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A Slave's Induction
Ch 8 - Training Begins
Nothing I had ever experienced or imagined could have prepared me for this. It was happening so intensely and so fast, I hadn't had time to process it all. But while the man I now knew unmistakably as, "Master" - my owner - walked out of the room leaving me clinging to his desktop, it really began to sink in. I was a prisoner here. I was now the property of this man who had captivated me so from across a crowded room - whom I found so stunningly beautiful - even god-like. He was presuming to determine my present, my future, my fate, and declared himself as rightfully entitled to do so. I was his slave - a toy - merchandise, to do - to - with - and - about, however and whatever he wished. The method by which, and IF I ever left here at all, would be matters for his determination alone now.
"Was this really happening?" My pain and suffering were confirmation of the unavoidable truth that it was. I hurt so in my ass and colon, that only fear of the consequences was keeping me from falling to the floor and writhing. Having not been told otherwise, I remained in place hugging the top of my Master's desk rehashing all his just-spoken words, and my plea to do as he wished with me. I tried to imagine what the pictures and movie he took of me must look like, and remembered his humiliating revelation, "Send out notices to your friends - post on the web."
Nick returned, "Looks like so far so good, shithead," he said, as he uncurled my knuckles still frozen tightly to the edges of the desk, and stood me painfully up, giving my ass a hard smack for good measure as he did so.
"Shithead," I thought to myself. I was being in essence congratulated for passing the boss' critical interview, while being addressed with such a demeaning word, "Could there ever be an identity tag more derogatory - more humiliating - more appropriate - for the one now this piece of Bill's property (who used to be called by a real name), than "Shithead?" Yes there were. I would find them out. I wondered if I would ever hear my given name again or if I would be answering to anything and everything degrading or diminishing they wanted to call me - anything reminding me of my reduced position as an object. "Were these the kinds of thoughts I would be confessing having entertained, that didn't put my Master first - silly inappropriate meanderings that slaves like me were punished for having?"
Nick finished my injections and withdrew the thick needles that normally would have been painful. With all the rest, it was almost unnoticeable. Barely able to walk, he took me downstairs and back to, "the room." I looked at the cage and broke immediately into a cold sweat and froze in place starring at it. I didn't even know Nick had spoken until I got a slap in the face and a repeat of the directive, "Did you hear me? I said get over here!" He yanked on my arm pulling me toward the cot. He backed me up to it and pushed on my chest with one finger. I yelped when I sat down hard on the plug. He gave me another injection - this one in my arm - and told me to lie down. He chained me to the cot that night saying that the Boss wanted me to rest. I recall looking over at the cage thinking how grateful I was, that even as unendurable as my present situation - at least I was lying down - not in that horrible thing.
I thought to myself, "How does he expect me to rest with this thing inside me?" Nick turned out the lights and I heard the door lock behind him. There was just me and the plug, and the excruciating pain, and the dark, and a mind going a mile a minute. Thoughts were foggy - then clear - the decisive words my Master had spoken so casually - my "identity tags," he called them - threats - hatred of the man doing this to me. I tried to hold onto the hatred. I couldn't. There was confusion - then there was clarity. Was I delirious? He was the devil. He was an angel. He was all-powerful. He was my Master - the click of the camera - what those pictures must look like - the video - was there ever such a compromised position - my bubble ass cheeks distorted by the huge plug base - hypo's sticking out of each . Was I everything he had called me? Yes I probably was. Would he make me exactly what he wanted? Yes he likely would. He was so beautiful. He was so terrifying. I drifted as if on a cloud at moments separated from the awful pain - then demented by its intensity. Was I loosing my mind? Perhaps I was just beginning to find it. It was not mine anymore - nor was this body in such pain. "We" had a deal. I'm sorry Master - you first Master - always and in all things. Please help me Sir. I want to please you Master. Even in the blackness - things were going black. No more me Sir - just you. That was my last conscious thought.
Like everything else that happened here, I rested, just as my owner/ Master wanted. I passed completely into unconscious oblivion without even feeling myself slipping. I awoke to a foreign feeling coming from deep inside me and immediately was reminded of my plug. What ever I had been given was wearing off big time. I couldn't tell how long I'd been out. It felt like I might have had a night's sleep or more, but there was no way to be certain. Time was not something who's passing I would ever be privy to again - nor for me, did it matter. The beard growth wouldn't be a dependable gage any more, as it, like the rest, now belonged to someone who could have it removed or let it grow as pleased him. Life felt almost as different as if I were an infant once more experiencing it the first time. I was learning a new way of living, Bill's way. I had no rights any more. The rights I had always enjoyed and taken for granted, were gone. Everything was a "privilege," and done by permission or direction. What I ate - what I said and how I spoke it - when - how long (and if) I slept - how and when I used a toilet - as well as becoming one - how and how much I worked out - how I moved and walked - my grooming - what (if anything at all) I wore - my thinking - all was manipulated, guided, controlled by, and done according to the prescription and programming of, the man who owned me.
Sex was very difficult. Bill made sure of it. Most always I was made to hurt until he or Nick or their associates were through with me. I learned I was about providing sex, not having it. The times I was "just fucked," or that I "just serviced," made me feel astoundingly lucky. Those few and seldom experiences became emotional highs for me.
One of the Master's favorite things was using me, hanging from the ceiling, usually in his bedroom. My hands and feet were secured with wide leather ankle and wrist restraints. Mercifully, the ones for my hands provided a grab for me to hold on to, so that all my weight, wouldn't be hanging on my wrists. Ankles were held wide apart with spreader bars. The short of it, was that after being secured with my bonds, I was hoisted into the air by a winch, my body bent in half, my knees were next to my armpits and what used to be my most private place, my ass hole, was exposed and in plain view. Up above me, all was put together so that there was one attachment point. It allowed me to be swung in any direction or be rotated as easily as spinning a Vegas roulette wheel.
I might be gagged or not. My cock and/or balls might be tied painfully or not. My tits might be clamped and tortured or not. It all depended on the Master's whim. Nick would secure me, and then usually turn out the lights as he left the room. He would notify the Boss that, "The fuckhole was in position whenever he was ready for it." He used those exact words the first time I was hung up. I heard him, because the Boss WAS in fact "ready," and he was at the door as Nick opened it to leave. That was the only time I didn't have to wait. In total darkness, I hung there like meat on the hook. I WAS meat on a hook. The Boss said I was a fuckhole that was able to perform like a human. If anything could affirm that fact in my mind, it was hanging there waiting for His use and pleasure.
Sometimes, like the first time, he would start right in, maybe put some underground porn on the television to watch, and unceremoniously stick his big cock in me to the bone and ride at what ever pace and intensity he fancied at the moment. Sometimes he would acknowledge me, but more often not. He might make a phone call while using me, or fuck me with ferocity. I never had a clue what to expect. I was about as personal as "Blow up Bobby."
One time, after I was in place, he had what seemed a serious phone conversation. He called Nick to come in and remove me before even touching me, "Take it down. I'm not in the mood," were his words, as Nick entered the room. Another time, he got pissed at me for not holding my fuck hole at the correct accommodating height. He pulled out of me and grabbed a belt. He spun me, and every time my ass came around, he gave it a whack - a few times even hitting my exposed and unprotected cock and balls.
After dumping a load in me, he usually had Nick come in and remove me. But sometimes I would continue to hang there for his amusement while he relaxed in bed, either reading, or watching the TV screen, that I was hanging adjacent to. As with the cage - in the beginning - hanging from one attachment point was unsettling. Having no stable points of reference took some getting used to. I'm sure if I hadn't had the luxury of both some sailing and piloting experience, I probably would have been retching from the lack of it. Every once in a while it pleased him to tie me off so that the direction of my visual was only of my Master relaxing in his bed as he read or watched TV. Having him as my fixed point of reference almost made the near unendurable time bearable. Then sometimes he would have Nick install a very large anal hook in my ass and the rope from it tied to his headboard so he could swing me to and fro at his will and leisure - whether violently or gently.
The Boss' reference to 4 months to get me into shape for my debut, as principle in his upcoming movie was 4 months of intensity. I had thought I WAS in "good shape." But with his program of drugs, and lifting, eating, and rest, in 4 months, he would pack on 20 more pounds of solid muscle to my frame. He said he wanted me looking as good as possible, so he was willing to take a chance with heavier drugs and more of them. He was not looking for longevity out of me, he said, as much as a good performance. He was charging a great deal for this movie. He'd never charged as much as he would be this time, and he wanted the best showing possible.
He and Nick, had done much of the work before in the videos, shot in ways and from angles and edited, to keep their identities anonymous. I would be the first "executioner" so-to-speak, who would have a full on - up front recognition factor, for the viewers to make association with, and he was really excited about the new approach. After seeing how my video sales went, he would decide what to do with me - two main options - keeping me on as a house slave, and for use in further projects, or "selling my slave ass," as he put it. Not sure if that meant pimping me and renting "my ass" out, or literally selling me off.
I could not before, have imagined existence knowing I was a disposable item. Now, no imagination was necessary. I was given to understand clearly, and made to accept, that was now the case. The more problem free I was - the greater my usefulness, the higher my chances of being kept around.
One day the Boss had me working out with him. I never lifted alone. Either he or Nick worked me out every time, while they worked out. I was noticing some appreciable changes in my body, and he caught me looking at myself in the mirror. As I saw him in the mirror, he was looking directly at me. I realized he was watching me watching myself, and I turned beet red. "I'm sorry Sir," I said.
His reaction sounded matter-of-fact. Sometimes there would be exchanges that almost felt like something friends would have. Far from how a "friend," would exchange with a friend however, I was always fearfully, "on guard," as to my words being carefully chosen, and appropriate for my position. "Go ahead. Look. What do you see?" he asked.
With only a moments thought and I answered, "Your property Sir."
"And what ABOUT my property, fuckhole?"
"It's changed a lot Sir."
"Think and answer that question again. Carefully." I knew that warning tone and how much it said about the importance of my doing just as he said - being careful.
I DID think, and produced an apology first and then a more appropriate answer. "You have changed it Sir." Quickly I was in gear with recognition of what the Boss was doing to me as his property - both the physical that could be seen, and the mind, which could not. He said he was just starting, and that he intended a lot more of the change I was both feeling and seeing.
"I know u like how I'm making u look. I'd be amazed if you didn't. I don't care if u like something or not. It has no bearing on what happens here." He said it was all right to look at his property, but not to touch. In a moment and with a word, my ability to touch or handle or caress or comfort or scratch myself had been removed, and in a moment my being was clarified in my mind. I would never again see what I was looking at, as "myself."
I had known it in principle, but suddenly it was reality. There was no more "myself" there was no more "self." What I saw in the mirror looking back at me was the Master's. And he didn't want me touching it. He had removed that privilege. It was almost like loosing a friend that used to understand and comfort me. It would become one of the most effective of his tools, as an inescapable confirmation of my property-hood. It gave me an increased hunger for physical contact in any form. The privilege, to touch, feel, or massage the Boss or Nick, became more enjoyable and even more important.
I only knew if it was daytime on the occasions I was exposed to the light outside. I thought it was night on one occasion. Nick raised a black out shade letting in sunlight and it seemed so bright, it dazed me. Sometimes I'd be brought into a room with windows and see the light of day. Then there were the times I was taken to the Boss's roof top deck to be laid out in the sun for my coloring. Other than that, Day or night were the same to me, and I had no way of marking time on my own.
My body grew to accept an irregular schedule and to expect to be drugged for sleep when it was necessary. One time I was awakened believing I had slept the night and that it was morning. I was taken to the boss's bedroom and put into a standing cage. There was little room beyond my fitting in it from belly to backside and shoulder to shoulder. As I stood facing the foot of the master's bed, Nick locked the door behind me. He secured my wrists to cuffs attached to the sides of the cage and walked away with out a word. I watched him strip off the little shorts and jock he was wearing and get on his knees next to the bed facing the door. He put his hands behind him and bowed his head.
In a little while, the boss came in. I always felt a sense of privilege to be in on his personal time, even when it was difficult. Watching him enter his bedchamber and start to undress created that sense. There was no acknowledgement of me, or of Nick, as he stripped the clothes off his formidable frame. Sometimes my hardons entertained him, but no notice was made of it here, now. It was just a fact without meaning. I was hard, because the most beautiful man in the universe had just stripped right in front of me, and it was as if neither me, nor my hard-on existed.
He lay down on the bed on his back, and got comfortable before snapping his fingers. Instantly Nick sprang into position next to him and cuddled up to him like a puppy next to its mother. The Boss's arm pulled him in, till Nick's head was on his chest. As Nick massaged and played with the Boss's genitals, almost in a whisper, I could hear him saying, "Thank you Sir." As they lay there, I experienced a combination of feeling privileged to be seeing what was happening, mixed in with a sense of being a peeping tom, watching something private, that I shouldn't be.
The Boss began to move and Nick reacted in concert. I had seen a choreography in these two, from years of experience with each other, that enabled the Boss to get exactly what he wanted from Nick on many occasions, without having to say a word. Here, I watched an example. As the Master rolled over, Nick got onto his back and as the Boss began to kneel up, Nick's legs went into the air. Nick must have been greased, because the Boss entered him without hesitation. Nick moaned another, "Thank you Sir."
Nick manipulated the Boss's tits while he fucked him slowly, almost tenderly. To my surprise it was more like making love, than I expected. Leisurely, and with Nick looking straight into his eyes, the Boss fucked him with a tenderness of which I wouldn't have thought either of them capable. In a little while, the Boss hollered out, as he shot his thick load into Nick. That part was violent. Then he went perfectly still, which I would learn was because he was pissing him full of his waste. When he pulled out, Nick hopped off the side of the bed, and squatted to eliminate all the cum and piss into a container he pulled from under the bed. When he was through, he wiped himself with his fingers and put them to his mouth to lick off the residue.
He walked in my direction with the container - never acknowledging me with even a glance. He climbed on a stool next to my cage and poured the Boss's piss and cum into a clear reservoir on top of the cage. As I looked up into the bottom of the tank and watched him pouring, it stirred the evident volume of liquid already there. He climbed down and produced what looked like a head harness. He organized and fussed with straps for a moment, and then through the bars of the cage, brought it up to my face. He roughly forced my mouth open by stuffing the attached latex cock head between my lips. The cock gag was an integral part of a chin harness, which, as he pushed it into position, fully encased my lower jaw and face to just under my nostrils. It sealed my mouth up except for a small breathing tube through the middle of the cock with a short protrusion on the outside.
He buckled straps holding the apparatus to my head, and came around to my face and told me to say, "Thank you Sir." When He saw I was able, though barely, to move my jaw to form the unrecognizable syllables, he disappeared behind me again. I felt each strap being re-buckled tightening my mouth around the rubber dick head till it almost hurt. "Say it again," he said, as he came back into view and peered into my soul, his eyes, only inches from mine. This time came only the humming sound of vibrating vocal chords with inconsequential noise, emanating from the breathing hole in the dick, to his obvious satisfaction.
Nick reached up, and quickly, I found out the hole was not for breathing. He pulled down a short length of clear tubing from out of the bottom of the container and attached it to the protrusion sticking out of the rubber dick. He adjusted something that looked like an enema flow click valve, and I began to taste the contents from the small tank on top of my cage. As my mouth slowly filled, I began swallowing. Nick returned to the Master's bed and climbed in next to him, while I watched with my filled piss tube, in the foreground. The Boss was almost asleep already as Nick nestled his rear, spoon fashion, up against the boss's belly and the Boss's big muscled arm maneuvered around him. As Nick departed this world so comfortably for the land of nod, he began a light snore, almost a match to the Boss's deep breathing.
I don't think I ever wanted something the way I wanted at that moment, to be Nick. I stood there silently watching the two beautiful god-men, falling to sleep peacefully like babies, in each other's arms. The Boss rolled over, and Nick followed like his shadow. How innocent they looked at rest, compared to how I knew them in their waking hours. And yet even in their sleep, they caused me agony. Standing, turned into torture. Everything hurt, from not being able to move or change position. I had to keep swallowing the slow and unending flow of urine into my sealed mouth, or drown in it. My bladder became painfully bloated, and it took all I had, to keep myself from pissing all over the floor.
Hour after hour I stood flushing the cocktail of piss and cum, some of it most recently excreted from Nick's rectum. I wondered how many evening's final acts formed the somewhat cloudy collection in the clear tank to which my mouth was attached. I watched the men sleeping blissfully in the dim light of the Master's bedroom. My discomfort turned to anguish as my bladder filled to an unnatural capacity. After what seemed an eternity, I watched Bill's hand go to the top of Nick's head. Immediately, as though he were awake, Nick responded to the lightest touch as his head was pushed down to Bill's crotch. He took his big hard-on into his mouth and nursed on it, while Bill looked asleep on his back. After about a half hour of Nick's expert service, Bill arched his back and grabbed the back of Nick's head. He groaned and bucked and held it in place as he spasmed repeatedly. He was cuming. I knew that feeling, and had passed out from it a few times, before being allowed to breathe.
Nick stayed in place breathless, longer than I would ever have thought possible, without blacking out. When the Boss's body and his hands relaxed, Nick pulled up to breathe, and stayed connected, to milk every drop of Bill into himself. When Bill rolled over, Nick scratched his back as he fell back to sleep. Nick got up, and walked around the bottom of the bed. He checked my piss tube and the emptying container of contents above. He climbed deftly up rungs on the cage rocking it in place, and spit Bill's load into the reservoir, then hopped quietly down and walked out the door. In a little while I thought I smelled coffee. Soon it was verified, when he came back into the room with a cup of it, and a toasted bagel, on a tray with a glass of orange juice, and a linen napkin, and the newspaper. The Boss reacted to the smell by coming to life, and sitting up in his bed. Nick thanked him and set the tray by his side on the night table, and got into position to massage the Boss's feet. In my agony, I watched and tried to imagine what it must be like to know the Boss's kind of life. I couldn't.
When he brought the TV to life, I heard the time on the news program the Master tuned in to. I thought about how neither the time, nor world events, mattered any more. Now, those things were, for me, just meaningless points of information. The Boss luxuriated over his newspaper and foot massage, as he sipped casually on his coffee. The wonderful smell of it, filled the room and my nostrils, both. It conflicted with the taste of repeated mouthfuls of the body fluids I kept flushing down my throat, into what this man termed his personal septic tank, otherwise known as my stomach.
I was fed a diet high in protein for my development, but it was made devoid of taste, as much as could be managed. And from the beginning, not a day went by, that I did not perform as a toilet, and my septic tank stomach did not process some of the Boss's, or his boy Nick's, personal sewage. The Boss liked to cook, but for the times when he didn't feel like it, I was trained to do so for him, by pinches of this and measurements of that. Taste-testing the food, for me was strictly forbidden, however on occasion he'd come in during preparation, and add something to his liking. But recipes and the tantalizing smells and sight of things, were my guides. Nick was often lucky enough to eat the same fare. My intake habits on the other hand, were only to be sure I got proper nutrition to maximize my growth, and to remind me of my lowly status, in this, the Boss's world.
I did a lot of gagging and even retching those first weeks of my new life as slave. I got one shit-laced meal a day, for keeping me mindful. It was eaten in the shower room where the stink wouldn't offend anyone, and I ate it out of a large dog bowl without the use of my hands. I was given 2 weeks to adapt to consuming every morsel and licking the bowl clean without retching. After that, I would have to eat what I'd thrown up, and would be given a time out to think about it. With that as my inspiration, I adapted to getting through the process as prescribed.
Then there were the occasions when a more direct approach was used to affect my humiliation as a full service toilet and living sewer system for the Master's amusement. My introduction was the morning after I had spent that first night standing in the cage, watching the god man and his personal slave sleep. As Bill left the room, he looked up at the reservoir on top of the cage, "Make sure it flushes all of that, and then get it set up. I have to take a dump." Nick opened the click valve all the way on the tubing leading into the cock in my mouth, and left, warning me to finish before he returned.
What I thought, was that the Boss had left, to go take a shit, and I was to be, "set up," per his instruction, for some further suffering. Wondering what it would be, with my belly distended, not knowing how I could hold one more ounce of the waste, I looked up, and watched the cloudy yellow swill disappear, as I sucked it through the huge cock straw in my mouth. I indeed, flushed the container of the rest of its torturous contents, and moaned from the pain not just in my bladder but up in my kidneys as well. The sound even emanated through the tubing from above me in the empty reservoir.
With my eyes closed, I didn't know Nick was back, until I felt him releasing my wrists. I tried to stop moaning, but I couldn't. I tried to apologize, but the chin harness holding the cock in my mouth was too effectual to allow for words. I was in so much pain I couldn't even appreciate his nakedness. Nick worked on releasing the head straps as he looked at me. "Ok," he said almost with sympathy in his voice. Speaking softly with a warning in his voice, he continued, "I'm going to let you piss soon, but you have to be quiet. The Boss isn't going to want to hear you." It was unloosened but he stopped short of removing the chin harness/ cock gag, and looked me in the eye. "Ok?" He said.
When I nodded and stopped hollering, he pulled the device out of my mouth. I could hardly close it, from the soreness of it being held open for so long. Gently he pushed on my lower jaw and encouraged me to close my mouth. He unlocked the cage and led me out of it, and out of the room, and to the shower room. He faced me to the wall, under one of the showerheads, and said some of the best words I ever heard, "You can go now."
I had to piss so bad I almost couldn't, but when it started I didn't feel like it would ever stop. And as it started, thanks, came pouring out of my mouth, "Oh my god! Thank you Sir! Thank you Nick Sir! Thank you Sir!" I couldn't stop peeing and I didn't stop thanking the one who felt right now, like the best friend I had ever known. The pain in my sides began to weaken ever so slightly but it would take a while for it to subside, and the bladder emptying, felt better than I could describe.
When I was empty I fell at Nick's feet and kissed them while still thanking him. He stood there quietly allowing and enjoying it. When he'd had enough, he laid me on my back in the wetness of my own urine. He positioned a rim chair over my face with a closed toilet seat lid, and I could hear him leave the room. I'm not sure how long I was there starring up at the underside of the lid, but I was so glad to be recovering from my bladder stretching, it didn't seem to matter. I felt lucky to be off my feet, and on my back, with an empty bladder. Lucky that is, until the Boss came into the room. He walked over and lifted the lid, straddled me, and sat himself down on the seat.
I don't know what I imagined laying there. I think I was too caught up in my good fortune to be imagining anything. But suddenly, seeing the Boss lift the lid and unceremoniously sit down caught me completely off guard. It happened so fast I didn't even get to appreciate his beautiful hairy ass - before it was so close to my face I couldn't see it. As I felt the warmth of his piss on my chest he spoke, "Good toilets are silent and they always flush everything down," was all he said. It was all he needed to say.
This is what was meant by, getting me, "set up." He hadn't gone to take a shit. The dump he said he needed to take, he was about to take here, and now. I opened my mouth and he took his morning constitutional in it. It took all of about two minutes before he rose up enough to wipe himself with some toilet paper and drop it in the seat opening on me. He stood, cleared his throat, worked up a snotty lunger, and spit it down through the seat opening on my face.
He walked over to a shower across the room and turned it on as he spoke, "A good toilet takes no more than a half hour to flush everything down." He began to whistle and shower himself as I starred up through the open toilet seat with his firm morning shit sticking out of my mouth. "You may need to use your hands. I don't have a problem with that," he said casually. I reached up and stabilized what was sticking out, as I bit into and began chewing what was in my mouth. I breathed through my mouth and I chewed and I swallowed. I psyched myself and tried not to think about it. I just chewed and swallowed and told myself to do a good job Ð and quickly. This was not going to be a "half hour" flush like he spoke of. I didn't think I could live through that. So I breathed through my mouth, held my breath, and chewed and swallowed, and repeated, till it was all gone, except for the taste. So I kept breathing through my open mouth to minimize it.
Through showering, the Boss came over to check on things, and with surprise in his voice, expressed satisfaction, "My goodness," He worked up another lunger and spit it into my open mouth and continued, "not bad."
My response was immediate, "Thank you Sir."
"For what," he asked
"For making me your toilet Sir."
"Ok," he said. "Now close your mouth, get rid of the toilet paper and shower up. As he dried himself the Boss headed for the door, leaving me with his almost unbearable taste in my mouth. And with it closed, and breathing through my nose, I was getting the full effect. "And be sure to scour out that stinking toilet. I don't expect to smell my shit, when u use it to speak my praises or thank me for something." The door slammed before I could say anything.
I got out from under the toilet seat, found the shitty toilet paper clinging to my face and neck and dropped it in a toilet close by. I turned on a shower nozzle and stood under it as I soaped up my mouth and rinsed, and soaped and rinsed, and soaped and rinsed. What would have been a tortuous exercise normally didn't seem so bad, for it helping defuse the taste of shit. I remembered once as a child, having my mouth soaped for swearing, and how awful a memory it was. Here and now, the directive felt merciful more than anything.
Nick entered as I was showering and showed me where to find "toilet-cleaning supplies," he called them. I was familiar where to find the ones for the porcelain toilets in the house, but these were for the one that would now stare back at me when I would see my image in the mirror. He took me to a cabinet and opened the door. He handed me a bushy soft toothbrush and informed me it was my toilet brush, along with some extra strong tasting rinses and pastes. He said he'd be back to test my breath in a while, and left me to my personal "latrine duty."
I had been their urinal from the very first night, an identity tag I was learning to live with, but THIS was the ultimate humiliation. I was now the Master's shit flushing, full service latrine. There was an ultimate dimension to what I had just done for this man, which would do more to cement my place under him, than any other single act. No use, no punishment, no torture, no pain, or time out, would go farther or do more, to graphically confirm his dominion over me, or ownership of my person, than the simple act just now transacted between the supreme Being/ Master/ Boss, and me, as his owned slave property and toilet.
The Boss said my universe put me right in his path that first night, knowing full well what he would do to, and about me. He said it gave me to him outright, knowing there were no pre-conditions. He told me the essence of the gift in words was, "Here is something for your amusement and use. Enjoy it and do with it as you please." Everything I did, said, or even thought, now, were matters for his concern inclusive of my longevity of life or lack thereof. It was all in his hands now. I was conditioned, programmed, and trained, to think of myself as his property. I was a toy for his amusement, a tool for his use, a slave for his mastery, an object for his abuse, and an accessory for his convenience and even a toilet for his waste. My condition was permanent, and irrevocable, and above all, my obedience and acquiescence, were always to be immediate, and without thought or question. He had said it early on, and I came to understand the reality of the mantra, which started out as just words. The Master TRULY WAS, "first always, and in all things," and I found out there was nothing including this - his slave - that was second.
My training in the months leading up to the movie was both as a naked domestic, and a sex object. I cooked and cleaned in the Boss's home. I became the Master's toilet and fuck hole on command, and was plugged and fisted and beaten and tortured at his whim. I was exercised daily, given pills, and stuck with thick needles full of unknown supplementation. I was shown lots of castration video footage, some of it medical, in preparation for the movie. I often wore chastity gear, was always kept horny with no release, and I pissed and shit by permission.
When my presence was not required, I was locked up in the cellar, thankfully only rarely in the hanging cage. Sometimes I was secured spread eagle to the cot, and sometimes locked in a coffin style box, with a trap doors in the lid for access to things like genitals and tits and face. Sometimes lights were left on brightly and sometimes turned off. When they were off, the room was like pitch. My alone time in the cellar was most difficult. If I was awake it seemed eternal, and it made me long to be with Nick or the Boss, or both.
On several occasions when the Boss was away, Nick came down to me, and spent some time with me. Once he let me sleep with him on the cot. I was in chastity gear, but he slipped in behind me and allowed his cock to go between my legs hard as a led pipe. He only moved slightly, probably for fear of cuming, and he wouldn't do that without the Boss's direction. But he felt so amazingly good behind me.
One time when I was in the coffin, I heard him entering the room. He opened the face door and the cock and ball access door. He laid down on the lid and put his face by mine. He kissed me passionately and we felt each other's cocks hardening next to each other. He must have stayed there for an hour before he got up and closed the trap doors and I heard him leave the room. Every time after that, when I was in the box, I dreamed of him coming in to me.
I was punished for the slightest of infractions, and disciplined to remind me of my place. My treatment was not always cruel, but it WAS always with the presumption that THIS is what I was meant for, and always, with the assumption that the Boss was rightful both for taking me, and for what he did to, and required of, me. He made me admit, that if it were not so, I would still have my freedom and be my own person. I would still be thinking and speaking like I wanted, instead of being programmed WHAT to think, and granted speech only as a privilege with conditions. I would still piss and shit whenever I felt like it, rather than asking permission. I would still fuck however I liked, and jerk off at will, in stead of being kept perpetually horny, afraid if I even touched myself I would loose my equipment.
As if being perpetually horny wasn't bad enough, there were times the Boss would inject my cock with a hard on drug and I would spend as many hours of the day as he wanted, unable to go soft. I remembered advertisements about being hard for more than four hours, and seeking medical attention. I would be hard for eight, ten, and twelve hours, or more, for his entertainment. Sometimes a vibrator would be harnessed inside my ass to stimulate my prostate and I would have to carry on as if nothing were happening - do house work, or work out, or on occasion, serve his guests with my big erection preceding me.
I found out my suspicions about Nick's restrictions regarding self-stimulation were right. He, like I, was not allowed to play with himself unless directed to do so. One time, I was lucky enough to be party to a discipline session with Nick. The Boss made me hard and had me fuck Nick while playing with his cock, without either of us having permission to cum. He fought valiantly and long Ð his natural erections waxing and waning, but the Boss's assault by the use of my cock was relentless, and I was not permitted to stop fucking or stroking him. He too, spent long periods dry, and horny, for the Boss's pleasure. Eventually, he was not able to hold back any longer, and he shot a huge load.
I was instructed to "keep it up" till I came, and to do so "inside him." It felt so wrong and so good at the same time. He was in the throws of torturous post orgasmic sensitivity as I kept stroking and fucking him, almost driving him crazy. My balls began to boil like never before. It had been weeks since I was taken and I had not been allowed to cum from the beginning. I let go of his cock, grabbed onto his thighs and pulled, as I thrust into his bowels. I let out a holler, and went rigid pumping, as the Boss warned, "Do not to stop stroking him." I resumed, holding on with one hand and stroking him with the other. I buried myself deeper than I ever remembered being inside a man, and held on for dear life as we both yelled Ð he from post orgasmic torture and me from the long overdue ecstasy of the most intense ejaculation I ever remembered. His cock was almost soft in my hand as I spewed what felt like a gallon of pent up jism into his guts.
I no sooner had pumped my last into him, than the Boss pushed me aside, my raging cock popping out of Nick's beautiful ass. He pulled his belt from its loops with a snapping sound, and began savagely beating Nick on the chest and belly, cock and balls and legs. Only his face was spared. As Nick yelled his apologies at the top of his lungs, and rolled over to into a fetal position to protect himself, the Boss's belt kept raising welt after angry welt on back, sides, ass, arms, wherever he could strike. Nick screamed he was sorry.
It was the first I had seen of Nick being punished. This horny slave and its untouched cock had been used by the Boss to push Nick over the edge, but I could tell from some of the Boss's angry words, this was about more than the orgasm here and now. I would not find out what he had done to enrage the Boss so, for a long time. At first, Nick was angry with me for my part in his humiliation, but the effect long term, was one that would bond him and me. Nick would always be the Boss's "number one," and he would always be over, and in charge of me, and I would always fear Nick, as I feared the Boss, but a kinship of sorts, developed as fellow slaves. It would not become familiar on my part, but there would develop a kind of guarded optimism about Nick, that would help me feel I was not completely alone here.
Comments welcome: mackxwayne@hotmail.com
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