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I regret that this chapter took so long to develop and publish. This is a story sent in a place where enslavement is legal. It is a psychological expose of enslavement. This story attempts to explain BDSM without sexualization as its end goal, but as a training and breaking tool, therefore it is different than most stories. There is immense satisfaction in sadism and masochism as events in themselves, this story attempts to share these joys for both the Master and the slave.
Mav Chapter 2
While the hot late August sun beat down on the trio standing in the university dorm parking lot, Sam and his dad Dr. Mark wondered, looking with disgust and amazement at the unconscious yet moaning quivering fag jock Mav. What was he dreaming of, was it his former jock star self or was he having a nightmare about his present situation, his enslavement and inevitable tumble into the worthless depth of the faggot they knew he was born to be?
Mav could not yet understand why this was happening to him. Still unknown to him, his dad had kept Mav's dark truth a secret till his dad's best friend Dr. Mark discovered the truth about Mav. He held this truth over Mav's dad in ways Mav could never dream but would soon find out. Today was the final payment for his long silence, owning Mav. The legal document enslaving him to Dr. Mark's son Sam, his former rival and best friend whom he grew up with, and Dr. Mark, his dad's best friend was stuffed inside Mav's large box of high school trophies, medals, and awards sitting on Mav's front car seat. He was not given time to read it, but later, when his dad finally arrived, the reason for his enslaving him would become horribly apparent to Mav. He would read it out loud while Sam, his new owner, used each and every trophy, medal, and award plaque to hurt Mav's beautiful teen body. But that would not be till tomorrow, this was still today, the longest day of Mav's life as owned property.
I wish you could see Mav huddled on the ground, this high school's BMOC, this accomplished blond haired, swimmer body built proud athlete, this high school scholar with the killer smile, all the girls favorite fuck stud, now stomped into the ground as no more than slave property. Mav was dreaming that by this time today, having moved into his dorm he would be hanging with his many athletic friends, knocking down some cool brews, maybe even scoring his first hot college pussy. As Sam and Dr. Mark stared down at him, they felt frustration that could not reduce him to sub-human, to a mindless work animal slave, but they could not. The law prescribed that the enslaved who were in the top 1% of their class be able to contribute to the society, and because Mav was smart the government demanded that brilliant slaves get an academic education to help the state, but abuse, degrade, even torture him, this they can and would allow with impunity.
Mav's college social life was over, his straight life was over, his jock life was over, he would serve as a towel boy in the locker room to his former jock mates, he would be trained as a serving slave for life. It was his destiny; he was born for this. Sam pressed the dirty sole of his cowboy boot onto the dreamy sleeping face of his former best friend and rubbed the dirt off the bottom. Small puddles of dirt filled Mav's closed eyes. His dad looked so very proud of his slave owning young son. When Mav opened his eyes in a matter of moments Dr. Sam would make use to hold Mav's eyelids open allowing all the boot dirt to fall into his worthless eyes. He smiled as he knew he and his son would get a laugh out of that. It is more than you deserve he thought and pointed his booted toe at the sleeping hunk and kicked him hard to awaken him.
A serving slave for life meant this: Mav, the former perfectly straight teen, the former loving boyfriend of his high school's prom queen would now only satisfy men for life. Mav, the former beloved son of a mom long dead would never receive comfort or care in his life. Mav, the good, moral, honest eagle boy scout who would be made to serve in the most debased ways. Mav, that former person now struggling to awake on the hot, sticky parking lot asphalt, beaten, kicked, debased, pissed soaked was now no more than Mav the faggot.
For just a bit Dr. Mark, who had been Mav doctor since he was born, and his son Sam, who was Mav true rival yet also his constant companion best friend since they were born, let Mav awaken on his own, giggling at him as he went in and out of consciousness, high fiving each other at Mav's panting beath, pushing him with their boots making him rock slowly back and forth on the sticky hot pissed soaked dorm parking lot pavement. Then, when Dr. Sam knew Mav was more conscious than not, he slammed himself down the jock's rock-hard chest knocking the wind out of him and with his thumb and index finger pulled open his eye lids allowing the boot dirt to attack Mav's sensitive pupils. Mav made a high-pitched giggling sound, then a low moan.
Sam leaned over the slave and after his dad had removed his fingers slapped Mav back and forth chastising him for being a sissy and moaning. Mav began to beg, "help me, oh God, somebody please help me. My eyes. I can't see. My eyes.
"Son," Dr. Sam said mockingly, "is this how you treat your slave?" Instinctively Sam wiped out his uncut thick man-cock and pissed into Mav's eyes demanding he hold his lids open so he could "be nice" and wash out the boot dirt. This gave father and son immense pleasure. "I have been waiting for this for 18 years," Dr. Mark said to his son Sam. "Me too dad. It was way too hard sometimes to keep pretending that we were just buddies who were also rivals when all the time I knew he was a born slave faggot, and I was his better."
In Mav's mind, in his current fevered perception of himself in the world there was such a strange, agitated silence. He heard words but could not make out what they were or meant. He spoke to himself inside his pain, "this is all a nightmare, this is just a bad dream, wake up."
He could hear the gentle sound of the hot wind moving the tree leaves, a dry grating rustle, and somewhere far off a bird chirping, lost, a seeking, lone plaintive sound, yet around his all was threatening stillness messed up with a throbbing headache rankled by some chatter being spoken above him. He could not understand what they were saying. He just shuttered each time a cowboy boot point was playfully pressed, pointed, or pocked into some part of his body. He just hurt too much to comprehend.
Without warning a large bottle of water was poured by Sam over his head and into his eyes, clearing it enough for him to recognize his new reality. Strangely he moved his arm up to look at his watch, why he did this he did not know, time was no longer his to own, control or even consider. Sam noticed the expensive sports watch glimmer in the strong burning Texas sun, and he ruthlessly pulled it off of Mav's wrist scraping his skin, little, tiny rivulets of blood began to form on Mav's wrist and hand. "Damn boy, I forgot about this watch, from the championship game you won for us. Yes, here it says, `player of the year,' well not anymore!" Dropping the expensive watch to the asphalt, calling out to his dad, "Watch this dad," he caused his boot heel to stomp and grind the watch till it was no more than bits and pieces. "Well champ, I see you are not the champion, just bits and pieces of junk crushed under my boot heal."
(Mav narrates)
Suddenly, from the still distance a deep commanding surefooted voice ordered me to stand up.
"Get up pig, there is work to be done slave boy!" Both father and son were suddenly gently, almost playfully using their sharp pointed toes of their cowboy booted large feet poking me along my chest, pressing into my stomach, pressing the outline of my cock and balls, then up and down my legs to nudge me to stand up.
Knowing instinctively that it was wise to obey, feeling strange that I was accepting their gentle poking as kindness, they were not really hurting me just now, so I was grateful, I accepted their kindness, the kindness of sadists which is mocking ridiculed more than concern, an objectification more than comforting recognition of suffering. I pushed myself up onto my knees, and then wobbled onto my legs, up onto my trembling sneaker clad feet. My toes were twisted onto each other inside my convers high tops. I could not get them to relax. I had to hold onto their truck to support my quivering legs. Unintentionally turning my back to my tormentors. Not a wise thing to do!
Dr. Mark, Sam's dad, grabbed the back of my beaten tenderized shoulder squeezing, pressing deeply with his massive strong hand. He was a doctor, he knew where, when, and how to hurt the human body. "Quite slave," he called, "Remember I am your doctor, let me check you out." And the laughter as he pinched my flesh deeply, without care, squeezing hard into my red welted and purple bruised shoulder. He turned me to face both him and his son playfully slapping my pecks back and forth till he had my nipples taunt and my consciousness full awake. "You are worthless scum, never turn your back to a Man!"
"Here is the plan, boy. You are going to unload your new owner's stuff first and carry it up to his dorm room. You are going to be my son's human mule. This will take many grueling trips. We will use all parts of your body to haul Sam's belongings into his dorm room, even your mouth and teeth, even your low hanging balls and long skinned foreskin, these can carry things too you know, and they will carry things. A slave's body should be totally useful, never idle. After this is done, we will come back here to your car, place all your worthless belongings, which are no longer yours on the parking lot floor, sort through the ones we want and discard which will be most of your useless worthless stuff. Then we will watch you destroy all that we think is worthless, break down and crush all your past, then chuck it into the garbage bins. What we do allow you to keep will be ours. Your entire past, your hopes, dreams, comforts, necessities are all over, as is your choice for your future. We are going to take extraordinary joy, real satisfaction in seeing you dump your whole life into that black dumpster and throw all your past dreams and future hopes away."
"Damn dad, this will be so hysterical to watch, we might bust a gut laughing at Mav while he is doing this, can't wait."
"I am sure we will Sam, he has become nothing more than a joke son, from a jock to a joke, but right now you come first, so Mav, slave boy, jock hole, shit for brains, you are gonna' move your new owner's stuff inside his dorm room which he is allowing you to stay in, mostly in a cage full of gravel and sand. I am sure your sunburned and whipped body will enjoy sleeping in that grating mixture."
I moaned.
"Moving Sam's belongings is a straightforward process, simple enough even for a dumb ass jock like you but knowing how your dumb brain works we will guide you every step of the way donkey boy."
Sam, grinning from ear to ear took two large wide cloth movers' belts from the backseat of his red truck, then he bent Mav over the side of his truck, almost making Mav fall over, saying with a smirk, "see, we are here to help you. I am strapping onto you these two belts. You will use them to support the suitcases, trunks and boxes and weights destined for my dorm room. For the first time as owned property you will be useful. Feel proud slave-shit, feel proud!" They both snickered in glee.
"Pull that large suitcase of mine out of the back of my truck, that's it, that weighs 80 lbs. now sling it over your back, now bend way over like the jack ass you are, like my new donkey carrying a heavy load, that's right, yes, good boy, now hold it there, yes just like that." Sam fastens the mover's belt around the suitcase and Mav's body.
Mav was bent over parallel to the floor, a suitcase weighing at least 80 lbs. precariously balanced on his suntanned bruised shirtless back. "Now, pick up the footlocker and hold it hard against your pecks and titties. I am going to tie this strap to fasten this 80 lbs. footlocker to your front then you will walk bent over donkey style from my truck to the dorm door, then up the stairs, 6 flights, no elevator for a donkey, and bring them into my dorm room. Now, present proudly your donkey self to dad and me." No hands, just balance and use of your worthless body to make sure my luggage never falls onto the floor you human donkey. Remember, never touch my stuff unless I give you permission donkey."
Father and son both spontaneously laughed. "Donkey, that's so perfect, from teen jock to human animal. He's a donkey."
This took some time for Mav to get right, to find both the strength and the balance necessary to hold, carry and walk bent over with such a disproportionate load, a suitcase on his back and a square footlocker in his arms. He wanted to use his hands and several times he touched the footlocker or reached around to reposition the suitcase on his back hoping they would not notice, but then did.
After taking some steps, thinking he had obscured the use of his hands, he heard the command to stop. Hanging over, his face parallel with the asphalt Mav began to tremble. Sam leaned over mockingly becoming parallel with him, he used the tips of his fingers gently to caress the side of Mav's muscular handsome cheek. Whispering into his ear, "I count three times the donkey used its useless hands to touch my belongings. I think that is true, so nod your head donkey if you agree." Mav full of fear and anxiety nodded yes. "I see. Dad, what do you think?"
Dr. Mark delighted in bullying; this is when he felt most alive. "I say, let the punishment fit the crime." Sam thought for a moment, then retrieved from this truck two 20 lbs. dumbbells. They were black and shiny and glistened in the blazing afternoon sun. "Arms out!" Mav was an accomplished gymnast with muscular string arms.
Kicking Mav in the shin because he did not extend his muscular arms as straight or a quickly as Master Sam wanted or expected. "Straight arms, full out, taught, and rigid! I knew watching you work out in gymnastics class all that muscular bulk and balance would come in handy one day, and here we are. Mav stretched out his arms almost definitely saying, `I can do this.' Good, now open your hand, grab the dumbbell, squeeze hold and keep your disgusting arms extended parallel to the ground till you have deposited my luggage in my dorm room, and I give you permission to lower them."
Now Sam was bent over, a large sticky leather suitcase strapped to his sunburning naked back peeling his tender skin, and a metal black footlocker heating up in the sweltering sun, pressed into his pecks, scraping tits, and chest strapped tight, and now his arms were extended holding dumbbells in each. This was impossible to maintain, and he looked the fool.
Mav could not take time for himself, never to rest without permission or even slow down to adjust. Sam's new life for Mav was one of immediate obedience, not personal indulgence.
Dr. Mark notices Mav's hesitant gate, taking time to find his way to the dorm entrance, he grinned enjoying the slave's hesitancy and suffering, but this could not go unnoticed or unpunished.
Dr. Mark face had a wicked smirked, enjoying Mav's struggling. As Mav took tiny step by step ahead, Dr. Mark began to lecture him, "From now on when you are ordered to work you never waste our time. You move and act, you obey without thinking immediately. Time belongs to us now, everything you have, are, will be, can be, now it all belongs to us, so no more wasting our time, no more dawdling, when we say jump, you jump as high as the sky, when we say walk, you walk as fast as you can, when we say get this or go over there, you don't walk, you fuckin' run. Time belongs to us, and we will never let you waste our precious time, you worthless piece of donkey jock shit!
Sam chimed in yelling, "understand shit face?"
My tongue was so dry it was sticking to the roof of my mouth so only a muffled grunt came out, in fear of them I shook my head violently, yes, yes, yes. They both, caught up in their bulling, yelled out, "he-haw for us donkey, he-haw, he-haw to say yes Masters, yes!"
And to my everlasting shame, in fear, trembling, sweating cold in the hot sun I found enough spit fear will do that, extract hidden resources unknow in your suffering and vigorously he-hawed over and over as I moved in tiny steps towards every distant dorm door.
These two masculine virial men, men I had grown up with, the older was my trusted pediatrician, the young my best friend, they were nothing but cruelty, and I was nothing more than a donkey.
"No," Dr. Mark said to Sam, "stop, no, there is something wrong here. Why is he still wearing his socks and high tops? Have you no respect for your new owners? When does a donkey wear socks and high-top sneakers?" This keeping me off guard, this scrutiny of me as always suspect, as a cheater, this mental anguish would never end, only intensify.
"I know this disgusting excuse for a jock boy has no respect for himself dad so how could he for us and our things? Does he even deserve to wear clothes? If the government did not say he has to in most places I would choose for the stupid jock to be naked and hairless forever," Sam chortled.
"He is selfish, self-centered, disrespectful. He should have removed his high tops at once to show proper respect, but he could care less. He needs to be disciplined and trained. Your days of dressing like you are pretending to be a big man, like an important person is over fuck-hole," Dr. Mark rudely admonished Mav.
I stopped stupefied, this morning, maybe two hours ago I was free to choose, to be a hot well-dressed jock, and right now I did not remember that me, that well-groomed teen jock clearly as I struggled to make sense of being degraded, becoming a slave which will never makes any sense to me, or will it?
"Dad, let's correct this stupid dumb jock right now." Dr. Mark nodded, "show me son."
My lower back was mostly covered by the enormous suitcase, but my ass, legs and feet were exposed. I was bent over so Sam kicked me hard in the bend of my left knee making me fall onto my knees hard, my chest slamming into the now very hot metal footlocker. I cried out. Sam yelled at me, "who gave you permission to make a sound jock hole?"
"Stupid, worthless, useless hole, you really are mentally challenged, some honor student you pretended to be, what did you do cheat all the time, copy from some real men, sucked all the teachers' dicks? Obviously, you are not good for anything. Get those fuckin' sneakers and socks off right now!"
My knees hurt from the sudden fall, I was bent over motionless, then Dr Mark used his foot on my forehead to push me back up sitting on my knees. If you could have seen me you would have laughed your head off, I looked ridiculous, as ridiculous as I was born to be. First, I was sitting on my ass bent over pressed facing into the trunk and suitcase stead and balanced. My feet arched painful back in my high tops.
I am kneeling up struggling, sharking to keep arms extended and. Knowing better than to stand without permission or even asking, kneeling, I tried to quickly think how to take off my sneakers and socks. I strained to reach my feet or, more importantly do I let go of the two dumbbells I am orders to carry? I was desperate, was this what it meant to "please?" My body was vibrating franticly. I kept my trembling arms extended and waiting in silence, waiting for my owners to solve my dilemma.
"Asshole! You are wasting our time, are you so stupid you don't know to ask for permission? All you need is to ask, ask for anything and everything, you have no rights, privileges, you have nothing because you are nothing, soon you will even ask for the air you are allowed to taken in."
"Sirs," I whisper in a pathetic tone, voice gravel like, pleading and afraid, "Sirs, please allow this donkey jock slave to remove its offensive, worthless, useless sneakers and socks. I am so very stupid and sorry; no Sirs, not I, never I anymore, its Sirs, it apologizes to you two masters' for wasting your valuable time. Please, Sirs, train your jock-property to be of some use and value. Thank you, Masters." I knew they knew I did not yet believe this, that I was broken and sincere, and I knew that they knew that I knew that one day soon this would be my only reality, my only words, that my I would be their owner it, there for their training and use as they saw fit without my thinking, agreeing, consenting, or even understanding at all.
Looking up at them I realized these two sadists, with what seemed to be the law on their side, although I still did not know why or how, would never free me until I was totally broken.
"Place the dumbbells onto the tarmac." And I did gently, knowing they were Sam's property, and I had to be very careful with them, they were worth way more than me, that I already understood.
"Stretch out your chest till the footlocker in totally on the ground and your chest is on top of it" Again I did, with great effort and pain, place my chest fully on top of the burning hot metal footlocker, the almost unbearable giant suitcase pressing me down mercilessly. I felt a wetness between the leather case and my naked back, sweat for sure, but then I thought also some blood.
"Touch the laces of your high-tops with your fingertips."
"Ask permission to unlace."
"Please Master, you own my shoes, my laces, my socks, my feet, please allow me to unlace my sneakers, thank you Sir."
Dr. Mark kicks me at the top of my ass crack which I can feel is exposed in my taut supine position, "He is playing with you son, he doesn't mean what he is saying, he is baiting you!" Dr. Mak was angry to be played. "I don't think so dad, I think the jack ass is learning. Sure, his words are meant to get out of suffering today, but I think he knows this is his life now and is trying to be the slave he was born to be."
I knew from seeing government slaves my whole life that they were treated harshly, sometimes irrationally, but their feelings, how they dealt with being so abused never came to me until right now as I am swallowed up in the irrational madness of being ordered by another never to be free, to think, to choose, allowed to understand, to make sense and order my own life.
I was quickly learning. I knew I was dawdling again, and they saw it, we understood this was the breaking and learning process.
A swift kink in my ass crack brough and end to this conversation. I could instantly feel the bruise form, sting, burn, sensitive skin getting hot. For a moment, stillness.
The hot sun continued to burn, now my exposed bruised and battered naked arms, shoulders, my wide leather western belt buckle digs into my belly button being pressed outwards and downwards by the two too tight luggage carrying belts. This chafes and cuts into my tender belly. I know my navel is bleeding.
"You watch and wait for your owner to tell you how, never assume, watch, and wait. Unlace the right sneaker taking all the lace out of its holes." Now the left one." There was a brief pause as I held the two-white sweat-stained laces in my hand. "I did not like your attitude when you unlaced your right sneaker. Replace that one. Good boy, now unlace it. Now place the lace on your left sneaker lacing it tightly." Then there was another brief pause with some giggling from Sam. Dr. Mark continued, "Hand the right lace to me. Unlace the left and hand the left lace to Sam."
Useless obedience, rules that made no sense, this was my new focus, unquestioning obedience without thought on my part. Obey-respond, be corrected-respond.
Then the permission to remove the high-tops came, then the socks. They took their time with the socks. "Take off the left one halfway," Dr. Mark said. "No, that is too much," Sam chimed in, "pull it back on, now slowly peel it down and I will show you halfway." "No son," Dr. Mark interjected with me grunting in pain making little moaning sounds being compressed bent in half, roasting in the hot late summer Texas sun, "this is halfway." As I waited, stretched out to my max holding my white athletic sock, the father and son had a discussion, not only about where halfway was on my large wide long jock feet, but assessing my as dementor to the various methods of slave-sock removal. My body was no more than ways, metrics, means and obstacles to sock removal that lasted for almost an hour. Soon they pretended to be frustrated with me and an ongoing series of slaps crossed my face to "correct" my pathetic sock removal efforts. Finally, Dr. Mark looked at his watch and growled kicking my several times in my now back and blue ass crack, "This worthless donkey is wasting our time, I suggest before he goes into the cage tonight you beat the hell out of his wide jock feet for wasting our time." "Good idea dad, I certainly will! I'll use his own belt." "No, not the belt, you use that after you use the hard latex cane, the half inch one. You begin at the toes, tops first, then toe bottoms, then each toe in between, then move down to the sole, then back up to the middle, Cane horizontally first, then once at the middle, the most tender part change to a vertical whipping. Once you are satisfied the red lines are deep and will last, oh, and if it bleeds, who cares, I just rub salt into any opening then wash it out with alcohol to make sure there are no infections, once you are done then use his own belt to finish the soles off. After a while you can make a game of it, just for fun, make out where he can move his foot, of how he needs to point his toes or if he is allowed to make a sound, you get the idea, and you make punishment points is he missed the requirements, then he get played with, which is your right, and then punished, which is your obligation." Dr. Mark was smiling contently after this sharing with Sam, his son.
Returning to me Sam said, "Now, captain of the baseball team, pitch each sneaker as far to the right and left as you can, then stuff the socks in your wet month, I think you are getting too much pleasure from all that spit you are making, and I don't want to see any sock at all, push them all the way in, then get up fuck-hole and get a move on!"
I pitched my high tops as if I was playing a national championship game and had to win. I stuffed sweat stained wet socks into my mouth so deep I could feel them dangling down into my gut. Then the dreaded command, "up and let's unpack this man's luggage boy!"
The suitcase and footlocker strapped to my body seemed even heavier than before. They must have packed their entire home gym weight set in this footlocker; it was that heavy. I was to find out later that night that in fact they had, not only to lift in the dorm room, but to use on various parts of my body, to use as training and punishments having me hold my arms out wide and level and not move for an fustigating appointed time, holding impossibly heavy weights precariously balanced in each palm or to hang them from my balls or tie them to my dick then pull my cock up high stretching it beyond its means then dropping the overweighted dick slamming it and usually me into the floor, sometimes hanging these weights from my ears and fingers and toes. Later in my training they would place bets with others wagering how much weight I can stand or how quick I would collapse or when I would make a sound, how wide my arms would move up or down, they used me to make money often that way entertaining others who wanted to see me suffer and bet against me. Life was cruel. Yes, they are inventive sadists.
On that sweltering hot August late morning I struggled to get my balance, taking a moment to coordinate mind and flesh, I tried and tried, no compliments as it was my failures they were turned on by, not my success. They continually frustrated any attempt I made to succeed, poking me in sore ribs, tickling my bruised underarms, noggin my sweat-soaked thick wavy blond hair, knuckles drilling into my sunburned scalp.
I shivered in frustration. Frustration, which affirmed how useless and worthless I was. Was I born this way, an ownable human object? Did I deserve ownership as my natural life from today on?
We were now a few steps from the dorm door. I saw the face of Dr. Mark turn a dark shade of annoyance. Even though I did try I could only take little steps, and they were frustrating my progress, in their minds I was the cause of my slow progress not the unrealistic burdens they had put on me. They now expressed not simple dissatisfaction, which was correctable, they expressed disappointment, which was punishable.
"Donkey! You dreamn' about being cuddled by your girlfriend?" Dr. Mark, with his surgeon's precision, grabbed my right tit, exposed just above the wide cloth movers strap, twisting it while he pressed his fingernail into it till it bleed. This was punishing motivation enough.
I needed her so bad right now, to help me in all this suffering. How could she? Girlfriends were my past. Comfort was my past. There was no one to help. I wanted my dad to be here right now to fix all this, to explain, to set this right, I was born a free person, Sam and his dad have all this wrong. When dad gets here, he will make this right.
As I continued to hesitate and wonder why this was happening, Sam's frustration boiled over, grabbing my thick blond hair in a fistful he wrenched it and my head backwards till I felt my upper neck pop, then he shook my head side to side violently sing-song saying, "Wake up slave. Wake-e wake-e dumb jock hole."
I made a muffled sound like a cat in pain, a suffering frightened guttural meow hollowed out from my burnt dry gullet. I slowly move towards the dorm entrance shuffling toward its big blue metal back service entrance.
Obviously, shuffling was not allowed. As I trembled forwards, I was lectured by Sam on how he would "educate me" as he called it on how he, my owner, my new college dorm room partner wanted me to walk, talk, stand, sit, use my arms, legs, fingers, toes, tongue, lips and of course how to use my "pussy" hole to please real men.
"From now on Sammy boy you never say I, that is your past, from now on you only refer to you as "your slave" because that is you now.
"Way to go son, proud of you," Dr. Mark encouraged Sam's education of me.
Shuffling under the extraordinarily heavy load I had only taken about 12 steps when again Sam kicked me so hard in the back of my left knee, I fell forward down hard into the trunk which saved me from smashing my face into the hot demanding mushy asphalt tarmac of the dorm parking lot.
Sam leaned down and whispered, it was a deeply perverse whisper, "You keep thinking you are in control here, you keep thinking you have the right, the option, the choice to think, to set your own speed, to step along as you please, worry about you and how you feel, you think that you can choose, arranger, order, shuffle along, make sense of the senselessness of your new life, but you can't. Did either of us tell you to shuffle? No! We told you to walk. Get up and walk to the dorm door slave."
I tried to stop thinking, thousands of thoughts yelled at me in my mind, I tried to stop listening to myself, and in that minuscule hesitation, in my quivering, wavering attempt to stop thinking and get up on Jello trembling legs, in that moment when I was trying to please my new Master I was viciously slapped in the back of my head by Sam pushing me back down. I became a turtle huddled petrified inside his shell.
"Did you ask permission to get up? Do you not have to ask permission to move your ridiculous jock body? Do I not own your body? I gave you an order. You repeat the order, then you ask for permission to do whatever it is I ordered you to do. You do not," and he grabbed my two ear lobes and twisted them repeatedly, violently back and forth, up, and down, folding them, unfolding them, "you do not just take it on your worthless self to do anything from now on. Your new life is a life of permission, never choice, a life of obedience, never willingness. Got it slave hole?" Sam was enraged.
Sam was bent over me as I crouched on the hot black asphalt, he could see my jean stretched kneecaps and my wide naked long-footed size 13 feet. Placing his lips against my right ear, first licking it, then wiggling his tongue inside my ear canal, he was twisting my mind overloading my sensory awareness, he spoke so loudly I thought it would make me deaf. "I will ask you this question just once, why do you think you are worthy of mercy?
I felt like I was suddenly crazy. My education in unconditional service was too much for me, my mind was hurting. Did I not start out this morning a free college freshman, a young man of 18 ready and able to choose? Have I ever disappointed or disrespected anyone? Could I have conceived that by late morning I would have two owners, Dr. Mark, and his son Sam. I did not even know that Sam was going to be my dorm roommate, somehow my dad kept this from me, but why? Innocently, just three hours from being a free teen to an enslaved teen I replied, "Mercy? Your slave deserves mercy because you are generous, Master."
Suddenly I retched. If there was anything inside my tightly convulsing stomach I would have vomited, but I was empty, empty. I retched because of what I now was, what I was now feeling, panic, fright, desperation, oh God, please dear God save me. Then in my panic I realized that I was also retching because I was ashamed that I had caused my master's to be disappointed in me. Is this the fact that proves what Sam, and his dad told me earlier that I was a born slave, that they were just doing to me what was right and proper, opening my eyes to being no more than worthless, useless property that only is purposeful when it is serving as it has been ordered to? What is true about me? How did I miss who I was all these years? Is this what my dad always knew about me? Where is dad, I need him.
My head hurt, it was pounding along with my whole body, there was no other feeling except that of resignation still tinged with a faint hope of escape, a chance to make this punishment end, to know why they and my dad thought this was what I was born for. The ringing in my ears was so great that Sam's words sounded more like echoes from the Grand Canyon than shouted words.
As they poured the tepid bottled water over me I smiled, my cracked, parched lips smiled without regard to how they hurt or what they needed, refreshing water, I smiled without thinking responding to their warped praise, and without being ordered to I said, "Thank you Sirs for the privilege of carrying your bags," and suddenly I felt this was an honor for me.
This submission to them did not engage in any comfort or even appreciation, instead it made my two owners find new ways to abuse me.
"Son, didn't this worthless hole speak without permission? Do you think he still thinks he is that gold medal jock who is worth something? Son, didn't he win some medals in track while you two were in junior high?" "Yes dad, two goal medals. He is such a cheating bitch. It was so obvious to everyone that the hole cheated, that I was the better man. I think he was suckin' the coaches dick, so they gave him the gold." "Damn, I did hear he was a butt kisser in school, but I did not know he was also a cock sucker." They both laughed kicking me in my shins. "Only when he needed to win something. He knew he was not a real jock, a real winner or even a real person." "Well, once you are settled into your dorm room and the slave is locked in its cage you will have lots of time for payback and teaching him who he is and the cost for being a fake and a liar." "Yea dad, I plan on working hard on all its cheating jock parts, not only his ass, but his feet and arms and hands, legs and abs. I am even going to spunk in his eyes then wash it out with piss to punish him." "You know son, I am not a queer, but looking at his hard butt sliding back and forth as this jackass carries my belongings, I can't wait to get inside of his sorry jock cunt hole. Bet you can't wait till beat it hard son then slide into its welted burning ass hole." "There's lots I'm gonna' do with that slave's ass dad, lots!" Father and son slapped each other on their backs so satisfied as Mav walked looking like Atlas holding up the world. Mav's body was prime grade A jock meat.
As they mocked me, telling lies about me, salivating over my body and how they were going to punish, discipline and enjoy it I walked to the dorm's back entrance no more than a jackass carrying a heavy load. Something inside of me was challenging me not to stop, and I did not stop. As I walked, I shivered inside. Why am I losing myself so quickly? Am I a natural at this, born for this. I need to talk to my dad. A heavy moan unconsciously sounded loudly from inside me making Dr. Mark and Sam laugh even harder. "What a wimp the jock hole is," Dr. Mark said to his son Sam.
Finally, I was at the dorm room back entrance, I noticed that the solid, thick, blue metal door swinging outward. They stand there waiting. Suddenly life is ridiculously hard for me, putting seemingly impossible obstacles and challenges before me as if it now knows I am a slave and not a person, or so it seemed to me in my exhausted state. I stand before the door handle wondering what to do next.
"Owned property always opens the door for its owner, is that not correct boy?"
"Yes, Sir it is, but my hands are holding dumbbells and the door swings outwards."
"And?" Dr. Mark mocks me and smirkingly tells his son Sam, "Oh, the poor captain of the team, poor former straight boy, his hands are full. And the door swings outwards. Oh, the poor stupid jock hole. Is life too tuff for you? Look up at me!"
Without warning Dr. Mark's open palmed hands pistole whipped Mav's face back and forth until Dr. Mark lost count. "Your worthless face is now its proper color, shame-red. You are a stupid, stupid jock boy, a piece of property that still thinks in ordinary ways. Humm, let's see, when the boy's hands are full it seems to me, don't you think Sam that he has other ways, other slave, owned body parts to open the door for his owners, other body parts it can and should use to allow his Master and his dad to enter a building."
"Hole, you are scum," Sam is teaching Mav again, "you are standing at a closed door which you must open for your Master's, and as useless as you are, even you, no more than a stupid hole for abuse, even you, scum lower than shit, even you can find other ways for a slave to open the door for us besides his hands. I know your jock mind is puny and full of worthless ideas, I know you spent all your life cheating, but now your life just got real. I see two legs, two feet, I see tips of fingers, I see a worthless, ugly jock head, all these can not only hold onto my footlocker and balance my suitcase on its back while is owned arms are outstretched holding my dumbbells but get this door open. I see several body parts besides your fingers that you can used to prop the door open for real Men to walk through. Oh, there are so many ways for a hole to be of service. Think like the slave you are, then open the door."
I quickly survey my situation. My sunburned naked back is chafed with the mover straps cutting into my punched, kicked bruised, turning black and blue flesh. My right nipple has stopped bleeding, but it is throbbing and swollen from being pinched, pulled, and poked. My feet are a bit swollen, tender and singed in a few spots from the burning hot melted asphalt, my legs are rubbery, unsteady from the kicking abuse while carrying such a heavy load, my mouth, and lips are in a state of dehydration, and I am standing before a heavy metal closed door that opens outwards. My solid muscular legs and strong knees osculate between strength and weakness after being violently kicked so I bounce slightly, almost imperceptibly, up and down flexing my long masculine toes and legs. My long, strong, manly toes throb from the abuse of walking on hot tarmac.
As they wait, threatening me with their silent observations, knowing I should not waste their time and what happens when I do, I look for which body part to open the door. First fingertips, wet, slippery with sweat, yes, I can use no more than the tips without dropping the weights, but I begin to see how a slave, human property, once it forgets about itself as human can begin to serve its owner without regard to suffering or even damage. What is damage to me, mental or physical, might be pleasure for Master.
I try grasping the handle of the door and the heavy meatal door barely opens, but it does move so I try again wishing I could wipe the sticky sweat from my throbbing, somewhat puffy fingertips. I think to use the toes of my foot in conjunction with my fingertips. Failure. The lesson is clear, who am I to wish for anything? Yet I know what my owners are thinking, try again, it is not about you anymore, it is about you serving us. Fail until there is nothing of you left, then we, your owners will give you the way to be in the world, no longer human, just a thing.
I lean in, the footlocker bangs into the door frame and Sam slaps the back of my sun-bleached burnt hair. "Be more careful with my possession asshole! I will skin your hide off if you even nick my footlocker, scrape my luggage, or drop my dumbbells."
I cry out, a guttural sound of determination, and my puffy fingertips prove to be enough to get a bit of the door open, about 14 inches. After 3 slippery tries, once proud jock toes now a place holder in a metal door frame a bit of an opening is before me, and perversely I feel so proud. I glance over my shoulder to catch the eyes of my owners. Look at me, my eyes tell my owners, see what I can do for you, see how I sacrifice my body for you, but I can see they don't care about my efforts, they only care about my results done in quick, mindless, uncaring use of myself as their obedient object. This is the life of a fag I hear myself say, this is your new life, faggot. They watch me closely. They see my proud filled eyes and they smile mockingly. I know what they are thinking, yes, he is a slave, a born fag, he takes to his new life, he is a genuine fag. "Open the door all the way fag," Sam whispers so close to my left ear I can feel his hot breath.
Next, without thinking, simply responding to their order, simply obeying, I jam, against my better judgement, wondering if I have any better judgment left at this point, the heavy steel dirty blue door open. I moan but disregarding myself I continue holding it open. The real men walk through into the dorm basement. I whimper, I know my suffering is pleasing my new owners. Sam pats me on my solid abs cooing, "good hole, useful hole. It opens the door for us."
Sam's dad also encourages me by deeply pressing his thumb into my blood crusted swollen right tit, a kind of sadistic massage, "see, you can be useful when you put your dumb mind to the task at hand, you don't even have to think, just find a way to please us no matter the cost to you. I think, if I do venture my professional opinion, there will be a slight scar on this tit, but then again, I predict your worthless jock body will have lots of scars on it before too long. Bet your glad you have me, a doctor as one of your two owners?"
Then in the most eerie way, unnerving me more than anything else that had happened today Sam reached down and began to massage my cock and balls. I have a large package and now my manhood made a distinct impression in my sweat soaked, piss in, piss on and water-soaked wet jeans. No guy has ever touched my jock junk before, except Dr. Mark, who now made me shutter, all those years he was examining me he was also licking his chops waiting for this day. I am not ready to be a fag slave owned by men, and I am never going to be ready to be a pussy for men. Where is my dad for God's sake, I need him to put an end to this or at least explain what this is happening to me, how the slave laws apply to me a free born boy. Where are you dad?
Sam is cooing over and over, soothing me in a perverse manner, "Good dumb hole, good dumb jock hole" as he massages my package, pressing my balls together, squeezing my long thick uncut cock. I am pleased that I do not get hard. I can see in Sam's face he is not pleased. I will pay for this later.
This lingering moment of Sam's twisted soothing genital massage is broken when Sam's dad gruffly orders, "let's get up to the dorm room, there is a lot of shit to unload, carry up and unpack."
Fully exhausted now it is time for tears and again, my face is covered with my own hot pulsating drips, each streak letting go of my freedom. My tears are accentuated with my quite convulsive muffled sobs.
Once they are inside, I quickly step into the dorm basement and let the heavy door slam shut without hitting me or more importantly damaging Sam's luggage. "Lower your arms and hold the weights at your side cunt hole," Sam commands. I feel a sense of perverse dammed accomplishment. I have debased myself, used my body as a crowbar, my head and feet as a wedge, my shoulders as a pushing object for no other reason than I am who I am, a slave.
The slamming sound of the heavy metal door echoes in the dorm basement.
"You useless piece of shit! How dare you almost damage university property. Do you think your scum hole of a disgusting body is more important than university property, do you? How dare you let this door slam shut!" Dr. Mark, an alumnus of the university takes my slamming of the door personally.
I wince, that is my answer. I cower, that is how I show my guilt. I am daunted, that is how I show they own me. "I am sorry Sir. I know I am scum Sir. I know I am powerless to make any excuse Sir." They both laugh. "I think we need to make a punishment book for the jock pussy to keep track of his mistakes. What do you think dad?" Dr. Mark smiles in agreement.
A funny thought passes through my exhausted fragile mind, I know I am scum, I can accept that, but I do not want to be a hole, I am afraid of that. What will they do to me in the day, weeks, months ahead to show me I am nothing but a hole for men, to break me, convince me, to train me into their scum hole, and then most fearful of all, to make me like it and want it?
I am afraid. I know I will never dream again, only the nightmares will come, and they did.
"You disgust me hole. I can't believe I am stuck with you as my college roommate, you are disgusting!" Sam moans.
"You mean stuck with this asshole as your college slave living in your room," don't you son," Dr. Mark playfully giggles to Sam. Then, suddenly, with determination, Dr. Mark addressed me.
"OK, we need to get Sam, and you settled and get Sam's stuff into his room. Let's see we are on the 6th floor, gonna' have a nice view I think."
He pressed the freight elevator button, and the elevator arrived. I begin to step in when Sam's large muscular hand crashes into my face sideswiping my right cheek with a hard slap. There is a new ringing between my ears. I guess I deserve that. Why am I still thinking and not waiting to be ordered?
"I will ask you this question one time only," Sam's voice is tense, focused, ridged, hard, "Do you ever make life easier for yourself hole?" Do you every have the right to choose? Does a dumb jock slave ever use the elevator? Elevators are for men, not slaves. See that sign in big white letters, tell me what it says?
"Stairs"
"Say it again, properly, what does it say?"
"Stairs Sir!"
"Yes, and if there are 10 stairs per level and we are going to the sixth floor how many steps will the dumb jock hole climb with its naked scummy feet?"
"60 Sir"
"Correct hole. And that would have been your reward sucmbag, to climb up, to work for your Masters, to be of service like the animal you are, but no you messed even this simple jester up. If you had just stopped thinking, stopped assuming, just started to obey," Sam slaps me several times back and forth, a tiny bit of blood inside my gum makes my dried out, desperate for water mouth takes like bitter iron, "just fuckin' be the property you were born to be! But now you don't get the easy way, because of you, I have to punish you, this is all on you dumb ass jock."
Sam pauses for a moment scrutinizing my horrified face, searching inside my eyes bursting out of my sockets for recognition that I know now he owns me mind, body, and soul. With his thick index finger Sam jabs into my naked exposed chest, jabbing, stabbing in various places randomly punctuating each word he speaks next.
"Fags... do... not...use...elevators! Fags... obey! Faggots... do...not...think...ever!" He was yelling louder than he had all day. I felt his disappointed anger and I was ashamed of myself.
Dr. Mark broke in, "Sam I think this pretentious once high and mighty jock who is now our hole, I think his punishment for assuming he could use anything a real Man could us and for wasting our valuable time, is to make the fag scum hole walk up the 60 steps, twice, up then down, then up again, and do it double time, and do it each time he has to come up and down the steps to unload the truck. Maybe, although I doubt it since he is such a stupid faggot jock hole, our training of him, for his own good, will begin to sink in. Why do you think, after all you have to live with this shit hole son."
"Since it's a dumb faggot, a worthless ass," Sam muses, "I think we should add to that lesson, because he has been all day a useless, presuming, lazy, disgusting, offensive fag. After he comes up the first time let's beat his feet and hands 10 times with a belt for wasting our time, then the faggot can go back down and climb up again, then we will beat his jock hands and soles again 10 licks. Will that be too damaging dad, you are his doc?"
"Son, I know the scumbag's body. From a child I would abuse his body, making him hurt here and there, chiding him for being a pussy when he cried, he trusted me, he is such a dumbass faggot, so I know he is ready to be a pain slave. I have spent years examining him, exploring, and preparing him to take discipline and pain. He can and will take much more, and when he is damaged, which will happen, his doctor, me, will be there to treat him and make sure he can come back for me. Right now, I am pissed. Mav has truly wasted our valuable time. He has no respect for us whatsoever. I told his dad over the years the boy was arrogant, offensive, full of himself. Now he must learn our time is valuable, Mav's time is worthless. Mav is useless without our training and instructions. We will teach him how a jock hole should spend his time. Mav, learn this, we order, you obey. You really are scumbag dumb jock hole. How your dad put up with you for 18 years is beyond me, the man deserves a medal."
I nodded. I sobbed openly, loudly. I bent over for a moment in shame, broken under their relentless sadistic power. I still do not understand why. Where is my dad? Maybe he will make why this is happening to me.
Sam simply ordered in a firm confident voice, without equivocation, "get moving up the stairs dumb ass!"
Dumbbells at my side, footlocker strapped to my chest, suitcase strapped onto my back I doubled timed it up and then down and then up again to our new dorm room. 180 steps. Each time I arrive at the top of the 6 flights I went into our new dorm room where I was ordered to lift and hold straight our one leg which received very hard whacks on one sole then the other. Then show hands, left, then right, more licks of the thick black belt on each. Over and over, it went. Each time I arrived at the dorm room I placed, with gentle care, all of Master Sam's belongings in their proper places ready for me to unpack them.
For the next 3 hours I unpacked their truck, had various heavy packages strapped to my body and I carried in my hand, teeth, mouth. They threatened to use my asshole and piss hole, but it seems they are saving these openings for some very special training and use. After many heavy loads of Master Sam's precious personal items were lifted up 60 steps to our 6th floor dorm room, the dorm room was now full of suitcases, boxes, two footlockers, various items, all waiting for me to put them away as Master Sam wished. It would be a long night for me. Sam was going out to a Frat rush party while I worked. He would leave the cam to record my work and discipline me accordingly after reviewing it tomorrow. Privacy, that one special personal moment every teenager desperately needs was no longer mine, in fact nothing emotional or physical was mine now, just ownership, obedience and correction and punishment.
Before Master Sam left for the frat party I was given a small bottle of water, which tasted strange, to refresh myself before I was led down to discard my belongings, a moment alone between Dr. Mark and I, one he told me he had dreamt about for years was to take place. That was a long debasing process, full of small sadistic tortures which I can share later with you if you would like.
Master Sam ordered me to let you dear readers know there is lots more to share if readers are interested. Please let me know Sirs, please, as I will be punished either way and I would rather share it with you than suffer in silence. Remember, if you say yes, I am a pervert, if you say no more story, then I am a failure. Either way this fag is a born faggot, and it will suffer, and it knows it is right for it to suffer. Thank you, Sirs.