Jeff decided that he had enough Internet information for now. He shut down his computer and gave himself some time to think. Once his thoughts organized themselves, he made several decisions. The first was to rearrange the apartment to reflect the new order of things.
He started in the living room where a couch, a padded recliner chair, a coffee table and a flat screen TV were the main pieces. The couch sat opposite the TV so that Jeff and Sam could sit side by side while playing video games or watching sports, reserving the comfortable chair for visitors. Jeff muscled the couch to the side, swapping its place with the chair and leaving plenty of floor space next to the recliner. From now on, Jeff would sit in the big chair and Sam would kneel on the floor.
Next Jeff went into Sam's bedroom. The bed was a single, with a mattress and a box spring inside a metal frame. Jeff pulled the mattress off the bed and onto the floor. Then he propped the frame up against a wall with the box spring inside it. Having grown up on a Wyoming ranch, Jeff was handy with tools and kept them in his room. It took some effort, but when he finished the bed frame was firmly fixed to the wall and the baseboard with the box spring nailed inside the frame. He stripped the mattress bare, taking the pillow for his own use and dumping the bed linens into the laundry hamper. (He chuckled as he remembered who was going to be doing all the laundry from now on.)
Jeff turned his attention to Sam's dresser drawers and closet. He took all of Sam's underwear, cowboy hats and best shirts for himself. A slave doesn't need underwear, he thought to himself with a smile, or nice shirts either, and from now on Sam's head would only wear baseball caps. Then Jeff went into the shared bathroom, collected Sam's deodorant and cologne, and pitched them into the kitchen garbage can. The kitchen table was small, square and wooden, a student special, cheap but sturdy with two equally sturdy wooden chairs. Jeff kept one chair in the kitchen for himself, which made the table for his use alone. He moved the other chair into his bedroom to use as a bondage seat for Sam. That chair, and the one in front of Sam's bedroom study desk, would be the only places where Jeff would allow him to sit.
Jeff still had time for a run to the hardware store. Money was no problem since Sam would (unwillingly) reimburse him. He commandeered a sales clerk and deftly purchased chains, ropes, padlocks, eye bolts and other useful items to take back to the basement. Once he returned home, he spent some time setting things up, then set the alarm for 11:40 p.m. and laid down for a nap. This looked to be a long night and he wanted to be rested up for it.
While Jeff was messing with Sam's living quarters, the Colonel was messing with Sam's head, starting with a leather head harness that included a removable blindfold and a plastic penis gag. He stood behind the boy, brought the apparatus over the newly clipped head and positioned the gag in front of Sam's mouth. When the cowboy hesitated to open up, the officer reached around from the back, pinched Sam's nostrils together and shoved the plastic penis into the now opened mouth. A few hard tugs and the harness was firmly buckled into place.
The Colonel stuck the flogger in his right rear jeans pocket, bent down behind the standing slaveboy and freed both ankles from the table legs. Then the officer stood back up, put his right hand on Sam's right shoulder blade and wrapped his left hand around to cover Sam's left pectoral. Pushing hard with both hands, he turned the neck-braced nude slave around, then guided him through the living room and kitchen, then down the basement stairs.
Sam could feel the cooler basement air and gave a little shudder, partly from the drop in temperature but mostly from his realization of his plight. From the moment the coin dropped, he had no time to reflect on, think through or react to his predicament. At the outset, while Sam was still stunned by the outcome of the coin toss, the Colonel had shoved him into handcuffs, his best friend shoved him to the floor and his mouth was shoved into by its very first cock. He was stripped of his clothes, his sensory stimuli, his body hair and almost all the hair on his head. He was pushed, prodded, manhandled, restrained, shut off from his senses and treated like a piece of meat. He was flogged heavily everywhere on his backside from just below his neck down to just above his knees. The only words his captor allowed him to speak so far were thanks for having beaten him like a dog, just before his mouth was forcibly filled with an artificial cock.
Now, as the Colonel forced him to walk blindfolded into the basement, Sam finally had a chance to think about his circumstance. He knew he was tough, he always had been, but this happened so fast and so thoroughly that he lost the handle on his manhood before he even knew it. Any chance to fight back, to escape, to resist was gone forever and he knew it. His only hope (and every slave always deceives himself with hope) was to bear down, take whatever the Colonel threw at him, and rely on his best buddy Jeff to let him get back to normal after this horrible night was over. Yes, said Sam to himself, I will man up, survive this sadistic asshole and then Jeff will make everything all right again. And with that thought, the college kid took hold of himself, stopped his body shudders and stood tall in his neck brace.
Sam had no idea about the layout of the Colonel's basement other than to figure that it was the same size as the main floor of the house. Sam guessed that he was being taken into a dungeon area to be tied up spreadeagle for the promised frontside flogging. He guessed wrong, at least for now. He felt the officer stop him, then push against the back of his knees, forcing him to kneel on a surface that was hard and cold. Maybe it was a shower stall. Next the Colonel forced Sam's harnessed head to the floor and chained it to the drainage cover. The officer kicked the kid's legs apart, then reached down with a plastic store-bought enema bottle. The act of sticking the nozzle into Sam's anus forced his asshole to pucker up convulsively. With his hands taped, his arms braced and his head harness fastened to the shower floor, the slave in training could do nothing but moan into the penis gag as he felt the liquid push into his colon.
Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. Three times the Colonel squeezed a small enema bottle's contents into Sam's helpless guts. Three times the Colonel unchained the head harness from the floor, forced the boy onto a seatless toilet, and massaged his bloated belly until he discharged all he could. Twice he rechained the slave to the concrete floor. After the third discharge the Colonel stood the boy up, bent him over and wiped his ass clean. Then the officer turned the student around and guided him out of the bathroom and into another room.
There Sam finally obtained release from the neck brace, not by getting free but by exchanging one bondage for another. The Colonel positioned the college kid underneath a square archway with hooks screwed into all four corners and chains fastened to each. The officer started by kicking the boy's legs apart. Then the Colonel connected a chain to both ankle cuffs, preventing Sam's legs from moving any farther apart. Next the Master clipped a chain from from the lefthand corner to Sam's left ankle chain and one from the righthand corner to the right ankle. All three chains were stretched taut, holding the boy's legs tightly still.
The Colonel fixed a ball stretcher to Sam's shaved scrotum, clipped a chain to the hook underneath the stretcher, and connected the chain to the middle of the middle ankle chain. The weight of the steel links pulled Sam's balls down uncomfortably. Then the Master pulled on the chain dangling from the upper righthand archway corner, released Sam's right hand from the neck brace, locked a leather ankle cuff to that wrist and connected the cuff to the chain, stretching Sam's right arm up and out. The Colonel repeated that action with Sam's left wrist and arm.
So now Sam was finally free from the neck brace but tightly stretched out in a standing spreadeagle. The Colonel stood in front of his captive and unbuckled the head harness, pulling the penis gag out of the boy's mouth and unsnapping the blindfold. As Sam blinked his eyes against the light, the Colonel pulled the flogger out of his jeans pocket and prepared to flog the slaveboy's shaved chest.
Until now, Sam had been on a nonverbal head trip. As though throwing a switch, the Colonel changed the scene from silence to screams. The stern officer stood in front of the blinking boy, grabbed his neck with a strong hand, and said: "Listen carefully, boy. You will count each stroke with a 'Sir' before and after each number. If you lose the count or fail to say 'Sir' the count starts all over again. Do you understand my order, boy?"
Sam's eyes stopped blinking, both eyes fixed with fear on this dominating male in his face with a hand around his throat. He swallowed hard and responded, "Sir, yes, sir!"
"Good boy," said the Colonel, stepping back and swinging the flogger through the air.
Whack! "Sir, one, sir!"
Whack! "Sir, two, sir!"
Whack! "Sir, three, sir!"
With each whack Sam's body shuddered in pain and his brain reacted by shutting down. He lost count at fourteen, then he forgot to say "Sir" at eight. "Focus, Sam, focus," he reminded himself. He concentrated completely on the words, grimacing through the pain. Somewhere around thirty or so his brain crossed into a zone. For the second time that night his endorphins kicked in and he became a zonked out slave on a natural high. The Colonel saw the transformation in triumph. This slave was down and done, with only the details left to fill in.
Red marks crisscrossed the newly shaven chest. Sweat dripped from the newly shaven armpits and ran down the rib lines. The Colonel stopped flogging and stuck the flogger back into his jeans pocket. Sam's head was rolled slightly back, his brain enshrouded in a fog of pain and desire. The Colonel slapped the boy in the face, snapping him out of his reverie and getting his full attention.
"Who are you?" the officer asked.
"Sir, I am Sam, sir," answered the kid.
Slap! The boy's head reeled, coming back to stare in disbelief at the Colonel.
"Wrong answer, boy. Try again. Who are you?
Sam swallowed his fear and said, "Sir, I am a slave, sir."
The officer suppressed a smile and asked, "Who owns you, slave?"
"Sir, you own me, sir."
Slap! "Wrong answer, slave. I am simply your trainer. Who owns you, slave?"
Sam thought a moment. Then reality crashed into his pain-addled brain. "Oh my God," he thought, "Jeff owns me! I am Jeff's slave. God help me, I am Jeff's slave."
The Colonel saw the realization pass across the boy's face like a cloud passing across the sun. Then came the answer he was waiting for.
"Sir, Jeff owns me."
The Colonel stuck his face right up to the beaten cowboy and said, "Repeat that, slave."
"Sir, Jeff owns me."
Out of nowhere, and outside the slave's line of vision, the Colonel's balled fist whammed into the boy's exposed gut. "That is MASTER Jeff to you, slave. Now repeat it."
"Damn that hurt!" thought Sam. His legs regained their balance to ease the strain on his arms.
"Sir, Master Jeff owns me, sir." And there it was: the simple truth that changed his life forever.
Sam did not know it, but with that statement his training entered a whole new stage. To the battered and bewildered cowboy, what followed just seemed like more pain. It actually had a different purpose: to acclimate him to his new reduced status. The Colonel started by displaying a pile of ordinary wooden clothespins and a leather paddle about eight inches long. He clamped a clothespin on the slave's right nipple, then paddled his right inner thigh three times hard while the trainee counted each stroke as instructed: "Sir, one, sir, sir, two, sir, sir, three, sir." The next pin went on the left nipple followed by three paddlings to the left inner thigh and the same repetitive count.
The Colonel alternated from right to left and back again, affixing clothespins to the bottom of Sam's well shaped pecs, along the front of his deep armpits and then in a ring encircling his defined abs. Sam's focus was diverted by the mantra of "sir, one, sir, sir, two, sir, sir, three, sir" to where he quickly lost count of how many pins were pinching his skin. The cumulative effect soon overcame the individual sensations, with each new pin adding to a general wave of pain. Meanwhile, his sensative inner thighs were hurting so bad that his legs had difficulty standing up. And, with each backswing of the paddle, the leather hit the ball stretcher chain, giving a yank to Sam's outstretched balls.
When Sam had what felt like a hundred clothespins on him (but actually was fewer than fifty), the Colonel stood up straight, stepped back and pulled the flogger out of his rear pocket. It took Sam a moment (but only a moment) to comprehend what was about to happen. "Sir," he whimpered," please ...." Before he could say anything else, he heard the officer say "Scream all you want, slave, the louder the better." And with that, the Colonel swung the flogger hard and repeatedly, flailing the slave boy's frontside back and forth, clothespins flying everywhere, the basement walls rebounding with Sam's unanswered involuntary screams. He kept screaming long after all the pins were gone and the flogging had stopped. He opened his eyes,watery with tears, and looked around him. Clothespins were all over the floor. The Colonel was staring at him, the flogger no longer in view.
"Why is your dick so hard, slave?"
Sam looked down in shame and disbelief. His cock was jutting straight out, rigid with excitement. "What does this mean?" he thought. "What is happening to me? When will Jeff show up and get me out of this mess?"