Face In The Mirror

Day 4-Part 1

As C walked toward the airport terminal James followed, half walking, half skipping, two feet behind his left arm.  The boy couldn’t stop grinning.  The pilots and flight crew were twenty feet behind them, bringing up the rear.

As they were about to enter the building a square shouldered man, 5’9”, 160 lbs, green eyes, with a shock of brown hair that stuck up and seemed to have a life of its own, brushed past James and intercepted C; he half tackled Control in a bear hug.  It startled the hell out of James, who didn’t know what to do.

One second later C had the stranger face down on the ground crying, “Uncle, Uncle, Uncle! You big giant asshole…… Is this any way to treat your little brother?  What would mom say?”

C, smiling brightly, said, “She’d tell you to practice, practice, practice or you’re going to be eating a lot of dirt.  What are you doing here?”

C’s brother Scott replied, “Organization business, very legal, quite boring.  When I heard you were coming I got excited.  I figure you’re here to break the monotony.  Please tell me you’ve come to California for some kind of Organization adventure and how’s about letting me up you big creep?”

C helped his brother up, “Didn’t you have enough excitement last year in Mexico?”

Scott answered, “What?  That little incident hardly made it into my day planner.  You are referring to that disagreement I had with that fat fuck in TJ… right?”

Eleven Months Earlier:

Scott’s mind flashed to a day eleven months earlier.  At the time Scott, a lawyer, was working at the Organization’s El Paso Office.  He had been senior control for about ten years and still tried to master one candidate every other year.  At the time Scott was falling in love with an English guy, Jack, also a lawyer for the Organization’s London Office.  They had met at a conference on human rights in Geneva.  Jack had just left the ranks of junior control and was still pretty green.  Scott loved that Jack still blushed, head to toe, when someone told a dirty joke.  Naturally Scott delighted in embarrassing Jack.  He loved to get the younger man all flustered and then jump him.  Scott had been raised in an extremely close “Organization” family; all eight of his brothers had gone through candidacy and continued to serve the company in various capacities all over the world.  Of all his brothers Scott was closest to C.  Not the eldest; C was third in line by age.  Always an overachiever C has started college at 15 and was one of the youngest candidates ever inducted when he was just 20.  His candidacy ran ten months longer than average because C’s will stood between him and his best interests.  The senior controllers were at their wits end with C.  They tried everything to break him; when the conventional techniques failed they moved to experimental drugs and harsher mind control protocols, still no yield.  His Board of Senior Controllers finally moved to sensory dispossession, severe food and water limitation, and sleep deprivation, and they worried that the training might kill him.  At the end C hovered near death for three days, and in the last minutes, just before his handlers were about to call it quits, mercifully Control One finally transitioned.  The story of his candidacy and ultimate yield was known to every senior control in the Organization and was used in Senior Control-Master training.  The actual details of his “yield” were only known to its three creators and C himself.  (Details of any “yield” are considered Top Secret and are never shared.)  Scott had always been close to C (David), from his early childhood.  Now C ran the Western half of the Organization and Scott was a senior control who knew the Organization inside and out.

Scott was easily bored and had several hobbies and avocations.  He sailed and yachted; he loved being alone on the ocean, sometimes for months; it allowed him to clear his head and figure things out.  He was an accomplished musician, something he inherited from their mother, herself a concert violinist; Scott played keyboards and diddled with strings (from the guitar to the cello to the violin).  And of course, like all controllers Scott worked out 5 or 6 times a week, to maintain a beautifully healthy body with not a single ounce of fat.  Scott was also an animal lover and had no less than nine dogs of various breeds from coon hounds to German Shepard’s to English Setters to mutts.  Between his many interests, his legal endeavors, his outside activities, and his new love, Scott was a busy man. In spite of all that he was restless, always looking for the next challenge, some new adventure.

So it was eleven months earlier and Jack was on an extended visit in El Paso.  Scott wanted to take Jack everywhere, show him everything, and show him to everyone.  Just over the border in Juarez there was a little cantina where Scott and a group of his friends heated up the bandstand once or twice a month.  Scott was anxious for Jack to meet his musician buddies and hear them play.  So Friday afternoon they drove into Mexico for a harmonious weekend with lots of playing anticipated, in and out of the cantina.

Around ten PM Scott excused himself and went to the john.  As he stood at the urinal he felt a sharp pinch in the side of his neck and then everything went black.

Two hours later Scott opened his eyes.  He was tightly secured to a restraint table.  Someone had removed his clothes and bound him wrists, waist, ankles and neck to the “body shaped” table, which was quite an accomplishment in hydraulics.  The table was constructed in a way that allowed it to be shifted into almost any position. It could be folded along any of six axes; it could be flipped into an upright position; it could be turned 180 degrees, placing its occupant on his head.  It could even spin on its axis as many as 60 RPM. (You could literally play a vinyl record on it, if that was your pleasure).

Scott followed his training and took a mental inventory of the situation.  The room had two metal doors, the six windows were glass block and near the ceiling (he could never fit through any of them).  He strained to turn his head.  The restraints were rubberized nylon (he’d need help from Superman to break them).  He became aware that he was sporting a painfully hard erection.  He closed his eyes and willed his dick to retreat… no response.  They had either drugged him or done something to his cock.  His own sexual prowess was honed by years of Organization training, the very best in the world, and Scott had been an eager student, when it came to sex he wanted to know everything.  Long after his candidacy and master’s instruction was complete he continued to attend every seminar and study program the sex research division of the company sponsored, and the Organization was at the very pinnacle of sex research.  Their drug divisions were currently working on six different aphrodisiacs.  They held patents to thousands of drugs and various sexual apparatuses that continued to astound the medical community.  The Organization believed that good sex was at the core of every man’s real happiness and they made it their business to research every aspect of sexuality.  The divisions that specialized in sex made billions of dollars every year from their many products, which supported their views on the subject’s importance.  So Scott knew something was up if in fact he was “up” and couldn’t will himself “down.”  They’d given him something to keep him hard and it was working; his prick was painfully erect.  He strained against his neck strap to get a better look at the room.

Before he could finish his examination of the surroundings one of the doors opened.  When Scott got a glimpse of the first man to enter he let out a loud groan and said, “I should have known it was you.  You miserable cocksucking fuck.”

Fat Sam responded, “Still the wordsmith I see.”

Scott returned the words in a mumbled falsetto voice, “Still the wordsmith…….. You’re still a miserable fuck.”

Fat Sam walked next to the table and directed three of his goons to various points in the room by pointing with his index finger.  The “goons” were huge; all dressed alike.  The shortest, a dark skinned Latino, with bright bleached yellow-orange hair and dark brown roots, must have been 6’2” or 6’3.” He had an enormous chest and arms that strained the sleeves of his wrinkled tan suit.  Under his suit coat he had on a pink t-shirt.  They called him “Shorty.”  The next tallest at 6’6” was somewhat less muscled.  He wore the same suit and had the same yellow-orange hair over blond roots (go figure), and even though he was darkly tanned he had a distinctly Arian look.  Thug number three was black and at least 6’8” with the same suit, same yellow-orange hair, and because he was bare chested you could see the large gold hoops going through his big black nipples under his tan suit coat.  All three men wore large gold earrings shaped like the Greek letter alpha (It was Fat Sam’s trademark.  It meant that these three men belonged to him; they were his property, his chattel; his, every bit as much as the shoes on his feet or the gun in his holster.)

Sam was christened “Fat Sam” not because he was pudgy, on the contrary he kept himself in tip top shape, and at age 50, 5’9”, 150lbs, he was lean and tight, with salt and pepper hair, Sam was reasonably good looking.  They called him Fat Sam because his dick was six inches long and nearly one foot around.  Yup, his dick looked like half a salami, a real freak of nature.  It may have explained why Sam was such a miserable prick.  Needless to say Sam had spent much of his life trying to find holes large enough to accommodate his short (for its diameter) thick, fat dick…….. and there weren’t many takers.  Women ran screaming from Sam’s dick.  Men limped away with bloody assholes and TMJ (jaw problems) from Sam’s major league prong.

So Fat Sam was a miserable prick who liked to kidnap young men and break them and break them and break them and eventually sell them as personal slaves.  He had three highly secret, very guarded “dude” ranches where more than the horses were ridden hard and completely domesticated.  Fat Sam was a practiced sadist who would have made the Marquis De Sade blush with some of his needlessly cruel methods.  You see Sam couldn’t handle failure so he gave his captives a choice: his way or a very protracted painful death, and he always followed through on his promises.  When the men he captured “finished” their training there was nothing they wouldn’t do, no pain they wouldn’t endure, no humiliation they wouldn’t suffer, no command they wouldn’t follow to the letter.  In the final act of their “education” they were paraded out naked onto a shiny stainless steel platform they all recognized, a platform connected to a high voltage generator; once they were standing on the metal plate a thick ground wire was shoved into their mouths (other times an anal probe was stuck up their asses) and a current was trickled through their bodies to “remind” them they could be killed at any second; then they were handed a gun and told to blow their brains out.  If they hesitated for even a second they were immediately electrocuted.  Most of the time the gun was loaded with blanks, but the slaves didn’t know that.  They believed that they were about to die as a test of their absolute obedience to Fat Sam’s wish, at his whim.  All of them, every “trainee” had been through “rehearsals” of this event where they were brutally shocked over and over, sometimes as punishment, sometimes for Fat Sam’s amusement; in addition they’d seen the actual death ritual carried out before in some of their “educational” films.  They saw their predecessors shoot themselves and they saw others horribly electrocuted.  The only thing Fat Sam cared about was that his merchandise was exactly as he advertised; “trained to follow any and every order regardless of pain or personal injury.” That and the sadistic son of a bitch celebrated his unbridled love of torture.

After many years of personally torturing and raping men and women (Fat Sam abused whoever was handy); during one of his “snatches,” Sam kidnapped a really sweet kid with a trick jaw who could accommodate Sam’s big fat rhino cock.  Fat Sam put the kid on a fast track through his slave ranch which not only washed the young man’s mind it lowered his IQ by ten or fifteen points.  Needless to say the boy, tagged “Jaws” by Sam’s crew, was never far from Fat Sam’s side or his circus dong.

Three Years Ago:


Fat Sam had been running a successful business for a long time.  Then, three years before that night in the Cantina, enter Scott.  He got wind of a college student, Stephen Vogel, who had gone to Mexico with some friends, disappeared, and hadn’t been heard from in almost four months.  Scott knew the boy’s parents so he put a couple of the Organization’s investigators on the case.  They had the story and found the boy in a matter of days.  They reported that the kid had been taken by one of Fat Sam’s “plucking teams” and was being “trained” on a slave ranch in a desolate part of Cancun.  Scott, being a real “hot dog,” always looking for a good cause and some “action,” called five other senior controllers with a taste for adventure and put together a quick rescue mission.  (The senior controllers were: Nick, Ted (a physician), Mark, Ace, Ham, and of course Scott himself)

Under cover of night they made a surgical strike on the ranch.  The place was well guarded and had fairly sophisticated surveillance equipment, but it was no match for the Organization’s technologically advanced equipment that Scott had “borrowed” for the occasion.  Before any alarms sounded the strike team was inside the compound.  Fat Sam’s army of golden haired musclemen was no match for six well-trained senior controllers.  It took all of twenty minutes and three broken necks to overpower the guards and take over the camp.  Unfortunately Fat Sam wasn’t there at the time, so he remained at large.  Scott’s strike team injected Fat Sam’s men with two different drugs which left them with no memory of what had taken place; next they used an NG tube to fill each of their stomachs with cheap liquor.   Finally they drove them to a nearby town, where the Organization had friends on the police force and left them in a drunken heap to be arrested as drunk and disorderly.  By the time the goons sobered up and made bail Scott and his buddies would have the kidnapped boys safely over the border and on their way home.

Scott and his fellow controllers freed 5 young men at various stages in their slave training.  It was easy to see why these guys had been singled out for capture.  Each of them was good looking, very good looking.  It would have been difficult to choose which was the most handsome.  In spite of all their injuries, and they were an unholy mess, their sheer beauty showed through; each had his own special, definitively striking face.  BUT they were drugged, confused, and brainwashed.  The boys were found naked, in tiny rectangular cages, with bars on all six sides.  The cages were designed to be so small and confining that the occupant had to remain on his hands and knees as long as he was locked inside; it forced them to kneel either on or between the hard iron bars, and that’s how they had to rest, between bouts of torture; it’s how they were forced to sleep.  In spite of their rigorous daily work-outs it was obvious that all 5 guys had lost quite a bit of weight.  Scott learned why they were so gaunt when he found their records.  For months the only “food” these slaves were allowed was cum.  They were forced to nourish themselves from a host of farm and domestic animals from horses, to pigs, to goats, to dogs, and of course there was a constant supply of jism from Fat Sam’s men and the various “guests” to the ranch.  Other than semen, the only other liquid they’d been drinking was piss.

There were problems with these trainees from the very beginning.  They had been subjugated to Fat Sam and his guards for months; they saw their torturers as their absolute lords and caretakers; so when they saw these goons overpowered the slave boys became terrified.  Even as Scott and the senior controllers freed them from the awful cages they began to wail and plead for the well-being of their guards.  They begged the rescuers to please leave their “masters” alone, and not hurt them anymore.

Nick said, “Scott these guys are a mess.  They look undernourished, and they keep begging us to beat them… and Scott they are really pushing us to fuck them and give them cum.”

Scott answered, “Look, they’re out of their minds, on drugs, under God knows what kind of mind control.  We can’t fuck them.  We can’t have them sucking our cocks.  It wouldn’t be right.  Jesus, they look like they’ve been tortured for days without relief.  So no matter how they beg and plead, we can’t take advantage of their condition.  They’re not like our candidates; with our candidates it’s their absolute choice to be in training.  The minute we release our guys from their conditioning they revert to their normal selves.  What we do to them and with them is a whole different story.  They’ve chosen the life.  These kids were all kidnapped; and they’ve been drugged, and mind-fucked.  We have to break through to them and get them to understand that we’re here to free them; to take them home to their families.  Christ, I had no idea how difficult this was going to be.  If only I’d known I’d have brought along a couple of our psychologists, or at least someone with more programming experience.”

Nick said, “And you’ve got to figure out why this kid with the swollen ball sac keeps pushing his crotch into my hands.  He’s begging me to crush his balls, and I don’t mean a good squeeze, or even some pain.  He wants me to hurt him….. hurt him bad.  So what are we supposed to do?”

And even as Nick spoke, the boy next to him kept rising onto his toes, whimpering, and thrusting his huge “marble bag” into Nick’s hand.

Scott replied, “You’re supposed to do you best, dammit.  Just do your best to help these poor kids.”

Mark called from the other side of the room, “That’s a lot easier said then done.  This gorgeous kid with the bloodshot eyes is licking my shoes and begging me to choke him with my cock!  And Jesus Christ Scott, he’s a very persuasive kid.”

Scott shot back, “Hey Mark, ‘control’ yourself for god’s sake.”

It took more than an hour to calm the slave boys down to a point where Scott could attempt to carry a conversation, and as Scott began to talk to them he realized this wasn’t going to be easy.  He asked one of the guys who seemed to be the oldest, perhaps twenty-five, 6’ tall, maybe 140lbs, jet black hair, with cloudy blue eyes, and a haggard face, “What is your name?”

The boy returned, “I am Ashtray.  Please bring back our lords.  We belong to them.  They own us.  Please sir, bring them back…………I am a cum pig.  Would you like me to be a pig for you sir?  Please use me.  Please hurt me.  I love to be hurt.  Please hurt me sir.” 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out how the kid got his name.  He had circular burns all over his chest, ears, neck, inner thighs, back, legs, and even his prick and ball sac, where the bastards had been putting out cigarettes and/or cigars.  As the boy spoke Scott could see the same burn scars on his tongue.

Scott shook his head, “I am not here to hurt you.  We came here to free you guys….. to bring you home to your parents and families.  Do you understand me?”

Ashtray began to cry softly, “Please sir, I am a cum pig.  May I please beg for your cum?  
Won’t you please hurt me sir…punch me….pleeeze hurt me.....beat me… pleeeeze whip me….. pleeeeze!  I love to be beat, or whipped.  It is what I am for.  I am good for beating….. I am good for punching…… I am good for whipping….. Please may I show you?  Would you like a cigarette sir?  I can hold the match between my lips, or even with my asspussy.  May I light your cigarette sir?  Please sir, won’t you hurt me?  May I drink your piss or french your asshole….. please sir?  May I have some cum…. pleeze may I have some cum…. pleeeze”

Scott moved on to the next boy who couldn’t have been older than twenty, maybe 5’10”, 120lbs, with blond hair, and green eyes (with dark circles under them).  His back was striped with the bloody trails left by a cat ‘o nine tails.  “Son, what is your name?”

The boy looked back with pain in his eyes, “I am Punchme sir.”  Naturally the boy’s abdomen was covered in old and new bruises and abrasions from being savagely pummeled.

Punchme continued, “Please sir, please beat me.  I am a good cum pig sir.  May I please be allowed to oink for some cum?  Please sir, I will die without cum.  I am a cum pig.  I was too slow to suck the neighbor’s dog and for my punishment I’ve been given no cum for two days.  I am very hungry sir, and if you would please beat me I would feel better and then maybe you would let me have some dog cum or even a little horse piss?”

Scott said, “Listen to me Punchme, I think your name is Stephen…… Stephen Vogel.  Do you know that name boy?  I think you’re Stephen Vogel.”

Punchme’s eyes grew large and filled with abject terror, “No sir, no sir, no sir, no sir, no sir.  I am not Stephen Vogel.  There is no Stephen Vogel.  I am Punchme…… my name is Punchme…..sob….sob….sob… I am not Stephen Vogel.  There is no Stephen Vogel.  I am Punchme…… my name is Punchme. I am not Stephen Vogel.  There is no Stephen Vogel.  I am not Stephen Vogel.  There is no Stephen Vogel.  I am not Stephen Vogel.  There is no Stephen Vogel.  I am not Stephen Vogel.  There is no Stephen Vogel.  I am not Stephen Vogel.  There is no Stephen Vogel.  I am Punchme…… my name is Punchme.” And with that the boy fell to the floor and began to lick Scott’s shoes.

Dr. Ted, with a file folder in his hands and another slave boy wrapped around his knees nuzzling his crotch, said, “Scott, you’d better eighty-six the (he spelled out) S – T - E - P - H - E – N stuff.  In his file it says they stuck an electrified anal probe up his ass and gave him a heavy jolt of electricity over and over until he stopped identifying himself as ‘that name’……. It says here that the bastards kept up the shocks for six hours.  After the six hours they were convinced that the kid had given up his name…… and Jesus, Scott they kept it up another two hours just because they were having so much fun listening to him scream and cry and beg for them to stop.  Oh my God, it says they shocked him about 20 to 30 times an hour!  God Almighty, they had to resuscitate him five times….. his heart stopped five times.  It’s a miracle it didn’t kill him.  There’s a note here that they have the whole ‘session’ on tape to amuse his eventual buyer.  When they finished shocking him they had a bunch of field hands gang rape him.  That was his first day here. Sons of bitches, we should have killed them all when we had the chance.”

Scott went to the kitchen with Mark (Ashtray and another boy followed them on all fours, all the while begging for abuse and cum); the controllers (and the slave boys) came back with some milk.  They literally had to force one of the young slaves to drink some, and in the end he got very sick and vomited it back up. The senior controllers were at a loss.  They didn’t know what to do next.

Scott continued to debrief the abductees in hopes of finding the best way to get through to them.  The kid who was still “attached” to Dr. Ted’s crotch was named “Fisted.”  He was twenty-one, sandy hair, 5’ 11”, 140 lbs, with brown eyes.  Dr. Ted surmised that Fisted may have been the most recently kidnapped boy because his body was still in good condition although his asshole was stretched open and the surrounding area was red and swollen into big asslips.

While Scott spoke with one of the other slaves Fisted was licking and sucking on Dr. Ted’s crotch.  The good doctor’s pants were saturated with the slave boy’s spit and truth be told Ted had coated the interior of his jock and his pants with his own oozing precum.  The kid, Fisted, was so cute, with curly hair that hung down into his eyes and while he sucked on Ted’s crotch he was softly moaning and humming.  The heat from his mouth, the slick mix of saliva and precum, and the kid’s throaty vibrations were driving Ted crazy.  Finally he came in his pants.  What else could he do?  The boy could smell Ted’s cum the instant he began to shoot.  The poor boy was starving for his only form of nourishment…… cum.  He began to moan and plead with his eyes.  Surreptitiously Ted snaked his hand into his pants, scooped out his cum and fed it to the boy from his fingers.  The kid went crazy licking and sucking on Ted’s fingers; to the boy this jism was manna from heaven and he made yummy noises as he gobbled it down.  Ted blushed bright red, and continued to reach into his jock for more of his control-cream to feed this poor, starving slave boy.

The boy who had followed Scott and Mark into the kitchen; the one who had puked up the milk was oddly enough called “Gagme”—nineteen, reddish brown hair, 5’11”, 115 lbs, green eyes.  This boy had red circles around both eyes in addition to cracked swollen lips and a swollen throat.  When they looked in his file they discovered that he was routinely forced to fuck his own throat for hours with a huge rubber dildoe; the kidnappers forced him to hold the cock down his throat till his face turned purple, and his nose and eyes ran freely, and often till he passed out.  He was so pacified that he would often pass out with the dildo still down his throat.  When that happened it was Ashtray’s responsibility to run and pull the dildo out of Gagme’s throat, otherwise Gagme would suffocate.  (Scott noticed that Ashtray always kept one eye on Gagme.  Apparently the kid with all the burns was aware of his responsibility to keep the other slave boy from killing himself on his dildo.  Later they discovered that the boys, Ashtray and Gagme, were brothers.  Fat Sam was training them to be sold as a “matched pair.”  As Scott read the file and thought about this diabolical ranch, and this pair of brothers, still bonded to each other, he thought of his own brother, David, and his eyes began to tear up; so he had to stop reading.)

The boy who was still on his toes pleading with Nick for abuse was named “Crushedballs.”  He was also twenty one, dark brown hair, 5’10”, 120 lbs, brown eyes. This young man’s balls were quite unusual.  His scrotum hung three or four inches below his bit uncut dick, probably from being wrapped with more and more rope over time.  In addition his balls were swollen to three times their normal size from repeated abuse.  He had to keep his knees bent in order to walk or he’d be kneeing his own balls.  

Three hours passed and the extraction team was still stuck on the ranch trying to rescue Fat Sam’s slaves.  They decided to pack up the slave boys and get the hell out of there, but it was easier said than done.  The slave boys didn’t see Scott and his team as “masters” per se.  They were terrified by these “strangers” but they weren’t under the same control as with Fat Sam or his men.  So they didn’t simply obey the controller’s commands.  The kids were convinced that these strangers were going to kill them or torture them in new and horrific ways.  It was absolute chaos.  The slaves cried; they begged to be hurt; they fell to the floor and threw their arms around the controllers’ legs; they pled for cum; they cried and cried; they sobbed, and when the rescuers wouldn’t hurt them or fuck them or cum in their mouths or piss on them they grew even more scared and certain that something truly awful was about to happen to them.

It was still dark and cold outside.  Ace and Ham tried to put clothes on Punchme and Ashtray.  Both boys became hysterical.  They were so scared they both pissed themselves; and as all the boys got more upset they began to feed off each others’ fear.

Ham said, “Scott, we’ve got to DO something….. fuck them… or slap them around… We’re scaring the shit out of these boys and it’s getting to me….. It’s getting to all of us.”

Ashtray sobbed, “We are so sorry to have angered you.  We are stupid cum pigs.  Please sirs, please beat us.  Please whip us and then perhaps we could have some cum or a little piss.  Please beat us.”  And the boy tried to crawl back into his cage.

Fat Sam’s drug induced mind control was tighter than a drum and it was proving very difficult to RESCUE these young men.

Exasperated Scott said, “Look Ted, you’re a doctor, can’t you give them something?  Can’t we just knock them out and take them to one of the Organization’s safe houses?”

Senior Control Ted responded, “I’ll do it Scott, but only as a last resort.  Three of these guys are in pretty fragile condition.  I have no idea what drugs they’ve been given.  From the look of them I’d say they receive a steady diet of strong hypnotics along with one or more hallucinogens and god knows what other psychotropics.  If I give them the wrong drug it could kill them.  Do you really want to take that kind of responsibility?  As it is these three are dangerously malnourished.  Semen isn’t mother’s milk, they need nutrition and they need it as soon as we can get them to take it.”

Scott shot back, “So what do we do?  We can’t stay here all night.  What if Fat Sam or some of his guys show up?  We have the phones off the hook.  It won’t be long till someone figures out there’s a problem here and comes to see what’s going on.  What do we do?”

Ace said, “Scott, why don’t you give C a call.  If anyone will know what to do, he will.”

Scott responded, “Shit, I hate to call him.  He doesn’t even know about any of this.  I should have called him and told him what I was planning, but I never got around to it.  Look, I know my brother, and I know he’d have given us his blessing…… but now that there’s a mess I hate like hell to suddenly call him and make it sound like we don’t know what we’re doing.”

Mark pried Gagme off his neck and chimed in, “Look Scott, C knows more about MC than any of us, even Ted.  If anyone will know what to do next it’s your brother.  We need to get out of here.  These kids are a mess.  If we handle this wrong we could screw them up permanently.  I’d hate to have this little rescue turn sour because we didn’t ask for help.”

Scott came back, “OK, I’ll call my brother.”  He went into one of the offices, took out a small satellite phone, adjusted the antenna, and put in a call to David.

Fifteen minutes later he returned to the others.  The five boys had all gone back into their cages and were actively punching and slapping and hitting themselves.

Ted was next to Gagme’s cage pulling the kid’s fist out of his throat, “Jesus Scott, what do we do?”

Scot answered, “C says we’ve go to meet them at the level we found them.  He gave me a bunch of instructions.  Do what I tell you.  Find rags, ties, towels, anything you can use to blindfold these guys.  HURRY UP!”

Nick went to one of the windows and pulled down the dark brown curtains.  He grabbed the material between his fists and his biceps bulged as he tore the material into strips.  Meanwhile Nick had found a cabinet and rummaged through dildoes, and gags, and catheters, and dozens of whips and torture devices.  In a cardboard box on the bottom shelf he found three blindfolds.  He grabbed them and tossed them one at a time to Ted and Scott.

In a few minutes they had the slave boys lined up in a row, standing at attention, blindfolded.

Scott went up to Ham and began whispering in his ear.  Then he turned toward the slave boys and Scott bellowed, “YOU WILL LISTEN AND OBEY YOUR ABSOLUTE MASTER….. SAM.”

Scott handed Ham a little black box, maybe four inches square.  If you spoke into the little gizmo it altered your voice.  Ham whispered, “I have no idea what Fat Sam sounds like.  I sure hope this works.”

Scott whispered back, “C said it will work if you are absolutely convincing……… so be the hard assed prick I know you can be and say what I tell you to say.  Listen, Ham you have to command them.  You have to believe….. and you have to convince them.”

And as Scott whispered Ham spoke through the little box in a strong booming voice, “I am your Lord Sam.  You will listen and obey!”

Scott noticed Ashtray was moving a bit, as if he was hearing something strange.  Scott walked up to the slave boy, closed his own eyes to say a little prayer; then he slapped the boy almost as hard as he could.  Ashtray hit the floor.  The other four slave boys snapped to total attention and trembled.  Ashtray scuttled across the floor, quickly got to his feet, and stood painfully straight.  There were tears in Scott’s eyes, but a moment later he noticed that all five boys were sporting huge erections for the first time in hours.  Thank God, it was working!

Ham continued with the script that Scott spilled into his ear.  “Fat Sam” commanded his slaves to obey their “new” masters.  He told them that they had been sold to these new lords; that they were to obey or die; obey or die.  Then they made it appear the Fat Sam left the room.  Scott slammed the door and said to his fellow controllers, “Treat them like disobedient candidates.  C gave me an idea about how to give them something to eat.  Then we need to load them into the trucks, and get to the airfield so that we can fly out of here.”

The blindfolds were removed from the slave boys and the controllers began to order them around.  Thankfully, the boys complied as they had for Fat Sam’s goons.  The other controllers followed Scott’s lead.

Scott grabbed the back of ashtray’s neck and said, “Come with me boy!”

He pushed the boy ahead of him toward a counter.  He picked up one of the cartons of milk, “Boy, get my cock out and into your mouth…..NOW!”

Ashtray eagerly dropped to his knees, opened Scott’s pants, and pushed aside his jock to free up the controller’s very hard cock (Scott was as turned on by these beauties as the rest of his men).  As Ashtray slurped and sucked on Scott’s dick, Scott opened the milk carton and dribbled a little milk down the shaft of his cock.  Scott smiled and winked at the other controllers; he held up his other hand and crossed his fingers.  The milk trickled down Scott’s cock into Ashtray’s hungry mouth and he didn’t seem to notice.

When Ace and Ham and the others saw this they followed suit.  There were six controllers and five slave boys so Dr. Ted walked around and helped out where he could.

Scott said, “Look Ted, I think Crushedballs is the worst off so when Nick gets finished why don’t you have the boy do your prick too.  That kid can use all the ‘jiz’ he can get.”

All five boys got a healthy dose of controller-cream and a carton of milk to boot.  Crushedballs got two cartons of milk and two doses of mancream.

The controllers half walked, half carried the boys out to the waiting trucks.  They didn’t try dressing them; in the end they settled for wrapping them in old blankets.  Once they were in the trucks the slave boys latched onto one controller or another and continued to worship their cocks.  Those Organization dicks kept the boys pacified.

Once they got them onto the Organization’s plane the controllers expanded on what they had learned.

Ham fed Ashtray some yogurt by dipping his cock into the container and then having Ashtray “clean it off.”  Under those circumstances the boy couldn’t have been happier.

Ace spread deviled ham all over his cock and balls and let Punchme go to town.  By the middle of the morning each of the slave boys had a belly full of wholesome food and each controller had cum four or five times.  Men and boys were quite contented.  The rest of the story you can guess.  It took many months of intensive deprogramming and good nutrition to bring the beautiful young men back to reality.  They were all quietly reunited with their respective families.

Scott told C all about what they had found on Fat Sam’s ranch and the two brothers spent the next six months putting Fat Sam out of the slave business.

For his part Fat Sam blamed Scott for ruining his slave trading empire.  He swore that someday he would have his revenge.  Fat Sam moved his business interests into other areas of human depravity, and of course he made millions.  

For three years Fat Sam kept tabs on Scott.  When he got word that Scott regularly crossed the border to play with a combo in a Mexican cantina Sam knew he had his chance.  When he heard that Scott had a boyfriend and that the boyfriend was going to be with him in Mexico, Fat Sam knew the time was right.  He had waited three years to get his hands on Scott.

Now he had him!

Eleven Months Before “Day 4” in California:

Scott found himself on the table looking up at Fat Sam.

Fat Sam smiled, “I’ve been waiting three years for this little rendezvous.  I can promise without a doubt that this will be the most exciting night of your life, little Scottie…… May I call you Scottie?”

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As always I am eager for your comments and suggestions:
controlone@adelphia.net
