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It had started when he saw that the backdoor was not only unlocked, but cracked open. His captor never left that door open, let alone unlocked. The door had two deadbolts installed for “security”, but Malcolm knew it was just to keep him inside. He knew the deadbolts could only be unlocked with a key his captor had on a keyring in his pocket. That keyring was never within Malcolm’s reach, never available to be secretly snatched and used for escape. Malcolm had seen the cracked door when they had come upstairs from the basement, but had looked away quickly lest the man see it himself. This may be it; it may be his chance to get the hell out of here. The man he was supposed to call Master, but secretly called less expressible names in his head, hadn’t seemed to notice Malcolm’s momentary hesitance as he followed the man into the kitchen.
The giving of instructions had somehow turned into an argument, then an all-out fight, and Malcolm had fought with all he had. His captor kept grabbing him, trying to subdue him, but Malcolm was able to escape the strong hands grasping at his limbs. One of the kitchen table’s chairs ended up between them, and Malcolm picked it up to use as a shield. His captor tried to grab the chair, but each time he reached for it Malcolm pulled it out of his reach. Then on a sudden impulse Malcolm threw the chair at his captor, catching him in the legs. The man tried to jump out of the way, but instead fell down in a tangle of limbs as he tripped and fell over it. Malcolm had then taken the advantage he had and ran for that crack of light, the possible salvation that lie beyond that open backdoor.
Now he was running for his life. He had been subjected to his captor’s sadistic practices for however many months it had been since his abduction, and he was not going to waste this opportunity. He leapt off the back porch and started running through the soft grass he had been forced to mow a few days before. The lawn he had mowed in the oppressive heat, sweating profusely as he pushed the heavy push mower around the large yard. The backyard was framed by tall lush green hedges which seemed entangled with each other. Malcolm thought he may be able to push his way between them, but not knowing exactly what may be on the other side, he was hesitant to do so. He knew the property was surrounded by dense trees, all of which could possibly be considered woods or a forest, but there was no telling what was immediately on the other side of the bushes. There could be more grass, a field, or possibly a deep ditch his captor had dug for situations such as this. It wasn’t worth the risk.
Hearing the backdoor slam open, he pushed himself to move faster. His captor let out an angry roar behind him, yelling for Malcolm to stop, to come back, but Malcolm obviously ignored him. “I said stop Boy!” his captor yelled. “You better stop right now or when I catch you I’ll make sure you’re in more pain than you ever imagined!” Malcolm managed a snort as he ran. He’d already been in more pain than he could have ever imagined. There was no way he’d willing return to it.
“Help!” Malcolm screamed. “Someone help me, please!” He ran some more before repeating his cries. “Please!” he yelled. “Someone help me!”
Mocking laughter came from behind him, and it didn’t sound like it was too far behind. “Yell all you want Boy, there’s no one around for at least half a mile! Scream and scream! No one will come to help you!”
With that Malcolm stopped yelling. There wasn’t much point if what the man said was true. Plus, he needed his breath for running. Making a decision, he chose to run for the back end of the large yard. He felt his only chance may be to run into the trees that bordered that end of the yard. If he could make his way through the trees and then head in the direction that would take him around the house, maybe he could make it to the road and get some help.
“Oof!” Malcolm suddenly found himself face first on the ground. Momentarily dazed, his body tensed for a fight, sure that his captor had tackled him to the ground. But there was no weight atop him, and he quickly realized that he must have slipped on some wet grass and fallen. He frantically worked his way back to his feet. He could swear he felt the swipe of fingertips on his back as he took off running again, but didn’t dare turn around to find out of his captor was really there. Run, run, run! The mantra ran through his head. This may be his one and only chance. Run, run, run!
His captor must have sensed where he was heading, for he yelled, “You little bastard, stop before you enter those trees! You get lost in there Boy, and no one will find you!” Malcolm ignored him and managed to put another burst of speed into his running.
After a few slips and almost falls Malcolm finally reached the trees. The first steps made him cry out as the sticks, twigs, rocks, and other debris on the forest floor dug into the sensitive flesh of his feet. He hadn’t thought about being naked and shoeless and running through the woods, but he’d have to continue now, there was no other option. Branches slapped his body as he ran, and he wildly tried to push any of the low branches in his path away before he got hit. The noises of his pursuer seemed to fill the forest behind him. Thankfully it sounded like the man was being hindered by the branches as well, although he had shoes to protect his feet. Which gave him an advantage Malcolm didn’t like.
After running for what Malcolm thought was twenty feet or so, he turned in the direction he felt the road must be. Malcolm continued over the rough terrain, trying desperately to ignore the pain in his feet and the exhaustion that was starting to seep into his muscles. He was panting hard, and a stitch was starting to form in his right side, but he pushed himself on. He ran a few more feet before he was brought to the ground by a terrible pain in his left foot. He somehow managed to bite his lower lip and hold in the scream that threatened to escape as he fell to the ground. Moaning in pain, Malcolm quickly assessed his situation. He had stepped on something sharp, causing a long deep cut on the bottom of his left foot. “Shit,” he mumbled. This would hinder his escape, but he knew he couldn’t give up. He lightly brushed his hand over the cut to knock out any dirt lodged within, and then using a nearby tree, managed to get himself to his feet. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he tested the left foot on the ground. It was going to hurt, a lot, but he had to ignore it and continue.
Malcolm snapped his head to the left, his attention caught by noises off to that side. His captor was getting close! Malcolm steeled himself and started to move again, moving as fast as his injured foot would take him. He whimpered as the pain shot through his foot and up his left leg. Shit, shit, shit, he thought. This was seriously slowing his momentum.
Malcolm limped along as fast as he could, possibly gaining another thirty feet or so when he realized that the sounds of his pursuer had faded away. He strained his ears to pick up any noises, but there weren’t any to be heard. Even the birds seemed to quiet down as he listened. Had the man given up? Had he turned back, figuring Malcolm was too far ahead? Or was he planning something… something that would come out of nowhere? Malcolm hated to do it, but he felt the need to stop and assess the current situation. He leaned up against a tree, keeping his left foot elevated as he looked around, simultaneously looking and listening for any indication that his captor was near. His left foot throbbed as he stood there, and he could hear the soft drip of blood seeping from the wound. He quickly lifted his foot and saw that his wound was dirty and seeping a steady flow of blood. If he didn’t get out of here and get help soon, he may just bleed to death, or at the very least get an infection. He had no clue how close the road might be. He knew his captor’s house had sat back pretty far from the road. He had never been able to hear any traffic when he had been forced to work outside in the yard. That probably meant that the house was off the road by a half mile or so, maybe more. Could he make it that much farther? The snapping of a twig caught his attention, and he made the decision that yes, he could. He would force himself to make it that much farther.
Malcolm shoved himself off the tree and limped on. He breaths were coming short and quick now, and the stitch in his right side had grown. Another stitch was beginning to make itself known in his left side now. “Come on,” he mumbled, “come on!”
A loud roar suddenly filled the air, and before Malcolm could turn his head to investigate, his body was hit by what felt like a freight train. His body slammed into the ground, his face smashed into the dirt, as a heavy weight fell upon him. Harsh breaths could be heard in his ear as the weight moved to shove him onto his back. “No!” he cried, fighting the hands which worked to turn him over.
Seeing the angry, flushed face of his captor, he fought with what little strength he still had. Hands and arms tangled as the two struggled to dominate the other. Malcolm kicked and squirmed, trying to get the man off of him as he battled to move away. But unfortunately, the heavy weight of his captor kept him firmly pinned to the forest floor. The man smiled down at him as he finally pinned Malcolm’s arms down above his head. He finally had his prey.
Malcolm knew it was pointless to fight anymore and finally lay still as the man straddled his hips. Both were breathing hard, both flushed from the fight. Despite this, Malcolm’s breath caught in his throat, and his blood turned ice cold as he saw that smile turn into an evil grin… as the man moved to grasp his arms with one hand instead of two and moved the free hand to the fly of his jeans. “No!” Malcolm screeched, trying to buck the man off of him. His captor chuckled as he moved with him, the attempts to fling him off not stopping his hand from undoing his fly, and pulling his half-hard cock from his jeans. “Please, please, please,” Malcolm begged softly. Surprisingly, the evil grin grew wider and the half-hard cock grew fully hard. The man above him was loving Malcolm’s struggles, his pleas to stop.
Malcolm fought with his meager strength to stop this from happening. He tried to move and buck the man off, or to get his hands free to hit or push him away. His captor stroked himself quietly while he watched his prey struggle beneath him. Harsh pants could be heard escaping his lips as his lust grew. Malcolm opened his mouth to beg and plead with him not to do this, but knew it would only spur the man on. His struggles and pleas were not going to stop his captor from taking what he wanted, so he reluctantly shut his mouth and lay still. With a deep sigh, Malcolm moved his eyes to stare up into the trees. The man was going to do what he wanted, but Malcolm didn’t have to willingly watch.
His attention was quickly brought back by a harsh backhand to his face. As his head twisted to the side, his captor’s hand brutally grabbed his chin and brought his face back to face the man. The man’s fingers dug into his jaw as he said, “Look at me Boy… my Slave,” he paused as Malcolm slowly, reluctantly looked him in the eye, “watch as your Master takes you like the slut you are.”
A sob escaped Malcolm’s lips as he shook his head. His captor scooted himself down Malcolm’s body and settled himself between the boy’s legs. Using his own knees to spread Malcolm’s wide, he then positioned himself for penetration. He watched the boy with wide, lust filled eyes, and then before Malcolm could register any movement, a sharp pain tore through his hole, making his head jerk back and a scream escape his throat. Only half the scream fully escaped as his captor’s rough hand clasped over his mouth, effectively muffling the cry. The man pulled his cock out, then slammed back into the abused hole again. Malcolm tensed as a muffled scream tore from his throat once again. His captor chuckled low in his throat as he watched the pain wash over Malcolm’s face. He laughed as Malcolm’s body was jerked over the rough, debris strewn forest floor. Malcolm could feel stones and sticks digging into his back and ass as the man fucked him without abandon.
Sobs and whines escaped Malcolm’s throat, only to be silenced by the large hand covering his mouth. Pain filled his lower half as agony split his body in half. His captor finally found his pace and rammed into Malcolm’s body with punishing force and speed. Malcolm tried to pull his arms from the tight grasp still holding them above his head, but when he realized that wouldn’t work he unwillingly remained still; frozen by some unseen force.
His captor seemed to go on forever, he seemed to have no end. Malcolm had no idea how long this had been going on for, but it felt like an eternity. The man’s thrusts continued to bring nothing by pain, and Malcolm screamed from the pain of it; he cried, screamed behind the hand at the man who sat above him, desperate for this to end. Tears ran down his cheeks and made the dirt wet beneath his head. The sticks and stones still dug into his skin with every thrust, causing scrapes and more pain for his mind to process.
Malcolm had been staring into his captor’s eyes throughout, pleading with the man to stop. His whole face was etched with pleading; his eyes gleaming with tears. But all of this went unheeded, just as the whimpers and screams beneath the hand still clasping his mouth shut went unheeded. But, there, finally, he could feel his captor’s cock pulse and jerk within his sore abused hole. He knew it was almost finished. The man titled his head back and came with a roar that echoed throughout the forest as the hot, sticky seed shot into Malcolm’s insides. Malcolm grimaced and closed his eyes, hating the feeling of the cum spilling into him. The man’s hand finally moved from his mouth, and he moved his jaw to ease the soreness. He could feel a soreness around his mouth, and knew there would be deep bruising.
There was a soft plop as his captor pulled his now softened cock from Malcolm’s hole. Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief and opened his eyes. The man had sated himself, now what would he do? Sweat poured from the man’s face as he panted while looking down at Malcolm. “I think that was the best fuck yet, Boy,” he said with a smile. “Maybe we should play this way again. I loved the chase, loved the capture. It’s what you wanted, right? To be chased and caught and fucked out here in the dirt?” Malcolm shook his head slightly. “Well, I sure loved it,” his captor gushed. Malcolm didn’t share in the sentiment, and so he remained quiet. His captor put his cock away and put his pants to right.
His captor then gently fingered Malcolm’s soft cock, making the boy whimper. He didn’t want these touches, he never did. “You’re still soft,” his captor said. Malcolm glanced into the man’s eyes and then quickly looked away. “You’re always soft when I fuck you,” the man said, “you never get hard. Why?” Malcolm shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to give an answer that would make his captor angry. His captor smiled smugly. “Maybe it’s because I just haven’t hit that sweet spot for you yet,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I’ll have to work on that Slave.” Malcolm didn’t care what spot the man hit, he would never feel pleasure while being raped by him… never.
Malcolm watched with trepidation as the man above him released Malcolm's arms and then wiped the sweat from his face. The man sighed as he worked to catch his breath. Malcolm shifted beneath him, trying to get somewhat comfortable from the weight above him and the stones and sticks digging into his back. His moved his sore arms to his side, being careful not to touch the man above him.
His captor then started looking around him, searching the forest floor for something. Malcolm watched with curiosity and a little fear, knowing whatever the man had planned, it would not bode well for him. A smile lit the man’s face as he apparently found what he wanted and then he bent to pick whatever it was up. Malcolm’s eyes widened when he saw the short thick branch in the man’s hand. A squeak of protest escaped him as the man held it up with a smile and said, “Don’t want all that goodness leaking out,” and then unceremoniously shoved the branch into Malcolm’s already sore hole. Malcolm cried out, his yell echoing through the forest and sending a few birds flying from their perches. He reached down to grasp the branch and pull it out, but the man smacked his hand away. “No,” he growled. Malcolm whimpered and begged, “Please,” but his captor merely shook his head in response.
Malcolm flinched as his captor’s right hand moved toward his face and then started to snake through his hair. A sharp tug then forced him to follow as the man moved from between his splayed legs and stood. Malcolm winced as his hair was pulled, making his scalp flare in pain. The branch in his ass shifted as well, making pain flare up his backside. The man roughly turned him around, pulling Malcolm back against his chest. “Look Slave,” the man said as he tugged on Malcolm’s hair for emphasis. He pointed out ahead of them. “Look how close you were Slave,” the man paused, “You were a mere 100 feet or so from freedom.” Malcolm’s eyes followed the pointing finger, and gazing ahead of him he could see a streak of gray through a break in the trees. A flash of red through the break told him all he needed to know. He had been close to the road, a mere 100 feet or so as the man said. He had been close to freedom, so close to rescue from the sadistic bastard standing behind him.
A deep, stuttered sigh escaped his lungs and his captor laughed. “So close,” he taunted.
His captor then moved away, yanking on Malcolm’s hair to make him follow. Malcolm stumbled on his injured foot, yelping as he put pressure on it. The man stopped and looked down at the foot Malcolm held in the air. “What happened?” he asked. “Cut my foot,” Malcolm stammered. “Hurts bad.” The man merely nodded in response, then marched on, dragging Malcolm behind him.
Malcolm whimpered as he was pulled so roughly by his hair, limping on his injured foot, the branch in his ass rubbing his insides painfully. His captor mumbled for him to hurry, pulling on his hair for effect, and Malcolm tried, but he just couldn’t limp fast enough. Stumbling along, he ultimately lost his footing and fell to the ground, landing roughly on his knees. His captor managed to keep his hold on Malcolm’s hair as he leant down to follow the movement. Malcolm looked up at him pleadingly. “Please, please take the branch out,” he pleaded. “It hurts.” His captor barked a laugh as he yanked Malcolm’s head back painfully. Glaring into the boy’s eyes he said, “Not compared to what you’re going to get when we get back to the basement Boy.” He then wrenched Malcolm back to his feet and pulled the struggling boy along. Malcolm was quiet after that.
They finally managed to get back to the house after who knows how many agonizing minutes. Malcolm hurt all over, and the pain in his foot had increased so that his foot was practically numb. They made it down to the basement, his captor still leading Malcolm by the hair. Malcolm was lead to chains hanging from the ceiling, and then his wrists were quickly locked into the attached metal cuffs. Malcolm struggled uselessly as his captor watched with glee. Malcolm knew that he was going to now be subjected to the worst this man had to offer. He knew he had to be strong, but at the same time knew it’d be a losing battle.
Malcolm watched his captor gathering his supplies, but seeing the amount he was gathering made Malcolm shut them, not wanting to see anymore. The clinks and bumps, the scratch of leather… all of it meant pain.
Malcolm screamed and pulled on his bound wrists as pain flared in his nipples. His eyes opened wide and he looked down to see large alligator clamps attached to them. He hadn’t even heard the man come back to him, he could certainly move quietly when he wanted! A chain connected the clamps, and his captor pulled on it playfully as he smiled. Malcolm whimpered at the pull on his nipples, but otherwise didn’t react. His captor held something up for Malcolm to see, and Malcolm muttered, “Please no.” His captor smiled evilly as he placed the small bullet vibrator against Malcolm’s cock and wrapped bondage tape around it to hold it in place. Malcolm jumped as the vibrator came to life. He moaned as the vibrations started to bring his cock to life, but just as he was starting to get hard it shut off. Malcolm held back his whimper as his cock started to soften. This was only the start to a process he had been subjected to many times before.
He knew the vibrator was on a random cycle and would turn on and off in random patterns. He knew he would become hard more times than he could count tonight, and if he was lucky, he may be allowed to cum before the vibrator turned off. Malcolm yelped as the branch was roughly yanked out of his sore hole. The cum now lose to move, it flowed freely from his abused hole and began to stream down his legs. His captor held the branch up in front of his face as he chuckled. Malcolm could see the blood and cum soaked into one end of the branch, the end that had scraped him raw all the way back to the house. Then moving to a nearby shelf the man placed the branch onto it and said, “Should save this to have fun with another time.” Malcolm sighed and looked away.
Then the beating began. Malcolm yelped as his captor hit his sore ass with what felt like a leather paddle. Malcolm cried out again as the man hit him again, this time harder. The paddling continued, each hit followed by Malcolm’s cries and struggles. The paddling went on for what felt like hours. It seemed no skin was spared on his backside throughout the barrage of hits. Malcolm’s body sagged as it finally stopped. His cheeks were wet with shed tears, his wrists rubbed practically raw from his struggles. He could even hear his captor breathing heavily behind him. It must have been quite the workout for him.
Malcolm had started to let himself relax when he felt a sharp pain in his back. His body tensed as he came up on his tiptoes, trying to get away from the assault. His captor had not stopped; he had merely stopped momentarily to switch tools. This one felt like the cat-o-nine-tails, it’s multiple tails digging into his sensitive skin. Unlike with the paddle, his captor did not solely focus on his backside. His captor began moving around him, hitting every inch of available skin he could. Fear instantly washed over Malcolm in realization of what was going to happen to him and he struggled against the harsh metal cuffs to no avail. This was not going to end quickly, this “punishment” was going to last for hours. His captor laughed sadistically, clearly enjoying Malcolm’s fear.
The beating continued on, his captor using each instrument of pain until he tired of it and switched for another. Malcolm’s screams tore him apart. His voice was raw, throat aching. Every inch of his skin burned from the whippings. His captor has spared nothing. Malcolm’s legs, back, ass, belly. He could feel welts growing, stinging, burning. And yet the man continued. Malcolm was a complete ball of pain. Nothing but pain. His strained voice cracked as he tried screaming. Make it stop! Oh the agony!
By the end Malcolm knew he had been hit and beaten with every whip, paddle, and flogger the man owned, right down to the one that had the bits of metal entwined that would cut and scratch the skin mercilessly. The man had even used his hand to smack poor Malcolm’s face repeatedly. The vibrator on his poor cock had caused him to cum at least five times, and there was now nothing but pain when the vibrator started up once more. He struggled again, fighting for freedom from the painful vibrations. His strained voice tried screaming in agony as a dry orgasm ripped through him.
Malcolm let out a strangled cry as the nipple clamps were mercifully removed from his numb nubs. He then moaned in relief as the bullet vibrator was turned off and removed from his cock. He was crying openly now, the tears running free. “Thank you, Master,” he choked out quietly as his Master moved away from him. It was so soft though, that he was sure the man never heard him. His Master worked meticulously to clean everything he had used that night. Malcolm hung in his chains, his skin burning from the beating. He couldn’t think. He could barely even focus as he watched his Master work.
Yes, this man was now his Master, there was no denying it. This man owned him, he had proven that Malcolm was nothing but a tool for his amusement.
“You dared to disrespect me… to disobey me Slave,” his Master said softly, yet angrily. He hung the last of his cleaned tools on the wall and came back to stand in front of Malcolm. “You dared to run after all I’ve done for you, provided for you?” Malcolm made no sound as he stared sadly into his Master’s eyes. His Master leaned in, and Malcolm could feel his hot breath on his ear. The low masculine voice made the boy freeze. “Will you obey me now, Slave?”
Malcolm’s head dipped. Then it rose and dipped again. At first slow nodding, then vigorously as sobs wracked his body. “Yes, Master,” he tried to croak. “Yes!” But the words couldn’t be heard. There was no voice to produce, he no longer had a voice. He’d worn it out after screaming for hours. His Master seemed to find his nodding satisfactory though, and nodded in acceptance. “Good.”
His Master headed for the stairs. “See you in the morning Slave,” he said.
Malcolm called out to protest, an ‘I’m sorry!’, ‘Master, I’m yours to command’, ‘Master, please don’t leave me here like this!’. But all that came out was a strained squeak as the man started up the stairs. He was plunged into darkness as the lights went off, and then the basement door could be heard shutting softly and the key turning in the lock. In and out of sleep, Malcolm hung there for an eternity. But finally, mercifully, exhaustion took hold of him and he fell into darkness.
****
Light exploded in front of Malcolm’s closed eyes, making him moan in pain at the intrusion. He tried opening them, but the light burned, and he kept them tightly closed. He shuffled in his chains, trying to get somewhat comfortable. His whole body was tingling, he has lost feeling in his arms and hands hours ago… and his legs felt ice cold, as if starved for the warmth of blood. His poor wrists were rubbed raw and bleeding from hanging in the metal cuffs for so long. He could feel the welts on his skin swell, then slowly ease. Cooling, easing. The pain was still there, but it was an ache rather than the intense burning it once was.
Footsteps signaled his Master’s return. The man grinned as he took in the sight before him. Malcolm watched apprehensively as his Master moved to grab his wrists. Malcolm whimpered and moaned as the metal cuffs were unlocked and he was released. His body fell to the floor in a heap. His limbs tingled painfully as the blood started to flow again. His Master walked away as he ordered, “Take a shower, be upstairs in twenty minutes.” Malcolm mumbled, “Yes Master,” his voice still raw and raspy from his screams. The man stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched as Malcolm somehow managed to get his poor ravaged body up on his feet. He hissed in pain as his left foot took his weight, and he stopped for a moment before slowly limping on.
His Master made a face. “Oh right, forgot about that. You have thirty minutes then, and bring the med kit up with you.”
Malcolm looked at him with an expression of complete misery and helplessness. His chin dropped to his chest and, at a snail’s pace, he continued onto the bathroom. His Master ignored him as he climbed the stairs to go upstairs to wait for his Slave.
Malcolm stepped into the shower, sighing as the hot water hit his sore muscles. The hot water was soothing at first, but that was short lived as the water awakened every bruise, scrape, and cut on his body. Malcolm grimaced as he worked a wash cloth gently over his body. He worked carefully to get every bit of blood, dirt, and cum plastered on his body. He gingerly worked the wash cloth over his sore hole, making sure it was cleaned of any blood and cum before he moved on. When he reached his injured left foot, he didn’t like the sight of it. The skin around the cut was bright red, and he was afraid it was infected. He did his best to clean it out, but it was very painful and he could only take so much.
Finally exiting the shower, his eyes opened wide in surprise when he saw his body in the mirror. He hadn’t bothered to look when entering the bathroom, and seeing it now was quite a shock. His entire body was covered in bruises, welts, scrapes, and cuts. There didn’t seem to be any untouched skin. Even his face was bruised. Malcolm stared into the mirror, his hand gingerly touching the deep purple hand shaped bruise around his mouth. He hadn’t realized his Master had held him so tightly. He grimaced slightly at the sight, making him wince. The bruise was definitely going to cause some discomfort as it healed. His cheeks shown bright red from the brutal slaps he had received during the beating.
Tears threatened to fall from his eyes, and he was honestly surprised he had any tears left to shed. Shaking his head sadly, he willed the tears not to fall. Malcolm knew this was his life now. He was going to do anything to please his Master, no matter the task. No matter what, he was going to avoid ever having to endure another beating like this one. He vowed silently to himself to never experience that ever again. Then, grabbing the med kit from the shelf by the mirror with hands that slightly trembled, he headed out of the bathroom.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Malcolm looked up with uneasiness. Gripping the med kit tightly in his hands, he gave a heavy sigh. Then before he could give it a second thought, he started up the stairs. Holding his head up high, he headed up to his Master.