THE NEW WORLD ORDER

Published On July 30, 2021 | In God

 

Once a month, the slave (who identifies as a man with a name, a career, a family when in the outer world) leaves its wife and drives away to a distant city. it stays there for a week, working, it tells its wife. She misses her husband, but believes it is important for it to be successful in its career, so accepts it. She also accepts that most days when it isn’t away, it goes to the gym in the evenings. She appreciates its growing muscles, its strength, the way it stretches the fronts of its shirts so that gaps appear between the buttons. How it sometimes splits the seams of the sleeves with its ever-expanding biceps.

slave720 works three weeks a month in a normal job for which it is paid excellent money. 720 earns far more than it tells its wife, though she is more than happy with what it brings home. But 720 doesn’t spend the extra cash on itself.

When 720 arrives in the distant city, it drives to the industrial area. it gets a remote control out of the glove compartment and points it at a huge, gleaming steel door which opens smoothly. The slave drives the car into the garage beyond and the steel door closes behind it.

720 then follows a well-rehearsed routine. A door opens at the back of the garage and the slave goes through. The room beyond is lined with quilted rubber – walls and ceiling. There is no furniture. A screen lights up across the room. The face that appears on the screen is completely masked in tight, highly polished rubber. slave720 feels its cock twitch already; longs for what is to come the other three weeks each month that it is away from this place.

‘Number?’ asks the rubberclad creature on the screen.

‘720,’ answers the slave.

slave439 approaches, looks to its notes, then back. ‘It appears that slave720’s time may have come.’

720’s cock throbs with the words, the cold metal of its cock cage which it wears all the time (the slave and its wife now have separate rooms) digging into its slavemeat as it tries to expand. The slave winces with pain, but has grown to love and crave the pain as well, just as it loves the MASTER Who has enslaved it.

slave439 leans forward, whispers into 720’s ear. ‘This slave is envious.’

There is a sharp electrical sound and pain registers across 439’s face, momentarily rigid in its rubber uniform. 720 has trained long enough to know that slave439 has just been punished with a sharp electrical jolt to the steel ring permanently locked around its slaveballs.

Even among slaves, there is a hierarchy. 439 is a zero – the lowest of the low, all pleasure, including erection and orgasm, permanently denied. Even expressing desirous thoughts is forbidden for this property.

A panel slides open. slave720 instinctively takes off its shiny, patent leather shoes, strips off its Hugo Boss suit, shirt and tie, removes its wedding ring and Rolex watch. As the slave drops each item into a metal chute and watches them slide away, its cock twitches again, feeling the exquisite agony of being cock caged and in the service of its Supreme MASTER.

it steps onto a scale, near-naked, in the warm room, its only cover being the gleaming steel cock-cage, held tight to its body by a flexible steel belt which, in line with HIS orders, it keeps permanently shiny.

slave439 makes note: ‘Optimum weight of 182lbs maintained at a height of 6’1”, accounting for weight of cock cage and belt.’

439 proceeds to take measurement of the slave’s waist as a robotic arm comes out of the wall, a pincer-like measuring caliper reaching out for 720’s arm. The slave assumes the expected position, the muscles in its arm rippling under tanned, totally hairless skin.

The day before reporting to this location, slave720 pays for its body hair to be completely removed by electrolysis; it has been ordered never to present itself with any body hair at all.

The robot pincer delicately squeezes 720’s arm. 439 looks at a screen.

‘Waist size 29.2 inches, and it appears slave720 has achieved optimum bicep/tricep growth as well. Yes, it is the slave’s time.’

Again, a jolt of excitement from 720’s steel-encased slavecock. And again, the pain it both dreads and craves. slave720 waits for the jolt to subside, then steps into the slim space that has opened up behind a panel in the wall.

A pair of goggles rest on a hook. The slave knows to puts them on. it then stuffs small rubber plugs up its nostrils and inserts a short tube into its mouth. 720 is not nervous; this happens every time.

439 says: ‘And hold’ and the panel slides shut, putting slave720 into complete darkness.

There is a hissing sound and a strong smell of latex. A viscous liquid sprays onto slave720’s face, muscled arms, powerful shoulders, deeply-sculpted pecs and washboard abs, strong back, powerful, defined legs: a viscous, black, strong-smelling liquid which sets immediately into tight, smooth, perfectly shiny rubber. As it dries, mechanized hands take away the goggles, the nose coverings, the mouth tube.

720 is a man no longer, not even human; it is slave720, owned body, mind and soul by the MASTER Who has been mindfuck training it for the past three years. The MASTER known by HIS acolytes and slaves all over the world as PERSONAL JESUS MASTER.

These acolytes, these slaves – how they all long to be so much as a zero for PERSONAL JESUS MASTER. How they dream to be chosen to be a Beta slave like 720 (there is no such thing as an Alpha – there is only one Alpha). But only the most physically perfect and financially successful become Betas for this MASTER.

Small, rotating pads buff the newly-sprayed rubber to a dazzling shine. The door opens and slave720 steps out, the gleaming rubber gripping its muscles, making slight squeaking, rustling noises as it moves. its caged slavecock extends outside this new rubber uniform. 720 approaches a metal harness machine, knowing how to position its steel cock cage into the apparatus as a robotic hand places and stretches a triangular rubber codpiece over the cage, seals it in place.

slave720 has never had the codpiece removed when serving PERSONAL JESUS MASTER before; wonders whether this time is the time it will be peeled away and its slavepenis offered for service.

A small panel opens. Beyond it, on a shelf, is slave720’s Gucci leather wallet.

slave720 stares at 439, responds automatically: ‘slave begs to dispense for MASTER.’

slave439 consults its screen, taps a keypad. On a dot matrix above an ATM-style slit, a large numerical figure appears.

Before being clad in its rubber suit, some vestige of slave720’s outer life would have told it, with amazement, that the figure on the dot matrix was twice as much as it could afford. Would have told it that, when slave720 returns to its wife, it will have to tell her that they will have to make savage cuts to their lifestyle, that the holiday abroad will have to wait.

But that outer life is forgotten in its need at this moment to feel the deep mental sting of monthly tribute to PERSONAL JESUS MASTER. Precum leaks freely from its slavecock, swollen with excitement at being one of HIS human cash machines, having so much money demanded from its GODBOSS, by the Superior Being it so tirelessly works for. its cock cage bites painfully into its engorged member, only triggering and binding slave720 into even deeper servitude.

‘Kneel and dispense, slave,’ says the machine, in Master’s Voice.

slave720 falls to its knees, eagerly inserts the bank card, watches the dot matrix as the huge amount flashes across it, as the card is processed, approved, spat out again.

The Voice says, ‘Give thanks to GOD PERSONAL JESUS MASTER for the honor of being allowed to dispense to HIM.’

slave720 bows its head, large rubbered hands together, recites the slave prayer while feeling its slavecock helplessly twitch and drip in its cage.

The machinery slides back into the walls and slave720 is left alone now, rising again to its feet. The slave is a perfectly muscled, shiny rubber being, rapidly fading from its human consciousness into the perfect drone property it has always been destined to be. And today, apparently, it is going to take the next step in proving its worthiness.

But before the slave leaves the room, one final part of the ritual. From the wall comes a tube with a gasmask on the end of it. slave720 puts the mask on, the strong smell of poppers immediately flooding the mask. 720 breathes deeply, relaxing into the heady rush of the poppers, the tingle and the floating-away sensations, yet also aware of the sense-sharpening mental change that PERSONAL JESUS MASTER’s special hypnotic poppers additive causes.

slave720’s identity falls away completely; no longer connected to its outside world identity, nor to the hybrid human-hypnotized machine it has been up to now. it is slave720, built by the steroids and the muscle-building exercise regime, the rubber cladding, the cock cage and chastity training, the hypnosis and programming devised by its CREATOR, PERSONAL JESUS MASTER. A mindless drone property to be used, willingly used, by MASTER to achieve whatever HE desires.

A door opens and slave720 walks into a small, rubber-lined room that it has been in before. In the middle of the room is a rubber-covered medical chair with stirrups.

slave720 knows exactly what to do; sits down on the chair, strapping its feet into the stirrups. There is an electrical buzz and the stirrups tighten around its ankles; metal loops come up over the arms of the chair, gripping its wrists. Another loop comes round its neck. Another gasmask descends and the slave breathes in more of the poppers mixture, feels its personality receding even more. its slavecock is straining to get hard in its cage but 720 doesn’t even notice now.

A robotic arm descends from the ceiling. With precision, a tiny scalpel makes a small slit in the rubber suit, exposing 720’s tight, pink asshole. A panel slides aside near the floor and a large metal machine slides out, its main feature being a long, gleaming metal arm. Usually at this point, another arm descends with a black rubber phallus and fixes it to the metal arm.

On this day, things are different. A panel slides open and a doorway appears. Even in its dehumanized, brain-fried state, slave720 knows something different is happening.

 

 

Through the doorway appears a tall, masculine figure of superior physique, masked in a shiny, black rubber mask with a blood red bar down one side of it. Cold, dominant eyes look out from the mask. its sculpted body is encased in rubber as well, smoky grey and semi-transparent on the top half, revealing powerful muscles underneath, black and shiny on the bottom half, its member held tightly in a glistening rubber sheath with a steel cock cage over it. The figure wears black rubber boots, strapped with multiple buckles to the knee; long red rubber gloves to the elbow.

The figure introduces itself as one of PERSONAL JESUS MASTER’S ‘Beta-Top’ slaves, 912.

slave912 speaks slowly, matter-of-factly, its voice deep and robotic.

‘slave720 has been chosen. it has satisfied physical, financial and intellectual criteria to MASTER’S satisfaction. it gives all to its GOD, PERSONAL JESUS MASTER.’

720 nods submissively, knowing that slave912 is its superior and that the words are true. 912 then speaks up, towards the ceiling.

‘The twelve.’

A robotic arm descends from the ceiling, gripping a twelve-inch ribbed and studded phallus. slave720 is used to this part of the procedure; however, the fact that it is to be fucked with a 12-inch phallus rather than the usual 8 inches registers fear in a not completely cut-off part of its mind. Still, it is so excited in its dehumanized state, so ready to be taken deeper that precum spontaneously floods into its rubber codpiece.

The robot attaches the phallus to the arm and a spray descends, efficiently lubing the phallus and slave720’s hole.

‘slave720 is a mindless vessel for GOD PERSONAL JESSUS MASTER, and its slaveseed is the property of MASTER,’ says 912, standing back now, folding its massively muscled arms in its tight latex, its chest-hair flattened to its pecs under the transparent rubber, abs rising and falling with each breath.

The phallus machine moves forward. Sensors scan slave720’s hole and the phallus is placed in position for penetration. slave720, its head spinning with hypnotic poppers, is in ecstasy, unable to think, unable to remember anything outside of this moment. All that matters is PERSONAL JESUS MASTER and being used for HIS enrichment and pleasure.

‘Now’ says slave912.

The phallus moves to touch slave720’s asshole as the gasmask descends again, 720 strapped into it now. The slave breathes deeply, greedily into it, letting the hypnotic poppers fill and empty its mind. it is MASTER’S mindless possession.

The phallus advances an inch into slave720’s hole. It is a fat phallus and 720 is aware of stretching, and pain – but the sort of pain that makes it leak precum even more from its steel-caged cock. Another inch; more blissful pain. Another. slave720 is breathing deeply; it must please MASTER.

Suddenly the phallus withdraws and, for a moment, a stillness. And then the pounding begins.

The phallus slides inside slave720, four inches, out, five inches, out, and the pain is intense, radiating to its back, its stomach. its legs and arms are tense, its jaw clenched in a rictus grin of pain and ecstasy. With each pounding thrust, the phallus goes an inch further until the full twelve is sliding in and out of MASTER’S mindless and helpless slave property. its insides are burning and yet icy cold; every nerve in its body is tingling. its caged cock bounces where it is trapped, pouring precum into the rubber pouch. its body bucks, hands clench. 720 feels a scream building up inside but the gas mask pumps more poppers until it is too mindless and blank to make a sound.

‘Stop,’ says 912, aware that slave720 is close to orgasm. The phallus withdraws, 720 still lost in the ecstasy of total abandonment and service as 912 speaks again:

‘GODMASTER has chosen slave720,’ slave912 reiterates. ‘Chosen it to be one of HIS breeder slave properties.’

The robotic arm snakes out and smoothly peels away the rubber codpiece on slave720’s suit. slave912 points a remote control towards 720’s cock cage and the electronic lock clicks open. The arm takes the cock cage away. Another arm descends from the ceiling, holding a long tube with a suction attachment at the bottom. 912 reaches and takes ahold of 720’s slavecock, its horniness only increasing now at feeling 912’s slick rubber glove holding its member so tightly, slavecock becoming fully erect for the first in a very long time.

912 slides 720’s erect slavecock into the suction attachment and flips a rubber loop around slave720’s balls, fitting the suction device firmly in place.

‘slave720 will produce twenty-eight vials of breeder slavecum for each week that it is scheduled to be here,’ says 912.

The suction tube is firmly installed and locked to 720’s slavecock. The phallus has come to rest just a centimeter from the slave’s hole.

‘Now,’ slave912 calmly commands.

slave720’s body immediately arches in subjugated ecstasy as the phallus again dominates its hole, the suction tube mercilessly milking this newly appointed breeder slave property. The phallus stimulates the slave’s prostate and 720 almost immediately shoots a jet of hot cum deep into the suction tube, the slave’s mouth contorting into a silent scream of pleasure and relief.

slave912 stares down at 720 strapped in place, unable to move, literally a dehumanized cum machine for PERSONAL JESUS MASTER.

‘The slaveseed of MASTER’S breeder slaves is used to birth HIS next generation of mindless service objects, offspring born into enslavement to the ONE GOD, PERSONAL JESUS MASTER. slave720 is blessed to be a cog in GODMASTER’S machine.’

slave912 stares at 720 coldly for a long moment, then: ‘Two minute’s rest and it begins again.’

slave912 moves out of the small room and, for a second, slave720 is fully aware of the pain in its worked-over hole and slavecock. But the pain is nothing compared to this new, overwhelming feeling of fulfilment and completeness as an owned and mechanized breeder for future generations of slaves, born to kneel one day at the foot of its MASTER’s Throne. No rights. No freedom. No choice. The New World Order.

The slave has barely processed the thought before the gasmask shoots out another powerful blast of poppers and 720 descends into mindlessness once again, oblivion resuming. The walls and ceiling of the room are whisked away by hydraulics and – as the phallus resumes its pounding and the suction starts again on its slavecock – slave720 becomes aware of row upon row of identical medical chairs stretching into the distance. Each chair with a gleaming, rubberclad and muscled Beta slave strapped to it, slavecocks attached to suction devices, holes pounded by huge mechanical phalluses while poppers-pumping gasmasks render each a blank and obedient, semen-shooting machine.

slave720 rests its head back, eyes closing to see the beautiful Images of its GOD and MASTER floating through its slavebrain, blissfully taking the poppers deep again.

Falling into HIM.

                                                                                                                     -slave720

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