He made me run! He made me pay!

A true resume of actual and real-time events between WCFaggot and his Owner and superior, Master F (f_owns_you) in october 2019.

He made me run! He made me pay!

 

A true resume of actual and real-time events between WCFaggot and his Owner and superior, Master F (f_owns_you) in october 2019.

 

Shortly after my first real time encounter with my Owner, I was called back to the capital, this time for work, and with clients. I immediately informed my Master, who had also decided to prolong his stay in town to spend more time with friends.

 

Thank you, Sir!

 

My hotel proved to be far away from where Master stayed. I was furthermore to work a lot, and Master had his one plans, but we still agreed to that I was to guarantee him, as my Owner, full access to my room at any time during my stay. I am after all his property, and what is mine is his for the taking. He might want to pass by for inspection, or to relax in the neighborhood for some time, or to use the room for whatever private purpose of his choice, and irrelevant to my needs or possession of the space. So, if I eventually should come back to my room to find him there I would have to beg for his permission to enter, to stay and to make use of any of facilities. I would gladly have slept on the floor, or waited in the corridor, if he would have wished to relax on my bed, but Owner showed little interest in such a scenario. Why should he bother when he had his own place to stay? Just to please a faggot? Still I found it natural that he should have the keys to my room, and of course also the code to the safe, where I would have to keep my cash.

 

Thank you, Sir!

 

Luckily, I arrived some time earlier in the day then my clients. Master let me know at what time he was available and where. He also gave me two simple chores. I was to locate the closest ATM to our meeting point, and one the way there, I should buy him some of his preferred tobacco. That was it. Nothing complicated. Still I struggled. First I spent too much time trying to locate the closest ATM, only to miss the one almost next to our meeting point, and then I came close to panicking, not finding any tobacco-stores open in the area (being a Sunday). Time was ticking, but finally I managed to locate an open kiosk, having to literarily run back to where I was supposed to wait for Master. This taught me a lesson. As a slave, I must be better prepared for all eventualities. I must, as a servant, know my masters needs as my own, and always anticipate the next move. Never hesitate, never doubt, just follow orders. Follow his commands. Only then can I exceed. Only by obeying can I call myself a property.  Because he knows best.

 

Thank you, Sir!

 

Master approached me as a God from further up the street. I felt nervous and trembled with both excitement and fear of being a disappointment. And frustrated over my indecision to which ATM we could go to, Master rather decided to have a meal in a close by café while I sorted out the finances. I ran all the way. Entering the restaurant out of breath, Master generously invited me to sit down to observe him eating. Seeing him there in all his masculine strength was overwhelming. His power pulsating through his veins, his sexual supremacy pounding with every beat of his hart. His slender body, his pronounced muscles, his personal integrity and outstanding beauty is captivating in a way that must make any human being surrender.

 

Thank you, Sir!

 

At the end of his meal, Master all of a sudden looked at me, saying with at deep determined voice: “You will follow orders. You will obey!” Then he got up. He had spent enough time away from his friends and to satisfy my clumsy eagerness. I had to pay now, I knew. At the corner of a nearby alley I knelt down and gave him both my hotel room keys, and the allowed daily amount I had been able to withdraw from the ATM. Our short meeting was over. I held out my hands and Master generously spat into them. Pouring it into my mouth was like receiving a blessing. I was on my knees in public, drinking my Owners saliva.

 

Thank you, Sir!

 

The next morning, I offered to meet my Owner during my client’s lunch break, and close to where he was staying. It had to be a short meeting. My clients were all enjoying meals in bars and restaurants very close by. I could have been easily observed, although it wouldn’t have mattered, shouldn’t matter and couldn’t matter. Being my Master´s property felt like the only thing relevant. Again, he approached me like out of a vision. Stunning and awesome. We both knew what was going to happen. I, a faggot cash slave, was going to hand over money to my Owner and superior Master. Nothing more. So very simple, so incredible and so fulfilling. And no time was wasted. We approached the ATM, I took out what I was allowed in cash, turned towards him and offered him the bills, one by one. Master smiled and laughed as he counted. I am pleased that he was amused.

 

Thank you, Sir!

 

As we parted my owner told me in passing that he intended to visit my room that same afternoon. I asked if he would require my company, and informed him of my work-schedule. He expressed that he´d rather like to have some time on his own there.

 

As I arrived back at the hotel, I found that my Owner not only had taken all of his cash from my hotel room safe, but he had also left behind a gift for me to devour on my own, and by doing so to manifest myself as his, in a capacity of being his toilet. It was a large box, filled to the brim with his intense, ripe, masculine turds. I undressed and did what I had to do, lying naked on the floor, as a slave should. I ate his shit in deep respect and gratitude.

 

Thank you, Sir!

 

Just arriving back to the hotel from an excursion with my clients the next day, Master called me and asked if I was available to assist him in doing some shopping. This time I did not waste time, fumble or hesitate. Time was really, really short. He had to be at a certain point at a certain hour to meet some friends, and had very little time to spend on me. I HAD TO HURRY! Seldom have I run so fast through the center of any town. The streets where filled with lazy people having nothing better to do than hanging around and crowding my way. I nearly pushed people aside, and managed to communicate with Master that I was close by. He, on his side, pushed his limits and waited, generously. I found him at the counter with his shopping already piled. There was only one thing for me to do. I paid, and saw to that his goods where correctly folded and packed for him. He expressed that he was pleased with me coming there, and told me goodbye. His friends were waiting already. Trust me when I in writing confirm that I felt really and deeply happy about being left there. I had been there! I had paid for my masters shopping! That is my obligation as a real-time cash slave.

 

Thank you, Sir!

 

Our last evening in town, Master expressed that he would like to visit me in my room. I undressed, down to wearing only the chain and lock he had previously given me to claim me as his property, and I put on the used underpants he gave me last, still unwashed and still bearing his potent smell of being a man. A man and a Master. Then I waited for what seemed to be an eternity. I knew he would take some time arriving. Still, it felt wrong, yes even rude, to sit down, or to lay down on the bed whilst anticipating him opening the door with his own key. He sent me messages along the way: “On the way into the hotel”, “On the way in the elevator”. I crawled down on the floor and received him in a kneeling position.

 

Master entered the room ordering me to bow even deeper. I worshipped him, stuttering my praise as if I was praying as he approached me. Before I knew it, he invited me to kiss his naked feet. One by one I was allowed to gently kiss his toes, his upper foot, and his heel. I wanted so much, yes, more than anything, to be under him. Master knows me, he reads my mind, and so he stepped on me. To feel the blessing, and the pressure of my Owners feet upon my faggot face, lying flat on the floor, was extreme. A warm sense of inferiority and belonging rushed through me like an orgasm. Then master ordered me do dress his feet. Clumsily as a stupid and inexperienced faggot, I went about the task to gently pull on his socks and put back on his shoes. I kissed every inch of material I could put my lips to in deep gratitude.

 

But there was more to come. To remember him by, Master had brought me another gift this evening. In a transparent bottle that he handed me from his position standing over me, I could see my own reflection in the golden liquid inside. “I want you to drink this in private!”, he ordered me.  It was still warm. Straight from him. But, however much I wanted to open the bottle and pour the content down my thirsty faggot throat there and then, I was told otherwise. It was time to crawl in front of him again, like a dog. Like a property. In the bathroom, Master told me to lay down on my back. Although I at this point was throbbing with excitement, I was not allowed to touch myself. This was not sex. This was to establish and position between us. A proper relationship between an Owner and his property.

 

From the corner of my eyes I could see how Master unbuttoned his fly, took out his enormous penis, and before I could scream “PLEASE SIR!” he pissed all over me, and in to my gaping faggot mouth. It was like getting baptized before my Lord!

 

Only a slave and an inferior like myself can fully appreciate the tremendous feeling of joy it brings to crawl in front of a man. To be a thing. To be his property. To be pissed on. To kneel in front of him, with his chain around my neck and his used jock caressing my own genitals and ass, and then to open my wallet to take out all of my remaining cash, giving him the money bill by bill, is like a religious experience. Deeply satisfying both physically and mentally.

 

As previously stated in a previous essay, my Owner and Master has never expressed any interest in entering into a physical relationship with me. Other than letting me have his bodily gifts and kiss his feet, he will not give me sex in any conventional way. Still what he allows me to experience and receive exceeds for me any expectation and fulfillment.

 

I am what I am. I am a cash slave. I am a faggot, I am his property!

 

Thank you, SIR!

Your WCFaggot

 

 

 

OBS: All rights to the publishing of this essay belongs to Master F (f_owns_you)

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