By FirefighterSir
After the weekend when Jax and his drone had appeared unexpectedly at the camp, grunt’s life had passed back into routine. The young blond muscle jock had departed after grunt’s punishment whipping and there had been no other visitors.
Days passed quietly, waking at dawn as cool pine-scented air filtered down through the forest. Preparing the Captain’s gear and food for the day, opening the gate when he drove off to a chorus of barking dogs, turning to the list of chores left behind. Each item was assigned a time limit, and grunt’s day was dictated by the clock and by the shifting patches of shade he took advantage of to leaven the heat of the summer sun.
Each evening the Captain would return in a rumble of truck tires on the steep dirt road. The dog pack would stir and begin to bark and howl, jumping around eager for attention. The slave would already be waiting at the gate, and it would swing away at the precise moment the truck turned into sight. Then grunt would stand momentarily at attention, head bowed as the bearded master opened the driver door. Often he would briefly acknowledge the slave and indicate items such as fresh food to be fetched out.
It had been hours. I was naked, hogcuffed, ballgagged, with a huge electro plug humming away up my butt milking my prostate after five weeks of chastity. All I had to do was not orgasm until Mark said it was time.