****** A short and brutal slave life ******
                           Provided By: BDSM_Library
                              www.bdsmlibrary.com



Synopsis: A man is sold to a brutal Master who uses him as a mere fuck and
torture toy.
A short and brutal slave life

By 2NN



WARNING! This story deals with homosexuality, brutal, non-consensual S&M

and snuff. If you are a minor or don't like these subjects, go elsewhere

now.



Chapter 1

I come home from a real shitty day at work. My last shitty day

at work. I've just been fired along with everyone else in the company.

I've seen this one coming for awhile so it's not exactly a surprise, but

still; it's been an ugly day. My wife knows how bad my day must have

been and has prepared a surprise to cheer me up. Other people's wives

would no doubt be waiting with a fine dinner or a nice hot bath. Not so

mine. She waits for me sitting on the couch dressed in skin-tight, black

leather from top to toe, her feet clad in thigh-high six-inch stilettos,

laced up the front. On the coffee table her whip rests and from her

crotch sprouts a massive strap-on.



We've only been married about a year, but we have a strong common

interest: she likes to dominate me and I love to be dominated by her.

And this is exactly what I need to unwind after a shitty day: a good

beating followed by a good fucking.



She barely even glances at me as I enter the room. With the slightest of

nods she indicates the outfit she's picked out for me today. I'm

rock-hard before seeing the items on the floor and I certainly don't get

any softer as I recognize them. I rip off my clothes and put them on: a

pair of black stilettos with six-inch heels, broad steel cuffs for both

my ankles and my wrists and finally a broad collar made from shiny

steel. As soon as I am naked I put them on and approach my wife on all

fours, making sure to keep my head down.



Ever so carefully I kiss her boots and lick their soles as she turns

them up. She doesn't speak a single word as I remove even the tiniest

trace of dirt and gravel from her boots. Only after a prolonged period

of boot worship on my part, does she acknowledge me: "Into the bedroom,

you useless worm!"



Dutifully I crawl into the bedroom, where she's prepared a treat for me.

Our wooden horse has been placed on center stage. I am commanded to my

feet only to be placed at one end of the horse and bent over it. Soon my

ankles are tied wide to the supports and my body rest on the narrow bar

that is the horse itself. Then my hands are tied to the two other

supports and for good measure my body is strapped down. My legs are now

spread wide and Mistress has free access to my ass and my genitals. By

now I've forgotten about my shitty day and my cock is throbbing with

lust, screaming for attention. First, however, she gags me with a huge

black ball-gag. As she moves behind me, I tense up with anticipation.

What is she going to do first? Whip me? Fuck my ass? My breathing is

heavy as I wait for whatever Mistress has in store for me.



But instead I hear her steps retreat from the room and move away. This

has never happened before, but I have no doubt that she'll be back soon.

I am more than a little annoyed when I hear the doorbell and quite

shocked when I hear her footsteps moving to answer it. Surely she can't

have managed to change in that time? Nonetheless I hear her voice greet

whoever is at the door and I hear the deep tones of a man greet her in

return. As I hear her inviting him inside and her closing the door

behind him I begin to struggle to break free. There's an unimpeded view

from the living room into the bedroom where I'm tied up and I don't want

a stranger to see me like this.



But no matter how hard I fight, I can't break free and soon I hear a

very deep and masculine voice directly behind me: "So that's the

pathetic little shit," the voice says and goes on: "He certainly has a

tight little ass, very fuckable, just as promised." While shouting into

my gag trying to object, I try to turn my head to see him, but both he

and my wife stand directly behind me, mere shadows in my field of

vision. My wife's voice is high, peeling with laughter: "He certainly is

that. I'm sure that you'll enjoy fucking that tight ass of his very

much." I stop dead at this. Did she say that he was going to fuck me? I

am even more shocked when she says that he will probably enjoy whipping

me even more, since she's held back for a long time and that there's a

good chance that a proper whipping will break me for real.



My struggles intensify and my shouts of protest reach a new high as I

try to gain a measure of control over this strange situation. Then they

move into my field of vision and my struggles die down as I see them. My

wife is still dressed as she was when I came home, not half an hour ago,

every bit the dominatrix. The man she has brought into the house is

easily the biggest man I've ever seen, at least seen up close. He is at

least six feet ten and he must weigh three hundred pounds. None of it

looks like fat. His hands are probably big enough to hold my entire head

and his upper arms are easily bigger than my thighs. Easily. He has

closely cropped black hair, no facial hair and a subtle tan. He's

dressed in a pair of black leather pants and a close-fitting black

T-shit that looks as if it might burst from the pressure of his muscles.

On his feet are black boots and he looks about as dominating as anyone

I've ever seen. His black eyes look at me as if I'm an interesting bug

or an interesting new toy.



I am almost limp with shock as he, very calmly and matter-of-factly,

informs me that my wife has sold me to him and that he intends to keep

me as a torture- and fuck-toy. As I look at him dumbfounded, he pulls

out some papers and tells me there are a few formalities to settle

first: I have to sign divorce papers and a number of papers signing

everything over to my wife.



Finally I wake up from my stupor and begin to object. I scream and yell

into my gag, without really creating much noise, and I struggle as hard

as I can without achieving anything. When my struggles die down the man

grabs my chin and forces me to look him straight in the eye. Then he

tells me that I either I sign the papers right now and avoid a being

tortured or I refuse to sign them now and endure a torture session like

I've never experienced before. Personally he'd rather I refuse, because

he's been looking forward to torturing me for a while now. From my

wife's look of eager anticipation I can tell that she too would rather I

refused.



I'm dammed if I do and dammed if I don't, but I can't just give up

without a fight and so I toss aside the pen I am given to sign the

documents. This causes quiet jubilation in my two captors. Then they go

to work. First I am blindfolded and then I hear him ask her to go first.

She has of course whipped me before, but it's always been fairly soft

and always with either a cane or a vanilla edition of the cat-o-nine

tails. Not so this time. It feels like she's using a bullwhip and

there's no doubt that she really leaning into the blows. As I feel the

whip encircling my body as she whips my back, I realize that I can only

do one thing: scream. And for what seems like days, but is probably only

an hour or two at most, it's all I do. Gagged, blindfolded and tied down

all I can do is to scream and writhe as they take turns whipping every

inch of my body using both the bullwhip and a bamboo crop.



As he strikes my exposed balls I almost faint with the pain and I know

that I'll do absolutely anything they ask of me when they stop. I try to

scream to them that I give up, that they've broken me, but they don't

hear me or don't want to hear me. Instead they continue their torture

until I nothing but a sobbing wreck, trying weakly to muster enough

energy to scream, but failing to do even that.



They've robbed me of all resistance and when they remove my blindfold

and gag all I can manage is a pathetic, weak gurgling for mercy. This of

course makes both of them laugh and it is to that laughter of derision

that I cry as I sign away everything I own to my wife; giving her

everything as I sign the divorce papers.



My torturers agree that this calls for celebration and as my wife takes

position at my face, I feel how the man positions himself at my ass. As

the cold, slippery sensation of my ass being lubed up reaches my head I

begin to panic and protest, but now it is too late. My wife grabs my

head and forces her strap-on into my mouth and throat and I feel the

man's huge hands separating my cheeks. I pray that his cock will be more

normal in size than the rest of him, but as is presses against my

sphincter I realize that this is not the case.



I am too weak to keep him out and I would scream with pain if it weren't

for the rubber cock in my throat. Oh God he's big! He's going to split

me open; fuck me to death. I've had fantasies of men with big cocks

taking me, but the man is too big. I cry and try to scream but his

pumping in and out of my ass is unrelenting as is my wife's equally

rhythmic movements in my throat.



Her movements in my throat are very unpleasant and make me gag and

retch, but they are weak and distant compared to the action in my ass.

My whole being is focused on the sensation in my ass, on the huge tool

pumping in and out of me. It hurts unbelievably and I've never

experienced anything remotely like it when it comes to discomfort. And

yet I'm getting hard. In all the pain and discomfort; through the loss

and defeat I can feel myself getting hard. Hard and throbbing.



The man notices at once and both he and my wife begin laughing. Then,

unbelievably, he reaches down and strokes me. Were it not for the rubber

monster filling my throat, I would gasp from surprise and joy. Had I the

air for it I would moan with lust as his expert manipulations continue

and in a matter of minutes I am ready to burst. I can't hold it anymore

and my load shoot out of me like it has never done before. Spasms wrack

my body as the orgasm takes hold of me and I forget the pain for a

while, concentrating on the wonderful feeling of being fucked and

getting off.



Then he pulls me back. My spasms haven't even died down when his iron

fist closes around my balls and squeezes them until I think they'll pop.

The pain is like nothing I've ever experienced before and I am filled

with it. I want to scream my head off, but as I am about draw breath; my

wife thrusts her strap-on all the way down my throat, cutting off my

breath completely. The man continues both his fucking and the relentless

pressure on my balls, but my wife keeps the rubber cock wedged firmly in

my throat. The pain blends with lack of air and my whole body begins to

spasm as I run out. In unbelievable pain and choking I loose

consciousness.



I wake up in a state of panic, coughing and retching, but I'm quickly

brought back by two brutal slaps from the man. He informs me that I am

now his property as he nods towards my wife who is counting a large wad

of money. Before I have the opportunity to object, he pulls a very tight

rubber hood down over my head. It has holes at my nose and mouth, but

very soon my mouth is once again stuffed with the huge ball-gag. Then he

releases me from the horse only to retie my arms down along my sides.

Wrists and hands to straps around my thighs, arms kept pinned to my

sides by three straps around my upper body. My legs are also strapped

together and once I am just as helpless as before, he slings across his

shoulder as if I was a small toy. I hear him say goodbye to my wife and

then he carries me to his car, where he dumps me into the trunk. He ties

me down, so that I have almost no movement left and puts several thick

blankets over me and closes the lid. The sounds of the outside world

have all but disappeared behind the suffocating blankets and I am quite

sure that no one would be able to hear me if I had the ability to

scream. As it is I have to use all my energy to avoid panicking under

the suffocating blankets and so when they are finally removed I have not

been able to produce a single sound to save myself.



Again he slings me across his shoulder and carries me away. I am dumped

on a cold cement floor and my gag is ripped out of my mouth. He fucks my

face and he fucks it hard. His huge cock, tasting of his cum and my

shit, pumps in and out of my face as I try to keep up. My mouth is just

hole for him to pound and when he shoots his load, he presses his cock

as far down my throat as he can, making me retch and cough. He produces

an unbelievable amount of cum, which I am unwilling and unable to

swallow. Most of it dribbles down my rubber clad chin and onto my chest.

He reinserts the gag and secures my collar to a ring in the wall and

leaves me on the cold concrete floor.



I am now the property of a man, beaten, raped and defeated I lie on a

cold concrete floor, completely unable to escape my bonds and with his

cum drying on my chin and chest as I helplessly wait for whatever fate

he has planned for me.



Chapter 2

My wake-up call is brutal. A heavy boot hits me just below the

ribs and all air is forced out of me. I am cold, stiff and in pain from

the beatings yesterday and now the man has made me even more miserable

by kicking me in the stomach. I haven't even caught my breath when he

begins to beat me. It feels like he's using a bamboo crop and that he's

putting some force into it. Soon I am screaming while I squirm and try

to avoid the blows. All I achieve is pathetic wriggling while I scream

and try to beg my tormentor. My gag reduces my pleas to a wet mewling

and thus only serves to underline my position.



Then the blows stop and I begin crying with relief. This is of course

short-lived as he removes the straps holding my legs, flips me over so

that my rubber covered face touches the ground and my ass sticks out. I

know what comes next, but I am still unprepared for it and a hopeless

whine escapes me as he forces himself into me from behind. Oh God, he's

big! I can't believe how big he is or how brutally he uses his tool. I

am a rag-doll being jerked around helplessly as he pounds my ass with

his giant cock. Without me realizing I have once again become hard and I

am acutely embarrassed as his expert hands find my cock - again. How can

I enjoy this? His fucking is absolutely brutal and I am in more pain and

discomfort than I have ever been, but his hands reduce me to a panting

beast and soon my body tenses up as I prepare to shoot my load. I pass

the point of no return and another glorious orgasm begins and just then

his hands shift position. Instead of my cock, his hands now find my

balls and like yesterday the squeezing is so brutal that I can't even

scream.



I lie curled up, whimpering with pain as I feel his cum dribble out of

my ass. My balls hurt unbelievably and I must fight back the nausea this

pain causes me. There is a real possibility that he'll let me drown in

my own vomit if I throw up.



Rest is not in the cards for me. He pulls me to my knees and yanks my

gag out. I am just about to beg and plead with the man when his massive

palm strikes me and throws me, stars appearing before my eyes, to the

floor. I am not to talk without being asked to talk, something I am

beginning to doubt will ever happen. Instead I am to lick his cock

clean. I have an idea of what awaits me and it's disgusting, but the man

scares me badly and I am unable to object. I stick my tongue out

cautiously and begin my disgusting task. My caution soon earns me a

barrage of blows from the crop and not long thereafter I am licking and

sucking his tool, covered in my shit and his cum, far more

enthusiastically than before. Finally the cleaning part is over, but I

realize that my degradation will never end as he informs me that he has

to take a leak and that if I spill any of his precious urine I will pay

dearly.



It's not a stream; it's a river of warm, salty and revolting piss that

hits my mouth. I have no way of swallowing all of it, although my acute

fear of the man makes me try my very best. Warm piss runs down my chest

and I can hear him curse me out. When I am done swallowing I try to beg

for mercy; try to tell him that I didn't mean to let him down; that

there was just too much urine for me to swallow. With the hood still on

my head I can't see him, but I can actually hear the swoosh of air just

before his palm connects with my head and sends me sprawling.



My pathetic pleas are again ignored while he removes my bonds, only to

tie me anew. Again using my cuffs he hogties me and places me in a

bundle on the floor. But that's not all. My hogtie is somehow connected

to a wire, rope or chain hanging down from the ceiling and soon he uses

this to lift me from the floor. The strain on my hips and shoulders

alone is enough to make me groan and whimper with pain, but when he

begins to whip me I once again scream. He keeps up the whipping until I

again reduced to a sobbing wreck. Then he garbs my head and, using my as

a perverted kind of swing, he fucks my face so deep and hard I have

trouble believing that I actually survive it, especially the torrent of

jism being sprayed deep down my throat at the end.



Cum is still dripping from my lips as he reapplies the gag and leaves

me, moving gently back and forth like a perverted swing. Again I am

beaten and fucked and this time cum and blood are trickling out of my

very sore ass. Soon my hips and shoulders begin aching intolerably and I

begin to whimper at first, then moan and finally scream as the pain in

my muscles and tendons becomes unbearable. But of course there's no

relief. The man is long gone and I am left to suffer alone. Not only am

I humiliated and in pain. I am also quite hungry and more than a little

thirsty.



Although I have no way of knowing for sure, I think that it has been

more than twenty-four since I last ate or drank anything and in that

time I have been put through a regime of very strenuous physical

activity: an almost unbelievable amount of torture and forced sex. And

in all that time the only "sustenance" I have received is the small

amount of piss I have been forced to ingest. Shaming myself even further

I begin to regret not drinking his piss as ordered to and this more than

anything presses home the hopelessness of my situation and I begin to

cry again.



Finally I hear the man's footsteps and incredibly I begin mewling with

joy at hearing him. I am of course hoping to be let down. What happens

after I am let down is of no concern to me; I simply can't think that

far. All I think about is relief of the strain in my muscles. Relief is

at first only something he gets as he, without speaking a word, rams his

cock so far up my ass that my teeth actually jar. As before his fucking

is unbelievably forceful, a storm of deep, pumping strokes that

literally take my breath away. His fucking is so brutal that I must

breathe in small shallow gasps that are pushed out again as his cock

presses against my lungs.



He finds my cock and soon I am, weak and shamefully, as hard I have ever

been. My weakness and my joy at him finding my cock and stroking it is a

source of intense shame and pain to me. Nothing the man has done to me

feels good. Everything that has been going on has been painful and

humiliating in the extreme and although I have occasionally fantasized

about men, this has never been part of my fantasies. And still my lust

is literally apparent as I again keen with delight as I shoot my load, a

sound followed by my muffled screaming as he again crushes my balls with

his massive hands.



He sets my battered body down on the cold concrete floor to the sound of

me crying in defeat. I hardly notice that the strain on my shoulders is

relieved, unable to tear my focus away from the pain in my crotch and

ass.



Rest is again not part of the program in the man's dungeon. I am tied

down in what feels like a dentist's chair and then my hood is finally

removed along with my gag. As I blink against the light, trying to

adjust to it, I fight back the urge to speak, to beg and plead for my

release. Already I have learned to fear the man and to obey his wishes.



He stands above me, a towering figure regarding his pathetic catch, but

he does not speak. After a few seconds he grabs my chin and forces my

mouth open. Not that I offer much resistance. Then he places two thick,

rubber wedges in the back of my mouth, thus preventing me from closing

it. He finishes tying down my head by putting a strap around my forehead

and tying me to the headrest with so much force that I keen with the

instant headache it gives me.



Now that my arms and legs, even my torso, is tied down to chair most

securely, he removes my cuffs and my stilettos, all things my wife put

on me before selling me to the man. Then he begins the process of making

me wholly his property.



The first thing is removal of all my hair; all of it. He tapes my eyes

shuts and rubs me with a crème that soon has me screaming for mercy as

it burns me unbelievably. Eyes taped shut I am unable to see my own

body, but I am convinced that my skin is being peeled off. The pain is

so intense that I loose track of time and when he finally rinses the

crème off I cry with relief, babbling out inane thank-you's to the man

who of course ignores me. As he removes the tapes over my eyes and dries

my skin I see that I have no hair left and when his hand moves across my

forehead I feel that I am not only bald, but that my eyebrows too have

been removed.



I am once again deeply shocked, but I don't have time to think about it

as he moves along with his plan. Next up is my teeth. He clearly doesn't

like the idea that a slave might bite him, so he makes sure that I

can't. Completely ignoring my cries, pleas and screams he uses a pair of

pliers to remove all of my teeth. It not only takes a long time, but it

is also extremely painful and several times I pass out. When this

happens, he stops his work and wakes me up with smelling salts so that I

will miss none of the unbelievable pain he is subjecting me to.



When he is finally finished I am reduced to a pathetic slave-shit

pleading with his owner, promising him to be good. He probably can't

understand what I am saying now that my gums are a bleeding, painful

mess, but he wouldn't have paid me any heed even if he had understood

me.



The man is not finished with me and seemingly enjoying my screaming and

pleading immensely, he carries on with a great, big sadistic smile on

his face. Then it is time for my hands. Using the same pair of pliers he

rips out my nails one at a time, again making sure that am awake for

every little step of the torture. When it is over my screams and pleas

have turned into a high, hopeless and constant keening and I am in a

state of near-panic, nearly hyperventilating. He "cures" this by

climbing onto the chair and fucking my face deep and long, forcing me to

deal with the immediate threat of drowning from the river of cum that

will soon flood my mouth.



A big spill of cum drying on my chest he moves on to the final part of

his plan. I should have expected this, but I didn't. Now that he has

finished with my hands he moves on to my feet. Again working

methodically and with a big smile on his face, he removes all my

toenails. This time I do panic and as he removes the last of my nails I

hyperventilate myself into unconsciousness.



Chapter 3

I don't know how long it's been since the man took me, I

really don't. It could be a month, but it could just as easily be six

months or a year. I have no idea. I have now understood the man's plans

for me almost completely. There's not much to understand. I am nothing

but a doll to torture and a collection of warm holes to fuck. Warm holes

that scream pleasantly when beaten.



He does not train me. He has made no effort to train me at all. I had

somehow expected that he would train in some way; perhaps in how to best

use my mouth to please him, since his cock spends so much time in there.

He has shown no interest in this whatsoever. On the contrary he seems to

enjoy taking me by force every time; that I am unable to make things

easier for either myself or him. Same thing with my ass. As for my

hands, they are not part of his plan for his sexual exploitation of me.

Ever since my hands healed up after my nails had been removed, they have

been sealed away in some very tight, black rubber mittens, reducing them

to helpless and useless little cones. My feet received much the same

treatment and they are now sealed inside a pair of shiny, black plastic

ankle high boots, which are at least two sizes too small and have seven

inch stilettos heels.



Not that I spend much time walking in them. Mostly I think they are to

keep me under control while allowing me to walk - after a fashion.

Mostly I crawl, squirm or grovel on the floor and most of my moving

around is done by him carrying me, mainly sitting impaled on his giant

cock.



Right now I am hooded and gagged and my very sturdy stainless steel

collar is secured to the wall with a short chain. My hands are chained

to my collar but my feet are left unbound, a fact that does nothing at

all to improve my situation.



My situation has not improved since my arrival. I have not adjusted to

the man's torture or brutal fuckings. If anything I am worse off now

than when I arrived. When he first caught me I was unaware of just how

brutal and evil he is. No longer. I now know that no matter how hard he

beats me, and he beats me so much that my body is never without welts

and bruises, it can always get worse. Just when I think that it can't

possibly get more painful, he turns it up a notch. The same thing goes

for his fuckings. Just when I think that his ass fuckings are as brutal

as they can be, he uses his giant cock in a more brutal manner than

before.



As a result of this constant torture and constant awareness that it is

going to get even worse with time, I have developed a very unfortunate,

humiliating and disgusting reflex. The reflex is completely involuntary

and no matter how hard I try to suppress it, I can't. The sad fact is

that whenever I see or hear him come down into the dungeon, I loose all

control over both bladder and bowel. His mere presence scares me so

badly that I shit myself. And not just sometimes either, but every time

I hear his footsteps.



The man has a very clear policy in this. Whenever I soil myself I clean

up after myself - with my mouth. As a result I eat my own shit and drink

my own piss several times a day, or at least several times during the

period of time I think is a day. The task is revolting in the extreme,

but I do it as fast as I can every time and I try to smile eagerly as I

finish as this seems to make him smile. I am not sure that it causes him

to torture me less, but I try desperately.



Not only do I eat my own shit and drink my own piss, but I have now been

reduced to a toilet for the man. Not only does he take a crap directly

into my mouth, but what little food he gives me is always laced with

shit, just as the water he gives me always tastes of piss. Often days

(or what I think is days) goes by without me eating anything but shit or

drinking anything but piss; his and my own. He will release me so that

my arms are free, as are my legs. Since my hands are rendered useless by

the mittens (my hands would probably be completely useless anyway, since

they haven't been out of the mittens since they healed up), my feet are

imprisoned inside the much too small stilettos and I no longer have any

teeth, I am in no way a threat to him. After releasing me and depositing

me on my knees, he will turn his back to me and pull down his pants and

casually remark that he needs to take a dump. This is my cue and I will

crawl over and stick my face as far up between his butt-cheeks as I can,

my mouth open and ready to receive his revolting load. Every time I

almost choke in it, barely being able to keep up and each time I'll

succeed in the end, wishing I hadn't, that I had a choice. When he is

done I'll lick his rim clean and sit back on my heels, my face turned up

expectantly, smiling in the futile hope that it will put him in a better

mood so that he'll go easier on me in the torture session that will

inevitably come. I don't know if this is the case, because I have never

dared not smiling at him after completing my disgusting task. Looking

down at my no doubt grotesquely smiling face, he always "washes" first

my face and then my mouth with a stream of warm piss. Utterly disgusted

with myself I have realized that for this golden shower I am profoundly

grateful, especially when it flushes my mouth. I have sunk so low that I

am grateful for being pissed on!



Not only am I a slave constantly bearing the marks of brutal beatings

and torture, but I am also growing thinner and thinner. While never fat

in any way, I did have a bit of fat here and there when I arrived. Not

so anymore. Now I'm a very skinny slave, my ribs clearly visible, my ass

skinny and hard. The muscle-tone on my arms has gone, since I never use

then anymore. My arms are never free. There's a bit more muscle in my

thighs, but they too are affected by my lack of other exercise than

rigorous fuckings and a diet of mostly shit and piss.



He tortures and fuck me incessantly. Whenever he's around he abuses me.

And when he fucks my ass, he always reaches around to give me a

hand-job. As I cum, and I can't help it, he always, always, makes sure

to inflict as much pain on my balls as he possibly can, right at the

moment when I cum.



Mostly he does it by squeezing them, but needles and electricity are

also favorites of his. Sometimes he straps me into the chair I lost my

hair, teeth and nails in and fucks me face to face. This gives him

unimpeded access to my cock and balls while he fucks me and it leaves

his hands free to torture me. Often the result is horrible electric

shocks as I cum; my howls of pleasure turning into screams as the

fountain of jism from my cock is turned into a tortured spasm of pain

accompanying the discharge.



One favorite way of shocking my balls when I cum, is fit them with a

strange kind of spreader bar. The contraption is made of steel and

consists of two heavy "shackles", closing just above each testicle.

These are then connected by a heavy steel bar. The weight alone is very

painful, though not painful enough to prevent my erection. At each

"shackle" an electric wire is then attached and when I cum, he switches

the current on, making me twitch and scream in pain. Sometimes alligator

clamps, squeezing my testicles are also employed, but there are other

methods as well. Occasionally he will plunge thin skewers through my

testicles as I cum and follow this already outrageously painful maneuver

up by putting electricity through them. As my cum spews out over my

abdomen, I scream, twitch and spasm, usually loosing bowel control at

the same time. This means that I'll end the torture session by crawling

around on the floor, eating my own shit while I whimper in pain and

humiliation.



As a result I have begun fearing my orgasms. Not long ago I like almost

all other men and women, loved my orgasms. They topped almost all other

sensations. Not anymore. When his hands touch my cock and make me hard,

I cry, plead and beg. I actually beg not to cum; to be allowed a fuck

without an orgasm at the end. This makes him laugh and my humiliation

only grows larger when I grow hard regardless of the fact that I know

that I'll soon be in enormous pain. The fact that I can be in a

situation I hate and fear so much, that I thanks to this man lead the

life of a completely and utterly subjugated slave, a shit eating torture

puppet, yet cum every time my torturer touches my cock, is my greatest

shame and obviously a fact that amuses him enormously. If I had just

half a chance I would rum creaming away from this man. I loathe and hate

every, little thing he has done to me, but his touch makes me rock hard

and the orgasms he produces in me are far, far better than anything I

experienced before. And I fear them. The very prospect of cuming makes

me soil myself with abject terror.



Chapter 4

I can't get hard anymore. I have no real idea of how long ago,

but recently the man's torture of my balls has increased dramatically.

As always he tortures my balls mercilessly after I cum, but not long ago

he stepped this torture up. While my cock still twitched from the orgasm

that had gripped it just seconds ago, he would kick my balls, beat them

with closed fists or even hammers or bats. As a result my balls have

become increasingly misshapen and are now oddly flat and lumpy. This in

turn means that I began getting trouble getting it up when he touched my

cock and my ability to get hard has now disappeared altogether.



My fear of cuming, brought on by the man's incessant torture after my

orgasms, has turned into near-panic at the thought of what he will do

now that I can't get hard. The last ten or twenty times he has fucked

me, I have been unable to get it up, and it's clear that this has made

him increasingly angry. The last fuck was the worst yet and as I crouch

in my corner of the dungeon, chained, hooded and gagged, I tremble with

fear as I hear the door close behind him. As always the fear gets the

better of me and I feel how my bowels let go. I feel my shit running

down the inside of my legs and how this stream is joined by the trickle

of piss since bladder control has also been lost in the terror that

engulfs me every time he approaches.



Not long after I crawl around on the floor, my tongue not missing a

single spot as I clean up after myself. After this revolting task,

things get worse, as they always do, and soon I again find myself eating

the man's shit directly from his ass. I smile with sickly gratitude as

he flushes away the last remnants of feces with his piss, acutely aware

that the man owns me and has me turned into the lowest creature on

Earth; a shit eating slave.



Today I sense cold and calculating fury in my owner, something that

makes me tremble and be strangely grateful that I have already emptied

my bowel, since the sight of him like this would otherwise be sure to

make me loose control.



He picks me up as easily as if I were a small dog, only a dog would

never be handled this brutally. He handled me easily enough when he

first grabbed me, but now his task is grotesquely easy. I am now very

thin from eating mostly shit and thus weigh almost nothing. I would

probably have died from malnutrition long ago had he not begun feeding

me "real" food; dog food that is. He did so only reluctantly with a

remark about how it was no fun porking my bony ass. Still, I am a very

skinny and hairless slave, permanently marked by the constant beatings

me subjects me to.



I am deposited in the hated chair and as I am strapped very securely

down, my legs spread wide, I begin to keen with fear at what torture

will come next. My fear turns to terror when he doesn't begin to fuck

me. This is very bad news. The fact that he is now seemingly

concentrating 100% on torturing me makes me babble pleas for mercy,

something I know only spurs him on, without being able to stop.



First he takes a very firm grip around my balls and pulls them as far

away from my body as he can, which is a considerable distance

considering that they are still attached to my body. As always the pain

is excruciating and my screams are predictable both in desperation and

ability to please him. A thin smile creases his cruel face as he holds

them there before proceeding. Then he takes a plastic strip, the kind

used for tying together electric cables, and loops it around my nut

sack. Using only one hand this is quite difficult, but he finally

completes the circle and pulls it as tightly together as it will

possibly go. Compared to the pain in my balls this is mild, but still

very noticeable.



He takes out a truncheon and starts beating my now sequestered balls. At

first the pain is unbelievable, but gradually is subsides to a throbbing

ache as a result of the lack of blood flow. By then I have of course

been reduced to a wreck, screaming incoherently with pain. I am deeply

and absurdly grateful as he brushes my mangled balls out of the way and

fucks my ass, deep and hard. This time he does not even try to

manipulate my cock, which lies limply against my abdomen.



When he pulls out I am stupid enough to hope that it is over, but I soon

realize that all up till now has only been a prelude to the main event.

I am momentarily mute with horror as I see the things he is preparing

for action: needle and thread and a scalpel. He is going to castrate me!

I find my voice and scream with terror like I have never screamed

before. He can't co this! It doesn't matter that I am for all intents

and purposes already castrated; my testicles mangled lumps of useless

meat hanging between my legs. Removing them is much, much more final.

And so I scream my head off. At least until he slaps me three or four

times and my vision is wobbly. After that I am again reduced to futile

begging and crying.



He places ice-packs on my cock and balls to reduce the blood flow and I

watch in amazed horror as he pushes a giant ice-dildo up my ass to

further cool down my lower abdomen. After a while I am shivering with

the cold and my pleas are garbled further by my shaking as I have no

teeth to chatter.



Then he takes out the scalpel and my pleas take on a new intensity, no

doubt pleasing to him as he smiles. He uses one hand to hold my balls

and with the other he leads the scalpel and in one quick swoop he has

separated my balls from my body. There is very little pain and I sit

frozen in horror as he throws away what remains of my testicles,

bruised, mangled and useless as they are now. Then he sows the wound

neatly back together, showing surprising dexterity, overhearing my soft

and hopeless crying and finally he removes the plastic strip and my

crotch is now smooth, the only protrusion being my limp and useless

cock, now a symbol of my status as a worthless slave shit.



But he is not quite finished yet. Using his rough fingers he grabs the

tender flesh on either side of the wound and pulls the flesh away from

my body. The pain is worse than ever before and I nearly faint as I

scream at the top of my voice, desperately and uselessly trying to

squirm away from the pain. Then it gets worse as he punctures my flesh a

pointed metal object. It goes in on one side of the wound and exits at

the other and is soon replaced by a sturdy steel ring, which he then

solders in place. Where I once had balls in my crotch I now have a steel

ring and this more than the pain makes me cry hopelessly. Naturally this

makes him horny and soon I am thanking him for castrating me by sucking

his huge cock. As always it is not so much me sucking as him pounding

his cock into my face and like always I am close to drowning in the

torrent of cum he deposits in my mouth.



Chapter 5

I no longer remember my name. It seems like I have been down

here forever, but I know that it has not always been so. Once I was

free, only I can no longer remember what that means. Like my name that

knowledge has disappeared and all that is left is forced sex and brutal

torture. Even shit eating seems natural now, even if it still disgusts

me. I simply can't remember a time when I didn't eat shit every day,

when my thirst wasn't quenched with urine or cum. A vague recollection

of what it was like to be able to cum, to have an orgasm, exists in the

back of my mind, but it gets weaker and weaker every day.



Being the man's torture and fuck puppet must be my function in life. I

can't remember a time when it wasn't so, so he must be right in treating

me like this. I still scream and beg and the pain and humiliation is

still intense, but this must be my purpose; to be the man's property, to

do with as he sees fit, no matter how painful or demeaning it is to me.



But it bothers me that I can't remember my name. Maybe I was once

different. Maybe I was once something other than a shit eating slave, a

fuck hole, a mutilation doll. Maybe I was once someone, instead of being

no one. But it is no use. I can neither remember my name nor my past and

I am resigned to being the man's plaything.



Not that the knowledge would help me much. I can never escape. Never. My

feet are permanently imprisoned in stiletto boots and although I have

learned to walk and especially crawl in them with a certain measure of

perfection, they are still no good for running or even walking more than

a few hundred steps. The pain is simply too much since they are so small

and my feet so damaged. My arms are even worse off. I can't remember

when he broke them for the last time, but ever since that time they've

been stuck in a back-prayer, permanently secured to the back of my

collar, useless and out of the way. They must be even weaker and thinner

than the rest of me.



Besides I am never left unbound when the man is not around. I am always

hooded and gagged and chained to the wall. Usually my slave ring, placed

where my balls once were, is also chained to the floor, further limiting

my ability to move and constantly reminding me of what I am.



I still evacuate my bowels at the sound of his steps, but that doesn't

mean much these days. These days my ass can't hold anything. He broke it

a long time ago, but again I can't remember exactly when. While I

remember vaguely what it was like to cum, I remember vividly the

sensation of having my balls tortured. And I recall that the only thing

good about having them removed was that he could no longer use them to

torture me. This was first of all untrue since he's constantly reminding

me of what I have become and of what I once was. So now their absence is

used to plague me. Secondly their absence only made him more inventive

when it came to other forms of torture. Like his outrageous fistings of

me.



The first time he fisted me I thought he was killing me. I could not,

would not, believe that something that big could fit inside me. But of

course it did. He wanted it there and so it got there, no matter my

screaming, begging or pleading. I have since realized that the first

time was only a gently probe and that his hand didn't even make a proper

fist. But that changed. When he fists me now, his arms is buried up to

his elbow inside me and I can see the bulge it makes move around while I

am robbed of breath due to the monstrous intrusion.



Of course my ass soon broke from this treatment and so my waste simply

drops out of me and I am powerless to stop it. But things can always get

worse and not long ago he put two fists inside, again convincing me that

I'd rupture this time.



He has managed to break my tiny and limp cock too. Another favorite

torture method is to insert a flexible, but very large diameter, tube

into my cock and push it as far up as it will go. Naturally pleased with

my screaming, he soon increased the diameter of the tube until I was no

longer able to hold back my urine. It simply trickles out of my broken

bladder, just like my shit dribbles out of my broken ass.



His fuckings retained their usual brutality and frequency, to such a

degree that I think that maybe they have been the main reason for me

loosing all sense of time. It seems that I can never rest for long

enough before he forces his cock down my throat or pounds my ass with so

much force that my breath is beaten out of me. His cock's incessant

pounding of my throat has even ruined my voice, so that my pleading is

now a hoarse whisper instead of a high-pitched cry of desperation.



Lately though, his beatings and fuckings have taken on an air of

indifference. It seems like I bore him. I can easily understand his

feelings. After all, what am I but a badly damaged, maybe even broken

toy?



And so I am absurdly pleased when the bull-whip finds my chained body. I

scream as best I can of course, but in truth I am glad that he's giving

me a measure of attention. I am sure that I once hated this kind of

attention, but this is the only kind of attention I ever get and he has

left me alone for so very long now. To feel the whip curl around my body

is to feel the attention of the figure that dominates my world

completely and no matter how painful it is, I am grateful for it.



He is pouring an unusual amount of energy into the whipping today, even

removing my chains so that I can try to crawl away and so that he has a

bigger area of my skin to target. As always it goes on forever, but

finally he stops and the only sound I hear is that of my feeble begging.



I am picked up and deposited on the table in the dungeon. My upper body

is strapped to the table and my ass hangs over the side, unsupported,

putting a terrible strain on my lower back. He removes my hood and at

the same time provides support for my back as his massive tool invades

me again. Involuntarily my stiletto-clad ankles cross in the small of

his back. Once I hated him and everything he did to me, but now he is

all I have, all I can remember, all I can think about. I am just his

beaten and broken toy.



As always he fucks me vigorously, long and deep strokes driving into me.

Once I had the capacity to enjoy this, but all that is left of that

capacity now, is a hateful steel ring in my crotch and a tiny, limp

thing lying against my stomach.



He's pace increases and his grunts become deeper and then, suddenly, his

hands close around my throat, cutting off my breath. He squeezes my

throat as tightly as he can and I begin a futile and panicked struggle.

My upper body tries to spasm, but can't because of the straps and my

head is pinned down by his hands holding me by the throat. But my legs

can move and I can feel them kicking in complete panic, flaying about

behind his back, occasionally hitting him. He is completely indifferent

to this and simply keeps up both the fucking and the choking.



I feel the blood rush in my ears and it feels like both my tongue and my

eyes are in the process of popping right out of my head. My kicking

becomes weaker and my vision begins to narrow. I see the man at the end

of a long tunnel and he is all I see, just as he has been all I've seen

ever since he took me.



My struggles have now been reduced to weak spasms in my body and legs

and I can no longer see. Far away I hear him grunt and the last thing I

feel as my legs twitch for the last time, is his warm cum spraying into

me.



THE END



2NN



If you liked the story drop me a line at story_2nn@yahoo.com and tell me

what you liked about it.




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