Sleepovers were common for Bennett, though never at Ace’s house. His best friend stayed over at his place, mostly because his family had a bigger TV to play games on. Ace had a TV in his room, but it was old and some games didn’t fit the screen properly. They had a better one in the living room, but that was Mr. Moore’s domain. Come to think of it, most of the house was Mr. Moore’s domain. “Is Ace in the bathroom?” He asked, tugging his backpack by its strap when Mr. Moore opened the door. Usually, his friend greeted him. He was let inside before the ram dropped the news. “Ace is spending the weekend with his mother.” The words hit Bennett like a gong. He stood ramrod stiff as the door closed behind him. The ram’s words were soft and he raised his hands to emphasize they were far away from the young colt. “I know he asked you to come over. That was my request. I won’t force you to stay, but I simply request you answer some questions I’ve been having since you saw the gimp.” “Questions like what?” Bennett asked. “Well, that’s what dinner is for. Come.” At the ram’s snap Bennett stood at attention. It took a few seconds to realize it wasn’t for him judging by the sound of hobble chains and squeaking leather from the kitchen. Mr. Moore’s gimp filled the doorway, free of its straitjacket in favor of leather cuffs bound by a chain shoulder-length. There were two more chains latched in the middle link. One connected to a thick leather collar around the gimp’s throat, the other to the middle link of its hobble chain. “You may offer it your bags. They’ll be put in Ace’s bedroom.” Bennett didn’t take his eyes off the restraints as he handed his bag over. At a bow, the gimp turned and left them. Underneath its swaying tail, Bennett noticed something thick and black lodged between visible asscheeks. His butt clenched at the sight of it. “To dinner?” Mr. Moore asked, “Do you prefer your burgers medium or well-done?” The gimp cooked for them. Despite all the leather and latex covering them, Mr. Moore had it wear an apron. Bennett assumed it was to protect the hanging chastity cage, which is what that metal disk over its cock was. The relief he felt knowing the gimp still had a dick was monumental. He hadn’t noticed it earlier but the gimp’s blindfold was gone. What glimpses he saw underneath the leather hood revealed a second hood of latex. The gimp cast its eyes down whenever facing Mr. Moore or Bennett, robbing him of any chance to see its eye color. Any chance to see it as a person. “I’ve been giving it more tasks this week to see how well it can do without supervision.” Mr. Moore explained. The ram sat at the opposing end of the circular kitchen table. Bennett’s eyes kept fidgeting back to the leather-bound being cooking for them despite his best efforts to give his host the attention demanded. “I told you before I only considered having it for cleaning. I’ve since asked it to do laundry on top of that. Bedsheets are a difficulty with the restraints but I see no reason not to have myself and Ace do them ourselves, lest we become complacent. As for cooking, I don’t believe it should do anything complex yet. It barely knew how to cook before taking the hood. Everything you see is something I’ve prepped. It just has the easy part of heating it up and serving.” “C-Cool…” Bennett nodded, sipping the glass of water he’d been provided. He kept his back leaned forward, legs tight as if to suppress his cock as it grew. It was slow going, held back by modesty he claimed to have, but it was growing. “I’m thinking that, once it can do tasks without issue, I’ll set up a time lock on its cell. The trouble with a gimp is that, despite all evidence to the contrary, it is still a person. People need to do things. To have a purpose. Even if the gimp’s only purpose is to be used, it can’t sit around all the time when I’m not. In the end, I hope for it to give me more free time to do passion projects. It would certainly justify having an extra mouth to feed.” A burger slid to the table. The gimp kneeled at its master’s side after handing him his meal. “Please tell me if it’s to your liking, Bennett.” Mr. Moore pet his hooded servant’s head with affection after reclipping the blindfold attachment on. Not sure what else to do, the young colt took a bite from his burger. Something was off, not necessarily bad just off. After swallowing he realized what. “It’s a little pinker than what my dad makes.” Mr. Moore frowned, took a bite of his own, and nodded. “It seems my gimp needs more practice on the stove. I’ll reprimand it for this later.” “It's ok, really.” The ram raised his brow at that. “I am so much of a draconian tyrant to whip my possession until it bleeds for an error, Bennett. It will be punished because it has to be in order to learn, but that does not mean I will break it. If you are to own a gimp, you must understand that the stick is as vital as the carrot. A gimp craves both for stimulation, sometimes mixing the two. Then again, a gimp’s version of a carrot is odd to some people. Not to you, I suspect.” It should have been. That much Bennett knew for sure. The idea of being someone’s property, their object, was anathema to everything he knew yet he found it compelling. Emotion surged up his spine at the sight of Mr. Moore petting his gimp. Desire and envy, emotions he didn’t want to apply to the situation. “I think we have exchanged pleasantries well enough for me to engage in questions now,” Mr. Moore said, locking his fingers together as he arched to the table. At the right angle the glare of his glasses obscured the ram’s horizontal eyes. Bennett gulped, swallowing nothing but air. “Be truthful.” His words came out as a soft command rather than a request. “Why is it that you are so fascinated with my gimp?” “B-Because I want one of my own one day,” Bennett said, though it sounded off in his voice. “It’d be c-cool to have a walking hole to f…have sex with whenever.” “That is a benefit to ownership, but it is not your truth. Speak plainly with me, Bennett. I will not judge.” “No, really,” Bennett clenched the seat of his chair, “I just want one to have sex with.” “Are you sure? I understand boys around your age have a sense of bravado they need to uphold.” “It’s not bra…bra…whatever. I mean it.” Bennett argued, his voice cracking under the pressure. Mr. Moore stared at him for a long moment, long enough that the young colt noticed the clock ticking in the background. Fingers tapped the table in a falling pattern. He looked to Bennett, then the gimp, then in Bennett’s direction as if seeing through him. “Would you like to fuck my gimp?” He asked. Bennett balked. “W-What?” He furrowed his brow at the request to repeat himself but kept his tone civil. “If all you wish to do is fuck a gimp, not take care of it, then I can offer you mine. I haven’t trained it for an adult stallion but a colt should be capable of enjoying either hole without issue.” The colt’s mouth hung loose. If he said no, he’d be a liar. If he said yes…he looked at the gimp, eye watching the chain of its plug gag hang idly, calling to be pulled. “Right here?” He asked. “Heavens no,” Mr. Moore said, taken aback. “This is where we eat. My gimp and you aren’t some young couple in passionate love with one another. It would be in my bedroom, where such things should happen.” “Fine. S-Sure. Let’s go.” Bennett hopped off his chair. Mr. Moore followed, one hand leading his gimp by a chain-link leash while the other directed the young colt forward. Bennett was too hard to notice how spartan Mr. Moore’s bedroom was, already unzipping himself once he saw the purple bed. “I...I want a blowjob,” Bennett sounded more confident in his head. Mr. Moore whistled at the size of his erect cock. Stallions were known to be big. The ram nodded, handing Bennett the gimp’s leash. “Tell that to it.” Deep breaths filled his lungs as he pulled the gimp closer. Bennett took to the bed to sit and yanked the stopper from its maw. Saliva slathered from it, followed by the ping tongue of the trained hole. Bennett’s cock grew hard but it was missing something. A sense of stability he’d had every night masturbating to this scenario. Not the exact scenario, but one so close he… Bennett realized it then and there. He eyed Mr. Moore who looked back with a raised brow, “You don’t need to have it come down. Its gag reflex is suppressed so you can thrust into it like any other hole.” The colt let go of the chain. He grabbed the gimp’s leather hood, shuddering at how it felt on his palms. His cock became hard like steel but he still refused to thrust into the living fuckhole. Mr. Moore’s hand rested on his shoulder when words failed Bennett. “It’s ok,” he assured him, taking the leash away. “This urge you have, it is nothing to be ashamed of.” “But…but I’m not like it.” He thought his words were a denial but it sounded like something else. A pleading. Mr. Moore looked him over carefully before speaking, “Would you like to experience it? Temporarily of course.” Ashamed, Bennett nodded. The ram did not adopt a warm smile of comfort nor say anything encouraging. There was no ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘I respect your decisions’, but instead a neutral, if not commanding, the expression on his face. He slipped into it so naturally that Bennett wondered if the face worn before was the real mask. “Come,” he said, his voice begetting no argument. Bennett was already following before the ram spoke as if an invisible leash attached him to the same hand holding the gimp’s chains. Anxiety and relief swirled inside him on his way to the basement, every step shaking his body to its core but he persisted. “Stand in the center of the room and strip yourself.” Mr. Moore ordered. In haste Bennett tossed his clothes aside, earning the ram’s attention when he stood straight and ready. “Why did you let them crumble like that?” Flustered, Bennett reached for his discarded clothes to fold them. “No. Leave them. Grow from the mistake.” Having never been naked before another adult beyond his parents, Bennett fought the urge to hide himself behind his arms. His burgeoning erection made it clear the view wasn’t entirely terrible. Mr. Moore circled him like a shark, nodding at what he saw. “Buzz his mane,” He said, directing his gimp to grab barber tools after removing its blindfold. “I need to get some things from the garage. Do not speak and only move your head when the gimp directs it.” Not expecting his blonde mane to be buzzed clear, Bennett tried not to struggle at the gimp’s hold. It pulled his hair taut but not enough to hurt, easier for it to chop and buzz it down. Bennett looked at his hair littering the floor while the gimped worked. He never had much attachment to it, but it was a part of him. It helped make Bennett Bennett. Without it, he felt somehow less than himself. He wondered how much of the gimp Mr. Moore shaved before suiting. If he was a lion, the mane had to come away. When Mr. Moore returned he rested a small duffle bag to the floor. The gimp kneeled. Bennett thought to do the same but the ram told him to stand upright with his face forward while he inspected the gimp’s work. Seemingly satisfied, he told the gimp to do the dishes, leaving the two of them alone in the basement dungeon. “Kneel.” Mr. Moore ordered and Bennett followed, resting his knees against the cold cement. He tried not to flutter his breath but failed each time. “Why are you here?” “What?” Bennett raised his head. Mr. Moore’s face didn’t sour but his words sounded like it should have. “Did I say you could raise your head? Keep it down and answer the question.” The colt complied with a fidget, gulping to find his throat tight. “I-I’m here because I want to know what it’s like to…to be a gimp.” “Are you prepared to submit?” “Yes.” “Prove it.” Mr. Moore said. Bennett was tempted to ask how as he was already naked and kneeling before the ram, but then the adult’s hoof came into view. It stayed still, arched out and waiting. Bennett hunched forward, ignoring his common sense screaming about how this was too far, and pressed his lips against it. He did not peck it like his mother’s cheek but held it steady until the voices in his mind ceased. The ram pulled his hoof away only to hold it over Bennett’s head, symbolizing the colt’s place as he explained the situation. “When submitting you are to refer to me as master or sir. In the rare instances you are not gagged, you are only to speak when spoken to. When the hood is on you are no longer Bennett, but an object. An it. Do I make myself clear?” Every statement hit him like a drum. Bennett’s cock turned hard as steel, its flat head bracing the concrete floor and leaving a pool of pre. Without looking up he responded, “Yes, master.” The phrase felt natural to him as if he was born to say it. “Rise and hold your arms out to your sides,” Mr. Moore commanded, lifting his hoof off for Bennett to do so. The colt’s cock bounced in the air with how quickly he stood up, hands held out like a T-pose. His master unzipped the duffle bag and laid out several articles of leather gear. His eyes fell on the hood instantly, but the ram picked something larger instead. A harness that wrapped tight around Bennett’s chest. “I started to make these last week when you asked me questions. Without your exact measurements I could only do rough estimations, so tell me if they are too tight or too loose.” The harness was loose. Mr. Moore tightened up so it hugged Bennett’s chest, offhandedly mentioning that Bennett might grow into it for a better fit. The cuffs had no issue, each latching to each wrist and ankle tight enough not to slip away. The added chains linking them together gave Bennett his first real taste of bondage as his arms were locked behind him. Lastly came the hood. It was loose like the harness, requiring a tighter pull when the ram yanked it over his skull. Laces tied it together to seal it in place, robbing the colt of his name, his personhood, but rewarding him with purpose. “At the rate you’re growing, investing in latex is poor financially. We will make do with leather for now. On your back, legs wide.” The colt did so, exposing their cock in all its glory. They witnessed their master pull an icepack from the mini-fridge. Slapping on latex gloves, the ram held the cock in one hand and the icepack to it in another. The colt never felt another hand on their cock before, but the joy of it was short-lived with the chill softening and shrinking is cock. “Deep breaths,” the ram said. The colt tried, shuddering with each as their cock softened. Next came a squirt of a cool liquid over their base and sack, followed by a tug of their balls and shaft pulled with a metal hoop. What erection gained from the sensation was softened with the icepack’s reapplication. “I have always admired the uniqueness of horsecock.” Mr. Moore pulled out a flat-headed disk with a long hollow tube on one end. “Despite their size equines never risk blood loss from erection. It’s such a crazed miracle. If yours grows unimpeded I imagine it will dwarf your fathers. I suppose that will be up to whoever holds your key. Keep taking deep breaths.” No amount of deep breathing could stop the sudden cry as the tube sank into the colt’s cockhole. They’d never considered anything coming in, only out of it. Their walls were sensitive, almost burning as the stainless but sterile steel. Mr. Moore continued telling his new gimp to take steady breaths, inserting the entire rod until the end of the cagehead, which then pushed the colt’s cock to the edge of its sheath. Never in it enough to close, that would make it impossible to lock against the metal loop lodged behind the balls and base. The gimp took a moment to adjust to the new sensation after hearing a lock click. The metal stayed as a near-permanent fixture, robbing their ability to grow erect. He found it ironic given how aroused it made him. “Return to kneeling.” Mr. Moore commanded. The new feeling between their legs made it difficult for the gimp to rise but they pushed on, kneeling at the hooves of their master. “Are you Bennett?” He asked. The colt stopped itself from nodding, remembering the earlier statements, and shook its head. It imagined Mr. Moore smiled but he likely didn’t show satisfaction with progress. That was for people, not objects. “I am going to ask you questions about Bennett. You will answer. Is that clear?” “Yes, sir.” The hooded colt said. “Has Bennett been spanked before?” “Yes, sir.” “Was it for a punishment?” “Yes sir.” “Did Bennett like to be spanked?” “No sir.” It remembered Bennett hating the stinging sensation afterward. No doubt Mr. Moore would use it for punishment. A motivator to not make mistakes. Mr. Moore continued. “Does Bennett masturbate?” “Yes, sir.” “How often?” “Every day, sir.” It was happy the hood hid its cheeks from flushing and its eyes could dart away without being reprimanded. Bennett discovered the process through Ace and grew horribly addicted to it. The only times Bennett didn’t think about masturbating was with Ace, though that lingered a different thought. “How does Bennett masturbate?” The gimp paused at the question for a moment. It understood it, but the query still confused him. Mr. Moore stepped away, returning with a leather paddle and pushing the gimp’s head to the floor. Seven strikes clapped its cheeks, each eliciting a lip-biting cry. “You are to answer a superior’s question without hesitation. If you do not know the answer you can say so, but you must answer. Each you do not will earn you a spanking based on the number of questions asked. Is that clear?” “Yes, sir!” The gimp colt shouted, ass burning from the remnants of the strike. “How does Bennett masturbate?” “By his cock, sir.” The gimp explained. “Has Bennett ever tried his ass?” “Once, sir.” “Why once?” The gimp recalled the ordeal. Bennett, having grown bored of his third load one day, researched another method to get off. He learned about the prostate, and while he didn’t hate the sensation slipping inside him, the angle to get it made the act too much effort. “Bennett couldn’t get a good reach on it, sir.” “Does Bennett like to masturbate to girls and women?” “No sir.” “Boys and men?” “Yes sir.” Bennett’s parents knew he was gay, but he’d told no one else outside his immediate family. The gimp wondered why, but the next question helped answer that. “Does Bennett have a crush on my son?” There was more weight to this question. The gimp froze, thinking over every encounter Bennett had with Ace, even as the paddle clapped its cheeks fourteen times. “Yes, sir!” The gimp answered with tears in its eyes not from the pain but the realization. Mr. Moore stepped away to put the paddle aside, leaving the young gimp to ponder Bennett’s feelings. When he returned he applied a soothing gel across the colt’s flank. The healing sensation was broken by the slow intrusion of gloved fingers sinking into its asshole. They dug deep, forcing the gimp to breathe heavily to relax. Bennett had seen enough gay porn to expect this, but the sensation was so much different than the gimp thought. It was foreign and out of his control, taking over its body. Then it left. Before the gimp could contemplate why, a round metal end plunged into its ass. It lined up its asscrack like a hook. With a jostling and the pull of a pulley above, the gimp was forced to its feet, stopping just as the tips of its hooves were holding the gimp up. Rope coiled around the hooded head and tied the gimp to the pulley, forcing the gimp’s head upright and chest exposed. “Open your mouth,” Mr. Moore ordered, shoving a separate gloved hand down the gimp’s throat. His two middle fingers reached as deep as he could, pulling out once the gimp started to gag for air. “The long faces of horses tend to make gag suppression pointless. Fortunately, I enjoy training to remove it.” Grabbing a flogger from the wall he said, “With my last gimp I performed a small ritual for us. A baptizement as it were, where I struck it repeatedly to symbolize thwacking away at its old life until only it remained. It thanked me for each one, pledging its loyalty to me and me alone. This is not a true baptizement, but you may think of it as such. I simply just wish to flog you, and you are to thank me for using your body as I see fit. Is that understood?” “Yes sir,” The thwack of the flogger struck the gimp’s chest after it finished. It didn’t sting like the paddle, carrying a more thuddy force to it. “Thank you for using this gimp, sir!” The hooded colt shouted, repeating it with every strike across its body. From the chest, legs, thighs, back, ass, and even its sack, none were given mercy. Haggard breaths filled the dungeon air when Mr. Moore stopped. The gimp didn’t realize both it and its master were panting. From the bag, its master clipped a studded blindfold to the hood. Cool water pooled down its throat, which it drank greedily until a thick rubber ball was stuffed behind its teeth and locked in place by a strap around the head. “I made a point to call Bennett’s parents when getting your gear,” Mr. Moore said, his shirt drenched with sweat by the noise it made hitting the floor. “I explained to them that Bennett wished to stay the entire weekend, and they agreed. That gives me all of tomorrow and tomorrow night to drill everything needed into your head before Ace gets home.” The flogger struck across the gimp’s chest again. Despite the gag, it thanked its master for the strike, eager for more.