Jeff felt several strange sensations as he drove away from the Colonel's house. One was a sense of empowerment. He had never felt so strong, so confident, so virile. Another was a sense of entitlement. Damn, he was driving Sam's truck and from now on that truck was HIS! Hell, SAM was his. Another was an erotic sensation, flushing his cheeks and stirring his groin with a blood rush. Last of all was a sense of foreboding, of being in over his head in something he knew too little about, followed immediately by his resolve to learn as much as fast as he could.
Jeff parked Sam's truck (er, that would be Jeff's second truck from now on, he thought with a grim satisfaction) outside their basement home (er, Jeff's home from now on), pocketed Sam's keys (er, Jeff's keys from now on) and walked down the stairs and into his bedroom. He fired up his computer and started his education with a search for "slave rules." Wow! So many hits! Suddenly his worry about how to kill five hours until midnight changed into worrying whether he had enough time to master the basics (pun intended) before returning to the Colonel's home.
At that home the Colonel was also conscious of the time until midnight, but from an opposite view. He knew from long experience that two hours was usually enough to break a self-styled tough young man. This evening he had the luxury of time, five full hours to turn Sam into a completely compliant slave. He looked with satisfaction at the shirtless cowboy, gagged, handcuffed, still wearing his cowboy hat, jeans and boots. The former Army officer knew just how to proceed, to make the college student lose all his ability to resist.
First the Colonel stood in front of the kneeling Sam, the latter's wide brimmed hat hiding the Master's face from the slave. The top man pushed the boy's gagged face to the carpet, then pinned the head between his own booted ankles, crimping the hat's side brims with his legs. He reached past the bent over body, pulled the right foot up and wrestled the boot off of it, followed by the boot sock. He dropped that foot to the floor and repeated the removal on the other foot. Still clenching the boy's head between his booted ankles, he reached under the bent over torso with both arms, clapsed them together and jerked the bottom's midsection up, forming an arch anchored by the knees and the skull. His hands found the rodeo buckle and easily unhinged it, pulling the whole belt out of the jeans. Then he unfastened the jeans all the way down the fly. His legs released the head. He knew that Sam would not dare lift his face. He was right.
The Colonel walked around and behind the hunched-over body, stood behind the bare feet, grabbed the jeans' legs by the bottoms and pulled them off the boy. Now Sam wore nothing but his cowboy hat and his jockstrap. Psychologically the officer knew that one preserved Sam's sense of self worth as a Wyoming cowboy and the other preserved his sense of protecting his manhood from assault. This was as close to nude as the Colonel needed his subject to be for now. It was time to put Sam into sensory deprivation.
The experienced Master started with the most important sense: sight. He almost never liked using duct tape because it left residue and removed skin and hair when taken off. Instead, he usually used athletic tape, the kind that sticks only to itself. He started by wordlessly pulling Sam's head up until his upper body was straight up in the kneeling posision. Taking a pair of bandanna squares, the Colonel covered both eye sockets, then held the squares in place with his left hand while wrapping the tape around Sam's head several times.
Sam had never felt so helpless, so out of control. First he was handcuffed by a stranger, then forced to his knees by his best friend. Then Jeff forced him to suck on Jeff's cock. Sam could not get past the shame of being a cocksucker. He felt certain that he never would. Then Jeff left, abandoning him to a total stranger in complete control. Now he was gagged, stripped and blindfolded. Thank goodness he still had his hat and his jock on to show that he was still a man. Still, he could not see. His ears went into overdrive to compensate by hearing what he could no longer see. Little did he know that would soon change.
Taking a couple of flexible earplug cylinders, the Colonel worked them between his fingers to narrow and elongate them. He then pushed them simultaneously into Sam's ear holes and held them there while they expanded to fit and block the ear passages. Then he wrapped tape around Sam's head to hold the plugs in place.
Sam's senses were fading, first his sight gone and now his hearing. His fingers instinctively wiggled, trying to replace sight and sound with touch. While he was fretting over this, the Colonel stood him up, pulled down the jockstrap, tapped his legs to signal him to step on of the jock, and then removed the ball gag only long enough to stuff Sam's own jockstrap into his helpless mouth. Next the cowboy's own boot socks, tied into a knot at the sweaty toe ends, secured the jockstrap pouch in the boy's mouth, taking with it the senses of taste and smell.
The Colonel shoved Sam back down to his knees. He fastened leather ankle cuffs to Sam's legs, then hooked them together with a linked pair of double eye bolts. Next he fastened leather wrist cuffs to Sam's arms, then hooked the left wrist cuff to the left ankle cuff. The Colonel left Sam for a moment and returned with a favorite bondage apparatus, a neck brace with two metal pipes extending in line away from a hard plastic rear neck shell. A soft leather strap completed the neck secureness while a pair of similar straps waited at the pipe ends to catch unwilling wrists in place. The Colonel rested the shell against the trapped boy's rear neck, then fastened the leather strap snugly against his throat. The officer unfastened the handcuff from the slave' right wrist, then brought that wrist up to the waiting pipe end where the leather strap secured it firmly. Then he removed the handcuff and the eye bolt from the left wrist and moved it into place.
Sam was stuck. He was blindfolded, ear plugged, jockstrap gagged, kneeling, naked except for his hat, his throat strapped in place, his upper arms stretched out from his sides and perpendicular to the floor, his elbows bent at right angles, his forearms sticking upward to his captive wriggling wrists. He could not see, hear, taste, smell or touch anything on his own. Only his fingers and thumbs were free -- until, that is, the Colonel came after them with the athletic tape. First the officer held together the four fingers of Sam's right hand, separating them from the thumb, and wrapped them firmly together. Then he bound the thumb to the slabbed fingers. Then he repeated the taping on the other hand.
Now Sam was in total sensory deprivation. Disorientation took hold, the physical lack of stimulation reinforcing his loss of mental equilibrium. He was too busy trying to find physical input to start thinking about his fall from freedom. Then something else changed. He felt those same strong hands at his armpits, pulling him up from his knees and into a standing position. He felt (but could not hear) the eye bolts removed from his ankle cuffs. Then a boot pushed between his calves, forcing them apart and his legs to spread wide. A few moments later he felt (but could not see) first one foot and then the other being tied to a solid piece of furniture, spreading his legs too wide apart for comfort, his unprotected balls hanging down and his traitorous cock jutting straight out. Trying to recall what furniture was nearby, he concluded that he must be tied to the low large coffee table that he saw before everything in his life changed.
Sam's next sensation was stranger than anything before. He felt a vibration in his left armpit and even through the ear plugs could hear a faint buzzing sound. Too late, he realized that his pit hair was being clippered. The sensation stopped, only to resume in his other armpit. Then he felt the electric razor running down his chest, taking the light coating of blond hair with it no doubt. His treasure trail, a point of pride to him, was next. Then his pubics. Next he was bent over firmly at the waist, only to feel the clippers running up his butt crack. The Colonel held Sam in that position while the clippers worked up and down the backs of both of Sam's legs. Finally he was pulled back up to his standing position. This time, the clippers ran all along his arms.
The denuder repeated the same journey around Sam's immobile body, only with a razor blade, warm water and shaving gel this time. Sam could feel his manhood literally stripping away, taking with it his confidence and his pride. This seemed to go on for hours to Sam, but actually took only twenty minutes or so.
The Colonel left the room briefly and then returned. Sam had no way to know that the officer had stepped away to retrieve a full length valet mirror which he placed across the coffee table from the blindfolded college kid. Sam next felt the boot socks loosening around the jockstrap gag. As it came off, and fingers pulled the jock from his mouth, he felt a water bottle up against his lips. He gratefully drank his fill in silence before the same strong fingers pulled his jaw shut. Then a wide piece of duct tape (used in one of the few ways that the Colonel enjoyed) fastened his mouth shut.
Next, Sam felt the tape tugging around his head as the Colonel removed it from his ears and eyes. The officer popped out the ear plugs out and Sam could hear again for the first time in what seemed like hours. Finally the bandanna squares fell from his eyes and, blinking hard, Sam regained his focus.
What awaited him was a sight he would never forget. Reflected in the full length mirror there was a kid; well muscled, but a hairless kid. It was himself. White athletic tape wrapped around his hands and military camouflage duct tape covered his mouth. The neck brace held his arms uncomfortably stretched out, and below his viewing area he could feel the ropes securing his feet to the coffee table legs. Only his cowboy hat and his unruly shock of head hair reminded him that he was still Sam.
So, needless to say, Sam gasped in despair when the Colonel knocked the hat off his head with a single upward swoop of the hand. Then Sam saw, and heard, the buzzing clippers as they mowed through his blond crown of glory. For the first time all night, he lost it. He couldn't deny it any more. He was a slave, a toy, a thing, a piece of property for another man. Tears involuntarily rolled down his cheeks as his standard cowboy mess of hat hair fell from his head, showering his heaving shoulders, the coffee table and the floor. When the Colonel finished, Sam had only stubble on his head and no hair at all on his displayed arms, pits, pecs, pubes and legs. He had been shorn of his manhood, in symbol and in fact.
What Sam found hardest to believe was how prominently his hairless cock and balls stood out. As he helplessly watched in the mirror, the Colonel picked up the cowboy's own boots, ran a skein of rope through all four pull-on straps, took up a position standing behind and to the left of the student, reached between his legs, anchored the rope at the base of the boy's cock and then looped it snugly several times around the top of his ball sac. Holding the boots in his right hand, the Colonel returned to his full height, gave a long hard stare into the mirror and, once Sam's eyes unavoidably locked with his, let go of the boots.
Sam shut his eyes in fear and yelled into the duct tape twice: once in horror when he felt the boots dropping, and once in pain when they yanked on his balls. When he opened his eyes, the Colonel was too far behind him to be seen clearly in the mirror. Then, without warning, a flash of pain jumped across his shoulder blades while a loud cracking sound hit his ear drums. "I am being beaten," he thought. "I am being flogged."
For the last full hour, Sam had had no chance to stop and think. He had been too preoccupied, from the moment the handcuffs went on, trying to come to grips with each new assault on his freedom to digest the events and make sense of them. As the flogger (for he could see it whistling through the air repeatedly) slammed down upon his back, he could only react to the pain. It almost became comfortable once he recovered from the initial shock. His back warmed and he knew it must be reddening. The blows kept coming at the same methodical rate, but soon he could tell that the strokes were coming down harder.
Nothing seemed to help. Sam tried tensing up, he tried to relax, finally he discovered by accident that rounding his back out made the blows a bit more tolerable. Yet still they came on. The pain got worse and worse. His stalwart acceptance turned to blubbering through the gag. His firm stance slouched as his knees buckled slightly. His tears ran and ran.
Then something wierd happened. The tears stopped. The moaning into the gag stopped. The slouching stopped. He leaned forward, keeping his upper back rounded, his eyes shut and a feeling like no other entered his brain. He started swaying back and forth in rhythm with the methodical strikes, pushing his back into the strokes to meet the flogger halfway. A serenity, a peace, a new acceptance flowed over him. He didn't know about endorphins but he did know that he had reached a zone.
The Colonel knew it, too. From experience he could tell that the cowboy had entered the slave zone. The flogging had become pleasure not just for the Master but also for the slave. Sam's descent into slavehood was right on schedule. The Colonel stretched out this part of the whipping session, letting the boy's back glow a bright red. Then, without breaking the rhythm, the officer stepped to one side, lowered his aim and thrashed the cowboy's left buttock repeatedly. The sharp new pain broke the college kid's reverie and yanked him out of his zone. His body twisted from left to right as it tried to find a place where the flogger could not go. After a hundred strokes or more, the Colonel deftly stepped to the other side, switched hands on the flogger and started whaling away on the right buttock. This time the boy's body seemed to sense that escape was impossible and the best strategy was just to take every blow.
Once Sam's right buttock glowed as brightly as his left one, the Colonel lowered his aim again and with the same steady methodical swing started in on the cowboy's upper legs. Back and forth moved the flogger, from one leg to the other and back again, from the back of the thighs to the sensitive flesh on the inside of the thighs and back again, the cowboy boots swinging and circling, each motion yanking the balls.
Finally, the Colonel stopped. He pulled off his t-shirt quickly, then stepped up behind Sam, pressed his bare chest against the painfully sore back, wrapped his arms from below the boy's shaved armpits to where his hands could caress either side of Sam's face, and held him. For a few moments nothing else happened while the boy slowly recovered from the pain and slowed his breathing down to normal. Then the Colonel leaned in, his lips up against Sam's right ear, and he said:
"Boy, if I remove the gag you will say nothing unless I say so. Do you understand?"
Sam nodded that he did.
"Boy, if I do allow you to speak, you will begin every answer and every sentence with 'Sir.' Do you understand?"
Sam nodded that he did. He was so relieved that the gag was coming off. What he did not know was that the Master used surprise, misdirection and the unexpected to keep a trainee off balance. So Sam was predictably and(from the Colonel's viewpoint) deliberately puzzled when the officer's hand dropped to the boy's groin, undid the rope and let the boots drop to the table. A wave of relief and release coursed through Sam's entire body, with his balls rejoicing in the rush of blood. Then the Colonel's hand returned to Sam's face and without hesitation yanked the duct tape off of his mouth.
"Thank me, boy," said the Colonel, "thank me for flogging you, and make me believe you mean it."
Sam stuttered for a minute. Then a hand squeezing his still aching gonads made up his mind.
"Sir, thank you for flogging me."
The balls were squeezed again. "I don't believe you, boy, try it again."
"Sir, thank you for flogging me. Sir, I am grateful that you are taking the time to train me. Sir, please accept my sincere thanks for the flogging that you just gave me."
"That's better, boy."
Sam visibly relaxed out of relief.
"And," said the Colonel, "since you appreciated my flogging so much on your backside, I am going to reward you by flogging your whole front."
Despair set in. Sam was trapped, with no place to go but down.