his story is an original work. It should not be reposted or reproduced in whole or in part without the author's consent. Copyright 2020 by Jeff Hamby. All rights reserved.
Warning: This story contains sexual acts between adult males If you do not enjoy this type of material, or if it is illegal in your country or place of residence, please stop reading immediately. This story is not in any way an accurate depiction of reality, and any relation to real persons or acts are unintentional. This story is fiction.
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The Cockpig
Chapter 4
That first weekend I fucked the faggot a lot. Pretty much the entire time he was with me he had a load of my cum inside him, either deep up his ass or filling his belly. I made sure to keep a good bit of it on his face, too. I wanted him to smell it constantly, to know it was there at all times, an ever-present reminder of what he was used for and his main purpose in life -- being a man's cumdump.
He was supposed to head home Sunday morning, but I still had some training in mind for the pussyboy. I woke up early with my usual piss hardon tenting the sheets. The pussyboy was sleeping soundly on the floor next to the bed. Not that he had any choice, of course: I'd put a tight, locking ball stretcher around his useless nuts, then chained them to the leg of the bed. Just enough chain to keep him in place, but not enough for him to go anywhere. I wanted to reinforce in his little cum-drenched brain that he was property, controlled even when he slept. Apparently, he was so tired from being used that he was actually able to sleep on the hard floor, more likely from exhaustion than anything else.
I grabbed the keys from the night stand and unlocked the chain, then jerked on it hard, waking the pussyboy up abruptly as his nuts were yanked. It's a great way for a faggot to wake up: with a man casually inflicting pain, suffering from the first moment, knowing that's how its day will continue if its owner so desires.
Once the cunt was awake, I reeled in the chain until he climbed on the bed. I put him to work licking my erection. I think he realized it was about to go in his ass, because he slobbered on it a lot, trying to get it very wet so it wouldn't tear his hole when I fucked him. I hate using lube. Dry fucking a faggot can be so much more satisfying. I love to make pigs squeal, and that's a great way to do it. When you've got a cock the size of mine, though, you have to be careful not to damage the property, especially one as new and inexperienced as this bitch. That's why I usually go for some throat lube when I fuck.
I reached down and grabbed the pussyboy's tits and pulled him up and on to my cock. I just loved the look on his face as he impaled himself on my rod, trying to ease it in slowly, working hard to accommodate the mass of flesh inside him. During those early days, he always tried to get it to slide in slowly. Obviously, that couldn't be allowed. Once he was positioned just right and trying to relax on to my cock, just when it was positioned to be stretching his sphincter the most, the time that required him to relax the most to get in it, I pinched his tits really hard. Got a squeal every time. He'd also clinch his asshole around my cock nice and tight, his body trying to force the invader back out. That's when I'd thrust my hips into him, ramming my cock home, holding his body in place with my grip on his nipples. That didn't get a squeal. That always got a gasp, sometimes a scream, all of it music to my ears. The faggot would go completely rigid as he was impaled. Suddenly, the cock he'd been trying to ease through his anal ring was buried deep in his guts, way up in that second sphincter at the far end of his rectum.
Some faggots really love getting a cock up their ass. They love being fucked by a man. You can tell from the look on their face when it's happening, a look of pure ecstasy. Not my cockpig, though. Not then, not even now. His look is completely different. I'm sure he gets some pleasure from it, but the look of agony on his sweet young face has never changed from the first time I fucked him until now. Regardless of whose cock is in his hole, his expression is always one of pain, mixed with something in his eyes that says, "I hate this. I need this. I deserve it."
I made the pussyboy ride my cock slowly for a while, forcing himself up and down on it. I liked having gravity help get my cock deeper inside his body. By now I'd managed to stretch his hole out to perfectly fit my cock like it was tailor-made for me. But I also had other plans, so I finally let go of his tits and grabbed his legs. I spun him around facing away from me, not bothering to remove my cock from his hole. Ever seen a faggot have a big, thick cock rotated inside him? It stretches the hole in unique ways, adding a new level of pain to the fucking. It made the pussyboy gasp and squeal, which just made my cock throb in his ass all the more. Once I had him positioned, I used my cock and hips to shove him forward until his head was off the edge of the bed and his ass was up in the air. He was gripping the side of the bed, trying to keep from falling, but I had a firm grip on his hips. As tight as his hole was hugging my cock, I probably could have held him there with just my dick. I rammed him good, giving his hole one of the hardest fuckings of the entire weekend. The pussyboy was crying and squealing from the pounding I was giving his guts, until I finally filled him with another load of my cum.
I held the pussyboy in place after I came, waiting for my cock to soften some. As soon as it did, I released my morning piss deep inside him, giving him an enema of my own personal fluid. When he realized what was happening, the faggot began to pant and whine like a wounded puppy. He'd grown prepared in the last few days for me to use his mouth as my urinal, but apparently it never occurred to the stupid bitch I could use his ass that way as well. I always have a full bladder first thing in the morning, so I really put a lot of piss up his hole. When I was finished, I slowly pulled my cock out until only the head was inside his hole.
"Not a drop, bitch. Don't you lose one fucking drop of that piss, especially not on my bed," I warned.
The faggot clenched his ass the best he could after the coring out I'd just given him. After I pulled my cock out completely, I ordered him to stay like a good dog while I got a nice large butt plug. A big fat one, just perfect for sealing up his hole and keeping all my piss and cum inside him. I allowed him to spit on the plug before I shoved it in, since I was feeling generous.
Once he was securely plugged, I ordered the bitch on to the floor where he belonged. To his credit, I didn't have to tell him what to do: he leaned in and started cleaning my cock, licking off the piss, cum and ass slime. He even licked my balls for good measure, making sure to clean off any ball sweat which had accumulated while I slept. I watched his face carefully so I could see when the cramps started. It took a little while, but when they hit, it was easy to see.
"Time for breakfast, faggot. Coffee and a cheese omelet. Get busy," I said, snapping my fingers. He crawled away towards the kitchen, his little drain still hard as a rock. The view as he crawled away was exquisite -- that small, perfect, pale ass of his, still showing red marks from my fingers where I'd held on to him as I fucked him; the base of that big plug spreading his cheeks apart, and his stretched nuts dangling and swinging as he crawled. Not putting him back in the chastity cage yet had definitely been a good idea.
After I threw on some shorts and a shirt, I followed the faggot down to the kitchen. He was cooking my breakfast, occasionally groaning and gripping his belly as the cramps twisted his guts. He was hopping back and forth from one foot to the other, trying to hold everything inside him. Now and then I could actually hear my piss sloshing around inside him. It was so amusing I decided to leave him that way until after breakfast. Besides, it was great training for the faggot. It clearly communicated the message I wanted to send -- my pleasure, needs, and desires are paramount; your suffering means nothing. I wanted him to fully grasp the fact that, no matter how badly he needed to empty his bowels, it was nothing compared to the importance of making me a nice breakfast and allowing me to enjoy it in peace.
While I ate, the pussyboy cleaned my feet and sucked my toes, not just because I enjoy it, but because I wanted his ass high in the air, so that all that piss inside him sloshed around good. The cramps were really getting to him. I could tell from the high-pitched whining noises he kept making.
"One more sound from you, fuckhole, and I'd adding a full enema bag to what's already inside you. Then you go in the cage. Plugged," I told him, barely interrupting my breakfast. Silence. Just the sound of him slobbering on my toes. He was even crying silently. His training was clearly taking hold.
After breakfast, I grabbed a leash and attached it to the faggot, then led him out to the back yard, to the spot where I'd made him do his business. He was rocking from knee to knee, anxious for me to pull the plug. The cramps and his desperation had outweighed his shame at last. Perfect.
"Well, faggot? Do you need to do your business? Need to piss and shit?" I asked, holding his leash in my hand.
"Oh, yes Sir! Please, Sir! It hurts so bad, Sir! Please, please, please Sir!" he begged.
"No fag," I replied. "If you're going to shit like an animal, beg like one."
Reinforcement of status and role. It's essential to training a cockpig.
The fag immediately bent down and starting licking my feet, whining like a dog that wants to go out, while I got my phone out. I finally reached over and snatched the plug out of his hole, then gave him permission to release what was inside of him. I have some wonderful video of him squatting there like a beast, my piss, cum and his own waste flowing out of his ass, a look of blissful relief on his face, mixed with a deep blush of shame.
Ordinarily, I'd never let a faggot waste a load of my cum and piss like that. But it was important to train the pussyboy that I controlled his body and his most private bodily functions; that he had no privacy, even for something like this. It was more important than anything else to have him here, pissing and shitting in the yard on the end of a leash, observed and supervised by a real man. There would be time for the other stuff later. This was vital to reshaping the bitch's mind and self-image. Training like this carved away years of social programming, replacing it with an imprint of his new, truer existence, like a brand in his mind which he could never remove nor hide, even from himself.
When he was done, I hosed the fuckboy off, then left him outside on his leash to dry. We were approaching time for him to leave. I retrieved his chastity cage from the basement, then brought the bitch inside. He knelt in the living room floor while I filled a metal mixing bowl with ice, then added some water and brought it back with me.
I knew he was horny. He'd been in that cage for a month, and the only time he'd cum was the first evening with me, when he spontaneously shot his load while I whipped his virgin hole with my belt. Other than that, nothing. Not even a wet dream. I'd made the pussyboy keep careful track of each frustrated erection and report the number to me at the end of each day when we talked, along with any wet dreams he'd had. This exercise kept him constantly aware of his little drain being locked away, as if the cage didn't do a good enough job of that. It also helped to remind him daily of what he had lost, what was no longer an option for him. See, a lot of men, when they lock a faggot in chastity, they just leave them like that. Problem is, the bitch quickly becomes accustomed to the cage. After a month or so, he gets so used to being horny all the time, it becomes the new normal. Chastity loses some of its effectiveness -- the longing for release goes away, and the burning need becomes more of a dull ache he gets used to and begins to cope with, then ignore. I don't allow that, of course. You can't, not if you are working to reshape a faggot's mind as well as behavior.
I went over to the front door where I keep my shoes and boots. I chose a nice heavy pair of combat boots, the pair I like wearing the most. Since the faggot still had the ball stretcher locked on his nuts, I figured they should be put to good use.
"Stand up and spread your legs, fuckhole," I ordered. Once he was properly positioned, I tied my boots to his nuts. "Not completely useless anymore, are they, pig?" I smirked. Once they were securely attached, I dropped them, jerking his balls hard and eliciting another squeal and groan from the fag.
"Now, fuckhole, we're going to play a little game," I said, handing him the bowl of ice water. "I'm going to stroke that little drain between its legs. Why? Because its mine and I fucking choose to, that's why. However, it doesn't have permission to cum. It will not cum under any circumstances, is that clear, cumdump?"
He nodded his head, fear in his eyes. We both knew what a challenge this would be for the pussyboy. At his age, those balls fill up fast, and the need to cum, when it hits, burns red hot. Control was never his strong point, anyway. Before I made him lock himself up, he came twice a day without fail, sometimes more. His balls had never been this full before, and any relief he'd gotten from his spontaneous orgasm that first night had faded away. I probably could have gotten him to shoot with just a couple of strokes if that was what I wanted.
"If it cums, we're done. Forever, faggot. I'll beat its ass until it can hardly walk, then dump it out at its car and never speak to it again. I have zero use for fags that put their own pleasure above my orders. Got it, pissbreath?"
"Yes, Sir, it understands," he said, practically a whisper.
I grabbed the lube from the coffee table, and put a big glob in my hand. "Now, fuckhole, if it thinks it might cum, it will use that bowl of ice water to stop itself. It better pull out of my hand and soak its drain until the feeling passes, got it?" He nodded. I grabbed his little nub, which was still hard as steel. These young fags, they are always so horny, their drains standing at attention. I slowly began to stroke him, giving special attention to the head of his nub, where it is most sensitive. The faggot didn't have much meat between his legs, but that didn't matter. It wasn't good for anything anyway. I like a faggot with a small drain. All those nerve endings packed so close together makes them extra sensitive, just perfect for torture. Plus, it saved me time working to shrink it down. With faggots that have big drains, it can be great training to keep them locked away without erection until they begin to lose size permanently, while always reminding them they are becoming even less nominally male that they already were. Really fucks with their heads in the best possible way.
I stroked him exactly four times before he pulled away and plunged his little nub into the ice water. Must have stung like hell from the sound he made. Freezing cold water isn't conducive to an erection, that's for sure. Still, it took him about two minutes of icing his dicklet before he was able to present it to me again safely. He was so adorable, biting his lip, swaying from foot to foot as I stroked him back to erection, each move making my boots swing and stretch his balls more.
We did this for about half an hour. Edging him, bringing him right to the point of orgasm, but then denying him. I wanted those balls throbbing like never before, swollen and blue with unspent cum. The perfect condition for the faggot's two-hour drive home.
I finally made him leave his drain in the ice water until he was fully soft, I removed my boots and the ball stretcher, then put the chastity cage back on him. The first time it was locked on, I made him do it on Skype. Psychologically, I wanted him to know he'd done this to himself, even if it was on my order. As he got progressively hornier, and his burning need for release grew and turned to desperation, I wanted him to remember he was responsible for his condition, that he chose this. Now, I had a different message for him as I personally clicked the lock in place: this is my property, and I do with it whatever I want.
Once he was locked up again, I reattached his leash and plugged his hole with the butt plug he'd worn on the drive down from his place. I led him back outside. I needed to piss again, and he needed a souvenir for the long ride home. I had him drink some of my piss, so he'd have the taste of it lingering in his mouth, but most of it I used to hose him down good, especially his hair and face. I wanted his car to be filled with the smell of my piss. I was training him as my urinal, and I wanted him to spend those two hours smelling like one. With luck, his roommate would be home when he arrived, stinking like a men's restroom, his ass plugged, dressed like a slut with his chastity cage profiling through his spandex shorts. There is nothing like being exposed to your best friend for what you really are to change a faggot's self-image for good.
Once enough piss dripped off the bitch that he wouldn't contaminate my car too much, I grabbed his leash and led him over to the trunk. He looked stunned when I ordered him to crawl in.
"I don't need a toilet stinking up my car, pissbreath," I explained. I wish I had a picture of the look on his face as I was shutting the trunk.
I drove him back to the shopping center where he'd parked a few days before, his car right near the front of the lot, next to the busy roadway. I made sure to park so the trunk would be in full view of both the road and the traffic in and out of the lot. Slaves can't be shy. Shyness has to be trained out of them step by step. I grabbed the fag's tiny Spandex underwear and flip flops from the front floorboard where he'd left them on the ride to my house. When I opened the trunk and the sunlight hit the pussyboy, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He squealed and started hyperventilating, covering his little drain and cage in case anyone could see him. The stench of piss coming off of him was powerful. I tossed the shorts to him.
"Get dressed, bootlicker. Time to go." He squirmed around until he got into the skintight Spandex, then crawled out of the trunk. I could see people driving by staring at him, and I'm sure he saw them, too. He did another one of those full body blushes I loved so much, standing there in full view of the road and the busy shopping center, naked except for a padlocked leather slave collar, a pair of very small Spandex underwear which showed off every curve of his ass, and some flip flops. The padlock and outline of his chastity cage were both clearly visible. He looked exactly like what he was: a faggot fuckhole. Obviously, I took my time unlocking his collar. I wanted to give him ample time to see the decent people doing their grocery shopping staring at him. As soon as his collar was unlocked, I left him standing there while I unlocked the console and retrieved his cell phone, wallet, and car keys.
"Show your appreciation for my time and training, cunt. Kiss my feet and say goodbye," I ordered.
He stared at me for a second, like he couldn't believe I'd make him do such a thing in such a public place. I glared right back at him, drilling my gaze into those deep blue puppy dog eyes of his, making sure he could see I was completely serious, that I expected obedience without question. He dropped his gaze, blushed again even deeper, then sank to his knees right there in the parking lot. The little fuckhole started kissing my boots and thanking me for training him.
I finally dropped his keys next to his head. "It will text me when it arrives home." With that, I turned and got in my car and drove off, leaving the faggot on his knees nearly naked next to the road.
I'm sure it was a long and unpleasant ride home for the faggot. That's exactly what I intended. He couldn't even stop to get a drink to wash the taste of my piss out of his mouth, since he reeked of it and had no other clothes with him.
It was time for the faggot's final test. The big one. The one that mattered the most. This one, however, he had to take alone. This one took place completely in his own head. And it began with that long drive back home, stinking of my piss, sore inside and out from my abuse, his well-fucked hole plugged, his nub locked away and his balls sore, swollen, and aching for release. What happened next was critical to his training, and would help determine the course of the rest of his life. But it all had to happen in his mind, starting with that long drive where he contemplated what had happened to him and decided what it meant.
He texted me when he arrived home. I told him to strip, right then, and give me a video Skype call. I wanted him fresh from the drive, still reeking of my piss. Once we were connected, I made him display his hole so I could make sure he was still plugged, which he was. I asked if his roommate was home. The faggot blushed again and hung his head. He was, it seemed, and the pussyboy had made a mad dash to his bedroom without explaining his appearance. He told he didn't know what he would tell Cody (that was his roommate and best friend), but he'd think of something. I suggested he tell him the truth, and he blushed even deeper than before. Then I laid it out for the faggot.
"Listen closely, cumdump. This is the last time we are going to talk for a while. You've got some thinking to do, and some decisions to make. You've seen what I'm like. You've got a good taste of what serving me means, and it only gets more intense from here, fuckhole. So, you have to decide if this is what you really want or not. Only you know what's inside you. You are the only one that can figure out what you need most. You can stay there and live that nothing life you've got, and take whatever life hands you; or, you can go for what you say you really want, what you keep telling me you crave so badly -- you can become my property. Like we've discussed, that's all you'll ever be to me: property. No limits. No rights. No choices. If you decide to belong to me, that's the last choice you'll get to make. Ever. Understand me, pig?"
He nodded. "Yes, Sir."
"Good. You have a lot of soul-searching to do, cumdump, and an important decision to make. I won't accept half measures, nor anything less than full and total commitment. So, take your time. As long as you need. If you decide to commit, though, that's it. It's done and final." I paused, letting him digest that. "If you decide you want me to, I'll send you the key to the chastity cage. I'll overnight it to you, fag. You can remove it and go back to jerking your little nub all you want. If you choose that, I'll send you a box so you can ship the cage back to me. We'll be done. If you decide you don't want to commit, we are done. You'll never hear from me again, and you can continue to pretend you are a normal human, trying to convince everyone you are a man. We will always know differently though, won't be pissbreath?"
He hung his head. "Yes, Sir, we will."
"OK, cunt. That's it. Don't contact me again until you've made up your mind one way or the other. Dismissed." With that, I hung up.
See, this is the critical part. The physical transformation of a slave is the easy part. True transformation takes place internally, as the faggot comes to the slow and complete realization that being a subhuman slave isn't something he wants, it's something he simply is. Something that is an inherent part of him which can't be denied any longer. It's a tough thing for a cockpig to accept, this concept that it is truly inferior, truly born to serve. Once a faggot really grasps that, finally comes to terms with it, you'd be amazed as how much relief he experiences. Happiness comes from fulfilling one's true calling, and for a born cockpig, that means serving real men and worshiping cock, no matter what that requires. That's where my little ginger faggot was at, mentally wrestling with those concepts and his own internal identity.
For me, this is the toughest part as well. There is nothing I can do to make it happen. I'd laid all the groundwork needed to complete the faggot's transformation. He had to find the rest within himself. He had to make the commitment willingly, even beg for it. I don't have any interest in slaves that have to be captured or forced. I want the real faggots, the ones that are born with the need for cock, for degradation, for abuse. I felt the little ginger bitch was a perfect candidate. The question was, did he have the courage to live his truth or not?
A week passed with no word. I began to wonder about the pussyboy. He hadn't asked for the key to the cage, though, which was a good sign.
I figured he would break quickly. A week should have been about right for him. I was wrong, which is pretty rare. It took three weeks before he texted me.
"PLEASE SIR OWN IT FOREVER."
Which was exactly what I intended to do.
Thank you to all who have written to me with feedback about this story! You interest inspires me.
Please contact me at jeffhamby1025@gmail.com