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CHAPTER FOUR
Rusty takes me by the collar and practically pulls me off the platform. I almost fall to the floor. "Come, bare boy," he says. He pulls my collar down so I'm leaning over as he walks me out of the office and into a shower room. "You don't even have the fucking right to stand up straight any more, bitch. Gonna give you a new name to match your new hairless identity, something like bareboy' or smootie,' but of course, that will be up to your owner to rename you."
He makes me kneel with my legs spread in a metal shower-like area with a drain in the floor. Next thing I know, he's spraying my junk with ice cold water and I squeal like a stuck pig and jump around trying to get away from the water. Rusty keeps spraying me all over, laughing. "That's right, slaveboy, dance for me!" He just keeps at it. I'm running and screaming and trying to get away from it. It seems like the water is coming at me from all over the place. Suddenly Rusty stops and tosses me a bar of soap. "Soap yourself up, get the soap all over all those nice bare parts that we've shaved the hair off. Clean yourself, good boy, make suds with the water that's on your body. Soap up your armpits soap up your asshole and your balls!"
Then, Goddamn, he sprays me again with the cold water. I'm howling, crawling around, trying to get away from it. He makes a big game out of it. He's laughing his head off as he hits me with the water. He gets it in my eyes and my face and I start choking. Then he's holding my balls and the cold hurts so damn bad! Then for some reason he has mercy on me. All of a sudden the water turns warm. Oh man, it feels so wonderful! "See, boy? Every now and then I give you a little treat, a little reward for you for being such a good boy, He hoses me down. This time I don't fight the water because it feels so good. He gets all the soap off me. Then the water is turned off. My "shower" is finished.
I step out of the shower looking for a towel. "Not gonna waste a clean towel on a slaveboy like you. Use your hands to swipe as much water off your body as you can. After that, you just drip dry the rest." I do the best I can. "That's good enough, boy. Get down again. Crawl back into the office and get back up on the platform. All fours. Hurry! Don't keep them waiting any longer!"
I start crawling back into the office, very much aware of how wet I am still and afraid that Rusty's gonna hit me or even kick me as he struts in behind me. My spirit sinks more deeply into a pit of humiliation. Some inner voice tells me, "you're right where you belong, faggot, so don't fight it any longer."
By the time I get back up on the platform my spirit is completely broken. I start feeling grateful to these men for just taking an interest in me and I'm beginning to hope I don't do anything to disappoint them. I know my purpose: I am there for their pleasure, whatever that may be. Everything that happens to me happens because it's meant to help me realize even more what it is like to be one of their slaves, or fuck, a specimen or piece of merchandise. Whatever. Let it happen.
O'Brien comes over with what just looks like an ordinary rag. He wipes some of the places on my body that are still wet and dripping, including down my groin where there was no hair to catch the water.
"Reach back, boy, spread your cheeks. Show us your shaved asshole." White said this. Then he turns to the Rusty. "Have you decided what to name it yet?"
"Do you have any suggestions?" he asks White.
"Not a man's name or even a boy's. Perhaps a pet name?"
O'Brien speaks up. "Pup?"
"Nah. A lot of men call their boys `pup.' But something I'd call a dog. That would be good."
White chuckles. "Maybe describing what it's good for. "Licker?" "Sucker" "Guzzler?" "That would be a good one. I assume it's going to be guzzling down a lot from men, Rusty, where it's heading.."
"Hmmm. Guzzler. You know something? I like it. Yeah. Guzzler. That's its name."
O'Brien slaps me across my backside. "What's your name, slave?"
I mumble in shame. "Guzzler, Sir."
He hits me again.
"Say it louder. Say it like you mean it. Say it like you're proud that we took the trouble to decide what to fucking call you."
"Guzzler," I say louder. He hits me again. "Guzzler!" I shout it out. "My name is Guzzler, Sir."
White gets up from behind the desk and comes over to my head. He raises my chin with his hand. I look up at him, fearful of what he's going to do, but all he does is speak softly to me.
"Guzzler, let me explain something to you. Consider this your first lesson in how slaves should think. Us men, we use words like my' or mine' to indicate ownership. You're a fucking slave. You own nothing. You've been stripped of everything, and in case you didn't realize it already, you've also been stripped of your former life. You've not going back to what you used to be All that is over now. Look at your situation. You're naked and completely hairless except for what we've allowed you to keep on your head. You own nothing. You will never be allowed to own anything again. Therefore It is inappropriate for you to speak in the first person. You are not a person, Guzzler. You are a possession. A toy. A slave. You don't even own that body up here on the platform. Do you understand?"
"Yes Sir, I do." THWACK! Right across my face. "I?" He shouts out in question as he hits me again. "Do you fucking understand that you do not have the right to use that word either?"
"Yes, Sir, I say, with tears in my eyes. "Um, guzzler understands."
Rusty chimes in, "Or you could simply say the slave' understands. Use the slave' instead of a pronoun. Get it?"
"Yes, Master."
O'Brien chuckles. "it calls White Sir' and you Master.' Knows the pecking order, I see."
Rusty comes over and sticks his fingers inside my nose and pulls my head up that way to look at him. "Call us all Master for now, guzzler. Call all men Master, faggot!"
"Yes, Master," I say, and I realize that I'm actually getting turned on by all this talk. I also realize my nose—wait, the slave's nose—is running after he stuck his fingers in it. It doesn't seem to matter. Soon it's slipping down my lip and into my mouth. It's salty.
All of a sudden I realize that this is entirely right. Here I am, stripped of everything including body hair, mounted on a platform for some business men to inspect me and decide what to do with me as if I'm some kind of acquisition. What could be more fitting for someone like me---or maybe Guzzler should just say, for someone like guzzler---or someTHING like guzzler? Where does it end?
"Let's move on, How well does it take the lash, Rusty?"
"It got a fairly severe birthday spanking not too long ago, back before I cuffed it. What kind of lash are you thinking about? Your choice, Sir."
White goes behind me and inspects my ass closely, doing strange things to my skin with his fingers. He barely touches me with his fingertips as he explores all around my ass and then down to where I was just shaved. Chills are going through me and I have trouble breathing. He slaps me crisply then immediately runs his fingertips over the place where he just hit me and the pain becomes pleasurable.
"We're conditioning you, boy, for your future." O'Brien comes up behind me as well and lightly cracks a riding crop at my ass. White moves in quickly to touch me there. Again it's an oddly pleasurable feeling even in the midst of the pain. "Yes, boy," says Rusty, feel the hurt and feel the pleasure. All the time, boy, hurt and pleasure driving you out of your normal mind so we can turn you into the kind of slave we want you to become."
While he's talking to me the blows from the crop and the caresses continue, everywhere and anywhere. All three men are working this body, White has the crop while Rusty and O'Brien turn the pain into some weird kind of pleasure. I start making these strange noises that I can't seem to control. "What do you want me to be?" I blurt out in the midst of a gasp. The crop just hit me harder than ever before and the fingers quickly followed, pressing themselves into the pain and I get the sensation that whatever is going on back there is claiming my ass . . . it stops for a bit . . . . I moan in disappointment. Fuck, fuck fuck! I didn't want it to stop.
"More, guzzler? Need more?"
I can't believe what comes out of my mouth. "Yes, Sir, please?"
"Please what, Guzzler?"
"MORE please, Master?"
"You want more, boy?"
"yes, Master, please?"
"If i give you more you're gonna get it harder, boy. Are you sure you want it?"
"Yes, Master, please, dammit, please, Sir. hit this slave harder."
"Excellent," says Rusty. "I told you this specimen was a natural."
The blows begin again and I feel like he's lighting fires all over my ass and dammit I'm yearning for it.
"That's right, guzzler. Drink up the pain you begged us for."
Oh holy fucking God what is happening to me?
"That's right, guzzler. You're doing very well. We're proud of you." How amazing is that? White praising me as I'm getting beat, and it makes me so happy it brings tears to my eyes.
"What's happening to me?" I cry out while moving my ass around hoping to catch more touches from the crop.
"You're becoming what we want you to become—a pain slut. You've becoming what we always knew you could be, what we knew you had it in you, guzzler," says Rusty. "I've always known you were a common painpig. But that's not nearly enough. The Master who has claimed you for himself wants a lot more than pain. He wants to break you of every trace of pride and every desire to be anything other than a total piece of trash. So think, guzzler. Think about what's been happening."
I'm so disappointed that it's going to stop that I almost want to beg for more, but then I catch myself. What the fuck are they doing to me? Getting me to beg for more pain? Getting me to beg to be thrashed harder than ever? Where is all this coming from? Why am I hoping that all this IS real, that it's not just part of some wild acted-out scene? Would I really like to be captured and enslaved, or is it all nothing but a big fantasy? And, the biggest question of all is, can I quit this if it turns out to be too much for me? After all, nothing's been negotiated. I thought that was always part of it.
There's a knock on the door. One of them goes to answer it and I hear voices having a quiet conversation. The door is closed again. O'Brien says out loud. "Thornton is ready to sample the slave, to see if it will be what he's looking for."
Once again Rusty reaches over and grabs me by the collar. He pulls me down off the platform and walks me out of the room the same way he walked me to the showers, holding me by the collar so that I'm bent all the way at the waist so my chest and face are parallel to the floor. They open the door and he pulls me out into the main part of the club. I forgot how filthy the floor is and realize that the shower they gave me is just going to go to waste.
Rusty brings me into the center of the room and kicks me behind my legs so that my knees fall to the ground. I hear a new voice speaking to me. It is deep, and it is haunting: "lower your head to the ground, slave. Touch it to the dirt."
I never realized just how disgusting the floor of this place was. I found out later that they hadn't cleaned the floor of this room for over a week because they wanted it to be particularly dreadful. And it was only just beginning. I hear a crack in the air and suddenly my back is lashed with a stinging whip and I react to it by pulling away from it and lowering my chest further down to the ground, right into all the filth.
Someone in a gravelly voice speaks to me and I can hear contempt and impatience in his voice: "I assume you've been taught how to grovel before a superior Man, but it's obvious to me you haven't been adequately trained, queer slave. Get your fucking body closer to the ground, right down into the dirt Let everyone here know that we've claimed you for our use.
That is the only reason i came here tonight. To find out if I can train you to become what I want you to be. It will be a long time before you ever come back here again, a long time before you'll see any of these people again, so let's put on a really good show for them, give them something they'll be talking about for a long time to come, about how the queer boy formerly known as Terry was broken and given a completely new identity. Even the name `guzzler' will sound exalted for you, queer slave. I'll just stick with calling you queer slave for now and let everybody know that's what you are."
And so, that's how it started. I didn't know his name, and I haven't seen anything other than his boots and the bottom part of the leather pants he's wearing. I have to say that the smell was so intoxicating it even overpowered the stink of the ground.
I kept getting distracted from what he was saying to me because the floor was so disgustingly dirty. Usually just our feet and our knees pick up the filth. Groveling like this, it's getting all over me. The next time He spoke to me, it freaked me out. it was like He had been reading my mind!
"Yes, I know it's disgusting down there. I want everyone to see you leaving here covered with the filth and dirt from the floor of this place, wearing it on your body as a sign that you've just become more shameful a slave than anyone who has ever been worked over here. I want them all to remember what a pitifully disgusting sight you were when I took you from them. I want them to forget what your name is and simply refer to you as that queer slave who was dragged out of here covered in filth. That's how I want them to remember you. I want to make sure that every trace of dignity has been totally stripped from you for all time. Then when you understand how absolutely worthless you are, we'll dish out the discipline you deserve and train you to serve the way we want to."
Suddenly he commands me to stand up on my feet, and it was a struggle after being hobbled down there the way I was. I was hoping for a hand to reach out to help me but no one helped me. Everything had grown silent in here. I realize that all eyes were on me finally I managed to stand.
He speaks to me again. "Eyes forward." I realize I can't see him the way he's got me standing. He speaks again. "Blink as seldom as possible. Concentrate on nothing but keeping those eye frozen in place." There were all sorts of emotions tumbling around within me. Sorrow that Rusty and Drew and the others were turning away from me now that I have been given to this Master. Fear, a sense that my whole life was about to change. The thought that I'm nothing but merchandise or property was really getting to me, that it is really hard to be standing here like this just concentrating on not blinking. Why is he doing this to me? Finally, he speaks again. "You can relax your eyes now. You've been a good boy."
Right away tears came to my eyes. Here I am, covered in filth standing here, trembling, knowing that this is a lot more than I ever bargained for, and yet, I've got tears in my eyes because he praised me. He speaks again. "I'm pleased to see those tears. They tell me you know the only good thing you can ever expect to receive is the praise of the man who's using you, that you'll do anything at all to earn even the tiniest bit praise."
He walks around and faces me. "OK, queer slave. Rusty is done with you. Look up and gaze at your new Master, at the man who might want to own you body and soul. Go ahead. Feast your faggot eyes, queer slave. Take your time. Look me up and down."
Write me at subkodak25@gmail.com so I know I should keep posting this story.
I'll send a list of all my stories if you ask me.
I have pics of Rusty and Terry if you want to see them.