Becoming a Slave, Part 4
I spent Monday packing the rest of my things and recovering from the abuse I'd taken while entertaining my master on Sunday. My only adventure Monday involved dressing in my uniform briefly, still reeking of ass, shit, piss, and cum from my marathon the day before, to withdraw my daily cash limit from my credit cards. I went after dark to minimize my exposure to the normal world.
Tuesday, the movers came. I had orders to beg them for their cum, piss, and shit, and I obeyed. They were obviously disgusted and ignored me, my foul, still unwashed body scarcely covered by my uniform, the only thing I had left to wear--tight, short cutoffs, ripped undershirt, hiking boots, and collar. In fact, my balls hung low against my thigh, sometimes slipping free of the tattered hem thanks to the steel ring that weighed them down day and night. As soon as the movers had emptied my apartment of all but the single box holding the items my master had claimed, I grabbed the box, locked the door behind me, and left. On my way out of town, I headed to a barber shop in a rough section of downtown. Somewhere my uniform and my styling request wouldn't seem too conspicuous. Yeah, right.
My stench was humiliating. The word TOILET and the line running down my nose to my mouth was still slightly visible from Sunday if anyone took the time to investigate the smudge on my face. And the handful of guys--lower class working guys--who sat waiting for a haircut had had plenty of time to do that. They mocked me as I sat in my uniform, my stretched balls now exposed, with my stubbly scalp. They grabbed their crotches and made crude, humiliating comments to me and to each other, occasionally leaning over to mutter something to someone nearby, eliciting broad, wicked grins from everyone who overheard.
At last it was my turn in the barber's chair, so I climbed in and softly told the disgusted older man what I wanted. He made sure to repeat my request at the top of his voice for the benefit of the waiting patrons. "Shave it all? Even the eyebrows?" I nodded silently, staring down at the floor as the snickering broke out. And when it was over, I paid and silently walked to my car, flipped down the so-called vanity mirror in the sun visor and stared. I didn't even look human anymore. I opened the glove compartment and took out the black Sharpie, and wrote SLAVEBOY on my forehead as ordered. And then I began my 14-hour journey.
Becoming a Slave, Part 5
I arrived at my new home about 5:00 am Wednesday morning. I pulled into the driveway of the medium-sized brick rancher, pulling beside a compact Ford pickup truck. I pulled the box of possessions I'd brought my master out with me and went through the gate in the wooden privacy fence to the back yard as I'd been instructed, climbing up onto the deck and kneeling by the back door. I bowed my head and held my hands together behind my back. My heart pounded again. Here I was. After a four day roller coaster of emotion. I had thought my new life had begun on Saturday afternoon as I sat on my bedroom floor covered in shit. That was nothing compared to this.
The pre-dawn air was chilly, even for the middle of summer. My nipples hardened and I shivered, as much in anticipation as from the cold. Since I wore no watch, every minute felt like an hour. He'd told me I had better be in position when he woke up. Eventually, I detected a light go on in a window at one end of the house. A minute or two later, the back door opened and there he stood, beaming down at me. I looked up to take him in for the first time. I'd seen him on cam, sure, but that was nothing compared to real life.
He was taller than I, and incredibly lean. As he stood there in his boxers, they barely clung to his hips, sagging low to reveal the trail of brown hair at his navel and the first few inches of his pubes. He wasn't especially built, but he was so lean his skin drew taut over the muscles in his body. His flat slabs of pecs were lightly covered in hair, which narrowed and bisected his hard, asymmetrical abs. A runner's build, I guess. I knew he worked on a road crew, laying asphalt and fixing potholes. Not lucrative, and certainly a lot different from the white-collar, professional lifestyle I'd left behind. He had a beautiful white smile framed by his brown goatee. His hair was cut short to keep him cool during his job, maybe a quarter of an inch long, but thick like fur on his scalp. His sideburns ran down his face the length of his earlobes. "Hey, slave," he said, still somewhat sleepy. He opened the screen door and I could see his cock swelling.
Without pause, he stepped out onto the cool wood of the deck, not bothering to glance around as the sun brightened the sky from its position just below the horizon. He fished his cock out through the slit in his boxers and pushed it in my face. Still soft, it was 6" long. There was no need for an order. I wanted it anyway. I opened my mouth and he slid inside. I held him on my tongue as he looked down his long, thin torso and smirked. Then his piss started. I swallowed the bitter fluid as he emptied his morning urine down into my belly. He ran his hands over my shorn head, feeling the smooth skin the barber had left behind.
His cock was semi-hard when he finished his last squirt. He disappointed me by yanking it out of my mouth and tucking it away after I swallowed and licked it clean. He turned back to the house. "Get in here, faggot, and bring my stuff." I grabbed the box and followed him inside.
The back door entered onto the kitchen. My first order was to put the box on the floor and strip. I obeyed. I was then ordered to make him eggs, toast, and coffee, which I did. I stood beside him as he sat at the table in the same room, my stomach rumbling in hunger, as he manhandled my stretched nuts. He squeezed them roughly with one hand as he ate, laughing as I flinched and groaned. He was so rough, I had to clasp my hands together behind my back to keep from trying to grab his hands and push them away.
I felt like I was going to puke and almost doubled over in pain.
After he finished, he ordered me to wash dishes while he got dressed. Again, I was disappointed not to be able to service him sexually. He emerged from the bedroom dressed in dirty jeans and a white crew-neck t-shirt. I could tell from the way his package shifted under his jeans he was freeballing again. I suspected then, and soon learned, that he never wore underwear under his jeans. Even with the belt tightly cinched, the jeans hung low on his hips. I was amazed it was even comfortable working like that, having to constantly reach down and pull them back up. And then I realized he probably didn't worry about pulling them back up.
He walked behind me as I stood at the sink and reached around to grab my nipples between his fingers. He dug the nails into them and began to pull and twist. I writhed in front of him, panting and whimpering as I tried to concentrate on rinsing.
"Your keys should get here in today's mail, boy," he said. "And when I get home from work tonight, you're going to lick the sweat and road funk off my body. Then we're going to strip you the rest of the way down and shave you completely."
"Yes, Sir," I answered.
"Then you're going to worship me. I mean, really worship me. I've been saving up my cum since Friday night, and I'm going to give you about a dozen loads. And when you've worn me out and drained me dry, I'm going to straddle your face and feed my hot, stinking shit into your mouth to give you something to suck on while you sleep. That's what you want, ain't it, boy?"
"Yes, Master," I replied huskily, the lust from my own cum denial and the scent of his body and the awareness that I was actually here, with him, combining to kick my hormones into high gear.
"Good boy," he said as he released my aching nipples and took a ball between the thumb and forefinger of each hand. He began to crush them brutally as I rinsed the last item in the sink and set it in the drain to air dry.
"Oh, God," I groaned in pain, leaning on my hands on the edge of the sink and bending over. Doing so thrust my ass back into his crotch.
"Yeah, that's right. I'm your god now, boy. I fucking own you. Now follow me." He let me go and turned down the hall. Across from his bedroom was a small, dark room. It looked like it had been a large linen closet with the shelves for towels and such removed. It was maybe four feet side to side and three feet from the back wall to the door. Inside, on the floor, was a box constructed of lumber and chicken wire, filling the bottom of the room and maybe four feet tall. He reached into his pocket and took out a key, unlocking the padlock at the top of the box. A hinged panel the width of the closet door swung down to the floor. "Get in your room," he ordered. I looked up at him in shock. If I even fit inside the contraption, there would be no way I'd ever get comfortable. He smirked.
"Yes, Master," I answered and knelt. I turned around on my hands and knees and backed into the box. The wire on the floor bit into my kneecaps and palms as I twisted myself to fit in the narrow space. Once I was in position, I had maybe 3" from the top of my back to the wire ceiling. It would be all but impossible to change position from kneeling on all fours, to sit or lie down.
Satisfied I was in my new home, he turned and headed to the kitchen. In a moment, he returned. He tossed a plastic cup inside the cage with me before he swung the panel up and clicked the padlock closed. "If you get thirsty or have to piss, well, it's the same thing." And then he shut the closet door, immersing me in darkness.
My life had begun.
Becoming a Slave, Part 6
In my new home, I was aware of only four sensations. The first was the pain in my palms and kneecaps as the chicken wire lining the floor of my cage bit into them. As expected, there was no way to change position and the best I could do to relieve some of the pressure was to lean against the wall, letting the wire bite into my shoulder and hips instead. I alternated sides, swaying back and forth in the timeless darkness. The second was the stifling heat. There was no air circulation and the heat of the summer grew inside my closet. No air blew in from under the closet door, either, telling me that my master had turned off the air conditioning when he left. I could feel sweat running down my legs and arms from my chest and back, running down my hairless scalp to my hairless eyebrows and nose before dripping to the floor. The third was hunger, gnawing in the pit of my gut because I hadn't been allowed to eat anything since my shit feast Sunday.
The fourth was my brain. I could feel it melting as time immeasurably passed. I had nothing to think about. I spent some minutes or hours analyzing my situation, literally and metaphorically. Figuring out the cage, and how to move in it. Realizing that this was my new life for as long as my master wished it to be, because my own will was coextensive with his. I had nothing but that which he gave me. No possessions. No activity. No thoughts. There was no escape. I had come here on my own. Yes, he had exerted control over me with the pictures I'd taken, but, after all, I had taken them. Willingly. I had emailed them to him willingly. And all he had done was use them to ensure that I did everything I'd told him I wanted to do anyway.
And so I could feel sections of my brain just turning off for want of use. My existence became a mindless program of leaning against one wall, then the other. Feeling sweat run and drip. I did piss once, reaching around the floor for the cup, finding it, pressing it up around the CB3000, and releasing into it. And, instinctively without conscious thought, pressing the heavy, warm cup to my lips and gulping at the bitter liquid.
I fell into a trance of semi-consciousness. The darkness, heat, and inactivity--mental and physical--combined with the sleepiness from having driven all through the night. So I heard nothing until the closet door opened and light exploded in my eyes. I clenched them shut and rubbed them as the padlock rattled and the panel screeched to the floor. I could immediately smell the body odor on him, the dried sweat caked on him from his day of working asphalt in the hot, summer, Southwestern sun. Instantly, I bolted from the cage and fell to my master's feet, kissing his filthy boots, worshiping him, thanking him for my release.
"Yeah, that's a good faggot," he murmured above me. "A good, eager slave boy thanking his master." He indulged me as I kissed his boots, starting to lick the nasty road dust from them with broad strokes of my tongue. After I'd replaced every millimeter of dirt and grime with fresh, gleaming spit, I looked up to him from my hand and knees. His eyes were lidded, glazed over with lust. His hard cock was tenting his jeans, unrestrained by any underwear, and a large stain of precum ran down his thigh.
"Get in here, boy," he said huskily as he turned and walked toward the living room. I followed, crawling on my tender hands and knees. He sat on the sofa and ordered me to untie his boots and pull them off. As I did, the stench of his unwashed feet filled the room. His socks were drenched with sweat. I did what was only natural. I lowered my face to them and began lapping at the salty stink. I sealed my lips around his cotton-wrapped toes one at a time and sucked the moisture from the material before digging between them and then lapping up and down the soles of his feet.
"Fuck yeah," he moaned as I worked. Eventually, he ordered me to pull the socks off with my teeth, and once I did, I buried my face into his uncovered foot flesh, licking, tasting, exploring, worshiping my filthy master. Alleviating the wear of the day. Massaging his tired feet with my tongue.
Once he was satisfied that I'd defunked his feet, he stood and peeled off the rest of his clothes. I marveled again at his body as the muscles rippled under his tight skin. He tossed the clothes, his t-shirt now a grungy gray instead of its former gleaming white and ringed with dried sweat on the back, collar, and pits, onto the floor beside me. His 9" cock was fully hard and looked huge as it pointed up past his navel, drizzling prefuck down its shaft and over his full, low-hanging ball sack. He lay down on the floor and ordered me to keep going. And so I began feasting on his body, beginning with his hairy shins. The taste and smell was intoxicating. The texture of the hair on my tongue was pleasantly abrasive. At least at first. Soon it left my tongue raw and each lick became agony. But I worked on, up each leg, passing by his crotch on his instruction, then up his abs and chest. Gently sucking each nipple. Burying my snout into each pit and deliberatively cleaning the funk there, as if separating each pit hair from the rest, licking it clean, and moving on to the next.
After I licked away the last of the grime on his neck, he rolled over and I repeated the process in reverse, starting from the top and working down. He let me wash his ass checks but ordered me to leave his crack and hole alone for now. Once I'd made my way back down to the soles of his feet again, he ordered me to go get my envelope from the kitchen table where he'd thrown the mail. He ordered me to bring a large bowl from the cabinet over the counter, too. I crawled into the kitchen and looked up on the table, and sure enough, there on top of the rest of his mail was the padded brown envelope I'd sent him containing the keys to my collar, dildo harness, and CB3000. I plucked it up, then stood and retrieved the bowl from the cabinet. I knelt and crawled back, dropping the envelope in the bowl and pushing it with my face.
My master had returned to the sofa now, still naked and hard, stretched out and relaxing with his feet up on the coffee table. I felt my mouth watering as I saw that dripping cock jutting up from his lap, despite all the spit I'd lost licking his filthy body clean only a moment before. I handed him the bowl and the envelope. He checked the postmark to ensure I'd mailed it on Saturday, then ripped the envelope open. The three little packages fell out. He told me he'd check the serial numbers on the dollar bills--the ones I'd shown him before taping each key inside to prove I hadn't unlocked myself outside his presence--later. He handed me the one for my dildo harness.
"Get that thing out of you, 'cause I want to fuck your ass. Squat over this bowl and shit out everything you've got inside you. While you're doing that, you can lick the plug clean for me so I can see how much you like eating shit now since you practiced so much on Sunday."
"Yes, Master," I answered. Pulling the plug out felt like removing a telephone pole from my ass. It had been locked inside me since Saturday, non-stop, my excrement building up behind it. I was horrified to see the shit encasing it as I held it up to my face.
"Clean it, boy," my master said sternly. Cringing, I raised it to my tongue and began licking. I struggling not to gag as I sucked on my fecal popsicle. He handed me the bowl and told me to start shitting. He wanted to watch me taking shit into my mouth while pushing shit out of my ass. And, as much as I hated it, nature demanded that I obey. My hole, stretched for days around the dildo, couldn't withstand the amassed bulk inside my bowels. And as I licked and sucked the dildo, tasting the same shit that dropped into the waiting bowel and filled the air with its scent, I realized that part of what I was expelling now was the re-digested shit of the twelve men who had fed me on Sunday. The thought nearly made me puke, but I struggled to maintain control for my master.
"Damn, you are one seriously fucked up faggot," he said, sneering at me as I obeyed him. He ordered me to smile, and I bared my shit-covered teeth for him, twisting up my shit-smeared lips. When the dildo was spotless, he took it from me and threw it on the coffee table. He asked me if I was finished evacuating my colon yet, and I said I was. He ordered me on my hands and knees, with my head hanging over the bowl I'd nearly filled. "I want you to smell that nasty mess while I fuck you for the first time, boy," he said, taking his position behind me. And he fucked me, dry, with nothing but the shit residue still ringing my ass for lube.
He fucked hard, using all 9" of cock, slamming his crotch against my cheeks as his massive balls swung back between his legs and forward to slap against my own sore, weighted orbs. Even after days of shit had stretched my guts to capacity, he felt huge inside me.
He held my hips in his hands firmly so that the impact of his fucking wouldn't topple me face-first into the bowl full of feces only inches under my nose.
I couldn't escape the scent and prayed inside that he wouldn't make me eat it. Not the crap my body had made from the other men's crap I had already eaten once. But it was inevitable.
"Get your face lower," he ordered. I shifted from my palms to my elbows and lower arms, craning my neck backwards to keep my head out of the steaming bowl. But he would have none of that. He took his hands from my hips and used on to push my face into the bowl and the other to slap my upturned ass. He never broke stride with his fucking. "Munch those turds, faggot!" he demanded. "I want to see you eat your own fucking shit while I fuck you!"
And at that moment, my utter hopelessness, my absolute abandonment to my new life, caught up with me. It was the instant he broke me forever and irreparably. I began to cry. Hard, deep, tearful sobs welled up and poured out of me. It never phased him. As I began babbling senselessly, he simply shoved my face deep into the pile of shit in the bowl and continued fucking me, his hands alternating holding my bald head and slapping my ass, his balls slapping my balls beneath us, and his cock rampaging inside my ass, reaming my hole and taking its pleasure from the soft, hot, clinging lining of my chute. He fucked me and I began eating the shit packed around my face. My transformation was complete. The lust for his body, which had gotten me into this situation, had combined with the resignation to my fate, which had made me comply with his orders to move to him. And these had combined now with realization--realization that it was all very real. That what had seemed like a good idea in the fever of lust online had now become undeniable reality. Inescapable reality. My will and desire was meaningless. I was his object, to do only what he demanded and all that he demanded. My thoughts would not even be my own, because the futility of thinking them would only create frustration, and frustration would interfere with my obedience and service. So each bite I took of the slimy messy my tears made in the bowl, with my master's thick cock pounding my ass, was a surrender.
After he unloaded in my ass, he pulled out and made me suck the shit and cum from his cock. Of course, my own shit-covered face smeared his crotch and thighs as he pulled my nose into his thick, rank-smelling pubes and pissed, but he didn't care. He wouldn't have to clean it up. He rose and led me outside, giving me a cursory, cold shower with the garden hose, cleaning my body and rinsing my mouth. And then I crawled to him and licked off the mess I'd made on him.
Becoming a Slave, Epilogue
Five days a week, the alarm clock wakes me at 5:00 in the morning. The backlight has been removed, so it casts no light in my room. I cannot read the time. I turn off the alarm. I spit the key to the padlock out from under my tongue where it has been stored for the night. I unlock my cage from the inside and pull the string that unlatches the door to my room. There is no doorknob in the inside. The door swings open when I push on the door to my cage.
I crawl out to my master's bedroom, where he sleeps undisturbed by the alarm. My knees and palms are so calloused from crawling that I no longer notice the difference between the bare hardwood floor and the chicken wire lining the bottom of my room. I climb under my master's blanket and wrap my lips around his cock. I suck it until it hardens and he wakes. I deep throat him, smelling the funk of his pubes. He farts under the blanket and the gas has nowhere to go but into my nose. I breathe deeply now.
After he cums, I hold his softening cock in my mouth and he gives me his piss. Then I bathe his groin with my tongue, licking away any sweat or funk on his cock, his balls, where his crotch meets his thighs, and down into his crack. I roll over onto my back and he kneels over me, sitting on my face. He feeds me his morning shit. Some guys read the paper when they shit. My master stretches and slaps and squeezes my balls. They hang more than halfway to my knees now, when I kneel. Sometimes my master makes me carry them inside my ass. Sometimes he fucks me with them inside there.
After he finishes emptying his bowels and I have eaten his ass spotless, my master climbs off the bed and dresses for work. He takes an old pair of grungy jeans from a drawer and pulls them over his bony lower body and takes a fresh, white t-shirt from the drawer and pulls it over his bony upper body. I crawl beside him as we move to the kitchen. I make him breakfast and amuse him while he eats. Usually, this means taking off my CB3000 and stroking my instant hard on. He does not let me cum. I have not cum in seven months. I merely fist my cock until I feel the cum approach then jerk my hand to my balls and squeeze hard until the sensation passes. After so long I barely have to run a finger along my cum tube to bring myself to the edge and I spend most of breakfast crushing my nuts now. My cock never completely softens and always oozes precum behind me as I crawl.
After my master finishes breakfast, I plunge my cock and balls into a bowl of iced water to get small enough to fit back inside the CB3000. After he puts it on, he takes off the steel weight ring around my balls and adds some weight. Although he doesn't have free weights, he has a lot of those circular weights with the hole in the middle. He pulls my balls through the hole and then locks the steel weight ring back into place. It acts like a washer so the weights don't fall off my balls and I can't even pull them off if I wanted to. I'm up to twelve pounds on my balls now.
After my slave cock is locked away and my balls are properly weighted, I wash the dishes while he brushes his teeth, then kneel back down and crawl to my room. He locks me inside and takes the key with him. In addition to the alarm clock, my plastic cup sits on the floor of my room inside the cage with me. I use it to collect my piss and drink it while my master is at work. My master allows me to piss in the back yard when he is home, but I have to squat like a bitch dog to go. I squat like a dog to shit, too, and then he sprays me with the hose to clean me.
After my master comes home, I polish his boots and clean his body with my tongue. He takes the weights off so they don't hit him as I move along his body, but the steel weight ring always goes right back on. My master fucks me dry after he is clean and I clean his cock and take his after-work piss. Then I do my house chores, like making his dinner and washing his laundry. At dinner, I get to drink as much water as I want to keep my kidneys working. I drink lots of piss after all and I need something to rinse out my body. My master lets me eat from a dog bowl while he eats, too. I usually have tuna fish but I get dog food if I have fucked up doing my chores.
After dinner, my master watches tv. I continue doing chores and when I am finished, I kneel between his legs in front of the sofa and soak his cock in my mouth. Sometimes he pisses some more. Sometimes he gets hard and grabs my head, fucking me on his cock until he cums again. My master can cum a lot and his loads are always big. When he is ready for bed, I follow him to his bedroom and he gives me the key to my cage. Then he fucks me. Usually I ride his cock as he lays back in bed. I let him doze off after he goes soft, then slip down to clean him and cover him in his sheet or blanket. And then I put the key in its place under my tongue and go back to my room, setting my alarm before I allow myself to sleep.
Weekends are never routine. He always has something special for me. The only thing that never changes is that we shower together Sunday night before bed. I wash his body with soap and water, and he takes off the CB3000 and steel weight ring so I can clean and shave my cock and balls. I shave all the hair on my body. I am completely smooth now, everywhere, from my scalp to my toes. I also have two barbell piercings in my nipples and his initials branded into my left ass cheek.
If you want to know more about my weekend adventures, or more about how my master trained me, email us. He loves to humiliate me by making me write these stories because I cry when I am forced to remember my old life and he loves the comments other guys write about them.