hope I'm not late.

The stranger's Gallic visage was dark but strikingly handsome . I would put his age at early thirties. He wore a dress shirt, open at the collar, and tight levis.

The words, "Votre service," startled me because I had neither heard nor seen the fat greasy waiter come up behind

As we sat, the stranger introduced himself as "Guy." "You are new to Nice?'

"How did you know I was an American?" I asked.

"I guess you might say it was a lucky guess." He shrugged his massive shoulders in typically Gallic fashion.

The waiter brought our drinks and Guy paid for them. "Don't drink it all. It will rot your stomach out."

For some unexplainable reason, I decided on the spot not to tell this stranger that I had been here before. I am not usually so close-mouthed with a new person.

The next question floored me. "How big is your cock?" He doesn't let any grass grow under his feet, I thought. But candor begets equal openness from me. "Nine cut. You?"

A mawkish grin challenged me. "You will find out, baby, before this night is out. N'est pas?"

"Certainment, mon ami."

"Un peu, but not enough to get down to what interests us both."

"You have a car."

"Yeah, I parked it on the Rue Madeleine just around the corner.'

'Bien. Mine is parked there too. Shall we go?"

I had met fast workers but this guy was incredible. His directness only stimulated my interest. My cock had been hard in my tight jeans since I sat down. I reached down to my crotch to rearrange my equipment, not wishing to show my obvious arousal to prying eyes as we left. It was clear to me that Guy was having the same problem as his hand disappeared below the table's level.

"Let's go."

We needn't have been so concerned because the patrons of Le Coq Noir paid us no attention as we left. It seems their interest and assessment centered on newcomers.

The cold air assailed us as we closed the bistro's heavy door. Before we took a step down the street, Guy offered his hand. "Guy de Bassompierre."

"Frank," I responded, again gripping his hard hand.

As we started down the dark street, Guy said, "We will go to my place at Cap Ferrat. I have some accommodations that you might find interesting. It is all right?"

"Sure."

"Bien. I have my own car and you can follow me."

I reached my car first. He told me to wait; his car, a Porsche, was parked down the block. I followed him the long distance to Cap Ferrat. On the other side of Cap Ferrat he turned his powerful vehicle into the gates of a large estate. We drove for another two miles before we reached a large chateau with a well-manicured lawn. We parked our cars under the porte-cochere at the front door.

During the trip I wondered what I had gotten myself into. My own game was a top, although I had bottomed for a very few guys. I had a feeling that I was going to end up bottoming for this guy, unless I missed my guess.

Guy opened the barred and mullion-glassed front door with his own key. The front hall was brightly lit with a crystal chandelier. The furnishings were rich and tasteful.

I was beginning to have second thoughts. It's one thing to have a one-on-one, but servants were another thing. Humiliation wasn't my bag.

"What about the servants?"

"They retired to the back of the house long ago," Guy said as he took my jacket. He hung my jacket with his own in a small closet.

We crossed the diamond shaped parquet floor; our boots rang in the awful stillness. As an inveterate butt-man, I enjoyed watching Guy's tight, small ass as I followed him into the large salon which was furnished with massive pieces from another age.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked. "I guess so," I responded hesitantly.

"Yes, I think you should have one. You will probably need one.

I settled down on one of the overstuffed sofas which flanked a huge fireplace. The huge logs roared their warmth. After the cold dankness of the outside, the flames felt particularly good. When we entered the room, Guy had turned the lights on; before he returned to me with my drink, he switched them off.

Sitting by my side, he offered me the drink and started to tell me about the chateau. It had been built by Louis-Marie, Comte de Toulouse about the time of the Albigensian heresy and crusade in the 12th Century. Counts of Toulouse had been considered heretics by Sacre Mere l'Eglise, Holy Mother the Church, and a donjon had been set up in the bowels of the chateau to deal with the enemies of the Albigensians and where Louis-Marie himself had been put to the

rack and had his limbs torn from his torso. Guy's ancestor, Alphonse, Comte de Tournon, had received the chateau as his dowry when he married a ward of Louis XIV, le Roi Soleil. Yes, Guy was Comte de Tournon since his father died six years before. His mother died at his birth and he was an only child. The Bassompierres got their wealth from vineyards in Languedoc and manufactories in Lille.

In turn I told Guy something of my own life, which I could see did not interest him. He had refilled our glasses during the exchange and I was begining to feel somewhat high.

With the same abruptness he had displayed when we met, Guy said, "Stand." I got off the couch as he reached for my glass, taking it from me. "Now, take off your shirt." Unaccustomed as I was to peremptory orders, I unbuttoned my shirt, pulling the tail from the confines of my jeans, and tossed it on the sofa.

"Nice." I knew what I looked like: good arms, large chest and pecs, brown hair across the chest and down to my crotch.

"Turn around." The tone of his voice had assumed a hardness that would brook no display of rebellion. Mentally I shrugged, figuring, why not? The bottom role wasn't where my head was, although I had played it in the past.

Guy grabbed my wrists, and quickly handcuffed them behind me. I sighed in resignation; the scene had begun. I only hoped that I could play the part well. I never subscribed to the concept that a good top had to have been a good bottom. That's just so much crap, but I was one tough son-of-a -bitch and in my own way I would let Guy realize that I could take whatever he wanted to dish out.

The handcuffs were quickly followed by a blindfold which cut out any glimmer of light. The loss affected my equilibrium and I knew that any movement would have to be made with care.

Gripping my arm, Guy led me across carpets and parquet floors and then he had me stand still. I heard a barely audible click and then a rush of cold air swept across my naked torso. Guy led me through what must have been a portal. The texture of the ground under my boots had changed noticeably . The carpets and parquet floors were gone and I was on what I guessed was rough hewn stone.

The donjon! I was being led into the bowels of the chateau. Slowly, Guy led me down the uneven stairs, guiding my every step. Oh, shit, I thought, suppose this bastard is some maniac nobleman who is planning to beat me to death and dissect my body. Now all of my senses came into play, waiting for the opportunity to turn the tables on this cretin. I smelled the muskiness; as my shoulder touched the left-hand wall I felt its dampness. All this time Guy did not speak which made the whole thing more ominous. The only sounds which reached my ears were our stumbling steps. Was it pitch black, did Guy have a flashlight, or had modern lighting moved into this nether world?

At the bottom of what seemed an endless flight of stairs, Guy released his grip on me and I heard the clank of metal on metal and the cold air was replaced by a warm flow. My nostrils were assailed by the smells of stale urine, long-spent semen and oiled leather. This unique potpourri of masculine smells brought the first physical reaction- my cock startd to grow in my tight jeans. Against my will my body was reacting to the smells of frankincense and myrrh, which were priceless in another age. The 20th century man found his aphrodisiacs in the precious liquids of his fellow man.

The clang of the slamming door behind me caused me to start. Guy again took my arm and led me forward, stopping me and turning me, obviously positioning me. The clatter of chains assailed my ears and I felt the hair on the back of my neck arise in apprehension.

Guy moved the handcuffs over the wrist bone until they were lodged securely against the upper palms of my hands.

Leather cuffs were securely bound above them. I heard the click which secured the leather cuffs to what must have been the chains. Quickly, the handcuffs were removed. This final action is what I had been waiting for, but before I could react one arm was swept above my head until I was almost on the tips of my toes. The second arm joined the first. It was at this point that I realized that I was locked in place and in his power.

Where Guy had only touched my arms to guide me and to resecure my hands, I now felt his hands probe the crack of my jean-covered buttocks. His clothed body covered the back of me as he reached around me and began tweaking and pulling at my tits. I muffled a groan as he played with those centers of erotic sensibility.

Suddenly, he was gone from behind me. He lifted one of my feet from the floor and tugged at my boot, causing my arms to stretch to their limit as I was pulled off balance. The boot gave and he managed to pull my sock off at the same time. My bare foot touched the stone floor as he lifted my other foot. He pried the boot loose and had to take the sock off separately. My attention was centered on the chilly floor as he groped with my belt buckle. Loosening the belt, he gripped the top of the levis and ripped the buttons open.

Reaching into the open pants, he pulled my hard cock and balls from their security. Now my crotch became the very center of my being as he pulled and twisted my hard cock, squeezing the shaft with one hand while the other hand grasped my high, heavy balls and rolled them in his hand. The pressure he exerted on my cock and balls caused sharp pains to shoot through my groin. The cock and ball torture had swung my naked body to and fro until my pants had slipped down to my ankles. As Guy ducked down to remove the remainder of my clothing, I could hear his heavy breathing. His labored respiration became less evident as he moved away from me.

Was the room large or small? Was there only one room? Was Guy alone? What the fuck was he doing? My mind was a swirling sea of insecurities and apprehensions. I recalled as I stood there that some years ago I had permitted a slave of mine to tie me up and work me over lightly and then fuck me just to see what it was like. It had never happened before and it would never happen again. Of the latter I was certain. This time I was not going to be able to control the scene. I wondered at the perversity which allowed me to be taken over so easily and without a fight by this man. Deep down, was I a masochist?

Before I could come to grips with these conflicting questions , I heard the vicious whistle of a whip just before it lashed my naked back. The surprise and brutal force of the action caused me to lose control and I screamed. Again and again and again the leather snake ate into my flesh, seeking the blood upon which it sought to feed. After the first scream, I got myself under control and only muttered groans as my flesh was punished with such brutal force. I felt liquid running down my flanks and knew that my blood was flowing. I only hoped the blood would slake the whip and its wielder's appetites.

I must have passed out because when I became conscious of my surroundings, I found myself stretched out on a table with my hands bound over my head and straps across my chest, just above my tits, and another strap secured across my middle. My legs were attached to chains which held them apart and above my body. The blindfold had been removed and I feverishly examined what proved to be a vast cavernous room with roughly hewn rock walls. From the ceiling I saw barred cages and chains suspended. A mummy case leaned against one wall. Brackets fastened in the wall held implements of torture. It had all of the appearances of a mediaeval torture chamber. The equipment looked well kept.

At the farther end of the room, I saw a figure in the shadows . Electric torches lit the room, but that end lay in a soft gloom. I moved to test my bonds and I felt a searing pain in my back as the coagulating flesh tore on the boards. I groaned from the pain. My entire backside was aflame.

The figure in the corner must have heard me because he turned. It was Guy. He wore a black leather body harness which molded itself to his firm body. The black leather chaps were supple and adhered tightly to his body, outlining the taut muscles in his legs, while his crotch was encased in a studded, leather codpiece which was secured to the body harness. His hands were gloved. Most of his head and face were encased in an executioner's leather hood. As he passed by the light, his eyes glinted in their reflection, giving them a sinister, momentary flare.

"You fucking bastard. I'll break your fucking legs when I get loose," I growled, my throat parched from the exertion.

His lips thinned in a smile but he refused to acknowledge my anger and frustration. In his hands he carried some things, but before I could see them clearly, he laid them on some surface below my view.

With gloved hands, he began to pull at my tits, causing them to unwillingly rise from the rosettes which surrounded them. Reaching down, he brought a clamp and screwed it to the base of the tortured tit, squeezing the fleshly nodule until the tip peeked out of the clamp which seized and held it. Guy repeated the action with the other tit. Only then did he reveal the razor-sharp, multi-toothed spring-geared clamps which he proceeded to attach to the exposed tip of my left tit. I screamed as the agonizing fire immolated my chest. My body wrenched helplessly against the bonds, to no avail. Spittle formed at Guy's lips as he concentrated on placing the other clamp. The pain was so severe that I could only hope to lose consciousness. The relief did not come.

"You motherfucking son-of-a-bitch. Take those bastards off of me." The pain was so excruciating that I became unable to form any further words. As the teeth ate into my soft flesh, the skin became tinctured with blood. Inexorably, the teeth worked deeper into the flesh, causing the searing pain to maintain an unbearable level.

"You are discourteous, mon ami," Guy almost sighed with regret. These were the first words he had uttered since we left the salon. They almost startled me since I had come to believe that he was some disembodied demon.

Walking to a nearby wall, he removed a long supple reed which he tested by swishing it back and forth in the air. Deciding it would not serve his purpose, he selected a shorter , stiffer wand. Approaching my supine, pain-wracked body, he teased my imprisoned tits with the tip of the reed. Sweat broke out all over my body as I felt sure that my chest must explode from the agony. How much pain could one man endure, my brain screamed.

"Manners, mon ami," Guy whispered as he drew his arm back and slashed the reed across my exposed stomach. Blow followed unmerciful slash across my stomach, lower chest and on the inside of my tender thighs. My screams echoed through the beamed rafters. My mind whirled and in its spinning I was sure that I would lose my sanity. Again, I fainted.

When I again swam to consciousness, I found myself naked between cool sheets in a wide, strange bed. My body was stiff as I moved in the bed and the foot of the bed looked out at a bright sunny day. I wondered if I had imagined all that had happened to me, but when I felt my chest, I found my tits sore and tender with scabs beginning to form. I could not bear to feel them. I wondered how Guy had gotten me up to bed. Testing, I squeezed the sphincter of my rectum to see if Guy had fucked me. The discomfort in my buttocks did not extend to my tender asshole and I thanked Guy silently for DRUMMER 28 leaving that part of me unviolated.

The door to the large, ornate bedchamber opened and Guy appeared in tennis shorts and sneakers with a white V-necked sweater. He grinned cheerfully as he placed the tray by the side of the bed. "I have brought you, mon ami, un petite dejeuner. A light collation.'

I glared balefully at him, wondering if I should attack him or let things be.

Guessing what must be coursing through my mind, Guy poured a cup of hot chocolate for me and placed a delicious-smelling croissant on a small plate and handed them to me. I grunted my thanks as I took a sip of the thick, rich chocolate. Coffee was my thing in the morning but this seemed right and tasted great. The croissant was o flaky that it crumbled in my fingers. As I concentrated on trying to transfer the morsels from the plate to my mouth, Guy managed to move the silk coverlets off most of my body. I almost spilled the chocolate as I felt his hot, wet mouth encircling the shriveled head of my cock.

He sucked the shrunken organ into his mouth while his tongue swirled around the head. My cock responded almost immediately to his tender ministrations. I felt its length and bulk growing in its hot prison. I settled my sore ass comfortably into the down mattress. I abandoned the croissant as his searing orifice captured and worked on the growing organ. I grinned momentarily as I wondered what he was going to do when the heavy flesh reached its full length and girth. Guy showed me. He swallowed the large bulbous head into his tight throat. With one hand I grasped the back of his head and savagely thrust my groin into his face.

Guy sighed in exultation at my hard treatment, his throat muscles quivering around my sensitive cock head. Pulling back, he exerted phenomenal pressure along the length of my shaft. When only the head remained in his mouth, his pointed tongue sought my piss hole for any nectar which might be oozing from it. After about half a dozen thrusts into his throat, followed by insatiable sucking as he pulled off, I felt my heavy testicles draw further up into their sac while my ass clenched trying to stave off the inevitable. I had reached the point of no return and I felt the hot lava flow erupt out of my sensitive cockhead into his throat. It had happened so fast that Guy choked on the heavy, unceasing flow. He pulled up on my cock to better savor my precious body fluid. I had never come so strongly and insistently in my entire lifetime. It seemed as if it would never stop. The cup of chocolate fell from my hand, soaking the bed, unobserved by either of us. Again I held on to Guy's head, refusing to let him loose from my softening flesh.

I grinned evilly as I let loose with my morning piss. Slaves in the past had acknowledged that my morning flow could only be termed "tiger's piss" because it was the worst tasting of the day. Guy drank the bitter flow as if his very life depended upn it

When I piss, it is pretty intense and few men have been able to handle the heavy flow, but Guy filled his mouth and, as it reached capacity, he swallowed the entire load in one single gulp. The heat of my piss encircling my cock almost caused me to start getting hard again. After the last few spurts of urine had emptied my bladder, I pushed his head off of my cock.

"I've got to get up and get the hell out of here," I said.

"O.K., I'll meet you downstairs. The bathroom's over there." He indicated a door. "You'll find everythig you need. If you need any help, ring the bell by the sink and Pierre will help you.'

In the bathroom I examined my body in the full length mirrors and the welts and marks were clear all over my back side. A sheen covered the area, indicating to me that some healing solution had been applied to the surface before I had

been put to bed for the night. In the shower I found my tits were sore and I knew that I would have to wear a soft shirt for days to come.

Entering the salon, I found Guy in conversation with a black-bearded man of well over six feet in height. He wore a plaid shirt, a cowboy hat and boots. They turned as I entered the room.

"Frank, mon ami," Guy began. "I want you to meet Jerry Sanders, a business associate, who brought me a delightful gift. Pierre is in the process of unwrapping it for me.

"Nice to meet you." Lacknowledged the dark-visaged, fat,

"Mah pleasure, ah'm sure," he responded with a deep drawl. I couldn't place the accent, but I was sure that he came from some southern state. I found my hand captured in a vise of flesh and bone.

Before I could pursue the conversation and find out where he came from, a light tap could be heard from the hall door.

A man in black livery entered the room, but all of our eyes were caught by the blond, naked man by his side. He must have been about 20 or 21, about my own height. There was not a bit of hair on his body below his neck. His cock was large and seemed larger since his crotch had been depilitated. The nut sac held a pair of big balls and hung pendulously low in their fleshy chrysallis. His eyes were downcast and his body was unmarked.

"Well, punk," Jerry Sanders growled. "This is your

Master."

For the first time he looked up and gazed directly at me. His blue eyes watered in emotion. Quickly I responded with, "Not me, him." I nodded towards Guy.

He looked at Guy and his eyes flashed back at me before they returned to examine Guy. I wondered if I had caught just a bit of disappointment in those vulnerable eyes.

Ignoring him after the preliminary examination, Guy took his seat and Jerry and I followed suit. "Cafe pour mes amis, Pierre," he directed the servant.

Oui, Monseigneur."

While the slave stood with his hands by his sides, Guy directed his questions to Jerry. "Where did you find him? Is there anything I should know about him? Was he hard to handle?"

"Well," Jerry began slowly. "Ah guess you might say, he fell into my hands. He was hitchin' a ride from L.A. to San Francisco and Ah just picked him up. Ah remembered that you was lookin' for a slave that pretty well fit his description, so Ah asked him some questions and found out he had no one. He was just a beach bum."

"Was he gay?" I interposed my own question.

"Ah reckon not. He sure was cherry when we began wor-kin' him. He's really learned to love cock now," he laughed.

I looked at the young man and saw that his cock was beginning to grow in his crotch. Guy saw it also but chose to ignore it.

Pierre entered with our coffee on a tray and poured it for

DRUMMER 29

us. We all took ours black. The slave was not offered any and did not seem to expect it.

Guy spread his muscular thighs and order the slave to come closer. "Kneel," he growled. The slave knelt with bent head and did nothing further. "Get my cock out." The slave unzipped his pants and hauled out Guy's soft but fat cock. Looking at me for some unknowable reason, Guy ordered him, "Suck."

The slave took the cock in his mouth and Jerry and I could see that his technique was bringing Guy's cock to life. I figured that it was about time I left. I arose and offered my hand to Jerry Sanders. "I guess I'd better be going. It was nice meeting you.'

"Well, Ah don't reckon that Ah'm too welcome here mah-self , so Ah'll just trek along with you, eff you don't mind."

"Be my guest."

"Well, I'll ring you tomorrow, Count, and we can settle things.'

Guy pushed the slave off his cock and stood. "Wouldn't you men like to try him out?"

"No thanks," I responded rather coolly, recalling the night

Jerry grinned, "Well, Ah've been dipping mah little wick in his holes since Ah got him, so Ah reckon Ah'll pass. Thank ye just the same."

When we arrived in Nice, I suggested that we have a bite to eat. I wanted to know more about this man who dealt in human flesh. His candor was most disconcerting, but it was only afterward that I discovered he had not given me any salient facts which would have pointed up where he

Jerry and his brother had made a lot of money in narcotics. After they had made their pile, they decided that it would be only a matter of time before they got busted and lost everything , so they quit. Each man bought a spread where they ran cattle to maintain their front. The ranches were not near each other and they handled two separate commodities. Jerry handled the males and his brother the females. They had cousins who acted as agents around the world, finding the contracts for the human flesh. Quite seriously, Jerry explained the success of the operation by stating that "the family that prays together, stays together." They gave the Lord His share by tithing and He protected them.

"Jesus," I swore under my breath. Jerry heard me and piously intoned, "Amen, brother."

Despite the UN Resolution condemning slavery it still exists throughout the world under various guises. The women were trained to serve the needs of their masters. If they wre lucky, they might become the wives of some nabob; if they wre unlucky, they were condemned to a whorehouse where they would serve the needs of natives who prized white flesh until they died from disease or abuse.

The men were sold to work in households or to have their bodies used by their masters or mistresses. One Asian Begum contracted for a new slave every eighteen months or so, because she usually ended up killing her slaves since she liked to puncture their bodies with knitting needles. The old woman was so senile that she could not always tell when she might hit a vital organ and kill the slave. Other men and women wanted men who were exceptionally well-hung, but preferred that they be castrated.

"Why, the Net, tht's what Ah call the business, it's got some of the best doctors and hospital facilities in the entire state, if Ah do say so mahself." There was obviously a great deal of pride in his voice, but, of course, there would be becaue he felt he was doing "the Lord's work."

I was on the one hand titillated by what Jerry said, but on the other hand I was aghast that this was happening in our own day and age. I figured that it's one thing to play at the role of master and slave, but to be tied into it for the rest of your life was an entirely different thing. The only way out was death!

A few months later, I returned to San Francisco where I had always been happy in the leather S / M community. I had a number of weekend and live-in slaves. Most of them were very unsatisfactory, because no slave can give the proper service if he knows that in x-hours or x-days it is over.

It all began on a Fall night after I had left the Brig. I had watched the usual tired faces I saw every weekend in their equally tired roles of the supermacho top or the anxious bottom, trying to score with some top since the bottoms far outnumbered the tops. A couple of hunky young numbers attempted to interpose themselves between me and the door but they didn't deter me; I just walked by one and pushed the other one out of the way.

Glancing at my wrist watch, I found that it was midnight-the witching, or bitching, hour, so I took myself over to Ringold Alley, not really expecting to score. It was too early to go home.

I had opted that night not to wear my skin tight chaps, so all I had on was a pair of tight, well-worn jeans, a biker's cap, leather jacket and boots. I knew that I looked pretty hot, but then I worked out hard enough to keep my body fit and trim.

There were small groups of men, either leaning against the buildings along the sides of the Alley or walking toward the slow moving cars which traveled like a procession through the narrow one-way street.

Some of the occupants of the cars looked interesting, but I wasn't in any particular hurry. I reached down to my crotch and arranged my long cock along my left pant leg to show it at its best advantage. A few horns hooted at me, but I remained impassive.

A stir in the Alley told me that a cop car was coming. I leaned against a wall, being nonchalant. I had heard of a few busts by uptight cops. As the car approached, the cop in the passenger seat flicked on the searchlight and moved it up from my feet to my cap, lingering at my crotch for a short moment. "Eat your heart out, baby," I muttered half aloud, knowing that the occupants couldn't hear me.

The car passed on and I began my slow stroll. It was then that I spotted a silver grey van coming down the Alley. Alone in the front was a tall blond dude that I had seen earlier at the Brig. I remember that he had worn his keys on the right and I had been a bit interested, but he had been talking to another guy. He must not have scored. When his lights picked me out, he slowed more, but I figured that if he wanted me, he would have to work for it.

Within minutes he had made the circuit of the block and was back in the Alley. He pulled the van up on the sidewalk next to me. Leaning over, he opened the pasenger side.

"Jump in, man."

Why not, I figured. I climbed in. The van eased its way into the traffic and slowly moved along. The blond reached over and gave my cock a good squeeze before he returned to his driving. "Nice," was all he said.

"Where do you live?" I asked.

"Just over the Golden Gate Bridge."

"Great."

"You'll like my playroom."

Behind us a heavy curtain separated us from the remainder of the van. We drove silently through the toll plaza and over the Golden Gate Bridge.

I sensed movement, but before I could turn I felt the sharp, stinging bite of a needle at the base of my neck. Within seconds I blacked out.

I don't know how long I was out, but when I came to I found myself unable to move a muscle. I had been mummi-

fied in some manner and guessed that it was ace bandages that had done the job. I could breathe, but I knew that my clothing had been stripped off of me because I felt the textured material eating into my skin. My head was entirely wrapped with only a hole for my nose.

I heard a voice say, "He's conscious."

"Good. I was getting a bit worried about him. Unless we deliver him in one piece, we don't get our bread."

I tried to mumble, but the bindings were too tight for me to utter a word. My mind was fuzzy and I couldn't figure out how long we had been on the road or where we were. I could hear my captors whispering in the front of the van. The road surface was bumpy which indicated that we were no longer on the main road. Suddenly, the van came to a halt. Within just a few moments we were again on our way. It seemed that a good half hour had elapsed before we moved from the rough surfaced road to a paved one. After a few minutes the van stopped…

"Get him out of there,' a new voice grumbled from the rear of the van. I felt my bound body being hauled roughly across the carpeted surface.

One man grabbed my elbows while the other had my legs. I was taken down a flight of stairs into a warm building. Doors clanked open and shut. The first voice again ordered, "Get the fucking tape off of him and be quick about it.'

I felt the coccoon which held my body coming loose.

"Leave the bindings on his head."

My arms and legs were cramped from the prolonged bondage position. I found myself trying to maintain my equilibrium ; the darkness made me extremely vulnerable.

"Get your fucking hands behind you, slave."

I tried to tell him through the bandages to fuck his peg-legged mother. He must have sensed the insubordination although he could not possibly have distinguished my words. A fist collided in my stomach, forcing the breath from my lungs, and as I bent over another fist connected with the side of my head almost knocking me into unconsciousness.

"On your feet." To lend emphasis to his command, he kicked my exposed ass. The heavy boot caused a shock of pain to reverberate up my spine.

I struggled to my feet, trying to hear where my assailant might be standing. I had murder in my heart and if I could lay my hands on him, I would kill him. Hearing a sound to my left, I lashed out, connecting with hard flesh. Two pairs of arms grabbed me, while a pair of fists pummeled my vulnerable body. I blacked out.

An ice water douche slammed into my body, bringing me up to a painful sitting position on the floor.

"Cuff his hands behind him. I don't want to have to kill this motherfucker."

My hands were wrested behind me and handcuffs were attached to my wrists and the locks set.

"Now, take that binding from around his head. This scum-bag wants to learn the hard way, so we'll accommodate him."

A figure squatted by my side and unwound the remaining bandage. I blinked my eyes against the glare. I found myself in a small room, devoid of any furnishings. The glaring light came from the ceiling. Three men were in the room. I recognized the blond who had lured me into his van. Next to me stood a small wiry man with a leather jacket and jeans. In the shadows at the corner of the room emerged the third figure.

He wore Marine Corps fatigues. His black hair was cut close to his scalp; a sinister moustache followed the curve of his upper lip and dangled down the sides of his mouth. The buttons of his shirt were open to his navel, exposing a mass of black hair over a faut stomach. His pant legs were tucked into parachute boots which were highly polished. The pant legs hugged his massive thighs while the cloth at the crotch bulged with what must have been a large hunk of meat.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a wallet, extracting a number of bills which he handed over to the blond. "Here's your money. You guys can split for now."

'Thanks a lot. You sure you can handle him?"

"No sweat. This asshole and I are going ot come to an understanding real quick, or he's going to have his head stomped in." The threat looked like it could be carried out considering our positions and my own helplessness. "The boss'll have some other gigs lined up for you, so stay in touch."

"Right," the blond concluded as he headed out the heavy door.

After they left, the room became very quiet. The tall, dark man merely looked at me with a speculative look in his eyes which did not bode me well. I felt my cock shrink in apprehension of his next move. I refused to be totally cowered by his baleful looks. Without a word he strode to the door and pressed a button imbedded in the wall.

A door at the farther end of the room opened and two gigantic men in cut-offs entered the room, leaving the door ajar.

"A new slave," the dark-haired man said.

"Trainer?" the red-haired man asked while blond-haired partner looked me over.

"This one's mine," he growled.

"Treatment?"

"Regular slave processing. Anyone can use him, but the specialized treatment is only for me."

"Housing."

"General solitary cage."

"Yes, sir."

Quickly, both men grabbed me by my arms, holding on to me with firm grips. As I was led from the room, I felt sure that the black-haired man was watching me.

We passed down a corridor with a number of solid doors. The quiet was eerie. We stopped in front of a door where the blond inserted a key into the lock and we passed into a brightly-lit room. There were showers at the farther end, but the center of the room was occupied by what looked like a barber's chair.

The handcuffs were removed from my wrists. Neither man seemed the least concerned that I would try anything. I even felt that they might like me to start something.

"Sit, slave," the dark-haired man directed.

"I'm no fucking slave, asshole."

The blond grinned evilly. "You'd better learn a little faster how you talk to people around here. You call people here 'Sir' or 'Master' if you want to stay healthy. You'll learn fast how to be agreeable. Now get your ass in the chair before you make us put you there."

I walked over to the chair and sat on the hard wooden surface. Quickly, they strapped me into the seat, exhibiting the fact that they had performed this chore very often. The dark-haired man plugged in a pair of electric clippers and started to remove the hair from my head. His companion began stropping a straight razor, occasionally looking at me from the corner of his eye with a look that told me he would like to really carve my body up with the blade he was sharpening . The clippers finished with my head and, while the blond began lathering my scalp in preparation to shaving it, the dark man proceeded toward removing my moustache and the larger growths of hair in my armpits, my chest, arms, legs and crotch.

Shaving trips had always excited me. I had been shaved before and my cock began to respond to the gross indignity.

'We've got a live one here," the blond remarked. Within minutes he had managed to shave my head completely smooth. He next took my moustache. I wanted to protest, but knew that it would not affect what was happening. Before

DRUMMER 31

long the entire front of my body had been shaved. When he started working on my crotch, I felt some apprehension as he manipulated my balls with the straight razor.

"Why bother shaving the nut sac? He's going to have them cut out in a few days," the dark haired man commented.

I felt faint at this piece of information. The sickness in the pit of my stomach increased as I realized that they were serious when the blond retorted, "I know, I know, but call it efficiency. The doc will like the professionalism.'

I couldn't remain quiet any longer. "Look, guys, I've got a lot of money in the bank and I can get more. Why don't you help me out of here. There's some mistake…" My plea was shut off by a smash to the side of my head.

"You've got to learn respect, shit face. I told you once, it's

I was unwilling to give up. "Sir," I began although it killed my soul to call anyone that. "Sir, I have the funds, Sir. Just check out my bank account, Sir.'

"Shut the fuck up, piss face," the blond snarled. "If we ever tried something like that, we'd be lucky to find ourselves in the same spot you're in. Forget it and keep your fucking mouth shut from here on in. You don't talk unless you're spoken to.

I was repositioned in the chair so the back of my body could be shaved. The chair doubled over, exposing my ass and asshole. After they had finished with my backside, they left me in the same position. I oculd not see what was going on behind me. I felt an intrusion in my asshole and it took a second to realize that a tube was being roughly forced through my anus into my rectum and colon. "Tight asshole," one of the men commented. The only time that had had an enema was prior to the removal of my appendix, although I had certainly given a number of slaves enemas. I felt the warm flow into my guts. It wasn't particularly uncomfortable; in fact I felt my cock begin to respond to the flow. The stream continued unrelentingly; in fact I started to feel aching in my distended guts. "Enough, Sir," I said, trying to stop the flow. They ignored me and I was sure that I was about to bust a gut. I gritted my teeth at the pain and, incomprehensibly, my cock remained hard beneath me.

Finally, the flow stopped. "I'm going to pull the tube out, slave. Don't you dare lose a drop or I'll beat your ass raw." I tried to seal my sphincter but I felt a few dribblets coursing from the crack in my ass. Suddenly, I felt a tremendous pressure against my sphincter which I was sure was going to rip me apart. One of the men inserted a large, greased butt plug up my ass which insured that I would not lose any more of the dirty mixture.

I was untied and allowed to stand without any bonds. The dark haired man glowered at me, shaking his head as if I was some sort of unruly child. He pointed at a few shit-stained spots on the floor. I looked around for a mop to clean the mess but there wasn't any in sight.

"Get down there and clean that up with your tongue, you shit eater.

I hesitated at this indignity but I felt the blond's hand on the back of my neck forcing me to my knees. As I knelt, I could not help noticing that each man had thrown big hardons and wondered what else might be in store for me. I figured that I had better not start something I might regret. I bent over with my palms on the tile floor and without any hesitation, I licked up the wet splotches of water and feces, trying to block my taste buds.

Good slave," the blond said, patting my head as if I was some sort of puppy. The humiliation was almost unbearable, but I knew that I must not show any resentment.

Get your ass over to the toilet bowl, shit licker," the darker man directed. "Sit on the bowl and pull the plug out of your ass.'

The solution in my colon was churning and boiling, as if some demonic power had taken over my guts and was exacting its own revenge. Pulling the plug out became a labor of pain in itself, because my tight anal sphincter seemed to be unwilling to give up its hold. Between the agony of my tight asshole and my boiling guts, I knew I had no choice but to wrench the plug out which I did in one hard pull and twist. Feces and water exploded on my wrist and hand. I started to pull the plug from beneath my ass, but I remembered what had happened before when I got the floor soiled and I opted to let my piss clean the butt plug. My guts felt as if they had ejected the malign powers which had battled within my guts. It felt very erotic and I knew that I had never been so clean before. My piss washed the fecal matter which clung to the plug.

All during this time the two men were leaning against the wall in front of me, suggestively massaging their cocks. I felt uncontrollable blushes of embarrassment and humiliation at having to suffer and expose the most private of my body functions before them. Sure, I had done the same thing a number of times to others, but they were into the scene. Was going to be made to accept or possibly crave this sort of humiliation during my stay here?

Again the questions arose in my mind-where was I, what was I doing here, was it some sort of a joke? I suspected that it was not a joke; in fact, it appeared to be deadly serious.

No one offered me any toilet paper; I was merely told to get into the shower. I held the butt plug against my body to prevent any of the piss from dripping onto the floor. As I arose from the cold porcelain toilet seat I felt dribblets of water course down my hairless legs. I stepped over the tiled ledge under the single shower head. Suddenly, a sheet of ice cold water covered my body and I gasped out as my lungs reacted to the shock. I wanted to jump out, but I was in the process of learning to play the game until I found my opportunity of escaping. The water became more bearable as my body adjusted to the temperature. I washed the plug with my fingers and brushed any wisps of stray hairs which adhered to my flesh. I was not given any soap.

As I emerged from the shower, I saw no towel and was offered none. I wondered if I was going to have to lap up the shower water, but I needn't have been concerned. I was told to kneel and a wide leather slave collar was locked around my neck. I recognized it as a training collar, since its width prevented me from lowering my head. Wide leather bands were locked to my wrists and ankles. I was told to stand. The blond knelt in front of me and attached a cock ring around my cock and balls and locked it into place. A two-inch ball stretcher was put in place. Fortunately, my balls tend to hang low, but I still felt the discomfort of my large orbs being forced down beneath the edge of the stretcher. The stretcher had a D-ring facing front. A leash was attached to the D-ring and I was led from the room by my tender balls back into the corridor. I knew that if I tried anything my balls would be torn from their sac.

Instead of opening the next door down the hall, the dark-haired man knocked on the door. A key turned on the inside and the door swung open to reveal a man with an executioner's hood and enormous arms. He looked like a gorilla and was just as hairy. His barrel chest was laden with coarse hair and his lower body was clothed in tight black leather pants.

The black-haired man seemed to be in awe of this creature from the nether world and merely mouthed, "New slave. Regular slave processing.'

The animal merely grunted his response and pulled me through the door by the leash. It all happened too fast and so expertly. Before I could take two deep breaths to relieve my growing tension I found myself standing in the center of the room, spreadeagle, my wrists locked to chains above me and

DRUMMER 32

my legs so widespread beneath me that I was standing on my toes to relieve the tension on my arms.

A hard calloused hand passed almost caressingly over my back and my ass, lingering for a moment on my taut cheeks. Although it was supposed to be a caress, I shuddered at the touch. The monster was aware of my reaction and chuckled deep in his throat, obviously enjoying the abhorrence I was feeling deep within me.

He moved out of my view for only a second and returned to face me. His beady eyes glared balefully at me through the executioner's hood. I thought of Tyburn Hill and the executioner's axe as I stared at this man. He revealed what he was holding in one hand. It was a cat-of-nine tails which must have been soaking in something because I could see the liquid coursing down its strands. He offered it to my lips to kiss but I would not succumb to his blandishments of the classical Master / slave role which says the slave kisses the instrument of his punishment. As he moved behind me, I tasted the liquid on my lips and found them to be salty.

The son-of-a-bitch soaked his whip in brine. I knew what this would mean for me. Every blow that broke the skin would be salted, adding to the agony of the beating long after the last stroke had fallen.

The first blow exploded on the center of my back, causing me to cry out from the pain which seared my nerve endings. Blow after blow fell across my helpless back and ass, no two falling in the same place. Unlike my own technique, there was no build up; this bastard was literally trying to take the hide off. I had wanted to not make a sound as an act of defiance but my intentions had no control over my reflexes. I screamed like a scalded animal as each blow bit deeper into-my flesh, leaving its own pinpoints of agony where the brine found a nesting place in the skin lesions which were developing.

As suddenly as it started, it stopped. The whipman wiped my back off and applied some sort of salve which did nothing to alleviate the pain.

Again he stood in front of me, fitting a black leather hood over my head, locking it to my slave collar. The hood had no eyepieces but a wide mouth opening and a space above for my nose to project. After assuring himself that it was on properly, he shoved a leather dildo gag into my mouth and tied it behind my head. I knew this man was pretty savvy because it had taken me some time to learn that a snap-on gag piece is not always effective because an unattended slave could always find some way to get the necessary purchase to unsnap the snaps and then all he had to do was spit the gag out. Even in my dire straits I could admire the work of an expert. Although my back and ass felt as if they were on fire, I knew that a Master of the whip had had his way with my body.

Next, he released my legs from their widespread stance and attached a chain between them, allowing me to walk without doing anything untoward. One hand was released and the free hand was attached by a clip to the ball stretcher. The second hand joined the first. I was unable to do anything. A lead was attached to a ring in my slave collar. The rough calloused hands grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around. I was blind, shackled and my hands were in a perilous position.

A tug on the collar started me moving slowly and carefully, afraid that I might stumble and fall.

I sensed we were back in the hallway. The sound of a key invaded the quiet hood and a door swung open. A caca-phony of voices, moans, screams and wailing assailed me like some unrelenting sea. I forgot about the pain in my back and ass.

I gingerly followed the tug of my torturer and the door slammed shut behind me. "Slave 1296" cmae to my ears. A voice resopnded, "Cage 45, spreadeagle, standing position."

Another tug came on my collar and I shuffled behind my captor as I entered the incessant bedlam. Some of the noise quietened as I passed what must have been a series of cages. I could understand the curiosity which made these prisoners forget their own psychological and physical agonies for the moment, but as soon as I had passed the noise erupted with a greater fury. I only wondered what was causing all of this anguish and if my own voice would join this symphony of pain. I was determined that I would not let it happen.

A key turned in a lock and I was urged to step down onto a concrete surface which was warm to the touch of my feet. The chain between my legs was fastened to some sort of staple embedded in the floor. I could feel the staple with my bare toes. My hands, one at a time, were released from my ball stretcher and attached to a frame above my head which allowed me to stand on the soles of my feet. I was left alone.

I was exhausted, physically and mentally. My body ached from the abuse it had suffered while my brain seethed with a burning need for revenge. How had this happened to me, I wondered. I was being tested as never before in my life. The threat of being castrated filled me with dread. I might as well be dead, I thought. Exhaustion caught hold of me and even the din, which seemed to be quieting down, could not keep me from fallng off in a hypnotic sleep.

A hand fumbling with my stretched balls awoke me. The ball stretcher was removed. The blood began to flow back into the sac and the pain was excruciating. I groaned helplessly . My hands had no feeling in them. I stood erect to relieve the pressure of my body and my hands came alive with an intense fire as life pumped itself into the extremities.

My hands were released from the overhead frame. I fell to my knees on the floor. The gag was untied and pulled out of my mouth. All of the saliva in my mouth had dried up and I felt parched. Next, the hood was removed. I blinked my eyes since I was unaccustomed to the bright lights. There were open barred cells around me with men in various positions— all naked. It looked like a nightmarish scene from Dante's Inferno.

In front of me stood a blond bearded giant who wore black leather chaps and boots. In his hand he held a riding crop which he flicked in a threatening manner on his hand.

"Are you hungry, 1296?"

I managed to croak, "Yes, Sir."

He took a step closer to me until his heavy unclipped cock touched my lips. "Suck your protein out, cunt face," he commanded. To punctuate his demand the riding crop slashed on to my bare back.

I opened my mouth and tried to suck the cock into my mouth. "Skin it back and clean out all of the headcheese." Another blow fell on my pain-sensitive back. His cock was now at full mast and I knew that I would only be able to suck half the great girth and incredible length. The odor of musky cheese assailed my nostril as my tongue tentatively began its cleansing job. I was obviously doing a good job because his free hand squeezed my bare shoulder with incredible power, causing me to wince. After I had removed all of the gook to his satisfaction, he moved his hand to the back of my head and merely said, "Chow down."

The circumference of his cock was so large that my teeth scraped the sensitive flesh which resulted in a fiery slash of the crop. I was sure that it must have broken the skin in the center of my back.

"If I feel your goddam teeth again, I'll have the fuckers pulled out."

I opened my jaws to their aching limit and sheathed my teeth with my lips. I knew that I had to get this sadistic bastard off as quickly as I could or he would ruin me with a few well-directed kidney shots, so I swirled my tongue as much as the cramped space would allow going almost midway down

on his cock until the head triggered my gag reflex. The blond was not about to let me suck only half of his cock. He seized my head in both hands and drove the heavy mallet into my throat. The pain of the massive tool tearing into my tender throat was unbelievable. I was sure that tissue was being ripped. Along with the fact that I was unable to breathe, I was certain that he was there to kill me. Then he let me up. I had enough presence to exert what little suction my already exhausted muscles would permit. When only the head rested at the entrance of my gaping mouth, the son-of-a-bitch drove the full length back into my throat. He repeated his action over and over. My ability to exert any pressure became paralyzed, but it didn't seem to affect this tool: I had been massaging his pendulous sac with my hand. I felt his balls drawing higher and I hoped this was the harbinger of his eruption.

With an almost inaudible sigh his penis started to pump a heavy lead of semen into my throat. As if offering me some great boon, he pulled the head back into my mouth so I could taste his cum. I had to admit there was a tart sweetness to it. I swallowed every drop, sucking the head dry with my beaten mouth. I wondered if any of the other prisoners were watching my degradation. I soon found out that it was not all over with yet.

"Here's your morning coffee. Don't you lose a drop." He laid his whip on my back to emphasize his point.

His cock jerked in my mouth and then a hard, heavy stream of piss filled my oral cavity. I swallowed as fast as I could. I managed to stay with the flow, not losing any of it. Finally, in short spurting shots the stream spent itself. He pulled his softened limb from my mouth.

"What do you say, pisshead?"

"Thank you, Sir."

With only a sneer on his face, he turned and stepped out of my cage, locking the door after him. He halted at the cage across from me where the inhabitant, whose face I could not see, was bound so that has asshole was against the bars. The blond stroked his cock for a full minute until it was hard again. Without applying any lubricant on it, he drove it into the inviting asshole of the prone man. A groan emanated from the victim's lips. The blond pulled out and slammed back in. I saw his naked ass clench as if he was again ready to discharge in that hot orifice. The guy's a fucking machine, I thought. He pulled out and smashed his riding crop on each milk white globe before he strolled out of the chamber.

I now had the opportunity of looking around me. Only a few of the cages were occupied; many of them like the guy across the way were positioned in bondage to provide easy access to their very vulnerable assholes. In the cage next to mine was a young man who lay back on the floor in a dazed state.

I decided to speak since there were no guards in the place.

The man looked over at me, rising from the floor. He was as naked as the rest of us. His body was marked with the lash. He resembled me but with a smaller bone-structured frame.

"You tell me. I just got here a while ago."

"Where did they get you?"

"Salt Lake City. I was on my way home from the lumber yard where I work. I was in a hurry 'cause it's me and Mary's fifth wedding anniversary. She was going to let the kids stay up late…" He stopped in mid-sentence, obviously still in some state of shock over what had happened.

This guy was obviously new to this place as I was, so I raised my voice to the man across the way whose luscious asshole was winking at me, causing my cock to leap. "Say, man. You over there. What's the score?"

'You guys'll find out," was all he said.

"Come on, guy," I cajoled, hoping to get him to open up. DRUMMER 36

"We just want to know what we've got ourselves into."

After some hesitation, the guy spoke, hoarsely, almost inaudibly. "You've got yourselves caught up in a snake pit, man. The dudes that run this place have got to be the horniest bunch of fags I ever heard of. They train a man to service their cocks and some pretty sick things. The worst of it is they gear your head to where you get to dig it. That frightens me. Some guys come, stay a short while and then they just up and disappear. Others go through the whole course, whatever that is, and then they are gone. Man, I've done shit that I never knew a man could do.'

"Has anyone ever escaped?" I asked, anxiously.

"Ain't never heard of it."

"If you aren't gay, then how do you manage?"

"It's all in your headspace. You can freak out and a lot of them have done that, but then you come to realize that that ain't the way out. They program dudes so guys who ain't never touched another man's cock in their whole lives are begging for it."

I started to ask if anyone had ever been denutted when the heavy door opened and the key warned us of a keeper's approach.

A guard I had never seen before came up to my cage. He wore well-worn levis and boots; at his belt I recognized a cattle prod. Since I had used them on slaves of my own in the past I knew they could be pretty mean in the hands of a man who knew where to apply their power-charged tip.

"1296, stand with your back to the gate and your hands behind you."

I knew I had no choice. He handcuffed my hands and opened the gate of the cage and I was taken from the room of cages out another door. Again, the sounds of moans, screams, whips and a potpourri of sexually arousing noises assailed my ears. Doors with meshed windows lined the hallway . I was taken to a small room at the end of the hall. I was shoved into the room and discovered the man I had first met when I arrived.

"On your knees, slave, and do service to your Master's boots.

I knew the game, so I knelt and kissed first his left boot and then his right. I waited to see if he demanded more. He walked to a corner of the room and brought a straight chair, placing it in front of me and sitting in it.

"O.K., punk. I'm going to ask the questions and you answer them, respectfully. Hear?"

My throat almost refused to say the words in my growing anger, but I croaked, "Yes, Sir."

"You were brought here for one reason, but it seems things have changed and you get to save your nuts. You are no longer a special, so I won't be handling you. I was looking forward to it. Count your blessing, shithead."

"Yes, sir." I had not believed they were serious, but I began to wonder.

"You were picked up on Folsom Street in San Francisco, so you've got to be a queer. Right?"

"Yes, Sir." If my hands had been freed, I would have busted his leering face. Were these guys straight, I wondered.

"Top or bottom?"

"Top, Sir."

"I thought so. Well, dicklicker, and, oh, yes, you are a dicklicker, you are about to step into the slave role, but for good."

"What is this place?" Before I could ask another question, the hard, heavy hand smashed me across the face and I fell on my side on the floor with my head ringing.

"I told you, boy, I ask the questions around here. You answer them. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir," I muttered as I managed to get back on my knees. I knew that if I ever got free, I'd bust his fucking back.

"I don't know how long you'll be here, but guys with your background get picked up pretty fast. You ever had sex with a woman?"

What the fuck is this, I wondered as I said, "Yes, Sir."

"Good," he smiled. "It makes no difference." Standing, he headed for the door and he said one thing more before departing. "You do what you're told and you won't have any extra trouble. You are a slave."

My knees were beginning to ache on the concrete floor and I thought about getting up. The door opened again and I expected my escort had arrived. I knew that someone was standing behind me and something told me not to turn around. The silence had an ominous overtone, some unspoken threat. I'm no coward by any means, but my stom-

After a few minutes a very tall naked man walked by me barefooted, walked to the opposite wall, faced me and leaned against it with his arms folded. He was silent as he looked at me. I recognized him as a bodybuilder and weight-lifter . His body was covered by a mat of golden hair; even his pubic hair was golden. He was living proof that all weight-lifters do not have small cocks and lift weights to compensate for that shortcoming. My own cock was a bit better than average, but even hard it never reached the dimensions of that club between his legs.

"That's right, slave, look at it because you're going to know every part of my body better than you know your own."

I looked up at his face. "Don't ever look at me unless you have permission. Understand?" In the short moment I had looked I had been taken with his incredible beauty. Boy, would I like to fuck you. I may not have your cock, but you should see what I can do with what I've got.

His soft voice continued. "We don't get many guys like you too often, but I usually end up with them. I find it a real challenge when I get to train an SM top. The masochist slave is too easy. There's no challenge." He paused. "You ever been a slave or masochist?"

'No, Sir," I stated without any equivocation.

"Great. I get to give you some of your own medicine." He turned serious now, as he added, "You turn out good and you could be a special."

What the fuck was a special, I wanted to ask, but I knew better

"Now, I've wasted enough time on you. I'll give you the ground rules. I'm your Master. You will learn to serve and service me totally. I will do with your body whatever I want to. You do not cum unless I give you permission. You will learn to cum on command. If any other Master wants service, you give it to him. I will be told of all infractions and I will punish you." The threat in these words was undeniable. He finished quietly, "Get your head straight. Learn to accept your fate. This isn't a weekend trip. You will be a slave for the rest of your life. Forget the top bullshit. The faster you learn to live with that, the easier it will be for you."

The rest of my life rang in my ears like some death knell. I could not, would not, accept this death sentence to my self-esteem.

Pushing away from the wall, he approached me and stood directly in front of me, his huge cock with its cut, bulbous head just inches away from my lips. I wanted to flick my tongue over the inviting slit, but I would not give in that easily.

"Stand."

My knees were so stiff, I wasn't sure that I would be able to make it alone. I almost fell, but I managed to make it to my feet.

He stood a head taller than I. I could smell the maleness of his body. It was a real turn-on, How I would have liked staking him out in my playroom and working his magnificent body.

"Keep your eyes down."

My slave collar chafed my neck a bit, but I knew beter than to complain. Reaching down he took my nuts and started to roll them in his hand, occasionally squeezing them just long enough to let me know they were his. His thumb reached up and ran along the freshly shaven skin above my cock, letting me know that I was a shorn slave, a piece of shit.

Pulling me by the aching balls, he led me from the room, down the corridor, back into the cage room. The guy who had fed me his cum and piss that morning was just pulling his cock free from the ass of the guy across the way from me. He grinned at my Master and left the room. My Master unlocked the cage, but before he shoved me into it, he made me kneel on the floor by the asshole of the man who had just been fucked.

"Eat his ass out. Get all that good protein, slave."

Obviously he had been fucked a number of times because cum was oozing from his hole and running down his legs. I began to lick at the hole a bit hesitantly. My Master shoved my face up against the crack and I found myself slurping up the wet juice. The smell of his raped ass was sexually potent. I dug the tip of my tongue into the pink orifice, seeking more of the juice. I could hear the slave moaning in ecstasy which drove me to greater efforts. The muscles in his sphincter forced more juices into my waiting mouth. I could have spent a greater time in this sort of duty, but my Master pulled me away.

"Pretty good," he commented as he shoved me into my cage. My cock stood out hard and dripping. He slammed and locked the door after me. He had not removed my handcuffs, so I could not beat off and get my own release.

. My nose and face was wet from my neighbor's dripping ass. It was then that I noticed my new neighbor had disappeared.

'Hey, man," I called.

The bound man responded, quickly, "I'm sorry about that, but your mouth felt so good. I think if he had kept you there a few more seconds, I would have gotten off again.'

"Forget it. What happened to my neighbor?"

"The other new guy?"

"Yeah."

"They took him out right after they came for you."

I don't know how many hours passed. I dozed. Some guys were brought back to their cages. Some were dazed, others in tears, a few hysterical while a few seemed to be enjoying what-ever had happened to them. I noticed that some wore small cages locked to their shaved cocks and balls to prevent them from masturbating. Each cage had a hole in the corner where a slave could relieve himself, but there was no toilet paper.

After what seemed hours, I wondered when I would be fed and if I had been forgotten. I had spent some time looking the layout over with a view of escaping, but I knew that it would be hard, if not impossible, especially with my hands tied.

The sounds that had greeted me when I first entered the room of cages was beginning again. The place had never been entirely quiet, but I had become accustomed to the racket.

A number of Masters had come and gone, often demanding service from someone of one kind or another. No one had approached me. I was glad to be left alone.

I don't know where he came from, but I found the blond giant outside of my cage. Another guard accompanied him and my Master just stepped aside as my cage was unlocked. The guard ordered me out of the cage.

As I stepped out, my Master motioned me to my knees and I bent over and kissed his bare feet and then turned and kissed the guard's boots. Leather cuffs were again locked to my wrists and ankles after the handcuffs had been removed.

My Master nodded to the guard as I started to follow him. The blond smashed the flat of his hand against the upraised buttocks of my neighbor across the corridor. I heard a mumbled "Thank you, Sir."

No effort was made to refasten my hands. My Master motioned for me to follow him. The guard led us out into the corridor. We proceeded down the hall, through a door, down a flight of stairs and into another corridor. Halfway down the corridor, a man in full leather sat at a desk.

"Goodnight," he said, smiling at the blond. I noticed that no one ever mentioned another person's name in this place.

"Take it easy," my Master said in a pleasant tone of voice that I had never heard him use before. I followed him down the hall and he opened a door to his right and I followed him into a large room. He switched on a light and I found myself in a room which any top would have like having for his own use.

The room had track lighting which afforded the Master complete darkness or a spotlight effect. The walls were lined with various sorts of equipment; most of it I recognized, but some of it looked pretty specialized and I couldn't help wondering how much of it was going to be used on me.

The Master closed the door and approached a black leather arm chair. Next to it was a large control panel; he flicked a couple of switches which blacked the room out and only a spotlight centered itself on the floor in front of the chair. The Master sat in the chair where the shadows hid his face but the light illuminated his hard stomach and heavy cock and balls.

"Come here, slave." I approached the chair. "Kneel and sit back on your haunches because I have a lot to say before we start your actual training." I knelt and squatted on my heels. "While I talk you will keep your eyes on my cock and balls and never let your eyes stray. My cock and balls will become very important as you get more into the headspace of being a slave. Believe me, you will be a total slave before I am through with you."

I kept my eyes on his blond bush and the cockhead which stretched out on the seat between his legs. It was soft and I hated to think what it would be like when it reached its full, hard stature. The balls were like two big globes, protected by a bag of hairy skin. I could see the heavy veins which, when engorged with sexual lust, would form their own demanding course as they massaged and brutalized my sensitive tissues. I was hypnotized by the monster, fearful of arousing it, yet wanting to see it in its ferocious totality. I had never been one for size in a man's equipment, but I could now appreciate the feelings of those I contempuously referred to as "size queens.'

Slowly my Master began his dissertation. "You were picked up and put in custody to fulfill a specific contract. Another team has found a man better fitted to the specifications. Count yourself lucky, man, because you were going to lose your balls. The other man lost his an hour ago and is recuperating . You may wonder in time to come if you had not been better off in his position, but you can take it from me, you are better off not nutless. Now, we always have general contracts for sex slaves and that is what you will be trained for. I will train you to suck cock the way it should be sucked, I will fuck and fist your ass. You will drink my piss and eat my shit.'

I could not believe what I was hearing. My asshole was practically virgin, having only had a cock up it a few times when I discovered that I didn't care for it. As far as a fist was concerned, I had fisted my share of guys, but it never really did anything special for me. I usually only did it if the guy wanted it after a particularly good scene. Piss I could handle, but I knew that I would never be able to handle shit. Scat was not my scene, even as a top.

"It's been left up to me how I handle you. I think I can make a special out of you, an SM special. There's a big demand for good ones. We'll just see how good you are.'

My mind was in a turmoil. I was trying to assimilate his words, but I could not believe what was being said. In retrospect , I recalled that the night I was captured, I had not planned to go out and went just on the spur of the moment.

Reaching over, he switched on the lights. He retrieved a set of keys from the top of the console and removed my wrist and ankle cuffs. Handing me a jar, he directed me to the bathroom and told me to rub the cream over every part of my body that had been shaved, including my eye brows. "Also, clean out. I don't like shit on my dick, then shower that stuff off of you."

The bathroom was windowless and, when I finished, I returned to the room. He signaled me to my hands and knees and I crawled across the room to him. In a doggie bowl by his side, he had placed some dog biscuits. He commanded me to eat them. I knew that he did not want me to use my hands, so I bent down and grasped a biscuit with my lips and teeth. The biscuits were dry and they made my mouth feel more cottony and dry. After I had finished the last one, my Master offered me his big cock.

'Take the head in your mouth and hold it there."

I opened my mouth wide to accommodate the big head and tried to put no pressure on it. As I had expected, he started a healthy flow of hot piss which had a sharp tang, but I found myself drinking it avidly and it managed to quench my thirst. I didn't lose a drop.

Next, he ordered me over to the bed on my hands and knees and he lay back on the full sized bed with his legs wide-spread and his golden head resting on his arms, leaving himself completely open.

"Your first test," he began, "is to show me how you can service a man's body with your mouth."

I stood by the side of the bed, leaned over and started to lick his chest. I worked my tongue over the broad plane of taut flesh, giving particular attention to his large, protruding nipples, alternating sucking them and running them between my teeth and lips. I was encouraged by his heavy breathing. I moved into each of his armpits, cleaning the sweat which had accumulated in the blond hair, savoring the saltiness. With large swoops of my tongue, I laved his sides and his stomach, centering on his navel which had become a reservoir of pre-cum. I lapped up the goo, savoring the nectar which had amassed there. His cock was now full grown and I had an opportunity to see it at full staff. I would never have believed that a piece of flesh and gristle could make me quail in almost abject fear. I believed that it was physically impossible for that phallus to enter any of my orifices without killing me. I avoided the cock and balls, expecting my Master to force me to give service to his monstrous prong.

He said nothing, so I continued down the tops and sides of his legs to his bare feet. I tasted the grime which had been picked up in his travels on the sole of one foot. I cleaned the toes and in between them. I moved to the other foot and cleaned the toes. As I touched the heel, it was as it I had given a signal. My Master turned over on his stomach. I travelled up the legs; my spit was running out. I laved his tight buttocks, thinking in passing how I would like to shove my cock into the recepticle which lie between them. Up the sides to his back and then down his spine. I knew that I would have to do something which would gratify him or he might want to take it out on me, so I was determined to give his asshole a few flicks of my tongue. As I pushed the cheeks of his ass apart, I ran my tongue along the musky, sweaty crack of his ass. Again he took over. He got up on the bed on all fours and swung around so the crack of his ass was facing me. The cheeks were spread apart and he was silently commanding me to give full service to the pink rosette which was lodged there. Taking a

DRUMMER 38

deep breath, I blew enticingly on the pucker. It twitched at me in reponse. I laved it and drove my tongue into its musky depth, swirling the edges to induce them to open more and more to my slow penetration. My own cock was hard and dripping, but I knew better than to touch myself. To keep my hands occupied, I pressed the buttocks farther apart and began to blow gusts of air up his ass. He pushed his ass harder against my face and in a few moments he expelled these air sacs back into my face. My mouth and jaws were getting tired. He had had enough and he turned and pushed me away. Again I was on my knees, my eyes centered on his hard, dripping cock as he sat facing me.

'You ever sucked a cock, slave?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir," I responded, knowing better than to editorialize the fact that I had never even seen one like that.

Absently, he scratched his pubic hair. "Well, you probably never had one like this, but we'll see. Come closer, fuck-head ."

Gingerly, I inched forward until I found my mouth almost touching the dripping head.

"Put your tongue out and lick the slit."

I washed the slit free of the leaking, viscous material, finding it to be an aphrodisiac in itself since I knew that I wanted all of that big dick. If he had been one of my slaves, I would have plunged my mouth down on it and taken as much as I could.

"Start eating, dicklicker."

I took the big head in my mouth and swirled my tongue around the protruding corona. The cock was so big and heavy that I could feel its weight in my mouth. I moved down on the shaft and soon found the head pushing against my glottus. My throat was still tender from the earlier assualt in my cage and I was reluctant to get brave with this murderous weapon. I guarded my teeth which was pretty difficult because of the girth of the meat. I pulled back on it, sucking as hard as I could but, because of its size I was unable to exert the pressure which might have brought his load off faster.

"You can't just suck the head and a couple of inches, shitmouth; you've got to take it down your throat to my balls."

"Please, Sir," I began, but my head echoed from a well-place slap.

"You don't talk unless I tell you to. You're going to take it all if I have to tear your throat out. You aren't a master now, punk; you're just a shitmouthed slave. If I kill you with my dick, it's no big thing. Guys like you are a dime a dozen.'

He grabbed my head in his big hands and told me to grab my wrist behind me and to leave my hands there. I expected him to drive his cock into my throat and kill me on the spot.

He eased the cock head into my mouth, pulling my head down further on the shaft until my gag reflex started to come into play. He told me to swallow hard which I did and the head moved into my already sore throat. He held the cock head and what must have been an inch of the cock in my throat. I was choking from the lack of oxygen and he pulled out until the heavy head lay just inside of my mouth. Again he shoved the cock further into my throat, but I could see that I was a long way from the golden hairs of his sweaty crotch. Again and agin he repeated the slow process until, incredibly , I found my dripping nose buried in his crotch hair.

I could not believe that I had taken all of that dick down my throat. He began a slow, steady in and out thrusting. My gagging was under control; my eyes were filled with tears from the strain while my nose ran as if I had a cold. The tempo was building as his need became more and more urgent. I tried to force my aching muscles to give the kind of suction which would bring him off that much faster. His deep labored breathing was the only sign that he was about to spew his

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DRUMMER 39

seed into the agonized orifice. The monstrous head grew in diameter as it prepared to discharge the cum and then with the fury of a volcano it erupted great gushes into my sore throat. He came and came, but he made no effort to reward me by allowing me to savor his hot cum. As he held the throbbing organ in its soft sheath with my nose buried in the fine hairs, I was sure that he was going to let me strangle. Just before I blacked out, he pulled out and I took long labored breaths, filling my air-starved lungs. I sucked the remaining ooze from the head, feeling the cock soften in my mouth. I wondered if he was going to give me another load of piss, but he merely shoved me away.

After a few moments he arose and tied me spreadeagle in the center of the room. He told me that he did not believe in using a hood at the beginning of his training because he wanted all of my senses in play to experience what he did to me. He gave me a tablet and told me to swallow it. I did. Within a few minutes my entire body and my brain acquired a sensitivity it had never had before. He whipped my naked frame, back and front, with a variety of whips. While he never broke the flesh, he raised a number of welts. Whatever he had given me heightened my response to the pain. I felt it instantly, but my cock stayed hard and I grooved on it. I don't think that I would have been able to endure it without the drug.

After he had finished whipping my body, he walked over to a drawer, pulled something out, and turned toward me. In his hand he held a huge dildo which he was greasing with his other hand. There was an evil leer on his face as he approached me. I knew that I was in a vulnerable position with my legs widespread which inhibited really using my muscles to prevent his invasion of my ass. The dildo was big and veined but not as large as his cock. Over his shoulder he had some straps which I knew were going to hold the device in place.

"I've got to get you ready for the real thing, pissface."

I waited in apprehension. His fingers played with my hole. First, he inserted one, found my prostate and started to deftly massage it, actually tease it. Another finger followed the first and I heard myself groan at the stretching. Almost caressing-lym he pulled his fingers free, rubbing the grease over the cheeks of my ass. Then I felt the blunt end of the dildo pressed against my asshole in a screwing motion. He could have plunged it in, but he preferred taking his time which I appreciated. I knew that I could not stop him. I would not plead with him, so I strained as if I was trying to take a shit and felt the muscles around my tight sphincter loosen up. The head was in the entrance gate before I realized it. He twisted it there for a moment, allowing my muscles to become accustomed to the intruder. Slowly, more and more of the huge rubber phallus found its way into my rectum and on to my colon. I had never felt so full in my life. Tentatively, I clenched at the invader and found that I could endure it. He secured it in place. My cock had gotten hard again.

After he finished with my asshole, he concentrated on the front of me. He placed incredible weights on my balls until I was sure that they would rip them off. He set the weights into a swinging motion. Next, he placed teethed, springed clamps on my tits. Everything else was forgotten as a scream burst forth from my lips. The room reverberated with the repeated cries. My chest was on fire. My ass and my balls were totally forgotten. He stood back from me, allowing the teeth to do their work as they ate into the tender flesh. Looking down at my agonizing chest, I could see beads of blood forming around the teeth.

He walked over to a small fridge and extracted a can of beer which he opened and sipped as the tools he had attached to me worked their incredible pain on me. It seemed an eternity until he removed the weights from my balls. My chest was still DRUMMER 40 painful but a numbness had begun to set in. He flicked each of the tit clamps, causing me to groan. Quickly and expertly, he removed the clamp from my right nipple and I screamed again as the blood returned to the starved nerve endings, causing the most excruciating pain. I dreaded the inevitable removal of the other clamp. Again, I felt as if my brain would explode from the pain. He allowed me to rest in my bonds as he finished his beer. The effects of the drug, whatever it had been, were beginning to wane.

Taking me down, he directed me to a leather sling that hung from the ceiling. He made me lie on my back with my legs widespread and above me. The ankles were attached to the chains which held the sling. One hand was chained above me while he placed an open bottle of poppers in my other hand. I appreciated this thoughtfulness because I knew that I was going to need it. He stood between my legs. From a small table by his side, he opened a can of Crisco and began to apply it to his fingers and hand in heavy doses. He removed the harness which held the dildo in place with the ungreased left hand and worked the dildo back and forth in my gut before tossing it on the floor. The greased fingers of his right hand immediately sought their way up into my ass before the muscles had a chance to tighten up. All four fingers and his thumb were easing their way further into the tight hole. The thumb knuckle held up complete entry of the hand into my rectum.

"Take a hit of those poppers. This hole is still tight."

I snorted the acrid aroma into each nasal pasage and for extra duty I sucked the fumes through my mouth. I could feel the muscle relaxing against the onslaught and he very quickly had his entire hand inside of the entry hall. He made a fist, curling his fingers around his thumb. I found myself groaning involuntarily from the heady effects of the poppers and the massive invasion of my ass. He twisted the fist around; the knuckles abraded my prostate gland, causing my shriveled cock to leap on my stomach. Slowly he began his cautious drive into my colon. The muscles in his bicep began to ripple at the exertion as more and more of his forearm disappeared up my ass. He began fucking my ass. As his hand withdrew, he twisted his fist, causing my cock to begin to harden. The tempo of the pounding began to slowly build. I resorted more and more to the poppers. My balls began to tighten in their sac and I knew that very soon I would be dumping my first load since I had been taken prisoner. He must have been aware of my close ejaculation because he picked up the speed of the thrusts and withdrawals. I let out a scream as my hard cock spewed the first stream which smashed into my face and past my head. I thought I would never stop coming. When I spent my load, he continued his abuse of my ass for a few more minutes. Then he slowly eased his hand out of my ass. Offering me his hand, I began to lick the melted grease and muscous from his fingers and his arm.

Grabbing a towel, he stood back and observed me. My cum was drying on my body. His cock was hard and because of its weight it hung down over his balls. He approached me and aimed his huge tool at the recently emptied hole and drove the hard cock all the way up my ass. Standing in one position, he held the chains of the sling, impaling me on his cock again and again. The fury of his drives was awesome. He was like a rutting animal. The tempo picked up and I could feel every inch of the monster up my ass. Another load was building in my balls as my guts were brutally ravaged. We came at the same moment. The veins in his cock had swelled just before his cum filled me up. He left his cock in my ass as it softened and then I felt the beginnings of another torrent as his beer-filled bladder emptied into my bruised, aching hole. He left my hole plugged up with his cock as he loosened the bonds on my feet and one hand. Pulling out, he told me to head for the toilet and not to lose a drop or I'd lap it all up. I

Back in the room, I found a doctor emerging from another room in a long white coat and a stethoscope around his neck. He shook his head wonderingly at the prone figures on the floor. "What happened?"

One of the attendants said, "I guess this one cold-cocked them."

"Never mind, I'll look at them later. Put him on the table." As they wrestled me in place the doctor removed a surgical pack from the sterilizer with tongs. I watched him cautiously needle and proceeded to load it from a bottle.

"Hold him still," he told the attendants as he probed the vein in the crook of my elbow. Quickly he penetrated the

My brain began to take a spin. I felt as if my entire body was descending down a deep, dark shaft. I was oblivious to everything ; I had become unconscious. Two times I almost climbed out of the shaft and heard voices around me before I

Slowly I came out of my deep sleep to find myself in some sort of padded case. There was a hiss which caught my ear and I realized that an oxygen unit had been built into it. Anxiously , I felt my groin and happily found I still had my cock and balls. I was evidently in some sort of truck because I sensed the movement on pavement. After a while the truck came to a halt and started up again. Minutes later, the truck stopped agin and I tumbled in the case as it was lifted and taken, quite clumsily, quite some more distance. I could not

I heard some fumbling around the box as it came to its final resting place. Where would I find myself, I wondered. Had some fucking Arabian oil man bought me, or some nut who wanted the pleasure of tearing my balls off himself? Well, I swore, whoever it is is in one world of trouble. I'll have his or her balls around his or her ears. Jesus, I thought, what if it is some woman! Fuck!

The side of the box opened and the first thing I saw was a highly polished pair of riding boots and neatly-pressed jodhpurs.

Then I heard it. "Ah'm sure you'll find him in tip-top shape.

Gathering myself, I leaped out of the box and turned to the voice-Jerry Sanders. Just as fat and ugly as ever. I hauled off and swung connecting with the one blow. I thought I had broken my fist when I heard the bone crack, but it was merely his jaw.

Jerry Sanders was unconscious in the middle of the carpet. The room registered on my mind and I felt a strange case of deja vu. Quickly I turned, looking for the person in boots and jodhpurs. I discovered him on his knees with his hands clasped behind him and his head bowed in submission.

'Guy, you lousy bastard," I snarled as I walked up to him. My bare foot lashed out at him, knocking him to the floor. I stubbed my toe and began hopping around. After the pain began to subside, I snarled, "What are we going to do about him?"

"Is he living, Sir?"

"I hope not, but let me see." I knelt by the prone figure of the man who had put me through hell and found his breathing to be labored. "He's just knocked out."

'May I suggest that we call Pierre?"

"O.K., get your butt off of the floor and get him in here. I'll deal with you later."

Pierre didn't blink an eye at seeing me standing there stark naked and the Count on his knees by my side. I told him to call some sort of ambulance service to get Sanders to a hospital , that the Count would pay the hospital costs. Sanders was to be advised that I would be at the hospital to see him. I knew he was all right as he began to groan on the floor. Pierre assured me that everything would be handled as I desired.

Strange, here I was buck naked and Guy was fully dressed, but I felt a tremendous surge of power and control. The Net had not broken my will. My cock was beginning to rise from its nest of short, newly grown pubic hair in expectation of events.

"Get your fucking ass off of the floor, slave. We have a sesesion due in your dungeon that you will never forget."

I followed Guy to a paneled wall next to the bookcase. He reached over his head and pressed a knob in the paneling and the wall sprang open, revealing the brightly-lit steps of hewn stone.

For the next three hours, I worked out all of my frustrations , anger and growing love on Guy. He gave himself totally to me. I spewed cum and piss into his ass, mouth and all over his body. I drove my fist and arm up his ass all the way to my bicep. His front and back were etched with stripes and broken flesh.

When we returned to the Master bedroom, Pierre helped me apply the healing salve to his wounds. My biggest surprise came when I dismissed Pierre. This short, slightly overweight man knelt before me and kissed my bare feet and then my hand, calling me "Mon Maitre." My Master. I figured that I would have to look into that later. It had all sorts of possibilities.

Guy slept on the carpeted floor under a comforter by the side of the bed. In the morning when I awoke, I looked over the edge of the bed and found him looking up at me. I ordered him into the bed to perform what would become his morning duty of sucking me off and drinking my piss.

At breakfast in the formal dining room, I ate at the end of the table while a naked Comte de Tournon ate out of a doggie bowl with his arms resting on the floor while his luscious butt pointed up at me intriguingly. In our later conversations I discovered that Guy had let his earlier slave go with a healthy amount of money to start a new life and to insure that he would cause no trouble.

During the afternoon, I took Guy's Porsche and drove to the hospital. I had left my new slave tied up in the dungeon, waiting for my return.

Jerry Sanders looked awfully pale and his eyes were not very friendly. His jaws were wired together, but he managed to make himself understood. I laid Guy's check on the bedside table which was payment for bringing me here. I assured him that we would cover the hospital bill.

He told me that Guy's order had come through after I had begun my slave training. He swore that he had no idea I was even in the complex until an aide told him. I didn't believe a word of it. Then he surprised me when he told me that Charlie, the blond master who had taken me over, felt that I would make an excellent slave. I asked him about Charlie, but he would only say that Charlie was straight with a wife and two kids. I left and never saw Jerry Sanders again.

You may have read about the Air France crash at Fiumicino Airport in Rome last year. The French and Italian papers listed Pierre Guy / Louis de Bassompierre, Comte de Tournon, among the victims. Guy had begged me for permission to go to Rome to visit a school friend who was dying of cancer. With a great deal of reluctance, I acquiesced.

A prune-faced old uncle of Guy's inherited the title and the estates. I was out on my ass, although Pierre stayed on. As I left, Pierre handed me an envelope from Guy. In it I found a bank book for a numbered account in a Bahamian bank. I would feel no financial pain for some time to come.

Today I'm back in San Francisco, but I stay away from Ringold Alley. I trick with a few regulars and am carefully looking for a permanent slave. I have a feeling that Jerry Sanders, if the bastard is still living, is waiting to throw the net over me for good.

DRUMMER 42

Shaved, Pierced & Tattooed

Photo Gauntlet / PFI Quarterly

Three very different subjects that often go hand in hand: genital shaving, piercing and tattooing. Throughout history , all three have semi-cult status as fetishes, yet huge cult followings. Tattooing is nearly as old as man himself; genital shaving is a religious practice in some cultures, as is piercing. The following excerpts are from a forthcoming book, Shaved, Pierced & Tattooed, and are a random sampling from all three categories.

PIERCING WITH A PRO

Jim Ward / Gauntlet

Piercing of the male genitals for erotic, and even non-erotic, reasons has been practiced for thousands of years and is still customary in many primitive cultures throughout the world. Modern , so-called civilized man is finally discovering the sensual enhancement which body and gential piercing can afford.

But what are the qualities that make a good piercer and go into the making of a good piercing? First, cleanliness. This means that the piercer sees to it that his clothing and body, especially his hands, are spotlessly clean. He makes certain the area in which he works is likewise immaculate and that every piece of equipment he uses is absolutely sterile. Piercing needles, forceps, jewelry, even piercing cocks should be sterilized. For new items which have never been used before, boiling, soaking in antiseptic solution, and / or coating with an antibiotic ointment is sufficient; however, any object which has penetrated the skin or come in contact with blood or other body secretions should be autoclaved, processed for twenty minutes in a pressure cooker, or, at the very least, passed slowly through an open flame. Only by doing so can all harmful organisms by destroyed.

This concern for cleanliness goes hand in hand with the second quality of good piercer, responsibility. No a responsible piercer will attempt to do a piercing while under the influence of alcohol or drugs. He is also wise to refuse to do work on someone who is drunk or drugged.

To do a good piercing within the context of a sex or SM scene can be very difficult, and where possible should be avoided. Lighting in such situations is often inadequate, and the presence of non-sterile lubricants, plus sweat, spit, and other body secretions make contamination of the piercing extremely easy. The responsible piercer is aware of these pitfalls and will proceed with extreme caution and care.

Another aspect of responsibility is in choosing the most suitable device for inserting into the piercing to keep it open during the healing period.

The third quality of a good piercer is knowledge. He knows what he is doing and why. He knows where to place a piercing for maximum sensation. He knows the principles of hygiene and sterilization and applies them.

The person contemplating having a piercing is advised to look for these three qualities, to insist upon them, and to avoid anyone who does not possess them.

THE PRINCE ALBERT

Doug Malloy

This most functional penile attachment was named after Queen Victoria's consort, Albert. Known for his manliness and concern for his queen, he was an ambitious man, handsome and fecund, who would do anything for his monarch.

Born in 1819, he wooed Victoria and married her in 1840 when he was 21 years old. They produced eight children , most of whom became attached to the royal houses of Europe. Albert was literally a maker of kings. The marriage of Victoria and Albert endured until his death in 1861.

From all indications Albert was greatly influenced and was a great admirer of Beau Brummel, a gay, effete bachelor of the previous generation. They were not

contemporaries and there is no evidence the two ever met, yet Brummel appears to have been the instigator of the piercing which bears Albert's name. Between approximately 1815 and 1820 Beau Brummel reigned supreme in style-conscious circles. Though a man without visible funds, he circulated through the social world of his day displaying the wares of and dropping the name of his probable patron and benefactor , Jonathan Barlow, one of Lon-don's leading haberdashers.

Fashion of the period dictated very tight trousers for men. They were usually buff-colored, crotch binding, and often had straps which went under the instep to keep them taut and foldless. Propriety allowed only a vague outline of the manly endowments to be displayed . To achieve this diminution a dress accessory called a haberdasher's or dressing ring was worn in a piercing through the underside of the urethra just behind the penis head. Using this ring the penis could be held securely against the upper leg, left or right, depending on the gentleman's preference . Trousers were fitted accordingly and were made without pockets and usually opened on the side. Needless to say, urination presented something of a problem, all for the sake of vanity.

While no concrete evidence exists to substantiate the rumor, Prince Albert is reputed to have bowed to the dictates of fashion embodied by Beau Brummel by having a dressing ring installed. This was probably done c.1842-3 when he was 25 years old. Soon, of course, the social grapevine was buzzing with the news. Some of the gossip magazines of the day proclaimed Albert's acquisition, and soon London's haberdashers were urging their customers to follow suit. The young dandies and social climbers seem to have lost little time in doing so. It was an era of extremes in style for both men and women. Tight, constricting clothes were all the rage. The even tighter peg-top style trousers came into favor. Before long these fashions reached New York, complete with dressing ring, and remained popular until the outbreak of the Civil War. In time the tight fitting trousers gave way to looser styles and the need for the dressing ring ceased.

But life is cyclic and something as functional as the Prince Albert rarely dies out completely. In time it may assume other functions, thus enjoying a revival. Until fairly recently within the Soviet Union, it was not acceptable for a male ballet dancer to display his genitals by even so much as a slight bulge in his tights. The male performer was considered sexless or at most androgynous. I have it on good authority that for perhaps the last 25-30 years male ballet dancers, in much the same way as our Victorian predecessors did, used the equivalent of a Prince Albert to bind the penis to the leg so as to render it invisible . Study the pictures of Nijinsky and you will note no visible evidence of genitalia. A Prince Albert held them securely in place, but it did not inhibit his fantastic leaps.

Dancers have found other interesting uses for the versatile Prince Albert. Durig the days of vaudeville there was a scandalous nude revue which shocked Paris and every town it played in America . It was originally called "Elysian Fields" (the name was later changed) and toured many burlesque houses throughout the States. Each town where it appeared imposed its own variety of censorship, often forcing the dancers to perform behind a scrim. The ballerinas wore angel wings, the men only fig leaves held firmly in place despite vigorous dancing, leaps and jetes by a Prince Albert. At the climax of the piece a clever disconnect mechanism allowed the leaves to fall, revealing the "Greek gods," emancipated and free, as the curtain fell on a classic pose.

The versatile Prince Albert was my own point of entry into the world of piercing, though it was used for a very different purpose. I was nineteen, between my freshman and sophomore