Jeff woke up disoriented. It was still dark. He was fully clothed. What time is it? Why am I fully clothed? Then he remembered. He was taking a nap, getting some needed rest in advance so he could work over his new slave Sam (his lifelong friend, but that was a lifetime ago) from midnight until dawn. Jeff checked the alarm clock: 10:27. He fell back into his bed and quickly fell back asleep.
At that same moment Sam was impaling his throat on a hard throbbing cock. He fought the gagging reflex, trying his best to keep down his gorge. After awhile he synchronized his reflex with the strokes, in and out, in and out. At first he just let the cock invade his mouth unimpeded but then he figured out what "sucking" really meant. He raised his tongue to encapsulate the cock between tongue and palate, using the tongue muscle to massage the cock. His reward was a groan of desire from the Colonel.
The officer moved in closer, his legs pressing against the cowboy's chest. This forced the student's head to turn straight up, pointing to the ceiling, exposing his throat for deep strokes (which is exactly why the Colonel had encroached in the first place). The officer moved his legs to either side of the kneeling submissive, pinioning the latter's head between the former's muscular thighs. Sam's head was trapped, with a straight line running from his lips through his mouth into his gullet. He gasped for air as the cock filled his airway, then he started panicking from oxygen deprivation. The cock moved straight up and out of his mouth resulting in a thankful gulpful of air, only to be followed by choking again on the cock. Back and forth he went, from suffocating to ventilating and back. Eventually he taught himself how to deep throat (just as the Colonel had intended) by taking large volumes of air, holding his breath, flexing his throat muscles around the invading cock and then grabbing another gulp as soon as the cock released its strangulation hold.
The Colonel knew all too well that he was approaching climax. That was not his intent. He deliberately withdrew his hardened dick from its pleasure turf. The cowboy hyperventilated several deep breaths, then became aware that he was not being reimpaled. He looked up to see the Colonel smiling and opening his own mouth to say: "Repeat after me, slave. 'All my master's fluids are precious to me.'"
The slaveboy blinked but knew better than to contradict this powerful man. "Sir, all my master's fluids are precious to me, sir."
"I will never waste a drop of my master's fluids."
"Sir, I will never waste a drop of my master's fluids, sir."
"What does that mean, slave?"
"Sir, it means that I must swallow whatever fluids my master puts in my mouth, sir."
"Does that include spit, slave?"
"Sir, yes, sir."
"Does that include sweat, slave?"
"Sir, yes, sir."
"Does that include cum, slave?"
"Sir, yes, sir."
"Does that include piss, slave?"
So far into the mantra was Sam that he responded before he had a chance to think: "Sir, yes, sir." Then the enormity of what he had said hit him like one of the Colonel's hard face slaps. "Fuck," he said to himself, "this bastard is going to make me drink his piss!" Sam trembled with fear, half because he feared drinking piss and half because he feared the next question would be about feces. He slumped with relief when he saw that there would not be another question, but he also knew that urine consumption was in his immediate future.
The Colonel gave an order: "Open." Sam opened his mouth and closed his eyes. "Open your mouth and your eyes," the Colonel ordered, "and keep them open and tilted up to me."
As much as he hated it, Sam obeyed. All he could see was the Colonel's cock (now going soft) and the Colonel's eyes (as hard as always). He watched almost as an uninvolved bystander as a spurt of yellow urine arced out of the officer's male member and into the cowboy's reluctant but wide open mouth.
The Colonel was in full control, both of the situation and of his bladder. He ended the piss flow after five seconds and ordered: "Swallow!" Sam obeyed. "Open again!" Sam obeyed. Another piss flow followed, this one ten seconds long. Again he stopped. Again Sam swallowed. The next flow lasted twenty seconds. The one after that was continuous. Sam was now officially a humiliated piss drinking slave, with the acrid taste in his mouth to prove it.
The luxury of the Colonel having five training hours was drawing to a close. It was past eleven o'clock. Within an hour Jeff would return to claim his new property. There was one final infliction for the Colonel to put on the cowboy. For that he would need to move the student back upstairs. The officer grabbed Sam under each armpit and raised him (for the first time in hours) back up to his feet.
The Colonel unhooked the ankle cuffs from one another so that Sam could walk on his own. He then guided Sam through the basement, up the stairs, through the kitchen and living room, and into the main bathroom. As they passed through the living room he paused long enough to grab the handcuffs and some rope
In the bathroom the Colonel put the handcuffs on Sam and removed the leather wrist cuffs. The officer also removed the kid's leather ankle cuffs, temporarily freeing his feet. The Colonel helped the slave over the side of the tub, then forced him to lie down on the bathtub bottom on his stomach, his legs bent upwards at the knees and his hands pinned behind his back. The officer skillfully (one might say masterly) roped the cowboy's ankles together, forcing the knees to separate and removing any ability for the slave to raise his body up.
Sam had no idea what was about to happen. He didn't even react when the Colonel turned the water on, stopped up the drain and let the water level rise in the bathtub. Only when it reached the boy's neck did he begin to worry.
"Who are you?" questioned the Colonel.
"Sir, I am Master Jeff's slave, sir," said Sam, his voice expressing concern about the rising water.
"What will you do for Master Jeff and for me?" asked the officer.
"Sir, I will do whatever I am told to do," replied the college kid, now really worried because the water was level with his chin and continuing to rise.
"What are you?" posed the Colonel.
"Sir, I am a slave, sir," Sam responded. The water was lapping almost to his mouth.
"Keep saying that, slave," order the officer.
"Sir, I am a slave, sir. Sir, I am a sla" gargle gurgle.
The Colonel shut the spigot off, then lifted Sam's head above the water, let him start speaking, then dunked his head forcibly under the brink only to lift it back up and dunk it back down. The conversation (if one could call it that) sounded something like this:
"Sir, I" gurgle gurgle gasp gulp "am a" gurgle gasp gulp "slave. Sir," gurgle gasp gulp "I am a" and so on. Each time the Colonel pulled Sam's head up for air, the boy was still gasping mouth open when the officer shoved his head back down, forcing water into Sam's mouth and convincing him that the Colonel was drowning him. Panic took over. Water flushed reason away. All Sam could think about was that he needed to breath without inhaling water. He would do anything for that -- which was exactly what the officer intended him to think.
It was the longest five minutes of Sam's (so far) short life. By the end he was ready to say anything, believe anything, agree to anything, if it spared him from being drowned. The last time the Colonel raised Sam's head out of the water he rattled off "Sir, I am a slave, sir, sir, I am a slave, sir, sir, I am am a slave, sir!"
"What will you do for me?" interposed the Colonel.
"Sir, I will do anything for you, sir!" said Sam in a begging tone of voice.
"Very well," said the Colonel, "beg me to keep dunking you."
Sam was stuck. He had no choice. He said what he had to say. "Sir, please keep" gurgle gurgle.
Then the Colonel raised Sam's head back into air. "Sir, please keep dunk" gurgle gurgle.
Again the Colonel pulled Sam's head out of the water. "Sir, please keep dunking me, sir, sir, please keep dunking me."
"Enough!" commanded the Colonel. And with that, he threw the drain open and let the water run out. While it was still flowing, the officer lifted the student up to his ropetied feet, wrapped a towel around his shivering body and squeezed him close to his own body. His mouth found the new slave's ear and murmered, "You are safe, slave, you are safe, all you need do is obey and you will be safe."
Sam crumpled emotionally and physically. He had no resistance left. All masters had the power of life and death over him, and he no longer cared. Simple survival was all he asked for. He would do whatever he had to do -- and he had to be a slave.
While Sam was seeking solace in the Colonel's strong arms, Jeff's bedside clock was signalling the alarm. It was 11:40 at night, time for Jeff to end his nap and begin his ownership. He turned off the alarm, rolled out of bed and put his boots back on. He stumbled into the kitchen and started brewing a thermos load of coffee. While it perked through the strainer, he finished waking up and started planning what he would do at the Colonel's house. He walked into the bathroom, took a piss, went into his closet, took off the shirt he had slept in, replaced it with one of Sam's cowboy shirts, then headed back to the kitchen just as the coffee was ready. Throwing away the coffee grounds, he filled the thermos, leaving the coffee strong and black exactly as he drank it back home on the family ranch. He grabbed the thermos and the keys to Sam's truck, put Sam's favorite cowboy hat on his own head and then walked up the stairs and out the door.
The Colonel finished drying Sam off. He removed the handcuffs and replaced them with the leather wrist cuffs, which he left unconnected from one another. He knelt down and untied the ropes around the boy's ankles, replacing them with leather cuffs which he also left unconnected. He stood up, turned his back on Sam, said "Follow me" and, without confirming that the enslaved cowboy was obeying, strided out of the bathroom, Sam crawling behind him like a puppy. They went through the living room and kitchen, down the stairs (Sam's first experience in crawling down a staircase) and back into the basement's main training room.
The Colonel stopped Sam at the training spot, turned him around facing the room's entrance, and then gave a one-word order: "Stand." Sam did so, happy to be off his hands and knees but unhappy at what was sure to come. "Stretch," ordered the officer, and immediately the college kid moved his feet far to his sides and raised his arms up and out, forming his body into a freestanding St. Andrew's cross.
Practice makes perfect. In almost no time, and with Sam's body cooperating, the Colonel had the boy back in restraints with cuffs at wrists and ankles and chains stretching arms and legs out toward the walls, a blindfold securely in place and ear plugs stopping all sound. This time the officer did not use the head harness, for several reasons, including wanting Jeff to see Sam's cropped head hair in all its lost glory. The Colonel also planned to leave Sam alone for awhile, so any gag had to leave room for mouth air. Taking his own discarded boot socks, the officer tied a knot with the toe ends, inserted the smelly knot into the kid's compliant mouth and tied the sock ends firmly behind Sam's head. He was now back into sensory deprivation, with no ability to see, hear, taste (except for foot odors and cotton), smell or touch anything on his own.
As the Colonel walked out of the room (something Sam had no way of knowing), he cast a look over his shoulder at his latest triumph, well pleased with himself and the way he had broken a man and built a slaveboy, all in five hours or less. He went upstairs, sat on the living room couch and barely got comfortable before Jeff knocked on the front door. He opened it, greeted the eager college student and invited him to sit with him on the couch.
"So, Jeff, are you ready for all this?"
"I think so, Colonel." And then he explained to the officer what he had learned online, how he had rearranged the apartment and what he planned to do with Sam. The Colonel was pleased and said so. For his part, he explained to Jeff what Sam's emotional state was, how to keep Sam in mental submission, and some practical tips, such as using an antibiotic creme daily on Sam's shaved crotch and pits to prevent pustules and red spots from forming, shaving Sam daily, how to instruct Sam to suck Jeff's cock just the way Jeff liked it, and so forth.
There was one last big topic left unsaid between the two masters, the proverbial elephant in the room. The Colonel saw that Jeff would not bring it up, so he did.
"Jeff, there is one thing that I did not do with Sam."
"What's that, Colonel?"
"I didn't fuck him, Jeff." The student master gave a visible show of relief, so the experienced master continued. "I cleaned him out thoroughly with enemas, but I left his hole a virgin for you. I didn't even finger him or use a dildo. I think you should take him yourself, take him hard, bust his slave hole wide open and let him know for certain that you own him."
"Wow, Colonel," exuberated the younger master, "that's an awesome idea! I will definitely do that right away." As he said the words his college kid cock jerked up in agreement.
"Well," said the Colonel as he stood up, "let's go take a look at your new property." They walked down to the basement and there Jeff saw the sight of his life. He was both shocked and pleased. Sam, his best friend since grade school, was naked, shackled, shaved, blindfolded and gagged. Jeff just stood there, transfixed by the sight, then moved up to the stretched out slaveboy and slowly circled him from a couple of feet away. Seeing what he liked, he positioned himself behind Sam and to his right, then removed the right ear plug.
Sam sensed someone in the room, his skin's heightened sense of touch detecting the shift in air currents as that someone walked close to him. He sensed rather than felt that someone standing right behind him. He shivered involuntarily when a hand pulled out the right ear plug, and he sighed with relief when the same hands untied and took off the sock gag. But Sam was now a slave; he knew better than to say a word, at least not until his best friend's voice murmered into his right ear, "Hello, Sam, ole buddy, how's it hanging?"
"JEFF!" yelled the happy kid, "thank God you're here! Get me out of this, Jeff, get me home, get me out of this." While Sam blithered on and on, Jeff stepped around to in front of him, reared his hand back and WHACK! A hard backhanded slap from Jeff stopped Sam's blubbering. WHACK! A hard forehand slap knocked Sam's face in the opposite direction.
"WHO ARE YOU?" commanded the new master.
Automatically in semihypnotic slave mode Sam responded, "I am your slave, Master Jeff."
WHUMP! Jeff's ranch hardened fist slammed into Sam's exposed gut and would have doubled him over but for the chains. "That's right, slave, I own you now, and don't you forget it."
"Yes, Master," Sam crisply replied.
Jeff reached around Sam's head, unbuckled the blindfold and tossed it to the floor. Sam blinkingly regained his visual focus only to see Jeff, his best friend, his master, standing in front of him. The confident college student was wearing Sam's favorite hat, one of Sam's best shirts and a shit eating grin. Sam slumped as reality hit him harder than that gut punch could have. He was a slave.
Jeff pulled a heavy chain out of his right jeans pocket, displayed it to Sam, then draped it around Sam's neck, letting the two chain ends hang just below Sam's collarbone. Then Jeff pulled a heavy brass padlock out of his left jeans pocket and held it up to Sam's waivering stare.
"What is this, slaveboy?"
"It is a padlock, Master."
"Who has the only keys to this lock, slaveboy?"
"You do, Master Jeff."
"What will it mean when I lock this chain around your neck?"
"That you own me, Master Jeff."
"Ask."
Sam hesitated, his mind swirling with contradictory emotions and thoughts: "Jeff is my friend. Jeff is my Master. Jeff is here to rescue me. Jeff will never rescue me. I want to be free. I want to be owned. I have my life to live. I need to live for Jeff." The whole mess was too much for him to grasp, but Jeff snapped him out of it with an order that cut through the fog: "Ask!"
"Please, Master, please lock the chain around my neck."
Jeff gave a big grin. (If he had eyes in the back of his head he would have seen an ever bigger grin on the Colonel's face.) "Look at me, slave," he commanded. Sam's eyes locked onto his master's gaze as he heard and felt the lock click into place and come to rest between his pecs.
"Okay, slaveboy," said the confident slave owner as he reached up to free the right wrist chain, "it's time for us to go home."