The very next morning, Master Max came to fetch me before the alarm bells would wake the other faggots.
He shook my shoulders and whispered in my ear.
“Rise and shine, faggot. Come on, I have a treat for you.”
I blinked my eyes and focused.
“There you are, come with me now.”
The metal chain link leash was placed on my collar and I was yanked onto my hands and knees.
“The Masters and I were going through your file last night and missed something big. Sir Jace partially checked the box that would indicate if you served, or your Sir wished for you to serve, as a urinal. We placed a call last night for clarification. We learned that you drank your Sir’s piss like morning coffee. Boy, I knew you were something special when Master Hans rolled up on our driveway last week. I wish we would have caught that sooner. Do you know how much time we could have saved? Instead of the faggots having to come back to base camp to piss in the latrine, we could have simply brought you to them. That’s on us, but now that we know, I hope you’re thirsty, faggot number six.”
Master Leo secured my spiked metal collar to a hook in the wooden wall next to the piss trough. My hands were bound and tied to another fish eye hook in the wall. Master Leo placed a funnel gag over my head. Sir Jace had bought a funnel gag for me many months ago as a joke for his friends Eddie and Collins. It wasn’t my first time in such a contraption.
“Keep vigilant, faggot number six. The other faggots will be waking up shortly and will need to relieve themselves, but since you look so eager, and I gotta take a piss so badly, let me start you off.
Master Leo fished his cock from his jeans and stood over me, his cock pointed right at the funnel. Moments later, the first drops landed on my mouth, directly down my throat. Soon it was a steady stream of bitter, my nose flared from the strong, intense, acrid fumes and sour taste. Thankfully, Master Leo’s stream was strong and quick, he shook his cock into the funnel and wiped his hands on the sides of my face, put his cock back his jeans, zipped up and left me there.
I was startled when the alarm rang and had my head not been hooked to wall probably would have jumped.
I heard lumbering footsteps in the background and Master Corbin call out over the loudspeaker, “Wake up, faggots! We have a full day of faggot fun planned for all of you. Pay attention, the piss trough is closed today. Faggot number six will serve as the camp urinal today.”
The faggots approached me from around the corner. Master Corbin met them at the front of the house.
“Let’s go one at a time. Faggot number one, you’re up!”
Faggot number one’s cock cage was at least three times the size of the cage over my little nub. He aimed his sheathed one-eyed monster to the funnel and let ‘er rip. The piss was so heavy and plentiful the funnel could barely contain it. The taste of this faggot’s piss was disgusting and vile. I imagined the other faggots’ would taste the very same as they all consumed the very same diet. I almost drowned on faggot number one’s delivery. That faggot’s bladder was full!
One by one each faggot emptied their bladders and went to shower, douche, shave, brush their teeth all under the guidance and direction of Master Corbin.
While they were literally stuffing their faces with oatmeal, Master Corbin pissed in the funnel, too. That made seven consecutive bladders had been emptied down my throat, filling my own bladder. Master Corbin allowed me to use the trough to relieve myself and then he said, “i appreciate your willingness to drink all that urine this morning without a fuss. As a reward I’m trusting you to see to your hygienic needs. Masters Leo and Hans had to go pick up some supplies in town, and Master Max had to make breakfast since you were otherwise occupied. Go tend to yourself and there’s oatmeal in your bowl, but probably cold by now.”
I hustled myself to not fall behind my fellow flock of faggots. No matter how much I brushed my teeth my tongue had a lingering tart flavor, like a lasting piss residue stuck to it.
But the time I finished licking the dog bowl clean our faces were hosed off and we were given water to drink.
“Alright, listen up, faggots. Today is a special day. Faggots one, two, and three will be graduating from camp today after fourteen full days of learning and growth. We will miss them, but that’s what it is. We are just a short stop on your pathway, your journey to your next chapters of service and submission. While we make this a special day for them, the rest of you will remain with us for another week.”
Master Corbin paused.
“Look around faggots four, five and six. Since us Masters are taking off next week for a business planning retreat, no other faggots are on the way. There will be more of us than you. This will give each of you a unique opportunity for even more individualized time with us. Your final week will be memorable.”
I’d never spoken to any of the faggots other than number four. I wasn’t sad to see any of them go. Maybe that was by design? Maybe the Masters didn’t want us bonding and forming tight relationships because it was all so temporary.
Master Max came down to gather faggots one, two and three. He presented them each with a certificate of completion and commemorative photos were taken. I noticed that on each of their left butt cheeks a new tattoo that read, “Certified Camp Submission faggot” written in beautiful script.
Master Max presented them with clothes, jeans and a black Camp Submission T-shirt along with some sandals. Each had a small duffel bag of personal items like I had when I arrived. A black van arrived several minutes later and the Masters spoke to the driver. The faggots piled into the van after dressing and drove off to the airport. I would never see them again.
Now there were just three of us remaining.
“Faggots, today we will focus on household chores. There is laundry to be done, ironed and folded; there are rooms that require vacuuming and dusting; the bathrooms need a deep clean; the kitchen a good scrub down. All of these tasks are within the scope of proper faggot expectations and must be done. There are three of you. If you work together, there’s no reason why the inside of this house shouldn’t sparkle by dinner time. Yes, you will be judged on your performance on a scale of 1 to 10. Anything less than a 10 will result in a consequence so all three of you need to do your best. Master Max and I have to meet the other Masters in town to finish up some business.”
Master Max secured our muzzles and secured ankle monitors on us.
“We take your safety seriously here at our camp. The ankle monitors are for your protection and ours. Imagine the lawsuit if one of you faggots escaped from the campground and got hurt! We simply can’t take any risks. Should you attempt to wander off, those monitors are programmed as stun guns. Any step in a forbidden area will knock you out cold. No talking, the muzzles remain on your faggot faces all day. Use a straw if you need to drink water. Cleaning supplies are in the closet next to the kitchen. Make us proud, faggots! Faggot number four, I’m holding you personally responsible if one of these faggots step out of line or fails to perform up to the highest standards. It is your job to keep them in line, nod your head if you understand me.”
Faggot number four enthusiastically nodded to acknowledge its new responsibility. It was surprising how well the three of us faggots worked together without the ability to speak. We were grunting like primitive cavemen to indicate yes or no, but for the time we were left alone, faggot number four guided us through our chores. I’d always taken well to housework and knew my way around creating a bleach scrub on tough surfaces. The main house was looking and smelling quite well, there was no doubt the Masters would be very impressed with our output. I even got a head start on dinner, anticipating ahead of what be needed.
Sure enough, when the Masters returned from their trip into town, we were lined up in the main room, the three of us faggots taking to our knees, hands behind our backs, heads lowered, demonstrating respect and humility.
Masters Corbin, Hans, and Leo inspected every room while Master Max watched over us, keeping us on our knees, quiet, contemplating.
“So my fellow Masters, how would you rate the faggots’ work?”, Master Max asked.
“Overall, we rate their performance an 8 out of 10, Master Max. While they did I nice job, there were details missed. Mismatched socks paired together, grime on the bedroom ceiling fan, scuff marks in the bathtub.”, said Master Leo.
I was very disappointed to hear this as I thought we outperformed the expectation. I suppose it was faggot number five who really dropped the ball if I had to blame anyone..
“That’s not too bad, Master Leo. 8 out of 10 is a B. Do we accept anything less than an A from our faggot trainees, Master Leo?”
“We most certainly do not, Master Max. Why would we lower our standards now?”
“Master Leo, we would never lower our standards. What do you think we should do with these low performing faggots? Should we interview each one to find out which one may be responsible for their subpar work?”
“No, Master Max. We put faggot four in charge. Ultimately, this is its fault. It wasn’t taking its responsibility seriously. If you ask me, if there is any blame here, it falls on faggot number four.”, said Master Leo.
“Masters Corbin and Hans, what are your thoughts on the matter?”
The two Masters huddled together to discuss in German and the Master Corbin said, “we agree with Master Leo. Faggot number four is to blame.”
“Alright, we have reached consensus, faggot number four, this is your fault. You neglected your responsibilities.”
“What is the appropriate penalty for such an infraction , my fellow Masters? Faggot four had been our highest performing faggot all along until today. This would be its first punishment so we need to get this right.”, said Master Max.
“Well, we could have it go back and be more thorough next time?”, said Master Corbin.
“That would be too easy, Master Corbin. That’s a given,, but I was thinking of something a little more convincing, something so that faggot number four will always remember this moment. I want us to instill a guarantee so it would never fall short on its responsibilities ever again.”, Master Max added.
Master Hans, he is the more sadistic of the four chimed in.
“I haven’t used the bull whip on any of these faggots in weeks. Would be nice to get some practice in before the fag whipping competition next weekend.”
“Master Hans, my understanding is that faggot number four is regularly whipped by its Master Luke just for fun. That wouldn’t teach it a lesson in this case. Maybe if we were dealing with faggot five or six, I could see that as an appropriate measure. Masters, any other ideas?”, asked Master Max
“Well, I do have an idea, Master Max”, said his husband Master Corbin. “When we were reviewing our faggot applications last night, Master Luke had checked the box for fisting under the “faggot aspirations” category. Faggot number four is so tightly wound I can barely stick my cock in its ass. I think we ought to open the faggot up for its Master so this way we are doing it a service and teaching it a lesson at the same time.”
“I knew I loved you for a reason, Master Corbin. You are brawn and brains. What a splendid idea. Why don’t we all eat dinner and afterwards we will see to it that faggot number four’s ass will be wide enough for a small truck to drive right through it. Doesn’t that sound fun faggot number four?”, said Master Max playfully
I had to speak up, this was unfair. It wasn’t faggot number four’s fault! I lifted my head and looked over to Master Max and began to grunt and jump in protest.
“Faggot number six. What’s gotten into you? Are you looking to accept the blame for this? You weren’t in charge, how very noble of you.”, said Master Max.
I grunted more and wanted so badly to use my words to defend my friend, faggot number four.
“Now now, faggot number six. Only men understand what nobility is, you are way out of line, especially after us Masters have already made a decision. And just when you were making so much progress, faggot number six, this outburst is very disappointing.”
Defeated, I resumed position but the damage was already done. There was no way I was going to get away with this.
“Master Max, I’ve always enjoyed fisting chariot, maybe we should have faggot number six join his faggot brother?”, said Master Leo.
“Master Leo, I would agree you if this were a typical faggot we were dealing with, but this faggot has been taking fists for years according to its intake papers. This faggot might get the wrong idea that it is being rewarded for such poor behavior. Master Hans, didn’t you say you were looking to use that bull whip of yours for an upcoming faggot whipping competition?”
“Yes, yes I did say that Master Max.”
“Well, while Master Leo and I work on faggot number four, you and Master Corbin can see to it that faggot number six is dealt with appropriately. According to its Sir, this is the very sort of behavior that landed this faggot here to begin with. It simply must not be tolerated, not here, not anywhere. I have every confidence that you will both teach it a most valuable lesson.”
“Sounds like a wonderful plan for both these faggots. Faggot number five, you were wise to remain quiet and dormant. We know it was due to your poor work that you faggots scored and 8 out of 10 as there are hidden cameras all over this house. You did not attempt to interfere with Masters’ business unlike your faggot brothers. You will enjoy a quiet night of reflection in your sleep stall.”
What the fuck just happened I asked myself? I’d been single-tail whipped by Sir Jace plenty of times, but the bull whip was an entirely different beast. Bull whips were used on livestock and their cracking sound gives off a sonic boom. Master Hans secured my collar with his leash and lead me away from the group.
“You know what I think Master Corbin?”asked Master Hans
“No, tell me.”
“I think this faggot should have been bull whipped early in its development. Too many Masters and Sirs are unwilling to do whatever it takes to force their faggots to submission. Sometimes you just have simply beat their will right out of them. Take our faggot here, number six, good upbringing, well-educated, this poor faggot has been misguided all along. Faggots don’t need to think, they need to listen and do. Don’t you agree, Master Corbin?”
They were having this conversation while securing me to the whipping post. My arms were stretched wide to a long wooden rod, my feet placed in a spreader bar. I was naked with the exception of my caged cock. I never felt more exposed in my life. A bit grip was secured over my face, like a horse, it tasted like cold metal.
“I couldn’t agree more, Master Leo. Some faggots are head-strong. Look at this outburst we just witnessed. Absolutely unacceptable. Well, we promised it’s Sir we would remedy this type of behavior by any means necessary, so let’s get on with it. Master Hans, please, do the honors and I’ll go after you.”
Master Hans rubbed his grubby hands all over my body, squeezing this area, tapping that area…getting a feel for the landscape.
Then he disappeared from my sight. I heard myself breathing heavily, trying desperately not to panic. I remembered that tensing up only makes it hurt worse.
Suddenly out of nowhere the whip made contact with my upper back.
“BOOM!”, a loud crack the nearly broke my eardrum and a searing pain that I’d never felt before. A fraction of a second later I screamed and bit down and tasted that cold metal. Reality set in.
“BOOM!” Another one right across my back, I tried to escape my blinds I was jerking and getting nowhere fast.
“Look at it, Master Hans, still fighting! Again!”
“BOOM”, the leather strap connected once again on my back. I howled loudly, tears now pitting down my cheeks.
“BOOM!”, this one now landing across my tatted chest. I looked down to see a red laceration where it read “Sir Jaces’s FAGGOT”.
“Keep your head up, faggot!” Master Corbin yelled to me.
“BOOM!”, this one across my abs. Master Hans was brutal, decorating my body canvas with horizontal whip lines. After 20 lashes he handed the bull whip to Master Corbin.
“Look at it now, Master Corbin. The faggot looks defeated and broken. Look at it slouching and sobbing. I bet this faggot will think twice for the rest of its life before interfering with mens’ business!”
“Master Hans, you did your job well, but I want to finish it off. I need some target practice, I’m gonna get its ass and thighs.”
“Splendid, Master Corbin. I’ll get it in position for you.”
Master Hans twisted me and tied me so I was bent over, my ass and the backs of my legs now presenting themselves for the next round with the bull whip. My wrists were tied to my ankles.
I was facing the other direction and could not see Master Corbin expertly release the whip on my ass. The first strike bounced off my fleshy globe, but it stung nonetheless. My ass became the bullseye as Master Corbin maniacally laughed every time his whip connected and heard me scream. When he took the whip to the backs of my thighs, that was gruesome. The tip of the whip snaked upward to my balls a few times, too.
I was a babbling ball of flesh at the end of it. I’d never been bull whipped before and I never wanted to again. The two Masters freed me from their binds and tossed me into my sleeping stall. The straw against my naked and marked flesh was a second degree punishment in itself. I sobbed myself to sleep. It was a traumatic ordeal.
When the camp siren went off the next morning my eyes opened wide. I felt different somehow. I felt worn out, worn down, listless. I looked down at my body, it wasn’t pretty, there were bruises and welts all over the parts of me I could see. I walked slowly, gingerly to the group shower and the cold water hitting my aching body made me shiver. Standing next to me under the water was faggot number four. He looked numb, too. I remembered he was to be fisted last night while I was whipped.
Faggot number five was already over by the sink basin brushing his teeth, almost gloating that he hadn’t had to take any “treatment” last night.
We ate our gruel in silence. Once we were cleaned up it was time for morning recital of our mantras. It took every ounce of energy I could muster to recite mine. I needed prodding throughout the thirty minutes to annunciate and raise the volume of my voice, to sing the words with more effort and heart.
“I am Sir Jace’s faggot. Sir Jace is my King!”…
Finally, it was my last day of faggot training camp. I’d been imprinted with the camp’s certification on my scarred ass sent back home to my Sir an entirely different faggot from the one Sir Jace knew. This 2.0 version of my faggot self had changed. No more talking back, no more lying, no more manipulating…no, no, no, this faggot would now be obedient, an attentive listener, devout, honest, and loyal. This is what Sir Jace paid for, this is what he wanted, this would now be me.
