****** My bitch ******
                           Provided By: BDSM_Library
                              www.bdsmlibrary.com



Synopsis: story of how a bitch boi is subjugated completely and utterly by a
brutal and evil man
WARNING: Not for minors! If you are not an adult, stop reading and go

elsewhere now! If BDSM, bondage, sexual slavery and homosexuality

offends you, please stop reading. Please keep in mind that this story is

a work of FICTION; nothing more.



My bitch by 2NN



Prologue

I come home from work, close the door behind me and take off my

jacket. It's been a hard day at work and I really need to blow off some

steam. I need to take a piss and I really, really need to get off.

Luckily I have just the thing. I take the stairs down to my spacious

basement and move through two rooms before reaching a door at the far

end of it. The door isn't really hidden, but if you don't know it's

there, you probably won't see it. It's placed behind an open bookcase,

which in turn stands behind a desk with a computer on it.



I turn on the computer and log on. Once in, I open a program that also

requires a few passwords and then I check how things have been going

inside the cell behind door. The program is of my own making and it took

quite a bit of effort, but it was worth it. A log on the right hand side

of the screen informs me of the highlights of the day and a series of

video images flash across the left side of the screen, slow enough for

me to see them and fast enough to not waste time. Satisfied that

everything is in order, I finally go and open the door. It opens into an

air lock of sorts and I close the door behind me before I open the next

one. It's not really an air lock, but rather a lock to dampen sound. The

sounds coming from behind the door can be quite loud - and quite

desperate.



I close the second door behind me and look straight ahead. Exactly six

feet in front of me, on a very small square marked on the floor, my

bitch stands at attention. As always the sight of him makes me hard and

brings up the bastard in me. The sight of him makes me want to dominate

and punish him in the worst kind of way and it is a feeling I like very

much, the very reason I took him and the very reason he looks like he

does now.



My bitch is standing at strict attention, knowing the full extent of my

commitment to perfection on his part. His feet and legs are pressed as

tightly together as humanly possible (they must be in order for him to

keep his feet inside the square I have drawn on the floor), his back is

ramrod straight and his bare chest is pushed out and his head is bowed

as he looks demurely down.



My bitch has short hair (good for grabbing hold of when fucking his

face), but below his eyebrows he is completely hairless. It requires

quite a bit of effort to keep him that way, but as I said: I'm committed

to perfection. Although he never - never - goes outside, his body is

smoothly and evenly tanned a result of one of his daily tasks while I am

away at work. Around his neck is a broad and quite thick plastic collar,

almost a neck corset, black, with a large steel ring on the front. From

just above his hips to just below his rib cage his waist is constricted

by a quite fierce corset, also made from black plastic. It took some

time before getting his waist down to this, but I enjoyed the work

immensely, as I always do when it comes to dominating my bitch. I doubt

that he enjoyed any of it, but that's half the fun. On his feet is a

pair of black, plastic boots, with seven-inch stilettos, reaching up to

just below his knees. They are much, much too small for him and it has

taken many painful and humiliating punishments for him to master them

the way in which he does now, but again the result was well worth the

effort. Although I am quite sure that they hurt him every second that he

stands up or walks and perhaps even when he sits or lies down, he moves

in them gracefully, sexily and just like I want him to. He should,

considering the fact that they only leave his feet for sixty minutes a

day. Finally my eyes find his crotch. I always smile when I see his

chastised member, locked away now for the sixth year running. He has

worn this very chastity device for five years in a row and it hasn't

been taken off even once, not for one second. It requires daily cleaning

and drying for this to work, but again I demand perfection. The chastity

device is a carbon fiber tube with a cage over the head of his cock and

it is held in place with three piercings through his cock, also made

from carbon fiber, and a practically unbreakable polymer wire running

around his scrotum. I have decided that it will never come off and that

I will never grant the orgasm he so desires and needs. Never, ever. But

really there is little objective need for such a draconian chastity

device, held in place with such heavy fastenings. There would be if he

could take it off himself, but that option does not exist. I placed his

arms in a backprayer years ago, from which they are released (sort of)

for only sixty minutes a day and there is no way he can get the chastity

device off, indeed get off, with out my help. And the only thing I am

willing to "help" him with, is torturing and abusing him any way I want

to. That he wants it too, even if he will never admit it, least of all

to himself, is another matter.



I look at my bitch for a few seconds before saying: "Bitch." He knows

what I want and with the utmost devotion, devotion which is not the

result of any training, he almost whispers: "Master, yes Master." Then

he gracefully drops to his knees in front of me and begins to open my

pants with his mouth. This is quite a bit harder than it would seem,

since I also removed his teeth many years ago. But again, he has had

plenty of training. Once my cock is out in the open he gently takes into

his mouth and the look on his face betrays, as always, that although I

have done horrifying things to him, he is devoted to me. I then let my

bladder go and piss in his mouth and his training once again shines

through as he manages to get it all, not spilling a single drop.

Finally, once I've stopped pissing, we get to the blowjob itself and as

he closes his eyes with enjoyment and begins blowing me, I grab the back

of his head and push down into his throat for yet another glorious face

fuck.



Chapter 1

I met my bitch, my kinky boi, on the Net some time ago. He'd

read my stories and written me a mail about how much he liked them. I

replied and soon we were chatting from time to time. A very excitable

little slut, he was even a pleasure to dominate online. We lived very

far apart so we were effectively prevented from just meeting up

casually.



Then finally, after much too long, the opportunity to meet up presented

itself and we both jumped at it. I was a little apprehensive as to

whether he would in fact be someone I'd want to dominate or even be

around, whereas he was probably more nervous about whether I could be

trusted, since my stories are so extreme. Of course his doubts about

that have proven themselves entirely justified, but he had no way of

knowing then and he has no way of escaping now.



We met at a completely neutral bar that first time and spent quite a few

hours talking, deciding if we wanted to proceed. For my part I was

almost certain that he'd be worth catching and he was certainly

attracted in no small way to me too, but still we took our time. Then,

when it had gotten late, we left the bar and went to his hotel room. Our

meeting took place in a city far from both our homes, granting us

wonderful anonymity to do whatever we liked. I'm sure he had a few

fantasies to live out, but I was determined that we'd stick to mine no

matter what. It may not be the proper way to open a relationship, but at

least I'm honest about that. I wanted to dominate him completely right

from the start and I didn't give a damn about his wishes. I wouldn't

hurt him - permanently, at least - and of course we had a safe word, but

we were doing this on my terms. Of course this was not a problem. The

slut got all misty eyed and his breath quickened as I made this clear to

him at the bar. I actually had to kick him under the table to stop him

from rubbing his crotch in public.



For our first time I had brought a few, and only a few, items to spice

things up: A pair of handcuffs; steel, police issue - not bullshit

pseudo dungeon shit. A simple collar and leash, a ball gag and finally a

pair of stilettos. A pair of simple, shiny black heels, five inches

high. They are of course much too high for someone new to them to wear,

but I am not of the tolerant and compromise seeking kind. Right from the

start I wanted to see if he would indeed be suitable as my permanent

bitch.



The second he closed the door behind us I was on him: "Get down on all

fours bitch!" I sneered at him, surprising him quite a bit with the

intensity of my demeanor. Surprising, scaring and exciting him - a lot.

After first opening his mouth ineffectually as if to speak and then

deciding against it, he dropped down on all fours and looked up at me

with a large eyes; nervous and expectant. Having decided to set the tone

right from the start there was only one thing to do when faced with such

disobedience: I slapped his face hard and yelled: "Head down, worthless

slut!" Clearly torn between arousal and fear he complied fairly quickly,

actually surprising me somewhat. I had expected a bit resistance at this

very hard start, but it seemed that he had been craving this - badly -

and that his arousal outweighed his fear.



His head bowed down I then moved behind him and undid his belt and

unbuttoned his jeans, again pleased to see that they were very, very

tight just as I like them on a bitch. He actually moaned when I began

pulling them down to his knees and when I removed his underwear he

became very, very still. As I slipped my hand between his legs and found

his cock, I was not surprised to find it rock hard. Caressing it ever so

slowly and gently I made him groan with lust. Standing up I slapped his

ass and told him to move into the room, which he of course did - with a

small whimper of disappointment. Once inside I made him strip while

still on all fours, a clumsy and pathetic show that filled me with an

even more intense desire to dominate him. When he was naked he stood on

all fours, head bowed down and cock at full mast. I already knew him to

be an excitable bitch so I wasn't really surprised.



To start things I removed my belt and without even a hint of warning I

brought it down on his exposed ass, so nice and tight that I had to

contain myself and not just fuck him right then and there. He let out a

yelp of surprise and pain presumably, but I could see the submissive

little smile on his lips, a smile which filled me with the urge to grab

him right there: Just beat him, bind him and throw him in the back of my

car and whisk him off to be a full-time slave. But again I restrained

myself as I kept up the beating for about ten more strokes.



As expected the beating didn't really hurt him, but it certainly got his

attention and of course it aroused him even more, to the point that when

I softly placed my hand on his back and followed the line down along the

length of his spine, ending at his slightly reddish buttocks, his body

stiffened and his hips made a tiny involuntary thrust.



Leaving him standing like that for a few minutes I fetched my bag. First

thing I removed from it was the gag, which I promptly inserted into his

all too eagerly waiting mouth. Then the collar went on, again pleasing

him way too much. From his posture I could see that he was expecting me

to bind him even more, so he was a little surprised when I stopped with

the restraints. Instead I took out a pair of rubber gloves and a tube of

lube. Having lubed up two fingers on my hand I deposited a small glob of

the stuff in his crack, making him stiffen up with expectation. I could

see that he was a little surprised, presumably that I'd chosen to fuck

him so early on. That was, however, not my plan. Instead I set about

exploring his insides, at first gently with a single finger and then

stepping it up until four of my fingers were inside him. This was

clearly something he had not expected, yet should have and it reinforced

my belief and desire that he was a filthy slut and that the best thing

for him would be if I turned him into a 24/7 slave.



For now, however, I settled for seeing him squirm with a mixture of

pleasure and discomfort as he groaned, fighting to keep his head down

when all he really wanted to was to throw his head back in passion. I

could see this desire grow to an urgent need when, after almost fifteen

minutes of roaming around in his ass, I moved my other hand down to

gently, oh so gently, grasp his cock. Now he had to fight to keep his

head down and his breath soon came in short urgent gasps. His body had

of course tensed up and he simply couldn't help thrusting a little with

his hips. As I carefully moved my hand up and down his shaft his gasping

turned to keening and soon I could feel his orgasm building. Time to

stop and watch as the useless slut groaned with frustration and looked

back over his shoulder at me with pleading eyes. This was exactly what I

had been waiting for: an opportunity to punish him, to show him, again,

who was in charge. With four fingers of one hand still buried in his ass

I used the other to flick my fingernail on first one, then the other,

testicle.



The result was as immediate as it was satisfying: With a half-strangled

groan of pain, nicely muffled by the gag, he curled up and per reflex

moved his hands to his crotch and rolled onto his side. While hurling

abuse at him for being such a worthless shit, I reached for the

handcuffs, which I had laid out for just this moment. Exploiting his

momentary weakness and distraction, I snapped one cuff around his right

hand and before he knew what was happening I flipped him over, twisted

his arm and snapped on the other cuff, thereby securing his arms behind

his back. It had gone much, much more smoothly than expected and I could

see that he was even more surprised at the speed than I was.



Now he lay on his back, naked, gagged, collared and with his hands

secured behind his back. Surprise wasn't the only emotion evident on his

face as he looked at me with real fear. But there was something else in

his eyes, a gleam of deep submissive satisfaction. Sure, he was afraid

of what I might do to him now, but he was even more aroused by the

endless possibilities. Again that look made me want to bind, punish,

fuck, hurt, and dominate him to a degree that was almost too hard to

control. He must have seen some of this in my face, because suddenly he

lay completely still, legs spread wide and looked at my with huge,

scared eyes with that begging, submissive glint in them and of course

accompanied by that must unlikely of erections. Considering the fact

that I had just beaten his balls, it shouldn't have been possible, but

the evidence was right there in front of me: a proudly erect pole,

telling the world what a submissive little bitch he was.



This was too much for me. I had planned to tease him a lot more and to

beat his ass quite a bit more, but that look on his face got the better

of me. Moving fast I took out a condom, dropped my pants and whipped it

on. Behind his gag I could hear him trying to scream: "Fuck me! Fuck me,

please!" but all that came of was the pathetic: "Uck eh!Uck eh, eeas!"

Didn't matter. Using my right hand I grabbed his cock by the root, all

the way below his balls, lifted his ass up slightly and pulled him to

me. Using my other hand as a guide I slipped into his receptive ass,

groaning with pleasure just as he did. I held on to his scrotum, but I

shifted my other hand to hold his collar by the ring. With these two

points I was able to pull him tight as I began fucking him.



Groaning with lust his legs wrapped around me as I thrust into him and

although my grip on his cock must have been painful, I could feel him

twitch with pleasure in my hand. It was glorious, the fuck I had been

waiting for for so long, the fuck I had dreamed of. Tight, but not too

tight, smooth muscles holding me firmly and moving with me. I kept up my

grip on him and as I got ever closer, my thrusting ever faster, I saw

and heard him plead behind his gag, begging me to let him cum. Of course

I had no intention of doing this and as I saw the realization settle in

his eyes, the look of desperation so plainly visible in his face, I

could hold it no longer. I shifted my grip slightly so that I now

squeezed his balls viciously instead and as I shot my load I was

rewarded with a bout of frantic writhing and a truly wonderful scream of

pain and despair. It was by far the best fuck I had had in ages.



As I withdrew from him I still held his balls in a vice grip. My bitch,

for now he really was mine, still tried to scream but he had almost run

out of air and his face was nearly purple from the effort and tears had

gathered in his eyes. His struggling, so pleasurable for me, had ceased

and instead he was hoping desperately for me to release my grip. I found

his eyes and looked into them, locking him down with my eyes,

establishing dominance here too. Soon it was too much for him and he had

to look down. Only then did I release my grip and with a very loud

whimper of pain and relief he rolled over on his side and curled up in a

ball.



Standing up I decided that he could rest a bit while I disposed of the

condom and wiped myself clean. When I came back from the bathroom he was

still curled up and he once again looked at me with real fear. But as

before I could see his true nature, that of a true submissive, right

behind his fake look of fear and indignation. Kneeling down beside him I

hooked two fingers through the ring on his collar, pulled his head up

from the floor and slapped his face three times in a row: "Useless

slut!" I shouted into his gagged face, "Don't even pretend that you

didn't want that, that you haven't been craving this for your whole

life." As I continued I could see embarrassment seeping into his face;

embarrassment over being seen for what he really was: "You are nothing

but a hole to abuse and you love every second of! You dream of being

beaten, abducted and abused, so don't look at me like I've hurt you.

Stupid bitch!" To make my point I slapped him five times more and then

dropped him on the floor.



I then stood up and fetched the stilettos. His eyes wide with shock at

the abuse I had just hurled at him, he became quite still when he saw

them. He knew full well from my stories and from our chats that high

heels get my blood flowing and he guessed, correctly, that this meant

that the games would not stop anytime soon. Far from it. Kneeling down

between his legs, I grabbed his right foot lightly, running my hand up

his smooth leg, enjoying the fact that he had indeed shaved his whole

body before our meeting as agreed upon. My hand ended its journey in his

crotch, provoking an involuntary spasm of fear as I glanced his tender

balls. Seeing his reaction I let my hand cup his balls ever so gently,

making him whine slightly with fear at first. Then, as I stroked them

softly, I felt him stirring, his balls still too tender for an erection,

but still aroused after the abuse I had subjected him to.



Returning to the job at hand I put the stilettos on him and then lifted

him up to stand. I had to steady him for the first minute or so, but

then he stood on his own. He was some way off from standing still in

them and as he shifted his feet I could see how his ankles fought to

keep him upright, but as a first try I was actually quite impressed. Of

course I didn't tell him this and instead I ordered him to walk around

the hotel room. For the first few minutes he was very unsteady and his

walk lacked any semblance of elegance. I told him to straighten up and

to keep his legs straight and put one foot in front of the other,

setting the shoe down on the heel first and then get going. For the next

fifteen minutes or so he tried, he really did, but of course learning to

walk well in heels takes time and by the end of the fifteen minutes I

had mentally set aside for the first try he was still stumbling like a

clumsy cow. He knew it too and he looked at my ever more stern face with

growing concern. Afraid as he might have been, his balls were now in

good enough shape for a tentative erection in his crotch and again I

marveled at just how submissive the bitch was; how submissive MY bitch

was. Games are good when you want your blood flowing, and I definitely

wanted to get going again and fuck him, but although I could have and

wanted to fuck him right there again, I chose to wait for quite a bit

longer. I've found that it's much better to build up your arousal, to

hoard your lust if you will. It not only makes the fuck that much

better, but also your building lust generates better punishments, which

in turn makes for a better fuck.



He knew this without me saying it and he certainly knew that he hadn't

performed satisfactorily in heels and his look told the world this. Of

course it also told the world what an excitable little slut he was and

it most definitely told me, again, that I had gotten hold of the right

little submissive. So there was no need for words or even explanations

as I grabbed the leash with one hand and his semi-erect cock with my

other. He started a little with fear as I touched him, but he said

nothing and I immediately felt him grow in my hands. Of course it was

still not my intention to let him cum. Instead I led him by his cock

into the bathroom, something which obviously confused him. There I made

him kneel by the wall, right beneath a surprisingly sturdy looking towel

rack. As he spotted this he shot me a glance, indicating that he had

seen the outline of what was coming. I clipped the leash to his

handcuffs and secured it to the towel rack, making sure that his arms

were raised as much as possible, making for an uncomfortable position

for him. He now knelt on the cold, hard tile floor, body bent over, head

slightly down and his ass sticking straight up in the air. One side of

his body was pressed against the wall and he was a vision of beautiful

submission: fit, shaved and nicely tanned body. Gagged, collared and

bound, kneeling in heels on the hard floor. His position was surely as

uncomfortable as it was sexy, which of course on increased my arousal.



But I hadn't tied him up in the bathroom just to enjoy this vision of a

bound bitch. The purpose of our expedition was punishment for his

miserable failure as a high heeled slut, so I removed my belt and

without any explanation I started to beat his bound form, naturally

concentrating on that fine ass of his. This time I didn't stop at ten

strokes, nor did I hold anything back. If it weren't for the fact that I

had planned to do it like that, you could have made the argument that I

lost it and launched into a much too vicious beating. Only I didn't

loose anything. I wanted it that way. I wanted him to feel some measure

of my cruelty; some measure of my brutality and desire to inflict pain

on him. I wanted him to feel, to know, that I was the real deal, the no

compromise, no let-up, no mercy master he had been looking for. The

beating was designed to make it clear to him just how big an asshole I

was and how much he really wanted me to be his owner.



When I stopped I was pretty sure that I'd succeeded. His ass, the back

of his legs and a part of his back were quite red and my bitch had that

look of fear mixed with submissiveness that gets me so. His eyes were

wide and a little teary from the beating and were practically begging me

for take him. He still hadn't stopped his muffled screaming and his cock

was almost at full mast. I knelt down beside him, cupped his fine,

beaten ass with one hand while I used the other to lift up his chin

whisper into his wide open face: "You are mine now bitch. My property,

mine to do with as I wish." He was quite still, eyes even wider and

breath coming in short excited snorts. His body was as tense as it would

ever get, trembling slightly in my hand. "This is what you want, what

you've always wanted." I did not pose a question, but nonetheless my

bitch nodded. There was no doubt that this was what he wanted and there

was also no doubt that he was so excited that if I were to touch his

cock, just glance it with my hand, he would have cum. So of course I

didn't do that. Instead I stood up and opened my fly. From behind his

gag his short excited breaths turned to pleas for me to fuck him. "Uck

eh!Uck eh, eeas!" returned with a vengeance. But instead I simply turned

slightly and took a piss. As the stream of piss hit the water in the

toilet bowl I saw how his eyes looked at my cock with almost frightening

hunger. So naturally I wasn't going to give it to him. His

disappointment was clearly visible as I zipped up my pants and moved to

the door and right before I turned out the lights and closed the door,

leaving him bound in the darkness, his face got that pleading submissive

look I so love.



Shaking off the urgent desire to go back in and fuck him again, I found

his suitcase. We had agreed that he bring certain toys and that I could

search his suitcase for them. Opening it I was not surprised to see that

he had apparently come to this meeting with little else in mind but

getting caught and fucked. To be fair I had only come for this purpose,

but apart from the small plastic bag containing the handcuffs, the gag,

the collar, leash and stilettos, you wouldn't have been able to spot the

difference between my suitcase and a regular business trip suitcase. Not

so with my bitch. It contained only a few items of regular clothing and

I had already spotted the toilet bag on the shelf in the bathroom. The

rest of the suitcase was filled with various S&M-items apparently

brought in case I had forgotten or misplaced mine. He had brought three

different gags (ball, penis and ring), two pairs of handcuffs, a large

collection of sturdy leather straps, an array of nipple- and other

clamps, two hoods (rubber and leather), a very fetching rubber suit (he

had worn it in a profile picture on the Net), a chastity device which I

would employ later and finally what I had been looking for, the only

other items I had actually told him to bring, namely his impressive

collection of butt plugs and dildos. As I removed the bag of plugs I

noticed something else. A shoe box. Opening it I knew that sooner or

later he would be mine for good. Inside the box were a pair of

stilettos; red Oxfords with a six inch heel. They looked like they had

never been worn, but the considering the fact that my bitch had, by his

own admission, never been turned on by heels; they spoke volumes about

his intentions. He could only have bought these shoes for one reason: he

wanted to be my slave, my slut, my bitch.



Smiling I removed one of the plugs and then spent some time looking at

the other items in the suitcase. They all held the promise of great

sport but posed a little dilemma for me: If I chose to use them I could

be seen as giving up control to my bitch, by using his stuff, things I

had not planned to use from the start. However, I have always been of

the practical persuasion and believed that if there is a better way to

do things than the one originally intended, then that is the option to

choose. Provided, of course, there is some way to compensate for

whatever unintended consequences there might be. And if you are the

master and your slave is already tied up and is already looking at you

with fear in his eyes, you really have to an asshole to loose control

because you used a few of his things. So I picked the rubber hood and

the ring gag and laid them aside, ready for use. Then I grabbed a soda

and sat down to watch some TV. My bitch was after all tied up in the

dark, stewing nicely in his own juices as it were and I wanted to rest

up a bit so that I would be at full strength when I fucked him again.



An hour and a half later even I had trouble ignoring the muffled pleas

coming from the bathroom. They quite simply made me go hard and so I

deemed that the time was right. Grabbing the items I had laid aside,

opening the door and turning on the lights I was greeted by the

wonderful sight of a nearly desperate bound slut on the floor. Kneeling

on the floor must have been murder on the knees and having held his arms

up for so long had obviously not been pleasant for either arms or

shoulders. He was somewhat red in the face from the exertion and

probably also due to the fact that I had turned up the heat before

shutting the door behind me. Kneeling naked on a cold, tile floor can

make anyone sick and that would be a shame. I wanted him in pain, not

snotty.



Having watched a game on the tube I needed to get my blood up and it

seemed a shame to rely only on the effect his bound form had on my

libido. But of course there are remedies for such ailments and soon I

heard the sweet sound of his keening as I removed my belt once again and

let myself go. Beating the little shit badly is sooo satisfying and soon

I was as hard as I am ever going to get. Fueled even more by the look of

fear in his face, I released him from the towel rack and dragged him

over to the bathtub, where I bent him over the edge so that his head was

inside the empty tub, while he knelt on the floor outside the tub. This

also meant that as I fucked that most receptive of holes, I ground his

genitals against the side of the tub causing him no small amount of pain

in the process. This only made him squirm and scream more and as I came,

surprised that I had been able to hold it for so long, he was quite

desperate.



After standing up and removing my condom, I hauled him out of the tub

and deposited him on the floor. He almost keened with relief as I laid

him down on the hard tile floor and he curled into a ball as he tried to

nurse his hurting balls. After pulling up my pants, I knelt down beside

him, his attention instantaneously fixed on me, and removed his gag.

After first flexing his jaws he just looked at me with large eyes. The

fear was still there and echoes of the pain I had inflicted on him, but

mostly he looked really horny and very much the part of a useless slave

shit. I let him remain silent for a full minute before I asked him:

"Don't you have something to say bitch?" This clearly shocked him and he

immediately croaked: "Yes, master. I'm sorry Master. Thank you Master,

thank you very much. Thank you." He would have gone on thanking me had I

not stopped him with a quick, hard slap to his face: "Start and end all

sentences with "Master", you worthless slut." Recovering quickly he

said: "Master, yes, Master. Master, I am sorry Master." I then smiled at

him and was gratified to see that this made him extremely nervous and

more than a little surprised when I then lifted a water bottle to his

lips and ordered him to drink. In his eyes I could see that he debated

with himself if he should drink or not, probably afraid that I might try

to drug him, but quickly deciding that he either had no other choice or

that he simply didn't care if I took him then and there.



The water was not drugged and when he had finished the bottle, clearly

thirsty from all the gag-induced drooling, I helped him stand in his new

heels and guided him to the toilet where I held his trembling cock as he

pissed with obvious relief. Once he was done, his member grew quite

quickly and when I once again used it to lead him by, I had to be very

careful with my touch so that he didn't explode. First, however, I put

the rubber hood on him. It only had holes at the nostrils and at the

mouth so soon he stood blind before me, swaying slightly in his

uncomfortable footwear. After the hood, it was time for the ring gag,

something he clearly did not like, as I expect he had thought I'd take

it easy. But, as he was to learn, I don't do easy. Realizing he had no

choice he came along, soon so absorbed by the nice feeling of me holding

his dick for him object to anything but his lack of an orgasm.



This lasted right up until I had placed him on his back on the bathroom

floor after first walking around the hotel room for few minutes. In

those few minutes he almost mastered the art of walking in stilettos and

I am quite sure that the reason is that he didn't think about it at all.

His mind was focused entirely on his cock, pulsing needily in my hand

and everything else was "soft focus" at best. The drool running down his

chin was unnoticed by him as he looked ever more like an out of control

slut, a horny bitch bound for his own good.



But when I placed him on the floor again, he began to voice objections,

which lasted about three seconds; the time it took me to cup his balls

and hint at a slight increase in pressure. I looped the leash several

times around his scrotum and tied it tightly before ordering him to

place his high heeled feet on the floor and stem his abdomen into the

air. When his ass was about a foot off the floor, I tied the other end

of the leash to the towel rack and stood up. I then informed him of the

situation and how his balls would probably get badly damaged, perhaps

even ripped off, should he fail to keep his crotch pressed upwards. When

I finished there was a short pause as I saw this sink in and then he

started pleading and begging (a beautifully garbled sound coming around

his gag) for me to let him off the hook. In a short while the strain

would be quite bad and the pull on his balls very, very real and this

was just the way I wanted it. Not just because I'm a bastard, but

because I had designed this as a test; a test of how submissive he

really was. If he really was submissive he would beg and plead vocally,

but that would be it. Such behavior would confirm, again, my suspicions

about him and move us closer to a more permanent arrangement. If he

wasn't submissive enough for me, he'd just say the safe word (or rather

hum a tune, since we'd taken into account that he might be gagged). In

that case we'd play, but no more.



After ten minutes of desperate pleading, I left him there, but left the

door open so that I could hear him and come to the rescue if he lost it.

He hadn't even come close to a safe word. Of course he might have

forgotten it in desperation, but frankly I didn't think so. He might be

a stupid bitch that brought the worst out in me, but he wasn't a

mindless piece of meat. He was strong and independent, could think for

himself something that always makes for better slaves. Why bother

capturing the easy ones, the ones you don't respect? For me a slave has

to be strong and smart, submissive yes, but not limp. My bitch was

perfect, just as I had known from our many hours of chatting.



This time I only let him hang for about forty-five minutes before

returning, this time with my belt already in my hand. The sight of him

on the floor, his head just a black rubber ball with an eagerly waiting

hole in it, his smooth and shapely legs tense and trembling as he fought

to keep his abdomen up - a task not made easier by the poor traction his

beautiful heels - combined with the desperate mewling he produced, made

me rock hard in an instant. It filled me with need: the need to fuck the

bitch, hurt him and fuck him, in the worst possible way. And so I

proceeded to do just that.



Since a bathroom is a fairly loud place I first rolled up a small towel

and stuffed his forcibly opened mouth with it. Naturally he knew at once

what this meant and began a new spate of desperate mewling and

incoherent pleading, but since there was still no humming I continued

regardless. Standing up I positioned myself at his shoulder so that I'd

have a free swing at his balls, unimpeded by his knees or anything else.

The fact that the leash was in the way was not a problem, as it would

make my belt wrap itself around his balls as I struck. Sure enough. As

my belt hit his balls with full force, it wrapped around them and

delivered the force on almost the whole surface of them. The effect was

astounding. At first my bitch didn't even scream. He didn't move either.

For a second he was completely still and then it hit him. Screaming so

loudly that the gag hardly mattered his legs spasmed with pain and he

almost lost footing. This increased the pull on his testicles immensely

and I watched with great enjoyment as he scrambled to regain his footing

and so save his balls. All the while screaming with pain. Finally he

regained control and while whimpering quite a bit from the pain he was

again stemming his crotch upwards. The moment he had regained control I

struck again. The result was the same as before and just as intensely

satisfying to watch. We went through this ten times and after the tenth

he was unable to stop screaming, clearly unable to take any more. That

was fine by me as I was nearly unable to contain myself. Moving quickly

again, I untied the leash at both ends and allowed him to drop to the

floor. There was, however, no relief for him as I flipped him over on

his front, causing him no small amount of pain as he landed on his very

tender genitals. His scream of pain was, however, quickly muffled even

after removing the towel from his mouth, as I had already whipped a

condom on my very needy cock and as he landed I grabbed his face, lifted

it up from the ground and forced my way into his open mouth, thrusting

downwards as I did. Not only was the position a terrible strain for him,

already exhausted and in pain, but I made sure that my first thrust into

his waiting face made it all the way to the hilt. As I forced my cock

into his throat I felt him contract as he fought to avoid vomiting.

Those contractions were nearly as wonderful as his increasingly

desperate struggles. I was taking my bitch very close to the edge, both

with regards to types of punishment, the duration of these and the

amount of physical stamina required. I had almost broken those

boundaries - almost - he was now nearly spent. Nearly, but not quite. I

was quite sure that he loved it and more importantly I obviously did.



It being my third fuck of the night it took some doing before I even

approached my orgasm, no matter how desperately arousing the situation

was. This naturally increased the suffering of my bound, blind, high

heeled and utterly desperate slave boy and as my orgasm approached I did

my very best to make sure that his suffering was maximized. I drew out

my orgasm as much as I could and I made sure that as many of my thrusts

as possible went all the way down his throat. By the time I finally came

I must have been fucking his face for almost an hour. His back and neck

were fabulously strained and his supple body twitched most

satisfactorily as I held my cock in his throat as I came.



Withdrawing from his mouth I held on to his head so that he didn't

simply flop down and hit his head on the hard tiles. When he had

finished coughing and retching he pleaded with me: "''as'er! 'leeze,

'as'er! 'as'er! 'oh 'ore, 'as'er!" a sentence he repeated mindlessly

over and over while I wiped myself clean and discarded the soiled

condom. I translated his hopeless mewling to: "Master! Please, Master!

Master! No more, Master!" and while I did not intend to continue my

abuse of this fine piece of slave meat, I was also quite averse to

giving in to a slave's pleas. Consequently I had to punish him for this

infraction before letting him off the hook. I simply knelt down and

informed him in no uncertain terms that he had no right to dictate what

went on and as he was reduced to mewling apologies I flipped him onto

his side and grabbed hold of his balls with a very firm squeeze. This

time he lacked even the energy to scream properly and simply tried to

curl up while he groaned.



My point rammed home I lifted him to his feet and led him on unsteady

legs into the room. I removed his ring-gag but let him keep the hood on

as well as his stilettos. Then I sat him down on one of the beds and

fetched a pair of handcuffs and two long straps from his suitcase. I

then unlocked one of his wrists and promptly secured the other wrist to

a bedpost, before proceeding to do the same thing to his free hand,

using the handcuffs I had just lifted from his suitcase. As I laid him

down to do this he moaned with fear, but did not offer any resistance.

The same was the case as I spread his legs and secured his ankles to the

bed so that he was now bound spread-eagle to the bed. Lying there blind,

bound, punished and helpless he presented a gorgeous vision of a used

bitch and I couldn't help running my hand up his leg, from his high

heeled feet to his crotch and, after lingering there for just a few

beats, further on up his smooth body, tweaking his nipples before moving

my hand down the other leg. As I did so he lay completely still, muscles

quivering slightly. At first it was no doubt from fear of further pain,

but as I made my way down again, fondling his beaten genitals very, very

thoroughly, his moaning was deeply passionate ending with a sigh of

disappointment as I withdrew my hand. "Rest bitch," I whispered in his

ear, "we are not through yet."



Tied down as he was, his genitals were of course easily accessible and

this access was vital. My brutal treatment of his poor balls had hurt

them more than a little bit. There was some bruising, but more

importantly they had begun to swell quite rapidly. I could see no

scratches, but I saw no reason to take any chances as I was looking

forward to many hours of torturing these testicles and so fetched a damp

washcloth and gently washed his battered balls. My mind had been made up

for a few hours already. Unless my bitch called a halt to our

relationship, I was going to do my very best to move him into position

to become my 24/7-slave, my permanent pet, my bitch to abuse at all

times. Even then, as I stood nursing his balls to the sweet sounds of my

bitch moaning with pain and affection, my mind was going over the many

ways in which to punish him and abuse these balls. I would have to work

hard, very hard indeed, to avoid damaging them and indeed him

irreparably. But hard work nearly always pays off and if I could hold my

meanest impulses in check, my bitch potentially offered years of first

rate entertainment.



After cleaning his battered genitals thoroughly, and thereby making the

slut pant most improbably considering the abuse they had been subjected

to, I covered him with a sheet and laid down to take a nap. We had

agreed to play until it was roughly time for him to leave the hotel

Sunday morning and already it was late Saturday night, almost Sunday

morning. On one hand I wanted to continue playing, but on the other hand

the playing would be much better if we were both a bit more rested. My

slave boy certainly needed a bit of reprieve and I could use a nap to

fill up my balls again.



Waking up very early hours of Sunday morning I felt groggy, but also

strangely rested. I ought to have been far too little sleep, but somehow

the prospect of punishing my bitch again filled me with energy. My

bitch, however, was not quite as energetic. Because of the hood I

couldn't see whether or not he was awake, but beneath the covers he was

squirming somewhat sluggishly as he moaned, presumably in pain.



Moving as silently as I knew how, I slipped out of the room and fetched

a large bag full of ice. He didn't react as I closed the door,

continuing his squirming and moaning, so I surmised that he was still

asleep. This provided me with a very nice element of surprise and I

quickly moved to the side of his bed. Here I ripped the covers off him

and before he had time to wake up I pressed the ice bag to his swollen

testicles. In spite of the fact that I was clearly doing him a favor as

his balls were quite badly swollen by then, he did not react with

gratitude. Instead he woke up with a scream and from the sound of it he

had been so fast asleep that he probably didn't even know where he was.

Only after a minute of loud moaning did he lie still and I could see how

the ice eased the pain in his damaged genitals. The swelling receded

somewhat and as the cold crept up into his abdomen and he began

shivering, he spoke: "Master, thank you Master! Master, thank you so

much, Master!" Emitting a noncommittal grunt I was actually quite

impressed that he had the presence of mind to remember the proper way in

which to address me. He had after all only just been awoken from fitful

dreams in a quite brutal manner.



His genitals were clearly too hurt to keep up the beating, but I saw no

reason to stop playing for that reason. A slave can after all be

punished in other ways. Removing his hood (and exposing a very sweaty

bitch in the process) I decided on a little breathplay.



First I slipped the ring-gag back into his mouth, savoring the mixture

of fear and eager anticipation spreading appearing on his face. Then I

fetched a roll of cling film from my bag. While not exactly overtly a

torture instrument, it was and is an item with many uses. My bitch knew

it too and he began shaking his head timidly, something that earned him

three quick slaps on the face. This made him stop his movement and I

calmly put two layers of film around his face, covering his eyes, ears,

nose and mouth. Then I stood back to watch him struggle. And what sweet

struggling it was. Soon his entire body was fighting its bonds while his

head thrashed from side to side as he became more and more panicky.

Finally I decided that he had had enough and moving quickly I punctured

the film over his mouth. This was the reason I had equipped him with the

ring-gag; so I would have a target to puncture. If I had just covered

him with film he might have closed the mouth and the chances of him

actually suffocating would have been too high. As it was I now had the

best of both worlds; a slave who could reduced to absolute panic and the

almost fool-proof way of pulling him back. This time I had actually

taken him so far that he was quite a while finding out that he could

breathe again and when he did so, he almost hyperventilated. When he had

regained some measure of composure, I looked down at him and saw real,

undiluted terror in his eyes. For what seemed like the hundredth time I

had to restrain myself and keep him my throbbing member in my pants,

reminding me that the fuck would only get better the longer I played

with him.



I let him breathe freely for a few minutes before putting on the next

few layers, this time making sure that top of his head and his chin were

covered too. After covering his mouth again, I stood back and watched

the show and again it was magnificent. This time I took him so far that

his struggling actually turned to twitching, which is too far. Still

when he came back from the panic, he did not hum or call a stop to the

torture. So I went on- and on - and on - until he had so much film on

his head that I could only just glimpse his eyes. It was time to stop

the games for this time - I needed eye contact for the final part of our

weekend games - but not before a final fuck. This time I released both

his arms and his feet and did not retie him. Instead I ordered him to

get on all fours on the bed, his ass pointing at me, ready to fuck. Even

behind the many layers of film I could see the eager anticipation in his

eyes. In no time his ass was right at the level of my crotch and oh so

eager to get fucked. Never one to turn down a good thing, I quickly had

my cock out and a rubber on. My bitch was, as he had consistently been

throughout, a vision of submissive beauty; stilettos on his shapely

legs, collar around his neck, his head wrapped in cling film with his

mouth held forcibly open and a very swollen and battered set of genitals

hanging tenderly between his legs. Entering him from behind he moaned

with lust and immediately found the rhythm, his movements knowing and

calculated to make me shoot my load as fast as possible. Since I had

planned it to be the last fuck of the weekend I, however, wanted it to

last a bit longer. Being in control this was comparatively easy. Just

touching his balls with the comment: "Easy bitch. Easy," made him slow

down and I was able to hold it a bit longer. As for my bitch, cuming was

out of the question for him. Not only did I not want him to cum, but his

genitals quite simply hurt too much for him to get erect. Not that he

didn't derive pleasure from the fuck. From his moaning and from his

bumping and grinding it was quite clear that just being taken was a big

deal. When my orgasm finally arrived it was just as glorious as the

others had been and I grabbed his hips firmly as I thrust into him,

shooting my load as I laid back my head, closing my eyes as I let the

orgasm roll over me, flavored by the joy of ownership.



After discarding the rubber I ordered my bitch to kneel on the floor,

hands behind his back. He did so instantly and I knelt down beside him,

cupping his genitals gently as I looked him in the eyes and spoke: "I

want you to be mine. I want you to be my bitch and no one else's.

Understood?" As he nodded, his eyes wide, I could hear his breathing

pick up the pace, becoming slightly ragged. "But if you are to be mine,

you will play by my rules obeying them at all times, even when I'm not

around and even when you haven't seen me for months. Understood?" Again

I got a very eager nod and again his breathing became shallower. I then

held his chastity device up in front of his eyes. It was of excellent

quality, not completely secure but of the type where you would spot if

your slave had played with himself. It was plastic too, so he would be

able to fly unmolested. In order for it to fit and be secure, a ring

would have to be pulled over both his cock and his balls, so that the

chastity part of the device could get locked to the hilt of his cock.

Even without having a set of swollen balls this maneuver was difficult

and potentially somewhat painful, but with a set so damaged as his it

would be impossible to do it without extreme pain. So this was an

obvious test of his devotion. "If you want to be mine, you have to prove

it to me," I said to my bitch, his attention rapt and his breathing

shallow, "I'm going to leave and fetch us some breakfast now. I'll be

about twenty minutes. When I get back you will have put your chastity

device on, locked it in place with one of the numbered plastic locks and

placed yourself in proper position right inside the door: kneeling, legs

spread wide, chest out, head down and arms behind your back. You will

not remove any of the things you are wearing now. If you haven't done

this by the time I get back I will know that you don't really want to

belong to me after all." I could see the shock spread on his face as I

stood up and just as I closed the door behind me, I could hear him

scramble to get it done.



Returning twenty minutes later, I heard him before I saw him. Greeting

me as I opened the door was a moaning, keening sound, the sound of real

pain. I couldn't help smiling and as I opened the door all the way and

stepped inside I looked down on my bitch. He had performed very well,

although I of course would never tell him so. His position was flawless,

just as I had demanded of him, and his genitals were securely locked

away. It had clearly been very painful and his breathing was still

ragged and his muscles trembled as he moaned with pain. Passing him I

patted him condescendingly on his head and deposited our breakfast on

the table. Then I went back to my still kneeling slave and opened my

fly. Originally I had meant for the fucking to be over, but the sight of

him unmanned me again and taking my time I once again fucked his face,

relishing in pumping my worn member in and out of his helpless mouth.

Slave that he is he probably enjoyed it as well, but I didn't even

bother checking it this time.



After I had thrown my soiled condom away I finally removed the film from

his head as well as the gag, but let him keep the collar and the heels.

I then had him crawl after me and we had breakfast together: me sitting

in a chair reading the newspaper while eating, him kneeling on the

floor, being fed by hand by me. When I had finished, I laid down my

paper and turned to my bitch, who sat with his head demurely downcast.

With a finger under his chin, I lifted his head up until we had eye

contact. I held his eyes until he began squirming slightly with

discomfort and then addressed him: "You are mine. Mine to use and abuse

as I please and believe me I will hurt you worse than you have ever

imagined. And you will love every second of it. From now on you are a

one man bitch; my bitch." I saw a he started ever so slightly at this

and saw him redden with pleasure at my words. "I will use and abuse you

much more, but for now I'll leave." While not a surprise, I saw his

shoulders sag a little before I went on: "But you won't be free of me

while I'm gone. Every day you will send me a new photo of your untouched

chastity device, a device you will work very, very hard to keep clean

and dry at all times. Make sure you have a newspaper or such in the

picture so that I can see that the picture is recent. Understood,

bitch?" His reply was eager and prompt: "Master, yes Master!" so I went

on: "As further homework I want you to mail me every day, telling me

about every tiny, little detail about yourself: family, friends, work,

education, places you've lived, people you've met, what you believe and

what you think about everything. You will have no secrets from me and I

want details. Understood bitch?" The answer came just as promptly, but I

could see his fear and hesitation this time as he naturally realized

just how exposed to me he was going to be. To seal the deal I kept his

chin up, grabbed his head and kissed him deeply. As I broke off his eyes

were half closed and he had a dazed look on his face; like a bitch

caught in a pleasant daydream.



With that, the playtime, our first meeting was over. I had him crawl

behind me to the door so that he could kiss my feet goodbye and then I

left him. Kneeling inside the door, collared and stilettoed, naked and

exposed and with a wonderfully pleading look on his face as I closed the

door, he was still the vision of submission I so desired.



Chapter 2

Over the next couple of months I saw my bitch almost daily via

web cam. When we chatted he would be naked except for stilettos and his

chastity device and I watched as his beaten balls gradually returned to

normal and my bitch again became the hopelessly horny little slut he had

always been. As the damage abated and the pain lessened, he regained the

ability to get an erection. Except he didn't. Not really, since he was

now locked up. Within three days, much faster than I had anticipated, he

was ready, but not able, to fuck again and a needy tone crept into the

chatting. Needy and eventually pleading as he was, he never once showed

any signs whatsoever of having tried to remove the chastity device. He

remained the utterly submissive and very compliant when it came to the

orders I gave, even though I was very far away indeed. He willingly

pranced around in his stilettos, both the ones I had given him and the

ones he had bought himself, and in a very short while he had acquired a

very sexy prance, a confident swagger worthy of a seasoned street whore,

his ass swaying most invitingly. He knew it too and often he positioned

himself so that I had the full benefit of his tight ass.



Our chats and our e-mail correspondence were exhaustive and soon I knew

quite a bit about him and he knew a bit about me; enough anyway for him

to trust me or at least for his lust and natural submissiveness to

overshadow his reservations. We both had a VD-test to prove to each

other that we were disease-free and since we were both convinced that

the other didn't have sex with others, we would be free to have

unprotected sex the next time we met. I couldn't wait to cum in his

mouth and he was clearly eager to taste me.



Everything in place I set up out next meeting/playtime. Again we would

meet on neutral ground; a town neither of us had any connection to. This

time I made the arrangements and instead of a hotel room, I rented an

apartment for a full week. Since we were meeting off season in a resort

town, I was fairly certain that we would have the block of holiday

apartments almost to ourselves. At least I hoped that we would, since I

had planned for my bitch to do some serious screaming this time and over

an extended period of time. This time both he and I brought as many toys

as we could and I was quite sure that this meant that we would never

have time to use all of them.



I was there before he was and had had a quick look at the other holiday

apartments and asked at the place where they handed out the keys. We

would have the whole place to ourselves. Most of this part of town was

deserted here in winter anyway. It was perfect. I would be able to put

my bitch through his paces for real. The apartment was the most secluded

of the whole complex, so I decided that there would be no easy start for

my bitch. I sent him a text message with my first order and waited for

him to arrive. When it was almost time I changed into the outfit I had

chosen to greet him in: shiny black leather boots, sticking out from

under black leather pants and a tight black rubber T-shirt. In my belt I

had a ball-gag, a leash, a pair of handcuffs and various other useful

items ready. In my pockets were rubber gloves and lubricant.



Soon I could hear some muted activity outside the door and after a

little while there was a cautious knock on the door. I took my time

getting to the door and once there I asked through the closed door:

"Who's there?" Very timidly the reply came: "Master, your useless

bitch-boy is here, Master." It was clear that the situation was

extremely uncomfortable for him, so I let him sweat: "Can't hear you

bitch!" I rumbled and after only a very slight hesitation the reply

came, louder this time: "Master, your useless bitch-boy is here,

Master." Although clearly loud enough this time I saw no reason to let

him in just yet and so the final time I had him shout the same sentence

at the top of his lungs. Only then did I open the door. I was not the

least bit surprised that he had followed my orders to the letter: he was

kneeling right outside the door, his suitcase standing by behind him. He

was completely naked, wearing only his fuck-me-hard red Oxfords with the

six-inch heels, a collar and of course his chastity device. His chest

was out, his head down and his hands were behind his back and the mere

sight of him again filled me with urge to abuse him.



Having gotten to know him intimately, both in words, actions and in

looks, over the Net for a couple of months had somehow not prepared me

fully for this urgent need to own, punish and fuck. It was, as it always

is with a good top-bottom relationship, somehow him who was in control

here; he who filled me with almost uncontrollable desire and he whose

participation made it all possible. Without him this wouldn't happen.

But then again; without me holding the whip, he would not be here

either, without me he'd just be another lost slave-boy looking for a

master and so control flowed back to me. Provided of course I knew how

to administer it; how to keep him under control. A broad, sadistic smile

spreading across my face; I was fairly certain I knew how to keep my

bitch in check. Lifting up his chin I let him see just that expression

on my face. It clearly startled him and when his eyes found the rest of

me moments later, I was gratified to note that his eyes widened with

submissive appreciation as he saw my outfit. Taking advantage of the

situation I leaned down and kissed him. Deep, hard and long. When I

withdrew I was rock-hard and he was moaning from the pain as his cock

tried to break free from its prison.



Stepping past him I took his suitcase, very heavy this time and not from

clothing, and his only set of regular clothes, neatly folded on the

doorstep, and carried them into the apartment. I left him on the

doorstep, naked and tricked out as the bitch-boy he was, squirming with

the discomfort of the situation. Only after taking my sweet time with

this trivial task, did I return and order him inside. Crawling on all

fours with his head down, his naked, hairless and inviting body slid

past me as I closed the door behind him. As ordered he stopped in the

hallway and stood with his legs spread somewhat apart. Slipping the

rubber gloves on, I knelt down behind him, lubed up my fingers and once

again began a thorough examination of his ass, probing his insides until

he was almost screaming with discomfort as my four fingers stretched his

asshole almost to the breaking point. It was a start. Before getting up

I gave his balls an affectionate, if rather harsh, squeeze and was

immensely gratified to hear his cry of pain.



Although I wanted to beat his balls brutally, and indeed had planned for

it, it wasn't time just yet. First it was time to reacquaint him with

his proper place. Moving swiftly I first gagged him, then leashed him

and finally made him stand. Again I noted with satisfaction that his

hands remained utterly passive throughout, even though they were untied.

I led him into the bedroom where his eyes widened. Whether from

appreciation or alarm I couldn't tell, but soon that would be utterly

irrelevant. There were two large beds in the bedroom and I had of course

pushed them together, making a very spacious double bed. But one of the

beds I had covered with a shiny, black rubber sheet and equipped the

bedposts with chains and cuffs, ready to use. On the other bed lay my

suitcase, open and devoid of the clothing items I had brought. A whole

array of restraints and torture items were clearly visible and I noticed

him swallowing hard at the sight. Almost at once his reservations became

moot, as I slipped a fierce armbinder made of very solid, black rubber

up his arms, encasing them all the way up to the middle of his upper

arms. As I zipped it up, it fused his arms from wrist to elbow,

extracting a small moan of pain as his elbows were forced to touch. I

secured the zipper with a padlock, locking the two sides of the rubber

pouch together and further reducing the already nonexistent chance of

escape from the armbinder. To make sure that he would be unable to

escape I criss-crossed the straps on his chest, securing them to the

other side of the armbinder as they came around to the back again.



I was ready to begin, but before we got going I asked him if he needed

to pee. Gratefully he nodded and I led him into the bathroom. With the

chastity device on pissing while he stood would be a messy affair, but

as he squatted to sit down I imposed a new rule on him, one that he

would thereafter have to obey at home too: As a slave he was simply not

worthy of a toilet seat and not only that; he was unworthy of the

comfort of sitting down. Instead he had to squat down as low as he

could, without touching the porcelain. Not only was the position quite

strenuous, but also difficult in his stilettos. The result was not

pretty and he made a modest mess of it. Not much, but more than enough

to punish him for.



I then led my red-faced slave boy back into the bedroom. His humiliation

didn't dampen his lust and I could see clearly that he was straining

against his prison, needier than ever. He didn't yet know, would not

know until much later, not until after I had nearly imprisoned him

permanently, that he had already had his second to last orgasm - ever. I

intended to keep him chaste for the rest of his life, a thought so hot

that I nearly burst my pants. I had planned for him to have just one

more orgasm in his life; the only one he'd have with me as his owner,

but he was a long way from knowing this and he hoped that I'd let him

cum this time.



Eager as I was to punish him, to beat him until he begged, I started out

comparatively softly. Using a spreader bar with leather cuffs on it, I

tied his feet so that they were about two feet apart. Then I clipped a

chain onto the D-ring at the end of his armbinder and pulled the other

end of the chain through an enormously practically placed ring in the

ceiling.



Before coming here I had thought out a number of cunning solutions to

the problem of how I was going to do it, but it seemed that someone else

must have played in this room before us. Not only were there two rings

in the bedroom ceiling; in the living there was a metal bar going from

floor to ceiling, the kind strippers use. I hadn't planned on this, but

I quickly changed my plans to include it. Oh, how I longed to see him

writhing and squirming, showing off his body to please me. But that was

for later in the week. Now only the rings mattered. I had tested both

rings on arrival and they were able to take my weight easily, so they

would be able to take my bitch too since he weighed, and indeed still

weighs a lot less than me.



The chain running through the ring, I pulled on the chain until my bitch

was bent as far forward as possible, his arms high up in the air, his

head down and his gorgeous ass wonderfully presented for my pleasure. My

intention was naturally to beat his ass and then fuck it, but first I

decided to play a little with him. I moved close to him, forcing him

back until the chain had no further give and his arms were raised as

high as they could possibly go. Then I ordered him to take out my cock

and blow me. Naturally he was eager to comply, but he was unable to do

so. I was too close for him to raise his mouth to the level of my

crotch. The closest he came was touching my balls with his forehead and

that wouldn't do at all of course. He tried gently rubbing his head

against my crotch but that of course only fueled my mock anger.



To the sweet sound of my bitch begging forgiveness I took up position

behind him; a bamboo switch in my hand. With immense satisfaction, the

satisfaction born of having set the moment up for a long time and having

waited patiently for it, I then began beating him. At first

concentrating on his lovely ass, but then gradually moving down his

legs, first hitting the back of his thighs and then the back of his

calves. As the beating progressed, so did his helpless screaming,

becoming ever more shrill until there is not even the slightest trace of

submissive pleasure left in it, only pain and degradation. This was

hardly surprising considering that the back of his legs, from just above

his ass to just above his ankles was an unbroken area of red welts. My

desire had gotten the better of me and I'd whipped my bitch too hard -

at least too hard considering that we had only just started what was

supposed to be a week of fun and games.



But what is done is done and I was still hornier than ever before in my

life. Not surprisingly, even considering the pain my bitch must be in,

he was too. Pausing to really hear the sweet music of his whimpering I

looked in his crotch. I would have thought it impossible, but his cock

pressed so violently against its cage that the flesh actually seemed to

almost squeeze out. It must have been extremely painful, but it

certainly indicated that I was on the right track. Thus encouraged that

I hadn't fucked it up, I moved to his front to look down into the

beautiful tear streaked face of what would soon be my permanent

property. He tried to beg, but I cut him off by inserting a ball-gag in

his mouth, stretching it quite a bit, and then by blindfolding him. As I

moved behind him again he almost screamed with fear, but one glance at

his imprisoned cock told me exactly how he felt - the same as I did. His

screaming turned to lusty whimpering when I lubed up his hole and when I

plunged my naked member into his ass we both sighed with pleasure. It

was a truly glorious fuck, perhaps the best I had had yet, but I had to

work very hard indeed not to shoot my load immediately upon entering him

and I had to keep up this work up with every stroke. After much too

short a time I did cum, thrusting into him and holding on to his hips as

my jism squirted into his warn and receptive ass. Only when pulling out

did I notice his excited breathing and notice that his hips also were

thrusting a little bit - a much as his bonds would allow him.



Moving to his front I made him waddle forward enough for his mouth to

reach my crotch. Then I removed his gag and ordered him to clean me. The

task was of course revolting, but considering his position and our

agreement as to what would happen here (he had agreed to complete

submission - no control whatsoever) he had little choice but to obey.

Because of the blindfold I couldn't see his eyes, but although he didn't

say anything, he wrinkled his nose at the task at hand and there was a

slight hesitation before he licked the mixture of shit and cum of my

cock. The wrinkled nose would have been excuse enough for me, but with

the hesitation I had to punish him. Having a real disciplining purpose

to your punishments is very nice, even if it has never been a necessity

for me.



My cock clean and stirring again I put it back in my pants and

reinserted my bitch's gag where it belonged. Then I told him in no

uncertain terms that his hesitation and his open disgust with my cock

were highly unacceptable and that he'd have to pay. When hearing this,

his whole body stiffened and then he began pleading into his gag;

mewling and no doubt begging to be let off the hook. But of course I

wasn't going to let him off easily. First of all he had earned this

punishment by showing lack of respect and devotion and secondly I of

course knew just the thing and thirdly I wanted to abuse him in every

way, in the worst possible way. This was what I was here for and

although he had momentarily forgotten, it was why he was there too.



His pathetic mewling an appropriate musical backdrop, I fetched a long,

narrow wooden paddle and positioned me behind him, to his left. His ass

and, more importantly, his balls were neatly exposed and with a deep

sense of fulfillment I drew back my arm as far as it would go before

letting loose. It was a perfect hit; striking practically only his

testicles. The effect, however, was not immediate. First everything

stopped: his movement, his mewling, his breathing. He froze completely.

Then he crumpled, his legs loosing their power to keep him upright so

that he suddenly hung from the chain in his armbinder, groaning and

obviously fighting to not puke from the pain. I of course stood by right

next to him to remove his gag should that happen, but he didn't notice

me, absorbed as he was in the pain. Then, finally after what seemed like

several minutes, he screamed behind his gag. A long and very loud scream

of pure terror and undiluted pain. It seemed that finally he had

realized just how merciless I was and just how badly he could get hurt.

His balls were already swelling up and I thought that I might have

damaged them permanently. The bruising was very fast and they had

acquired a slight change of shape. This was not what I had planned, but

I wasn't going to let that stop me. I was obsessed by the bitch and

determined to make him mine, body and soul and there was nothing that

was going to stop me. Damaging his balls so early was not part of the

long term plan, but there were ways to compensate for that. To drive my

point home I drew my arm back once more and again delivered a clean and

vicious hit directly to his balls. This time the reaction was more

immediate and indeed much more desperate. I let it go at that and left

the room to let him recuperate after a fashion, standing bent over,

whimpering with pain, blindfolded and gagged. He was beautiful and I

wanted to own him so badly I could almost taste it.



But enough was enough. It had been early evening when he arrived and to

my surprise it was now well past midnight. It really is true that time

flies when you are having fun, or in real pain as he would probably see

it. It was time to go to bed, but first it was time to try and repair a

little of the much too premature damage I had inflicted on my slave. I

wanted him to leave our little vacation a damaged and broken wreck, but

we had a whole week ahead of us and already his balls were badly hit.



First I released him from the chain and allowed him to kneel with his

head resting on the floor and his legs spread wide, ass pointing

straight up. I could tell by the ever so slight stiffening of his body

that he thought I was going to punish him further, but this time he was

so quick in complying that I couldn't construe it as an obstruction.

Part of me wanted to very badly, but I held myself back. My desire for

the bitch was overwhelming, but I had decided that I wanted him as a

long term slave, perhaps even for the rest of his life.



But that was in the future. Now I had to stop the swelling and for that

I fetched an ice pack and enveloped his balls in it. Not knowing what it

was other than the fact that it hurt very badly, his first reaction was

a scream of fear and pain. Then he realized what I was doing and soon I

could hear a truly pathetic mewling that sounded like he tried to thank

me and apologize at the same time. That sound made me want to beat his

balls to a pulp and shove my entire forearm into one of his inviting

holes; both his ass and his mouth would do nicely. Again I reminded

myself that the reason I felt that way was because of my overpowering

desire for the bitch. The plan was long term domination, real ownership.



After a while he began to shiver from the cold and I removed the ice.

The swelling gone I could see that I had inflicted no permanent damage.

Some rest and he would be fine. I helped my shivering property to stand

and removed his gag and blindfold. He blinked a few times against the

light and then, as he bowed his head, he whispered with the utmost

devotion: "Master". The tiny sound said it all. My desire for him might

have been extreme, but he was clearly in love with me. There was really

only on way to respond. With one finger I lifted up his chin until he

looked me straight in the eye. I held his gaze there until he began

squirming with pleased discomfort. Had I not held his chin he would have

taken his eyes away. As it was he unable to do so. I looked him in the

eye until he gave up, gave himself up to me and stared into my eyes with

utter abandon. I held him there for a good long while, soundlessly and

effortlessly claiming him and exerting once and for all my dominance

over him. Then I grabbed his head and kissed him very, very deeply,

feeling how he relaxed completely, melting in my hands. The kiss went on

for quite a while and when it was over he had that drugged look of a

bitch completely in love with his Master. A secret little smile on his

face he scampered after me into the bathroom where I prepared him for

the night. As I brushed his teeth he was unable to take his eyes off me

and as I stood next to him as he squatted down over the porcelain and

pissed he cast me loving glances. It was a fine thing and not only was

it gratifying to see that he loved me, but it would also make my job of

enslaving him permanently much easier. He would follow me docilely until

there was absolutely no turning back.



I tied him in a loose spread eagle to the bed with the rubber sheet,

pulled a rubber hood over his head, so that only his nostrils and mouth

were exposed and covered him with a rubber blanket. Then I simply laid

down on the bed next to him and went to sleep and left him to do the

same.



The following day, after waking him up by flipping him over, releasing

his legs but not his arms, and taking his bound and blindfolded form

from behind, I had to take it easy - at least with respect to the

physical punishments. However, punishments can take many forms and since

the only one we had really explored was beatings, many more options were

left to me.



Since he needed to rest and his genitals needed a break, there was one

obvious option, one I immediately took. After first feeding him and

making sure he had pissed and taken a crap, I removed all of his

bindings, leaving only his chastity device and his stilettos. I then

inserted a ring gag into his eagerly waiting mouth and told him stand at

attention next to the bed covered with rubber and place his arms down

his side. I then produced a whole bag filled with rolls of black rubber

tape. Tape with no adhesive on it; just very, very long strips of fairly

thick, black rubber. He saw what was coming and his eyes widened, but he

did not move even a fraction of an inch. Starting at his ankles I then

began wrapping him up. I pulled as hard as I dared on the strips as I

wound the rubber around his delectable form and as I reached mid thigh I

saw that I was achieving no small measure of compression of the slave

flesh I was binding. Soon I was at his neck and here I had to give a

little more slack so as not to strangle him, although I did tie it hard

enough for his breathing to become a little more labored. As I reached

the top of his head, only three places were left free: his mouth, his

feet and his imprisoned member.



I am quite sure that he thought that the wrapping was over, but in fact

I hadn't even used a fifth of the rubber I had brought. And I intended

to use all of it, putting on each new layer as tightly as I had the

first one. When I was finally through I had worked up a sweat. My bitch

on the other hand was nearly unable to move any part of his body. Not

only was the rubber very tight it was also very thick and as I laid him

down on the bed, his body almost didn't bend.



Having worked with my now rubber covered bitch for a while I had once

again become very horny. But all good things come to those who wait and

in this case I was nearly done and ready to take him again. From my bag

I fetched a number of very long straps, the kind use for strapping down

cargo. Very sturdy and made to tie down things very, very hard. Looping

them around his rubber covered bed I made sure that I had enough to tie

him down: one just above the ankles, one below the knees, one above the

knees, one mid-thigh, one just below his crotch, one just above, one at

the lower end of his ribcage and one mid-chest. Under his head I placed

a large, rubber-covered pillow so that his was at an angle with his

body. Then I looped a cargo strap around his forehead. Everything in

place I began tightening the straps. Moving up and down his bound form I

gradually increased the pressure until he was moaning very loudly and

his breathing had become very labored. By then he had been pressed as

far down into the mattress as possible and the bed frame had begun

creaking from the pressure. He had no movement left whatsoever.



His completely immobile, rubber clad form constituted an assault on my

feeling of lust, making it explode. Again I almost jumped him, but I

restrained myself. I had gone to all that trouble for a reason (other

than the obvious one). I wanted to train him as my toilet.



So I started out by informing him about his new role as piss drinker: "I

have decided to put you to some good use, bitch," I said to my bound

slave, speaking loudly so that he'd be able to hear me through the

layers of rubber encasing his head. "From now on you will act as my

portable little urinal and drink all of my urine. All of it, all the

time." At first there was no reaction at all and then, almost

soundlessly, my bitch began mewling as he tried to shake his head.

Fetching a funnel with a short bit of tubing attached, I put the tube

into his mouth and told him that he'd suffer if he spilled anything. He

emitted a low, hopeless sound before I took out my cock and began

pissing into the funnel. He had apparently decided that the best

strategy was to do as ordered and he dutifully tried to drink all of it.

Still, although he had previously been very excited at the idea of

drinking my piss, his basic instincts got the better of him and after a

few mouthfuls he choked on it and spit out what he had in his mouth,

retching and coughing as much as his bonds would allow. I immediately

stopped the flow by bending the tubing and waited patiently for him

regain his composure. When he had stopped coughing I informed him that

he wasn't done yet. As he felt the tube touch his lips again he nearly

cried out, but his whining was cut off by the flow of urine, a large

funnel full of it still waiting for him to drink.



He had two more stops along the way and by the time he had finally

emptied the funnel, he was mewling softly, protesting and expressing his

revulsion and I was mad as hell. Punishing him by beating some part of

him of course out of the question, since the very reason he was tied up

this way was that I had beaten him too much too soon. This left me with

a limited number of punishments, but the most obvious was also one that

got me going in a big way: breathplay.



With a ring gag already in place and his nostrils covered with rubber,

all I needed was a piece of rubber big enough to cover his mouth. Being

well prepared I had one at hand in an instant. Not wasting another

moment I jumped on the bed and straddled his bound form, my weight

further reducing his mobility and restricting his breathing even before

I had a chance to get properly started. It was a good start as he would

feel the full effects of the breathplay without even being able to start

on a set of full lungs. I then used both hands to press the rubber down

over his face, sealing him off completely and cutting off all breathing.

For the first few seconds there was, strangely, no reaction. Then he

apparently discovered what was happening and began struggling. I call it

struggling, but really it was so limited that I hardly felt it. Bound as

he was I could hardly even feel the shaking of his head. I had of course

known that it would be this way, after all I had thought it out, but

actually feeling it was another matter altogether. Feeling the complete

helplessness of my slave was once again fabulous. All too soon I felt

his struggles grow weak and I had to removed the seal from his mouth and

allow him to breathe, something he did in a state of near panic. His

situation was of course not helped by the fact that I sat on his chest,

but surprisingly quickly his breathing had returned to near normal. I

pounced again, once again savoring my power ruthlessly and enjoying his

complete and total helplessness. And so it went: just as soon as my

bitch's breathing returned to normal, I cut it off and when his

struggles became weak, I removed the rubber again.



I lost track of time abusing my bitch like that and before I knew it

more than an hour had passed. In fact it had almost been two hours since

I had begun the session and my bitch had passed the border to hysteria a

long time ago. When I climbed off him he was still mewling hysterically,

trying in vain to thrash in his bonds as small, out of breath screams

came out of his gasping mouth. Once he calmed down I believed that he

would have learned his lesson, although some part of me savagely hoped

that he would not learn this lesson just yet. His balls were so bruised

that he'd need at least another day inside his cocoon to heal up

sufficiently and at that moment I vehemently hoped for a few more hours

of breathplay and other interesting games.



My primary other interest was of course training him as a toilet and for

that purpose I had already before the breathplay began, drunk quite a

bit of water. During the hours that had gone by I had drunk more than my

fill and now it was time for me to take a piss again. Impressing upon

him the importance of him swallowing whatever I chose to put in his

mouth, I once again prepared the tube and the funnel. I inserted the

tube into his mouth accompanied by the small, but sweet, sound of a

broken whimper and released the contents of my bladder. This time around

he did marginally better, managing to not choke or retch, but still he

was unable to keep up with the flow. Of course this meant a new round of

breathplay as punishment and as I drank a new batch of water for the

next time I savored the sound of his garbled pleading through the ring

gag: "Arster, gleadse arter. Arster gleadse, arster," he mewled unable

to finish the sentence. I could hear the panic and hysteria in his

voice; hear that he was so very close to breaking from the prospect of

yet more breathplay. I had no trouble seeing it from his point of view:

completely immobile and helpless he was subjected to the sadistic whims

of a merciless bastard who thought that subjecting him to the truly

horrid sensation of smothering, subjecting him to it for hours on end,

was the height of amusement. And not only that, the bastard wanted to

turn him into a living toilet as well as pain slave, a humiliation pig

and an object for sex games which would bring him no pleasure beyond

whatever he would be able to derive from being owned.



I had no trouble understanding this. But I was that bastard, I AM that

bastard and I had no intention of letting him off the hook. On the

contrary; the thought of dragging him as low as possible was my primary

motivation, the very thing that got me off the most.



So when I heard his pathetic mewling and correctly surmised that he was

near the breaking point, that he had had more than enough, I did not

pull back. Rather I stepped it up. My bitch might have seen the week as

a way to live out his fantasies, but I saw it as one more step towards

making him mine permanently. If all went according to plan I would not

claim him permanently this time or even the time after that, but the

foundations I was about to lay down were going to be so solid that in

effect he'd have no choice at all. He would be mine for the taking after

this round of fun and games.



I continued alternating training him as a urinal and smothering him for

the next four hours at the end of which he was completely hysterical,

unable to stop emitting small out-of-breath screams. It was time to take

him all the way, time to break him irrevocably, to force him to take the

path of absolute slavery.



Releasing the straps holding him down, I dragged his bound form to the

bathroom. There I cut away the rubber encasing and found that he has

soiled himself inside his cocoon, just as could be expected. His

struggles had made the shit and piss mixture spread out from his crotch

area and he was now smeared with it from his knees to the middle of his

chest. Once all the rubber had been removed from his body, he lay there,

blinking against the light and shivering from the sudden cold and no

doubt also from panic. It was not the time to hesitate. Moving fast I

flipped him over and cuffed his wrists and his elbows together. Then I

yanked the ring-gag out, grabbed his hair and pulled his face close

mine, angrily spitting in his face: "You worthless piece of shit!

Disgusting little creep! You make me sick!" I shouted into his

frightened face, "You don't really want this! You're just a little

vanilla asshole, a useless softie fuck-boy. Why the hell should I waste

my time on you?" My fury shocked him badly and his eyes widened with it.

He clearly hadn't expected this and immediately he began stammering as

conflicting emotions struggled within him. On one hand he wanted to be

my slave very, very badly and on the other hand I was clearly much, much

more brutal than he had imagined. Should he opt out? Could he even opt

out? "M..M..Master, pl..please Master, please, please," was his first

attempt as his eyes blinked rapidly. Then his natural submissiveness and

the conditioning I had subjected him to kicked in with full force: He

needed to belong to me. It was as simple as that. "M..Master, please

Master," he cried, "Master, I want to belong to you Master. Master, I

promise to do better, Master. Master, please Master." He was close to

tears now and I pressed my advantage: "Filthy, disgusting slave-shit," I

spat, "just look at you." He seemed for the first time to really notice

that he was smeared in shit. "You say you want to be mine; that you'll

do as I say and you won't even swallow my piss properly even though

you're covered in shit? Why should I waste more time with you?" For a

moment this seemed to stop him altogether, but then his submissiveness

and my brutality again combined and made him answer: "Master, please use

me as your toilet Master. Master, I promise to do much, much better this

time, Master. Master, please Master. Master, please I'll do anything for

you, Master"



This was excellent, much better, much more complete and if not sooner

than expected. I looked down at him and pretended to consider it for a

moment before standing up straight: "Alright slave. Prove it." I then

positioned myself in the middle of the bathroom floor, dropped my pants,

squatted down and took a dump on the clean tile floor. It was large and

of course it smelled very, very bad. His eyes grew very large and very

afraid. "I've decided to grant your wish and use you as my toilet." He

almost began shaking his head and his mouth soundlessly formed a shocked

"no", but still he just stared at me. "You WILL eat all of it, but to

start you off easily, you'll first clean my ass and clean it very, very

thoroughly. Now get going bitch!"



He was a truly pathetic sight; a shivering, shit covered bitch wearing

only stilettos and a chastity device, kneeling on the cold tile floor,

shaking his head slightly as he cried softly at what he was about to do.

Because there was never any doubt that he would clean my ass and that he

would eat the disgusting pile of shit on the floor. He knew he had lost

and he knew that he was much too submissive to refuse, that he needed to

belong to me so badly that he would really do anything; including eating

my shit.



So in a surprisingly short time, his face was buried in my ass and I

enjoyed the wonderful feeling of his tongue cleaning every single little

fold of my ass. While having my ass sucked was good, it was nothing

compared to the raw and undiluted feeling of power and lust I

experienced as my bitch, with an utterly defeated look on his face,

tears of humiliation running down his cheeks, dutifully ate every last

bit of the truly revolting pile I'd deposited on the floor, right down

to licking the floor sparkling clean. Several times he'd had to fight

back the urge to puke, but he had managed to perform just as I had asked

of him and I was actually proud of him in a strange way - and more than

a little disgusted with the little shiteating bitch. He had once again

shown himself as the ideal bitch to own. Finished with the monumentally

disgusting task, he looked up at me with scared, humiliated and

questioning eyes; as I said a pathetic sight. Had I been a better man I

would have felt sorry for him. But I am not the better man. I am the

brutal bastard who loves to force my bitch as low as he can possibly go.

At that moment he must have felt lower, dirtier and more humiliated than

ever before. And still he looked at me for orders; looked at me as if I

was the best thing to happen to him - ever. You just have to abuse that

kind of power!



But first I would have to cement that power over him and the way I chose

to do that was by seemingly treat him nicely. I removed his stilettos so

that all he wore was his chastity device. I then lifted him into the

bathtub and left him standing there while I removed my clothes. Needy

little bitch that he is he eyed me with open sexual hunger, even after

the being forced to eat shit. I climbed in after him and began rinsing

the shit and piss off him before moving on to give him a proper bath and

even cleaning his mouth; a move that made him cry with gratitude and

swear that he loved me. I found this not only touching, but more than a

little strange and stupid, since I was the one who had forced him to eat

shit in the first place. Again the feeling made my blood run hot with

the need to own and punish the bitch.



The tub was very large and surprisingly deep and the hot water made him

relax and actually enjoy the moment. His enjoyment didn't diminish when

I sat down in the tub facing him and began running my hands over his

supple and utterly passive body. I leaned forward and grabbed his face,

kissing him deeply. As I broke away and he sat with a drugged look on

his face, I spread his legs, he sighed with pleasure. The sigh turned to

moaning as I knelt, lifted him up slightly and forced him down on my

very erect cock. He immediately wrapped his legs around me and in no

time at all we found the rhythm. Although it was a little difficult

holding on to him while keeping my balance in the water, the fuck was

glorious. It was clearly both painful and pleasurable for him. He

writhed and moaned, moving like the bitch in heat he is and at the same

time I only needed to look down at his cock struggling in vain inside

its prison, the flesh pressing painfully against the cage.



Soon my orgasm was approaching and just before I came, I shifted my grip

on his body, so that I now had one hand on his neck. He hardly seemed to

notice, absorbed as he was in the moment. As I came I tilted forward and

forced him below the water, holding him pinned to the bottom of the tub

as I thrust into him, depositing my load and getting the most out of the

aftershocks. He immediately began to struggle, his legs kicking wildly,

his hands reaching up and his body thrashing, but of course he didn't

have a chance. Even here his submissiveness was so deep that his hands

never went near me, never tried to prevent me from drowning him. They

just grabbed uselessly at the air.



Seeing his panicked face beneath the surface and feeling his helpless

thrashing and splashing in the tub was almost as good as the orgasm

itself. The panicky surprise on his face as his mouth opened, almost

ready to take that fateful final breath of water in as he ran out of

air, was so sweet. Again I had proved to him exactly how merciless I

was.



Just before he would have drowned, I pulled him up. He gasped and

coughed and even though his legs were still wrapped around me, he looked

at me now with wide fearful eyes. I looked into them and said in a low

voice: "You are my property, my bitch. I not only can, but will do to

you anything and everything I please and you'll have only one response,

right bitch?" He knew it, felt the need to belong and his answer was

gratifyingly immediate: "Master, yes Master. Master, thank you Master."

Smiling I said: "Good bitch," and pulled the plug, letting the water out

of the tub. Breathplay is my thing, but I am much more partial to

strangling and smothering than drowning; it is so much more hands-on,

much more personal and cruel. Just the way I like it.



After exiting the tub, I first dried myself and then my bitch. Although

clearly shaken by the experiences, both the near drowning but perhaps in

particular the shiteating, he stood very still as I dried him. Both of

us dry and naked, I began rubbing his body with moisturizing crème,

something that almost instantly made him moan with lust. I took my sweet

time rubbing him and when I was finally done, he was nearly crying with

lust and confusion. How could the brutal bastard who had damaged his

balls so badly, who had nearly smothered him, who had nearly drowned him

and who had turned him into a shiteating toilet slave, be so gentle, so

soft and considerate? It messed with his mind in a big way - just as was

my intention. Continuing along that line, I made him put on his red

Oxfords with the six inch heels. He was now wearing only his heels and

his chastity device and his Master stood naked in front of him. He had

no idea if he should be terrified or deeply in love, so both emotions

coursed through him, completely out of control.



Taking him by the hand I led him into the living room, where the

stripper pole stood strangely centered in the room. The room also had a

stereo and I put some slow music on and commanded him to use the pole

and dance for me as I sat down in an armchair. For the first few minutes

he stumbled, unable to think properly and unable to find the rhythm, but

then he lost himself in the moment and the music and his dancing became

a fluid writhing. As the music picked up he closed his eyes and threw

his head back as be slid up and down the pole, humping it as he showed

off his beautiful body. I threw him a bottle of oil and told him to

grease himself up, making it part of the show. For a short moment he

looked like he might actually cry from gratitude and then really got his

act on.



The bitch should have been a dancer or at least a stripper. His hands

massaging his lithe body with oil, he skin soon glistened as he writhed

and humped the pole for all he was worth. When his eyes were not closed

in ecstasy, or perhaps more properly the memory of ecstasy, he eyed me

with complete and utter adulation. His imprisoned cock smeared the pole

as he dripped copiously, desperately longing for release that he was

nowhere near getting.



After a good half hour of his sexy writhing, I stood up, fetched a

length of bungee cord and went over to my bitch at the pole. He didn't

stop dancing until I was so close that I forced him up against the pole.

He remembered what he was and stood up straight, chest out, arms behind

his back and face demurely down, but I could see that he desperately

wanted to look at me; that he wanted to show his adoration. So I let

him. I lifted up his chin and kissed him lightly. He was panting and not

just from the exertion, lust clearly evident in his face and pain

clearly visible in his swollen and compressed genitals. I allowed this

for a few seconds and then I grabbed his balls and tied the bungee cord

tightly around his scrotum. I then fastened the other end of the cord to

the pole and went back to my chair, ordering him to begin dancing again.

His movements were a hindered a bit by the cord, by he was enjoying

himself and his excited writhing was clear evidence of it.



When I had had enough dancing, I ordered him to crawl over to me and

blow me. As he moved towards me his balls were stretched more and more,

making it more and more painful for him. Sure his balls were still

somewhat damaged, but I just had to see him do this. His welfare would

always be subordinate to my pleasure. Always. I had cut the cord to

measure and it's length was only a third of the distance from the pole

to the chair. Add to the length used to tie around his scrotum and

around the pole and it meant that he would have to work hard to reach

me. And work he did. At first his crawling just slowed down and he got a

pained look on his face, but by the time he reached my crotch he was

keening with pain. The blowjob was so very sweet. Not only did I have an

excellent view of his fine ass, his stilettoed feet and his mangled and

stretched balls, but when I directed my gaze down, I looked directly in

to his face. His eyes were wide with pain, tears streaking his cheeks

and his lips enveloped my cock as he worked desperately to please me.

The utterly defeated and submissive look he directed me almost made me

shoot my wad then and there. Damn the bitch was hot! - especially when

he was being tortured.



Sensing that I couldn't hold it for that long, I rushed to take

advantage of the situation. His balls were an unhealthy shade of blue

and they wouldn't be able to handle the cord cutting off the blood

supply for much longer and besides as he would become numb, which is

never a desirable situation if you want someone to suffer. So I quickly

grabbed a crop I had placed nearly and with a sharp rap I hit the cord,

making it vibrate. The effect was immediate. I've had humjobs before,

but screamjobs are so much more satisfying if you are a true bastard

like me. While still holding his position on all fours, my bitch managed

have his whole body spasm as he screamed his heart out around my cock.

It was too much and in the middle of his scream I shot my load down his

throat, turning the screaming into choking, coughing and retching. To

make sure he couldn't pull back I grabbed the back of his head and pull

him close, until I was deep inside his throat. Coughing and retching, he

soon turned a nice shade of blue as he was once again plunged back into

his nightmare of breathplay. This time I could see his face and eyes and

therefore I was able to take it much further than when he had been under

rubber wraps. This time I held it right up until his eyes began to roll

back and his struggles became spasmodic and irregular. As I pulled out

he collapsed on the floor, almost unconscious and desperately gasping

for air.



As his breathing returned to something relatively normal and he came

around panicky and tearful after the ordeal, I once again admonished

myself to be careful and to take it slow. I wanted to own him for a

long, long time, but if I continued at this pace I'd surely damage him

beyond repair, maybe even kill him, which was not my intention.

Irreparable damage was part of my plan, but it was for much later and

killing him was definitely not part of my plan, even if the glorious

sight of him choking on my cock actually made me consider it for the

very first time, if only very briefly.



As he lay there, sobbing and unable to pull himself out of the

nightmare, I removed the cord around his balls, making him scream with

pain and curl up tightly as blood returned to his mangled balls.

Kneeling down by his face, I grabbed his hair and lifted his head up

until my face was mere inches from his. He made no attempts whatsoever

at resistance or even at making his position more comfortable, but

instead he quieted his screaming and directed his full attention at me.

"Stop screaming you useless bitch!" I spat into his tear streaked face,

"Be grateful that you are allowed to suck my cock an that I don't just

get on with it and turn you into fulltime toilet, doing nothing but

eating shit. You should be grateful that someone, that I, take the time

to train and own you, worthless piece of shit that you are. You are

nothing but slave filth and every kind of attention you receive is

flattering, useless trash that you are." Once again his tears were

flowing as he nodded and mewled: "Master, please Master. Master, I'm so

sorry Master. Master, I am so grateful, Master. Master, I love you

Master. Master, I will do anything for you Master. Master, anything

Master." With that he broke down crying, mewling prayers for

forgiveness. It was perfect; just what I had been aiming at. He had

reached the stage where he was convinced that he really was useless, a

slave shit to be abused and that he really should be grateful for

whatever I did to him. The basis for it was his natural submissiveness

and sexual excitement from being topped - brutally. The groundwork for

his present state had been our previous encounters and constant

communication, where I had stressed his uselessness and how he needed to

be owned, indeed how I already owned him. A long and exceedingly brutal

(even more brutal than I had originally intended) torture session,

followed by complete immobility and hours of alternating piss drinking

and the awful sensation of smothering, had messed his mind up almost

completely. The final straw had been when I forced him to eat my shit.

It had focused him completely on his lowly status, the fact that he had

done this truly revolting thing had in his mind been the cement locking

him into his role as the lowest shiteater in the world. The fact that I

had forced him to do probably seemed only fair to him by now, since his

mind was telling him how much he deserved to be punished all the time. I

had locked him into the belief that he was a slave and only a slave and

that everything happening to him was justified and that he should be

eternally grateful for what I was doing to him. I briefly toyed with the

idea of asking him what his civilian job was, since I was convinced that

he would be unable to answer, but I decided against it.



I had him right where I wanted to and sooner than expected. Now my task

for the rest of the week would be to reinforce this belief in him, to

keep him locked into belief that he was a slave. If all went well he

would be unable to break free when our ways parted after the week was

over.



I kept up the training over the next days; he ate all my shit, drank all

of my piss and danced for me for hours every day. I also started him on

severe corset training, something he clearly found both very sexy and

very uncomfortable. With only one day left his form as a slave was

nearly perfect and there was no doubt at all that he was now very, very

close to being trapped in the illusion that he would have to remain a

slave, my slave, for the rest of his life. That he indeed would be

unable to fill any other role in life.



On the morning of the last day of my vacation, my bitch was kneeling on

the bathroom floor, a look a pure defeated disgust on his face. He hated

the fact that he had been turned into my shiteating bitch, but clearly

believed that it was his proper place. As always he was a vision of

submissive beauty; naked except for a collar, his chastity device and

his red fuck-me-hard heels. While he might have been disgusted at the

task at hand, but his imprisoned cock told another story: pressing hard

against it's prison it was also dripping copiously, thus revealing his

true nature. I dropped my pants, squatted slightly and felt my bitch

push his eager mouth to my asshole, ready to accept yet another

demeaning lesson on his way to complete slavery. Taking a dump never

felt so good.



It being the last day of intense training I had decided to take some

aspects of his training a bit further than before; giving him some

things to work on when I was no longer around to supervise his training

directly. First the corset. Up until that point I had used a standard

corset; fabric with a few steel supports. Now I took it further; I had

had a corset custom made for my bitch: inelastic plastic and Kevlar, so

that he would be able to wear it on a plane. It was also a good deal

smaller than the already quite small one I had used on him so far.



Soon he was hanging from his wrists almost a foot off the ground. He

still expected the old corset, so when I brought out the new one his

eyes widened, but he was too well trained to actually express his

surprise or displeasure. Putting in on him was a pleasure as well an

effort. First I tightened it as much as I possibly could, making him

gasp and eventually whine at the painful compression. Then I let him

dangle for a while, adjusting to the corset. This didn't diminish his

low key suffering as his wrists and arms were stretched painfully. After

about ten minutes I returned and tightened the laces harder, making him

gasp and whine again. He probably thought that would be it and as I

walked away, leaving him to dangle once more, his mouth formed that most

satisfying "O" of complete surprise and fear. I kept up this regime of

lacing and waiting for his body to adjust for the next hour, at the end

of which he really was gasping for air and further compression was

impossible. The custom corset I had bought for him had a special

feature, which I now explained to him as I employed it. The feature was

the fact that all the laces could be stowed away beneath a

plastic/Kevlar flap and that the flap could be locked in place, making

it impossible for him to take the corset off without breaking the locks.

I used four small uniquely numbered plastic padlocks to lock the seal.

They could only be removed by cutting them away and since they were

uniquely numbered he wouldn't be able to replace them after cutting them

away. That way I would be able to control him during our daily webcam

shows. Besides, their position on his back insured that removing them

would be quite difficult. Since the corset was made from plastic and

Kevlar, he would be able to shower while wearing it so he didn't need to

take if off at all. I now informed him that he would be wearing it for

at least two weeks, no matter how uncomfortable or potentially damaging

it was. Sure he might have problems with his stomach and intestines or

experience chafing, but I wanted him to wear it regardless. If he

developed these problems, then I would have him remove it, but not

before.



As I told him this he became very still and suddenly looked very

frightened. It was as if his enforced chastity, piss drinking and me

turning him into a shiteater hadn't really made it clear to him how big

a bastard I was. Now this suddenly brought that fact home and he saw me

for what I am: a true bastard and the bastard who had now irrevocably

claimed him. I stepped up to him, still dangling from his wrists, and

put both hands around his throat and squeezed, while at the same time

pressing my mouth to his. It was a very special kiss, my bitch twitching

and spasming more and more desperately while he tried to kiss me back.

When his gasping was over he hung there, his head down in defeat, for a

few moments and the whispered passionately: "Master, please Master.

Master I love you Master." I smiled and lifted up his chin, looked him

in the eye and replied: "And I promise that I'll abuse and degrade

beyond your darkest dreams." At this he just shuddered and whispered a

loving and defeated "Master, yes Master."



After that I let him down and then his surprise fetched a pair of jeans

and a short leather jacket for him. The jeans were very tight and the

jacket was slutty, definitely not masculine. I threw them at him and

told him to get dressed. Soon he stood, looking very confused and a

little frightened, dressed just in jacket, jeans and heels. Even when

the jacket was buttoned up, it was clear to anyone that he wore nothing

underneath it. Nothing besides a corset, which a closer inspection would

easily reveal. Besides the whole get-up was far too flimsy for the

winter season and would instantly reveal him as dressed too flimsily -

that is, apart from revealing him as a completely feminized slut.



I then gave him some cash and a short shopping list (duct tape, rope and

such) and I gave him directions and told him to go down to the hardware

store around the corner and buy these items. He looked at me in

disbelief and he almost objected, but he was already too well

conditioned and after a curtsey and a "Master, yes Master," he minced

sexily out the door. As he disappeared, I grabbed a jacket and slipped

out the back door of the apartment. I had given him directions which

made sure that he would get to the hardware store after I did.



Two days earlier I had had a stroke of blind, outrageous luck. While my

bitch lay cocooned, recovering from yet another brutal beating I had

gone out to replenish my supplies of plastic wrapping, duct tape and

such. The streets of the holiday town had been completely deserted as

had the hardware store. The guy at the counter was a good looking

college boy, a jock by the looks of him. He looked very bored until I

placed the goods on his counter. He looked at them and then at me,

before venturing a cautious remark about how these things could be used

for other things than repairs around the house. I looked him straight in

the eye and agreed. He chewed on that for a second and then asked

outright if they were for me or if I was going to use them on someone

else. In his question and the fact that he looked at me with open sexual

interest, I saw a golden opportunity to play games with my bitch and

answered him completely honestly, that I had a boi-bitch to use them on.

Would he like to play along and abuse the bitch also? His answer had

spawned the little scheme I was now subjecting my bitch to.



Going around the back to get to the hardware store before my bitch, I

passed a good vantage point to observe the street along which my bitch

came prancing nervously in his stilettos. As I had expected and hoped

for, the street was empty and my very nervous and self conscious bitch

went unmolested, as always a true pleasure to the eye. I slipped in the

back of the store and was greeted by Jim, my newfound partner. He had a

huge grin on his face and we shook. Soon after my bitch could be heard

walking into the store, which was quite large, stilettos clicking sexily

on the floor. On the closed circuit TV monitors I could see him find

what he had been sent for and as he did, I snuck down an aisle on the

opposite side of the store. Just before he came up to the counter, I was

able to lock the outer door, put the "Closed" sign in the window and

slip back in the room behind the counter, where I could watch what was

about to happen on CCTV.



My bitch had looked nervous in the street, but that had been nothing

compared to how he looked now. Extremely nervous and more than a little

excited. Almost bursting with laughter, I noticed a small, but very

distinct wet spot on the front of his ultra-tight jeans, where the

pre-cum from his overly excited and needy cock leaked out of the

chastity device. He fidgeted with the goods as he placed them on the

counter and then retrieved, with great difficulty, the money I had given

him from his back pocket, the tightness of his jeans causing him

significant problems.



Jim behind the counter surveyed the things on the counter and then

looked at my bitch. Looked him over good; letting his eyes take him in

without even the slightest attempt to hide what he was doing. Under this

hungry inspection my bitch became even more nervous and much, much more

excited. He might have pledged himself to me, but he was still a horny

slut at heart and he couldn't help react to Jim's attention. It would be

a fine thing to humiliate and degrade him with further up along the

road; his openly flattered and horny reaction to a complete stranger.



After a leisurely inspection of my property, Jim looked him in the eye

and asked: "So what is a pretty little thing like you going to do with

such a collection of kinky hardware?" The question stunned my bitch more

than a little and he began stammering something unintelligible as he

held the money up in front of him with both hands, as if he was using it

to ward off something. Jim pushed it further and came around the

counter, standing very close to my boi, as he asked: "Your Daddy going

to tie you up with all that nice gear and then fuck you silly? Or is he

going to turn you into a party favor, wrap you up like a present and

share you on poker night?" In the back I was applauding silently. The

questions and his whole attitude was perfectly predatory and I couldn't

have done it better myself. Jim had the poor slut completely stumped,

unable to speak and reduced to eyeing him fearfully as he moved in

close, standing face to face with my slave, only my boi's arms holding

the cash up acting as a shield between them.



Acting perfectly casually and perfectly domineering Jim then took

lightly hold of the jacket zipper of my bitch's leather jacket and

slowly drew it down to reveal his corset. My boi tried objecting, but

the words came out jumbled and out of breath. Then Jim said in soft

voice full of innuendo: "How about I take you right here, wrap you up

good, beat your ass until it's nice and tender and then fuck you silly?

Then you can go home to Daddy and get punished again. Wouldn't that be

just the thing for a little mouthful such as yourself?" Although clearly

excited by the prospect, this was too much for my bitch. He was after

all property and he had pledged himself to me and he told Jim so in an

unsteady, but quite clear voice. Jim reacted just as we had agreed on; a

quick slap to my bitch's face followed by a derisive remark about how a

needy little slave slut had no say in such matters. At this point the

little bitch tried to get away and again he was met by an agreed

response. I had decided that I wanted the show to be as frightening

realistic as we could make it and so Jim first slammed his knee into the

groin of my slave as hard as he could, causing the silly bitch to

crumple completely, loosing breath and footing at the same time. Then he

quickly got a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and in no time my

slave had his hands cuffed behind him. His mouth now formed a most

satisfying "O" of pure fright as he realized what was about to happen

and although in pain and out of breath, he tried to scream for help.

This was met equally quickly by a dirty rag forced into his mouth,

filling it up completely, which was then fixed in place by a couple of

solid strips of duct tape.



Jim then slung him over his shoulder and carried the now weakly kicking

slut into the back room and dumped him on the floor. Others would have

stopped the game here, but not me. I watched, unseen by my bitch, deep

in the shadows of the large backroom, as Jim proceeded along the course

we had agreed on. Working very efficiently indeed, Jim dropped onto my

squirming property, sitting heavily on his chest as he taped over the

eyes of the terrified little slut who was now pleading desperately

behind his gag. Already prepared by me, a rope hung down from the

ceiling, which Jim now tied to the slut's handcuffs. He then pulled on

the rope until he forced my slave to stand and the pulling it further

until he was almost hanging from his wrists, which were behind his back,

forcing him to stand in a very stressful position.



Using a pair of sturdy scissors, and making my bitch stand very, very

still with terror, Jim then cut all of the little bitch's clothes to

shreds, so that he stood arms raised behind him, bent over with his ass

pointing skyward, completely naked except for his heels, his chastity

device and his corset. Fondling the chastity device and my slut's very,

very tender balls none too gently, he remarked: "Kinky bitch. I'm sure

you'll be very happy with your new life… eventually." This sparked a new

bout of screaming and crying behind my bitch's gag as the implications

became clear to him.



The screaming continued, but changed pitch, as Jim removed his belt and

proceeded to whip my bitch with it, the metal studded leather moving all

over his fine, lithe slave body. After about ten minutes of intense

whipping he was reduced to a sobbing mess and Jim moved on to the real

sport. He lubed up my bitch's ass, dropped his pants, put on a condom

and entered the waiting hole with a sigh of pleasure. After stiffening

momentarily at entry, my bitch began to move with the strokes, betraying

an almost disturbingly thorough conditioning - or predisposition,

depending on your outlook. Either way it looked to me like a truly

glorious fuck, certainly for Jim, but also for my beaten slave boy. As

Jim reached around and began fondling his balls gently, my property's

sounds went from mostly desperate to mostly needy, showing his true

nature. As Jim came, grabbing his hips so very hard, I noticed how my

slave moved his ass, flexing his muscles and grinding so as to give the

one fucking him the greatest amount of pleasure. He really was a slave

bitch. Just as Jim came he squeezed my slut's balls viciously, actually

pulling them violently while squeezing. The effect on my boi was

devastating and his spasms were truly desperate as were his attempts to

control the urge to vomit at the pain.        



Finished with the fuck, Jim pulled out and left my bitch standing,

almost hanging, in the uncomfortable position he was forced to maintain.

He joined me and we left the helplessly sobbing slave. Jim envied me a

great deal for owning such a fine slave, but he brightened more than a

little when I mentioned how I might help him acquire one himself. More

than a few little bitches craving and requiring a firm hand had written

me over the years, far more than I could give the attention they needed.

Establishing contact between Jim and one or more of these bitches would

be the easiest thing in the world and with some sharing my predilections

to the extent that Jim did, I was quite sure that everyone would be

happy. Well, perhaps not exactly happy, but at least have their wishes

fulfilled - even if these bitches rarely realize just what having their

dreams come true really meant.



I have maintained contact with him over the years and the last time we

met he had his fourth slave in tow. I make a point of not asking what

happened to the others, but considering his brutality I am fairly

certain that those "fortunate" slave boys have not been returned to

their drab, wretched lives after being owned by him. The slave he

dragged behind him the last time I saw him, was a beautiful little slave

boi, his skin a dark brown color very pleasing to the eye. He was

completely hairless, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes,

although strictly speaking I couldn't see his toes, as he wore a pair of

very, very small ballet toed boots. They looked exceedingly painful. His

mouth was stuffed with a huge ball-gag and his arms were fused behind

him in a red, rubber armbinder I found very fetching. The slave looked

completely desperate, like he was caught in a nightmare he couldn't

escape from. I suppose this was a very accurate description of his

situation, since the first thing I noticed about him was the complete

absence of anything even resembling genitalia. No balls and no cock

even. All that was left was a tiny little hole for him to piss through,

but even that was plugged with a miniature dildo. The skin around the

hole was slightly pink, suggesting that the removal had been recent,

something Jim confirmed. I naturally congratulated him on his harsh

treatment of the useless little slut, before we inspected my bitch

together. My bitch didn't need to see what had been done to Jim's slave,

although he almost screamed with terror when he did see him, as he

remembered Jim perfectly well.



Back in the hardware store back room, Jim took my bitch further, just as

we had agreed on. First he tied his legs together, very tightly, at the

ankles, at mid-calf, at the knees and finally at mid-thigh. Then he

released my bitch from the rope hanging from the ceiling, so that he

could stand upright. Then he proceeded to tie the slut's arms to his

body just as thoroughly as he had taken care of his legs. Then, in a

move which sparked panic in my boi, he pulled a plastic bag over my

bitch's head, punched a hole at the nose (after waiting for almost a

minute) and wrapped an entire roll of duct tape around his head, leaving

only a fraction of his nose free. My boi was then laid down on the cold,

concrete floor and Jim folded his lower legs up so that his sexy heels

rested on his gorgeous ass and then used rope to fuse his upper and

lower legs. This completely inescapable tie would have been enough for

most people, but both he and I wanted to make this as uncompromising and

as scary as possible. So Jim now got a roll of plastic wrapping, the

kind used to wrap cargo on freight pallets, and proceeded to cocoon my

bitch completely. When he was through with the first part, my bitch

looked like a legless, black plastic bug with a featureless silver head.

Jim didn't neglect that either and soon that too was covered in black

plastic. Since he had yet to cut a hole in the last layer of plastic, my

bitch struggled desperately to breathe. We let him do so until his

struggles grew weak and spasmodic. The Jim punched a hole for his nose

and after the initial fight for breath we heard my bitch cry with

desperation. It was too good to pass up and so Jim wrapped his body in

more layers still, finishing up of course with wrapping his head again

and again, right up until my bitch again was at the point of suffocating

for real.



Jim wrapped three more layers around my bitch along using the same

recipe. When he was done my slave looked like a large and shiny black

cigar. Only a faint mewling and a slightly louder rasping breathing

sound revealed that beneath the plastic was in fact a human being of

sorts. It was after all just a slave.



My slut wrapped up thus, I helped Jim carry the cocoon out the back door

and deposit the package in the trunk of his car. We then closed the lid

and went inside for a cup of coffee. The more time the bitch had to

stew, the better and Jim seemed like a nice guy.



After chatting for about an hour, we went for a ride. So as not to make

it to obvious that the kidnapping was fake, we drove around for almost

two hours, before parking right beneath the apartment I had rented.

Making sure we were not watched, we carried the plastic cocoon inside.

He was still breathing, but the mewling had stopped as if he had

resigned himself to his fate.



It was time to reveal to my slave what was going on, so Jim and I

carefully cut away the plastic, duct tape and rope until only the

patches of tape over his eyes were left. Although his hands and feet

were free, he made no attempts at movement, perhaps being too exhausted

or just as likely having no strength left in his limbs as the blood

supply to them had been very small during the last few hours. I then

knelt down and pulled the tape away from his eyes and when he recognized

me after much blinking, he cried with complete abandon, mostly from

relief. He later told me that he had believed it was real, never

doubting for a second that he had been snatched off to a short and

brutal slave life in the service of unknown men. At first he had been

relieved beyond belief, but then he had finally realized that what had

happened to him almost exactly what I was subjecting him to already. He

told me that he had cried from relief, but also from the realization of

what he was on his way to becoming and finally because being owned,

tortured and degraded like that was what he truly believed was what he

deserved, being the worthless slave bitch that he was.



Before his worst sobbing had subsided, I had him on all fours, now

"dressed" only in his chastity device, his corset and his heels. Still

sobbing we filled both his holes in a very, very nice fuck. Jim pounding

his ass and I fucking his face and thus reaping the benefit of his

helpless sobbing, providing me with an interestingly different sensation

of muscle contractions in his throat. When we had both cum, my bitch was

allowed to collapse on the floor as Jim and I bade each other so long.



My bitch was completely spent when I returned, but there was work to be

done. It was our last day and in just a couple of hours he had a plane

to catch at the nearest airport. Although exhausted, he was also

well-conditioned by now and as soon as I ordered it he was busy packing

all of his stuff. After half an hour our suitcases were packed and his

"civilian" clothes were ready. My bitch was still only wearing his

chastity device, his corset and his heels and looked very, very

exhausted, both physically and mentally.



Before we went home from what had been the best vacation I could

remember, I undressed, took my bitch by the hand and led him into the

bathroom. I had him step out of his heels and into the tub. This time I

played no games, but simply turned on the water and took a shower with

my property. As the warm water fell on our bodies, I entered him from

behind, pressing him into a corner as I held him tightly, fucking him

long and hard. He moaned with joy and screamed for release, which I of

course never granted him. Just before I came, I turned him around and

holding him tightly I kissed him deeply as I shot my load into him. When

I pulled out and turned off the water I noticed that he was crying.

Crying as it turned out, with joy.



He was still sobbing as I kissed him goodbye and sent him to his waiting

cab. Gone were his slave clothes, but his slave attitude was now set in

stone, binding him for good. He looked longingly out of the window as

the cab drove off.



Chapter 3

Reconnecting with my bitch about a day later via webcam, I was

gratified to see him naked except for his corset, his chastity device

and his heels. Although obviously still shaken and exhausted, he thanked

me for a very nice vacation and for showing him just what a complete

slave slut he really was.



Then, after a bit of chit-chat, mostly me verbally abusing him, my slave

very timidly asked for a favor. Could he please be allowed wrap

something around his waist, to fill out the "gap" made by his corset?

Apparently he was attracting some attention from the way his clothes

hung on his body. Laughing I granted my bitch this request. Somehow I

had overlooked this hilarious side effect to my slave's suffering.



I let him keep the corset, not for two weeks as promised, but for three.

The reasons were simple: because I could and because things suddenly

moved fast and to my immense advantage. As the time when I had

originally planned to release him from his corset approached, my bitch

got fired. I told him it served him right, useless slave shit that he

was. After thus undermining his confidence, I moved on, talking idly

about how I intended to come see him soon. A major fetish event was

coming to a city near him in just a week and I intended to use that and

the fact that my bitch was without a job and newly conditioned to

enslave him permanently. I had originally planned one or two more

sessions before taking that step, but now that the chance presented

itself I wasn't going to pass it up.



The physical necessities for keeping a slave 24/7 were already in place.

I had already had a dungeon for some years then and he would by no means

be my first 24/7 slave.



It's last inhabitant had been a sweet little sissy I had had for about

three years before tiring of him. Six months earlier I had castrated

him, thus ending four years of chastity without being allowed to cum,

waited for the wound to heal, dressed him in a tight pink top, a pair of

pink, rubber hotpants and a pair of pink six inch heels and driven him

to a city he'd never been to and dropped him off at night in the busiest

hooker street without anything but the "clothes" he wore. Too

well-conditioned to object, he looked at me with desperation as I drove

off, his eyes wide beneath his long, black hair. As I drove away I

looked in the rear view mirror and saw a car stop at curb next to him.

Presumably it was his first customer propositioning him.



I returned four months later, in a different car and suitably disguised,

cruising down that very street. And sure enough, there he was strutting

his stuff by the curb. He still didn't look like a seasoned whore, but

rather like someone forced to be a whore, which was of course just what

he was. He still wore the same pink outfit, now supplemented with a tiny

pink purse on a string, and on his face and several places on his arms

and legs were the unmistakable remnants of bruises. In a doorway nearby

stood a large man, hovering somehow, which I thought was probably his

pimp or his pimp's enforcer. I idly wondered if my former bitch was

allowed to keep any of the money he earned or if his pimp took it all

and fed him scraps, keeping him locked up in a basement or such when not

in use. Given his appearance and the fact that he still wore the rubber

clothes I had left him in, I thought the latter to be the most likely.

With that thought I drove off, never to return, relishing in being a

complete bastard.



Getting back to how I caught my bitch, I now had the perfect setting for

my plans and I intended to take full advantage of it.



I flew in two days before the event, a leather pride parade with a giant

fetish party scheduled at night. I drove to his place and knocked on his

door without giving him even a phone call in advance. As he answered the

door, he was so surprised that he at first just stood there, mouth open,

eyes staring as he hid behind the door itself. Not waiting for an

invitation, I simply stepped in. As he closed the door behind me, the

reason he had been using it as a shield became apparent. To my great

delight he was dressed in a tight T-shirt, his corset clearly visible

beneath it, a pair of ultra-tight jeans, so tight that you could

actually make his chastity device out underneath. And finally on his

feet were his red fuck-me-so-very-hard Oxfords.



As I stood in his apartment, he remembered his training and dropped to

all fours, greeting me by kissing my feet as he whispered how much he

loved me. I had originally planned to play it cool, but my bitch once

again got my blood flowing and I just had to take him right there. I

yanked him up from the floor and kissed him long and deep. Then I pulled

his pants down around his ankles, threw him to the floor, quickly lubed

up his ass using a bottle of hand crème he kept on a dresser nearby,

twisted both his arms behind him and used them to hold on to as I forced

my way into his ass. His head pressed down against the floor, he keened

from the pain in his arms, but otherwise it was perfectly clear that

this was just what he had wanted in the intervening weeks.



The fuck was just as glorious as it should be and when I pulled out, I

stood up, dragged him into the living room by his hair, sat down on the

couch and ordered him to lick me clean and then blow me. He had a look

of bliss on his face as he knelt in front of me, pants still around his

ankles and semen leaking out of his ass, and first licked me clean and

the began a slow and intensely arousing blowjob.



I used those two days before the party to complete the groundwork for

enslaving him permanently, hinting at how this would be best for him,

constantly repeating variations on how much a bitch like him had no

place being free and so on. I kept him naked except for heels, corset

and chastity device and I used every opportunity to use him as a toilet,

eating and drinking so much in those two day that I actually gained a

couple of pounds. To be able to degrade him further by cementing his

status as a useless, shiteating slave bitch, it was a sacrifice I was

willing to make. Besides I could work it off later by punishing him even

more fiercely.



For the party, which I would exploit to make him all mine, I had brought

him a special outfit. He'd still be wearing his corset, as there were no

visible chafing marks (I really wanted to show him off, being filled

with a perverse sense of owner's pride). His gorgeous ass was covered by

a pair of shiny, black rubber pants, very low cut so that they rode

below his hips, making the most of his fine, fine ass. They didn't go

all the way down to his ankles, rather ending mid-calf and they were so

tight that it looked as if I'd painted them on. Anyone caring to look,

would see his chastity device clearly and many did take an extra look

that evening. Around his neck I placed a narrow steel collar with an

engraved sign hanging down: "Owned bitch" it said and my bitch blushed

very deeply when he saw it. I made him fold his thumbs into his palm

while keeping his fingers straight and then I pulled tubes, usually used

for patching up electrical cables, of sturdy rubber over his hands.

Using an industrial blow-dryer I then shrunk/half-melted the plastic

until his hands were just rubber cones. In keeping with the rest of his

outfit I polished this rubber to a high shine. Finally I put a pair of

ankle high stiletto boots on his feet, heels seven inches high. They

were made from shiny, hard, black plastic and were one full size too

small. Making him groan with pain, they looked gorgeous on him and

although exceedingly painful to walk in, he mastered it quickly upon

seeing my face. He looked, as he always has, absolutely gorgeous, a

vision of submissive beauty.



I wore my usual black leather outfit and before leaving I draped a long,

black cape over his shoulders and as we left I stopped to look in the

mirror. With his heels on he was only an inch or so smaller than me and

we looked like the perfect fetish couple. I could see that he thought so

too, his lips forming a pleasing little "o" of surprised satisfaction in

our appearance. Just before we left, I grabbed him and kissed him

deeply, then took his useless hand and dragged him after me to the car.



The event was quite big and many had come by car, so the underground

basement was full. This forced me to park more than half a mile from the

entrance. It was a warm night and I decided that checking coats in would

be too much trouble, so I removed his cape, clipped a leash on his

collar and led my slave to the party, attracting many interested glances

from people on the way. Certainly most were going to the event, but

because I was parked so far away, many ordinary people were there too.

At first I could see my bitch squirming under the gaze of all those

people, realizing of course how different they were from him. Then

gradually I could see by his posture and his walk, growing increasingly

sexy and confident, that he began relishing in his role, the fact that

he was owned, that he was a bitch and that he was my bitch. As we

approached the entrance his ass swayed so sexily that he attracted quite

a bit of attention, stopping some completely in their tracks. Hell, I

felt a strong urge to simply throw him to the pavement and screw his

brains out. And damned if he didn't know it. Foxy little bitch. Getting

in to the event was a breeze. We were treated like royalty by the two

doormen, both of whom looked at my bitch with undisguised lust, hardly

noticing me at all. Inside it was the same story, but here my bitch had

more competition. There were more than a few gorgeous women, men and

sissies, all of whom I'd love to punish and fuck. I prefer the bois and

the sissies simply because dominating and especially punishing them is

so much more satisfying. Forcing a boy to be a bitch is doubly

degrading; not only is he topped, but he is forced to behave in manner

foreign to his sex. And finally: are there more inviting targets for

punishment than the male genitals? If so I'd like to know what they are.

To torture a man's genitals is to attack that which makes him a man and

do this sufficiently brutally really enforces the fact that you are

making him your bitch.



The party was much like any such event; most where there for more or

less pure show, no matter how elaborately dressed up and tricked out.

There were however some like me, showing off slaves more or less in

permanent slavery. I spent an hour chatting with a very nice gentleman

with boi-bitch slaves like my own. The master was a distinguished

looking black man in his fifties. Unlike most dominants at the event he

did not wear fetish clothes of any description. Rather he wore an

impeccable dark gray business, which looked like it had cost the same as

my car. He had not one, but two slaves in tow. Twins. They were

gorgeous, perfect. Both had pale white skin, longish black hair and full

lips; born-to-be-cocksucker lips. They wore only a black miniskirt and

black ballet toed shoes, locked in place. The bodies were completely

hairless as were of course their pretty faces and tattooed across each

slave's chest were the words: "Daddy's bitch". Around their ankles and

wrists were broad steel bands that upon closer inspection turned out to

be welded in place and on these bands were eyelets were welded on for

securing chains. Their collars were thick and broad, made from stainless

steel and they too had been welded on. Their ankles were connected by

chains no more than perhaps ten inches and the chains connecting their

wrists were even shorter, about six inches. Connecting their collars was

a two foot chain, which in turn was secured to their master's leash.

They moved perfectly synchronized, mincing sexily behind him, with their

arms held somehow awkwardly yet elegantly in front of them, their eyes

cast down and their lips parted and moist, as if slightly out of breath

or very excited. My bitch cast them stolen glances from his equally

submissive pose, obviously smitten with them. The twins themselves

seemed equally enamored with my bitch's looks.



We were at one of the bars getting a drink and after complimenting each

other's slaves, his looks at my bitch were as least as predatory as the

one I cast in the direction of his twosome, we found a semi-private

table for a chat. While we chatted our slaves were allowed to kneel at

our feet and after some silent begging on their part, they were allowed

to kiss and fondle as much as they could given their bonds.



The master's name was Lincoln and he had gotten the twins when they had

just turned eighteen. They were now twenty-four and neither had been

allowed to cum in that entire time. He had them lift up their skirts and

show me their very solid stainless steel chastity devices, which covered

their cocks completely, from the root to the tip. At the tip was a hole

for pissing through which on closer inspection turned out to be threaded

on the inside. The man explained that it was good not only for

collecting urine, which he used extensively in their diet, much more

than he could produce himself, but also for collecting sperm. Once a

month he stuck his finger up their asses to massage their prostates and

thus milk them, of course saving that milk to feed back to his bitches.

The milking gave them no satisfaction, but rather fueled their already

intense and unfulfilled desires. Coming up on six years of chastity they

had realized, correctly, that perhaps their orgasms were never coming,

that most likely they would have to settle for humiliating milkings

providing no pleasure whatsoever for a very long time, possibly the rest

of their lives. So they had begun, very cautiously, to raise the

possibility of being castrated, so that they might be rid of the

horrible unfulfilled desire. Master Lincoln told me that he had never

had a slave less than ten years, although he had had several at the same

time, and that he had never, ever let a slave cum. The twins knew this

and that was the reason for their tentative request. I found this very

interesting and asked them directly: had they requested to be castrated?

Both shuddered, but answered clearly that yes, they had indeed asked to

have their balls cut off. Why, I then asked them, didn't they hold out

for the hope of being sold to someone else, someone who might grant them

an orgasm? I asked the question, not to give them any stupid ideas, but

to test their devotion, and Master Lincoln spotted this instantly,

smiling expectantly at their answer. Merely suggesting that they belong

to someone else, made both of them weep and beg for Master Lincoln's

assurance that is wasn't so. After a very firm statement that he in no

way intended to sell them, followed by a promise of severe punishment,

he admonished them to never question him thus again, they both explained

that they wanted to be his bitches always, even if it meant loosing

their balls.



After chatting for an hour with Lincoln I was fairly sure that they

would not loose their balls, since he was far too enthusiastic about

keeping them needy and torturing their balls. Our tastes seemed much the

same, not surprising anyone. He too was very fond of breathplay and

although he never said anything to even suggest it, I somehow got the

clear impression that was how his previous slaves had been "retired".

That a man so fond of seeing his slave's face struggle for air behind a

plastic bag, would surely at least get the idea to snuff his slave's

that way, even if he didn't act on the idea. And Lincoln didn't strike

me as the kind of man who denied himself anything. I liked him quite a

bit.



It was time to get on with my program and making all three slaves

whimper with need, we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. I

have met him a few times since then and the last time we met he still

had the twins and after more than twelve years they had still not been

granted orgasms and I am quite sure that they will never be. Lincoln

seemed very fond of the pair, speaking enthusiastically about their

torture sessions, so I don't think they have been substituted, but they

had grown much more vocal in their request to be castrated, now that

they know for certain that they'd never be allowed to cum. I am equally

certain that that is a wish which will not be granted.



My bitch casting a longing glance at the twins at they left, I took his

hand and led him to the dance floor. We danced until I could see that he

could hardly move his feet without keening in agony because of his tiny

footwear. Then I pressed on, moving closer, rubbing my body against his,

kissing him and caressing him until he looked like he'd die from

happiness. My bitch is a dancer, a natural, his lithe body moving

gracefully to music and it not only pleases me but also turns him on

something awful. It turned on a lot of other people too, his fine ass

attracting interested looks from many tops and bottoms, men and women

alike. I had two other tops trying to cut in, but I politely made it

clear to them that my bitch and I were having a moment. Both times I

thought my bitch would die from pleasure when I claimed him thus in

front of others.



It was time to put the finishing touches on turning him into my full

time bitch. I took his hand and led him out, past the many exploring

eyes, past the greedy minds, showing him off to the world and showing

him that he was the one I wanted. In the car he couldn't take his eyes

off me and for once I didn't allow my rampant libido ruin the moment by

taking him in the car.



I took him home to his place, into the bedroom, where I first undressed

myself, then turned my attention to him. I removed his collar, cut away

the rubber holding his fingers and hands, cut the locks on his corset

and removed that too, holding him carefully as we made sure that he

could indeed move his back. I removed his rubber pants, but let him keep

his shoes on. Finally I removed his chastity device, cutting away the

little plastic lock while my bitch hardly dared breathe. I made the most

of the situation, pulling the parts off slowly, fondling his cock softly

in the process until he was keening with arousal. The chastity device

off, I stood up and began kissing and fondling him, caressing his supple

body as our erections touched. He closed his eyes and moaned as our

naked cocks, soon lubricated by his copious dripping, rubbed against

each other, moving and caressing in movements mirroring out own

movements. Beneath my fingers I could feel how his whole body trembled

with sexual excitement. His own slave passivity was soon forgotten and

his hands and lips joined mine, so that we were a mass of stroking,

touching and caressing hands and limbs. After a while I felt how his

breath quickened and his movements became frantic as the excitement

became too much and his orgasm began to build. This was not my intention

and I pulled away, moving first away and then behind him, still kissing

and caressing him, but doing so with much less intensity. He still

moaned with pleasure as his eyes told their story of barely contained

excitement, open and greedy sexual desire and complete and utter

commitment to me. When he was able to speak, he whispered that he loved

me and that he needed to belong to me, that he wanted to be mine always.

I held him close, kissed him deeply and then assured him that he would

indeed be mine always.



I have no idea for how long we kissed and caressed, but eventually it

was time to move to the main event. Gently forcing him down on all fours

on the bed, I pressed inside him, making both of us moan with pleasure.

At first I just fucked him slowly, keeping my hands away from his needy

member, but eventually, after much keening and begging, I took his cock

in my hand. At first I just held it loosely while fucking him.

Desperately horny as he was, he couldn't help but make little spasmodic

thrusting movements in my hand, trying against his will to get traction

and thus get off. In response I removed my hand and his begging turned

to crying, tears of pure frustration running down his face as he gasped

and begged for release. I kept him in this state for as long as I could,

the limiting factor here being my own orgasm, held back and controlled

for far longer than usual. When I could hold it no longer, I closed my

hand and stroked him hard in a slightly faster rhythm than our fucking.

All sound stopped from him as he could only concentrate on the sensation

in his crotch. He threw his head as far back as it would go and I could

see that his eyes actually rolled back into is head as his face

contracted impossibly just before the explosion. My orgasm was very,

very good, but his must have been epic. His whole body spasmed as he

screamed with orgasmic passion. His pulsing member in my hand spewed out

impossible amounts of pent up cum in this his very last orgasm ever.



When it was over I held him as he sobbed, whispering that he wanted to

belong to me always. Of course this was my intention, but for the moment

I said nothing, merely enjoying my bitch; naked, smooth and hairless

wearing only heels and a very, very submissive attitude.



After about half an hour like that, I laid it all out for him: I told

him that since he was now unemployed and since it had to be regarded as

highly unlikely that anyone would want to hire a useless bitch like him,

it would only be natural if he became my 24/7-bitch; if he left

everything behind to belong to me alone. His breathing stopped and all

movement froze. Then he turned to face me, his eyes huge and filled with

a mixture of fear, arousal and most of all desperate hope, his enormous

need to submit and belong. He tried speaking, but failed the first few

times as the words came out garbled and dry-mouthed. "Master, please

Master?" he finally managed, "Master, do you mean that I'd live as your

full-time slave, Master?" I nodded and he managed: "Master, but what of

my life here, Master?". "What of it?" I replied. Stuttering a little he

asked: "Master, what would I do with all that I have here, Master?

Master, when would I return to this life, Master?" he ventured and then

finally asked the pivotal question: "Master, would I ever return,

Master?" His eyes were wide with fear and anticipation as he finally

realized that slavery might be forever and final and not just be for a

while. Finally he realized that the twin slaves we had met at the party

might actually have been enslaved for the rest of their lives and that

this might not just be a sexy exaggeration.



I had prepared myself for this moment and had come armed with two

possible answers, depending on how he seemed to be taking the news. If

he had openly lusted to be permanently enslaved, with all that entailed,

I would have made that pitch. But in his eyes I saw that deep down he

was not ready for something so final and drastic, that he clung on to

the notion that a real slave's life could end with a nice and relaxing

retirement. So I made my second prepared pitch: that it would be for a

limited period of time, perhaps as long as a year or two but surely no

more. He would have to take every single trace of himself with him,

leaving only his bank account ready for his return, but he would return.

This seemed to calm him down and I proceed with my plan. Leaving his

post orgasmic beautiful body naked and smeared with cum in bed, his eyes

wide and his mind occupied with the momentous decision I had just forced

on him, I stood up and fetched a few items.



With my bitch watching completely transfixed I laid out three small

piles on the floor: In the first was a pair of very expensive and very

fashionable black silk G-string panties, a pair of delicate and tasteful

Gucci sandals with five inch heels and a red silk ribbon. In the second

pile was a pair of thin and delicate red rubber panties, a pair of red

Oxfords one full size too small with six inch heels and a plastic

chastity device like the one he had worn before. In the final pile was a

pair of thick and heavy black rubber panties so small they'd squeeze his

balls awfully, a pair shiny black ballet toed boots, at least two sizes

too small, with nine inch heels and finally a permanent, carbon fiber

chastity device, made to measure, which was virtually unbreakable.



His eyes became even bigger as I explained: If he chose the first pile,

I'd keep him a nicely feminized bitch, his cock only restrained by the

silk ribbon and he'd be allowed to cum whenever we fucked. The price for

this degree of freedom was that it would only last four weeks after

which I'd end the relationship. Vanilla was not my thing I explained.

Should he choose the second pile, our relationship would continue as it

had these past months and he'd be allowed to cum only when I took the

device off. The price for this was that I'd take off his device after

three months and end our relationship with that. I repeated that vanilla

was not my thing and that I wanted to take our relationship further.

Which brought me to the third pile: If he chose this I'd pierce his cock

and use these piercings to secure the carbon fiber chastity device to

his cock. Furthermore he'd give up his current life for now and stay

with me as my full-time slave for a year before returning.



I took the heels he had on and gave him one hour to decide. At the end

of that hour he would signal his decision by putting on the footwear of

the pile he chose, come walking to me with the panties of choice around

his ankles and his chastity device of choice in his hands.



With that I left him to decide and went into the other room. Here I

dressed in heavy, black, shiny boots, leather trousers and leather

T-shirt and awaited his decision, ready to take complete control.

Because regardless of what I had told him, that he be free to decide and

that his life as a slave would only be a limited period of time, I had

no intentions of ever letting him go. All of it had been a lie, an act

to make him choose slavery of his own accord. If he chose pile number

three, as I fervently hoped, I would install him as my full-time slave

with his consent, making everything easier. But should he choose either

pile number one or two the end result would be the same. If he chose

either of these two I'd just have to force him; beat him into submission

using everything in my arsenal. In fact I had rented a cabin out in the

woods for this very purpose - just in case.



After 50 minutes he came to me, teetering in the ballet boots, heavy

rubber panties restricting his gait as they hung around his ankles and

holding the carbon fiber chastity device in his hands, held out in front

of his body in supplication. His head was down and he was shaking with

fear and anticipation. "Master, please Master. Master, make me your

property Master. Master, please Master". I had wanted to play it cool,

but couldn't: I simply couldn't help smiling as I accepted his

submission. Then I proceeded to make him as uncomfortable as possible. I

took a dining room chair, without armrests, and laid him down across the

seat, so that the backrest was against his right side. Then I tied his

ankles to the legs of the chair on one side and his arms to the legs on

the other side. The result was a very uncomfortable position with his

back arched painfully and his crotch sticking straight up.



I had said nothing to his submission and any reasonable man would have

offered him the chance to pull out, but I am not reasonable or nice. I

am an evil man who does brutal and evil things to submissive bitch bois

- regardless of whether they really want it or not. Hand me the little

finger and I will take not only the arm, but the whole bitch. And so I

gave him no chance to pull out. I simply cleaned his cock thoroughly -

with very cold water to keep him down - and then produced my piercing

kit. The device I had had made for him required three piercings through

the shaft of his cock. Furthermore it was so small that his cock would

have to be completely flaccid in order for him not to feel discomfort at

wearing it.



Piercing his cock made him cry but probably more from the sense of being

defeated and enslaved than from actual pain. I then slid the chastity

device over his member and after some positioning and fiddling, managed

to get the carbon fiber rods holding it in place shoved into the prober

slots. Once the rods were in place I glued tiny carbon fiber stoppers on

the ends of the rods, securing them with special glue. In effect the

glue meant that the only way for the chastity device to come off is to

cut it off, something which would require a special saw blade and quite

a bit of effort. And indeed the chastity device hasn't been off even

once since then, despite the most deliciously desperate begging from my

bitch.



As I released him from his bonds and guided him into the bedroom before

the final fuck of the day, I knew I had him. He had chosen the strictest

of my proposals, he had no job and no real future in the place he came

from and I had offered him an easy way out, a way out that played to his

darkest desires.



In the days that followed I thoroughly dismantled his old life, removing

all traces of him and of course of me as well. With me guiding him, he

cancelled his lease, giving a months notice of which we would use less

than a week. Then I arranged for all of his furniture to be sold, so

that after only two days there was noting left in his apartment but a

suitcase with both of our clothes and a mattress along with some sheets

and such. I took possession of all his computer things and disposed of

them, making sure that there wasn't a scrap of anything which might make

anyone the wiser as to where he had gone. Then all his credit cards were

cancelled and all of his financial connections as well. I had promised

him that he'd keep a bank account in his name, with whatever money he

had left, so that he'd have something to return to once his period of

slavery was over. Of course I didn't intend to let him go at all, so I

had to get rid of that connection as well. It proved quite simple. In

the course of dismantling his life there were an awful lot of papers to

be signed. I simply slipped an innocuous looking letter in among the

others. In this he cancelled his bank account and donated all of the

money to charity. He was spending all of his days with me in the

apartment, in heels and tied up in some way constantly and he wasn't

given any time to read any of the papers I handed him, so he didn't

notice. He simply assumed that I'd keep my promise and hold onto his

bank papers until I released him.



After five days there was nothing left to do. His only belongings were:

a pair of high heeled cowboy boots I had just given him, a pair of very

tight jeans, a light sweater and a light jacket, a cancelled credit card

and a passport. The rest had been disposed of. I had given him the

cowboy boots because they in many places are the only publicly

acceptable way for a man to wear high heels without appearing feminine.

These had five inch heels and were very, very small. The reason for the

cancelled credit card was that a person with only cash in his pocket is

automatically suspicious. I was going to send him on a plane trip and

thus wanted him to attract as little attention as possible.



He knelt patiently in the center of what was once his bedroom, hands

tied behind his back with duct tape, blindfolded with duct tape and

gagged with some of my soiled underwear, while I got rid of the mattress

and sheets - the last things in the apartment that wasn't leaving with

us. When I came back from this expedition I removed his gag and had him

blow me, which he did to perfection. Since giving himself up to me and

accepting the permanent chastity device, my bitch had become very quiet,

almost withdrawn, and very, very obedient. It was as if he was finally

realizing just how comprehensive total slavery really was and that it

paralyzed him somehow. As I pushed deep into his throat and delivered my

load, I could only think of how easy it made the task of enslaving him.



After he had cleaned my cock, I removed his blindfold and the tape tying

his hands and helped him stand. Locking the door behind us, I went to

wait in the car while he gave the landlord the keys. As he slipped into

the front seat next to me, he seemed almost in tears, obviously very,

very afraid: "Master, please Master", he whispered, "Master, please

don't hurt me Master", his voice barely audible. In reply to this I

leaned over, placed on hand in his crotch, gently cupping his imprisoned

genitals behind denim and unbreakable carbon fiber, while using the

other to draw his face in for a long and deep kiss. When I released his

lips, I still held his face close to mine and said to my trembling

bitch: "I'll hurt you every day, use you as a plaything and fuck you

everyday, just like you really, really want. So don't talk nonsense

bitch, I'll hurt you just as you like it. Hush now pretty slut", I said

to him. This had a calming effect on him and he sat demurely with his

hands in his lap as I drove to the airport.



At the airport I dropped him off with only the clothes on his back, his

cancelled credit card, his passport and a ticket. He also had thirty

dollars on him, but these were purely for show as I had made it quite

clear that the consequences would be dire should he use a single cent.

Then I drove on to drop off the rental car and catch my plane.



To make sure that his disappearance couldn't be traced back to me, we

would take different flights to the same destination, his making a

detour, a destination far from where I lived. From there we would get

into my car, at which point he would in effect disappear for good, and

drive to my house.



I am quite sure that his flight was a nerve-wracking experience for my

bitch; being effectively cut-off from going back to his old life and

effectively unable to begin a new life on his own and thus depending

completely and utterly on me delivering on my promise of semi-permanent

slavery and the many, many dangerous unknowns it contained. Since my

bitch is not stupid, I am quite sure that he contemplated the most

obvious danger: that I wouldn't let him go again or scenarios even

worse. It must have been the most tense hours of his life.



I on the other hand had a nice and relaxing flight with only one regret:

that I couldn't be there to surreptitiously watch my bitch as he went

through all of this.



I arrived at my destination first and settled down to wait for a few

hours before my bitch arrived. I spent those hours going over my

preparations and finding them more than adequate. Getting him from the

plane and into my dungeon was critical, because it would be the last

anyone would ever see of him. After that he'd be completely gone.



When the time came I fetched my car and drove to the spot I had pointed

out to him, a curbside stop about a mile and a half from the airport

which was usually deserted and somewhat hidden from view. It was

deserted as expected and my bitch stood there just as planned. He looked

scared but determined to be good and the second I stopped, he slipped

into the passenger seat, bent forward to kiss my hand and whispered

"Master", his voice trembling slightly. As instructed he handed me his

passport, the expired credit card and the thirty dollars, not a cent

spent, just as instructed. I in turn handed him a pair of wrap-around

sunglasses which he dutifully put on. From the outside they looked like

a pair of ordinary sunglasses, but inside they were completely

blackened, preventing the wearer from seeing anything at all. Then I

stuffed his ears with earplugs and secured the seatbelt so that it

trapped his arms along his sides before setting the car in motion again.



The blindfold and the earplugs were to keep my bitch unaware of where we

were going and where and how I lived. Not because it mattered in the

sense of keeping my dungeon secret - he would never leave it or see it

from the outside if I had my way - but because not knowing would

reinforce his sense of isolation, reinforce his awareness of being a

slave - completely and utterly. I had known for some time that I had

succeeded in all my efforts to condition him, but still it was

satisfying to see how docilely he accepted whatever I did to him.



My bitch said nothing and hardly moved during the entire trip. I drove a

very long detour, so as to confuse him and make it harder for him to

judge the time spent, but it hardly seemed necessary.



When we arrived it was approaching midnight and no one was around to see

me usher my slave inside. Leading my blind bitch by the hand, I took him

into the basement. Once there I led him into the rooms I have converted

into a very secure dungeon. Escape is extremely difficult if you are not

me as the one door leading out has a biometrically operated lock which

can only be opened by me. It is also for all intents and purposes

soundproof, which is necessary when you want to treat your slaves as I

wish to. Now I had him inside my dungeon and he hasn't left it since.

Not for one second. He hasn't even seen the room outside or felt the air

from the rooms outside since I have an air-lock, or rather sound-lock,

installed as entryway.



Inside the dungeon I let him keep the sunglasses and earplugs while I

undressed him. For the first time since he had blown me in his empty

apartment, he began to show a bit of emotion, leaning into my touch and

actively seeking caresses as well as he was able to without violating my

posture and movement rules. While of course pleased that he liked my

touch, I made a mental note to stamp out any and all tendencies in him

to even think about bending rules. I wanted my bitch so tightly

controlled that he wouldn't even sway or tremble without permission.

Soon he stood naked before me, wearing only sunglasses and chastity

device, which showed signs of copious production of pre-cum. As I

noticed this, I took his discarded jeans and checked the inside once

again. The entire inside was slick with his desperate juices. He hadn't

been thinking about whether this was the right move or whether or not I

was an evil man about to do him harm. He had simply been lost in a long

sexual fantasy. No wonder he had seemed preoccupied during the drive to

my house.



Playing to this, I slid my hand up the inside of his thigh, slowly

approaching his crotch. His breathy grew ragged and as I gently, oh so

gently, cupped his balls, he moaned with lust. It occurred to me that

perhaps my bitch thought that his permanent slavery would be occasion

for me to let him cum. The thought was so foreign to me, so stupid for

someone who should know my tendencies better than anyone, that I almost

laughed. I managed to choke it back and continued to stroke his supple

body and kissing his neck from time to time. After only a few minutes of

this my bitch was keening helplessly with lust. Seizing the opportunity

I snapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists while he held his hands in

front of him. Then I secured these to a chain hanging down from the

ceiling and finally used a motorized winch to lift him off the floor,

hanging painfully from his wrists. Loath to have a bitch with bare feet,

I immediately introduced his new footwear. He has worn variations of

this every day since he came to my dungeon, but I am sure that he

remembers that first pair best - or perhaps worst. It was a pair of

black, plastic boots with seven inch heels, zipped up in the back and

reaching up to just below his knees. I knew he would be able to master

the heels, but I had my doubts as to whether he would be able to walk in

them due to their size or even if they would fit on his feet. I had

chosen them two and a half sizes too small simply because I love small

stilettoed feet on bois and because I wanted to torture him badly. It

took quite a bit of effort to get them onto his feet and when I was done

his keening from lust had turned to crying from pain. Not that he really

minded that much - I could see that the dripping from his imprisoned

crotch had increased quite a bit- so much so that he didn't seem to

notice that his hands were turning an unhealthy shade of blue. Since I

didn't plan on him ever using his hands again, I didn't care.



His feet imprisoned, I put a collar on him: thick and broad black

plastic, reinforced with steel wire and with a shiny steel ring hanging

down in front. Then came the first of the many corsets, each one smaller

than the one before. As with all the others it is little more than a

very broad belt reaching from just below his ribs to just above his

hips. I tightened it until his breath came in moaning gasps - and then I

tightened it even further. When I was finished he was struggling for

breath, almost at the point of panic.



All that taken care of only one thing remained and that was getting his

arms into the desired position, which was a back prayer. But first I

needed to get off and with him hanging from his wrists, naked and

wearing heels, I couldn't resist slipping into his ass. He obviously

didn't mind and his eager moaning - very much out of breath - upon

entry, turned to needy gasping and keening before long. He has seemingly

forgotten all about his wrists and hands, which by now had a decidedly

unhealthy blue color. As I approached my climax, he began begging in a

very low, very out of breath and very desperate voice: "Master, please,

Master, pleeease", clearly trying to win an orgasm from the situation.

Needless to say, I shot my load into his fine ass without granting him

one and he hung quietly sobbing as I pulled out.



His hands very now dark blue and very swollen and most likely

permanently damaged to some extent. Since this suited me just fine; I

let him hang there for a few minutes while I fetched the things I needed

to tie his arms in a backprayer. When I came back he seemingly still

hadn't noticed this and just hung there quietly gasping for air and

sobbing as my cum ran in a thin stream down the inside of his thigh.



Not allowing him any rest I lowered him onto the floor, forcing him to

lie flat on his face. After a few seconds the blood began to flow back

into his hands and as it did, he began screaming with pain. His hands

were now finally able to inform him of the full extent of the damage and

indeed they were almost black. But no amount of screaming from my bitch

was going to stop me and soon his arms had been forced into a

backprayer, leather straps at his wrists, forearms and elbows and with

two more straps around his chest. My bindings have since gotten much

more elegant and minimalist, but at least the tie was solid.



I was pleased to note that in spite of the pain he had only screamed,

not once offering resistance. Looking at his hands as they slowly lost

their blue hue, I knew that his use of them would be impaired, but for

the moment I ignored it, eager to get on with the program.



I suspected that by now he was beginning to understand that he'd never

leave my dungeon, but I wanted to ram that message how so I led him,

still blindfolded, to my torture chair, a cross between a gynecologist's

examination chair and a dentist's chair. I sat him down and quickly

secured his legs to the chair with straps around his ankles, lower legs,

just above and just below his knees and around his thighs. Those in

place I removed his blindfold and his earplugs so that he could finally

see his situation. After blinking a few times he quietly, very quietly,

surveyed his situation. Then he looked at me with scared eyes and asked:

"Master, please Master. Master, I am never going to leave this place, am

I Master"? I smiled and answered him truthfully: "No bitch, never". He

let out a whimper of fear and defeat and offered no resistance as I

pushed him back to lie on his folded up arms and damaged hands. His

position was by no means comfortable, but I made it much worse as I

strapped his body down tight and the proceeded to secure his head with

straps and a speculum until his mouth was forced open and all the

movement he had left to his head was the ability to blink.



He knew what I was going to do and started to cry and beg, his words

coming out mewling and garbled and accompanied by copious drooling,

which of course only increased my pleasure as I got my tools and started

to pull out his teeth one at a time. Now I had bought very nice set of

professional teeth extraction tools, the kind dentists have, because I

had realized that the task at hand wasn't simple. What I hadn't realized

was the full scope of it. An adult human has 32 teeth. If extracting one

takes 10 minutes, it will take more than five hours of pulling - no

breaks - to remove them all. Now 10 minutes on average is not quite

enough - some teeth are difficult to get at and others are just very

hard to extract - and after two hours of extraction I was very tired, my

arms especially, and my bitch was beyond hysteria. I was barely a third

of the way in my work, having only just removed his front teeth, both

upper and lower. It was time to call it a day, but not before a little

fucking. I have always thought that a nice fuck before going to sleep is

fantastically relaxing and while it would certainly not be relaxing for

my bitch, it would almost certainly calm him down - after a fashion. My

special torture chair could not only be lowered or raised as I pleased,

but also the seat could be placed in any position I liked. And I chose

to tilt it until his head was pointed downwards at an angle of about

twenty degrees. Then I raised the chair until his mouth, upside down

now, was at cock level. I took out my member and with supreme relish I

fucked my much abused bitch's face, deepthroating him on every third

stroke so that soon the pain in his mouth was accompanied by choking. I

wasn't able to hold it for very long, but the fuck was glorious

nonetheless. As I released the straps holding him to the chair and

standing him up I was most gratified to see my bitch's look of pure and

undiluted fear as he finally saw me for what I am: A truly sadistic

bastard who would own, abuse, torture and fuck him for the rest of his

life. Finally he was scared like he should have been all along.



He now wore his heels, his collar, his corset and his chastity device as

always, but since I wasn't finished with my dental scheme I let the

speculum holding his mouth open stay in place. His gaping mouth showing

off his damaged teeth and gums, still smeared in blood and semen was

very arousing to me as were his garbled and mewling pleading for mercy;

mercy we both knew would never be forthcoming. I left his hands in the

backprayer and led him to a corner of the dungeon where I had implanted

a sturdy steel ring in the floor. Using a very short chain and two

padlocks I secured him to this, so that he now knelt on the concrete

floor, his face inches off the ground and his hands painfully bound

between his shoulder blades. The position presented his ass so very well

and after pissing in his forcibly opened mouth and blindfolding him, I

used a cane to mark that fine ass before heading off to bed. I still had

the sweet sound of his garbled, screaming pleas in my ears and the

vision of his utter slavery on my retinas as I fell asleep with a big

fat smile on my face.



Chapter 4

My bitch has been with me ever since and although I have done

horrible things to him almost every day since then, I am quite sure he

still remembers being woken up the next day, lying bound and shivering

on the floor, by me inserting my member into his mouth and releasing a

flood on concentrated morning urine into his mouth. Half asleep and with

his mouth held forcibly open he was unable to swallow all the urine I

deposited in his mouth and as such I had no choice but to punish him

severely. This I did while fucking his lusciously presented ass, using

my hand to grind his balls mercilessly until I had reduced him even

further; now just a crying, mewling and trembling mass of punished

fuck-flesh.



Without giving him breakfast or even a drink of water I then led him to

the chair and resumed pulling out the rest of his teeth, a job which

effectively took the rest of the day. By then he was as broken as he has

ever been; desperately uncomfortable, painfully toothless, bound,

blindfolded, beaten, fucked, dehydrated and completely and utterly

owned. He thought he could go no lower. But a slave can always be

brought lower and I demonstrated this to him by squatting over his

blindfolded face, mouth still held open by a speculum, and taking a shit

in his bleeding mouth. When I chained him to the floor for the night and

fucked him before leaving him, he was utterly defeated. I do love

abusing my bitch.



Completely broken, settling him into a routine was easier, as was

molding him even more to my tastes. There was the physical molding;

getting him into ever tighter corsets and ever smaller shoes as well as

permanently placing his arms in a backprayer, strapped together and

sealed inside a rubber pouch, which turn was secured to his collar so

that there are no unsightly straps around his chest to obstruct me

playing with his nipples and such. It was a part of my plans for his

arms to damage his hands permanently, so that he would be unable to use

them for anything meaningful. They had already been damaged by hanging

from his wrists in handcuffs during the very first session in my

dungeon, but by leaving him for a few hours at a time with very tight

handcuffs on, so tight his hands turned blue in minutes, I was able to

rob him of all motion and feeling in his hands, without causing them to

turn gangrenous and rot off, within a month. Ordering him to pull down

my zipper and blow me provided me with a very satisfying and hilarious

opportunity to punish him as he fumbled desperately, not even able to

bring his fingers together. After that I trained him in doing all

blowjob operations with his mouth; very hard with no teeth, but very

rewarding - for me that is.



His waist has over the years gone down to a mere eighteen inches, and it

is not only measured at one point but over several inches, and it

actually looks like he is being cinched in half. The corset training has

severely limited the amount of food he is able to hold and because it is

on constantly, he is now unable to support himself without the corset.

When it does come off, his back is supported otherwise.



His feet are perhaps my most brutal accomplishment as I have forced him

into stilettos four sizes smaller than those he originally wore (already

somewhat too small). In order for this to even happen, I have had to

remove his toenails. Not only that, but I've had to break most of the

bones in his foot to fit it into his shoe and I've had to do it every

time he has changed type or size of shoe, which has been perhaps once a

year. Needless to say this has damaged his feet permanently and I am

certain that every single step he takes is painful - not only those he

takes right after I've broken his feet for a new shoe. And I do force

him to walk in his new shoes right after I've broken him to them. It is

quite simply the only way for the fitting to work. That I enjoy making

him scream and beg until he collapses and then fucking him as he begs

for mercy is another matter, one which only gets better as I, after

fucking him, force him to walk again.



Finally, among his physical changes, are my efforts to keep him

completely hairless below the eyebrows. Using a combination of chemicals

and laser hair removal tools (very expensive) I now only have to give

him a hair removal treatment once a month and sadly they aren't really

painful for him, but then again; you can't get everything.



In order to keep him healthy while keeping him locked in chastity

device, shoes, corset, collar and a pouch for his imprisoned arms, means

that I have a fixed routine I subject him to every day. It may also keep

him healthy, but it's also a lot of fun for me - which of course means

that it is painful and demeaning for him.



First I march him into a corner of the basement, where a couple of poles

stand straight up. One of them is a low steel pole with very large steel

dildo mounted on the end and a cross bar right below the dildo. My bitch

sits down on this pole without hesitation or protest of any kind. Not

because of fear of punishment I think, since he invariably closes eyes,

leans his head back and moans softly with lust as he slides down on the

pole until he is sitting on the cross bar and no part of the dildo can

be seen. Right behind the dildo pole a rail or sorts is mounted in the

floor. On this rail another pole is mounted and on this pole are a

number of cross bars, straps and other contraptions to restrain my

bitch. Before sliding it into place, I release my bitch's arms from the

pouch holding them and unhook the connection between the pouch and the

ring at the back of his collar. His arms are now, after years of

imprisonment, almost completely devoid of muscles. Barely more than

pallid skin covering the bones beneath, they flop uselessly down his

side. I now slide the rail mounted pole close, until it is pressed

against his back. One wide leather strap goes tightly around his upper

chest, right below his arms, while a carefully fitted steel strap is

tightened around his forehead. From this steel strap a leather strap

goes under his chin and is fastened and tightened on the opposite side,

so that his head is held completely immobile and all the weight of the

head is carried by the steel strap around his forehead. But right before

the strap under his chin is fitted, I insert a ring in his mouth, so

that I may fuck is face. As I tighten the strap, the ring is held in

place by the pressure the strap exerts. This tightening compresses his

skull as much as possible without actually fracturing it and the

accompanying headaches are quite severe I am sure - just as I want them

to be. Now that his head and upper body are held and supported by the

straps and the pole they are mounted on, I can remove his corset and his

collar, which is effectively a neck corset too. Removing either of these

without providing support for his neck and back would result in them

breaking. After years of imprisonment, his neck and back never without

their respective corsets, have left these part of his body so weak that

they cannot support themselves.



His body and head thus restrained, I finish the job by attending to his

feet. Right in front of him a final pole is mounted, on which two sturdy

straps are mounted on a cross bar. These go around his legs right below

his knees, just above his boots. Once both legs are secured I remove his

boots so that all of the normally trapped skin is now free and exposed

to the air.



I leave his hands free; not because I don't want to strap them down in

spite of the fact that he has neither muscle nor feeling enough to

operate them, but simply because the point of the exercise is to be able

wash and dry his normally imprisoned skin so that it doesn't rot.



Sometimes I require a blowjob before beginning and position myself right

in front of his completely immobile form and advance until the tip, or

however much of my cock I desire to be there, is inside his mouth.

Simultaneously I start the vibrations, which are quite violent, in the

dildo on which he is mounted and the resulting blowjob is routinely

extraordinary. Unable to move his head at all and without any

cooperation from and fuelled by the sensation of the viciously vibrating

dildo, my bitch has managed to become an expert lips and tongue slut,

working almost exclusively on the tip of my cock.



The poles are mounted in the part of the basement which serves as toilet

and bathing area, fitted with a drain and practical tiles on the wall

and floor. After securing him I thoroughly wash him, soaping in his head

and paying special attention to the parts of his body usually held

captive at all times. After washing away the soap I dry him very

thoroughly, first with towels and then a blow dryer. This process also

involves cleaning his genitals, including his imprisoned cock, but

unlike the rest of his restraints, this never comes off. Done, I stand

up and get a blowjob if I haven't already gotten (I might still get one

as my libido is considerable). In order to keep him healthy I allow him

to sit thus restrained for at least half an hour, so that his skin may

dry properly. Usually I spend the time torturing him in some way or

another. Attaching electrodes to his balls and making him twitch and

scream is an old favorite as is clamping his nose shut, inserting a big

plug with tube through it into his gag and fitting a rebreathing bag to

the tube. I absolutely love irregular and panicky breaths right before

he passes out, the way the bag spasmodically partially inflates while

his eye become very, very large as his chest fight for oxygen that just

isn't there. Usually I remove the bag before he actually does pass out,

but not always.



When his hour of "freedom" is over my bitch is usually crying and

begging, which is as it should be. Then I put all his restraints back on

and when he is allowed to, he invariably falls to his knees and thanks

me deeply as he kisses my feet, although I have never required him to do

so or even instituted a ritual like this. It is just one of the ways

that I know that although I have done truly horrifying things to my

bitch, he loves me and he loves what I do to him - no matter how much he

cries and begs.



This cleaning ritual is part of his daily routine, unless I have a

bondage/torture session running which requires him to stay tied up for

days on end. This happens quite often and not only when I'm away

travelling. If I'm away I usually chain him in a corner of the basement,

using a chain some six feet in length. That way he can reach the toilet

(for him a hole in the floor) the water supply and the supply of food I

have left him. Sometimes, however, the bastard in me is more prominent

than in others. If I feel evil I'll sometimes just leave him in his

sleeping position. His sleeping position, the one he occupies almost

every night, is standing instead of lying down. He stands with a dildo

pole shoved so far up his ass that his heels only just touch the ground.

His legs, prettily booted with seven inch heels, are secured to the pole

with metal clamps and right behind the first pole another one rises out

of the floor. This pole has metal clamps for his waist, chest and head

and once these are in place, he has no movement left to him. Before

clamping his body down, however, I pull a leather sleep sack down over

him; a sleep sack which is secured by many, many straps. The only

opening in the sack, apart from the one at the bottom at his feet, is

over his mouth where it matches the ring gag he sleeps with. The plug

with the tube, matching the rebreathing bag, naturally fits this and

here too breathplay is a favorite - of mine at least.



Standing up almost all of the time is outrageously stressful on the body

and it is the very reason he stands; that he is not allowed to lie down.

And when I feel like it I let him stand like that when I leave on a

trip. The tube in his mouth will then be connected to a

breathing/feeding apparatus, which sees to it that he gets both air and

liquid nourishment. I have once let him stand like that for ten straight

days, at the end of which he had lost several pounds and I was able to

get him a full size down in corset size. I had only meant for it to be

seven days, but my plane got delayed and he got punished for it. It has

since then been one of the punishments he fears the most and so

sleeping, since it is always done like that, has become a punishment in

itself, leaving almost nothing he ever does even remotely relaxing.

Almost everything he ever does is horribly taxing in one or more ways.



There are other rituals he has to perform - in fact his whole life is

now a ritual meant to do only one thing: please me.



After being released from his sleeping pole/bag in the morning I of

course require a fuck or a blowjob at the very least, but my morning

ritual rarely takes much time. When I have left for work, however, he

has a whole day full of tasks in front of him.



First he has to eat. I have reduced his diet to five things, which are

all he ever consumes: semen, urine, feces, water and a viscous and truly

disgusting liquid I make and which constitutes his main source of

nourishment. I call the liquid simply gloop, which also describes it's

consistency quite well. For his main meals he kneels in front of a wall

mounted dildo in the toilet area and sucks this gloop out of a large

steel cock. The liquid is very thick so he has to suck very hard indeed,

but this is not his only obstacle to eating. I have constructed the

device so that he has to heat the steel cock up to a certain temperature

in order for the liquid to flow and once it starts to flow, he has to

maintain that temperature. The only way for him to do that is to keep as

much of the cock covered by his mouth for as long as possible, which of

course means deepthroating it whenever he is not actively swallowing.

Just above the cock, right in front of his eyes, is a lamp and he has to

suck the cock and swallow the gloop until the lamp goes out. From the

time the gloop is released, this is usually about twenty minutes. And

since it takes about ten minutes for him to warm up the steel cock, he

spends about half an hour blowing the steel cock in order to feed.



After feeding, it's time for his toilette. For this he squats over a

hole in a section of the floor which is raised about a foot and a half

and does his business. Watching the surveillance films of this part of

his day, it is with great satisfaction that I note his acutely

embarrassed look as his urine sprays uncontrollably due to the chastity

device. As he stands up he also knows that this only marks round one of

his toilette. Next round is situated ten feet away, where yet another

pole mounted dildo stick out of the floor. He minces over to it, and

squats down until all of it is inside him. Then he uses his right foot

to press a button in the floor, which releases a large, warm enema. He

invariably moans and shakes as he is filled to capacity. Once the

filling process is done, he must slip off the dildo, something done with

the utmost delicacy in order to avoid spillage. Then, with his bowels

filled up, moaning, shivering and sweating, he minces with the smallest

possible steps, legs bent and stooping a bit forward, over to the toilet

hole and squats down to release the water inside him. If he spills

anything, even a single drop of shitty water, I put electrodes on his

balls and make him scream his head off for at least half an hour. He has

to repeat this process three times before he can mince, shivering and

sweating, under the cold shower to wash the filth and sweat away. The

shower leaves him shivering from the cold, but it is followed by a long

period of warm air to dry him. I would of course have preferred to keep

him shivering, but then the drying would take too long. And as I've

said: I want him in pain, not snotty.



After that it's time to maintain his tan. I have fitted tanning bed in

the dungeon standing in the upright position, so that he simply walks

in, presses a button with his foot and stand there with his eyes shut as

he gets twenty minutes of artificial sunlight. It is the only activity

during his day, which isn't in some way a form of torture.



Exercise comes next. This is of course an essential activity, but also

one which took some time getting right. After trying several versions of

exercise bikes, I finally changed course and settled on a treadmill.

Running with his hands in a backprayer makes balancing difficult and to

counter this I have made an elaborate contraption. On his corset are

mounted two D-rings in the back. Before he can begin exercising, he must

back up against a wall. Here three chains fitted with hooks at the ends

hang down. By positioning himself correctly and then sliding his fine

ass down the wall, he is able to catch the D-rings on the corset as well

as the ring on the back of his collar. This maneuver took quite a bit of

practice to get right, but I savored every single one of his desperate

screams during the process. The second all three hooks catch the rings,

it all becomes automatic. The chains are mounted on a sled, which is in

turn mounted on a rail in the ceiling. The chains are pulled up until he

is standing on his toes at which point the sled moves forward on the

rail. Quite quickly he must now mince forward on the tips of his toes

until he comes to the treadmill. As he steps onto it, the chains too are

elevated further, though not to the point of him standing on his

tiptoes. Then the treadmill starts moving. At first only in a reasonable

walking pace, but gradually the speed picks up until, after about thirty

minutes he is running. In seven inch heels. With feet where every single

bone has been broken not once, but many times. Add to his poor balance,

his high collar and finally the corset restricting his breathing and you

will find that I have not only provided my bitch with the necessary

exercise, but also with excruciating torture. After running for thirty

minutes he is ready to collapse from pain and not being able to breathe

properly. Also his feet, a constant source of pain for him, hurt so bad

tears run down his exhausted face. I always linger at this moment in the

surveillance pictures from inside the dungeon, savoring his suffering.



The machine releases him after this and I am quite sure that it takes

supreme effort not to collapse after this ordeal, but being well aware

of the consequences of disobedience, he nearly always manages to stay on

his feet. Nearly. He now has only a few tasks left before I return to

torture him in myself.



First up is porno watching. Since he is forever prevented from cuming,

it is pure torture for him to watch porn; especially cum shots. So of

course he must endure an hour and a half of this every day. He stands in

front of a TV with yet another dildo pole in his ass, sliding up and

down as he watches other bois and sissy slaves being punished and some

even being allowed to cum. As he frantically bounces up and down on the

pole, often drooling with desire, it is not uncommon for him to cry with

unfulfilled need. Occasionally, the pressure in his ass from the pole,

being exerted on his prostate, will cause him to produce cum as if he

actually came, but there is no pleasure associated with this, no orgasm.

It is simply a milking, a discharge of excess semen and I can see how

much he hates this every time it happens. Whenever it happens I question

him at length about it afterwards and he every time he is so

disappointed, so disheartened by it that it makes me realize just how

desperately he hopes to one day be able to cum. He hopes against all

reason that I, the man who has hurt him so viciously, so consistently

and so badly, will let him cum after all. It will never happen.



After watching porn, he only has two more tasks to complete; one more

feeding and another round of enemas so that he will be clean for me when

I return. For this last round of enemas I have increased the number of

repetitions to seven. The last enemas expelled he only has another cold

shower left before standing at attention in the small square I have

drawn on the floor. All that is left for him to do is to wait for my

return.



When I do enter the dungeon I can see my bitch's pulse pick up. My

presence never fails to make him breathe fast, never fails to focus his

attention. This is of course only natural, since failure to pay

attention my demands will only make him scream harder and longer. But

that is not the only reason why. Long ago, when my bitch and I first got

acquainted, he explained how he longed to be owned and how the right

master would be his whole world. I am that master; I am his whole world

- whether he likes it or not. I am quite sure that his slavery has

proven far harsher, far more brutal and far more complete and

comprehensive than even his darkest fantasies promised and I am quite

sure he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he will never leave my

basement. Never, ever. Yet I also know that he loves his slavery. He

also hates it in some ways, but mostly he loves the complete and utter

control I have over him. I am the master he had been looking for no

doubt about and now he is paying for having found me and he will keep on

paying for it right up until he is worn out - completely.



Every day I am at home I use and abuse my bitch with the greatest

relish. There is not a single day in the basement without me hurting his

balls to a larger or smaller degree. Usually I just beat them, either

with my hand, my boots, a paddle or a leather straps, but when I really

want him to scream I use electricity. Sometimes I choose large clips so

that using those is a punishment in itself, but mostly I use contact

electrodes which I then handle manually. Watching and listening to my

slave impaled on a dildo pole, his legs clamped to the pole, try to pull

away as he pleads and begs as I approach with the electrodes is

supremely satisfying. I of course also employ heat and sharp and pointy

object, but more rarely since the healing process is so long. However,

the satisfaction of watching my slave as flames lick his balls or as I

convert them into a pincushion is that much higher than merely beating

them. Leaving my slave impaled, his balls barely visible for all the

needles stuck into them, crying and begging as I go upstairs, is so

very, very good.



Apart from brutal CBT I have one other staple torture, one which I do to

him at least once a day: Breathplay. Not only do I enjoy greatly

watching a slave fight for air, enjoy being the one cutting his breath

off, but I am engaged in an experiment of sorts with my slave. I want to

damage him permanently; I want to reduce my bitch's intelligence from

the repeated suffocations, damage his brain as it were. I am succeeding

too. I have noticed that certain things have become difficult for him,

things which did not pose a problem before. Concentrating for extended

periods of time has become a problem and his daily routine has changed,

so that each task is accompanied by a recording of my voice telling him

(yelling at him) what he must do. Otherwise he simply stops and ends up

standing still with a confused look on his face. Speaking other

sentences than: "Master, yes Master" and the like is becoming nearly

impossible for him. I have a set of standard sentences I make him read

aloud once a week. This became increasingly halting and erroneous until

one day when he crying and stuttering told me that he could no longer

read the words. He knew he should be able to read the words, but simply

couldn't and had it not been for the iron control and discipline I

subject him to, he would have broken down in an outright panic attack.



The fact that he is becoming so damaged does not make me stop. I love

walking up behind him when he is standing at attention, knowing full

well what is about to happen, and slipping that plastic bag over his

head, tightening the opening and holding him like that as he begins to

struggle, as he desperately sucks the plastic bag in, as his struggling

(lovely stilettoed feet kicking) becomes erratic and his knees buckle

and his eyes roll back and he passes out. Then holding him as he wakes

up heaving and coughing, panic still gripping him, waiting until the

panic subsides and his breathing returns to normal and then doing it

again. And again. And finally, when he is spent and reduced to a crying

shaking wreck, laying him down on the hard concrete floor and fucking

him, enjoying as he wraps his shapely legs around me and moving with me,

clenching and unclenching his ass muscles to improve the sensation for

me as he moans how much he loves me. Moaning until I feel my orgasm

approaching and I slip the plastic bag back over his head and feel and

watch his exquisite desperation in the final moments before I shoot my

load. If I manage to time it properly, he will pass out just as my

orgasm subsides.



Years of abusing my bitch has had a curious side effect on me. Where I

once believed that having a fulltime slave to abuse would more or less

sate my appetite for such things, I now know the opposite to be true. My

appetite for domination, control, sexual abuse and torture of slave bois

has only increased over the years and I am quite sure that my bitch's

presence in my basement is a big part of it. And so he is not the only

slave I have kept over the years; far from it.



The first was a sweet sissy, Stacey, with long, frilly brown hair and a

love of pretty undergarments and high heeled mules. Stacey so triggered

the bastard in me, that on our very first date I decided that she had to

be mine. The decision was an irrational thing; an intense desire to own

and hurt the slut. Where I had carefully planned the disappearance of my

bitch, I gambled wildly with Stacey. Tying her up and fucking her was

part of our mutual understanding for that first date, but as I said; my

desire got the better of me. After a glorious fuck, her lithe, bound

body writhing as I squeezed her balls mercilessly while cuming I did not

release her as agreed upon. Instead I used all of the rope I had

brought. Soon she could only writhe a little as ropes encircled her just

below shoulder level, around her chest, her stomach, her hips, two

places on her thighs, above and below her knees, twice along the length

of her shins, twice around her ankles and finally twice around her feet.

A pair of dirty underwear was trapped inside her mouth, behind a massive

penis gag, filling her mouth almost to the point of her not being able

to breathe. Her head was trapped inside a thick leather hood and to make

absolutely sure her struggling would be kept to a minimum, I had tied a

string around her neck as tightly as I dared, so that every breath was a

fight and she had no energy left for struggling. This accomplished, I

put her in a sack and unceremoniously carried her down the back stairs

and dumped her in the trunk of my car, before going back up and removing

every trace of my presence from her apartment.



Once back in my basement, the part of the basement not occupied by my

bitch, I let my self go. In just three months I wore Stacey out: Her

teeth went first of course, so that I could fuck that hole unobstructed.

Her feet were mutilated not long after and she spent her stay with me in

impossibly small ballet toed boots with nine inch heels. They were so

painful and difficult to walk in that she never managed to do so without

me whipping her - which of course made it all the better. My torture of

her claimed her balls after just a month and after two more weeks her

cock was removed as well. If I hadn't had a brilliant idea, there's a

good chance that my enthusiastic use of breathplay would have been the

end of her and in the end perhaps she would have preferred it that way.



Some months before grabbing her I had been passing through a city a

thousand miles from my place. I had, via a friend, found a gay club, The

Fist, hidden away from prying eyes, which had a distinctively brutal

character. Masters brought their slaves there for public abuse and the

staff were all bois in various stages of undress. Ordering a beer while

contemplating my next move, I was served by a pretty little boi wearing

a very short, rubber mini skirt, an impossibly tight rubber T-shirt and

a pair of five inch stilettos. As he bent forward to place the beer on

the table I caught a glimpse of his chastity device and being who I am,

I ran my hand up the inside of his thigh until I came to his crotch.

There I grabbed his balls and asked him who his owner was. My

observation had been entirely correct; the staff were all slaves and the

pretty boi I now held belonged to the owner of the club. At my command

he conveyed my invitation to the owner, who was talking to the

bartender, to come and have drink with me and enlighten me about the

workings of the place.



It turned out that it was indeed one of those places you only read

about. He owned all the staff, who never went outside, but were

imprisoned at the club. People came to the club by invitation only (I

had been admitted through Lincoln, the black master with the twin

slaves) to torture their own slaves in semi public or to rent a pretty

boi to abuse. It was a goldmine. The patrons paid good money for the

privacy to do nasty things to slaves and he had no expenses for

salaries. I liked him instantly and saw a good place to unload slaves I

had tired of. Signing up for membership and renting the pretty boi who

had served my beer and who stood shivering with fear next to the table,

I made a deal of sorts with the owner: If I had a slave I wanted to

unload, he'd at least take a look and even if he didn't want him, he

also knew brutal people who probably did.



Stacey is now a permanent installation in The Fist's basement. In a bare

concrete room, she is secured to a ring in the floor with three foot

piece chain, which in turn is secured to her steel collar, which is

welded in place. She wears only a corset, her collar and her ballet

heels and she is there for the patrons of the club to fuck and torture.

The extent of her world is those three feet of chain. I have been by to

fuck her regularly in the four years she has been installed there and

she will never, ever get free. She will be kneeling, chained and in

heels providing blowjobs, handjobs and an inviting ass to fuck for the

rest of her life.



While imprisoned in my basement Stacey never knew about my permanent

bitch, but he knew all about her. Every one of my torture session with

Stacey were shown live on the TV screen inside his prison. My bitch

wasn't glad it wasn't him being abused so badly, he wasn't horrified at

my brutal torture of a sweet sissy nor was he struck with terror when I

removed her balls and then her cock. No, my bitch was jealous. Inviting

brutal punishment on himself, he voiced, for the first time, objections

to his imprisonment: "Master, please Master. Master, why don't you

torture me like that Master? Master, what can that cheap tramp provide

that I can't Master?" This outburst of course cost him dearly, a month

an a shit only diet, two weeks of daily chili oil covered fistings, his

corset size going down a full inch around the waist and his shoe size

shrinking before time with the broken feet this entailed, but the effect

on me was to want to keep and dominate him even more, while at the same

time increasing my desire to enslave and torture other bitches. Getting

more outlets for my desires while at the same time torturing my bitch

with jealousy as well, was just fabulous.



So in the time I have kept my bitch imprisoned, I have captured and

abused eight other bois and sissies purely for myself. There have been

others, quite a few others, but these eight I caught for me alone. Of

these seven have ended up abandoned in hooker districts or at The Fist,

like Stacey: sexless, toothless and with broken feet trapped in

impossible heels. Every one of them has been occasion for increasingly

shrill and jealous outbursts from my bitch and as a result his own

position has become more and more painful and humiliating.



The eighth of the slaves I have grabbed while keeping my bitch

imprisoned was markedly different from the others. Miguel craved

permanent slavery, craved being kept as a shit eating slave and even

expressed the desire that his slavery be as final as it could get.

Miguel got what he asked for, but I am quite sure it wasn't what he

really wanted. I am positive that the slavery he asked for was far too

brutal for his liking, but once he found out it was too late to go back.



Miguel dismantled his own life and came to me of his own free will.

Miguel craved the role of permanent toilet slave and I have most

definitely delivered that. From the moment he arrived he was forced to

eat not only all of my shit, but also all that of my bitch - including

the many enemas he was forced to endure each day.



Once I had him in my basement I did to him what I have done to all of my

recent permanent slaves: I shaved off all of his body hair, removed his

teeth, locked away his cock and made him wear impossible heels. Because

I had plans for making him a permanent toilet slave, incredibly in

accordance with his own wishes, I also removed all of the hair on his

head, leaving him completely bare, without even eyebrows. Miguel was

older than the slaves I had grabbed before, but he had a fine, fuckable

ass and nice legs. Also there was something about his genitals which

really brought out the very worst in me. From the day he came to me his

genitals caused him nothing but extreme pain.



Unlike the other slaves I had grabbed, apart from my bitch, I did not

imprison him in the "outer" basement, but took him directly into the

same soundproof room as my bitch. I tied him arms and legs spread wide

while standing up before I removed his hood and once he had adjusted to

the light the first thing he saw was my bitch, freshly beaten with red

welts covering his entire body. A small frightened sound escaped his

throat and as he took in the whole room, his eyes became large and

frightened. Then I stepped in close, grabbed his balls, gently but

firmly and whispered into his ear: "You are never going to leave this

place and your slavery will be much, much worse than that of the sorry

bitch in front of you." To emphasize this I squeezed his balls viciously

for about thirty seconds before letting go. When he has stopped

screaming and regained control over himself, he looked at me with large

scared eyes and asked: "Are you really going to do all those things you

wrote about? The ball torture and castrations?" To answer his question I

smiled, stepped back and kicked him so hard in the balls that he lifted

almost a foot off the ground. While he vomited from pain I took two

electrical leads from a nearby torture station and applied them to his

cock, making him jump, twitch and keen with pain before once again

trying to throw up from the pain. Then I grabbed him by the neck and

whispered into his ear: "Oh yes, you sorry slut, I'm going to torture

your balls until you beg for castration, beg for me to remove them no

matter how painfully I do it."



Two months later he found out just how accurate my prediction had been

as he asked me to do just that. By then I had him in ballet heels, feet

only just recovering from being crushed, and had his hands in a

backprayer and he was kneeling at my feet, kissing them while begging me

to castrate him, to torture them off no matter how painful, as long as I

would castrate him since he simply couldn't stand the brutal CBT I was

subjecting him to every day. Nice guy that I am, I naturally obliged

him.



Not only did I want to castrate him, but I also wanted to do it

brutally; very brutally. I sat him down on the floor, legs spread as

wide as possible and impaled on a steel dildo, screwed into a wooden

plate I had placed on the floor. His legs were held by metal bands and

right behind him a pole rose to which his torso was bound. His genitals

were now beautifully exposed and he was of course unable to defend

himself from the viciousness I was about unleash on him. First, however,

it was time to remind him of why he had come and so I squatted over his

upturned face and took a shit in his waiting mouth. After two months of

consuming all the waste produced in my house, Miguel had become much

less enthusiastic about being a shiteater, but now it was of course too

late. His helpless revulsion became even more clearly visible as I led

my bitch over to him, mincing and moaning as he held a large enema

inside.



That shiteating session over and a bit of cleaning done (among other

things his mouth, so as to prepare fucking his face), I began his

castration by surprising him. I had of course removed his chastity

device to get better access, which meant that his cock was now free as

well and well past half mast, belying his apparent revulsion. And as I

took his semi hard member in my hand, his breath rushed in and he became

hard in seconds. He knew he wasn't going to like what I was going to do

to him, but still he couldn't help becoming aroused at my touch - the

mark of a truly excitable bitch in need of serious control. First I

inserted a catheter into his cock, something which is quite

uncomfortable and which made him writhe and moan in discomfort. Then I

took a piece of thin, smooth rope and tied it around the base of his

cock as tightly as I possibly could. While his urine ran helplessly out

because of the catheter, his cock turned dark blue while he looked down

in horror before asking me: "Master, please Master?" Smiling I informed

him that since he'd soon be castrated he might as well loose his cock as

well, something which made him beg and cry. Another sweet sound to

accompany what I was about to do. He babbled: "Master, please let me

keep it Master! Master, please let this useless shiteating slave keep

his pathetic cock Master! PLEASE!" I do love the sound of a bitch

begging and with him bound as he was, begging as he was and with tears

running down his face, I simply couldn't help myself. I stood up and

proceeded to fuck his face, a most pleasurable experience as always, but

this time enhanced by his incessant mumbling and mewling begging. When I

had shot my load down his throat, I stepped back and saw that the little

shit's member had turned dark purple. Apparently I had been at it far

longer than I had thought. Time does really fly when you're having a

good time.



After taking some time to relax, I returned to Miguel's castration. His

begging had subsided but hadn't stopped, even though all hope of

rescuing his cock was long gone. However, I made him stop begging and

start screaming instead when I fetched the items I needed to torture his

balls off. First up were a hammer and a handful of nails. To the sound

of desperate screaming I pulled his scrotum out and used the same hand

to hold a nail against his scarred, but still soft right testicle. With

a single hammer blow I pierced his testicle and reached the wooden plate

I had placed beneath him. For a second there was no sound and then, as I

proceeded to pound in the nail, he screamed louder and more desperately

than ever before. I did not pound the nail all the way down but rather

left a quarter of an inch sticking out. Then I repeated the process four

more times before moving on to his left testicle and doing it all over

again. I had to clean up vomit twice before finishing and I had to wake

him up three times. By then he was completely desperate and in order to

bring him back, so that I had a more interesting slave to torture, I had

to choke him until he fainted, soothing I of course did with the

greatest pleasure. When he returned to consciousness he was a bit

calmer, although still crying, begging and keening and that was good

enough for me. I then connected the two of the nails in each testicle to

wires from my generator. That way I could shock each of his testicles

independently. Two hours and two fantastic face fucks later, Miguel was

completely incoherent and I had decided that this form of electrical

torture was going to be part of all future castrations. To cap off the

session, I pounded the nails as far in as they could go without breaking

the skin of his balls. Only then did I tie a piece of thin, smooth rope

around his scrotum as tightly as I possibly could. He was still too

desperate with pain then to do or say anything coherent, but when I

returned to the dungeon next morning, he thanked me tying the rope,

trying desperately to please me to avoid further torture. His balls were

then black as was his cock and way beyond any hope of recovery.



With him inescapably restrained I proceeded to turn him into the final

slave form he was to assume. First came his feet. I had already removed

his toenails and crushed them before fitting him with his new impossibly

small ballet boots, but before I was going to call it quits with regards

to work on his feet and legs I had another two small pieces of surgery

to attend to. Using a wire cutter, I first cut his Achilles tendons and

then the tendons on the back of his knees, thus making walking

impossible for him. After bandaging these wounds to the sounds of his

hopeless sobbing, I put his ballet boots back on, as they might as well

hold the bandages in place and provide me with a nice sight in the

process. Since I am turned on by stilettos boots, it doesn't bother me

one bit that he would crawl wearing stilettos rather than walking in

them. His feet attended to, I took care of his hands. His fingernails

had already been removed, so I could crush his hands undisturbed and

satisfy my perverse tendencies by forcing each of his crushed hands into

the smallest ballet boots I had been able to find, lacing them tightly

all the way up to the middle of his upper arms.



Only then did I remove the nails, pull him off the dildo and place him

as I intended: On all fours, both hands and feet in ballet boots. With

the wounds on his feet and legs still fresh, making him crawl would only

delay the healing process, so while I placed him on all fours, I also

made sure that a low bench supported his body and that his limbs were

tied to the legs of the bench. That way his freshly mutilated limbs

could recuperate while his genitals rotted off. It took three weeks for

him to heal properly and for his genitals to fall off. Three weeks tied

in the same position, just waiting for me to introduce new horrors into

his existence (for it could hardly be called a life anymore).



His legs healed and his crotch nice and smooth, I used a day to teach

him (that is: beat it into him) how to crawl in his new state and then I

moved him into his new, permanent position as the dungeon toilet. In my

bitch's toilet area I had dug out a hole about two feet deep with a

concrete bottom. Fixed in the concrete floor of the pit was the steel

structure I would use to secure him: A steel frame held his head with

steel straps, tilting his head (encased in a rubber hood open only at

the mouth and nose; mouth held open by a very large ring gag) back,

making sure that his mouth was in line with his throat and thus insuring

that the shit and piss would better be able to slide into him. His

stilettoed hands were secured to the frame with steel straps as well and

his legs were secured to the floor with yet another set of inescapable

steel straps. Where once his cock had been, a catheter was now inserted

into a smooth piece of crotch flesh and his ass was permanently occupied

by a large bore pipe. Both the pipe and the catheter tube ended in a

sealed drain in the floor, just as all plumbing from a proper toilet

must. Once secured in this position, a soundproof box was lowered down

over him. This box had just one hole and on this hole a funnel was

fitted, the end of which formed a perfect seal with the ring gag in his

mouth.



Miguel was a toilet for more than four years. Apart from all the shit

and piss produced in the house, including the many enemas, he was feed

some of the gloop I made for my bitch and two quarts of clean water each

day. Every four days I released him from his prison, removed all of the

things covering him or sticking out of him and washed and dry him

thoroughly. After years of brutal imprisonment, he was now unable to

close his mouth or move his head and the cycle of four days of total

darkness followed by a two hours of intense light probably made him

blind. I say probably, because Miguel moved beyond anyone's ability to

communicate with. He became completely and utterly docile and only the

fiercest pain could induce him to produce sound. He was completely lost

in his own world of silence, pain and shiteating and were it not for the

one episode of communication I had with him in those four years, I'd

have said that the only reason he stayed alive was that he was too far

gone to remember to drown himself in shit. That might still have been

true but once about six months into his of imprisonment in the pit, he

looked at me right before I pulled the hood over his face, his eyes

finding mine for the first time in months and he mewled, softly but

clearly: "Thank you." It was what he really wanted after all, although

certainly not what he expected.



My attention to Miguel made my bitch insanely jealous, resulting in

further loss of waistline, shoe size and mobility as well as a bout of

CBT that nearly claimed his balls. I cannot say for certain that that

wasn't his plan, since it was around the time I castrated Miguel, a

torture session which I could see very nearly made him beg to be

castrated as well. It has always been a mystery, and on of the great

turn-ons about him, how my bitch get jealous at every last bit of

attention, no matter how cruel, I lavish on other slaves. In a very real

sense I have to protect him from himself as he constantly aspires to be

subjected to the most brutal torture imaginable.



His jealousy towards Miguel did seem to wear off once he could squat

over his mouth every day and deposit all his waste there. Or perhaps it

was just because he couldn't see him anymore.



Chapter 5

As the years have passed my bitch has become more and more

damaged - or perhaps the term is "properly adapted to his existence as a

slave". Whatever you want to call it, he has long since passed the point

where he could resume his old life. Sometimes I doubt he even remembers

it very clearly, if at all. He seems consumed with obeying my commands,

not only out of fear, but out of love or passion for his slave

existence. More than once he has, after particularly brutal torture

sessions, gasped questions like: "Master, please Master. Master, did my

pain bring you pleasure Master?" and then smiled secretly if I answered

"yes".



After six years in the dungeon I finally had to remove parts of him and

surprisingly, it wasn't his balls. His balls had been spared (after a

fashion; they were still quite scarred) because of the many other slaves

whose balls I have claimed. No, his arms were first to go. After years

of being trapped in a backprayer, not even daily release for an hour was

enough for them to stay healthy and so they had to be removed. Removing

soft parts, like the testicles or the cock, while not altogether simple,

is still a relatively uncomplicated matter. But removing something at a

large and complicated joint close to the torso is by no means a trivial

matter and I pondered long and hard how I might do it without killing my

bitch. For as much as I want to dominate and torture him, as much as he

brings out the bastard in me, I still desired him. After all those years

I still savored entering him, feeling his legs wrap around me and

feeling his desperation at being denied an orgasm for the seventh year

running, feeling his need and will to pleasure me and me alone. In my

own twisted way I could be said to love my bitch, although it is

unlikely that the casual observer would see it that way.



After examining my bitch at length, I found that while his arms were

lost, his shoulder joints were in decent shape. That meant that I didn't

have to engage in complicated and risky surgery, but could "simply"

settle for removing his arms. I chose a similar tactic to the one I had

used when removing Miguel's balls. Releasing his arms from the

backprayer, I started out by tying a steel wire around his arms as far

up towards the shoulder joint as I could, which given the deteriorating

state of his arms turned out to be surprisingly far up.



For this session I had my bitch tied face down on a massage type bench;

that is with a hole for his face. I had tied him down with straps,

spaced with no more than two inches from his ankle to his ears and apart

from his arms, useless after all those years in a backprayer, he was

completely and utterly immobile.



After tying the wires around his arms, the next step was to tighten

those wires until they cut the flesh. Much to my surprise, this didn't

even make my bitch moan. I knelt down a looked at his face, only to see

that he was completely untouched by what I had just done. It looked like

the nerves in his arms had simply been damaged beyond repair. While I am

sadist and as such enjoy slaves in extreme pain, this for once suited me

better as it would allow for better concentration on my part in the

delicate operation. Because of the poor shape of his arms, the operation

turned out to be much simpler than I had hoped for. Not only was his

nerves damaged, but also the blood vessels in his arms had grown small

and easily managed. The end result was that I managed to remove all of

his arms, including the joint, making closing the wound much easier and

cleaner, not to mention making for a much more pleasing effect when

looking at him.



When I allowed him to stand up and see for himself about two weeks

later, my bitch could hardly restrain himself. He preened in front of

the mirror and when he finally remembered that I was watching, he knelt

at my feet, kissing my boots with fervor as he thanked me deeply.



This most pleasing change in my bitch's appearance made me rethink my

efforts in making him look pleasing up till then. I had kept my bitch

out of ballet heels (at least on a permanent basis) because I required

that he stand up almost all of the time and that he actually be able to

walk in them for years on end - not just a few months. I had forced

slaves like Stacey and Miguel into ballet heels because they were never

going to be walking around much. Now I came to realize that this was too

soft a strategy to take with my bitch. So I picked out an outrageously

small pair of ballet toed boots with heels ten inches high, a heel so

high that one might say that is was purely for show. The boots were

fitted with shafts which reached mid-thigh and they were quite stiff

(though not too stiff for him wrap his legs around me as it turned out).

His eyes became wide and scared as I explained what was about to happen,

but as always his reply came: "Master, yes Master". Two hours later he

took his first steps in those new boots, feet crushed again and

screaming with pain as tears ran down his face. I wanted them to fit

properly, so I had him walk around for four hours before allowing him to

rest, completely and utterly spent. It hadn't been four hours of

uninterrupted walking, as I had fucked him twice and whipped him more

times than I was able to count. It took more than a bit of

practice/torture to keep him standing or walking in heels for any length

of time, but surprisingly his diminished mental capacity (a result of my

incessant breathplay) came to my aid. My bitch had reached the stage

where he simply continued doing whatever he had been ordered to do last.

He longer had the mental capacity for reflection or even the capacity to

hold a simply conditional command like: "…continue until". So when I

said: "Walk on the treadmill", he simply continued doing so until he

dropped or I told him to stop, no matter how difficult or painful and

luckily (and very surprisingly) he still had the capacity to learn - at

least simple, purely physical things.



When that part of his training was over, I had a perfectly trained slave

bitchboi without arms, with an impossibly narrow waist, an inviting and

fuckable, if quite scarred, body (particularly that killer ass of his)

who moved flawlessly in impossible heels. As always my bitch brought out

in me the deepest desire to conquer, punish, fuck and ultimately claim

him body and soul. Only a fool would say I hadn't already done so a

long, long time ago, but with real desire enough is only rarely enough.



However, for once I recognized that my bitch didn't have too many brutal

punishments, such as strangulations, left before his brain damage

rendered him completely useless as a slave and an object of desire. So I

turned to other slaves for my most brutal desires. Luckily my supply of

brutally castrated slaves to The Fist had widened my circle of

likeminded acquaintances. Most of these much preferred to perform their

won brutal punishments and castrations if such were needed, but two of

them were in it partially as businessmen. While having their own stable

of slaves, they also had a modest flow of slave bois in need of

training, shaping or modification for their businesses. In other words;

they could use someone like me to beat and torture their merchandise

into the required shape. And they only sent me the ones who were

scheduled for the most brutal transformations.



In my arsenal of brutal punishments I found two in particular that could

crush the spirit of even the most combative slave: My prolonged

castration ritual, involving hammer, nails and electricity and being

installed as a toilet. Miguel had been discarded when he had been worn

out and the pit had become filled with mere tubes for the excrement, but

I had kept it so that I could stuff slaves into it. It has proven most

useful and of course satisfying for me, as many slave bois have been

broken utterly by a week of forced shiteating in the dark. Not all of

them can be castrated, but the most rewarding ones have been the ones I

have had the chance to first force into heels, then castrate brutally

and finally confine in the complete darkness of the toilet. Handing over

such a slave, in heels, tied up and hooded and standing completely still

with a smooth crotch and an utterly broken demeanor is supremely

satisfying.



In the end, however, my brutal treatment of my bitch claimed his balls

as well. Incessant beatings, kicks, squeezings and insertions of needles

and such eventually turned his balls into uneven lumps which caused

extreme pain at the slightest movement.



At first I of course utilized this to torture him. I hung weights from

them or tied straps around them, compressing them, and watched as he

screamed with even the smallest step or just from turning around.

Fucking him, his legs wrapped around me as always, became a screaming

torture session in itself as my every thrust would squash or at least

jar his very, very tender balls. Making him perform pole dancing became

an exercise in rhythmic screaming as he ground his crotch against the

pole. Armless he had a very limited range of dance moves to perform and

that supremely painful crotch grind was first among these.



After two months of this torture, supplemented of course by regular

kicks, squeezes and all the rest of those wonderful and simple torture

methods, his testicles swelled to the size of very large grapefruits or

even small melons, increasing the pain for my bitch even more.



The pain was now so bad that he could find no rest anywhere and thus

hardly got any sleep either. So I decided to claim his balls, but this

being my bitch I also decided that the process of taking them should be

the most brutal castration I had yet performed.



I started out with a solid wooden platform raised a few inches off the

floor. Protruding from its center I had a truly gargantuan dildo made

from steel and completely covered in nasty knobs. Even my bitch, whose

ass had long since been widened dramatically, moaned and writhed as I

pressed his bound, suffering and oh so sexy form down over the giant

pole. When it was all the way in and his ass rested on the wooden

platform, he sat gasping for air as his breathing was now constricted

not only by his fierce corset, but also by the steel cock pressing

against his insides. My bitch impaled on the steel dildo, I proceeded to

secure his legs by spreading them wide and then fastening them with

steel bands, screwed into the wooden platform. Even his feet had

separate bands insuring his ballet booted feet would be unable to move.

Behind his back I had a sturdy steel frame installed, which I then

proceed to secure his upper body to. Once I had completed tying him to

it, the only part of his body he was able to move was his head.



These things in place the torture could begin in earnest. First I tied a

strap around his scrotum. Not tight enough to cut off the blood flow and

thus castrate him and certainly not tight enough for him to experience

loss of feeling in his balls, but tight enough to somewhat limit the

flow of blood in and out of his testicles. I needed this in order for

the next bit of torture to be properly effective. To the delicious sound

of his screaming I plunged a large bore needle into each of his balls.

The needles were hollow and connected to bags of sterile water hanging

from a frame I had made for this purpose. As he sat there screaming in

pain and horror, his balls slowly began to grow as the water flowed in,

gradually expanding them to a very painful size. Huge and swollen they

became even more tender than they had been and so I grabbed the

opportunity. Quite literally. Using both hands I kneaded his grotesquely

swollen balls, sending my bitch into a screaming frenzy before he passed

out after about five minutes of kneading. Naturally I used smelling

salts to wake him up and start over.



His mind had of course been severely diminished for some time and

sentences beyond: "Master, yes Master" had been outside his vocabulary

for a long time, but as I woke him up and began kneading his tender,

swollen nuts I heard among the screaming and mewling sounds the words:

"Master, please no Master" for the first time in almost a year. The

sound was so sweet that I immediately squeezed his balls so hard I

thought his eyes would pop out of their sockets, followed by a bout of

desperate screaming before he passed out again. Using the smelling salt

to wake him again, I pounced on him the second he woke up and forced my

cock deep down his eagerly waiting throat. He was still my bitch and no

matter what he got my juices flowing like no one else. A round of

desperate screaming followed by breathplay by deepthroating is about as

good as it gets.



Attacking his grotesquely painful swollen balls in various ways

(stepping on them, compressing them with straps, kicking them and

heating them up with very warm water and a number of other ways) took a

whole day and not just another eight hour work day. When I finally

stopped, nowhere near the castration which was the end result, my bitch

was no longer coherent and barely conscious, no matter how I tried to

wake him up. So I fucked his face one last time, forced a sizable amount

of liquid (both water and energy drink) into him, sealed his head in a

rubber hood and left him sitting impaled, bound and horribly abused, so

that he could rest for the next round of vicious testicle torture I had

in mind. Just before I left him for the night, I inserted a catheter in

his cock and led the tube to a floor drain and then I released the strap

around his scrotum so that there was a chance of his balls having a

somewhat more normal size when I returned.



The next day my bitch was conscious when I returned, but clearly in pain

as he sat moaning and keening, unaware that I had returned. His balls

had returned to the size of grapefruits but where now, apart from very

badly bruised, even more misshapen as a result of my work the day

before. It was clear, not only from his moaning and keening, that they

caused him pain, bad pain, every second. But, as any slave must know to

properly understand its situation, things can always - always - get

worse. And so I kicked him in those swollen, misshapen and damaged

balls. This time there was no delay, no pause to comprehend. My bitch

screamed, screamed more desperately than I had heard him scream in a

long, long time and he continued screaming until he ran out of air. When

he finally stopped to suck in a new breath for yet another desperate

scream, I grabbed him by the throat and stepped, hard, on his balls and

said: "Hello bitch. It's time to mangle those balls of yours even more".

His response was only proper; a scream so desperate it topped almost all

other I had heard from him before.



For the second day of my bitch's castration session I had chosen heat

and needles as the preferred methods of torture, without neglecting good

old beatings and such. The day ended with his swollen balls completely

covered in needles, except for a one inch square on the underside of

each testicle where flames "gently" licked his skin, only just warm

enough for small second degree burns. My bitch had now lost even the

capacity to form the words "Master, yes Master", but I understood his

pleas for me to stop perfectly all the same. I just chose to ignore

them, as it was my pleasure, not his comfort, which was the focus of my

actions.



The third and final day of his castration session was a return to the

methods I had used on other bitches: Nails, hammer and electricity. As

his balls were larger and thicker than had been the case with the

previous castrations I had performed, I was able to use more and bigger

nails than before and the result was impressive; almost too impressive.

By the time I finally tied that final straps around the base of his

scrotum as hard as I possibly could, it is fair to say that my bitch was

more dead than alive. Having been impaled, sitting down, on a steel

dildo and forced to sit in that position for three days, while getting

only liquid sustenance would have been enough to cause serious health

issues for most people, but my bitch had endured three days of intense

torture, so the fact that he was alive was perhaps a bit surprising. Not

that I had planned on killing him, far from it, but once again my

enthusiasm for doing my very worst to my bitch had gotten the better of

me. He really did get my juices flowing like no one else.



That final strap tied, I released him from his bonds and pulled his

weakly twitching form off the dildo. Then I fed him some liquids, pulled

a leather sleep sack over his body and finally chained him to the floor

in his corner, leaving him to recover somewhat as his balls withered

off. I left him there for two days, two days he spent sleeping as the

pain in his balls was almost absent for the first time in months, after

which I forced him to stand and follow me to the cleaning station I had

made for him. His balls had turned black by then and were beginning to

smell, but he just looked at me like a bitch in love for the first time.

Apparently his mind was too far gone to remember all the horrifying

things I had done to him and now only remembered that I had made the

pain go away or perhaps he could only remember that he loved me as his

owner and Master. At any rate the torture session had damaged him to the

point that his only remaining words were now gone too. Every little

movement had to be coached, an incessant stream of commands from me just

to keep him in motion. If I stopped commanding him, he stopped moving

and simply stood still looking slightly baffled.



He was now little more than a shell; a brutally modified bitchboi with a

killer look, a look which I had forced him into, but the wonderfully

submissive bitch inside was now almost completely gone. His genuinely

submissive responses to my attention were now nothing mindless routine

and all the devotion to me that he had shown so plainly in even the most

painful and disgusting situations was now only a faint echo.



But it was the echo of him, the echo of MY bitch and that was still very

good for me. So I kept him in my basement, performing the same routines

as before, albeit with the number of orders needed greatly increased. I

still enjoyed stepping into the dungeon and seeing his viciously

restricted form standing at attention in front of me, feet in ballet

heels as close together as possible, corset impossibly narrow, his

shoulders smooth and armless and in his crotch a tiny, limp clitty-cock

pierced with a sturdy ring which held a small bell. I still enjoyed

having him drop to his knees and using his once talented mouth on me,

even if I had to do most of the work. And entering his receptive ass was

still a world class fuck as his stilettoed legs wrapped around me and he

ground his pelvis against mine with what must have been imagined or

remembered passion.



After almost a year in this state, however, I could no longer postpone

the inevitable. He had become too damaged, his response to commands

erratic and certain movements had become impossible to him. The time had

come for me to "retire" him. One thing which still seemed to evoke his

old responsiveness was touching his skin with my hands. He had always

leaned into even the faintest hint of a caress and it was one of the few

things still left to him. So I started by caressing his ass gently as he

stood at attention. I was instantly rewarded by a low moan of unbridled

passion, a prime characteristic of my bitch as he had been when I first

met him. So I continued caressing him, now moving my hands all over his

body; stroking his thighs, his armless shoulders, his ass and his cheek

as I leaned in to kiss him for the first time in years. His response was

again a glimpse of my bitch as he had been, but again it was just a

glimpse, a weak shadow of his former self. So I moved on and laid him on

his back on a table set at the perfect height for a fuck. As I entered

him, his legs once again wrapped around me and his limp clitty-cock with

its ring and bell rubber gently against my abdomen. It was glorious -

again - and he worked his hips like the pro slave shit he had always

been. As I moved towards my climax, my pace quickening, I moved my hands

to his throat and squeezed. Gently at first, then harder and harder

until I was strangling him with all of my strength. His struggles became

desperate, legs kicking and his face became contorted; eyes standing

out, increasingly bloodshot, tongue protruding more and more and his

face becoming darker and darker until he was almost blue in the face.

His legs and his body began to move erratically, jerking, spasmodic as

his struggling began to decrease in strength and his face was now dark

blue, fixed in contortion with tongue and eyes sticking out as far as

they could go. His legs did a final quick and weak dance in the air and

his body spasmed one last time and then he became limp in my hands. I

kept my stranglehold on him while I shot my load, my final orgasmic

spasms coming almost a minute after he had stopped moving. Then I pulled

out and his legs hung limply down over the table's edge until their

weight pulled the rest of him over the edge and his dead body flopped

onto the floor and my cum began leaking out of his ass.



Epilogue It has been years since I discarded my bitch and I have had

many, many slaves since then, both ones I have grabbed - willingly or

forcibly - and ones I have trained, maimed or otherwise for other

vicious men and women. But of all those slaves my bitch is the only one

I think about regularly. In many ways my bitch - for he was the last one

I thought of not just as a piece of flesh to abuse - was instrumental in

making the person I am today: an evil and ruthless man who does

unspeakable things to male bitch slaves.



I now make my living by doing truly horrible things; unspeakable things:

I run a club modeled on The Fist. I call mine The Slipknot. For a

sizable fee and only on commission from people I know very, very well, I

catch and train bitchbois. For equally sizable fees and also on special

commission from those same people, I make films of some extremely brutal

torture sessions. They are not snuff films, but really the slaves that

feature in those films are often unfit for anything else once I am done

with them.



My stories put me into contact with many a slave seeking a master. When

they meet me they usually wish they hadn't.



I have a home with a completely hidden section for keeping and torturing

slaves and I have furnished some of it with human furniture: I haven't

taken a shit, in my own home at least, in a non-human toilet for years

now and my pillows in bed and my arms chair and my foot stool in my

reading room are both made up of brutally bound slaves. As I write these

words, standing up at my desk, a desperate slave is trying to perform

the best blowjob he was ever delivered while trying to talk me out of

taking his balls tomorrow. The mewling, mumbling and sucking sound he

produces is fantastic. This one, Joe, thought he had escaped me by being

enslaved by another master, but after a while his owner sold him to me

and tomorrow I intend to take his hairless, corseted, stilettoed and

bound form, impale him on my castration platform and take his balls in

the most brutal manner possible.



I now make my living from slave trade of the most brutal kind and the

activities derived from this trade. And in a very real sense I probably

wouldn't be doing it if it weren't for my bitch, who brought out the

worst in me, the evil, brutal, ruthless bastard I am: A man who loves to

see and feel the desperate twitches of a bitchboi as he struggles to

escape my cock impaling him and my hands strangling him. A man who takes

supreme pleasure in having a bitchboi in stilettos, hands bound behind

his back, plead tearfully to remove the strap cutting off blood to his

testicles and thus castrating him. A man who smilingly ignores such

pleas as he forces his cock into the mewling, pleading mouth of that

slave.



Considering what I did to him, it would be stretching the term to say

that I loved my bitch, but being who I am love is the closest word to

describe it. I certainly love what I have become in part thanks to him.



THE END



If you liked the story, please write me at: story_2nn@yahoo.com.




Review_This_Story || Email Author: 2nn


****** MORE_BDSM_STORIES_@_SEX_STORIES_POST ******