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A slave's Induction
Ch 10 - Diminished Humanity - Loss of self
Over the months, my continual training involved a lot of ways my Master was teaching me to accept being his property and object, toy, and service instrument. My humanity was being diminished to the point of not mattering. It's the natural result of having all control and self-determination eliminated - being programmed and trained to perform - in someone else's timing - for his purposes - and by his will. I could feel myself becoming the slave Bill had said he would make of me. Punishment for independent actions or thought was a given. Bill's system worked very successfully under his able application. All told, it formed a very complete program for making a slave see its sense of completion as his Owner's recreation and service instrument - as existing for his benefit, and profit, and use, and abuse, and pleasure, and purposes alone. Tom was beginning to exist as a memory - one that would be kept alive as a reminder of the Master's power and ability to transform me, but not applicable or viable in my current capacity.
"Tom," was the place from which I had been removed or taken or extracted - a place of self - self-determination - self-assurance - self-enjoyment - self-expression and self-will. Tom had been an independent man who like other men acted on his own. What the Master was doing here in his universe regarding Tom, was claiming and using his body and my mind. It looked like Tom (was looking even better than Tom.) Someone who knew Tom before, might still think it WAS Tom. But what resembled an enhanced version of Tom physically was what Bill was using to making something more to his liking - more useful for his needs and purposes. He was taking the raw material of "Tom," and creating something that would not see Tom when it looked in the mirror.
Humiliated and dehumanized, the sex and service object would be caused to remember Tom, but would see Bill's personal property - his merchandise - his toy - its manhood and independence removed and replaced by objectivity and performance and fear - the rightful fear of Bill's displeasure and its resultant consequences. The object I was becoming was seeing Bill's unquestioning, obedient slave in the mirror. Exercises would be performed in front of the mirrors in the gym sometimes. Tom was becoming a remembrance to me - his life - his things - his priorities - his manhood and independence - his associations - none of it mattered in Bill's world. What mattered here was Bill - Bill's demands and requirements, needs, preferences, service, comfort, superiority - what I thought that first night concerning the fact everything seeming to be about Bill could not have been more accurate - and I was now an integral part of that reality.
Exercises were performed in front of the mirrors in the gym sometimes to assure and bolster my self-image. Bill would stand me next to him in the mirror and ask me what I saw. My gaze was almost always on him at all times. Sometimes I would catch views of myself looking enhanced - more muscular and developed as Bill said I would become, but he was most always my focus as it had been from the very first night, with my inability to keep from staring at him.
"I see the most beautiful man ever Sir - my Master - with the qualities of a god - a godman Sir. I see your beautiful body Sir with all its masculine hair covering and muscles and the most beautiful face I ever remember seeing Sir," He would allow me to ramble a bit, "I'm not looking into them now Sir but I remember your amazing steel grey eyes you allowed me to see Master. Thank you Sir for allowing this slave to look at you Sir."
"And tell me what you see next to your Master."
"I see what belongs to you Master. I see the object you have created for yourself Sir."
He interrupted, "It looks masculine and muscular like a man. Is it a man?"
"No Master."
"Tell me what you see standing next to me. Describe it to me."
"Everything it sees belongs to you Sir as your property. It sees a worthless fuckhole - a slave - a bitch - a cunt - a fist hole - a toilet - a service instrument - a pig." He would again allow some time for my self-deprecating tags before interrupting.
"Tell me why its Master allows such a worthless cunt to exist."
"It exists to pleasure you and to obey you and serve you Master. You have made it see a very lucky thing Master. Thank you Master."
And so would go a mirror exercise affirming and enforcing exactly how Bill intended this - his object - to see and identify itself.
With Bill's knowledge and use of drugs - thought manipulation - humiliation and pain, he optimizes his control over a slave, turning both its mind and body into toys and objects for his pleasure and purposes - playgrounds for his amusement. This slave would be exposed to the entire world including any who recognized it as Tom. Disgusted by what they see, they will watch Tom beg for the most degrading, painful, and humiliating aspects of his treatment. They know not of Bill's power and cunning, forcing the slave into this form of existence. They only see the results of his adept transformation tactics through the abuse of both what used to be Tom's mind and his body. Friends, family, and associates will be made to believe it is what the Tom they knew has needed and wanted all along - and they will feel betrayed. Increasingly, what was known as "Tom" will watch Bill sealing the door on his toy ever being able to return to its past, and eliminating that possibility from what used to be Tom's mind. Any hope the slave ever had of being normal or human again will be effectively destroyed. Bill is making it realize all that's left, is his transformation - his creation - and its purpose - yielding to Bill's humiliating requirements and sadistic demands, fulfilling his incessant expectations, and becoming better and better at it - fearful to upset or disappoint - or worse - anger its Owner/ Master.
Bill is furthering the slave's torment by keeping it mindful of its past - of the freedoms and self-determination it has given up and lost. Its Master will always make that an integral part of its transformational thinking. He will sadistically be sure his toy recalls and misses it no matter how strong the object's reorientation becomes. He'll insure, with his talents at mind manipulation, the slave teeters on the edge of having to please and daring not to, while wishing it could - but realizing full well and knowing increasingly it could never go back. In its Master's presence, it will kneel in front of a computer and bring up that untraceable link enabling the world to see its egregious treatment. Red faced, it will watch itself as it is abused, begging for more and thanking its anonymous tormentor (as it has already once witnessed) for its use - humiliation - pain - and suffering. It will watch itself being tied down and raped by a fuck machine - or having its throat fucked - or being spanked and beaten - or drinking piss - or taking loads - or eating shit - always with close up shots of its face and its new "Tom" tattoo. It will be reminded that once something is on the web, it gets downloaded - passed around - shared - kept alive - and spreads even after the link is taken down.
For any degree in the lack of sincerity, with the knowledge that no matter what is happening, "things can always be made worse," or with the threat of a few days in the cage, it will see its convincing thanks and pleas for its abusive treatment expressed, not only as what it needs and desires, but also what it deserves.
On this occasion the Master took me to a room in the cellar. He put me on my knees on a rough wood platform about six inches high in front of an automatic fuck machine with a large cock mounted to it. He squirted some kind of lube in me and roughly worked me backward on the crude lumber till I came into contact with the long stiff intruder's head. He tied my hands behind me - my legs apart - and fixed my neck by its collar to the platform, effectively keeping my ass in the air in the optimum position. He gave me a phrase to repeat aloud, "This is the Master's fuck toy. Thank You Master for your pleasure." With cameras appropriately aimed, the Master turned on the machine and unceremoniously left the room. By remote, the machine could be adjusted up or down in speed. The Boss' fucking machines were all hand tooled - sophisticated - expensively designed - strong - with heavy-duty motors, and had no limitations. They could have run for days at a time if desired. Some were designed for oral training and use but most were anal. This machine could fuck me, all the way, from slow and gentile, (which I longed for), to the speed of what felt like a jackhammer. The depth of penetration was also variable. All the action - randomly programmed, ran by autopilot, unless overridden by the remote Bill carried with him. The huge cock would fuck me way deep inside my second sphincter - with just the tease of a few inches inside my rectum - or anywhere in between, with any combination of timing, speed, and depth. The sessions I'd experienced on his various fuck machines would leave me so very sore, my fuckhole - and BEING a fuckhole, would be all I could think of for days.
Bill would usually return and question me, to be sure I was learning what I was constantly speaking aloud, and absorbing the truth of the words. On this occasion he entered after what seemed a long time. I could only see him if he walked to the side to which my head was facing this day. My collar was fastened tightly enough to the platform, that I could not turn it from side to side. He walked far enough away that I could see most all of him head to toe, "What are you?" he asked, as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt exposing his phenomenal hairy chest.
"Your fuckhole Sir," I answered.
"Identify yourself and answer me in a sentence shithead."
"Yes Sir. Sorry Master." He turned the speed way down and let the penetration depth withdraw to that teasing place, "This shithead is your fuckhole Master. Thank you Master." He stopped what he was doing and walked toward my backside. The constant fucking motion of the never absent cock stopped, and it was withdrawn completely as he moved about without speaking. My resultant silence - not being spoken to - was a well-learned lesson by now, so the room was quiet - another squirt of lube and in a few minutes, a much larger intruder entered and stretched me wider. It stayed motionless as he walked back to his place and finished unbuttoning his shirt while I watched transfixed. With torso exposed in all its hairy glory, he casually laid the shirt on the table next to him and picked up the remote.
"I like knowing you're down here suffering for me. It gives me pleasure just thinking about it. But you need a reminder about your identity, so why don't you try again to answer the question I just asked you. What are you?"
"YES SIIRRRR!" I shouted, as he hit the remote and the new intruder began to penetrate me. The almost fist sized circumference spread so much more forcefully and painfully, and as the depth reached the limit of the first cock, it penetrated so much deeper. As it entered my second sphincter I recalled the times the Master fisted me. It felt as though an arm was fucking me to the elbow. He left it there - spreading me to a new circumference and depth and intensity of pain.
"Make it a statement," he said casually but loudly enough to be heard over my yelling, "So that if I had a stranger in here, he would know all about what and whose you are.
Breathlessly I strained to keep from shouting, but was only partly successful, "THIS WORTHLESS SHITHEAD TOY," The Master continued to strip, as blinded with pain, I obeyed his command, "BELONGS TO YOU MASTER SIR. IT IS YOUR FUCKHOLE AND THANKS YOU FOR YOUR PLEASURE MASTER SIR. YOUR PROPERTY WANTS TO PLEASE YOU SIR AND THANKS YOU FOR TAKING IT AND OWNING IT. IT IS A SLAVE NOW. IT SERVICES AND PLEASURES AND OBEYS YOU MASTER! THANK YOU MASTER!"
The monolith withdrew to just inside me and allowed me to catch my breath. As I opened my eyes to see my Master (the only thing in my view) he had stripped, and was stroking his big horse cock, watching me strain and struggle and cope with not only the pain wracking assault of his fuckhole, but the agonizing, humiliating position in which I was secured for his pleasure.
"Now that's a more appropriate answer for something like you to give when your Master asks the question I just asked you." He resumed the machine's random motion the way the first cock had been fucking me, and continued to stroke himself while I screamed. As he quickened the pace on his cock he began to enter that place I knew well. He was in the throws of orgasm, and in a moment would begin to shoot his man juice. He walked over while I screamed, and knelt in front of me - aimed his cock at my face and shot. His usual (or actually far from usual) repeated jets of orgasmic cream covered my face, while the huge cock on the machine did such an unrelenting job of raping me.
He worked his way to my ass on his knees. On my bare cheeks spread so wide to accommodate the fucking action of the gigantic member on the machine, he began to beat me barehanded. He spanked me till even through the din of the rape pain, I felt the fire of his beating adding to my torture. He rose and walked back to his clothes - took his belt from his pants and returned, "NOW," he shouted, striking me with savage force - and with each additional word, laid an equal stripe on my already stinging reddened spanked ass - "YOU!" - - - - THINK - - - - ABOUT - - - - - IT!!!"
Then he added in a reserved tone, "And think about how thankful you are for my pleasure and comfort as I go upstairs and enjoy a brandy.
"YES SIR! I WILL MASTER! THANK YOU SIR!" were my tortured words, as my face dripped with its coating of the Master's thick essence, my butt cheeks burned like fire, and the machine brutally worked its torture so painfully deep and so excruciatingly wide. The Master collected his things and walked from my view. I heard the door close, and in my anguish I indeed imagined my beautiful Master naked, and hairy, in his favorite easy chair, sipping an expensive brandy, and smoking an expensive cigar, pleasured from the thoughts of my continuing condition - perhaps being serviced by his number one at the same time - perhaps watching my torment on the big screen while hearing me scream as I would affirm and thank him for my condition as his fuckhole.
The random question that sometimes crept into my awareness presented itself in my agony, "Why don't you hate this man for what he is doing to you - have you no pride?" Then one of my mind exercises prevailed and the thought dissipated. The exercise about pride sprang into my thoughts, "Pride for an object - a slave - comes from how carefully and obediently it follows and obeys its Master's precepts - how well and selflessly it serves, pleasures and accommodates its Owner's needs and requirements." I hated him in the beginning. I remembered how much. But it wasn't there now. Even the question was presenting less, and feeling more improper.
The larger phallus hurt sooo very much. Even the respite of the short strokes near the rectum were difficult - especially knowing they would not last long before the full depth stroke was a possibility and it might even stay buried there for a while. Increasingly what my Master did to me for himself though, focused me on him. The fact that he was receiving pleasure became more and more what my pain was about. I was his toy. I was his fuckhole. He'd even made of me something I never would have tolerated - his full service shit eating toilet. The intensity of his requirements was becoming more and more logically the reason for my thanks. I snorted and sniffed some of my facial coating into my nostrils - smelled, tasted and remembered.
He had just been here. He was naked and stroking himself - taking his pleasure from what he was doing to me. My face was covered with the evidence of it. I hurt. I was crying and screaming from the pain. If left to my own devices I of course would stop the machine and end my suffering. But that was the last thing this was about. It was the last thing any of the Master's uses of me was about. I HAD no more devices. They had been removed. All devices were his now. My creed came into my thoughts and as loud as I was able I cried it out, YOU FIRST MASTER SIR - ALWAYS AND IN ALL THINGS!" I don't remember being removed from the device. I must have passed out.
The drugs continued daily - either pills or shots or both. The shots were never administered in the usual locations - I might be injected in the sensitive rectal skin right next to the pucker of my asshole (now my Master's fuckhole) or in the head of my cock - or maybe inside my lower lip to name just a few of the places. Nick would prepare the contents of the hypodermic, and inject me in the presence of the Master. Or sometimes he injected me after I was tied in bed. Once when I was in the coffin he opened the cock door end pulled my dick out. I felt the needle and the injection - he closed the door and left. Most every day I received something. I HAD changed. I WAS different. In a few short months what my Master was doing to me was indeed turning me into the object he said he would make of me.
It pleased him to inform me of a couple of the things he was injecting into me. Part of the mix was a strong opiate to create an addiction in me for the drug. I thought I was feeling a sense of a need being fulfilled by each injection, and that explained it. He said he had experimented for years, and had come up with what he felt was the best concoction for his particular goals and needs for slave creation. Another part was a strong form of a Sodium Pentothal derivative. There was some Gonadatropin to keep the testosterone production of my balls naturally high and ball size appreciable with all the hormones he was giving me for growth and muscle development. There were others for intensifying focus - for keeping me suggestible and dependent, and still others for other purposes. "So," he said, "Each time Nick sticks that needle in you, there's quite a cocktail of multiple things for you to be thankful for - not to mention the separate injections of the hormones I've chosen as best for MY pleasure and reasons. I don't think you are expressing thanks enough when I have you penetrated in various places and augmented with these chemicals of MY choosing - for MY purposes - and to fulfill MY pleasure and goals concerning MY property - MY slave mind and body. Would you like to say something about that?"
I thought for just a moment and began my apology as always (I learned) identifying myself appropriately, "Your shitface, fuckhole, service instrument is very sorry for disappointing you Master. It has not been thankful enough to you with enough enthusiasm for what you put in its body to pleasure yourself and accomplish your goals and intensions and purposes Master. Your toilet will do better praising you Sir. It thanks you with all this - your - mind and body Sir, for all you do for yourself regarding its use and abuse and programming and everything you insert in this lucky slave, Master." Then I recalled the way Nick gave me that pill on that introductory night as the first example of what was now a matter-of-fact occurrence, "Master the shithead doesn't believe it ever thanked you for the very first pill you had Nick give it Sir. It wants to confess about it Master."
"Yeah - what about it?"
"This fisthole questioned its insertion into its throat and expressed upset to Nick Sir. He reminded me about my promise to you to relax and to be thankful and I was Sir, but I never thanked you for doing what you Did. Thank you very much Master. It's very thankful for everything you do for yourself Sir. Thank you Master for all the times you penetrate the slave's skin and insert what pleases you and helps you accomplish what you want Sir."
The Master's silent reaction was one of a raised eyebrow, which usually seemed to indicate self-satisfaction. I believe he was pleased. It occurred to me I hoped I hadn't gotten Nick in trouble for not reporting the incident as he said he wouldn't. I think things being relegated to the introductory meeting might have been allowed for. I hoped so.
Increasingly Bill was my world and occupied my thought time, and he made sure of it. The pills were given me as would be given to a dog. A clip placed on my nose necessitated mouth breathing. My head would be tipped back. I would always recall that first pill. With my mouth opened wide like a waiting sepulcher, the pill or pills were pushed by fingers into the back of my throat where I used to have a gag reflex now long abated - my mouth closed and my throat massaged to feel my Adams apple bob as I swallowed. Only then would my mouth be opened for inspection and life sustaining breath allowed in the absence of the pills.
Increasingly, outside thoughts - those not pertaining to my position as my Master's slave and property - faded. I was given a series of thirty mind exercises. They were my only reading - and increasing memorization of them was being reinforced. Sometimes I would spend hours at a time sitting plugged on the Master's office floor as he came and went with his business on the computer and phone - reading and committing to memory the mind altering words on the pages. I was more focused than I ever remember being. I knew the drugs had a lot to do with that, as well as how effective the exercises were. When I wasn't reading, often I would be quizzed - sometimes with a question, or perhaps just with the prompt of an exercise's number. I would give just its title and essence, or sometimes a word-for-word recitation of one I'd been memorizing would be required. It was taking time, but the constant exposure to the programming was enabling recitals - sometimes perfect - sometimes with a few words needing addition or correction.
The Master was patient with my mistakes much to my surprise. I suffered plenty for his pleasure, and received punishment for a lot of what seemed minor infractions of his rules and requirements, but not for Mind Exercise related matters. I began to go to sleep with them playing - and spend time in the coffin with a headset closing me off from any sound outside the box. Being mildly claustrophobic, the box was hard at first, but direction to focus only on the Master and my hopes he was comfortable and at ease, began making it easier. Only what seemed to be coming from inside my own head by the use of the ear-covering headset were my guided and insured thoughts. The Master had recordings made that included not only my mind exercises, but his own words interspersed. Nothing existed there in the coffin but my Master's thoughts inside what was now his mind. His slave's body sensations were negated, and in the dark, he alone was my focus. Time became suspended so I don't know how much of it was spent here.
Once I was drifting off. The face door opened and Nick pulled the left side of my lower lip way out wearing a rubber glove to prevent slippage. He put the long needled syringe he was holding to my face for me to see, and gave a sadistic wink and put it in my mouth. He injected me below the tooth line in the tender tissue deep in the bottom of the crevasse. I thought of how gently the dentist did it with her tiny needle, but this needle was big and intended to maximize instead of minimize pain with its insertion. He pushed slowly as I groaned. It felt like it was going to exit under my jaw, before he injected half the ingredients. He withdrew the professional, scary looking, silver implement, and passed it slowly in front of my face letting go of my lip. He took the right side of my lip and pulled it just as painfully forward practically lifting my head with the force. To my further groans, he slowly inserted the cruel needle half way in at the same location as on the other side, and withdrew it, feigning dissatisfaction with its location and shaking his head in the negative for effect. He reinserted it with sadistic delight and pushed even more slowly till this time it did exit below my jaw. He made a "woops," face as if he'd made a mistake, and pulled it back out. It was no mistake. The third time was like the first, and the balance of the contents was ever so slowly injected. He withdrew the needle and closed the face door putting me once more in the dark and tasting some of my own blood.
A moment of outside reality had been realized, and my thoughts about the hot one - the boss' number one - captivated me briefly, but quickly what was so effectively emanating deep inside my mind from the headphones was all there was. Sleep would not come now. I'd been given something to prevent it, and to enhance my focused condition. All manner of thoughts were planted in the space between my ears - now his property. At one point there was even a conversation between Nick and the Master. I heard them talking about me in the box and Nick having injected me, and how I'd be good for the rest of the night. I imagined the Master sucking on his Stogie and blowing the smoke.
I was given the opportunity sometimes to repeat or recite or respond to what was coming from deep inside my head. I was reminded how the mind manipulation - the programming, was now being done inside my Master's play space. What was between my ears was just as much his to fuck and play with, as was the place between my ass cheeks or under my nose, and fucking it is exactly what he said he was doing. It was his to use just like this slave body was his to use. What he was doing was taking control inside here just like he had taken control of my body.
"Everything," the words said deep in my/ his brain, "from the hairs on this slave's head to the toenails on its feet were now the toy and object and property of its Master, and that included the brain now processing the thoughts being implanted as it was being fucked." Then very quietly from the voice came instructions about my Creed, "Say your slave creed. Shout out the words you now live by."
"YOU FIRST MASTER SIR - ALWAYS AND IN ALL THINGS!" came obediently and instantaneously. I heard it sounding muffled outside the headset in the box.
"Ok," the Master's voice seeming to come from inside my head said, "I believe with my help you have come to understand the reality and truth of that. Is that right shitface?"
"YES SIR, MASTER SIR!" was my equally loud response.
"Then it's time to adjust your mantra. Your new credo is, "You ONLY Master Sir - always and in all things." Lets hear it as enthusiastically!" was the order.
"YOU ONLY MASTER SIR - ALWAYS AND IN ALL THINGS!" I shouted out. After a few moments of silence, my own words from my own mouth came to me as though being echoed in the Grand Canyon through the headset and in my mind, "YOU ONLY MASTER SIR - ALWAYS AND IN ALL THINGS - YOU ONLY MASTER SIR - ALWAYS AND IN ALL THINGS - YOU ONLY MASTER SIR - ALWAYS AND IN ALL THINGS."
For a while, my new creed would play, and then given instructions, I would shout it out. The recording would be loud in my ears and come from the center of my mind. If someone were in the room outside, they would only hear me inside the box yelling my revised creed.
The whole night passed without the sensation of time. With the mind altering drugs, and the sensory depravation, and the words fucking and filling my Master's play space, I floated - thought - worshipped - and, when prompted, thanked the Master out loud for fucking what used to be Tom's mind. Sometimes I was required to listen to and repeat some of my many appropriate and demeaning id tags - fuckhole - fuckface - shitface - shithead - toy - toilet mouth - property - object - thing - pig - or some of my qualities - controlled - obedient - unquestioning - acquiescent - useful - fearful - service instrument - sex toy - whipping boy - cock sucker - throat fucker - programmed - selfless - full service toilet - or some of the ways I was treated - fucked - plugged - machine fucked - fisted - tortured - hurt - played with - given artificially maintained erections - denied release - drugged - beaten - spanked - whipped - bound - gagged. After each repetition there was a period of silence I was directed to use to picture and affirm (from experience) how I related to each word...
Knowing his captive audience would wait anxiously for the release of his next movie (with my starring role) and knowing his "star" was (needless to say) captive as well, Bill decided to put the project off and work me a while longer. More drugs - both for more mind manipulation and heavier workouts would be good. Besides he had a few gatherings coming up he wanted to use me as one of the party favors for. There were always potential buyers in the groups to tempt with potential purchases of his various properties. Anything but Nick was always bid potential - myself probably eventually included. He would usually pull in a few fresh ones when a gathering was eminent. Knowing the proclivities and preferences of his clients he was pretty good at selecting things to tempt the pocketbooks of the different ones that would attend. Always - part of the reason for a party was to display wears for potential buyers.
Comments welcome: mackxwayne@hotmail.com
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