Bred Slave

From: Matt W

BRED SLAVE

The following is a work of fiction. All characters are over 18 years of age. There are depictions of sexual acts and homoerotic themes. Please do not read any further if you are not legally eligible or would be offended by the material.

CHAPTER 1 – BIRTHDAY SURPRISE

“Dude, you are so fucking lucky,” my best friend Sean exclaimed under his breath with a playful punch to my arm as we made our way across the bustling quad of the local University. It was the last day of finals before winter break and the student body was already celebrating.

“Whatever, shut up.” I retorted, as I was nearly plowed over by some half-drunk frat boy that dove to catch a frisbee sailing past Sean’s head. “Fuck! Watch it!” I growled, over my shoulder shooting the guy a look.

“God, Drew, lighten up,” Sean said, half laughing. “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today, or what? Seriously, dude, not only did we just finish finals, not only is it the first day of break, not *only* is the hottest girl in town waiting for you in the parking lot…but it’s your fucking birthday! 18, man, and it’s about fucking time!”

I nodded with a shrug. It was all true, but at the moment, I could care less. Sure, I was finally 18, first semester of college now under my belt, but I had little to celebrate. “Yeah, whatever. You’re flying home tonight, along with everyone else and where am I headed? Right, no where. Same crappy town, same crappy house…well same crappy guest house.” I kicked a soccer ball in frustration as it rolled by my foot, more like punted it really.

“Shit, man. Thanks,” another jockish guy exclaimed sarcastically as he ran after the ball.

Sean chuckled. “Yeah, man, the timing does suck. But, we’ll celebrate hard next semester, don’t worry. And, there’s always spring break. Cancun…”

“Yeah, right.” I cut him off. Money was always an issue for me and my family. We always had what we needed, but there never seemed to be any extra. I even tried to get a job when I turned 16 to earn my own spending money, but my parents freaked out. They wanted me to focus on my studies and athletics and nothing else. Worst of all, I wanted nothing more than to go to college out of state, some big university as far from home as I could get, but there was no money and no scholarships. Not that it mattered. I only received one acceptance letter in the mail from none other than the local university where I could easily commute back and forth from home. “I can barely get money for textbooks out of parents. No way they’re going to fund that kind of trip.”

“Maybe they’ll surprise you,” Sean offered optimistically. “It is your birthday after all.”

“A surprise would be nice…” I trailed as we finished walking in near silence across the quad to the parking lot where Ali would be waiting. I had met Ali at freshman orientation over the summer. She was a year older and the tour guide assigned to my group. We hit it off almost right away. Since I was a townie, we connected over stories and jokes about the local scene…her perspective as the innocent co-ed from out of town, and mine as the local high school jock with the fake ID that got me and my friends in most of the college bars. It didn’t hurt that despite having a late birthday, I looked older for my age and fortunate to have inherited some great genes. My body was in great shape from all of my years I devoted to soccer and lacrosse, and my square jaw and stylishly-kempt dark blond hair completed my package as the all-American jock next door.

By the end of the tour, Ali and I were practically engaged. The other students disappeared one by one, and we spent the entire day and night together, eventually crashing in her room. She lived just off campus in a two bedroom apartment with her friend Kara, a real bitch if ever there was one. Regardless, our relationship progressed quickly. Most of my friends left for their various colleges and I barely noticed. I was so focused on Ali, and by the start of the semester, we were one serious couple.

“Aaand this is my cue to leave,” Sean noted, nodding towards the parking lot.

We exchanged a complicated handshake, and I looked toward the lot to see Ali leaning against her sporty red Audi. Well, it was Kara’s car actually, but she always let Ali use it. She was impeccably dressed, as always, in skin tight jeans and a low cut tank top with a short jacket to cover her arms and shoulders. Her dark brunette hair cascaded over shoulders. With her arms were crossed, and she flashed a smoldering smile at me. My heart raced a bit. Even months later, I still got excited every time I saw her.

“Later, dude. Have a great trip and blah blah…” my voice trailed off again as I left Sean, smiling as I approached Ali. We embraced and shared a long passionate kiss.

“Happy birthday, stud,” she whispered in my ear sending tingles down my spine. “Get in.” I climbed in the passenger seat as she buckled into the driver’s side, and we took off. “God, feels good to be getting out of here, at least for a while, right?” She asked rhetorically, as she reached across me and opened the glove compartment. She fumbled inside, keeping her eyes on the road, and pulled out a small box. Closing the compartment, she dropped the box on my lap. It was black and velvet, almost like a jewelry box, with a small white bow on top.

“What’s this?” I asked, smiling over at her.

“Open it,” she suggested, keeping her eyes focused intently ahead.

I grinned down at the box, popping it open. Half-expecting to find a watch or maybe some concert tickets, I was surprised to find a key with a white tag tied to it. Picking it up, I looked at the word written on the tag: “Tonight.” My heart skipped a beat, and I looked over at her. “What…I mean, is this?… I mean, wait, is this your…?”

She was smiling, almost with a smirk, out the windshield. “Yes, it’s the key to my place. Kara said it was cool. I know you have to spend time with your family, but…”

“I’ll be over later,” I interrupted anxiously. Clearing my throat, trying not to sound so desperate, I added, “I mean, if you want me to?”

“Sure,” she said, but her tone was surprisingly distant.

I was kind of taken aback. She sounded suddenly unenthusiastic for someone who was apparently giving me sex for my birthday. Since we started dated, we had done everything but. Ali claimed that she had been hurt before by her high school boyfriend, pregnancy scare and everything, and didn’t want to rush into anything. I respected that, satisfied by her mind-blowing blow jobs. She also taught me a thing or two along the way. I’m not ashamed to admit that she’d taught me to become one expert cunt licker.

We drove the rest of the way to my home in awkward silence. The car turned into the gated community of mansions where I lived and winded up the long hill to the edge of my driveway. She sighed as she put the car into park and looked over at me. “Drew, you know I do love you?”

Again, I was startled at the statement that seemed mixed with uncertainty. “Yeah…I love you too.” I responded flatly. We exchanged a quick kiss. “See you later.”

“Later,” she agreed. I closed the door and she sped off. I wanted to say I thought her voice might have cracked, but I might’ve been hearing things.

I turned to the driveway, looking ahead at the prominent brick mansion owned by Mr. Grey. I had known Mr. Grey and his son, Ryan, since the day I was born and they were like family to me and my parents…only my parents happened to work for the Greys. As I understand the story, Mr. Grey and my father were best friends in college, the same local university where Ryan and I now attend. Only my father wasn’t a townie, like me. After graduation, my father moved back north where he met my mother. They married and began a business venture that failed miserably and left them in financial ruin right around the time that I was born. When he turned to Mr. Grey for help, not only did Mr. Grey use his family’s considerable wealth to alleviate the debts, but he invited my parents to move into the guest house on his estate and work for him. His wife had passed the year after Ryan was born, and he needed all of the help he could get.

Now, my father is something of a personal manager for Mr. Grey, his right hand. My mother manages the household and all of the hired help to keep up the grounds. To me, Mr. Grey has never been anything but a kind uncle of sorts. He has always treated me as well, if not sometimes better, than his own son. Growing up on Mr. Grey’s property had its ups and downs over the years, but it wasn’t bad, and it was all I knew.

Ryan and I, only a year apart, grew up like brothers. We played, fought, competed. Growing up, it was games of chance and sports. In high school, girls. We were both total jocks and it was just in our nature. There was a rocky period during junior high and freshman year of high school when he made sure that everyone in town knew that my family was “the help,” but I quickly earned my place and respect of my peers when I came into puberty. My looks developed, along with my body, and I rose ranks to captain of both of my high school teams. At home was a different story. Although, we were best friends and brothers at the end of the day, I couldn’t help but feel the barrier between us every night as I slept in his family’s guest house. Oh well. Only a few more years to go until graduation, and I would finally be free to do whatever I wanted, as far away from here as I could get.

I suddenly felt a little cold. It had been an unusually warm few weeks, but the temperature was finally starting to catch up with the calendar. Typically, I was stubborn and neglected a jacket in favor of my trusty university hooded sweatshirt and t-shirt underneath. I shivered a little as I made my way down the long driveway, past the main house and down the narrow path to the courtyard where the front door to our guest house was. Pulling my keys from my jeans, I fumbled with the lock…only it wouldn’t work.

Calmly, I double-checked my key ring and tried again to no luck. Strange. I rang the doorbell and a few times, and pounded my fist on the door hoping my parents were nearby. After a few minutes of pounding and ringing, I gave up and turned to make my way across the back courtyard to a back entrance of the main house. Using another of my keys, I was relieved to gain entry and made my way inside through the laundry room, pushing through another door into the large kitchen.

“Hello? Anyone home?” I called out, my voice echoing through the tall ceilings. As I had practically grown up in that house, I was more than comfortable making myself at home. Hearing no response, I swung by the fridge to grab a bottle of water. Twisting the cap, I continued to wander out of the kitchen towards the casual sitting room where everyone tended to hang out. “Mom? Dad? Mr. Grey?”

“In here,” Mr. Grey called from the room, his voice echoing down the hall.

I took a swig of water from the bottle as I walked down the hallway and turned into the room, prepared to launch into my problem with the door. Instead, my eyes went wide, my heart skipped a beat and I nearly choked on the gulp of water. The open bottle of water dropped from my hand, spilling onto the plush shag carpeting forming a puddle. I coughed and sputtered, as I forced the water down the correct pipe.

“It’s alright, Drew,” Mr. Grey continued calmly. “Just take a breath.” Mr. Grey was seated comfortably on his favorite chair, dressed as usual in sharp black slacks and a black polo shirt tucked neatly into his pants. He had just turned 40 that year, but looked 35. He was always well-groomed, average height, with a slim, athletic build, dark hair and light eyes.

Alright?! I couldn’t believe the sight before me. “What…what the hell…” I stammered, looking around the room, having composed myself slightly, though I felt weak in the knees.

My parents were just to the left of Mr. Grey, or at least I thought they were my parents. I didn’t know what to think. They were kneeling side by side, facing me, both of them completely naked. I instantly diverted my eyes, and then couldn’t help but turn back to finish assessing the situation.

One thing I had never been too ashamed to admit is that my parents were both remarkably attractive people. They had me young at 20, the same age that Mr. Grey had Ryan. At 38, they could probably both pass for early 30s. I had always been impressed that my father had managed to remain so chiseled and muscular throughout the years, dedicating at least an hour everyday in Mr. Grey’s fitness room. We often worked out together. My mother was just as dedicated to her fitness, often known as a total “MILF” amongst my circle of high school jocks.

Now, both of those physiques, not to mention everything I’d never wanted to see, were displayed before me. They knelt perfectly still with their knees spread somewhat wide, their hands behind their backs and elbows squared. And, as if it could get any weirder, they were both gagged with some sort of leather contraption that strapped around their heads. Their eyes were blindfolded with a strip of dark fabric also tied behind their heads, and they both had thick metal collars locked around their necks.

I stumbled, catching myself on the door frame. “Seriously, dude, what the fuck is this?” I asked, an ultra serious tone to my voice. “I..I’m going to call the cops.”

“Andrew,” Mr. Grey continued in an even tone. “Have a seat and I’ll explain everything. If you still want to call the cops when I’m finished, be my guest.” He nodded to the open arm chair across from him.

I didn’t want to sit down. I wanted to run for help. Taking a few nervous steps backwards, my knees still wobbling a little, I nearly backed into Ryan who had come up behind me, now blocking the doorway. I turned to look over my shoulder at him. He stood tall with his muscular arms crossed over his chest, dressed somewhat out of character in a fitted black t-shirt tucked into dark jeans and a leather belt.

“It’s okay, man. Just have a seat,” Ryan reiterated, giving me a firm pat on the back, and taking my arm to help guide me to the chair. I couldn’t help but notice a slight shove as I fell seated into the arm chair, glancing again to my parents and then turning away to look at Mr. Grey, my eyes demanding an explanation.

“There, now stay with me and try not to interrupt,” Mr. Grey continued, the request sounding more like a command. “I obviously have a lot to explain and you will just make things difficult if you don’t listen. Understood?”

I glanced up to Ryan. He crossed his arms again, taking a post between me and the door, watching his father. I still felt sick to my stomach, but needed to know what was going on. I nodded meekly.

“Good. Let me begin by assuring you that your parents are okay. They are safe, they are comfortable, and they are happy,” he began as I raised my eyebrows in alarm at the last statement. “Yes, they are quite happy. In fact, I’d wager that they haven’t felt this happy in 18 years.”

He looked to me, emphasising the time frame. I had almost forgotten it was my birthday in all of the commotion.

“You see, the male and female to my left that you’ve know as your parents for the past 18 years have, in fact, known me longer, not as their friend, but as their Master. Well, we were friends at one time, at the start of college. But, it wasn’t long before fate would change that. I met your father when he was a fraternity pledge. I was assigned as his big brother, but it became increasingly evident to me during hazing that he not only enjoyed his various trials and humiliations, but he got off on them as much as I did orchestrating them. We took our sessions private long after pledging had ended and discovered our true natures. I was a Master by nature, and he was destined to be a slave.”

“Slave?!” I exclaimed at the word, nearly leaping out of the chair. Ryan caught me, a firm hand on my shoulder.

“Yes, slave.” Mr. Grey repeated matter of factly. “Now, shall we continue?” His tone was sharper, and I sat back down. “Good. Now, our relationship was strictly playful throughout college. We’d get together weekly, sometimes more, for a session or two, but we maintained our vanilla lives. Mind you, none of our relationship was sexual at the time. We simply thrived on the power exchange. In fact, it wasn’t long after meeting your father that I met your mother. We dated for less than a year before she began to hint at her interest in bringing kink into the bedroom. Soon enough, she was devoted to me in every sense of the word. I took the skills I developed through working with your father into the bedroom, and it wasn’t long before I had two submissive toys to play with.” He smirked slightly, as if recalling a fond memory as he glanced at them kneeling beside him.

I followed his eyes, grateful at this point that they were blindfolded and gagged. I didn’t want them to see my face and I certainly didn’t want to see theirs at the moment, nor did I want to hear their explanations.

“Now, this is where the story really gets interesting. There is the version of history that you know, and then there is the truth. In your version, your parents married shortly after college, started a failed business, gave birth to you and moved in with me when I offered to help. The truth, however, is that there was no failed business, and no bail-out. In fact, there was never even a marriage,” he stated, looking into my eyes at the last statement.

I shook my head in disbelief, feeling dizzy all over again as each detail unraveled, “What?! What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain,” he continued. “After graduation, I met Ryan’s mother at a discreet bar for people like us in the lifestyle. She was a beautiful young woman who I originally believed was a submissive like your mother. However, she was strong willed and stubborn. We began to date, instead, as equals and fell in love or what we thought was love. I started to work at my family’s business, built this house with the help of my father, and then we married at 19 and had Ryan a year later. Sadly, after Ryan’s birth, she suffered badly from post-partem depression. Six months later, she left us to pursue a career as a professional dominatrix, which is not something I could support. Fortunately, she gave me full custody of Ryan and we haven’t seen her since.”

I glanced again to Ryan, who nodded solemnly, but I could detect a bit of sadness is his eyes at the story. Though, clearly, it was not the first time he’d heard it.

“Back to your parents, I hadn’t seen them much their senior year of college, and even less after they graduated, as I was so involved in starting a family. They had gotten to know each other quite well after all of our sessions together, and began their own vanilla relationship of sorts, going so far as to sharing an apartment together after college. From what I understand, they agreed to put their submissive natures behind them and try a normal life. Little did they know, but the sneaky little sluts were each sneaking out behind each other’s backs to see me and other Dominants in the area for continued slave training.”

I swallowed as I listened intently to each word. My throat felt dry. It was painful to digest, but I was riveted.

“After a year of the ruse, just before Ryan was born, I was forced to come clean with Ryan’s mother that my own desire to train and own slaves had not gone away, in fact, it had gotten stronger. We spent many long nights discussing the possibility of bringing slaves into our lives and how much pleasure it would bring both of us, not to mention how much help we would have when the baby arrived. It wasn’t long before she agreed, and we invited your parents out to the house. What began as a social visit in this very room, ended with your parents gratefully accepting collars much like those. We presented the idea of trial, voluntary slavery for a year. I would take over the rent of their apartment, they would quit their low-income jobs and dedicate themselves fully to their slavery. We even drafted a contract, which they willingly signed. They would spend the first month sequestered here in intensive training, and then slowly reintegrate into society with their new identities. Our goal was to have them fully trained before the baby arrived, and it worked,” Mr. Grey paused to smile reassuringly at Ryan.

It was still so difficult for me to conceive. How could they want that? This? Him? Any of it?

“However, in the turmoil following Ryan’s birth and my wife’s post-partem, I had no choice but to send the slaves away for a while so I could deal in peace. When my wife left us, and things were settled, I brought the slaves back to let them know I still wanted them if they still wanted to be here. Only, the slaves had a big surprise with them…they were expecting you. They were nervous and scared and confused, not wanting to give up what they had worked so hard for. They professed their greatest fear of living a boring vanilla life unfulfilled. At first, I sent them away in disgust, believing they had made their choice, willingly or not. A few days later, I reconsidered, thinking more rationally, and I brought them back to talk,” he paused to take a sip of water.

“This is just…nuts,” I nearly whispered.

“It may sound nuts to you,” he explained, “but I assure you to a very sane and rational portion of the population out there, it’s all very understandable. Now, when your parents returned, I presented them with a take it or leave it offer. They could commit then and there to a lifetime contract of voluntary slavery, and we would make it work, or they could walk out the door and never come back. Obviously, here we are,” he smiled down at his slaves. “The provision I allowed, is that the three of us would agree on how to handle the children. While both you and Ryan were infants and toddlers, your parents had free reign to assist in your upbringing. All slave training, equipment and protocol was to remain safely locked behind closed doors. The backroom in my basement is not a wine cellar, but in fact, an elaborate dungeon.”

I shook my head in mild disbelief, thinking back to all of the times as little kids Ryan and I had plotted and tried to break into the solid metal door, with no success. I glanced over at my father who was shifting his weight on his knees. I realized suddenly that they had been kneeling still for quite a while and that it couldn’t be comfortable.

“When you were two, it was clear that we needed to establish a more stable family situation for you to grow up as normally as possible. We concocted our story, and your parents moved into the guest house with you. They were to present themselves as a stable married couple raising the bright young boy that you are, and they did so quite well. However, whenever you boys were at school or sports practice, the slaves were in strict service to me. There were, of course, other rules behind the scenes governing your upbringing, as well as my slaves’ behavior. As you well know, you were raised with impeccable manners. Your chore list was extensive and checked rigidly and you didn’t earn money, you earned TV time. Snacks and meals were always healthy. Daily exercise was a requirement. The only times you vacationed were with my family. You were forbidden to bring dates to the house. And, the list goes on…”

I nodded vaguely as my mind wandered over memories of my relatively strict upbringing.

“Most importantly, I required that you were taught respect. Your parents had free reign to punish you at will at any signs of mouthing off, neglecting a chore, breaking a curfew. I’m sure you remember those punishments quite well,” he chuckled. “It’s amusing really. You grew up in one of the most nontraditional of families and never even had an inkling. And, you’re all the better for it. Really, Drew, you’re quite lucky. Here you are at the age of 18, and you’re twice the man that some men twice your age are. Strong, handsome, smart, well-rounded, disciplined. Quite the catch,” he paused, lingering on the word as he looked me up and down.

I shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Suddenly, I felt hot, almost claustrophobic like the walls and tall ceilings were caving in on me. I could feel small beads of sweat forming at my temples.

Mr. Grey shook his head almost in mild amusement, “18 years later, wow. I never thought we’d see the day, yet here we are,” he sighed almost in relief. “And, this I’m sorry to say, is where the story ends and all of our new lives begin. Back to that contract I mentioned, and the clause concerning you. It was agreed that you would be sheltered completely from the truth until the day you turned 18. Your parents had permission to lie, should any slip-ups occur, but we were careful to work around your schedule. But now, the truth is out, and it’s time for all of us to move forward.”

A stifled snicker escaped Ryan’s lips, and his father shot him a look.

“Enough, son,” Mr. Grey snapped suddenly. Ryan looked like he had been slapped. “Take the slaves to their new home, or really their old home, in the dungeon. I’ll see to them later. I’d like to chat privately with Andrew for a few.”

“Yes, father,” Ryan grumbled. I watched numbly in shock as Ryan plodded over to my parents. He bent over and took hold of two long black leashes that had apparently been clipped to the back of their collars. “Up, slaves,” he commanded firmly.

My mouth was agape as they both pushed up from their knees to a standing position, struggling a bit as they were off balance after kneeling for so long, and their hands apparently cuffed behind them. They remained standing, as proudly as they had knelt, while Ryan passed their leashes over their heads and took them in front.

“Walk,” he commanded with a slight tug on the leashes. There was the slight rattling of chains and hard breathing as the slaves shuffled slowly forward on the floor, blindfolded as they were, they could only trust that their leashes were pulling them forward in a safe direction. I watched them go in utter amazement.

“Watch them go,” Mr. Grey suddenly interrupted as the 3 of them left the room and disappeared down the long hallway. “You may not see them for a while. You see, we agreed that when you came of age, you would be in college, educated, socially-adjusted, perfectly capable of caring for yourself. They would be free to return to their lives as full time slaves,” he chuckled at the irony in the statement, “And you would be given a choice, the most important choice you will ever make.”

I swallowed, my mouth and throat suddenly feeling dry. I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, not sure what to expect next. “What?” I croaked nearly hoarsely.

Mr. Grey smiled, nearly smirking, “Well, my boy, things have changed, or really, they’ve changed back. Your parents are no longer my house guests, and I’m sorry to say that your free ride is also over. Now, everything that your parents have earned and owned the past 18 years belongs to me. If I recall correctly, you have a few hundred bucks in your bank account from your campus job, maybe that’s enough to get you started? Of course, you’ll need to establish residency somewhere, apply for financial aid, figure out how you’re going to cover your tuition, books, room and board. Or, maybe you’ll just decide to drop out, take some low paying job till you get on your feet. I’m sure you’ll survive…”

My head was spinning as he spoke. He couldn’t be serious. Not only did I have to process this fucked up situation with my parents, but now I was being completely cut off. “But,” I stammered, feeling more nervous sweat on my lower back, “I mean, you can’t…How? Why?!” I exclaimed.

“Of course, there is one other option,” he paused for effect. “Listen carefully as I don’t want to be interrupted. You are the product of two slaves. If this was another time and place, you would already be enslaved by virtue of your birth. Obviously, your parents’ enslavement was voluntary, and you too must be given the choice whether or not to fulfill your birthright.”

“What?” I exclaimed, nearly leaping out of the chair.

His eyes flashed angrily, and he stood in preparation to meet me. He pointed at the seat, “Sit. Down.” he commanded firmly. “You will hear me out, or you will be thrown out on your ungrateful ass and never set foot back on this property again, do you understand?”

Taking several short breaths, feeling very dizzy again, I nodded and sat back down. His burst of anger took me by surprise.

“Enough with the sugar-coating. Like it or not, you are a bred slave. Legally, you are free to go, but I suspect that if you search deep inside, you will find that you too have the heart of a slave. You may not understand how or why, but it is strong in your parents, and therefore, it is likely equally strong, if not stronger, in you. I have watched you grow up, and I have seen it. The way you conduct yourself, the way you bow to peer pressure, the way you are chivalrous to a fault with your girlfriend, the way you always step aside to let others enter a door before you. Little things that say a lot. And, these are not signs of weakness, but signs of strength. It takes strength to be a slave, pride in yourself and pride in your work,” he paused to take a breath, sitting back down himself.

I swallowed hard again in disbelief. He couldn’t honestly be suggesting what I think he was suggesting.

“Your choice is this. Walk out on this life, and never look back. You will not see your parents again as long as they remain in my service. Or stay. Sign this,” he reached behind him and tossed a thick packet of paper at my feet which hit the ground with a light thud. “It is a nearly identical contract to which both of your parents signed over 18 years ago with a few amendments. Take it. Read it. Understand it. But, make no mistake. Should you sign, you will be committing yourself to immediate enslavement. You will spend the remainder of your winter break in intensive training, but you will then be reintegrated into society. Finish your schooling, fully paid, as I want my slaves to be fully educated. And, you will never have to worry about a thing again. Making a decision, caring for yourself, working, paying bills. None of it.”

I looked down at the contract, wanting to kick it back at him. I’m not sure why, but instead, I bent down and picked it up. I rolled it up and stuffed it in the pocked of my sweatshirt.

Mr. Grey smiled, “Smart boy. I’m not naive, Andrew. You have a lot to think about, and no doubt, you will be making many huge sacrifices to pursue this avenue, but I have a feeling that you will come to have no regrets. I am giving you 24 hours,” he glanced at the clock. “If you’re not here with a signed contract when the clock strikes 4:00pm tomorrow, do not ever come back.”

He stood and motioned for me to do the same. Shakily I pushed myself up to my feet. I was too overwhelmed and numb to respond.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a set of keys and tossed them to me, which I somehow caught, my reflexes in check. “Now, I’m sure your first instinct will be to tell me to fuck off. You’re going to run right to that little slut of a girlfriend and cry with some made-up story about your parents cutting you off. Go right ahead. Maybe she will take you in and you can move on, easy as that,” he smirked, nodding to the keys. “Take Ryan’s jeep. Consider it a parting gift if you don’t come back. I’ll just buy him another and have my slaves work off your debt. Now scram.” He ordered coldly.

I stumbled as I was backing away, nearly tripping over the chair. And then I turned, and I ran as fast as I could out the back door and to the driveway where Ryan’s jeep was parked. I jumped in the driver’s seat, started the ignition, and floored the gas pedal peeling out of the driveway. I was in full panic mode.

It wasn’t until I was halfway to Ali’s place that I could even really see straight. The entire thing was so unbelievable, I couldn’t even make it up if I tried. Mr. Grey was dead serious about cutting me off. I could sense it in his voice. And, worse yet, the idea of me throwing my life away to become his slave was the most ludicrous thing I had ever heard.

Squealing wheels into Ali’s apartment parking lot, I barely had the car in park before I was jogging up the steps to her apartment door. I fumbled in my pocket for the key that Ali had given me, and couldn’t get it in the lock my hands were shaking so much. I started to bang on the door.

Within moments, the door swung open and Ali’s roommate Kara was there smirking at me, almost knowingly. “Drew. We’ve been expecting you,” she said flatly.

***

CHAPTER 2 – REVELATION

Expecting me? She stepped aside and I pushed past her. “Where’s Ali?” I demanded, not being in the mood for Kara’s bitchy attitude.

I heard the door slam behind me. “She’s a little tied up at the moment,” Kara responded. What happened next surprised me, as she took hold of my arm, quite firmly, and began to walk me briskly into the living room. “Have a seat, birthday boy.”

I nearly fell into the chair as she shoved me down. “What the fuck?” I demanded.

She stood over me, glowering down at me. “Thank God this charade is finally over,” she began shaking her head slightly. “Keep your whiny pie hole shut so I can make this quick. Ali isn’t your girlfriend, at least not anymore. She’s my slave.”

My heart skipped a beat for the second time that day, or maybe the third, I’d lost count. I’m sure the look on my face said it all.

“Yes, slave. She has been my slave for well over a year. Ryan and I actually found her online. She has served us both, but found she prefers a Mistress over a Master. Before summer started, Ryan brought me out to his house to meet with his dad. They asked if I would lend Ali to a pet project of theirs. I agreed as a favor to Ryan to let Ali seduce you into thinking you were her boyfriend. Something about helping to get you ready. I didn’t understand at first, but they explained everything to me, all the sordid little details, and the arrangement was just too delicious to ignore,” she paused to take a breath, obviously enjoying the look on my face.

I shook my head, telling myself that it was all impossible. “But…”

“But, what? It’s the truth. Deal with it. I know all about you. Why you’re here, what choice you have to make, your parents. Really, you’re something of a legend,” she shook her head in mild amazement. “A real live bred slave… that is of course if you man up and sign the contract. Yeah, I know about that too.” Suddenly, she leaned forward and clawed her fingers around the neck of my sweatshirt, pulling me up to my feet with surprising force. “Come with me,” she commanded.

“What the…” I scrambled to my feet and followed her down the hallway towards Ali’s bedroom.

“I figured you might have a little difficulty believing me, so here,” she took hold of the door handle and flung open the door. I blinked in the dim light, barely recognizing Ali’s bedroom. It was nearly bare.

The posters on the walls were gone. The carpet was gone. The dresser gone. The bed had been nearly stripped bare. A single pillow and a sheet remained. There was a large padlock on the closet door, locking the contents inside. The window had been blacked out. A bare bulb was in a single floor lamp, and there was a bare desk with an open laptop tethered to it with a cable lock, a hard metal stool pushed underneath. Then, there was Ali herself. She was kneeling in the center of the room, much like my parents had been. Other than a thick leather collar around her neck, she was completely naked and displayed. Only her hands were resting on her thighs, instead of behind her back. She was completely free of shackles. Her eyes were downcast, but I could sense she was emotional. I rushed towards her, but with lighting fast reaction time, Kara grabbed the hood of my sweatshirt and pulled me back.

“Don’t even think about it,” she barked. “No one touches my property without permission. Up, slave,” she snapped at Ali. “Go to my room and wait for me. Ignore the boy.”

“Yes Mistress,” Ali responded quietly, choking back what sounded like a few tears.

I watched in muted horror as she rose to her feet, keeping her eyes on the ground, and backed out of the room. She was obviously conflicted about what was going on. I took that to mean on some levels she may have actually cared about me, even if it was all a sham.

“Now you,” Kara turned back to me. “I’m doing one last favor for Ryan and his dad, as I know you have no where else to turn. You have a lot to think about and not a lot of time to do it. I’ve loaded that laptop there with about a hundred bookmarked pages of material. Articles, stories, free porn. Read it, learn it, explore. Have fun. Jerk off, whatever you need to do,” she continued very matter of factly. She tossed a travel size packet of tissues at me which I caught, my cheeks flushing. “And then read every word of that contract, twice. You have that key Ali gave you?”

I nodded, reaching into my pocket, still kind of in a fog.

“Good, because you’ll need it to get out. The door locks from the outside,” she nodded to the bedroom door. “Take as long as you like, but you’re out by 4pm tomorrow.” She said coldly, turning to leave. She paused and looked back at me, her eyes trailing me up and down. “And if you want my advice, you’ll sign the contract. Let’s face it; you’re born to be a slave. I can sense it in you, just like in Ali,” she continued, her voice softening a bit. “It won’t be easy at first, but you will adjust. In fact, I think you will make quite the prized slave.” She sighed. “Let yourself out, and if I don’t see you again, have a nice life.”

With that, she left the room slamming the door behind her. I looked around, in a complete fog, unsure of where to turn, what to do. My head was spinning and throbbing. I felt weak all over. Glancing at the bed, I collapsed on top of it, burying my face in the pillow. Unabashedly, I began to sob for several long minutes until I must have passed out from exhaustion.

I awoke with a start, my cell phone vibrating against my leg tucked in the pocket of my jeans. I gasped as I jumped up. I was drenched in a cold sweat. Looking around I knew that it wasn’t a dream. I fished in my pocket for my cell, part of me hoping it was someone telling me the joke was up. It was a text message from Ryan. My adrenaline surged as I flipped the phone open to read it. My heart sank at the text, “CLOCK IS TICKING.”

I looked at the time display on my phone. It was almost 8:00pm. I’d really crashed. Then I nearly dropped the phone as it vibrated with another text from Ryan.

“HOPE U LIKE WHAT U R SEEING. CAN’T WAIT 2 C U ON UR KNEES, BITCH.”

Angrily, I snapped the phone shut about to chuck it at the wall. Fuck him. But, something stopped me…something a little disturbing. I felt my dick twitching in the confines of my jeans. Actually, I had a full hard-on.

I glanced to the computer screen glowing in the dimly lit room, almost taunting me. In a huff, I stormed over to the desk, pulled the stool out and slammed it down. I sat down, and jostled the mouse to remove the screen saver. I narrowed my eyes angrily at the first thing I saw: an open image gallery of a male slave. The slave was a young man that kind of resembled me in some ways, no surprise why they picked it. The photos showed him in all manners of slavery, kneeling, chained, caged, hanging from his wrists, being flogged, kissing a foot, and the list goes on.

Angrily, I clicked another of the open windows. There was an archive of stories. Another contained a database of documents with file names like “slave contracts”, “rules for slaves”, “a slave’s story”, “what makes a slave?” Another page was full of wannabe slave profiles. I couldn’t believe how many people out there, all ages and makeups, actually wanted to become slaves. Then, more pictures, photo galleries of slaves in service, men and women to men and women.

Another page had short videos of slaves in service, being beaten and berated. I clicked on one out of fascination. It was set in a fake dungeon, and a young male slave was writhing under the lash of his Master. The slave was chained hand and foot and doing his best to obey the Master’s commands, but he wasn’t doing them fast enough. He was flogged for each infraction until he was whimpering and begging for mercy, yet still thanking his Master for each lash. It was some crazy shit, but I couldn’t take my eyes away.

When the video ended, I lurched with a start. I hadn’t even realized it, but I was rubbing my junk through my jeans. My cock was rock hard. I was totally turned on! I clicked another, and another, until I ran out of videos on the page. I was getting hot, so I peeled my sweatshirt off and tossed it on the floor. My jeans and boxers were irritating my dick, so I pulled my pants down to my knees and sat there jerking off like some 14 year old that uncovered his dad’s porn stash.

I fumbled for the pack of tissues, blowing my first load halfway through a fictional story about a frat guy that turned his nerdy college roommate into his bitch. That didn’t stop me though, barely slowed me down. I clicked from stories, to articles to photos and back blowing a few more loads like I hadn’t cum in weeks.

My eyes were blurry from staring at the screen. I glanced at the clock in the corner. It was after 4:00am. Less than 12 hours to go. I had long since kicked off my shoes and stripped my pants totally off. Kicking back from the desk, I bent over to fish the contract from my sweatshirt pocket. Jumping onto the bed near the light, I began to read.

At first it read like some sort of real legal document, very official sounding. I took note of words and phrases like “voluntary”, “sound mind”, “understand the permanence of my decision”, “hereby surrender all rights, privileges and freedoms”, “standard limitations of legality”, “owner reserves the right to dismiss slave, cancel or amend contract at any time, or transfer ownership of slave at any time for any reason with or without the slave’s consent”.

The last bit made me nervous, but I also felt a surge of that increasingly familiar sense of excitement at the prospect. I shook my head. Maybe I was delirious. I didn’t know what was going on. How could I seriously be considering this? Yet, somehow I was. Of course, I couldn’t actually picture it happening. I had no idea what it would really feel like or what would happen to me. But, given my choices. Going it alone with 400 bucks to my name, no apartment, no tuition money, no girlfriend, no family, no where to live wasn’t an attractive option.

On the other hand, I could give into the nervous excitement I was practically getting high on at the moment as I lay on the bed rigorously jerking my throbbing cock while reading the contract. My mind filled with questions as I tossed the contract aside, having read it once. There were pages of legalise, things about health, safety bank accounts, things that didn’t hold a whole lot of interest. I was somewhat disappointed that the contract stopped short of spelling out any of the so-called protocols I had read about on one of the websites. It would have been helpful to know something, anything, about what kind of master Mr. Grey was and what he expected of his slaves. But it hit me then that it didn’t really matter, because all of it would be subject to change at the whim of the master anyway. I guess that’s what being a slave is all about.

A groan escaped my lips as my 4th load of cum exploded from my cock. I did my best to catch it in my hand, some of it splattering onto my bare thighs and stringing in my pubic hair. I wiped myself clean with the package of tissues, now nearly empty, and lay back on the pillow, catching my breath.

Who was I? I didn’t know anymore. I woke up that morning on the cusp of manhood, the whole world was practically at my feet, and now I had nothing, nothing but this option. Maybe I really was a born slave. Maybe this was my destiny? My parents certainly believed so, or they never would have agreed to this arrangement, that much I was sure of. They had to have enough fulfillment out of their chosen lifestyle to ever want it for their son. Somewhere in my contemplations, I drifted back to sleep.

Again, I woke with a start, my phone buzzing near my head where it lay on the mattress. Blinking my eyes awake in the dim light, I yawned opening the cell. Another message from Ryan, “IT’S ALMOST NOON. A GOOD SLAVE IS ALWAYS EARLY.” For a moment I frowned, his taunting texts annoying me, but at the same time, my cock sprung to a near full erection almost on cue.

I had made my choice, or at least I thought I had. Slowly, I got redressed, pulling on my jeans and slipping into my college hoody. I’m sure I stank of sweat and cum, but I didn’t care. Nervous adrenaline was pumping through me. I grabbed the crumpled contract off of the bed and slipped it back into my front pocket. Grabbing the door handle, I stopped short, remembering the door locked from the outside. I fumbled in my pocket for the key Ali had given me and looked down at it sadly. It now signified so much that it hadn’t before. Inserting it in the lock, I exited into the hallway, leaving the door open.

Kara’s apartment seemed empty, which was for the better. The last thing I wanted to do was look her in the eye after last night. I left the key on the kitchen counter on my way out, and locked Kara’s front door behind me, jogging down the flight of stairs to the parking lot.

Before I knew it, I was in a near fog, speeding in Ryan’s jeep back toward the Grey’s mansion. My stomach was in knots. I hadn’t eaten a thing since lunch yesterday, and I wasn’t remotely hungry. On the other hand, my cock was rock hard in my jeans, regardless of the fact that I’d emptied my balls 4 times the night before.

The jeep slowed to a near stop at the end of the mansion’s long driveway. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. I was already sweating nervously as I slowly crept the vehicle up the asphalt, wondering if they were watching. They were.

I barely had the jeep in park before Ryan stepped onto the driveway to meet me. He looked more like himself today, dressed in casual jeans and a black hoody. He smiled, smirked really, “Didn’t think I’d see my jeep again. Or you.”

Swallowing, I stepped out of the jeep with a slight nod. It felt strange, as if I could feel the dynamic of our relationship changing already. I knew yesterday that no matter what I chose, it would never be the same.

“Keys,” he demanded suddenly, holding out his hand. I handed them over. “Do you have it?”

I glanced down at the pocket of my sweatshirt, the pages of the contract sticking out one side. “Yes.”

“Signed?”

I shook my head, “Not yet. I…I have some questions.”

“No questions,” he stated coldly. “Your job last night was to answer your own questions. Obviously, you did, because you’re here. Let’s go.”

He took hold of my arm, in much the same way Kara had done yesterday, and escorted me into the house. We walked briskly towards the sitting room where my life had changed forever the day before. I didn’t think it was necessary to be walked as I was, but I didn’t do much to challenge his grasp. When we reached the room, Mr. Grey was waiting for us, seated in the same position as yesterday. Ryan released his grip on my arm, and pushed me forward with a slight shove.

Mr. Grey smiled darkly, “Andrew, I admit I am a bit surprised to see you,” he glanced at the clock that read 1:05pm, “and early at that. Do you have the contract?”

I nodded, pulling it out of my pocket. “I haven’t signed…” I started.

“Why not?” he asked, calmly. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t going to sign it. So, what are you waiting for?” he asked, pulling an expensive pen from his breast pocket and tossing it on the coffee table.

My heart was racing, and I was taking several short nervous breaths as I tried to remain calm. I glanced at Ryan who was watching me in eager anticipation, and then Mr. Grey whose gaze was even and unfazed. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans as I knelt on one knee in front of the coffee table, smoothing out the contract in front of me. I took the pen, my hand quivering in nervous anticipation. With my other hand I wiped the sweat from my forehead. I closed my eyes for a long second, and then opened them. Taking one last deep breath, I inked my signature to the page, and let the pen drop from my hand, the sound almost echoing in the stillness of the room. It was done.

***

CHAPTER 3 – INDUCTION

I looked up nervously from where I remained crouched in front of the coffee table, the ink drying on the page before me, suddenly feeling the weight of my decision on my shoulders. Ryan was behind me near the doorway, and I could feel his eyes on me.

Mr. Grey smiled, but it was a look of satisfaction, not comfort. “Up,” he commanded, his tone suddenly changing, motioning sharply for me to stand. I obeyed, pushing up to my feet, glancing over my shoulder. “Empty your pockets. Cell phone, wallet, keys, everything. Let’s go,” he snapped, gesturing to the table.

Swallowing, I quickly fished in my jeans pockets for the requested items, laying them one by one on the table. It hadn’t occurred to me until then that I’d need to surrender such basic items, even if it was rather obvious as to why.

“When you are given an instruction, it is essential that you acknowledge it verbally as well as physically,” Mr. Grey continued. “Do you understand, slave?”

My mouth dropped slightly, the word “slave” ringing in my ears. I nodded, and then added quickly, “Yea..yeah. Yes.”

“It’s ‘Yes, Sir’ or ‘Yes, Master’,” he corrected. “Any free man is a Sir to you, but only Ryan and I are your true Masters. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir…” I whispered timidly.

“Let me hear you, boy,” Mr. Grey added, his voice rising a bit.

“Yes, Sir,” I repeated more audibly.

“Louder, bitch,” Ryan interrupted from behind, a slight shove to my shoulder blade. “Show some respect.”

“Yes, SIR!” I repeated once more, feeling my cheeks flush as my voice echoed in the tall ceiling.

“Good, boy,” Mr. Grey acknowledged. “Going forward, you are entitled to nothing in the way of explanations, however, I do want you to understand that although I retain ultimate ownership of you at this time, Ryan will be conducting the majority of your training, beginning with your induction. Unlike you, my son has been clued in to the truth since he turned 17. Of course, he found it shocking at first, but quickly adjusted to the idea and grew eager to learn more. He spent the next year or so observing and studying the lifestyle. When he turned 18, he became active in private sessions, working closely with that young Domme Kara, and has spent the last year anxiously awaiting his chance to train his first real slave.”

I looked over my shoulder at Ryan, who was smirking at me with a nod. Suddenly, I felt a cold grasp on my jaw, a thumb pressing into my chin. Mr. Grey turned my head sharply back toward him.

“A slave never turns his attention away from a man who is speaking to him,” he barked sharply. “It is a privilege and an honor that a real man would even look at you, let alone speak to you. The least you can do is show some respect by paying attention.”

My eyes were wide, holding a stunned expression. He released his grasp with a jerk for emphasis. “Oh..oh okay,” I stammered in mild shock. “I mean, yes Sir, sorry Sir.”

“He’ll learn,” Ryan assured his father from behind. I felt the neck of my sweatshirt tighten around my throat, as he took hold of it from behind. “Enough small talk. Let’s go,” he said, using his grip on my clothing to swing me stumbling around towards the doorway.

I quickened my steps to keep pace with him, as we walked awkwardly down the hall to the basement door, and then down the steps. He was half dragging and half pushing me beside him. On the steps, I went first, a step ahead as he retained his grasp. We made our way across the sprawling in-home fitness center that the Greys had put together, and past the rec area, towards the door which I had always believed led to a wine cellar filled with highly prized vintages. Mr. Grey followed slowly, observing from a distance.

He fumbled with a large key in the lock, and we pushed through the heavy metal door. My eyes widened as I looked around quickly. There was almost too much to take in at once. The main room of the dungeon was expansive. The floor was bare cement, the ceiling beams exposed. It was lit by several bare bulbs strung throughout. Chains, hooks, and pulleys hung at random intervals from the beams above. There were various contraptions scattered about the room: wooden tables, x-beams, stocks, cages, a set of bookshelves lined with what seemed like hundreds of bizarre items. A series of hooks along the wall held various lengths of chain, shackles, collars, whips, paddles, almost anything you could imagine.

Along the right wall were four identical steel doors embedded in the cinder blocks. Each contained a small barred window with a panel that could be slid open or closed from the outside. Presumably, they were cells. I couldn’t help but wonder if my parents were locked inside any of them. Ryan pulled me forward to the bare center of the main room while Mr. Grey closed the door behind us. He fiddled with a panel of switches near the door, adjusting the dangling lights so that only a few bulbs remained lit above my head. I stumbled forward a few paces as Ryan finally released his grasp on my sweatshirt. Looking down, I noticed a drain grate near my feet toward which I noticed the floor sloped.

“Turn around, face me,” Ryan ordered, taking a small step backward.

I swallowed, obeying, feeling suddenly very nervous. Mr. Grey had taken a few steps forward, but kept a noticeable distance away, crossing his arms as he observed from the shadows. Without warning, Ryan slapped his open palm across my left cheek, with enough force to sting. My eyes winced and then widened in surprise. I rubbed my cheek on instinct.

“Did you forget your first lesson already, dumb ass?” he barked.

“Uhh…yes, Sir. I mean…no Sir, yes Sir!” I stammered nervously.

“Get your hands down, you fucking pussy,” he sneered, grabbing my wrist and pulling my hand away from my cheek.

“Yes, Sir,” I responded, my voice shaking a bit from nerves as I dropped my hands to my sides, standing awkwardly before him.

He stepped back again, appearing satisfied for the moment, looking me up and down. “Take off your sweatshirt. Throw it over there,” he pointed to a few paces to my right.

“Yes, Sir,” I slipped the hoody over my head and tossed it to the side. I nervously lowered my arms back down, adjusting my blue t-shirt quickly as it had ridden up past my navel. I could feel that the neckline and pits of the shirt were damp with nervous sweat.

“You’re sweating, slave,” Ryan noted, almost amused. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes, Sir,” I acknowledged, nodding slightly.

“Good,” he said coldly. “Take off your shoes and socks. Toss them in the pile. Quickly.”

“Yes, Sir,” I crouched to one knee, fumbling with the laces as my fingers shook. Removing my right sneaker, I pulled off my athletic sock and stuffed it inside, and then I moved to the left. Pushing back up, I tossed both shoes towards my sweatshirt. The cement floor was cold against my bare feet.

“Now, the t-shirt. Get it off.”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, gripping the bottom and pulling it up and over my head, the cotton fabric clinging to my sweaty skin as I peeled it away. I tossed it on the pile, suddenly feeling the gravity of the situation as I stripped one article of clothing at a time. I shivered slightly, realizing suddenly that it was cool in the back part of the basement.

Ryan paced slightly in front of me, eyeing me up and nodding with approval. My arms hung awkwardly at my sides, and I could feel goosebumps rippling on my arms. My nipples hardened in the cool air. Despite the fact that Ryan and I went shirtless around the house all the time, it felt suddenly uncomfortable as he looked me over. I certainly had nothing to be ashamed of, firm pecs, pronounced biceps, ripped abs. Suddenly, I was reminded that my peak fitness was really a result of the dedication to exercise and a balanced diet enforced by my parents over the years, really another orchestration Mr. Grey.

“Yep, 100% grade-A prime jock meat,” Ryan snickered. “I like the way his torso is cut at the waist, curving into his jeans,” he mused aloud to his father, pointing at my waistline. “Only guy I’ve ever known with a better body than mine.”

“You will need to ensure he maintains it,” Mr. Grey added as a word of caution. He looked to me, “And, there is always room for improvement.”

“Right,” Ryan agreed. It felt weird to stand there as they talked about me like I couldn’t hear them. He turned his attention back to me. “Lose the jeans, and the boxers. Now.”

My face flushed, and my mouth went dry. “Yes, Sir,” I croaked. Not that I hadn’t expected this was coming, but I wasn’t sure I was prepared for it. I fiddled with my button and fly, and taking a breath, pushed my pants and boxers to my ankles, kicking them off, and tossing them in the pile. I returned upright, purposely avoiding eye contact with either of them as I nervously cupped my package. It was an instinct, as very few people had ever seen me fully naked. The doctor, some girls in high school, Ali. Even in the locker room, I’d always been careful to keep a towel around my waist.

Ryan shook his head almost in amusement, “Now, I know you’re not that stupid. You just signed over ownership of your entire body, slave boy, and modesty is not something you’re entitled to. Ever.”

I was like a deer in headlights, hunched forward a bit as I stood awkwardly naked under the lights cupping my balls. My cock was limp and my stomach was still in knots. However excited and turned on I had been about the idea going in, I couldn’t feel anything not but nerves.

For 18 years, despite our competitive natures, Ryan and I had been like brothers and best friends. Of course, I’d always felt inferior to him in many ways. He was older, a bit taller, and a better athlete than me for the most part. We’d been on the same teams in high school, and it wasn’t until he graduated that I took over as captain. Girls drooled over him as the tall dark and handsome type, not to mention he was one of the richest kids in town. He never lacked for sex, and unlike me, he had been allowed to parade girls through his bedroom door for years. I could never truly compete with Ryan’s total package no matter how many bicep curls or sit ups I did. He always seemed to get the best of me, and now he had me, literally.

“You will need to quickly get used to the idea that your body is no longer yours, and not only does it belong to your Masters, but it is your job to make sure your Masters have unrestricted access to that which belongs to them at all times, and most importantly in times of formal interaction like this,” Ryan continued, lecturing as if he’s done this for years. I could almost hear Mr. Grey speaking through him. “So, give it a try. Display yourself to me, slave.”

“Yes, Sir,” I answered in something barely above a whisper, nerves constricting my throat. He let the volume slide though as he watched me think about to best obey the command. I stood tall, almost like a soldier at attention, my shoulders still slumped slightly from shivering. Reluctantly, I uncupped my cock and balls, moving my arms to hang straight by my sides, and lifted my head to look straight ahead, feeling pretty damn exposed.

“Nice try,” he snickered, “but you don’t get to just stand there like this is some fucking sports physical. I said display, and all I can see is your front side and that pathetic cock peeking out from between your thighs where you puny little balls are hiding. Spread those legs, hands behind your head, elbows out wide. Keep your shoulders back, stomach in, chest out, head held high. You should be proud to show me what you’re made of, and if you’re not proud, then you need to work harder because your biggest concern is whether or not I’m proud of what I own. Now, DISPLAY!”

“Yes, Sir,” I jumped a little as he barked the last word mere inches from my face as he was pacing in front of me. A few droplets of spit misted my face. With little hesitation, I put my hands behind my head which forced my elbows out, exposing my pits. Shuffling my feet apart, I glanced up.”

“Wider,” Ryan commanded, flatly.

“Y..yes, Sir,” I swallowed, and moved my feet a few more inches apart, feeling my cock and balls dangling more freely between my legs. My manhood was nothing extraordinary, but nothing to be ashamed of either. I had a decent sized dick which grew to a little over 7″ hard, and a nice full pair of balls that hung just right from my dark blond mass of pubic hair. I was circumcised, but so were most guys my age. As instructed, I puffed my chest out a bit, tightened my abs, squared my shoulders, and held my head high. It also occurred to me that I was holding my breath in anticipation of being scolded again.

“Better, slave,” he said with approval. “Next time you are ordered to display, no matter where, no matter when, this is how you will present yourself. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” I answered quickly, between quick breaths.

“Don’t forget to breathe,” Ryan chuckled, noticing the way my diaphragm was responding to my inconsistent breaths. He glanced over his shoulder, hearing Mr. Grey stepping forward since the first time since we’d began.

“Let’s have a closer look at him,” Mr. Grey suggested rhetorically as he placed his left hand on my lower back, and placed two of his cold, rough fingers on my upper abdominals. He glanced up for a brief second of eye contact, “Don’t move unless you’re instructed, boy.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, my voice feeling small in the back of my throat. I could feel my body trembling in places and lurched slightly at the touch, stilling myself as best I could.

“The central abs are well-cut as you can see,” Mr. Grey noted, tracing his fingers over the ridges of my stomach, “but the upper two could use some work to help them pop. You know how to target them?”

“Yes, dad,” Ryan grumbled, almost in annoyance. He reached forward with his left hand to feel my stomach as well. He was much more rough, running his palm over my abs, and then kneading them with his fingers. “We’ll get there. I’m much more concerned about this chest…”

I winced slightly, my face reddening as he moved his hand up my body, giving each of my pecs a light slap and a few firm squeezes.

Mr. Grey followed suit, using both hands now as he kneaded my chest, “I see what you mean. Firm, but could definitely be more pronounced. But, you know, we’re quite lucky that he’s so naturally smooth. No need to worry about keeping his chest shaved.” He gave my right nipple a sudden pinch and I winced, nearly yelping. “His tits will need training.”

“Of course,” Ryan agreed twisting my left nipple more viciously between his thumb and forefinger. My face contorted in pain and he smiled wickedly, “Looks like they’re sensitive. Good sign.” Ryan’s hands never really left my body as they slid up my left side, prodding my rib cage, and then past my armpit until he was testing the size of my triceps and biceps with his fingers. “Biceps are good, delts and triceps could be bigger. Typical jock behavior. Think it’s all about the guns and the abs, everything else gets neglected.”

Mr. Grey nodded in agreement as his hands followed suit on my right side. His hands were much rougher than Ryan’s, but his touch was more methodical. He seemed to know what he was looking for as he continued to poke and prod at my muscles. Ryan, on the hand, had much smoother hands, maybe even a hint of sweat on his palms. I wondered suddenly if he might be as nervous as I was, even if he never let it show. His exploration was much more rough and random.

Keeping still proved difficult as their double-sided assault kept me swaying back and forth, but I did my best to hold the stance, the arms proving the most difficult. Never in my life had I felt more exposed, more helpless, or more insignificant. By the time they were finished assessing my back, and shoulders, which they decided could also use conditioning, they were ready to examine my lower half.

I felt Mr. Grey’s rough hand pressing against my shoulder blades, “Bend over, slave. Keep your feet wide as they are. Grab your ankles if you can.”

I felt my stomach do a flip, as I bent forward at the prodding. I’d always been fairly flexible, but couldn’t quite grasp my fingers all the way around my ankles, spread as they were. Then I yelped suddenly, feeling a hard slap across my bare ass. I wasn’t sure whose.

“Forgetting something, bitch?” It was Ryan.

“Yes, Sir! Sorry, Sir,” I acknowledged my mistake, the blood already rushing to my head.

What followed was a four handed exploration of my ass cheeks. They swatted it lightly, squeezed both cheeks, kneaded for firmness, and then pulled my cheeks so wide apart that I thought my ass might rip open.

“Ass is in great shape,” Mr. Grey commented. “You’ll need to teach him to keep his crack shaved.”

They released their grasps on my cheeks, and I waited uncertainly for a few long moments. I hadn’t been told to move, though my head was now pounding from the blood pressure. All I could see was their feet upside down as they stood behind me. I swallowed hearing what I thought sounded like latex snapping.

“You’ll need this,” Mr. Grey said to his son. “He’s not clean yet.”

“Is this necessary? Right now?” I heard Ryan mutter under his breath, almost inaudibly. I heard the twisting of a cap, my senses ultra heightened at the moment.

“Entirely necessary. A slave’s holes are its most valuable of assets, and males only have two, starting them off at a disadvantage. We’ll want to ensure that his ass is at least virgin,” Mr. Grey explained.

“Fine,” Ryan agreed. I heard the snap of latex again. “Will you hold his cheeks apart?”

“No,” Mr. Grey said. “Have the slave make himself useful. He can display his hole for you.”

There was another sharp slap on my ass, causing me to jump. “You heard your Master, bitch. Show us that hole,” Ryan barked, taking back control of the situation.

“Yes…Sir,” I agreed with a hint of reluctance in my voice. My legs were shaking, as were my hands, as I reached back behind me, taking a hold of my ass cheeks with my fingers, and pulling them apart as instructed, feeling the cool air again on my exposed hole.

“Relax,” Ryan instructed as I felt a slick, slimy latex covered finger probing at my puckering asshole. “How will I know for sure?” Ryan asked, directing the question obviously at his father.

“You’ll know,” Mr. Grey assured.

I could detect a bit of uncertainty in Ryan’s voice. He was getting more nervous. I wondered if he was afraid he would hurt me, even though inflicting pain on me seemed to be his overall goal. Wincing my eyes tightly, I gasped loudly as I felt his finger push into me, sliding past my anus and deep into my rectum.

“All the way in. That’s it…” Mr. Grey coached from the sidelines. “Feel how tight it is? The way the muscles are rejecting the finger? Now give it a good wiggle. That hole is yours now. Feel free to explore.”

I clenched my teeth, unable to contain a grunt or two as Ryan moved his finger around inside my ass. My temples were pounding, my legs shaking, my grasp on my ass cheeks weakening. I felt as if I might topple forward. As for the invasion, I had never felt so violated, so humiliated. It felt strange, like taking a shit that wouldn’t come out. I guess I should feel fortunate that he was only using one finger. The only thing that really hurt was my pride. Then, Mr. Grey whispered something I couldn’t hear, and with that, the finger slid out as quickly as it had gone in.

“Display!” Ryan barked

I hesitated for a moment, only because I was still processing the shock of having my ass probed, then remembered my lesson. “Yea, yes, Sir,” I stammered a bit as I gratefully released my ass cheeks and pulled my chest back upright, returning my hands to their place behind my head. My face was beet red as the blood began to drain back into the rest of my body. They circled back in front of me.

“As you can see,” Mr. Grey observed, suddenly taking my cock in his hand and giving it a few quick strokes, “our slave boy seemed to enjoy that.”

Ryan grinned wickedly as he pulled the latex glove from his right hand with a snap and tossed it on the floor. In horror, I couldn’t help but look down towards my crotch. It was true that my cock had betrayed me. I had felt it grow semi-hard and then nearly to a full erection while Ryan probed the sensitive nerves in my ass. My ears were now burning, matching the crimson in my cheeks. A sudden sharp slap to my left cheek brought me back to attention.

“Keep your head up, eyes forward,” Mr. Grey barked, not missing a beat.

“Yes, Sir.” I picked my chin back up to stare straight ahead while my new Masters began to examine my manhood.

Mr. Grey continued to stroke my cock, as it continued to thicken and lengthen, “I want to see him fully erect. Here,” he took my balls lightly in his hand, and bounced them as if weighing them. “Balls are nice and full, good strong sack. Not too saggy. Feel.”

“Just a sec,” Ryan mumbled as he reached down to pull his black sweatshirt over his head. “Getting warm in here.” He tossed the sweatshirt to the back of the room. He was wearing a black tank top t-shirt underneath that complimented his own impressive physique. His build was muscular and athletic, but he was taller and not as thick as me. Ryan took over for his father, first weighing my balls in his hand, and then going a step farther as he began to roll them around in his fingers, individually at first, and then together, giving them a good squeeze prompting an involuntary grunt from me. “Yeah. Gonna have some fun with these,” he mused.

“Here, take over with this. Think he’s almost there, but have a good feel,” Mr. Grey coaxed his son. “Don’t be shy about playing with it; it’s just a slave cock. You have as much jurisdiction over your slave’s cock as your slave’s ass.”

I felt my balls drop as the grasp on my now throbbing cock was transferred from Mr. Grey to Ryan. He gave it a few more strokes, and then swatted it back and forth a bit. Taking liberties, he pushed it all the way down until I could feel it crushing my ball sack up towards my ass, and then let it go, watching it spring upwards, nearly slapping me in the stomach. He chuckled, and did it a second time. I felt him take hold of the shafted again, and holding it upwards, he bent forward to take a good look as he squeezed the head of my dick, and then suddenly let it drop.

“Ha!” Ryan exclaimed, as he held up his fingers to show his father. There was clear liquid stringing between his fingers and thumb. “The bitch is leaking precum.”

“Yes,” Mr. Grey acknowledged. “He’s excited. The question is, what are you going to do with it?”

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“Anything you want,” Mr. Grey mused. “Why waste a cloth or tissue when you have an entire slave to wipe it on? Of course,” he paused, “The slave is the one leaking it. Maybe it’s best to put it back where it belong? Inside the slave?”

My eyes widened in concern as I looked at Ryan’s fingers. I could see the smile twist on his face as he nodded in agreement.

“Open your mouth, wide,” Ryan snapped. “Stick out your tongue.”

I blinked my eyes closed for a long second, “Yes, Sir,” I said with little enthusiasm. I opened my mouth timidly, just letting my tongue cross my lower lip.

“I said WIDE!” he repeated as his precum covered fingers hovered at my lips. I closed my eyes and opened wider, just sticking my tongue further out as his fingers pushed inside. He slid his fingers across my tongue, depositing the precum on my taste buds. “Keep it open,” he warned, pulling his fingers out. He went back to my cock. I could feel him squeezing another discharge of precum from the tip, and then shoveling it back into my mouth. “Okay, close and suck it off. Bite me, and I’ll pull out your teeth.”

Unable to respond verbally, I closed my lips around his fingers, again wincing my eyes shut as I swirled my tongue around them, and tasted the precum for the first time. It wasn’t as bad as I had feared, A little salty and gooey, not revolting. I opened my eyes, cheeks flushing, as he pulled his fingers out with a pop. There was a long string of saliva that came with them, and then broke off, clinging to my chin.

Without prompting, he wiped his spit-covered hand across my chest, both sides until he was satisfied that it was dry. “I think you should thank me for that, cum breath,” Ryan suggested.

A bit taken aback at the suggestion, I stumbled over my words, “Uh, yeah thanks, uh, yes, thank you, Sir.”

He gave me a patronizing light slap on the cheek, lingering for a second to give my chin a shake, “You’re welcome, slave.”

While Ryan was feeding my precum to me, Mr. Grey had disappeared into the shadows of the room, and returned holding an electric clipper. He held it out for Ryan, “Do you think you got this?”

“I got it,” Ryan assured him, taking the clippers. He turned it on, the small motor buzzing loudly in the silent room. “Hold still,” he warned leaning towards me with the clippers in his hand. He was headed for my left armpit, and began to scrape away at my pit hair. I shivered slightly, as the teeth of the razor tickled and scraped my sensitive skin at the same time.

“Slaves, as you are already well on your way to finding out, are not entitled to the same basic things as their superior counterparts…privacy, modesty, clothing,” Mr. Grey lectured, as he watched Ryan work. “Nor are you entitled to the very hair that grows on your body. Some owners may let their slaves keep some, if not all of their hair. However, it is the policy of this household that the only hair male slaves are permitted below their ears is that which grows lightly on their arms and legs.”

I listened in muted shock as Ryan finished with my left pit, and moved around to my right side.

“The hair that grows under your arms, on your chest and stomach, in your crotch and ass crack, is a sign of manhood that is in conflict with your status as a slave,” Mr. Grey continued. “Not all free men can even grow masses of hair in these areas, some not at all. How unbecoming for an inferior slave to have more hair on his body than one of his superiors? Therefore, the slave will have none.” He looked up to see Ryan finishing up with my right pit. “Do his ass next.”

Ryan nodded. “Display your ass, slave. You know how.”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, almost in a whimper. I was trying to stay strong through the ordeal, but as each humiliating minute ticked by, I felt less and less in tune with my emotions. Bending over again at the waist, I pulled my ass cheeks apart for the second time that day to willingly expose my asshole.

I could only see Ryan’s feet as he took his stance behind me, the clippers buzzing back to life. Even though I was holding my ass apart, I felt him brace himself on my left cheek, and then the cold prickling teeth of the razor invading my crack. I lurched involuntarily. The clippers were cold as they dragged across the sensitive skin of my crack, my ass clenching as if bracing for another invasion. I could hear Ryan breathing loudly through his nose as he worked, as if he was concentrating hard on the job.

“Oh yeah,” Ryan congratulated himself on his work, giving my ass a light swat as he pulled the razor away. “Smooth as the day he was born.”

“Display your cock your balls to us, slave,” Mr. Grey suddenly interjected. “Up as if you were to display normally, only cross your wrists behind you in the small of your back, using your elbows for balance, bend your knees keeping your legs spread as they are, thrust your hips forward, and arch your back. Lift your chin naturally, keeping your neck aligned with your spine.”

“Now,” Ryan added quickly as I hesitated, lifting myself up to scramble into the position.

“Yes.yes, Sir,” I answered, my voice quaking. Catching myself as I went to put my hands back behind my head, I moved them quickly to the small of my back. Bending my knees slightly, I thrust out my hips forcing me to naturally arch my back, understanding quickly how the focus was now on my semi-hard dick bobbing in front of me.

I felt a smooth hand circle around the shaft, giving it a few pumps. “Oh, look. The slave is going soft on us,” Ryan observed.

“His body is confusing itself, son,” Mr. Grey explained. “The hormones that are fueling his slave heart are in overdrive, while his brain is warning him that this type of behavior should not excite him so. You will need to train him to get hard on demand, as it’s a sign of respect in the presence of his Masters.”

“Hear that slave boy?” Ryan asked, giving my cock a few more strokes as it lingered in a semi-hard state, a little harder than before. “Trying to tell me you don’t respect your fucking Master?” He gave me a few more vicious strokes. It was anything but stimulating. “Well boy?” He demanded.

I winced in pain as the friction burned the sensitive skin of my shaft. “Yes, Sssi…I mean no…no Sir!”

He stopped stroking and took hold my cock like it was a handle, yanking it downwards between my legs as I struggled to hold the position. The clippers buzzed back to life. “Let me show you how much respect I have for you, bitch,” he sneered. I felt the cold teeth of the clippers press into my belly button, and then slide down to the base of my cock in one swoop, taking my treasure trail with it. “None.”

I grimaced slightly as he held firm to my cock, moving it side to side as the clippers raked over my pubes, dipping into the cracks between groin and inner thighs. I could only imagine what it must look like, as I felt some of the wiry pubes sticking my legs as they fell from my crotch. Suddenly, I felt my now mostly-soft cock push up against my abdomen.

“Here, boy. Hold this with your left hand,” Ryan commanded, adding quickly, “And, don’t even think about stroking it.”

I swallowed, “Yes, Sir.” Bringing my left hand around and pressing my cock against my lower abdomen, keeping my eyes generally pointed toward the ceiling. I could almost feel my cock grow as I felt its familiar warmth, touching it for the first time since the ordeal began with my own hand, despite the humiliation of having my balls shaved bare. Or, maybe it was the humiliation that was feeling good. My legs were beginning to shake, my quads burning as I held the slight squat.

He lifted and separated my ball sack as he worked, shaving one side and then the other, stroking the clippers carefully underneath. When he was apparently satisfied with his work, he let my balls drop. “Sweet,” he remarked, wiping some of the stray hairs off of my skin with his fingers.

“Feels good to turn a man into the slave that he is, doesn’t it?” Mr. Grey chuckled, patting Ryan on the back. “Of course, we’re far from done. Let’s get this bitch on his knees where he really belongs.”

“Good idea,” Ryan agreed. “You heard your Master, slave. Stop playing with yourself, and get down on your fucking knees!”

“Yes, Sir,” I responded, grateful actually to release the position I was holding as the muscles in my legs were starting to really burn. Awkwardly I kind of shuffled my feet taking a step backward, and then bent down until my knees touched the floor, touching my hands to the ground for balance, then pushing up until I was kneeling upright, feeling proud of myself that I knew better than to sit back on my heels without being told.

Though, my satisfaction was short lived as Mr. Grey stepped forward twisting his fingers in my hair and yanking me upwards to my feet. “Let’s try this again, boy.”

“Gah!” I yelped, wincing in pain through clenched teeth. My instinct was to grab his wrists and pull his hands out of my hair as waves of pain radiated along my scalp, but I clenched my fists instead, stopping myself short of touching him.

“Back as you were, displaying cock,” Mr. Grey barked, letting go of my hair with a shake of my head.

“Yes, Sir,” I nearly cried, scrambling back into the position, my heart racing as I wondered what I had done so terribly wrong.

“Slaves don’t just move from one position to the next like this is some fucking yoga class. You were instructed to kneel from standing as you are now. No reason to move your hands from where they are, and no reason to look so sloppy in the process,” he lectured. “Now, try it again. Just bend your knees until they touch the floor, keep your upper body as straight as you can, head high, hands behind your back. Don’t rely on your arms for balance, next time they may be chained there. When you are down, you are permitted to quickly adjust the placement of your knees to ensure they are spread wide and balanced. You should feel your cock and balls hanging freely between your thighs. It goes without saying that you are to kneel tall and proud. Shoulders back, stomach tight, chest out. Do it!”

“Yes, Sir.” Exhaling a nervous breath through my nose, I held my upper body high and began to bend my knees as instructed. I realized immediately that it was not as easy as it sounded. I had to account for a strange shift in balance, and with my head held high, I couldn’t rely much on my depth perception as I knelt to the ground. I exhaled fully as I felt my knees hit the ground, adjusting them slightly, my freshly shaved balls feeling strange as they bounced freely between my inner-thighs.

“Good,” Mr. Grey approved with a nod. “Now, one last adjustment, bow your head slightly and keep your eyes downcast. You have learned some display positions, and now you are learning to present yourself formally as a slave. Although presenting on your knees should be your default reaction, you may be asked to present standing, in which case you would simply display with your hands behind your back instead of your head, and your head should be bowed as it is now. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir,” I responded solemnly, keeping my eyes now to the ground before both of their feet.

“As a slave, you need to start thinking differently. Don’t ask yourself what you would do in this instance or that instance, but ask yourself what your Master would want you to do,” Mr. Grey continued as he paced around me. “Every action and inaction should convey your submission. This inspection is but a small part of it. Slaves don’t slouch and slump, they stand tall and proud. They don’t hide their bodies, they display them. They don’t fidget with their fingers or cross their arms, they keep their wrists crossed behind their backs or their hands behind their heads in wait. Is this making sense, boy?”

I nodded slightly, “Yes, Sir.”

“Think, then act. You will know quickly if you are wrong,” Mr. Grey warned. “Now, on with it.”

I heard Ryan’s footsteps behind me, and then fingers once again in my hair. I winced as he tugged slightly, not as if to drag me upwards like Mr. Grey had, and then proceeded to muss his fingers through my thick mess of dark blond locks. I’d always kept my hair in a short, clean-cut fashion, just a little choppy and stylishly messy. “I don’t know…” he mused out loud. “I kind of like being able to grab onto it.”

“I’ll leave it up to you,” Mr. Grey responded in a leading manner. “Leave it if you like, but do remember one’s hairstyle is a form of self-expression. Andrew chose to style his hair this way. What will you choose for your slave?”

I swallowed hard hearing Mr. Grey as Ryan played with my hair. I had always taken pride and care in my appearance, and was used to receiving almost as many compliments on my hair as on my body, and I felt it deep in the pit of my stomach that Ryan was about to take it from me, like he had taken everything else. Sure enough, I heard the dreaded clippers buzz back to life.

“Wise decision,” Mr. Grey assured his son. I felt something pass above my head. “Here, use this guard. It will keep his hair buzzed to about an inch. You can still get a good hold if you really want to, but his maintenance will be easier during training without that pretty-boy mess on top. Besides, it’s only hair. It will grow back if you want it to.”

“Right,” Ryan agreed, before unceremoniously running the clippers in a line up the back of my head. I winced feeling the first flutter of locks on my bare shoulders. “Let’s see how pretty he looks without his faggoty hair.”

My stomach was doing flips while I felt the clippers running over my entire scalp. He used his hand to move my head from side to side, working different angles, finally pulling my head back to finish up clipping my bangs down to an inch. I glanced up only for a brief second while my head was tilted back to see Ryan’s face as he worked. I expected to see a devilish grin on his face, but instead I noticed intense concentration and focus. Maybe even a bead of sweat on his forehead.

When he was done, he pushed my head forward so that I was bowed again. I could feel hair clinging all over my body, my skin had grown moist with nervous sweat. They had retreated somewhere behind me, and I could hear low whispering, but didn’t dare move too much while I waited. Having a few moments to myself to reflect for the first time since the ordeal had begun in the dungeon, I began to second-guess what I was doing. A day earlier, I was on top of the world, and now I knelt before two men I’d long considered trusted family, stripped naked, inspected, violated, shaved. And worst of all, I’d done it all voluntarily. I cringed, my face flushing crimson in anger. I was mad, not at them, but at myself. I felt utterly pathetic.

I heard a strange squeaking of metal on metal, and then steps behind me, and tensed up a bit. My knees were really starting to ache as my body weight pushed them against the cold hard floor. I had tried shifting my weight a bit from side to side, but it did little to help.

“Stand and display,” Ryan barked suddenly from behind, while Mr. Grey circled to my front, retaking his place in the outer shadows of the dungeon with his arms crossed.

“Yes, Sir,” I responded, choking back the words a little. There was a small lump in my throat, I did my best to swallow. Remembering my lesson, I strained to keep my hands behind my back as I pushed up to one knee, nearly falling over, but gritting my teeth I caught my balance, wavering a little, and pushed up to both feet. It was then that I adjusted my stance so that my legs were as wide as they had been before, straightened my shoulders, and put my hands behind my head.

I yelped suddenly as a cold, wet, high-powered stream of water hit me square in the back. It was enough of a surprise that I stumbled forward a few paces, losing my stance all together. The water was like ice against my now-warmed skin.

“Get your bitch ass back into position right this fucking second!” Ryan barked loudly over the stream of water that he had focused on my body.

“Yea..yes, Sir,” I stammered, shivering uncontrollably as the water continued to assault me from behind. I got back into position, wincing my eyes closed as Ryan began to move the spray up and down my back side, stepping closer to wash out my exposed armpits from the sides. I could tell as the stream from his hose increased in intensity.

“You’re covered in hair, slave,” he explained the obvious. There must have been some sort of pipework in the exposed ceiling allowing for a hose, which also explained the drain between my feet. “Display your ass.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said reluctantly as I bent over for a third time and pulled my ass cheeks apart. I cringed in pain as the cold water assaulted the sensitive skin between my cheeks and pushed into my anus.

“Up, display your cock,” Ryan said calmly like it was commonplace as he circled around me, never letting the stream of water leave my skin.

“Yes, Sir.” I leaned all the way back, bent my knees a bit, and thrust my hips forward, almost forgetting to move my hands behind my back. “Gah!” I yelped uncontrollably as he opened the spray up a bit to encompass the whole of my crotch, the cold water stinging my genitals from all angles.

“Present. Stay standing,” he instructed as he moved slowly up my abdomen and then back and forth across my chest, even though nothing had been shaved in either location.

“Agh! Uh, yea..yes Sir!” I was yelping in pain as the water felt like daggers of ice pounding into my skin as I straightened my stance, squared my shoulders and bowed my head shamefully as I did nothing to rebel physically against the assault.

Finishing up, he stepped forward and opened the spray up over the top of my head. It felt like a drift of snow had just fallen over my head, as the icy water cascaded down my head from all angles, running down my face, into my eyes and mouth, and dripping from my chin. Finally, it was over. The spray cut off, and Ryan retreated behind me with the hose, while I remained in position, a shivering, teeth-chattering, mess.

It was clear that after several long moments of silence, that I was going to be left to drip dry. I jumped, suddenly startled at a clanging of metal behind me, followed by more scraping of metal against metal, and a recognizable sound of rattling chains. My adrenaline rose as I heard him approaching me from behind, and I nearly leapt out of my skin when the whole pile of whatever he was carrying was dropped on the concrete floor echoing in the chamber.

Ryan stepped in front of me, grasping my chin suddenly and lifting my head so I had no choice but to look him in the eyes. I searched them for a moment, having expected to find hatred or mocking, I found instead, intensity with a hint of what I thought might be pity. He spoke evenly, almost as if rehearsed, or at the very least, well-thought out, “You have willingly and voluntarily submitted ownership of your body and will to me. You are no longer a man in my eyes. You are a male slave. Nothing more, nothing less,” he paused, swallowing like his mouth was dry. His voice was quivering a bit, not sure whether it was excitement or nerves. “Your rights to freedom, privacy, modesty, comfort, are gone. You are an object that lives to serve and please and must learn that even your most basic needs are at my discretion.” He paused to swallow again. “Tell me what you are.”

The words of his speech cut into me. The facts were so blunted, yet so sharp. I felt so much lower than I’d ever anticipated before signing my life away, and yet a deep dark part of me felt so honored to have this kind of attention. “I…I’m a slave,” I responded in a tone barely above a whisper, my voice feeling small. It felt weird to say the word, especially out loud.

“Say it louder. Mean it,” Ryan coaxed calmly. He didn’t yell.

“I’m a slave,” I said more clearly.

“Scream it,” he demanded, his voice staying even. “There is no shame.”

“I’M A SLAVE!” I yelled, my voice echoing in the rafters of the basement room. As if on cue, I could feel my eyes welling up slightly, as I became overwhelmed with the reality of what I was saying. I sniffed them back and blinked furiously, refusing to out and out cry.

“Good,” he said flatly, releasing my chin and patting my cheek. “Then as a slave, you will understand what’s in store for you. Move your legs a bit closer together.”

He circled behind me again, leaving me to contemplate the ominous statement. “Yes, Sir,” I sniffled slightly, moving my legs about shoulder width apart.

I nearly jumped when I felt something cold encircle my right ankle about the same time the chains began to rattle. Without a word, a thick steel shackle was locked around my right ankle, and then a second one on my left. They felt heavy resting on top of my feet and I could feel the tension between the manacles as a chain stretched between them. I could hear him breathing as he worked, separating my wrists which had been crossed behind my back. Another cold shackle circled around my right wrist, and then my left. When he let go, I could feel the surprising weight of the chain that joined the shackles pulling down at my arms and shoulders. The cold chain was maybe a foot in length and the slack rested on my ass.

Ryan circled back in front of me. “You are shackled in heavy chain to help remind you of your new reality, that you body belongs to me. Kneel.”

My body was really quivering now. Droplets of water were still evaporating from my skin, but the discomfort of being cold was now overwhelmed by nervous energy as I lowered to my knees in front of my new Master. “Yes, Sir.” The chains made it more difficult then before, mostly because I couldn’t move my legs as wide to help with balance.

Once kneeling, I went to bow my head, but he stopped me, pushing my head backwards to look up at him. He held up a thick gauge steel collar. “This collar will symbolize not only my ownership over your body, but your entire being. You will feel its constant weight on your neck and shoulders and will understand the weight of your submission,” he explained in a serious tone as he leaned forward to circle the collar around my neck.

I closed my eyes feeling the collar close around my throat. It pressed against my adam’s apple as he turned a small key in a lock with a loud click, and then he let go. Ryan was right. The weight was instantly noticeable, a pound at least. I was fortunate that it felt lined with a layer of soft leather, unlike the shackles around my wrists and ankles.

“Looks good, slave. You should be proud,” Ryan commented, nodding his approval, a slight snicker returning to his voice. “Open wide.”

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, I hesitantly parted my lips slightly, and then remembering earlier, I opened my mouth as wide as I could, expecting him to transfer another batch of precum from my cock to my tongue. Instead, he produced a phallic shaped rubber gag attached to a strap that had been hanging from his back pocket, and pushed it into my mouth without warning. My eyes widen in surprised, and then winced as I nearly choked on the gag. I wasn’t sure how far back the rubber reached into my mouth, but it was enough to keep my tongue depressed and my jaw stretched widely around it.

“The first thing you’re gonna do as my slave is spend some serious time reflecting on your status as my property. You’re gonna think about me, dream about me. Think of what you can do to make my life easier, what you can do to please me. You’re gonna think about all those times growing up when we wrestled and you pinned me, and those times you tackled me playing touch-football, and all of those times you out-lifted me in weight training in front of my friends, and that time you stole my date to the homecoming dance,” Ryan recited the list of grievances as he buckled the strap behind my head, securing the gag in place. “And you’re gonna think about all the ways that you’re gonna make it up to me. Up.”

He took my arm, and helped me up to my feet, which would have been nearly impossible with my ankles chained as they were. I looked around wildly, almost in panic as he retained hold of my arm. I could see Mr. Grey smiling darkly from the shadows in approval. He had retreated almost fully, allowing Ryan to step up and take control. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but it didn’t feel good as Ryan pulled me forward with the grip on my arm. I had no choice but to shuffle after him, the chains rattling behind me.

We went to the wall that contained the four individual doors. He opened the last, closet to the wall. The rusty hinges creaked loudly as the door swung open. “Here’s a nice spot for you to meditate,” Ryan observed in mocking as he pulled me toward the open doorway. He flipped a switch on the outside of the door, and a very dim bulb illuminated overhead as I peered inside. It was a narrow cell, maybe 4 feet wide and 6 or 7 feet deep. The decor mirrored the rest of the dungeon, nothing but cinder block walls and a cement floor with a drain in the back corner.

I shook my head wildly, not wanting to go in, pleading to him with my eyes. “Mmph. Mmmph!” I tried to beg him.

He shoved me forward with enough forced that I tripped over the chain at my feet, and caught myself chest first against the cold wall. If the cell had been any bigger, I would have fallen flat on my face.

“Just remember,” he warned coldly. “You wanted this, slave.”

The door slammed shut behind me, and moments later, the dim bulb above my head went black.

***

CHAPTER 4 – BONDAGE MEDITATION

My chest was pressed against the cold cinder block wall of the small cell as I held myself up against it, the slam of the door rattling me to the core. When the dim light from the single bulb that hung above me went out, a wave of panic shot down my spine.

“Mmmmmph!!” I screamed into the gag for help, “MMMMPH! MMPH!!!”

After several long minutes, my panicked screams turned into sobs, evident that neither Ryan nor Mr. Grey were going to open the cell door until they wanted to, and worst of all, I had no idea how long they planned to leave me in there. I remained pressed against the wall awkwardly for support as a few tears began to roll down my cheeks, then dropping from my chin as I was helpless to wipe them off. I choked the sobs back down my throat as the gag stuffed in my mouth prevented much sound from escaping.

The emotions began to overwhelm me, and I felt my knees begin to give out. Using the wall as a guide, I let myself crumple to the ground in the pitch blackness. When I had managed to get my knees to the cold cement floor, I remained kneeling with my chest and cheek against the cool cement wall for several minutes as I composed myself. I just couldn’t get the instant regret out of my head now that reality had set in. What had I done? What had I chosen for myself?

That morning it had almost seemed like the easy choice, the lazy choice. Sure, I’d give up some freedoms, do some chores, pull more than my weight around the house, but in return I’d get to stay with the family I’d always known in the only home I’d ever known, no bills to pay, no job to worry about. The alternative had seemed so bleak and so lonely. I’d be on my own, completely. No money, no family, no girlfriend, no where to live. What kind of option was that for an 18 year old? Besides, there was the undeniable way thoughts of slavery had turned me on in Kara’s apartment. Everyone and everything pointed towards my destiny as a bred slave. Yet, if I was such a natural slave, why did I want nothing more than to take it all back at that very moment.

I shuffled awkwardly in a circle on my knees, the chains between my feet and wrists rattling loudly as I moved. I leaned against the wall with my side, and grunted into the gag as I struggled to pull my knees forward, until I felt my ass press to the cold ground, and I was finally seated, leaning my bare back against the rough wall. I pulled my knees up to my chest, and leaned forward to rest my forehead between my knees as I continued to sob until I could cry no more.

When all of the emotion had drained from me through my tears, I sniffed back the last of them, and composed myself as best I could. I told myself that I wasn’t afraid. Chaining me up and locking me in the dark was obviously a tactic Ryan wanted to use to frighten me. He wanted to intimidate me with his power over me, but I refused to be scared.

I shifted uncomfortably against the wall, my arms pinned behind me. My eyes widening, I remembered suddenly that there was some slack in the chain between my wrists. Excitedly, I scooted my ass forward a bit, and pulled my wrists as far apart as I could, trying to gauge how much slack there might be. Bracing my upper back against the wall, and keeping my feet planted on the floor, I lifted my ass off the ground and slipped the wrist chain underneath, so that my wrists were now chained under my legs. I scooted back, exhaling heavily through my nose, unable to breath through my mouth. Tucking my knees tightly to my chest, I stretched my arms forward as far as they could go, lifting my feet to step over the wrist chain. The chains between my wrists and ankles kept getting tangled as I grunted, attempting the feat a few times, and finally succeeding in bringing the wrist chain over my feet and up over my knees.

Sitting back against the wall, I exhaled loudly through my nose in relief. But, before resting just yet, I brought my hands up to my face, and traced the strap running from the gag back behind my head. Lifting my wrists over my head, I fiddled with the buckle in the back until I felt the strap loosen. Bringing my wrist shackles back over my head, I pulled the gag out of my mouth, a cascade of saliva dripping down my chin. I wiped my forearm across my mouth, and angrily chucked the gag across the narrow cell, hearing it bounce off the hard wall and fall to the ground somewhere near my feet with a small clink of the metal buckle.

I stretched my jaw, which had begun to ache, and licked my dry lips. Much of me still wanted to scream out loudly now that I could, but what good what it do? Instead, I used my hands and wall at my back to slide down until my left side was pressed against the floor. I pulled my knees towards me, and hugged my arms into my chest, curling into a fetal position. The left side of my face pressed against the cold floor, the collar around my neck scraping against the floor as I shifted into as comfortable a position as possible. I didn’t think it possible, but somehow, from the exhaustion of the ordeal, I drifted off to a fitful sleep.

What could have been minutes or hours later, a loud creak of rusted metal ripped me from my slumber with a start I lurched awake with such force, that I banged the back of my head against the cement wall I was curled up against. I groaned as my eyes fluttered and blinked, as light flooded the pitch black cell.

“Awwww, shit,” Ryan observed from the doorway. I looked to him groggily, blinking as my eyes adjusted, his shadow falling over me until he reached over to turn the light bulb on that hung above my head. “You really are a fucking stupid piece of shit.”

I sat up as best I could, my eyes widened in fear as he glowered down at me. He was still wearing the same thing as before, so I could only assume not much time had really passed. A shiver ran down my spine, feeling his anger radiating off of him.

Without warning, he lunged forward and grabbed the chain between my wrists. “Get over here,” he growled, yanking me forward with enough force that I thought my arms might rip out of their sockets as I lunged forward, sprawling on my chest and stomach before him. He let go of my shackles, my arms now out in front of my head as I was laying halfway in and halfway out of the cell.

“Ryan, I…I’m sorr…” I started to stammer in a slight panic.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” He barked, as I felt him step over me. I grunted as he dropped to one knee on my back, his full body weight crushing down on my spine. He placed one of his large hands on the back of my head, and began to grind my face rather unpleasantly into the cement floor. “Keep you fucking face on the floor, and don’t forget who you’re talking to, cunt!”

He gave my head one final push into the ground, and let go. I kept my forehead and nose pressed against the cement, several short nervous breaths escaping through my nose as I trembled beneath him.

“I leave you alone for 20 fucking minutes and you already fuck up this bad?!” he exclaimed in anger as he leaned forward over my head, pulling my left arm and toward him. I heard the jingle of keys, as he worked to unlock my left manacle. When it gave way and fell from my wrist, he roughly twisted my left arm back behind my back, and then the right, applying pressure to both of my shoulder blades for emphasis. Quickly, the left manacle was closed around my wrist, securing my hands once again behind my back. He stood, the weight lifting from my backside. “Get up. On your knees,” he ordered coldly as he stepped around me out of the cell, disappearing into the shadows of the dungeon room.

Still trembling, I pulled my knees forward, rocking back and forth on my shoulders for leverage, and then using my core muscles, I managed to pull myself upright onto my knees, now back within the borders of the small cell. Not wanting to take any chances, I remembered quickly the presentation position and shuffled my knees wider apart, straightening my back a little and bowed my head to wait. He was right. I had seriously fucked up, and I knew it. I had no idea what I was thinking.

Moments later he reappeared at the door as quickly as he had left, but walked past me into the cell with a rattle of more chain, ignoring me altogether. I heard the chains rattling loudly behind me, unsure what was going on. Then a scraping sound of chain against cement as I felt him step closer to me. My head jerked, as he took hold of the left side of my collar. The collar jiggled against my skin until I heard the clicking of a lock behind my neck. Letting going of my collar, I could tell right away that it had been tethered to the wall. But, he wasn’t done. I jumped, as another length of the chain fell from the collar and draped down my back, seemingly ending near the top of my ass crack. It felt cold against my skin.

His knees cracked as he crouched down behind me. I could hear him breathing hard through his nose as he took hold of the wrist chain behind my back. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was now connecting my wrist shackles to my collar.

“Maybe this will teach you to keep your hands where they belong, you dumb, stupid fuck,” he growled in my ear, emphasizing each of the insults, as he finished securing the chain with another click of a padlock. He leaned to the side to retrieve the gag I’d disposed of, before pushing up to his feet and circling back to stand in front of me in the doorway of the cell.

He stood before me for a few long moments. I kept my head bowed, not daring to look up, swallowing hard. Then suddenly, SLAP! I gasped as he backhanded me across my right cheek, sending my head reeling to the right. But, not belong before, SLAP! and my head snapped in the other direction. I kept my eyes downcast, my entire body tensed as I exhaled several shaky breaths through my nose, my cheeks stinging red. I grit my teeth, absorbing the pain and the shock, my eyes feeling a bit watery.

Reaching down, he grabbed the edge of my collar and jerked my neck, “Look at me!” he commanded. I looked up at him, eyes blurring slightly, as he glared down at me. “Anything your Master puts on you or in you stays on you or in you. Slaves don’t get to choose comfort over the whims of their owner. Do you think maybe I wanted you to sit in here with your hands chained behind your back, sucking on this gag? DO YOU?! Answer me!”

“Ye…yes, Sir,” I stammered, trying to still my quivering voice.

“Then, WHY,” he gave my collar a shake giving my neck a jolt, “Did you think it would be okay to move your hands and take out the gag?”

“I…I didn’t. I don’t. I mean, I don’t know. I’m sorry,” I tried to explain, tripping over my words. “Sir,” I added quickly, hoping my apology would be enough.

“No, you’re not,” he snapped, letting go of my collar with a shake. “But, you will be. You had it easy, now you’re fucking chained to the wall because you demonstrated that you can’t be trusted to do even the simplest thing like meditating. I told you to think about ME, and you spent 20 minutes worrying about how to make yourself more comfortable. I don’t want to hear any more of your sniveling excuses. Lean your head back. Open your mouth.”

He pushed my head backwards with his palm against my forehead, and I opened my mouth, wincing slightly as I waited for the gag to be reinserted. Instead, he shocked me by leaning forward over my gaping mouth and spat a giant wad of spit onto my waiting tongue. I cringed instantly, feeling the puddle of gooey saliva slide down my tongue towards my throat. But, before I could even swallow, the rubbery gag was pushing past my lips, depressing my tongue as it had done before.

“If you didn’t like the taste of the gag, the taste of your Master’s spit should help. Bow your head,” he ordered sharply. I lowered my chin, and he reached behind me to secure the buckle to the straps, the gag once again in place. “Now, let’s try this again. Maybe this time it will register in this little pea brain of yours,” he bopped the top of my head for emphasis, “what it means to be a slave. And by the way, anytime this door opens and the lights go on, you have 30 seconds to get your ass on your knees as you are now.”

Without another word, he stepped back from the cell door, slamming it shut in my face. The light above went dark a moment later, and I heard the metal latch slide into the concrete wall.

I remained almost motionless on my knees for several minutes, trembling in shock over the incident. My brain was telling me that I should have been angry, indignant, at the way I was being treated. It wasn’t natural, and I didn’t deserve this, any of this. Yet another part of me, somewhere deep inside, was reminding me that I had fucked up. I hadn’t done what I had been told, and I wasn’t thinking like a slave. Ryan was right. I thought first of my own comfort and second of the consequences for undoing what he had done to me. And now, I would be left to suffer in a worse condition. Perhaps worst of all, I understood that I deserved it.

Composing myself, I shuffled back several paces on my knees to the back of the wall, where the tether to my collar began in order to give myself as much slack as possible to play with. There must have been some sort of ring or hook inset at the top of the back wall where the chain originated. It wasn’t easy with my ankles chained together, restricting movement, but nothing was meant to be easy in chains.

When I felt my feet hit the back wall of the cell, I grunted into the gag again as I slowly laid myself down to my right, testing the length of the neck chain as I went down, making sure that I had enough slack to touch the ground without choking myself. Fortunately, I did, and managed to lie down on my right side, curling my knees up to my chest as best I could. With my arms now chained unyieldingly behind me, there was pressure on my right arm and shoulder as I hit the floor, but there was little I could do but endure it at the moment. Worse yet, I realized quickly that every movement I made with my arms inevitably pulled the collar backwards against my throat, and rattled loudly the chain that ran up from my collar to the ring in the wall.

My body shook, as I shivered curled up in the corner of the pitch black cell. Ryan’s words echoed in my mind. He wanted to me to think about the times I had allegedly hurt him, embarrassed him, one-upped him. The idea was almost ludicrous. He had always had the upper hand. He was older. He had the money. His dad was the boss. He did everything first. I may have pinned him a few times wrestling in the yard, but he had pinned me twice as many. For every time I managed to tackle him during a pickup game of football, he would go out of his way to plow me over on the next play.

I groaned uncomfortably beneath the gag, my jaw beginning to ache again as it stretched around it. I swear I could feel Ryan’s wad of spit sliding down my throat and into my stomach. I felt like I might wretch, but tried not to think too much about it, knowing that vomiting with a gag in my mouth would not be a good idea. My mind wandered instead back to a time when Ryan was the one who had gotten the best of me, and not the other way around.

It was the first day of school, my freshman year of high school. I had made the JV soccer team when I had tried out over the summer, and of course, Ryan has already been bumped up to the Varsity team, even as a sophomore. The first day at a new school wasn’t easy, especially when you were a skinny 13-year old kid, barely into puberty in a high school full of young men in their later teens, some sporting five-o’clock stubble and hair on their chests. I’d had plenty of friends growing up through junior high, but I was starting fresh at a private high school Mr. Grey had selected for Ryan and insisted my parents send me too as well. He paid, of course, and now I know why.

I recall vividly walking into the cafeteria with my tray of food on that first day, a sea of unfamiliar faces seemingly sneering at me from every direction, panicking over the smallest detail of where I would sit for lunch. Where did I fit in? Of course, the other students weren’t really looking at me at all, and that was the problem. I had no where really to turn, and then I saw Ryan seated at a table with a bunch of his friends, most of them I’d recognized from soccer try-outs. Smiling in relief, I made my way toward the table noticing an empty chair.

Setting my tray on the table, I gave Ryan a friendly nod, expecting a welcoming introduction as I pulled out the chair. The conversation around the table came to a screeching halt, and the 5 other jocks looked at me like I had 3 heads.

“Whoa, whoa!” Ryan exclaimed in indignation, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Uhh…” I stammered kind of in surprise, as the other guys continued to stare at me like I’d just beamed down from another planet. “Can I? I mean, can I sit here with you?” I kind of lowered my voice, directing the question at him timidly, suddenly feeling very unwelcome.

“Wait, Grey, do you know this dweeb?” one of the other guys exclaimed who I would come to know as Brent, one of Ryan’s best friends still to date, soliciting a laugh from the table.

“Yeah…” Ryan nodded, drawing out his response, eyeing me up. “Kinda. He lives in my guest house. His parents are the help.”

“Really?” Brent asked in mocking, giving me a once over. “Do you usually eat with your help, Grey?”

“Hell no. They serve it, I eat it,” Ryan laughed, exchanging a handshake with Brent. My face reddened as I stood there awkwardly in disbelief that Ryan was disavowing me in front of his friends. It was like he was a completely different person.

“Wait, I recognize this kid,” another of the guys interjected. “Didn’t you just make JV?”

I nodded, “Yeah, I…”

“And, I already told him that it’s the job of the JV players to take care of their Varsity team, right guys?” Ryan interrupted quickly, cutting me off.

“Yeah, frosh,” Brent added, jumping in. “Since you’re so good at HELPing out, would you mind grabbing me another soda. Guys?”

“Me too,” Ryan agreed, reaching into the pocket of his navy school blazer and retrieving a five dollar bill. “In fact, why don’t you get all of us another soda, and then maybe we’ll let you sit here.”

“Fine,” I took the money angrily from him, shooting him a look and stormed off to the registers. I had to carry the six sodas back on a tray, and I went to set it on the table.

“Oh no,” Ryan stopped me. “Serve them to us, you know, like your parents do.”

I shot him a look of venom mixed with hurt, my cheeks flushing, as I snatched the tray back off the table, and held it out for the first guy to take his soda. Students at some of the other tables nearby were snickering as I walked around the table, holding the tray out for each of the six guys, Ryan being last. He took the soda, and I slid the empty tray onto the table, wanting to smack the smug look off of his face with it instead.

“Think he’s got a talent for this,” Brent suggested in mocking, cracking open his soda.

“Yeah, but aren’t you going to ask if we need anything else? Like a proper server?” Ryan asked innocently.

I grit my teeth for a long moment glowering down at him. “Anything else?”

“No, I’m good,” Ryan shrugged. The other guys snickered, and I rolled my eyes reaching for the chair. No sooner had I pulled it out from the table did Ryan’s legs suddenly extend so that he was resting his heels on the seat of the chair. “Aw, I’m sorry, frosh. Seat’s taken,” he feigned a look of apology and gave me another shrug.

My face flushed deep red with anger this time. Fire could have spewed from my nostrils, as I clamped my hands to the side of my tray and lifted it angrily off the table.

“Hey, dweeb, what’s your name again?” Brent asked as I started to walk away.

“Drew,” I stated flatly.

“Nancy Drew, that’s what I thought,” Brent nodded without missing a beat. He motioned to a table on the far side of the cafeteria where all the artsy outcasts sat. “Yeah, you might want to try that table over there with the rest of the Nancies.”

I didn’t acknowledge the insult, and instead made my way dejectedly across the cafeteria while Ryan and the guys exchanged high-fives and hand shakes over the incident. Dumping my uneaten food in in the trash, I spent the rest of the lunch period in the library humiliated that Ryan had treated me like his servant in front of everyone at school. Little did I know, just over four years later, I’d not only be his servant, I’d be his slave.

Sometime during the course of my trip down memory lane, I’d managed to fall back to a fitful sleep, waking every time I involuntarily lurched and the chains rattled and scraped against the cement.

Suddenly, I felt light burning through my fluttering eyelids, followed shortly thereafter by the creaking of rusty hinges. My eyes popped open, and I scrambled to pick myself up to my knees and shuffle towards the center of the cell. It took much more effort this time, my muscles cramping and aching all over, and balance a continued problem. It was a real workout, just to maneuver my body a few feet, and I could feel a few beads of sweat breaking out over my body as I exhaled heavily through my nose.

I could feel him watching me as I moved, careful to keep my head bowed as I spread my knees before him. I’d noticed he’d changed, wearing nice dark jeans and shiny black shoes. I could only assume that it was now several hours later, and he was dressed to go out for the evening. He reached forward and fumbled with the gag’s strap buckled behind my head. His cologne was strong, filling my nostrils. He was definitely going out. The strap loosened, and he pulled the gag out of my mouth, another long string of saliva trailing behind it.

“Gross,” he commented, holding the gag by the strap and wiping the rubbery phallic insert across my chest while I stretched my jaw painfully and swallowed back the rest of the pooled saliva that was ready to pour down my chin.

Hanging the gag on the handle to the door, he stepped away for a moment, and came back. Leaning forward he carefully set a metal dog bowl down on the floor of the cell in front of my knees. It was full of water.

“Drink,” he ordered flatly. Reaching over me, he pushed my face forward into the bowl with his hand until my mouth and nose were submerged in the shallow dish.

I sputtered, panicking for an instant as water filled my nose, but he released the back of my head, and picked my head up so that my mouth was hovering over the dish, droplets of water now running from my nose and lips. I was trembling in disbelief that I was being expected to drink water from a dog bowl on the floor.

“You have 3 seconds to start drinking or that bowl is going to be turned over your head and you’ll remain thirsty until I come back, and who knows when that will be,” he barked.

Having tasted the few droplets that remained in my mouth, I realized suddenly how thirsty I actually was. My throat and mouth was dry. I stuck my tongue and, and did my best to start slurping and lapping at the water from the bowl. The sounds alone were utterly humiliating.

“Enough,” Ryan stopped me suddenly, though I hadn’t quite finished the bowl. He reached forward and snatched the bowl from me. Standing up, he overturned the remainder of the bowl on top of my head. As it ran down my face and back, it reminded me of what I hadn’t been allowed to drink. “Open,” he ordered flatly. I knew what it meant, and opened my mouth. He tossed the bowl aside, and I heard it clang against the floor of the main chamber, and then he took the gag off the door handle and shoved it unceremoniously back into my mouth, buckling it behind my head.

He stepped backwards, slamming the door to the cell, and flipping the light off, leaving me again in the dark confinement of the cell. I strained and grunted as I pulled myself back into the corner where I’d managed to find some modicum of comfort, though the chains were really starting to become annoying. I could feel the cuffs chafing at my wrists and ankles, the collar around my neck choking me more than a few times as I tried to move.

Settling to the ground, I let my mind wander again. I couldn’t help but wonder where Ryan was heading off to. A date? The bar with the guys? He had one of the best fake IDs I’d ever seen, not to mention he could easily pass for 21. More than likely, his fraternity was throwing some sort of end-of-semester kegger. He was recruited, of course, by the most prestigious frat on campus during the first semester of his freshman year, and spent the second semester pledging.

I chortled slightly though the gag thinking back to early last spring when he was in the height of pledging. It was one of the only times I could ever recall Ryan being under duress of any kind. Of course, he didn’t tell me much of anything, and I didn’t really care. I was living it up as a second semester senior in high school, worrying more about which colleges I would get into out of state, wanting nothing to do with anything concerning the local U. It was a Thursday night, and I was lounging on the couch of the living room in the guest house watching some college basketball game when Ryan burst through the front door.

I remember nearly jumping out of my skin as he stood in the doorway dressed in nothing but his boxers and tennis shoes. The word “PLEDGE 2″ was written in what looked like red lipstick across his chest, and he looked horrible. His hair was matted with sweat, or something else, and his eyes were bloodshot. Brent was right behind him, dressed exactly the same, and not looking much better. He had been labeled “PLEDGE 7.”

“Dude, I need to borrow something from your mom,” he more demanded than anything as he rushed past me towards the stairs that led up to my parents’ room.

“Uh…ok,” I responded, taken aback. “They’re not here…”

“Don’t you think I fucking know that?” he snapped, bounding up the stairs.

I remember getting up from the couch and raising a curious eyebrow to Brent as I heard dresser drawers opening and slamming shut from upstairs. Brent and I had come a long way since that first day of high school. We were never friends exactly, but I had earned his respect on the soccer and lacrosse fields, and Ryan had let up on me in front of his friends as well once I’d earned my stripes.

“Frat business. Don’t mind us,” Brent explained, checking his watch nervously and glancing up the stairs.

Then as quickly as Ryan had gone up, he bounded back down. Thinking back, I wondered how he would have known my parents were out since he was practically living at the frat house during his pledge period, but now it’s obvious. They were probably right where I am now.

“Find what you needed?” I attempted to ask as he blew past me in the living room, something pink bunched up in his hands.

“You didn’t see me,” Ryan warned, not even bothering to look at me as he ran back out of the house.

“Later, man,” Brent nodded over his shoulder, and followed him outside, closing the door behind him.

I’m still not sure what exactly they took and what exactly they used it for, but I knew I would never find out. Once I had been seemingly rejected by all of the other schools I’d applied to, and resigned to the fact that I would need to enroll at the local university as well, I’d thought about trying to pledge Ryan’s frat in the spring. Obviously, that was no longer an option.

Groaning, I rolled over onto my stomach, trying to find a more comfortable position and alleviate some of the stress on my shoulders and arms. It kind of worked, but there was little about a cold cement floor that was comfortable, any way you looked at it.

I winced my eyes closed and did my best to try to sleep, drifting in and out of consciousness, but never quite all the way there. At one point I awoke with a start, imagining I’d heard a door open or slam, but it must have been my imagination. I tried to drift back off, wondering how long I had been in the cell now. It felt like days, but I’m sure it had only been a mere several hours. Next to the discomfort of my confines, and the aching in my jaw from the gag, the worst part was the boredom. I kept waiting for something to happen. Anything.

Somewhere along the line, I must have drifted off into a fairly deep sleep, because I lurched awake in near shock when the cell door really did creak open again, the light bulb flooding the room. Moaning into the gag as my muscles screamed in pain from their cramped positions, I picked myself upright and began to crawl towards the center of the cell on my knees, my eyes fluttering as I adjusted to the light. Another horrible thought suddenly occurred to me as I shuffled over, my bladder rattling inside my body. I had to pee. Badly.

I couldn’t help but glance up to the doorway before bowing my head. Ryan was shirtless, as he often was when lounging around the house. He had a great body too that he was never shy about showing off, smooth rounded pecs, a solid six-pack, long muscular arms. His usually preppy-cut brown hair was mussed like he had just woken up, and he was wearing dark gray sweat pants with a thick white drawstring and some patch-logo sewn on the right thigh. They sat low on his hips and bunched over the tops of his feet that he had slid into soccer sandals.

Once kneeling properly before him, I bowed my head and he leaned over me to remove the gag. The scent of alcohol and stale smoke was radiating from his pores.

I was stammering as soon as the gag left my lips, “Please, Ryan, Sir, I need to go to the bathroom,” I practically begged.

“How is that my problem, slave?” he asked, unconcerned as he hung the gag from the door handle again, and shuffled from the doorway in his flip flops, returning a moment later with the metal dog bowl, bending his knees to set it in front of me.

“But…I… please, Sir?” I continued to stammer, panic rising in me.

“Eat, then drink. Empty the bowl,” he commanded sternly, continuing to ignore me.

I swallowed shamefully, looking down at the bowl. There was maybe a half cup of soggy chunks of wheat cereal floating in cloudy water. It looked positively disgusting. I hesitated, leaning down towards it, but almost on cue, my stomach began to gurgle a little bit and I realized it had been over a day since I’d had anything to eat. I’d been too distracted to realize that I was actually starving.

“Yes, Sir,” I muttered quietly over the bowl, before wincing my eyes closed as I bobbed in the water for the first chunk of cereal. It wasn’t awful, just tasteless, like soggy bread. I swallowed, feeling the gooey lump slide down my throat, and then went for another. When the cereal was gone, I started slurping again at the water, my throat and lips really dry now, so this time I was determined to ingest every drop, and I nearly did.

“Good, bitch,” he coaxed, mussing my freshly cut hair on the top of my head as he leaned down to collect the empty bowl. He continued, “Now, let’s get something clear. You don’t NEED to go to the bathroom, what your body WANTS to do is piss. What you need, slave boy, is permission to relieve yourself, and guess what? You have it.”

I looked up at him quizzically, “Sir?”

He nodded to a spot behind me in the cell. “There’s a drain right behind you. Piss all you want. In fact,” he smirked, getting an idea. “I think I’ll watch.” He grabbed the gag from the door handle and stuffed it back in my mouth before I could protest the idea, though my eyes sure said it all. He buckled the gag tightly. “Get up. I want you to squat when you do it.”

My ears reddening at the notion, I reluctantly tried to pull my right knee in, trying to figure out how in the hell I was going to get on my feet as chained up as I was, my muscles confusing themselves all over.

“Fucking hell,” Ryan growled with impatience, reaching forward to grab my arms, and help me up to my feet. I felt relief to stand up, stretching my legs, though my muscles and feet cramped as my weight pushed down on them. “Get over there and squat.” I half nodded and started to turn towards the corner where the drain was situated. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, cunt? A slave never turns his back on his Master. Turn around, face me. Back it up…”

I stopped short, exhaling loudly through my nose, almost in frustration. It seemed I’d never be able to do anything just right. Turning back around to face him, I shuffled backwards until I felt my ass his the cement wall behind me, and I glanced down noticing the drain relatively between my feet.

“Okay slave, bend those knees. Let me see you empty that slave cock of yours,” Ryan taunted, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorway in amusement.

My face burned red as I squatted down, trying to hover as closely to the open drain as I could. My cock was limp, thankfully, but I still had no control without the use of my hands. Worse, I couldn’t seem to get my stream started. I squeezed the muscles in my groin, wincing my eyes as I strained to start pissing, my bladder about to explode.

“Well, fuck. Hurry up,” Ryan demanded angrily. “I’m late getting my workout started. Gotta sweat this alcohol out before my dad smells it. So fucking piss already!”

I winced biting into the gag, and then finally a few droplets of pee appeared at the tip of my cock, dropping to the grate below, followed shortly thereafter with a trickle and then an open stream. I shifted my legs slightly, trying to ensure that the piss ended up mostly down the drain. The last thing I wanted to do was spend more hours in here next to a puddle of stinking piss.

“That’s it, bitch. Give it a shake,” he ordered, amusement in his voice.

I was nearing the end of the stream, and frowned into the gag in frustration as I shook my hips slightly, shaking my cock and balls from side to side. Wincing, I felt some of the urine running down my legs and I knew I had inevitably splattered some over the floor of the cell. I relaxed slightly as the last of the piss drained from my cock, relieved that the humiliating ordeal was over, at least for now. I just prayed that the bit of piss he forced me to splash on myself would evaporate quickly.

“You know,” Ryan mused suddenly. “I could really use a good piss myself… Get back on your knees.”

All my internal warning alarms were going off as I heard him, my eyes widening in fear as I took a timid shuffle forward, slowly letting my knees give out until one touched the ground, and then the other. He took a step into the cell, pushing the waistband of his sweats halfway down to his knees. Surprisingly, he hadn’t bothered with underwear and his thick cut cock sprung free, bobbing before me on an impressive set of hairy balls.

“Mmmph! Mmpph,” I begged with my eyes, shaking my head a bit, though I was captivated by his package. I had never actually seen another guy’s dick that closely before. It wasn’t that he was hung all that much more than I was, but with his full bush of pubic hair, I felt instantly inferior remembering my shaved crotch. It was as if his cock was mocking me.

Ryan gave it a few strokes, “What’s the matter, slave? Never seen a real man’s dick before?” he taunted, taking a step forward, as it grew semi-hard. His control over me obviously got him going. Swinging his hips back and forth, he slapped my face with his cock a few times. I winced, feeling the warm fleshly member bouncing off my cheeks. “Get used to it. Smell it.” Reaching down suddenly, he smashed his cock and balls and into my face, and pushed my head from behind, grinding my nose into them.

‘Mmph!” I tried to protest as his wiry pubes tickled my nose and face. His balls smelled faintly of sweat and cum. I wondered if he’d fucked anyone the night before, or maybe just got himself off.

Eventually he let go of my head, and took a few steps back, his sweat pants still around his knees. “Yeah, cunt. Your Master’s cock is everything to a slave. If it’s not happy, you’re not happy. Remember that. Now, where were we? Oh yeah,” he grinned wickedly, taking hold of his cock with his right hand and aiming it at me.

I shook my head rapidly, the chains attached to my collar rattling loudly, “Mmmph!”

“I know that my slave is not telling his Master what his Master can and can’t do, because that would be a very serious mistake. Am I wrong, slave?” He asked rhetorically, though I shook my head again, lowering my eyes in shame. “Good answer, because a Master is never wrong.”

With that, he opened up his stream, a geyser of hot piss hitting me square in the chest. My eyes widened and I squirmed as he moved the stream back and forth across my displayed torso. He made circles around my cock and balls, and then zig-zagged back up my abs and chest. I was fortunate both for the gag blocking my mouth, and that he seemed to intend to stay below my neck. It was little consolation though as the hot piss ran down my chest and onto my legs, some creeping around to my backside, filling my nostrils with the rancid scent.

“Ooooh, yeahhhh,” he exclaimed as he relieved himself, squeezing the last droplets of piss out of the tip as he stream dried up. Stepping forward, he wiped those last droplet off on my cheek. “Damn. Reeks in here,” he observed, pulling up his pants. “Sucks to be you.”

I watched him leave, positively stunned and humiliated as I knelt in a puddle of his piss, the remainder of it dripping down my body. The door slammed and the light went off.

When I was sure that he had gone, at least for a while, I shuffled my knees back from under me and leaned forward until my chest could touch the ground and I was laying flat again. I could feel the puddle of piss under me, but I didn’t care. What did it matter at that point. I trembled, then shook, then began to sob for the second time since my confinement. It was all just too much. I felt so low, been taken so far down, but I’d brought it on myself.

Eventually, my tears dried up, and so did the piss. It still reeked, but I had gotten used to it after the first little while. After what must have been several hours of feeling sorry for myself, I decided not to let my confinement get the best of me. I was choosing to lie around in piss and wait for Ryan to come back, my muscles really aching and cramping now.

Determined, I struggled and strained, using the wall for support as I maneuvered myself up to my feet. My legs were screaming, but I started slow, pacing back and forth across the small cell. Feeling more comfortable, I began to jump a bit in place, just tiny hops, testing my dexterity in leg irons. Despite the intolerable sound of all of the chains rattling behind me, it was working. I felt more in control, more like myself, despite the inescapable bondage. Spreading my feet a bit, I tried a few squats until I was breathing hard through my nose, and I could feel sweat mixing with the dried piss on my skin.

Exhausted from the make-shift workout, I settled back into a corner to wait. My senses were completely on edge, my ears perking at the slightest sound from outside the door, or what I thought might be a sound outside the door.

More hours passed, and I tried to sleep, but I was on edge, anxious for the door to open and Ryan to come back. I didn’t even care what he did to me, piss on me again, slap me around, it didn’t matter. I just wanted that fucking door to open.

I emptied my bladder a second time over the drain, more to pass the time than anything else. Settling back into the corner of the cell, I stared through the darkness in the direction of the door. My mind wandered, thinking it had been far too long since he had come to check on. Much longer than the overnight gap between the time he went out and the time he woke up. I began to panic, what if he had gone out and something that happened to him? Gotten in an accident? Worse yet, what if Mr. Grey was with him and they were both in the hospital, or worse. My adrenaline rose, and I did my best to calm myself back down.

More time passed, and I could feel my eyes glazing over. I wasn’t hungry, I wasn’t thirsty, I wasn’t tired. My muscles were numb to the pain, and the stench of piss had long stopped bothering me.

That’s when the light came on, and the door creaked open. I blinked into the light, but only stared numbly at Ryan’s silhouette in the doorway from where I crouched in the corner, making no effort to move to my knees before him. I was completely confused, nearly delirious. A second silhouette stepped beside him. It was Mr. Grey.

“What the fuck?” Ryan exclaimed, ready to step in and drag me to my knees.

Mr. Grey reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him, “He’s weak and confused,” he explained. “I warned you what to expect, but don’t worry, he’ll come around. Get the bucket and the hose.”

Ryan disappeared with a huff and Mr. Grey stepped into the cell, his expensive loafers clicking on the cement floor. He crouched down before me, giving me an assuring smile. I could process everything that was happening, but he was right, I did feel weak, almost unable to move. Traumatized in a way from the isolation.

“Okay, slave, I’m going to release you from your chains, but you’re going to need to stand. Think you can?” he asked, his voice low and even.

I nodded, not really sure if I could or not, but would’ve done anything to be freed from the chains. He took my arms and helped pull me up slowly to my feet. I felt my knees shake, and I moaned into the gag as my cramped muscles screamed.

“Good, now turn around, press your face to the wall,” Mr. Grey commanded, his tone remaining even. I did as commanded, feeling him crouching behind me. He first unlocked the left shackle, and then the right, pulling them from my ankles and tossing them aside. Next, he undid the padlocks that attached me to the chain hanging from the wall, first at my wrists, and then at the back of my collar. “I heard you’d been defiant,” he noted as he pushed the chain aside. “Hopefully, you learned your lesson.”

Next, he removed my wrist shackles, and I moaned slightly in relief as my arms hung free at my sides, shoulder blades rejoicing.

“The collar stays, of course,” he noted, tossing the wrist shackles to the ground with another clang. “Remain facing the wall, but take a few steps towards me.” I stepped backwards, rubbing my wrists as soon as I could bring them in front of me, though he added quickly. “Display.”

My heart sinking a bit, I spread my legs apart, my stance almost as wide as the cell itself, and put my hands behind my head, and held my head high, squaring my shoulders and rendering my backside completely open and vulnerable. My legs were unsteady, my back ached, my shoulders were cramped, but in a way it felt good, just to be free of the shackles. I felt Ryan’s added presence behind me as he returned to the doorway of the small cell, casting another shadow against the back wall.

“Scrub him down,” Mr. Grey prompted.

I heard a slosh of water in a bucket, and the next thing I felt was a cold, wet sponge of some sort on my shoulder blades. It began to move up and down. No, not really a sponge, more like a squeegee. It was rough, almost like a cheap washcloth as it scraped against my skin in an unforgiving manner. The water was cold of course as it sloshed off my skin, running down my back and legs. It wasn’t just water though, I felt foam clinging to my skin in clumps, and the pungent aroma of soap. Ryan worked quickly coating my entire backside with the soapy water. I shivered involuntarily, and more so when he even ran the squeegee through my hair and up to the top of my head. I winced tightly as the soapy water dripped down the sides of my head and neck beneath the collar.

“Turn around, bitch,” Ryan ordered.

Slowly, I turned around, careful to keep my hands as they were behind my head, and when I was facing towards the door, I readjusted my legs so that they remained spread, and stared straight ahead. Ryan was practically right in front of me, He had changed again since the last time I had seen him, now wearing old jeans, flip flops, and a maroon t-shirt with his frat letters emblazoned on the front. Without missing a beat, he plunged the long squeegee back into the sudsy water bucket, and sloshed it to my chest, scrubbing me unceremoniously up and down. However, humiliating it was to be washed like this, it felt good to feel the dried piss and sweat running off of me and swirling down into the drain. I winced especially as he rubbed the squeegee against my cock and balls roughly.

“That’s enough,” Mr. Grey interrupted. “Squirt him down.”

“Gladly,” Ryan agreed, tossing the brush back into the bucket, and picking up the hose which he had pulled into the cell. “You remember how good this feels?”

“Mmph!” I screamed into the gag, nearly staggering backwards as the ice cold blast of water shot out of the spigot of the hose and square into the center of my chest. I had forgotten how much it hurt, pounding against my hot skin. I trembled as he widened the stream to a spray, and ran it back and forth, showering the soapy suds off of my front.

“Turn,” he called over the spray, keeping it wide. I had winced my eyes shut both out of instinct as the water sprayed onto my face and to prevent the suds that were running down my face from stinging my eyes. “Slowly. Full 360,” he added.

Holding my arms behind my head, I obeyed, slowly turning in a circle so that he could rinse both sides of my body. By the time I made the full rotation, he seemed satisfied that the soap was sufficiently rinsed and released the handle, cutting off the water. I shivered, dripping dry as the cool droplets of water ran off my body and pooled at my feet. Ryan picked up the bucket of the water and the hose, and carried them out of the cell.

Mr. Grey remained, watching me intently as I shivered. He stepped forward and lightly adjusted my collar, rotating it so that one of the attached D-rings sat directly under my chin. “You are learning what it is to be a slave,” he lectured calmly, tracing his finger from my collar down my slick chest and stomach. “A slave is an object. Albeit a very useful object, if the slave should prove troublesome or useless in the eyes of his Master, then the Master might opt to put his object away for a while. Do you understand?”

I nodded as he moved his hand from my abs down to my shaved crotch. He gave me cock a few strokes, and then seized the base of my balls, giving my entire package a firm twist. “Mmph!” I yelped into the gag, my eyes wincing, and my knees nearly giving out as pain shot up through my groin.

“How easy it is to control a slave,” Mr. Grey mused as his grip tightened on my junk. “Especially one who so easily surrenders that which makes him a man…”

“That’s because he’s not a man,” Ryan reiterated coming back into the cell with purpose. “He’s my bitch slave.” Mr. Grey released his grip on my balls and stepped away so that Ryan could face me. “This little vacation is over. You’re no use to me in here, but I have no fucking problem locking your ass back up in here the minute you piss me off. Got it?” He barked.

I nodded, meaning it. Though, I thought he had to be kidding about the vacation reference.

He pulled a long leather leash out of his back pocket, and clipped it to the D-ring at the front of my collar. “Turn around. Hands behind your back,” he ordered flatly. I complied, lowering my arms to the small of my back. I felt smooth metal circle around both of my wrists, almost simultaneously. A quick test would indicate there were only 3 or 4 links of chain in between, like police handcuffs, only the cuffs themselves were thicker and heavier, like shackles but not as medieval.

“An untrained slave cannot be trusted with the use of his hands,” Mr. Grey explained as Ryan cuffed me. “Of course, we don’t fear you. You simply can’t be trusted not to touch that slave cock of yours. It belongs to your Masters now, and slaves don’t touch their Masters things without permission.”

“Turn back around,” Ryan snapped, nearly interrupting his father. Their back and forth was growing more tense, as if Mr. Grey’s exposition bored him. I turned back around to face both of them. It occurred to me in that instant that I was exactly as I had seen my parents for the first time as slaves, naked, shaved, collared, gagged, cuffed and leashed. Ryan gave a tug on the leash, the collar biting into the back of my neck. “Time to go home, slave. When we walk, you keep to my left. Keep your head bowed and your eyes on me. Your hands are always behind your back like they are now, even if they’re not cuffed. Move.”

He gave me another tug and we exited past Mr. Grey. I stepped to Ryan’s left, and watched his back and ass as we made our way across the dungeon floor to the exit. I wondered exactly what he had meant about going home.

*** CHAPTER 5 – A HOMECOMING

Ryan paused to open the door that led from the dungeon chamber back into the main part of the basement rec room. He tugged on my leash, and we exited the dungeon. Crossing the threshold, it felt strange as my bare feet pushed into the soft carpeting outside the covered the rest of the basement floor. Inside the dungeon I’d been thoroughly introduced to my new identity as a slave in a setting where it made sense. But, crossing back into the main house, I suddenly became very conscious of the fact that I was naked, shaved, and trailing the guy who I’d grown up with on a leash.

It felt very surreal as we made our way by the full bar, pool table, and entertainment center. My mind zoomed through images of the two of us killing hours playing bool, catching a game, and sneaking shots from the bar. The lights were dim, and the large windows that overlooked the sprawling back yard of the property were dark. I realized I had no idea what time it even was, but it was obviously night. I had been enslaved around 1:30 pm on Friday afternoon, so I assumed it was sometime late on Saturday. I couldn’t have been locked in the cell for more than 36 hours, could I?

We made our way in silence through the rec area and under the arch to the fitness room. It was a nice little in-home gym with all the basic equipment one would need. Treadmill, bike, universal weight machine, bench press, free weights. I had expected us to take a right up the basement stairs, but instead we turned left to the basement door that led out to the backyard. I nearly ran into Ryan as we stopped short at the door, the cuff chains jingling behind me.

“I said, watch me,” he growled, over his shoulder. Pushing open the basement door, I shivered immediately as a cold blast of wintry air swirled inside and around my naked body. “Brrr, gettin’ cold out there. Wish I’d brought a jacket,” he remarked, shivering himself as he gave my leash a hard tug pulling me from the basement to the brick pathway outside.

I shivered involuntarily as I stood outside the door in the December night air, and he pulled the door shut behind us. Ryan’s comment was laughable. At least he had clothes on.

Finishing with the door, he gave the leash another tug for me to follow after him up the brick steps that climbed the hill in the back of the house from the basement to the courtyard behind the kitchen. “Shit, boy, hurry up. I’m freezing my nuts off!” He pulled harder, as he began to jog up the steps. I increased my pace after him, the rough cold bricks scraping my bare feet, my balls banging wildly between my thighs.

We made our way to the top of the steps and he pulled me across the courtyard. At first, I wondered if we might actually be getting in his car that was parked in the driveway. The thought sent my heart racing in alarm. It was bad enough to be buck naked like this outside on private property, but getting in a car like this for parts unknown was another thing altogether. So, I was mildly relieved as we turned, instead, towards the guest house, which I’d known solely as my house for 18 years.

He pulled me past the decorative fountain in the center of the courtyard, which had been turned off for the winter, and we stopped by the door. My knees were literally banging together as I shivered uncontrollably. It didn’t help that my hair was still damp from being hosed down not long before. “Welcome home, slave,” he remarked as he fumbled with the set of keys in the door handle.

Miraculously the door opened and a wave of warm air beckoned me inside. I took a step forward.

“Not so fast,” he turned abruptly to stop me with a firm hand to my chest. I looked at him like he was crazy. My teeth would have been chattering had there not been a gag in my mouth. “Get on your knees. A slave doesn’t stride into his Master’s home for the first time. A slave enters on his knees out of respect for his Master and his Master’s property. Inside that door, you will never be anything more than something I own. Now, crawl.”

My legs trembling, I lowered to my knees on the cold brick outside the door, exhaling short frigid breaths through my nose. I felt choked up slightly, but held back my tears as I took my first shuffle forward on my knees, and then the next. I was literally crawling into the home I had grown up in. It hit me at once that it was no longer mine, not that it ever really was. I’d never watch another game lounging on the couch, sneak a girl up the stairs in the middle of the night, pre-game with Sean and a bottle of whiskey in my room before a party.

Ryan tugged my leash, as I picked up my left knee and leaned forward through the entryway. Finally I was inside, my knees pressing hard against the smooth tile of the entryway. Better than brick. “Get up,” Ryan snapped, closing the door behind me. Warmth suddenly enveloped me, but I continued to shiver. “Time for a tour.”

Shakily, I pushed up to one knee, and then both feet, looking to him. Strange that he wanted to give me a tour of what used to be my own house.

He retained hold of the leash, “Follow me. When I stop, you stop. And remember, slaves don’t just stand around picking their ass in the presence of their Masters, they wait respectfully for direction. In this case, just make sure you are facing me, spread your legs a good shoulder width apart, and cross your wrists behind your back, not that you have the option at the moment. Think of it like parade rest. If I want you to present formally or display yourself, you’ll know.”

I think he wanted to test me out, so he tugged me forward leaving the entry way and pulled me into the living room. The guest house was relatively small, and designed to be an open space. The first floor consisted of the kitchen to the right of the door, the living room to the left, and the dining area to the back, the rooms flowing together without doors through archways. An open stairway ran down the center, ending relatively adjacent to the front door. A small bathroom was situated under the stairs. We went left continuing into the living room, or at least, what I remembered as the living room. He stopped, and I did too, spreading my legs a bit.

“Busy few days for my father’s slaves. We’ve remodeled a bit,” he remarked in satisfaction, placing his hands on his hips and looking around the remodeled room.

My eyes widened. Gone was the inexpensive pleather couch and plain wooden coffee table Gone was the ancient TV and the handed down entertainment center. In place, were two luxurious leather recliners, and a matching love seat, all facing an impressive state of the art entertainment center, with the largest flat screen TV I’d ever seen and an in-home theatre sound system. The sleek new coffee table was already covered with empty beer cans, dirty shot glasses, and an empty bottle of scotch. Ryan hadn’t wasted anytime christening his new bachelor pad.

“Over here,” Ryan ordered as we moved through the living room to the back of the house where the dining room once was. The dining room always had the best view, with large windows that overlooked the sprawling back yard and the woods along the back perimeter of the property. But, I barely recognized it. The old table and chairs had been removed. In place, there was a brand new pool table. The back corner, once occupied with a china cabinet, was now filled with a gleaming new wet bar, complete with a mini-fridge and a sink. The shelves were lined with top-shelf liquor. I was in disbelief as the house had literally been transformed overnight, like in one of those makeover shows.

“Sweet, huh?” Ryan observed, completely proud of himself.

For a moment, it sounded as if Ryan had difficulty containing his enthusiasm, and genuinely wanted to share it with me. Unable to really respond, I nodded humbly, as I observed. I was actually kind of surprised to see the liquor so readily on display. Mr. Grey had always been strict with Ryan about drinking, but then, something told me Mr. Grey wouldn’t be spending much time in the guest house now that it was Ryan’s.

A jerk to my collar, and we moved forward, rounding the circle until we were in the open kitchen. The transformation there was startling too. The dated appliances, fridge, dishwasher, microwave, had all been replaced with shiny new stainless steel versions. Otherwise, it looked relatively the same with one exception. A small breakfast counter had been added in matching granite top that extended out from the counter where the stove was towards the dining room. There were bar stools around it, obviously necessary since Ryan had chucked the dining room table.

At the end of the counter extension, I noticed a place mat on the floor with two dog bowls sitting on it. I found it curious at first, knowing that Mr. Grey was allergic to most pets and had forbidden them in the home.

Ryan followed my eyes. “Obviously, those are for you,” he noted, letting go of my leash so that it fell hanging down my chest, tickling my cock. “It’s great, see,” he explained excitedly as he hopped up on the bar stool nearest to the end of the counter and spun around like a little kid. “I’ll sit here while you serve me, and then you’ll kneel down there and eat whatever I allow you to have.”

He jumped off the stool and picked up one of the bowls, walking over to the sink he filled it up nearly to the brim with tap water. Walking back over to the end of the corner, he crouched to set the bowl on the floor. Rising, he simply snapped and pointed at the space in front of the bowls. Taking the cue, I reluctantly took a step forward and knelt in front of the bowls, looking up at him for the obvious. I bowed my head as he reached forward to undo the gag buckle.

“I think we’ve kept your mouth busy for long enough…” he muttered as he worked. When the strap gave way, he slowly pulled the gag out. “Your jaw is going to be sore,” he warned, stating the obvious as he pulled the gag past my lips. There was noticeably less saliva as my mouth had gone dry over the course of my confinement. “Don’t speak, just work your mouth open and closed.”

He was right, I groaned in pain wincing as I closed my jaw and then opened it. I did so a few times, until I felt I have control of the muscles again.

“Now, what do you say?” he demanded, sharply, tossing the gag on the counter top.

“Thank you, Sir,” I croaked, my voice nearly hoarse.

“Drink,” he ordered.

He didn’t have to tell me twice as I thirstily dove into the water bowl lapping and slurping at the contents, grateful as it coated my dry throat and tongue.

While I downed the water, he stepped to the new refrigerator, opened the door and pulled something out. I glanced up as he walked back toward me holding the pitcher portion of a blender filled with a frothy liquid that looked like a smoothie…a smoothie gone wrong. It was greenish brown. He knelt down and poured the contents of the pitcher into the second bowl. It smelled about as bad as it looked.

“You need your strength, slave,” he explained, emptying the pitcher into the bowl with a glug. “Luckily, it’s all right here in this smoothie I’ve concocted. Fruits, veggies, protein, vitamin supplements. A well balanced meal, one easy drink.”

I picked my head up from the water bowl, a few droplets of water clinging to my lips and chin, and looked begrudgingly at the disgusting smoothie, then up at him.

“Don’t worry, boy, I know what you’re thinking and the answer is ‘yes’,” he chuckled picking something up off the counter and bending back over. He inserted a thick plastic straw into the bowl, and held it up for me. “Of course you can have a straw. Water is one thing, but I don’t want my slave’s face dripping with this sludge. Now, drink.” He demanded, his tone going cold.

“Yea..yes, Sir,” I agreed quietly, leaning forward to take the straw in my teeth and closing my eyes as I sucked in the first gulp. “Egh!” I couldn’t contain my disgust as I jerked away from the straw, nearly gagging on the taste. It was indescribable. Like rotten fruit mixed and sour milk.

Ryan held the straw up patiently. “What’s the matter? Don’t like my cooking?” he asked in mocking, his tone then changing to something much sharper. “Get your fucking cuntsucking lips around this straw right now and suck it down or I will bury your face in it. One way or another, you are drinking this down.”

I cringed and nodded somewhat fearfully, leaning back reluctantly to take the straw back in my mouth. Wincing my eyes tightly I took another wretched sip, swallowing it down, and then began to hoover it as fast as I could. I had to stop a few times to cough and choke, but I managed to get it down, at least enough to satisfy him.

“Good, isn’t it, slave?” Ryan suggested, taking the bowl from me.

I knelt back up, swallowing down the last of it with a big gulp. “Yes, Sir,” I agreed, quietly.

“I knew you’d like it. Don’t worry, I’ll be teaching you the recipe soon enough.” He tossed the bowl into the sink with a clang. “On your feet. Tour continues upstairs.”

“Yes, Sir,” I mumbled quietly, pushing up to my feet as he took hold of my leash.

He started quickly up the stairs, tugging hard at the leash so that I would keep pace behind him. The master bedroom was to the left, where my parents had slept. My room, or at least what was my room, was to the right, and the hall bathroom, my bathroom, was also to the left across from the master bedroom door. The bedroom doors were closed.

We charged ahead into the master bedroom, suite really, as it took up most of the second floor. Like the entire first floor, it was nearly unrecognizable. My parents’ furniture had been completely removed. A giant king bed was centered prominently against the wall, with a very modern and masculine looking headboard, dressed in fluffy maroon and white bedding, the colors of his frat. The desk was sleek and modern, with a shiny laptop centered on it. Opposite the bed was a long dresser that matched the desk, another flat screen TV situated on top. A matching nightstand was place beside the bed, with a modern reading light on top. The walls were decorated with framed mementos of his accomplishments, varsity letters, diploma, awards, a decorative fraternity paddle, photos of him and his father at various charity functions.

“Pretty chill, isn’t it?” he remarked rhetorically, looking around as he held tight to the leash. “So glad to finally have my own space.”

“Yes, Sir…” I agreed, somewhat longingly as I looked around. I felt a mix of emotions, not the least of which was jealousy at what he was afforded without working a day in his life. In strict contrast, not only could I not afford any of his things, I had become one of his things.

“Need to see the best part,” Ryan enthused, pulling me towards the double doors that led to a walk-in closet. He let go of the leash, and with some fanfare, opened both doors simultaneously.

My eyes widened in surprise. A wall had been constructed in the middle of the closet, separating it into two halves. The left side of the closet remained in tact, a few rods lined neatly with all of his collared shirts, suits, jackets, and pants. Shelves for his shoes. The right was a different story. Metal bars had been inset from floor to ceiling around the perimeter of the closet, and a barred door faced front. It was a perfect cage, about 3′ wide, 4′ deep, that could be easily hidden behind the closet door.

“It took some work, but I think it will hold you just fine,” he observed, giving the bars a shake to demonstrate how sturdy they were. “Needed a place to put you away with the rest of my things if I have company over.”

“Yes, Sir,” I acknowledged distantly, trying to picture myself in the small cage behind the closet door listening while he fucked some naive one-night-stand.

Abruptly, he closed the doors. “More to see,” he said, taking my leash and pulling me back out of the room.

We didn’t go into his bathroom, but I assumed it was much the same. Whirlpool tub, shower stall, double sink. Instead, we exited back into the short hallway at the top of the stairs and detoured into what had been my bathroom. The door was open. Actually, the door had been removed completely.

He flipped on the light. The door wasn’t the only thing that had been removed. “Remodeled your bathroom too, slave,” he chuckled. “Well, my bathroom that you get to use.” He gestured towards the sink. All of my things had been removed and replaced with generic everything. Generic hand soap, generic toothbrush and toothpaste, generic shaving cream, razor, face wash, deodorant. Noticeably, there were no towels or washcloths. “Everything fit for a slave,” he observed.

He tugged the leash gesturing towards the rest of the small bathroom. I looked around in slight confusion. The bathmat had been removed, and so had the shower curtain. In place was a see through plastic liner. Most curiously of all, the toilet seat had been completely removed. I looked at him, unable to contain my confusion.

He smirked slightly, “You seem surprised, bitch? Shouldn’t be. You already know you aren’t entitled to privacy anymore, not the least of which when you shower or shit.” He paused, motioning toward the toilet, “Speaking of which, slaves aren’t entitled to sit on a man’s toilet seat. No one wants to share a toilet seat with your dirty ass. In any other bathroom, you will lift the seat and sit directly on the bowl. Since this is the one you’ll use most often, I went ahead and took it away completely, just to save you the trouble. Nice of me, right?”

I nodded, my voice feeling small in the back of my throat as I contemplated shitting bare-assed on the toilet bowl, him watching from the doorway. “Yes, Sir…”

“We’ll go over your hygiene tomorrow,” he warned, tugging at my leash to follow him out of the bathroom. “And, in case you’re wondering, any of my guests will be told that this bathroom is out of order. I don’t want any of my friends sharing a bathroom with a piece of shit slave.”

“Yes, Sir,” I agreed, dishearteningly.

“Last stop,” Ryan announced, opening the door to my room and pulling me inside and flipping the light switch which illuminated a single bare bulb from a floor lamp.

My mouth dropped slightly as I looked around. It looked familiar, but not because it had once been my room, but because it reminded me very much of the way Ali’s room had been transformed in Kara’s apartment. The windows were blacked out. My walls were stripped bare, and unlike Ali’s, so was my twin-sized bed. Not even a mattress pad remained. There was a pillow though, one of those tiny ones you get on an airplane. My dresser was gone completely, as was my TV. Although my desk was still there, all of the drawers had been removed. My laptop sat closed on top, cable-locked to the desk, like Ali’s. Though, there was no chair, or even a stool. And that was it. A latch had been installed on the outside of my closet door, and it had been padlocked.

“This isn’t your room anymore,” Ryan explained. “It’s the place in my house where I let my slave sleep,” he smirked, adding quickly, “Sometimes.”

“Yes, Sir,” I acknowledge vacantly as I swallowed hard. It was difficult to absorb as I looked around in shock. It was official. Everything had been taken from me. Everything.

“Your clothes have been locked away, what hasn’t been thrown away anyway. You won’t need them for awhile,” he chuckled darkly, unclipping the leash from my collar. “Display your cock,” he snapped suddenly, changing the tone.

I hesitated, the order catching me off guard. “Uh, yes, Sir,” I mumbled.

Without missing a beat, he took the leather end of the leash and whipped it across my chest with a loud snap against my skin. I yelped in surprise, the lash stinging my sensitive skin. “Louder! Enough of your fucking mumbling, dickwad. YES. SIR,” he emphasised each word with another light whip of the leash.

I winced, absorbing each of the two lashes into my stomach. “Yes! Sir!” I called out loudly into the room.

“Now, display your fucking slave cock!” he barked.

“Yes, Sir!” Scrambling, I spread my legs wide, arched my back, bent my knees, and thrust my hips forward, giving him full access to my junk. It was humiliating, even more so now than it had been in the dungeon. Now, I was here in what used to be my room, willingly giving my manhood up.

Ryan didn’t say anything else as he reached forward and seized what now belonged to him. He gave my balls a good squeeze as he rolled them around in his hand, soliciting a grunt from me. His hand ran up and down my cock for a few strokes, and then he swung my dick around between my legs, swatting it back and forth. I got harder with each swat, wincing slightly. He stopped suddenly, and I could hear him rustling in his pocket as I stared up at the ceiling.

“It’s a shame really…” he observed, as he gave my cock a few more quick strokes to bring me to a near full erection, and then took hold of my cock and balls at the base in one hand. I then felt something hard pressing against the the head of my cock, really around it. He grunted a bit, breathing hard as he forced the seemingly metal ring down the shaft of my cock, stopping at the balls. My cock seemed to magically get harder as the ring slowed the circulation of blood in my shaft. He grabbed my balls, and I winced as he popped each of my testicles through the ring until it was secure about the base of both my cock and my scrotum.

He shook his head, adjusting the ring. “Yeah, real shame. Perfectly good jock dick wasted here. Slaves don’t get to use these.” He flicked my hard cock for emphasis, “At least, not like a man does. That cock ring will help you remember who owns your dick, and more importantly, why you’re not allowed to touch it. Now, get your ass on that bed!”

I swallowed hard, already feeling horny with my cock mostly hard and bobbing before me, the ring pushing my full balls forward. “Yes, Sir,” I said as I looked cautiously to the bed, well mattress, and pushed up on my right knee, and then the left.

“On your stomach,” Ryan snapped. He reached under me to pull my cock and balls downward as I slid forward on my chest until my stomach was flat, the mattress material itchy against my skin as my cock pointed down towards me feet. “Spread your legs, feet to the edge of the bed.”

I inched my legs apart as instructed, until they almost hung off the edges of the small bed. He walked to the head of the bed, and lifted my chin slightly, sliding the airline pillow under my head.

“It’s after midnight, bitch,” Ryan observed, glancing at his expensive watch. “I suggest you take advantage of this time to get get some rest. A slave’s day begins at 4:00am. Everyday. No exceptions.”

“Yes, Sir,” I answered, numbly, my voice muffled in the pillow.

“Good, boy,” he said in mocking, giving my bare ass a light slap as he headed toward the door. “It goes without saying, the door locks from the outside, but I’ll also be nice and give you fair warning that this room has been wired with closed circuit cameras. Remember, it’s a cell, not a sanctuary.”

With that, the light went out and the door slammed leaving me alone in the room that once belonged to me. Despite the humiliation, the handcuffs, the collar around my neck, the ache in my cock, I felt home. The feeling alone was enough to send me off to sleep, my exhausted body grateful for the modicum of comfort provided by the mattress and pillow.

*** CHAPTER 6 – RUDE AWAKENING

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

I awoke with a start, my body drenched in a cold sweat as a loud, grating noise drilled into my head, ripping me from my peaceful slumber. Miraculously, I had fallen into a deep sleep.

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

Gaining some sense as the beeping continued assaulting my ears, I groaned in the pitch black room, still pressed face down on the bare mattress. Instinctively, I went to swat at the invisible noise, only to remember quickly that my hands were cuffed behind my back.

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

I was wide awake now as the intolerable alarm cut into me. Unsure of what to do, I remained as I was for several moments weighing my options. Half of me wanted to roll off the bed and attempt to dismantle the alarm. The other half told me to stay put and that Ryan should be in any minute.

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

I couldn’t take it another moment, and before I knew it, I was squirming on my stomach until my feet were dangling over the side of the bed. I slowly pushed backwards until I could feel my toes touching the floor. Finding my footing, I stood up, lifting myself off of the bed.

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

Originally, the sound seemed like it was everywhere, assaulting me from all angles. Just as I isolated the source to be directly under the bed frame, I noticed a dim green light creeping out from under the bed. I squatted down, trying to figure out the best way to retrieve the alarm with my hands shackled behind me. I dropped to my ass with a light thud, and leaning back, I slid my legs under the bed and swept them from side to side.

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

I grunted, turning on my side as I felt my left foot connect with a small plastic box. Turning my foot like a hook, I bent my knee up and pulled the obnoxious device across the floor towards me. When it was clear of the bed, I pulled my legs in and rolled over and up onto my knees, glancing at the glowing digital numbers that illuminated the otherwise dark room. It read 4:03. Shuffling on my knees in front of the clock, I reached behind me poking blindly at the buttons on top.

“BEEP! BEEP! B…..”

I sighed with relief, just as the bedroom door burst open and light flooded the room. Gasping in shock and pain as light burned my retinas, I winced, bowing my head away from the light.

“Well, well,” Ryan observed with a yawn from the doorway. “Looks like my slave is really up and at ‘em this morning. I’ll give you credit for your resourcefulness, but is that any way to greet your Master, bitch?!”

My eyes adjusting to the light, I glanced up at him. He was shirtless, wearing loose fitting blue pajama pants that tied at the waist and sat low on his hips. It was evident that he’d just woken up as well, his hair tousled and matted in spots. He was glaring down at me through sleepy eyes, and I looked down. Though I was on my knees, I was leaning back on my heels, sprawled awkwardly near the clock. “No, Sir?”

He snapped, and pointed to the floor a few paces in front of him. Reluctantly, I shuffled forward on my knees in shame to where he pointed and adjusted my kneel to what I had been taught. Expecting him to speak, he simply walked past me, bent down and retrieved the alarm clock.

“4:04?” He asked, feigning surprise. “I gave you an entire four minute grace period to get your lazy ass up, shut this thing up, and get on your knees to wait for me, and that’s not enough?!”

“Sir? I…but,” I stammered in confusion, as I hadn’t been given any such directions.

“But, nothing,” he snapped. “Tomorrow, the alarm goes off at 3:30 just to make sure. You’ll be on your knees every morning in that spot until you earn my trust to get your own ass up and out.”

“Yes, Sir,” I acknowledged, my heart sinking at the thought of getting up a half hour earlier. 4:00 am was ridiculous enough.

Ryan hit some buttons on the clock, and I heard him slide it back under the bed, realizing quickly how my mornings would begin. He stepped back in front of me, “And you better earn it quickly, I’m not going to spend my entire fucking break getting up at 4:00am with your ass. Now, get your face on the floor and your fucking cunt hole up in the air!”

“Ye…yes, Sir.” I hesitated, slightly taken aback by the sudden command, but slowly leaned forward until my chest and face hit the floor almost simultaneously, my weight abruptly shifting as I lifted my ass up.

Roughly, he grabbed my chained wrists and pushed them up on my back, so that my ass was completely exposed. “You were four minutes late getting up.”

WHACK! Without warning, his hand came sailing through the air connecting with my bare ass. I yelped, lurching forward, the stinging sensation was immediate.

“Count them,” he demanded coldly.

“One…Sir,” I counted, my voice quivering slightly in shock and fear.

WHACK!

“Louder! Thank me for each one. I fucking drag my ass out of bed at 4:00 am to deal with this shit, the least you can do is fucking thank me for taking the time to discipline your ass,” he barked.

“Two! Thank you, Sir!” I called out, my face buried in the floor.

WHACK!

“Three! Thank you, Sir.” The force of each slap surprised me. I didn’t think a simple spanking could hurt so much.

WHACK!

“Four…thank…you…Sir.” Unused to this kind of pain, I was biting back tears after only four slaps.

“Get up. We’re wasting time,” he snapped.

“Yes, Sir.” My voice was small as I gratefully pulled my knees in, and shakily pushed up to one knee and then both feet.

“Anything you wanna ask me, boy?” he asked abruptly, standing eye to eye. He reached down and gave my protruding balls a hard flick.

I winced, the flick sending shock waves through the nerves in my groin and then into my bladder. I nodded, my face flushing a bit. “Yea…yes, Sir. I have to…I mean, can I take a piss, Sir?” Almost at the mention of the word, my bladder strained at full attention for its morning piss.

“Yes, slave, you may,” he smirked, stepping aside and motioning into the hallway. “You remember where your bathroom is?”

“Yes, Sir,” I nodded shamefully as I stepped past him with my head down and into the hallway. Everything about the walk from my room to the bathroom was so familiar, making it all the more painful now that I was a naked, collared slave that needed permission to do something as simple as pee. I could feel him behind me as I walked into the small bathroom. He flipped on the light, and I glanced at him over the shoulder as he leaned against the door frame, Trying to ignore him, I stepped in front of the seat-less toilet and bent my knees, doing my best to aim my cock at the bowl.

“Uhh, what do you think you’re doing?” Ryan interjected. “You were told yesterday that you were to sit directly on the toilet bowl when you were given the privilege of using the bathroom. Men stand up to piss. Slaves sit their asses on the bowl and piss between their legs like the pussies that they are. Now, do it right, or don’t do it all.”

I hesitated for a long moment, my face flushing again, but slowly turned around. “Yes, Sir.” Reluctantly, I lowered slowly to the bowl, feeling my ass cheeks balancing on the narrow rim. It was nothing like a seat and I thought my ass might dip into the water. My cock, though protruding slightly thanks to the ring, was fortunately flaccid enough that I thought I could make it into the bowl.

“Waiting,” Ryan snapped, and then yawned loudly, stretching his arms over head.

Swallowing, I winced my eyes shut trying to pretend he wasn’t there, and after a few more seconds, let my bladder open up, draining into the bowl with a tinkling sound. I opened my eyes, staring down at my feet as the pressure left my stomach. Not that I hadn’t pissed in front of guys before at a urinal, and not that I hadn’t squatted to piss in front of Ryan in the dungeon cell, but this was different still. I squeezed the last few drops out of my cock, and tried to shake it a little over the bowl, feeling a few drops splatter against my legs. Finishing, I looked to him.

“What are you waiting for? Get up,” he growled, stepping forward he grabbed me around my right bicep and pulled me off the toilet with enough forced to send me stumbling past him out of the bathroom door. I tripped over the door frame and fell sprawling to my knees and chest in the hallway, the carpet burning my bare skin as I slid across it. “I said, GET UP!” I felt Ryan’s bare foot on my ass as he kicked me forward till I was flat on my stomach. “Up! Get your ass downstairs. Wait for me by the front door.”

“Yes, Sir,” I stammered at the fire in his voice. I squirmed forward on my chest, then pulling myself up to my knees, I trotted lightly down the stairs without looking back at him.

Reaching the front door, I hesitated slightly glancing at the hard tiles that made up the entry foyer, and reluctantly lowered to my knees. Unsure of whether I should face the door or the stairs to wait for him, I knelt sideways so that I could see both. I could hear him banging around upstairs. Several minutes passed and I grew increasingly uncomfortable, the hard tile cutting into my knee caps. Eventually, I looked up, hearing him jog lightly down the stairs. He had pulled a gray zip-up hoody over his bare chest, and slipped his feet into thick-soled slippers, the jingle of a leash audible as it swung from his hand. In any other household, he could have been any guy waking up early to take the dog out, but this wasn’t just any normal household. There were a few other things in his hands, but I diverted my eyes quickly in fear of pissing him off.

“Hold these,” he stated, coming up quickly behind me. I glanced up in surprise, as a pair of sneakers with their laces tied together were draped around my neck and collar so that they dangled against my chest. I recognized quickly that they were an old pair of mine. “And this. Open.”

Again, I looked up in confusion, my mouth slightly agape as he wasted no time in shoving something past my lips, forcing my jaw open. It was fabric, maybe cotton, I assessed quickly as he forced it in with his fingers until my mouth was thoroughly stuffed. There was still some spilling out as I felt something hanging down my chin, something like elastic. It was a jockstrap.

Ryan bent forward to clip the leash to the front of my collar, and gave a firm tug upwards. “Up,” he commanded flatly.

I pushed up to one knee and then the other as the collar bit into the back of my neck. Without another word, he opened the front door. A blast of wintry air assaulted my exposed skin, and I shivered instantly as he pulled me forwards out into the dark morning. I stepped aside so that he could pull the door shut behind us, and then he pulled me swiftly back across the courtyard towards the back of the main house.

“Fuck, boy! It’s cold as balls out here!” Ryan practically yelped as he gave my leash a harder tug towards the brick steps that ran down the back of the house to the basement door.

I trotted after him as best I could, my joints quaking involuntarily from the cold. The shoes banged against my chest, and I bit hard into the fabric in my mouth as my teeth attempted to chatter. When we reached the basement door, I shivered in place as he fumbled with the lock, and eventually the door swung open, a blast of heat greeting me as he pulled me inside after him. Letting the door slam closed behind us, Ryan flipped on the fluorescent ceiling lights and pulled me forward into the center of the fitness room.

Silently, he let the leash go so that it slapped against my chest and stomach, dangling by my dick. Fishing in the pocket of his hoody, he walked around behind me and grabbed my left forearm. I heard the scraping of metal on metal, and felt the left cuff release from my wrist, followed shortly by the right. Without missing a beat, my arms shot around to my front, and I was rubbing my throbbing wrists madly. Looking down, I noticed slight red abrasions from being cuffed for so long.

I’m sure that I wasn’t supposed to do that, but Ryan was either being merciful or was too tired to care as he walked back in front of me. Reaching toward my face, he took hold of the elastic straps that were dangling against my chin and pulled the jockstrap out of my mouth, a small trail of saliva clinging to it.

“Here,” he tossed it against my chest, and I caught it before it hit the ground. “Put this on.”

I looked down at it cautiously, unfolding it in my hands. It was obviously old and well-worn. The once white fabric of the pouch was now nearly gray in color, and despite being damp with my saliva, there were obvious yellowish stains set into it. My stomach churned in disgust at the thought of having carried it in my mouth.

“Did I stutter, bitch?!”

“Yes, Sir…No, I mean, no Sir!” I was the one that stuttered as I shook the jock out and untwisted the straps. Stretching it out in front of me, I stepped my right leg through the straps, and then the left, working it slowly up my legs until I was able to engulf my cock and balls in the pouch. I felt clammy as the saliva dampened fabric cradled my manhood, and I adjusted the waistband and the straps that hugged my ass. Not that it was much, but I felt an ounce of dignity returning with my genitals hidden from view for the first time since I’d been enslaved.

Ryan walked casually around me. “Good. Fits,” he observed, as he pulled one of the straps behind me out a few inches and then let is snap back against my ass. I jolted forward absorbing the sting. “It was one of mine from high school. Thought it might be too big for you here in the crotch,” he snickered as he walked back in front of me and grabbed my junk through the fabric, giving it a firm squeeze. “But, I guess it shrunk in the wash. Now, get on the floor. You have 30 seconds to get those sneakers and socks on.” Stunned, I froze for a second as he flicked my balls through the jock. “29…28…27…”

Without thinking, I plopped to the floor, my exposed ass pressing into the firm carpet, and fumbled with the shoes dangling around my neck. As I tried to pull them over my head, I felt the tied laces catching on the back of my collar. I reached behind me, and worked the laces free of the collar, lifting the shoes to the space between my legs. My fingers were trembling as I worked furiously at the knot that tied the two shoelaces together.

“10…9…8…”

I could feel nerous sweat breaking out on my forehead as I finally made some progress with the knot, feeling the intertwined laces loosen.

“3…2…and 1…”

“The knot…I can’t, I…” Looking up in frustration, I held the separated laces limply in my hands.

“Well, don’t fucking stop, dumbass. I don’t need your excuses, I need you to do what you’re told,” Ryan snapped motioning with his hand to get on with it. “2…3…4…” Now, he was counting up.

I clenched my teeth slightly in anger as I went back to the shoes, reaching into the right one, I found a white ankle-high athletic sock tucked into it. Fumbling with the sock, I slipped it over my right foot, and then went for the left. When I had both socks on, I pulled the right shoe over my foot, and tied the laces quickly, and then went to work on the left until it was tied. I looked up, like I had finished some race.

“31…32…33…” Ryan continued to count, glaring down at me. My expression was one of confusion. “When a slave finishes a task, he presents on his knees anxiously awaiting his next order. 37…38…”

Nearly pounding the carpet with my fist, I scrambled to sit up and forward on my knees, crossing my wrists behind my back just as he stopped counting.

“41. 41 fucking seconds longer than it should take to put on a fucking pair of shoes,” Ryan scolded as he circled me slowly. “Looks like you’re gonna have to make that time up to me. 41 push ups. Now!” He planted his slippered foot against my back and shoved me forward with enough force that I had to catch myself with my hands.

“Yes, Sir,” I said quietly, feeling scorned, as I shuffled my feet back until my legs were straight, and I moved my hands to the sides, prepared to push up. The leash was coiled on the floor in front of me, still dangling from my collar.

“Count them off. Perfect form. Miss any, and you start over,” he warned.

I swallowed, and then pushed up, “One.” Lowering back to the ground, I pushed up again, “Two.” Push ups weren’t my favorite, and I was a little out of practice. I hadn’t done many push ups since I’d left high school sports behind, favoring weight machines like most guys my age. 41 sounded manageable, though I started feeling it pretty quickly, slowing around the halfway point. “Twenty-one….Twenty-two…”

“Let’s go, bitch. All the way down. Back straight.”

I was definitely breathing hard as I rounded the last ten, feeling the burn in my chest and my arms. It was early in the day for such a physical exertion, and I hadn’t exactly had the best night of sleep. A light sheen of sweat had broken out over my body. “Thirty-nine…” I panted. “Forty….Fortyyyy-onnne.” I collapsed to the ground after the last count, and after a split second rest, begrudgingly remembered to kneel up in wait.

Before I could finish pulling myself up into a kneel, my chest heaving, Ryan stooped forward to grab hold of my leash. “Uh uh, time’s wasting. Over here; up on the treadmill.”

I stumbled up to my feet as the collar bit into my neck, moving towards the treadmill. Reluctantly, I stepped up onto the black conveyor belt. He stepped up next to me, and unclipped the leash from the ring in my collar. He tossed it to the floor, and grabbed the safety stop-cord that was attached to the control panel of the treadmill, clipping the end of it to my collar, effectively leashing me to the machine. I took mild comfort in knowing that I wouldn’t strangle myself should I fall off the machine.

“Just to make sure we’re clear, the shoes and jock are not for your modesty or comfort,” Ryan explained casually as he began programming the control panel in front of me. “But you can run faster and harder without your balls slamming against your thighs, which is more important to me in this case.” Finishing with the controls, he hit a green button and hopped down from the machine. I felt the conveyor belt begin to crawl under my feet. “5 miles. Get going.”

“Uh, yes, Sir,” I acknowledged, slightly disheartened at the thought of putting in 5 miles on the treadmill as I moved quickly from a fast walk to a jog and then a full run as the conveyor increased in pace. I hated running.

“And just to make sure your dumbass understands the blatantly obvious, you don’t touch the control panel, and if you trigger the stop-cord,” he paused to shake his head almost in amusement, “You will be very, very sorry.”

The soles of my worn sneakers began to pound against the rubber conveyor as I developed a rhythm. Glancing at the digital controls, I could see the machine was counting down from 5 miles with some sort of random functionality selected. I would soon find out that the machine was programmed to change inclines and speeds with each half mile achieved. Fortunately, it would get easier and not more difficult as I went along. I could feel the burn immediately in my thighs as the first half mile ticked away on a fairly steep incline at about 5 miles per hour.

Ryan stood behind me to the left, watching me with his arms crossed for a few minutes. Then, glancing over my shoulder, I saw him yawn dramatically, stretching his arms over his head. He turned and shuffled through the open archway to the rec room where I heard the unmistakable sound of a body sinking into the long leather sofa near the entertainment center. The asshole was going to take a nap.

It was almost a relief, really, to know that I wasn’t being watched as I pumped my arms and continued to run in time with the unrelenting pace of the machine. Suddenly, the mechanisms in the base of the machine began to whir, and I felt the incline lessen slightly. I had completed the first half-mile at just under five minutes, but I was already feeling it in my legs. Ryan was certainly right about one thing, without the shoes and the jock, there was no way I could have kept pace with the machine.

I frowned as I caught myself feeling grateful for his consideration. Grateful? Why the fuck should I be grateful for a worn out pair of sneakers and his disgusting old jockstrap that hadn’t been washed in who knows how long. What I should’ve be doing two days into my winter break from college was sleeping off a hangover on a Sunday morning like the rest of the guys my age were undoubtedly doing. So much of me wanted to jump off the treadmill and go pound the shit out of Ryan while he napped in the other room. Yet, I didn’t. I couldn’t.

I stayed, and I ran, and I didn’t know why. It was just what I had to do. By the end of the third mile, the incline had lessened significantly, and the pace of the belt had slowed to about 3 miles per hour. Though I was jogging now, my chest was heaving as I breathed hard, sucking in air. I could feel that my entire body was slick with sweat, and without a towel, I could only wipe the sweat beads from my forehead out of my eyes with my forearm. My hair was damp, and I could feel it matted to my head in spots. The clock registered just over 30 minutes. I knew I’d be on the treadmill for another half hour finishing up the last two miles. Almost worst of all was the damn collar around my neck. Not only did it bang up and down against my collar bone, undoubtedly leaving a bruise, but I could feel sweat pooling beneath it.

Just then, my pounding heart skipped a beat as I heard the door at the top of the basement steps swing open, and then there were quick footsteps as someone descended the stairs. Glancing for a split second over my shoulder, I saw that it was Mr. Grey trotting lightly down the steps in his black track suit that he often wore lounging around the house on a weekend. I swallowed, continuing to breathe hard as I ran, uncertain as to whether I was supposed to stop and somehow acknowledge him or pretend I didn’t see him or what. I could feel him approaching from behind.

“Just keep running, slave,” Mr. Grey assured me as he came up beside me on the right. “You are in service to your Master at the moment, and when in service, a slave doesn’t stop unless he’s specifically instructed to by that Master or one of equal or greater standing. Of course, it is my right as your owner to tell you to jump off the machine and stand on your head for an hour, but I have no current objections to the way my son is using you at the moment. Understand?”

I nodded, swallowing back air as I continued to run, “Yes…Sir…”

“But for the sake of learning a lesson, let’s say you were ordered to run your miles on a treadmill at the University gym, and halfway through your run some random student told you it was his turn to use the machine. What would you do?” Mr. Grey challenged.

“Uhh…ignore ‘im…Sir?” My words were staccato as I struggled for breath.

“Good, slave. Obeying your Master’s order is always your first priority,” he explained. “But, let’s say that same student ran into you while you were changing in the locker room and told you to towel him off because he didn’t feel like doing it himself. What would you do?”

My face flushed even redder than it already was. “Do it…Sir?”

“Yes, good. If not otherwise engaged in direct service to your Master, then you are most certainly subject to the will of any real man you might encounter, should he recognize what you are and choose to use you.” Mr. Grey smiled, giving me a firm pat on my sweaty ass as I ran. “But, you already knew that. Speaking of which, where is your Master?”

“Over…there, Sir,” I gulped for breath and nodded to my left towards the rec room.

Without another word, Mr. Grey circled back behind me and off towards the rec room. I glanced to my left, but I couldn’t really see the area where Ryan was lying down without blatantly craning my neck or exiting the treadmill altogether, which I knew would not be a smart idea.

“What?!” Ryan suddenly exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing from the other room.

The next few moments were filled with tense conversation drifting from the other room, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying, as the pounding of my sneakers against the treadmill drowned out any audible words. I felt guilty, almost voyeuristic as I witnessed the indiscernible argument from the next room. An amusing thought, since I was the one so humiliatingly on display in the basement.

I glanced down at the control panel, relieved as I was now well into the fourth mile, starting to feel incredibly drained. After several long minutes, the argument apparently ended and I saw Mr. Grey out of the corner of my eye slip behind me without a word and walk casually up the stairs to the main level of the house. The basement door closed firmly behind him.

A few seconds later, Ryan came shuffling back into the fitness room. I swallowed hard, barely able to close my mouth now as I sucked deep breaths of air into my lungs as I ran.

“Shit, boy, you’re not done yet?” he yawned, and shuffled up behind me to the left. There was still a half-mile left on the countdown. Reaching out, he increased the speed on the conveyor belt which had slowed to a solid 3 mile per hour jog, and bumped it back up to 5 miles per hour.

I almost gasped in horror as the conveyor increased pace below me, forcing me to run faster as I neared the end of the exercise. My legs felt like jelly, and at several points, I felt like I would surely fall off.

“Keep those knees up. Pump those arms. C’mon jock boy, this should be a walk in the park,” Ryan taunted as he stepped back to watch.

My heart was beating out of my chest as I raced to keep up. I could sense that my face was a nice shade of tomato red and sweat was pouring off of me. At the last quarter mile, I had expected the machine to force me into a sprint, but shockingly enough, it beeped and the words “COOL DOWN” flashed on the screen. I felt the conveyor slow miraculously until I was walking. I gulped, my chest heaving as I caught my breath.

I could feel Ryan’s eyes on me the entire time as I finished the cool down walk and the machine beeped again loudly to signal the exercise had been completed. The belt beneath my feet came to a complete stop, and Ryan cleared his throat behind me. Taking the cue, I remained where I was, spread my legs to the sides of the treadmill, and crossed my wrists behind my back as I stood waiting.

“Nice little warm up for the day, right slave?” he asked rhetorically as he hopped up next to me on the machine. With his left hand, he unclipped the stop-cord from my collar, and with his right, he reattached the leash. “Let’s go.” He pulled me from the treadmill through the basement and stopped short at the door. “Oh shit, almost forgot. Get those shoes and socks off. Tie the laces back together and carry them around your neck. Same with the jock, you know where it goes.”

“Yes, Sir…” I gulped as I squatted to the floor and pulled the shoes and socks off. I stuffed the socks inside the shoes, and then retied the laces together, draping them around my neck like a scarf. As I stood, I slid the sweat-soaked jockstrap down over my legs and kicked it up to my hands. I held it up, eyeing it cautiously as it dangled from my right fingers.

“In. Pouch first,” Ryan commanded sternly. “I’m sure you’re thirsty, slave. Nothing like good crotch sweat to quench it.”

My heart sank as I held the sweaty pouch in front of my face. At least I had caught my breath by this point, but I couldn’t help but inhale the scent of fresh sweat. I swallowed in disgust, and then winced my eyes shut as I pushed the jock back into my mouth, trying to ignore the salty damp cloth as it slid along my tongue. Opening my eyes, I saw that he was standing by the door waiting impatiently for something, and I returned my hands behind my back in wait.

Satisfied, he smirked and pulled my leash, guiding us back outside and up to the guest house, well, Ryan’s house. As tired and sweaty as I was from the run, my legs wobbling as we walked back, the frigid outside air provided me with an immediate unpleasant distraction. The sun was starting to rise, and I figured it was sometime around 5:30 in the morning.

Once we were back inside Ryan’s place, I shivered in the entryway as he closed the door and locked it behind us. He stooped beside me to the left of the door, where the bench seat that had always been there remained. It had always been a place to throw umbrellas, shoes, and whatever else we wanted to keep out of sight, and apparently, it was one of the few things Ryan hadn’t had removed from the house. Lifting the lid seat, he motioned into the trunk space. “Stuff the jock in one of your shoes, and toss them in here.”

I half nodded, gratefully pulling the wet fabric from my mouth, and stuffing it into my left shoe where it mingled with one of my socks. I lifted the sneakers over my head, and tossed them lightly into the trunk expecting a thud, but instead, there was a strange metal clang. The trunk wasn’t empty.

“Good boy. You’ll know where to find them tomorrow, and everyday after that,” Ryan noted flatly. Catching the look on my face, he added, “Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will dry out overnight, just in time for you to moisten them up again. I mean, no need to waste time and water washing that shit when you’re just going to drench it in sweat all over again, right?” He unclipped the leash from my collar, not waiting for a response, and tossed it into the trunk. Next, he leaned forward into the box and withdrew a set of gleaming chains and shackles. “Your house chains,” he explained, holding them up for me to see. “Brand new.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said blankly, as I recalled the period I’d spent chained in the dungeon cell, and not in a hurry to repeat it.

I remained at ease with my hands behind my back by the doorway as he crouched down in front of me, and fastened the leg irons to each of my ankles. There was a good amount of chain between my feet, a bit more than I’d had in the dungeon.

“Hold out your wrists in front of you,” Ryan ordered.

“Yes, Sir.” I complied quietly, as I held out my wrists to be willingly chained, at least this time it was in front of me. Expertly, he fasted a metal cuff around each of my wrists, and let the two feet of slack dangle between them. I noticed immediately that this set of chains was much lighter in weight than the medieval style I had worn in the dungeon, but they certainly weren’t weightless.

“You’ve barely just begun your training. When not supervised, the chains will ensure you remember your place in my house,” he explained. “Now, get your ass in the kitchen. You need water.”

“Yes, Sir,” I nodded, and shuffled after him towards the kitchen, the chains rattling between my limbs.

He snapped and pointed to the place at the end of the counter where I had been instructed to kneel for my meals. While he filled a bowl with water from the faucet, I knelt by the place mat, and let my chained hands rest near my crotch between my spread knees. The bowl was set down in front of me. “Drink.”

“Yes, Sir.” Gratefully, I leaned forward and wasted no time lapping at the water, my insides dehydrated from the run.

When I had all but licked every drop from the bowl, he picked it up and refilled it, setting it back down in front of me. I started to lean down, but he stopped me, placing his hand on my forehead. “No, you’ve had enough for now. But, good news, I’m giving you permission to drink water, only water and only from this bowl, throughout the day when not in my presence.” He patted my head, like it was some kind of gift. “Get up. Living room.”

“Yes, Sir.” I pushed up to my feet, and followed him into the living room stopping short as he turned to face me.

“When your hands are chained in front of you like that, hold your wrists by your hips when presenting. Make sure that pathetic cock is always on display,” he instructed, pointing towards my crotch.

“Yes, Sir.” I adjusted my hands to my sides. There was just enough slack that the center of the chain dangled just below my balls.

Ryan took a long look around the living room. “This place is a fucking mess,” he observed, nodding towards the coffee table littered with empty beer cans and shot glasses, and other remnants of the small housewarming party he’d thrown while I was suffering in the dungeon cell. “Duster’s in the closet under the stairs, cleaning supplies are under the sink, you know where everything is. I want it spotless. Everything. Living room, kitchen, bathroom.”

“Yes, Sir…” I agreed, a little cautiously.

“Every tile, every cushion, every speck of dust,” he warned. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He brushed past me towards the stairs, and I turned towards him. “I’m going back to sleep. My alarm goes off at 11 on a Sunday, and you better fucking have my breakfast waiting for me on the counter when I get up. 3 strips of bacon, 1 scrambled egg, and 2 slices of toast. If everything meets my standards, I might let you eat something. So, get to work, bitch.”

“Yes, Sir,” I responded, but I don’t think he heard me as he was already bounding up the stairs, anxious to fall back into that gigantic bed for several more hours of rest. I really hated him at that moment as I looked around the first floor of the house, unsure of where to even begin with the mess.

Shuffling past the stairs towards the hall closet, chains rattling, I passed the small bathroom and backed up to do a double-take as I caught a glimpse of a dark shadow in the mirror. Flipping on the light, I stepped inside, swallowing hard as I took a good look at myself in the mirror that hung over the sink. Ryan had me so focused on pissing properly that morning that I hadn’t seen but a quick glimpse of myself in the bathroom upstairs since I’d been enslaved.

For the first few moments, it was a true out-of-body experience. I recognized the person staring back at me, yet it felt like I was looking at a stranger. The collar was the first thing to jump out at me. I touched it lightly with my right hand, the chains jingling between my wrists. On one hand, it seemed so silly, yet on the other, it was so symbolic. It was literally a weight upon my shoulders and I wouldn’t be able to ignore why it was there and the fact that I was powerless to remove it. Oddly, I noticed that it looked kind of good on me, the way it accentuated my strong jawline.

My face was still lightly flushed from the run, and there was a light growth of beard as I hadn’t shaved since I’d been enslaved. Numbly, I lifted my right hand and ran my fingers gingerly through my sweaty hair, now barely an inch in length on top. It didn’t look as bad as I had thought it would when Ryan had clipped it, just very short and militaristic.

Sliding my chained hands down my smooth chest, I stopped just at my navel, where my treasure trail had once begun. The chains themselves caught my attention, and I almost felt pride in wearing them. Of course, they restricted my movements and were as annoying as fuck, but Ryan had deemed them necessary. Necessary to help bind me in slavery. My body was strong, stronger than his, and he knew it. He would never admit it, but I was certain the chains gave him a sense of security in his dominance.

Most shocking of all was my shaved crotch, especially looking at it straight on in the mirror. I had the cock and balls of a grown man, but without hair, it looked like a package that belonged to a well endowed prepubescent boy. The metal cock ring only pronounced everything, serving as yet another constant reminder that my body didn’t belong to me anymore, even the most precious of parts.

Shamefully, I turned away from the mirror, flipping off the bathroom light. I felt a small lump growing in the back of my throat, and I couldn’t bare to look at myself, at the slave I’d become, a moment longer. Turning right towards the closet, I coughed back a sob, and steeled myself, opening the door. I pulled out an empty trash bag from a box on the shelf, and shuffled off to the living room where I began to throw empty bottles and cans into the trash bag. Glancing at the clock, I noted that it was 5:47. Plenty of time.

*** CHAPTER 6 – RUDE AWAKENING

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

I awoke with a start, my body drenched in a cold sweat as a loud, grating noise drilled into my head, ripping me from my peaceful slumber. Miraculously, I had fallen into a deep sleep.

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

Gaining some sense as the beeping continued assaulting my ears, I groaned in the pitch black room, still pressed face down on the bare mattress. Instinctively, I went to swat at the invisible noise, only to remember quickly that my hands were cuffed behind my back.

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

I was wide awake now as the intolerable alarm cut into me. Unsure of what to do, I remained as I was for several moments weighing my options. Half of me wanted to roll off the bed and attempt to dismantle the alarm. The other half told me to stay put and that Ryan should be in any minute.

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

I couldn’t take it another moment, and before I knew it, I was squirming on my stomach until my feet were dangling over the side of the bed. I slowly pushed backwards until I could feel my toes touching the floor. Finding my footing, I stood up, lifting myself off of the bed.

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

Originally, the sound seemed like it was everywhere, assaulting me from all angles. Just as I isolated the source to be directly under the bed frame, I noticed a dim green light creeping out from under the bed. I squatted down, trying to figure out the best way to retrieve the alarm with my hands shackled behind me. I dropped to my ass with a light thud, and leaning back, I slid my legs under the bed and swept them from side to side.

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”

I grunted, turning on my side as I felt my left foot connect with a small plastic box. Turning my foot like a hook, I bent my knee up and pulled the obnoxious device across the floor towards me. When it was clear of the bed, I pulled my legs in and rolled over and up onto my knees, glancing at the glowing digital numbers that illuminated the otherwise dark room. It read 4:03. Shuffling on my knees in front of the clock, I reached behind me poking blindly at the buttons on top.

“BEEP! BEEP! B…..”

I sighed with relief, just as the bedroom door burst open and light flooded the room. Gasping in shock and pain as light burned my retinas, I winced, bowing my head away from the light.

“Well, well,” Ryan observed with a yawn from the doorway. “Looks like my slave is really up and at ‘em this morning. I’ll give you credit for your resourcefulness, but is that any way to greet your Master, bitch?!”

My eyes adjusting to the light, I glanced up at him. He was shirtless, wearing loose fitting blue pajama pants that tied at the waist and sat low on his hips. It was evident that he’d just woken up as well, his hair tousled and matted in spots. He was glaring down at me through sleepy eyes, and I looked down. Though I was on my knees, I was leaning back on my heels, sprawled awkwardly near the clock. “No, Sir?”

He snapped, and pointed to the floor a few paces in front of him. Reluctantly, I shuffled forward on my knees in shame to where he pointed and adjusted my kneel to what I had been taught. Expecting him to speak, he simply walked past me, bent down and retrieved the alarm clock.

“4:04?” He asked, feigning surprise. “I gave you an entire four minute grace period to get your lazy ass up, shut this thing up, and get on your knees to wait for me, and that’s not enough?!”

“Sir? I…but,” I stammered in confusion, as I hadn’t been given any such directions.

“But, nothing,” he snapped. “Tomorrow, the alarm goes off at 3:30 just to make sure. You’ll be on your knees every morning in that spot until you earn my trust to get your own ass up and out.”

“Yes, Sir,” I acknowledged, my heart sinking at the thought of getting up a half hour earlier. 4:00 am was ridiculous enough.

Ryan hit some buttons on the clock, and I heard him slide it back under the bed, realizing quickly how my mornings would begin. He stepped back in front of me, “And you better earn it quickly, I’m not going to spend my entire fucking break getting up at 4:00am with your ass. Now, get your face on the floor and your fucking cunt hole up in the air!”

“Ye…yes, Sir.” I hesitated, slightly taken aback by the sudden command, but slowly leaned forward until my chest and face hit the floor almost simultaneously, my weight abruptly shifting as I lifted my ass up.

Roughly, he grabbed my chained wrists and pushed them up on my back, so that my ass was completely exposed. “You were four minutes late getting up.”

WHACK! Without warning, his hand came sailing through the air connecting with my bare ass. I yelped, lurching forward, the stinging sensation was immediate.

“Count them,” he demanded coldly.

“One…Sir,” I counted, my voice quivering slightly in shock and fear.

WHACK!

“Louder! Thank me for each one. I fucking drag my ass out of bed at 4:00 am to deal with this shit, the least you can do is fucking thank me for taking the time to discipline your ass,” he barked.

“Two! Thank you, Sir!” I called out, my face buried in the floor.

WHACK!

“Three! Thank you, Sir.” The force of each slap surprised me. I didn’t think a simple spanking could hurt so much.

WHACK!

“Four…thank…you…Sir.” Unused to this kind of pain, I was biting back tears after only four slaps.

“Get up. We’re wasting time,” he snapped.

“Yes, Sir.” My voice was small as I gratefully pulled my knees in, and shakily pushed up to one knee and then both feet.

“Anything you wanna ask me, boy?” he asked abruptly, standing eye to eye. He reached down and gave my protruding balls a hard flick.

I winced, the flick sending shock waves through the nerves in my groin and then into my bladder. I nodded, my face flushing a bit. “Yea…yes, Sir. I have to…I mean, can I take a piss, Sir?” Almost at the mention of the word, my bladder strained at full attention for its morning piss.

“Yes, slave, you may,” he smirked, stepping aside and motioning into the hallway. “You remember where your bathroom is?”

“Yes, Sir,” I nodded shamefully as I stepped past him with my head down and into the hallway. Everything about the walk from my room to the bathroom was so familiar, making it all the more painful now that I was a naked, collared slave that needed permission to do something as simple as pee. I could feel him behind me as I walked into the small bathroom. He flipped on the light, and I glanced at him over the shoulder as he leaned against the door frame, Trying to ignore him, I stepped in front of the seat-less toilet and bent my knees, doing my best to aim my cock at the bowl.

“Uhh, what do you think you’re doing?” Ryan interjected. “You were told yesterday that you were to sit directly on the toilet bowl when you were given the privilege of using the bathroom. Men stand up to piss. Slaves sit their asses on the bowl and piss between their legs like the pussies that they are. Now, do it right, or don’t do it all.”

I hesitated for a long moment, my face flushing again, but slowly turned around. “Yes, Sir.” Reluctantly, I lowered slowly to the bowl, feeling my ass cheeks balancing on the narrow rim. It was nothing like a seat and I thought my ass might dip into the water. My cock, though protruding slightly thanks to the ring, was fortunately flaccid enough that I thought I could make it into the bowl.

“Waiting,” Ryan snapped, and then yawned loudly, stretching his arms over head.

Swallowing, I winced my eyes shut trying to pretend he wasn’t there, and after a few more seconds, let my bladder open up, draining into the bowl with a tinkling sound. I opened my eyes, staring down at my feet as the pressure left my stomach. Not that I hadn’t pissed in front of guys before at a urinal, and not that I hadn’t squatted to piss in front of Ryan in the dungeon cell, but this was different still. I squeezed the last few drops out of my cock, and tried to shake it a little over the bowl, feeling a few drops splatter against my legs. Finishing, I looked to him.

“What are you waiting for? Get up,” he growled, stepping forward he grabbed me around my right bicep and pulled me off the toilet with enough forced to send me stumbling past him out of the bathroom door. I tripped over the door frame and fell sprawling to my knees and chest in the hallway, the carpet burning my bare skin as I slid across it. “I said, GET UP!” I felt Ryan’s bare foot on my ass as he kicked me forward till I was flat on my stomach. “Up! Get your ass downstairs. Wait for me by the front door.”

“Yes, Sir,” I stammered at the fire in his voice. I squirmed forward on my chest, then pulling myself up to my knees, I trotted lightly down the stairs without looking back at him.

Reaching the front door, I hesitated slightly glancing at the hard tiles that made up the entry foyer, and reluctantly lowered to my knees. Unsure of whether I should face the door or the stairs to wait for him, I knelt sideways so that I could see both. I could hear him banging around upstairs. Several minutes passed and I grew increasingly uncomfortable, the hard tile cutting into my knee caps. Eventually, I looked up, hearing him jog lightly down the stairs. He had pulled a gray zip-up hoody over his bare chest, and slipped his feet into thick-soled slippers, the jingle of a leash audible as it swung from his hand. In any other household, he could have been any guy waking up early to take the dog out, but this wasn’t just any normal household. There were a few other things in his hands, but I diverted my eyes quickly in fear of pissing him off.

“Hold these,” he stated, coming up quickly behind me. I glanced up in surprise, as a pair of sneakers with their laces tied together were draped around my neck and collar so that they dangled against my chest. I recognized quickly that they were an old pair of mine. “And this. Open.”

Again, I looked up in confusion, my mouth slightly agape as he wasted no time in shoving something past my lips, forcing my jaw open. It was fabric, maybe cotton, I assessed quickly as he forced it in with his fingers until my mouth was thoroughly stuffed. There was still some spilling out as I felt something hanging down my chin, something like elastic. It was a jockstrap.

Ryan bent forward to clip the leash to the front of my collar, and gave a firm tug upwards. “Up,” he commanded flatly.

I pushed up to one knee and then the other as the collar bit into the back of my neck. Without another word, he opened the front door. A blast of wintry air assaulted my exposed skin, and I shivered instantly as he pulled me forwards out into the dark morning. I stepped aside so that he could pull the door shut behind us, and then he pulled me swiftly back across the courtyard towards the back of the main house.

“Fuck, boy! It’s cold as balls out here!” Ryan practically yelped as he gave my leash a harder tug towards the brick steps that ran down the back of the house to the basement door.

I trotted after him as best I could, my joints quaking involuntarily from the cold. The shoes banged against my chest, and I bit hard into the fabric in my mouth as my teeth attempted to chatter. When we reached the basement door, I shivered in place as he fumbled with the lock, and eventually the door swung open, a blast of heat greeting me as he pulled me inside after him. Letting the door slam closed behind us, Ryan flipped on the fluorescent ceiling lights and pulled me forward into the center of the fitness room.

Silently, he let the leash go so that it slapped against my chest and stomach, dangling by my dick. Fishing in the pocket of his hoody, he walked around behind me and grabbed my left forearm. I heard the scraping of metal on metal, and felt the left cuff release from my wrist, followed shortly by the right. Without missing a beat, my arms shot around to my front, and I was rubbing my throbbing wrists madly. Looking down, I noticed slight red abrasions from being cuffed for so long.

I’m sure that I wasn’t supposed to do that, but Ryan was either being merciful or was too tired to care as he walked back in front of me. Reaching toward my face, he took hold of the elastic straps that were dangling against my chin and pulled the jockstrap out of my mouth, a small trail of saliva clinging to it.

“Here,” he tossed it against my chest, and I caught it before it hit the ground. “Put this on.”

I looked down at it cautiously, unfolding it in my hands. It was obviously old and well-worn. The once white fabric of the pouch was now nearly gray in color, and despite being damp with my saliva, there were obvious yellowish stains set into it. My stomach churned in disgust at the thought of having carried it in my mouth.

“Did I stutter, bitch?!”

“Yes, Sir…No, I mean, no Sir!” I was the one that stuttered as I shook the jock out and untwisted the straps. Stretching it out in front of me, I stepped my right leg through the straps, and then the left, working it slowly up my legs until I was able to engulf my cock and balls in the pouch. I felt clammy as the saliva dampened fabric cradled my manhood, and I adjusted the waistband and the straps that hugged my ass. Not that it was much, but I felt an ounce of dignity returning with my genitals hidden from view for the first time since I’d been enslaved.

Ryan walked casually around me. “Good. Fits,” he observed, as he pulled one of the straps behind me out a few inches and then let is snap back against my ass. I jolted forward absorbing the sting. “It was one of mine from high school. Thought it might be too big for you here in the crotch,” he snickered as he walked back in front of me and grabbed my junk through the fabric, giving it a firm squeeze. “But, I guess it shrunk in the wash. Now, get on the floor. You have 30 seconds to get those sneakers and socks on.” Stunned, I froze for a second as he flicked my balls through the jock. “29…28…27…”

Without thinking, I plopped to the floor, my exposed ass pressing into the firm carpet, and fumbled with the shoes dangling around my neck. As I tried to pull them over my head, I felt the tied laces catching on the back of my collar. I reached behind me, and worked the laces free of the collar, lifting the shoes to the space between my legs. My fingers were trembling as I worked furiously at the knot that tied the two shoelaces together.

“10…9…8…”

I could feel nerous sweat breaking out on my forehead as I finally made some progress with the knot, feeling the intertwined laces loosen.

“3…2…and 1…”

“The knot…I can’t, I…” Looking up in frustration, I held the separated laces limply in my hands.

“Well, don’t fucking stop, dumbass. I don’t need your excuses, I need you to do what you’re told,” Ryan snapped motioning with his hand to get on with it. “2…3…4…” Now, he was counting up.

I clenched my teeth slightly in anger as I went back to the shoes, reaching into the right one, I found a white ankle-high athletic sock tucked into it. Fumbling with the sock, I slipped it over my right foot, and then went for the left. When I had both socks on, I pulled the right shoe over my foot, and tied the laces quickly, and then went to work on the left until it was tied. I looked up, like I had finished some race.

“31…32…33…” Ryan continued to count, glaring down at me. My expression was one of confusion. “When a slave finishes a task, he presents on his knees anxiously awaiting his next order. 37…38…”

Nearly pounding the carpet with my fist, I scrambled to sit up and forward on my knees, crossing my wrists behind my back just as he stopped counting.

“41. 41 fucking seconds longer than it should take to put on a fucking pair of shoes,” Ryan scolded as he circled me slowly. “Looks like you’re gonna have to make that time up to me. 41 push ups. Now!” He planted his slippered foot against my back and shoved me forward with enough force that I had to catch myself with my hands.

“Yes, Sir,” I said quietly, feeling scorned, as I shuffled my feet back until my legs were straight, and I moved my hands to the sides, prepared to push up. The leash was coiled on the floor in front of me, still dangling from my collar.

“Count them off. Perfect form. Miss any, and you start over,” he warned.

I swallowed, and then pushed up, “One.” Lowering back to the ground, I pushed up again, “Two.” Push ups weren’t my favorite, and I was a little out of practice. I hadn’t done many push ups since I’d left high school sports behind, favoring weight machines like most guys my age. 41 sounded manageable, though I started feeling it pretty quickly, slowing around the halfway point. “Twenty-one….Twenty-two…”

“Let’s go, bitch. All the way down. Back straight.”

I was definitely breathing hard as I rounded the last ten, feeling the burn in my chest and my arms. It was early in the day for such a physical exertion, and I hadn’t exactly had the best night of sleep. A light sheen of sweat had broken out over my body. “Thirty-nine…” I panted. “Forty….Fortyyyy-onnne.” I collapsed to the ground after the last count, and after a split second rest, begrudgingly remembered to kneel up in wait.

Before I could finish pulling myself up into a kneel, my chest heaving, Ryan stooped forward to grab hold of my leash. “Uh uh, time’s wasting. Over here; up on the treadmill.”

I stumbled up to my feet as the collar bit into my neck, moving towards the treadmill. Reluctantly, I stepped up onto the black conveyor belt. He stepped up next to me, and unclipped the leash from the ring in my collar. He tossed it to the floor, and grabbed the safety stop-cord that was attached to the control panel of the treadmill, clipping the end of it to my collar, effectively leashing me to the machine. I took mild comfort in knowing that I wouldn’t strangle myself should I fall off the machine.

“Just to make sure we’re clear, the shoes and jock are not for your modesty or comfort,” Ryan explained casually as he began programming the control panel in front of me. “But you can run faster and harder without your balls slamming against your thighs, which is more important to me in this case.” Finishing with the controls, he hit a green button and hopped down from the machine. I felt the conveyor belt begin to crawl under my feet. “5 miles. Get going.”

“Uh, yes, Sir,” I acknowledged, slightly disheartened at the thought of putting in 5 miles on the treadmill as I moved quickly from a fast walk to a jog and then a full run as the conveyor increased in pace. I hated running.

“And just to make sure your dumbass understands the blatantly obvious, you don’t touch the control panel, and if you trigger the stop-cord,” he paused to shake his head almost in amusement, “You will be very, very sorry.”

The soles of my worn sneakers began to pound against the rubber conveyor as I developed a rhythm. Glancing at the digital controls, I could see the machine was counting down from 5 miles with some sort of random functionality selected. I would soon find out that the machine was programmed to change inclines and speeds with each half mile achieved. Fortunately, it would get easier and not more difficult as I went along. I could feel the burn immediately in my thighs as the first half mile ticked away on a fairly steep incline at about 5 miles per hour.

Ryan stood behind me to the left, watching me with his arms crossed for a few minutes. Then, glancing over my shoulder, I saw him yawn dramatically, stretching his arms over his head. He turned and shuffled through the open archway to the rec room where I heard the unmistakable sound of a body sinking into the long leather sofa near the entertainment center. The asshole was going to take a nap.

It was almost a relief, really, to know that I wasn’t being watched as I pumped my arms and continued to run in time with the unrelenting pace of the machine. Suddenly, the mechanisms in the base of the machine began to whir, and I felt the incline lessen slightly. I had completed the first half-mile at just under five minutes, but I was already feeling it in my legs. Ryan was certainly right about one thing, without the shoes and the jock, there was no way I could have kept pace with the machine.

I frowned as I caught myself feeling grateful for his consideration. Grateful? Why the fuck should I be grateful for a worn out pair of sneakers and his disgusting old jockstrap that hadn’t been washed in who knows how long. What I should’ve be doing two days into my winter break from college was sleeping off a hangover on a Sunday morning like the rest of the guys my age were undoubtedly doing. So much of me wanted to jump off the treadmill and go pound the shit out of Ryan while he napped in the other room. Yet, I didn’t. I couldn’t.

I stayed, and I ran, and I didn’t know why. It was just what I had to do. By the end of the third mile, the incline had lessened significantly, and the pace of the belt had slowed to about 3 miles per hour. Though I was jogging now, my chest was heaving as I breathed hard, sucking in air. I could feel that my entire body was slick with sweat, and without a towel, I could only wipe the sweat beads from my forehead out of my eyes with my forearm. My hair was damp, and I could feel it matted to my head in spots. The clock registered just over 30 minutes. I knew I’d be on the treadmill for another half hour finishing up the last two miles. Almost worst of all was the damn collar around my neck. Not only did it bang up and down against my collar bone, undoubtedly leaving a bruise, but I could feel sweat pooling beneath it.

Just then, my pounding heart skipped a beat as I heard the door at the top of the basement steps swing open, and then there were quick footsteps as someone descended the stairs. Glancing for a split second over my shoulder, I saw that it was Mr. Grey trotting lightly down the steps in his black track suit that he often wore lounging around the house on a weekend. I swallowed, continuing to breathe hard as I ran, uncertain as to whether I was supposed to stop and somehow acknowledge him or pretend I didn’t see him or what. I could feel him approaching from behind.

“Just keep running, slave,” Mr. Grey assured me as he came up beside me on the right. “You are in service to your Master at the moment, and when in service, a slave doesn’t stop unless he’s specifically instructed to by that Master or one of equal or greater standing. Of course, it is my right as your owner to tell you to jump off the machine and stand on your head for an hour, but I have no current objections to the way my son is using you at the moment. Understand?”

I nodded, swallowing back air as I continued to run, “Yes…Sir…”

“But for the sake of learning a lesson, let’s say you were ordered to run your miles on a treadmill at the University gym, and halfway through your run some random student told you it was his turn to use the machine. What would you do?” Mr. Grey challenged.

“Uhh…ignore ‘im…Sir?” My words were staccato as I struggled for breath.

“Good, slave. Obeying your Master’s order is always your first priority,” he explained. “But, let’s say that same student ran into you while you were changing in the locker room and told you to towel him off because he didn’t feel like doing it himself. What would you do?”

My face flushed even redder than it already was. “Do it…Sir?”

“Yes, good. If not otherwise engaged in direct service to your Master, then you are most certainly subject to the will of any real man you might encounter, should he recognize what you are and choose to use you.” Mr. Grey smiled, giving me a firm pat on my sweaty ass as I ran. “But, you already knew that. Speaking of which, where is your Master?”

“Over…there, Sir,” I gulped for breath and nodded to my left towards the rec room.

Without another word, Mr. Grey circled back behind me and off towards the rec room. I glanced to my left, but I couldn’t really see the area where Ryan was lying down without blatantly craning my neck or exiting the treadmill altogether, which I knew would not be a smart idea.

“What?!” Ryan suddenly exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing from the other room.

The next few moments were filled with tense conversation drifting from the other room, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying, as the pounding of my sneakers against the treadmill drowned out any audible words. I felt guilty, almost voyeuristic as I witnessed the indiscernible argument from the next room. An amusing thought, since I was the one so humiliatingly on display in the basement.

I glanced down at the control panel, relieved as I was now well into the fourth mile, starting to feel incredibly drained. After several long minutes, the argument apparently ended and I saw Mr. Grey out of the corner of my eye slip behind me without a word and walk casually up the stairs to the main level of the house. The basement door closed firmly behind him.

A few seconds later, Ryan came shuffling back into the fitness room. I swallowed hard, barely able to close my mouth now as I sucked deep breaths of air into my lungs as I ran.

“Shit, boy, you’re not done yet?” he yawned, and shuffled up behind me to the left. There was still a half-mile left on the countdown. Reaching out, he increased the speed on the conveyor belt which had slowed to a solid 3 mile per hour jog, and bumped it back up to 5 miles per hour.

I almost gasped in horror as the conveyor increased pace below me, forcing me to run faster as I neared the end of the exercise. My legs felt like jelly, and at several points, I felt like I would surely fall off.

“Keep those knees up. Pump those arms. C’mon jock boy, this should be a walk in the park,” Ryan taunted as he stepped back to watch.

My heart was beating out of my chest as I raced to keep up. I could sense that my face was a nice shade of tomato red and sweat was pouring off of me. At the last quarter mile, I had expected the machine to force me into a sprint, but shockingly enough, it beeped and the words “COOL DOWN” flashed on the screen. I felt the conveyor slow miraculously until I was walking. I gulped, my chest heaving as I caught my breath.

I could feel Ryan’s eyes on me the entire time as I finished the cool down walk and the machine beeped again loudly to signal the exercise had been completed. The belt beneath my feet came to a complete stop, and Ryan cleared his throat behind me. Taking the cue, I remained where I was, spread my legs to the sides of the treadmill, and crossed my wrists behind my back as I stood waiting.

“Nice little warm up for the day, right slave?” he asked rhetorically as he hopped up next to me on the machine. With his left hand, he unclipped the stop-cord from my collar, and with his right, he reattached the leash. “Let’s go.” He pulled me from the treadmill through the basement and stopped short at the door. “Oh shit, almost forgot. Get those shoes and socks off. Tie the laces back together and carry them around your neck. Same with the jock, you know where it goes.”

“Yes, Sir…” I gulped as I squatted to the floor and pulled the shoes and socks off. I stuffed the socks inside the shoes, and then retied the laces together, draping them around my neck like a scarf. As I stood, I slid the sweat-soaked jockstrap down over my legs and kicked it up to my hands. I held it up, eyeing it cautiously as it dangled from my right fingers.

“In. Pouch first,” Ryan commanded sternly. “I’m sure you’re thirsty, slave. Nothing like good crotch sweat to quench it.”

My heart sank as I held the sweaty pouch in front of my face. At least I had caught my breath by this point, but I couldn’t help but inhale the scent of fresh sweat. I swallowed in disgust, and then winced my eyes shut as I pushed the jock back into my mouth, trying to ignore the salty damp cloth as it slid along my tongue. Opening my eyes, I saw that he was standing by the door waiting impatiently for something, and I returned my hands behind my back in wait.

Satisfied, he smirked and pulled my leash, guiding us back outside and up to the guest house, well, Ryan’s house. As tired and sweaty as I was from the run, my legs wobbling as we walked back, the frigid outside air provided me with an immediate unpleasant distraction. The sun was starting to rise, and I figured it was sometime around 5:30 in the morning.

Once we were back inside Ryan’s place, I shivered in the entryway as he closed the door and locked it behind us. He stooped beside me to the left of the door, where the bench seat that had always been there remained. It had always been a place to throw umbrellas, shoes, and whatever else we wanted to keep out of sight, and apparently, it was one of the few things Ryan hadn’t had removed from the house. Lifting the lid seat, he motioned into the trunk space. “Stuff the jock in one of your shoes, and toss them in here.”

I half nodded, gratefully pulling the wet fabric from my mouth, and stuffing it into my left shoe where it mingled with one of my socks. I lifted the sneakers over my head, and tossed them lightly into the trunk expecting a thud, but instead, there was a strange metal clang. The trunk wasn’t empty.

“Good boy. You’ll know where to find them tomorrow, and everyday after that,” Ryan noted flatly. Catching the look on my face, he added, “Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will dry out overnight, just in time for you to moisten them up again. I mean, no need to waste time and water washing that shit when you’re just going to drench it in sweat all over again, right?” He unclipped the leash from my collar, not waiting for a response, and tossed it into the trunk. Next, he leaned forward into the box and withdrew a set of gleaming chains and shackles. “Your house chains,” he explained, holding them up for me to see. “Brand new.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said blankly, as I recalled the period I’d spent chained in the dungeon cell, and not in a hurry to repeat it.

I remained at ease with my hands behind my back by the doorway as he crouched down in front of me, and fastened the leg irons to each of my ankles. There was a good amount of chain between my feet, a bit more than I’d had in the dungeon.

“Hold out your wrists in front of you,” Ryan ordered.

“Yes, Sir.” I complied quietly, as I held out my wrists to be willingly chained, at least this time it was in front of me. Expertly, he fasted a metal cuff around each of my wrists, and let the two feet of slack dangle between them. I noticed immediately that this set of chains was much lighter in weight than the medieval style I had worn in the dungeon, but they certainly weren’t weightless.

“You’ve barely just begun your training. When not supervised, the chains will ensure you remember your place in my house,” he explained. “Now, get your ass in the kitchen. You need water.”

“Yes, Sir,” I nodded, and shuffled after him towards the kitchen, the chains rattling between my limbs.

He snapped and pointed to the place at the end of the counter where I had been instructed to kneel for my meals. While he filled a bowl with water from the faucet, I knelt by the place mat, and let my chained hands rest near my crotch between my spread knees. The bowl was set down in front of me. “Drink.”

“Yes, Sir.” Gratefully, I leaned forward and wasted no time lapping at the water, my insides dehydrated from the run.

When I had all but licked every drop from the bowl, he picked it up and refilled it, setting it back down in front of me. I started to lean down, but he stopped me, placing his hand on my forehead. “No, you’ve had enough for now. But, good news, I’m giving you permission to drink water, only water and only from this bowl, throughout the day when not in my presence.” He patted my head, like it was some kind of gift. “Get up. Living room.”

“Yes, Sir.” I pushed up to my feet, and followed him into the living room stopping short as he turned to face me.

“When your hands are chained in front of you like that, hold your wrists by your hips when presenting. Make sure that pathetic cock is always on display,” he instructed, pointing towards my crotch.

“Yes, Sir.” I adjusted my hands to my sides. There was just enough slack that the center of the chain dangled just below my balls.

Ryan took a long look around the living room. “This place is a fucking mess,” he observed, nodding towards the coffee table littered with empty beer cans and shot glasses, and other remnants of the small housewarming party he’d thrown while I was suffering in the dungeon cell. “Duster’s in the closet under the stairs, cleaning supplies are under the sink, you know where everything is. I want it spotless. Everything. Living room, kitchen, bathroom.”

“Yes, Sir…” I agreed, a little cautiously.

“Every tile, every cushion, every speck of dust,” he warned. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He brushed past me towards the stairs, and I turned towards him. “I’m going back to sleep. My alarm goes off at 11 on a Sunday, and you better fucking have my breakfast waiting for me on the counter when I get up. 3 strips of bacon, 1 scrambled egg, and 2 slices of toast. If everything meets my standards, I might let you eat something. So, get to work, bitch.”

“Yes, Sir,” I responded, but I don’t think he heard me as he was already bounding up the stairs, anxious to fall back into that gigantic bed for several more hours of rest. I really hated him at that moment as I looked around the first floor of the house, unsure of where to even begin with the mess.

Shuffling past the stairs towards the hall closet, chains rattling, I passed the small bathroom and backed up to do a double-take as I caught a glimpse of a dark shadow in the mirror. Flipping on the light, I stepped inside, swallowing hard as I took a good look at myself in the mirror that hung over the sink. Ryan had me so focused on pissing properly that morning that I hadn’t seen but a quick glimpse of myself in the bathroom upstairs since I’d been enslaved.

For the first few moments, it was a true out-of-body experience. I recognized the person staring back at me, yet it felt like I was looking at a stranger. The collar was the first thing to jump out at me. I touched it lightly with my right hand, the chains jingling between my wrists. On one hand, it seemed so silly, yet on the other, it was so symbolic. It was literally a weight upon my shoulders and I wouldn’t be able to ignore why it was there and the fact that I was powerless to remove it. Oddly, I noticed that it looked kind of good on me, the way it accentuated my strong jawline.

My face was still lightly flushed from the run, and there was a light growth of beard as I hadn’t shaved since I’d been enslaved. Numbly, I lifted my right hand and ran my fingers gingerly through my sweaty hair, now barely an inch in length on top. It didn’t look as bad as I had thought it would when Ryan had clipped it, just very short and militaristic.

Sliding my chained hands down my smooth chest, I stopped just at my navel, where my treasure trail had once begun. The chains themselves caught my attention, and I almost felt pride in wearing them. Of course, they restricted my movements and were as annoying as fuck, but Ryan had deemed them necessary. Necessary to help bind me in slavery. My body was strong, stronger than his, and he knew it. He would never admit it, but I was certain the chains gave him a sense of security in his dominance.

Most shocking of all was my shaved crotch, especially looking at it straight on in the mirror. I had the cock and balls of a grown man, but without hair, it looked like a package that belonged to a well endowed prepubescent boy. The metal cock ring only pronounced everything, serving as yet another constant reminder that my body didn’t belong to me anymore, even the most precious of parts.

Shamefully, I turned away from the mirror, flipping off the bathroom light. I felt a small lump growing in the back of my throat, and I couldn’t bare to look at myself, at the slave I’d become, a moment longer. Turning right towards the closet, I coughed back a sob, and steeled myself, opening the door. I pulled out an empty trash bag from a box on the shelf, and shuffled off to the living room where I began to throw empty bottles and cans into the trash bag. Glancing at the clock, I noted that it was 5:47. Plenty of time.

*** CHAPTER 7 – SLAVES WORK, MASTERS PLAY

I winced as a droplet of bacon grease jumped from the small pan on the stove in front of me where three strips were sizzling and stung my bare chest. Nervously, I glanced at the clock. It was 10:53, and I knew I only had 7 minutes to finish preparing Ryan’s breakfast. Fumbling with a spatula, I set it on the counter, and fished two slices of bread out of a bag and into the toaster.

Wiping a bead of sweat form my forehead, I glanced again at the clock on the microwave. I couldn’t believe how fast the time had gone. Replaying the past several hours in my mind, I had picked up three huge bags full of trash, dusted every bit of surface I could find, scrubbed the kitchen counters and floors, cleaned the bathroom from top to bottom, fluffed the cushions and pillows, everything I could think of.

The chains had made it difficult, slowed me down. Every action took longer and more thought. I was tired, aching from bending and scrubbing and kneeling and reaching in all directions. Dried sweat from my run was mixed with new sweat from cleaning. I felt disgusting as I continued to prepare Ryan’s breakfast as ordered. Cleaning while naked had been odd enough, but cooking while naked and chained felt even stranger.

Several minutes later, I was just laying the two pieces of toast on the plate next to the strips of bacon and a light pile of scrambled eggs when I heard movement at the top of the stairs. I felt myself tense as I set the plate on the counter in front of the stool Ryan had designated as his, and glanced over my shoulder as he came bounding down the stairs. He was shirtless and barefoot again, still wearing the same pajama pants as he had on earlier that morning, and although it was evident that he had just crawled out of bed, he was noticeably more rested than he had been at 4:00 am. Uncertainly, I kind of froze as I was.

“What are you looking at, dick wad? When I walk into a room, you better fucking show me some respect,” he barked, barely glancing at me as he brushed by me into the kitchen.

“Yes, Sir,” I said quietly, as I turned to face him, straightening my posture with my wrists by my hips as he’d instructed me earlier, the chain taught across my waist. I bowed my head slightly, glancing to the plate of food waiting for him on the counter.

“Breakfast,” he stated, rather dryly as he pulled open a cupboard door and pulled out a box of generic whole-grain cereal. Turning toward me, he snapped and pointed to the place mat and half-empty dog bowl full of room temperature tap water at the end of the counter. Silently, I shuffled a few paces and knelt in front of the bowl. Coming over to me, he bent over my shoulder and shook out about a cup of the dry, tasteless clusters of cereal into the water. I frowned, looking down at the chunks floating in the cloudy water, but feeling a familiar rumble in my stomach, I started to lean forward only to be stopped with a firm slap to my forehead. “No. Slaves eat after their Masters are finished, and only when given permission. Like I said earlier, I might let you eat.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, dejectedly, as I straightened up, and ground my back teeth slightly, feeling a bit of frustration welling in the pit of my stomach.

Ryan set the box on the counter, and slid onto the stool at the end of the counter. “Besides,” he snickered, “I want to make sure it’s nice and soggy for you, just the way you like it.”

With that, he attacked his breakfast like he hadn’t eaten in days. I half expected him to spit it out or gag in disgust. Instead, he said nothing as he shoveled a few forkfuls of eggs into his mouth, and then chewed on a piece of bacon. I suppose the silence made him uncomfortable, because he suddenly lunged across the counter and grabbed the remote to a small flat screen at the opposite end of the counter. I heard the TV spring to life, and he channel surfed for several long minutes while he continued to eat, all but ignoring me completely.

I knelt awkwardly staring down at the bowl of soggy brown cereal while he scraped his fork against the plate, turning the volume up on some sports station. Then his cellphone vibrated loudly on the counter. The volume on the TV was muted.

“Dude?” he answered loudly, pressing the phone to his ear. “Yeah, no, just got up. What’s going on?” I couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but I knew in all likelihood it was Brent. “No, yeah, totally still on for the game. Starts at 1, right? Cool. See ya in a bit.” The phone snapped shut and he tossed it back on the counter. I heard him push the plate away and hop off of the stool. “Alright, hoover that shit. You have a mess to clean up in the kitchen.”

It took me a second to register that he had turned his attention back to me. “Yes, Sir,” I acknowledged quietly as I leaned over to slurp at the slimy bits of tasteless cereal.

“Shit,” he exclaimed in disgust as he turned the volume on the small TV back up. “Tone it down, bitch. Hope you didn’t slurp pussy like that. No wonder the only girlfriend you could ever keep was the one ordered to be with you.” My face burned red as I continued to lap at the cereal, trying to ignore the insult while he snickered to himself. “Alright, clean this shit up. As soon as you’re done, get your ass upstairs. Take a shit, I know you need to by now. Then start getting yourself cleaned up. Teeth, face. Don’t think about showering until I give you permission.”

He placed his strong hand on the back of my head while I knelt in front of the bowl, water dripping from my nose and bits of wet cereal clinging to my stubble. He gave my hair a rough pet, and shoved me forward just to emphasize his control. “Yes, Sir,” I responded quietly.

I heard him bound up the stairs, and I pushed up to my feet before starting in on the mess in the kitchen. As I scraped the remainder of Ryan’s breakfast into the garbage disposal, it occurred to me that he hadn’t acknowledged the fact that I’d prepared his food in any way. It was just what he had been entitled to demand, and I guessed that the fact that he ate it without complaining was acknowledgement enough.

When the kitchen was clean, I climbed the stairs to the second level. My chains were really starting to grate on my nerves, especially on the stairs. Entering my bathroom, I’d nearly forgotten that the door and the toilet seat had been removed. Nevertheless, almost at the sight of the toilet, my guts churned, and I quickly squatted down on the rim of the bowl to expel several days worth of waste from my intestines. Nervously, I glanced to the open doorway, fearing Ryan would walk by at any moment. He didn’t, but simply knowing that he could was embarrassing enough. Wiping myself with shackled hands was as humiliating as it was difficult. Even the most basic of functions were now at the mercy of my Master.

Flushing, I stood up and set about brushing my teeth and washing my face with the new, generic products that Ryan had provided. It felt good just to feel clean inside my mouth, and to wash the sweat and grime from my face.

“The face,” Ryan stated as he appeared suddenly at the doorway. “Shave it. I never want to see that much facial hair on you again. Men grow beards, not slaves.”

“Yes, Sir,” I sighed as I reached for the can of shaving cream.

WHACK!

I lurched forward, wincing in pain as his bare palm connected with my bare ass.

“Check the attitude, cunt.”

“Yes, Sir,” I repeated, more respectfully.

He watched intently as I lathered my face with the cream, and ran the cheap razor over my sensitive skin, scraping away the light growth of hair.

“Face me, hold out your wrists,” he commanded as soon as I set the razor down on the counter.

“Yes, Sir.” I did as commanded. Without a word, he took my right wrist and freed the cuff, and then the left. He tossed the shackles in the hallway with a clang, and then squatted down to free my ankles. Most surprising of all, he stood and fiddled with the collar around my neck until he could reach the lock. Moments later, I felt it unhinge around my neck and he pulled it away, setting it on the sink.

“Don’t get excited, slave,” he warned, as he gripped my shoulders and spun me around to face the shower. “Get in the tub.” He pulled the clear plastic curtain aside and allowed me to step in. “Get down. Display your ass.”

“Yes, Sir.” Nervously, I knelt down in the confines of the tub, put my chest to the cool ceramic floor and lifted my ass, pulling my cheeks gingerly apart as I’d been instructed in the dungeon. I heard him rummaging in the cabinet under the sink, and then I heard the faucet run for a minute or so.

“Know what an enema is?” Ryan asked, as I heard him squat down at the edge of the tub.

“Uh…yes. Yes, Sir…?” I stammered, swallowing as I stared at the floor of the tub. I gasped slightly as I felt something cool and hard at my puckering exposed asshole.

“Of course you do, douchebag,” he snickered as he pushed the tip gently into my rectum, and held it there. “A slave should always be clean, inside and out,” he continued. Suddenly, I felt a rush of water flow into my guts and I grunted, squirming involuntarily. “Hold still…take it,” Ryan coaxed as the water continued to flow into me.

I gasped and groaned, feeling my stomach cramping as my guts filled with water. After several moments, when I felt like I couldn’t take another drop without bursting, I felt the water stop flowing.

“Good. Now, I’m going to take the hose out. I want you to clench tight, hold it in,” he warned as I felt the nozzle slip out of my hole and I clenched tight. “Every fucking drop until I say.”

I nodded, wincing my eyes shut as I held the water in my cramped belly. “Yeh….yes, Sir,” I whispered as I felt the nozzle slide out of my ass. I clamped my anus shut, squeezing my cheeks together as best I could, feeling the water sloshing around inside me, wanting nothing more than to come out.

Ryan expelled a long sigh while he waited and I trembled in the tub. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll be giving these to yourself. Do you have any idea how lucky you are to have a real man douche out your ass for you? I don’t want to deal with this fucking shit…your fucking shit. It’s your job to keep your slave ass clean from now on. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir,” I spat quickly, between gasps of holding my breath while I held the water inside.

“Okay, let it go,” he commanded.

“Yes, Sir,” I gasped, gratefully unclenching my ass to allow a small waterfall of murky water to gush from my hole into the tub behind me. The warm water rushed forward towards the drain washing over my hands and knees pressed to the base of the tub. I squirmed uncomfortably.

“Kneel up,” Ryan snapped. Take this. Before I could respond, he was pushing the enema bag and hose into my hands. I looked at it curiously. “Fill it up, to there,” he indicated the amount with his finger. “Warm water.”

“Yes, Sir.” My hands trembled a bit as I turned on the faucet in the tub, testing the water, and then filled up the bag as directed.

“Hang it up there,” Ryan continued, gesturing to a wire shelf fixed beneath the shower head. “Take the nozzle in your right hand, turn around to put your ass toward the bag, lean forward again and work the nozzle into your ass.”

“Ye’sir,” I mumbled as I hung the bag up with its hook and turned around in the tub. I leaned forward sticking my ass back up in the air, and put both hands at my ass, using the tip of the nozzle to prod around my crack until I touched my hole. I could feel Ryan leaning over me to watch.

“Good. There, now push it in…that’s it bitch,” he coaxed as I felt the nozzle slide back inside me. “Alright, feel that little lever on the base of the nozzle? Push it with your thumb. That’ll start the flow…Take all of it.”

“Yes, Sir.” I swallowed and flipped the lever, feeling the now familiar sensation of water flowing into my guts. Grunting, I squirmed as the water continued to flow for a long minute.

“Okay, looks like you got it…” Ryan noted. “So, you know what to do. Lose the nozzle, and hold it in. Count to 100, nice and slow. Then you can let it go.”

“Yes, Sir,” I gasped uncomfortably as I pulled the nozzle out and clamped my hole shut, starting to count in my head.

“Out loud, dumbass.”

“Yes, Sir…1…2…3…” It actually helped to count out loud, as it gave me something to focus on besides the painful cramping in my guts and the humiliation of douching myself in front of another guy. “…98…99…100!” Then, a second cascade of water exploded out of my ass, rushing down the back of my legs, and swirled towards the tub drain.

“On your feet but stay in the tub. Display,” Ryan snapped.

“Yes, Sir,” I murmured as I pushed up from all fours to my feet, some of my ass juice still running down my legs. I could feel my cheeks flushing a little as I turned to face him fully, remembering the command. I straightened my posture, spread my legs widely in the tub, and put my hands behind my head.

He ran his hands quickly over my upper body in a quick inspection, paying special attention to my armpits and stomach. “Hmmm, I think we’re still pretty good,” he mused as he kneaded his fingers intently on various areas of my torso and underarms, before moving down to my genitals, still encircled with the metal cock ring. He fingered the skin of my scrotum between two fingers. “Here too. Yeah, starting tomorrow, you’ll be shaving the areas I trimmed for you as part of your routine. Pits, stomach, ass, crotch.” He gave my balls a painful squeeze before letting them go, and turned around to quickly retrieve something from the cabinet under the sink. Holding the items up to show me, he continued, “Body razor and some nice girly shaving gel for you.” He smirked, setting them on the wire rack under the shower head. “And if I find any stray hairs, I will pluck them one by one until you learn to do it right. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir,” I nodded, pathetically at the thought of shaving my body hair daily.

“For now, you get to clean yourself up because you fucking reek. Here,” he bent forward and pointed to a piece of duct tape affixed to the tile wall near the handle of the faucet. “You don’t turn the temperature past this line. Ever. I’m not fucking wasting hot water on a slave.”

“Yes, Sir.” I swallowed slightly, remembering the icy shards of cold water from the hose in the dungeon, but hopefully he wouldn’t be that cruel.

“And, here,” he continued, pointing to a generic looking plastic bottle. “All in one shower gel. Soap, shampoo, all you need. And, if I ever catch you dawdling in the the shower, and even worse, jerking off, all of your showers will be in the backyard under the hose. You get in, you soap up, you rinse off, you get out. Got it, cunt?”

“Yes, Sir.” I nodded.

“Good. Then do it. I don’t have all day for this shit.”

He whipped the clear plastic curtain shut encasing me in the shower as I leaned forward to start the flow of water. I turned the handle until it was in line with the duct tape, and tested the temperature of the water with my hand. It wasn’t hot, barely warm, but at least it wasn’t freezing. I started the flow of water from the shower head and lurched as it rained down on my bare skin from above. It may not have been cold, but it certainly felt cold, nothing like the long hot showers I was accustomed to taking. I turned, giving my sweat stained body a quick rinse, until Ryan cleared his throat in warning, and I jumped to take the bottle of shower gel.

Fumbling with the cap, I squeezed a generous amount onto my palm and lathered it slightly between my fingers. Instinctively, I gave it a whiff, and my nose scrunched. It had a strong, masculine, yet almost alcoholic, scent. Putting the bottle down, I worked the lather quickly into my damp hair. It felt strange, my hair suddenly much shorter that it had been in quite a long time. In no time at all, I was thoroughly shampooed and rinsed.

Picking up the bottle again, I deposited another pool of gel into my palm, and soon after was working it over my bare skin, rinsing as I went.

“Faster!” Ryan barked, from where he was leaning against the doorway. “This isn’t the spa.”

I jumped, having forgotten momentarily that the shower curtain was perfectly see-through, and increased the pace in which I ran my soapy hands over my skin. When I got to my crotch, I soaped my cock and balls quickly, noting how odd it felt to slide the suds over the shaved area, sliding some of the suds under the metal cock ring with my finger tip.

“Enough! Hands off,” he interjected again, “Don’t forget your ass crack.”

Almost sighing in frustration, I ran my soapy right hand up and down my shaved ass crack and bent over to soap up my legs. No sooner had I rinsed them off, did the plastic curtain slide quickly open and Ryan’s hand was reaching in to shut off the water. He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the tub so quickly that I nearly tripped over the side of the tub. My wet feet slipped on the tile floor, but he caught me with both arms, holding me upright until I had my balance. I was shivering as the cool water droplets fell from my skin.

“Here,” he said, handing me a small, white hand towel, well, more like a rag. It was one of those cheap towels that bartenders use to wipe down their bars, and it had clearly been used before. “Towel off quickly, the rest will air dry.”

“Yes, Sir.” I took the towel hesitantly, and began to run the scratchy fabric over my limbs, wiping as much of the water as I could from my body, as the towel dampened very quickly. By the time I’d finished with my chest and stomach, it was all but soaked and unusable.

Ryan ripped the wet towel from my grasp. “You’ll air dry,” he snickered, as he wound the wet towel up quickly by twirling his wrist, and then without warning, snapped it against my bare ass.

“Fuck!” I exclaimed, lurching forward and grabbing my stinging ass without thinking twice.

“Fuck?!” Ryan yelled, his voice rising angrily. “Who the FUCK do you think you’re talking to?” Almost in rage, he grabbed my arm, twisted it behind my back, and spun me around until I was pinned up against the wall. “Put your fucking hands up against the wall, and stick your fucking pussy-ass out!”

I grunted slightly at the rough treatment, and before I could even reply, he was whipping my ass with the wet towel over and over again. My hands were braced so hard against the wall, that my knuckled were turning white and I could feel tears uncontrollably welling in my eyes as I absorbed blow after blow of the towel whip. I was practically dancing from left foot to right foot up against the wall as I tried to squirm my ass away from the next relentless lash.

“Hold. Fucking. Still,” Ryan barked, emphasizing each word with another flog of the wet towel.

“Gah!” I couldn’t help but scream out as the towel stung my ass.

“What a fucking pussy,” he remarked flatly, as the flogging suddenly stopped. “Don’t fucking move a muscle.” I didn’t, or tried not to anyway as I trembled, bracing myself against the wall. I heard him behind me, and clenched my ass in anticipation of another round of flogging. Instead, I felt the heavy collar slide around my neck from behind, and the ominous click of the lock. “Shit. I take this off for two seconds and you already forget what you are?” He gave the collar and shake, and then grabbed my shoulders and spun me around roughly to face him. “What are you?”

I glanced to him, and then diverted my eyes quickly and swallowed. As the weight of the collar once again pressed down on my neck and shoulders, I choked back the sobs in the back of my throat that had threatened to escape during the towel-thrashing. “I…I don’t know,” I mumbled quietly.

Without warning, his bare palm slapped across my face. “Don’t give me that shit. What. Are. You?”

My head reeled to the side, the sting of the slap burning my left cheek, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. I really couldn’t explain why, in that exact moment, I broke down. I had made it through the night, the morning run, the housework, the enemas, and now I lost it. The tears that had been welling up, escaped from my eyes and began to run down my cheeks. I felt my lip quivering, as I choked out a few sobs. “Ryan…please, come on. I…”

SLAP!

His left hand connected with my right cheek. I yelped in shock. Apparently, my tears were earning me no sympathy. “Ry…” I started again.

SLAP! SLAP!

My head reeled back and forth with more slaps. Instinctively, I brought my arms up to shield my face.

“That’s it,” he snapped coldly. “I don’t know what the FUCK is running through that dumbass brain of yours right now…we clearly have a lot more work to do than I thought. But, you better get this through your thick skull really fucking quick. I’m not your roommate, I’m not your friend, I’m not your bro. I’m your Master. And that is how you better start seeing me and treating me, with every word. Every action. Got it, bitch?”

I nodded, his words drilling into me, as I sniffed back more tears. “Yeh…yes, Sir.”

Grabbing my wrists and shoving my arms down to my sides, he growled in my face, “Now, what are you?”

Bowing my head pathetically, I spoke quietly. “A slave.”

“Whose slave?”

“You..yours, Sir.”

“Who else’s?” he demanded.

I looked up at him, almost in surprise, momentarily forgetting that Ryan shared ownership of me with his father. “Mr…Master Grey’s, Sir.”

Ryan lifted my chin slightly so that I could see his eyes. He smirked slightly. “And, remind me again, slave, why are you here?”

I looked at him quizzically. “Because…I signed the contract, Sir.”

“Why?” he challenged.

“Because…I had no choice, Sir.”

Ryan shook his head in disagreement. “That’s a lie, but fine. Why? Why didn’t you have a choice?”

“Because…” my voice trailed, as the events of the past few days quickly replayed in my mind. My chores, my time in the dungeon, Kara, Ali, my parents. My parents. I looked back at him. “Because, I was born to, Sir,” I said quietly, with a hint of sadness.

He smiled, and patted my left cheek. “Good, slave. You’re not completely hopeless. Now, get your ass in my room. My bed needs to be made. Neatly. When you’re done, I want you to stand in front of it, bend over, and display your ass to the door and wait. I have to run downstairs, but you better be in position when I get back.”

“Yes, Sir.” I nodded, as he grabbed my arm and shoved me out of the bathroom, stumbling into the hallway.

He brushed by me on his way to the steps, and I turned to his room. Walking in, I frowned in jealousy, at the messy swirl of soft sheets and fluffy down comforter that were piled on top of the huge bed. In contrast to my shitty bare mattress, it was like a maroon cloud. I ran around the bed several times tugging the sheets, fluffing the comforte and then the pillows until I thought the bed looked pretty good. Glancing over my shoulder, I could hear footsteps on the steps, so I quickly walked to the end of the bed so that I was facing the wall, spread my legs, and bent forward. Shamefully, I grabbed my ass cheeks, and displayed my freshly douched ass to the door.

I heard him breeze in behind me, and toss something onto his bed. “Brent’s coming over,” Ryan explained casually, as he ran his hands roughly over my back and ass, sliding his finger up and down my crack quickly. I trembled, both from the touch and the fear of what he meant by that statement. “Gonna watch the game.”

Swallowing, I took a few short nervous breaths. “Yes, Sir..?”

He chuckled. “What? Thinking about what’s gonna happen when he sees you like this?”

I nodded, bent over over between my legs. “Yeh…yes, Sir.”

“Don’t. You’re not ready for him to see you. Would only embarrass me. But,” he gave my ass a pat, and then leaned past me to retrieve something he had set down on the bed. “Gotta keep my slave busy. More specifically, my slave’s cunt.”

With that, I felt something hard and wet prodding at my exposed asshole, and it wasn’t an enema nozzle. I gasped slightly as it began to press in.

“Relax. It’s just a butt plug, pretty small at that,” he explained. “Take a deep breath, and relax your ass. 1…2…”

“Gah!” I exclaimed, as the plug suddenly pushed in, my sphincter clamping shut around the base.

“Good, now stand up.”

“Yes, Sir.” Slowly, I lifted my head up until I was upright, feeling the plug with every movement.

“We don’t want it falling out now,” Ryan noted, as he circled something leather around my waist, like a belt. “A butt plug harness.”

He fed a leather strap from the back of the belt along my ass crack and then under my legs where it split into two straps that ran on either side of my cock and then back up to the front of the belt. The straps locked to the belt in the front with tiny padlocks. The butt plug was going no where.

Taking my arm, he walked me briskly over to the closet he had shown me the day before. He opened the door to reveal the hidden cage, and flipped on the light. He opened the bar door and shoved me inside. “Sit down. Face me.” I turned around, and slowly sank to the hard floor of the tall but narrow cage. Ryan pulled my leg shackles out from behind him and quickly fastened them back around each of my ankles. “Wrists,” he commanded, and I held out my fists.

In moments, my hands were reshackled as well, but he wasn’t done. He grabbed the chain between my wrists, and then produced a large padlock which he used to lock my wrist chain to my ankles. I would be stuck as I was, bent forward, unable to stand.

Still, he wasn’t done. “Open,” he demanded, producing a phallic shaped rubber gag, much like the one I’d worn in the dungeon. Reluctantly, I parted my lips and he shoved the black rubber deep into my mouth. “Don’t want to risk drawing Brent’s attention up here, do you?” he asked. I shook my head no, as if gagging me was some kind of a favor. “Didn’t think so.”

Ryan stood up and slammed the cage door shut. I jumped as it rattled around me. He left the closet door open and without another word, set about getting himself together. He walked around the room, pulling jeans and underwear out of his dresser, picking a t-shirt out of another drawer, all as if I wasn’t there watching. He disappeared into his bathroom and I could hear the shower spring to life, during which time I did my best to get as comfortable as I could on the floor of the cage. I managed to shuffle backwards enough to lean against the back wall of the cage, but even the plug in my ass wasn’t enough to distract me from the discomfort of cramping limbs.

What seemed like 15 or 20 minutes later, Ryan emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around his waist. He stood in front of his dresser, dropped the towel revealing his muscled backside to me, and then dressed quickly in his boxers, jeans and pulled the t-shirt over his head. He gave his damp hair a quick towel dry and tossed the towel on the floor near the bathroom.

His phone rang on the dresser and he picked it up. “Yeah, man?” He paced back across the room, not even so much as glancing in my direction. “Cool, I’ll see you when you get here.” Snapping the phone shut, he tossed it on the bed and walked towards me.

“Mmph?!” I exclaimed into the gag suddenly, lurching forward. The plug in my ass began to vibrate, rattling violently inside my rectum, and then it stopped.

Ryan snickered, holding up a small black remote control. “Did I forget to mention that it vibrates?”

My eyes popped open as the plug sprang to life again in my ass, and I squirmed uncomfortably, trying involuntarily to shit it out. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it felt unnatural and invasive and humiliating.

He held up the remote again and clicked the button off. “Listen carefully, the game starts in about a half hour. You’re not going to watch, of course, but you’re not going to be up here sleeping either. I want you awake and focused on your slavery, and just to make sure, when the game is over and after Brent leaves, I’m going to come back here and ask you how many points were scored during the game, and I suggest you get it right, because if you’re off by one point, you will be punished.”

I raised an eyebrow as I looked up at him through the bars like he was insane.

Gripping the bars that made up the cage door, he gave it a little shake to test the hold, and chuckled. “I’m not expecting you to be psychic, dumbass. Every time points are scored, for either team, I’m going to let you know with this,” he held up the control, and flipped the vibrator back on. “1…2…3, and off.” He clicked the remote again and the vibrator stopped. “Of course, you’ll need to keep a running tally of seconds the plug vibrates in your ass over the course of the game. One second for one point. Understood?”

“Mmph…” I muttered into the gag, nodding my head reluctantly. It didn’t seem too difficult.

“So, don’t fuck it up,” he barked, stepping back from the door. Pausing, he glared down at me, “And, this goes without saying cunt, but I suggest you keep your movements to a minimum. Brent’s not going to know you’re here, but if he hears something coming from upstairs, I may not stop him from finding out what it is.”

With that, he slammed the closet door shut, flipping off the light, leaving me in the darkness of the cage. I panicked for a minute, recalling instantly the same feeling I’d had when I was locked in the dungeon cell. For the time being, I was completely helpless, gagged, and immobile. At least this time, I was more confident that I would be freed before the night was out. My only real concern was keeping track of time the plug vibrated in my ass, and keeping quiet enough to avoid drawing attention to myself.

Getting comfortable again, well as comfortable as I could get, I began to mull over the idea of Ryan outing me as his slave to Brent, or anyone else for that matter. He couldn’t be serious, yet I had no way of knowing what his intentions were. There were no assurances of anything anymore, only that I was subject to the wills of Ryan and Mr. Grey.

Moments later, I tensed, hearing a bit of faint commotion through the walls and the floor as Brent had evidently arrived. It quieted down quickly, and I couldn’t make out any further sounds.

Time began to crawl by, and I even felt myself beginning to doze. Suddenly, the plug roared to life in my ass, and my eyes popped open. “1…2…3…4…5…6,” I counted to myself. A minute later, the plug vibrated again, but just for an instant. “Extra point. 7.” Not so hard.

Hours later, I was in a pure panic. After the first touchdown, the game must have ground to a halt. Then suddenly, it was a scoring frenzy. Two field goals. Another touchdown. Another field goal. Another touchdown, well, I think. Was that an extra point or a field goal? Not to mention, every time the plug began to vibrate, I was thrown into a physical frenzy. At first, it was pure discomfort, but as the game went on, it began to feel almost good. Like scratching an itch that I couldn’t otherwise. In fact, it was the only thing that felt good. My legs were cramped from sitting as I was. My lower back and shoulders ached from hunching forward with no relief.

After awhile, the vibrating stopped completely. The game had to be over by now, but still no Ryan. More time went by, and I waited in aching frustration. Just as I was dozing again, my head bobbing slightly forward, the closet door flew open and the light flooded the space around me. I looked up to see a smirking Ryan, as he fiddled with the cage door until it was unlocked and open. Squatting down in front of me, he reached behind me to unfasten the gag, pulling it unceremoniously from my mouth.

“Well?” he asked, wiping the dripping saliva from the gag across my chest, as I stretched my jaw painfully. His breath reeked of beer, and his eyes were a little bloodshot.

“Thirty…three, Sir,” I said hoarsely, trying to sound confident but praying that I had counted correctly.

Ryan smirked, and shook his head. “Nope. 37, dumbass. Either you dozed off, when I told you not to, or you just can’t fucking count.” He leaned forward and unlocked the padlock that locked my wrists to my ankles. “And now, you’ll have to suffer for that. Up.” He took my arm and pulled me forward, helping me to my feet unsteadily. “But first, you have a mess to clean up downstairs. Get to it, and then wait on your knees by your bowl for your dinner Lucky for you, Brent and I had pizza so I don’t need you to make me anything.”

“Yes, Sir,” I responded in defeat, and shuffled out of the room back down the steps to clean up Ryan’s mess for the second time that day. The vibrator sprang to life in my ass, and would continue to do so at random intervals while I cleaned.

I finished clearing the living room of more beer bottles, plates, napkins and an empty box of pizza. After picking up crumbs and wiping down the coffee table, I returned to the kitchen to wait. Eventually, Ryan joined me int he kitchen, and gave me a tutorial on the makeup of my liquid meal as he made it. It was a disgusting combination of raw vegetables, tomato juice, raw eggs, an array of supplemental powders, milk, and ice, all blended together. I nearly gagged again as he poured it into my bowl and forced me to slurp it down through the straw. The butt plug vibrated inside me the entire time I ate.

After dinner, I was ordered to my slave room to wait in display. I stood in front of my bed, well mattress, facing the door. My chained hands were behind my head, and my legs were spread as wide as the ankle chain allowed as I waited nervously for Ryan to retrieve something from his room.

He returned, holding a small ping pong paddle which he swatted lightly against his palm. “You were 4 points off, slave,” he began, coldly. “Do you know what that says to me? It says that you weren’t focused. Your mind was wandering,” he paused, stepping closer to me. “You need to understand that when that plug was vibrating in your ass, that was me in there. Me giving you attention, direction. Letting you know that you should be counting, up here.” He emphasized his thought by bopping my forehead lightly with the paddle.

“Yes, Sir. I…I’m sorry, Sir.” I stammered.

“I don’t want you to feel sorry. I want you to feel pain.” With that, he took a step back, snapped his wrist down, and slapped the paddle against my exposed balls.

“AGHN!” I yelped, staggering backwards as pain rocketed up my groin and into my abdomen from the surprise assault.

He reached out to steady me, as I involuntarily started to move my hands over my head to comfort my groin. “No, keep your hands behind your head, and keep upright. You deserve this. Take it like a slave.”

WHACK.

“UGHNN!” I grit my teeth, tensing all of my muscles as another burst of pain exploded in my groin. I felt tears welling in my eyes.

WHACK.

I yelped, staggering again, as he held me steady with his left hand. “Please…Ry…Sir!”

“If you insist,” he smirked, delivering a fourth whack to my balls.

I cried out in pain, wincing back tears as I shook, feeling like I was going to vomit.

“Four points, four whacks. Next time, you’ll remember to focus,” he remarked coldly, releasing his grip on my trembling arm. “Now, thank me for punishing you.”

I looked at him shamefully through my tears, a mix of fear and hate in my eyes, and maybe even a hint of anger. “Thank you,” I swallowed. “Sir.”

He smiled darkly. “Get some sleep. Think about what a dumb cunt you are, and what you’re going to do to be a better slave tomorrow than you were today. In fact, that is what you should think about every single night from now on.”

He left the room, and slammed the door behind him without waiting for a response. I trembled in pain and shock for several moments, my balls aching. The lights went out, and I shuffled my way towards the beg, collapsing on top of the bare mattress. I curled into a fetal position, the plug still stuffed into my ass. At least it wasn’t vibrating. Pathetically, I winced back tears of pain and humiliation as I drifted off to a fitful sleep.

***

CHAPTER 8 – CUM DUMP

“I… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I couldn’t…I,” she stammered breathlessly.

“Shhh,” I placed my finger gently to her lips. “I know. It wasn’t your fault. It doesn’t matter.”

Ali smiled with a mix of relief and seduction. I moved my finger away from her lips, traced it along her soft cheek, and then gently taking the back of her head, I pulled her lips toward mine. We both closed our eyes as our lips met. As my tongue snaked its way into her mouth, our moist lips gliding over each other, a sense of calm washed over me. I felt safe, and happy, and home.

Gently, she placed her hand to my chest, pushing me away just long enough to rip her blouse open. With a sly smile, I pulled my t-shirt up over my head and tossed it aside. I tingled as she ran her soft hands over my bare chest, and I reached behind her to expertly undo the strap of her bra. She lunged forward, and in moments we were tousling about in the bed, unbuttoning each other’s jeans, slithering out of our pants and underwear as we desperately ran our hands over each other, straining to keep our lips connected at the same time. I rolled on top so that she was pressed beneath me, feeling her heat radiating against my bare skin.

Ali looked up at me innocently, “I’m sorry it had to come to this. We shouldn’t have waited, I should have just…”

Again, I pressed my finger to her lips. “It was worth the wait,” I whispered, leaning down for another kiss.

In a surprising move, she giggled, rolling us over until she was on top. I grinned, as she looked down at me triumphantly. Reaching between her legs, she licked her lips as she wrapped her soft fingers around my throbbing cock. Leaning down, she flicked her tongue against my lips. “Are you ready?” she whispered.

I nodded anxiously, swallowing with nervous excitement as she gave my cock several strokes.

“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?” Ali mouthed suddenly, her sweet voice replaced with a thunderous male bark, ripping me from my dream.

My eyes popped open to find Ryan glaring down at me through the bars of the cage in his closet. I sat up in a dazed panic, my body coated with a sheen of cold sweat. Ryan had gone out for a while and left me chained in the closet cell because I had finished all of my chores earlier that day. He was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt.

“I said, what the fuck do you think you are doing?” he repeated angrily.

Realizing quickly that I had drifted off to sleep curled on the floor of the closet, I looked down in horror to find my right hand clenched around my hard cock, a drizzle of precum leaking over my fingers. I swallowed. Over the past week, I had been told over and over that I wasn’t supposed to touch my cock for anything other than washing. I hadn’t cum since that night in Ali’s room where I discovered the truth about my inherent slavery. For the most part, I’d been too distracted or too exhausted to even think about jerking off. However, after a week of training, things had started to slow a bit. I’d begun to adjust to this routine, however fucked up it was, and I was starting to feel horny again, like my old self.

“I…I’m sorry, Sir. I was asleep…” I stammered, letting go of my deflating cock.

“I don’t want your fucking excuses,” he snapped, flinging open the cage door. “Get your ass out here. That was a mistake.”

Shamefully, I crawled through the doorway on my hands and knees, the chains rattling between my wrists and ankles, feeling a growing sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.

“Stop,” he ordered, as I had just cleared the doorway. “Get up on your knees. Before you move another inch, you need to dispose of that nasty slave precum. Can’t have you trailing it across my room.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said dejectedly, as I pushed up onto my knees. I didn’t need to ask for clarification to know what he meant. Swallowing, I looked down at my nearly flaccid but still leaking cock, and using my left hand, I gingerly squeezed the remaining discharge of precum into my right hand, where the rest had leaked, and reluctantly brought the hand towards my mouth.

“Lick.”

“Yes, Sir.” I winced as I ran my tongue quickly over the small puddle of clear goo. Fortunately, I had already tasted it in the dungeon, and I knew that it wouldn’t be as bad as it seemed. Still, my cheeks burned at the notion of being forced to digest my own precum simply because I had leaked it without permission. When it was gone, I rested my chained hands on my thighs and lowered my head in shame.

SLAP!

His hand connected with my face.

“Something you wanna say, cunt?”

“Yes, Sir,” I trembled in shock from the surprise slap. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Get your bitch ass downstairs, and wait by the front door with your leash,” he commanded. “We’re taking a field trip.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were back in the dungeon deep in the basement of the main house. I had been freed from my house shackles, but now my arms were spread wide above my head, each wrist attached to a chain and leather cuff dangling from the ceiling. Ryan was between my legs, attaching a cuff to each of my ankles that were joined by a rigid bar that forced my legs wide apart. When he was done, I was standing completely spread-eagle, balancing my weight between the balls of my spread feet, and the wrist chains from above.

Ryan stepped back to admire his work. He gave me a satisfied snicker, and retreated into a dark corner of the room behind me. As before, there was a single lit bulb above me, with the rest of the room shrouded in shadows. I tested the chains lightly, as if there was any doubt that they were secure. My muscles were tensing involuntarily, in nervous anticipation of what was to come.

I jumped at the sudden snapping of latex behind me. A glove. He stepped slowly back around in front of me, adjusting the glove on his right hand.

“Bet you were expecting a finger up your ass? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, slave?”

“No…no, Sir,” I responded.

“Oh that’s right. A finger is nothing in a slave cunt like yours anymore. Need a good sized plug to really fill it up these days,” he mused as he pulled a white and blue tube out of his back pocket. My face burned a bit at the reference to my stretched ass. I had graduated quickly from the small plug to a larger size, and was now sleeping regularly with my ass stuffed.

Flipping open the plastic cap with his left thumb, he held it up and squeezed a generous amount of blue gel onto his latex covered hand. He massaged the gel quickly between his fingers, and stepped forward. I swallowed as a strong whiff of menthol filled my nostrils. His hand was coated with a sheen of some sort of heating gel typically reserved for sore muscles.

“No, please Sir,” I begged, squirming in my bonds as best I could as he reached for my exposed cock.

“Shut up,” he snapped as he grabbed hold of my flaccid dick and stroked it quickly before sliding the slick glove down to my balls and massaging a coating of gel roughly into my scrotum. “You knew better than to try to pleasure yourself without permission, and you did anyway. Now, you suffer the consequences. Sucks to be a slave,” he gave me an innocent shrug followed by a wicked smile before disappearing behind me. “And, just for good measure…”

“Gah!” my eyes widened as two gel coated fingers suddenly pushed into my exposed ass. I could already feel the heat building in my crotch, and soon there would be fire in my ass as well.

I heard the snap of latex again as Ryan pulled the glove off and threw it onto the dungeon floor. He retreated further back behind me, leaving me dangling uncomfortably in the spread-eagle position as the gel really began to take effect. The sensitive skin on my genitals began to burn as if he had lit it on fire. Grunting uncomfortably, I began to twist and turn from the discomfort. And moments later, an entirely different type of fire broke out across my ass. I yelped loudly, lurching forward from the force of whatever it was that Ryan had whipped across my ass.

“That’s for breaking a major law for slaves,” he barked. “What is it? What law did you break?”

“I touched my cock, Sir,” I mumbled, nervously anticipated the next flog.

WHACK! The leather strap snapped across my right abdomen.

“Whose cock?” Ryan demanded.

“Mine? I…I mean, yours…Sir!” I stammered, absorbing the sting. “It belongs to you, Sir.”

“Oh, really?” he mused, sliding the leather flogger over my skin that was now crawling with goosebumps. “And, what do slaves need in order to touch things that don’t belong to them?”

I swallowed. “Permission? Sir?”

WHACK! “Then, why…” WHACK! “Did you…” WHACK! “Do it?!” WHACK! WHACK!

“Gah! Ughn!” I cried out as he emphasized his words with a flog to various parts of my chest and stomach. “I…I’m sorry, Sir! I was asleep…I”

WHACK! I lurched forward as he cracked the flog against my burning ass.

“Shut up!” he snapped. “I told you, I don’t want excuses. I want respect.”

“Yes, Sir,” I sniffed back a sob, the burning sensation from the heating gel on my genitals mixing with the sting of the floggings. I hung my head shamefully.

Ryan stepped around in front of me, lifting my chin lightly with the strap of the flogger so that he could look me in the eye. “And, I don’t think you respect me, slave,” he sneered, emphasizing the word. “Is that true? Have I failed to earn your respect?”

“Yes, Sir…I mean, no Sir. You have it Sir…”

He smirked. “Yeah? Then time for you to prove it.” He let the strap drop from under my chin, and stepped back. “Pop quiz cunt: which way does cum flow for a Master?”

I swallowed, raising an eyebrow. “Uh…out, Sir?”

“And which way does cum flow for a slave?”

My eyes widened slightly, and I could feel my cheeks flushing a bit. “In, Sir?”

He bopped me lightly on top of my forehead with the flogger. “Ding ding. Ladies and gentleman, it has a brain. Maybe my father’s prep school dollars didn’t go to waste after all.”

Tossing the flogger to the ground, he stepped forward and began to unfasten my right wrist from the chain above, and when it fell free, he moved to the left. I wanted nothing more than to comfort my burning cock and balls from the gel, but I clenched my fists and restrained myself from touching them.

“Time to learn a new position. On your knees,” he snapped. Taking hold of my right arm, he helped guide me down to the cold floor, as the spreader bar between my ankles made it nearly impossible without falling. “Hands behind your back. Chest out, shoulders back, lift your chin. Now, your mouth, I want it open as wide as you can.”

“Yes, Sir.” Nervously, I complied, the hard floor cutting into my kneecaps. I swallowed quickly before opening my mouth until I could feel a strain on my jaw. Already, I could feel saliva pooling on the back of tongue.

Ryan began to pace slowly around me. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. I had noticed that the neckline was damp with sweat. It was warmer in the basement that day than I had remembered it a week ago, and my punishment had apparently gotten him hot.

“As you have been made well aware, a slave has many uses,” he began to explain, pushing my head back a little further. Placing both of his thumbs against my top and bottom teeth, he gingerly ratcheted my mouth a bit wider. “One of the more important uses we have yet to explore is that of receptacle for its Master’s seed. Cum dump, for short.”

I could feel my face flushing, and sweat forming at my brow as he paused to let the concept sink in.

“And that’s what you are, isn’t it? Look at yourself,” he chided. “Nothing but a naked, collared, waste of jock meat on his knees begging for it. Practically drooling.”

I felt his finger wipe some of the saliva that was escaping out of the side of my gaping mouth and wipe it across my chin. Wincing my eyes tightly for a moment, I tried to displace myself from the situation.

“From now on, when I say that I need a cum dump, this is how I want you.” Ryan stepped in front of me squarely. With little effort, he unfastened his jeans and pushed them, along with his boxers, down past his knees. He gave his cock a quick pump so that it swung freely away from his sweaty balls and thighs. “It isn’t all bad news today, slave. Your destiny is about to be fulfilled. No true slave is worth shit without a gut full of cum.”

I coughed slightly as I swallowed some of the pooling saliva in the back of my throat to avoid choking. My breathing increased, and I could feel more sweat breaking out over my body. I’d nearly forgotten the burning sensation in my groin and ass, worried more about what was expected of me next. I’d gotten used to seeing Ryan casually naked, not to mention when he first ground his cock and balls into my face the week before. I guess I always knew what would happen next, but I didn’t know if I was prepared for it.

He shuffled a little closer to me, swinging his dick in my face. Giving it a few pumps, he smiled as he sprang quickly to a full erection. “See boy, nothing gets me harder than using a bitch. Now,” he said as he wrapped his right hand around the back of my head and guided his hard cock toward my gaping mouth with the other hand. “Take it in…all the way…there.”

I gagged as the warm, veiny member slid into my mouth, resting on my tongue and filling the airway. My eyes popped open and I thought I was gagging.

Ryan placed his other hand behind my head. “Relax your jaw. Hold it in, right there. Taste it. Feel it on your tongue…breathe through your nose,” he instructed, his voice a little softer. “And for fuck’s sake, keep your teeth out of the way.”

I followed his advice and calmed down a bit, shifting uncomfortably on my knees as I held his cock reluctantly in my mouth. After a few long moments, he began to buck his hips a bit, sliding it slowly in and out between my lips.

“Begin to lap at it with your tongue. Suck gently,” he ordered, the pace of his breath increasing slightly. “I’m going to fuck your face for a few minutes. Try to keep up.”

I complied, doing as best I could to suck at the throbbing cock and avoid gagging and scraping it with my teeth. My cheeks were beet red and I had begun to sweat profusely. My grunts were stifled by the cock plugging my airway as he fucked my face.

After a few minutes he stopped, and abruptly pulled his cock out along with a long string of saliva and precum. He wiped it on my cheek, “Catch your breath.”

I gratefully gasped for air, choking a bit, and swallowing the mix of saliva and precum left pooled in my throat.

“You’re doing well for a new cunt, but so far I’m doing all the work. Open,” he ordered, and I complied. He inserted his still rigid dick back into my mouth. “Your turn. Get me off. Stay on your knees, keep your hands behind your back, and make love to my cock like your life depends on it because you’re not moving from that spot until your stomach is full of your Master’s hot cum.”

I went to work as best I could, rocking back and forth on my knees, straining my neck to work my mouth around his dick. After the initial humiliation subsided, it just became another chore, another task I had to complete as part of this crazy fucked up job I had signed up for. Each day I had lost more of myself, and now faced the ultimate in degradation as I desperately lapped at my former friend and Master’s cock awaiting the impending eruption of cum with a mixture of dread and anticipation.

“Ooh yeah, boy. Here we go,” Ryan grunted, as his breaths became shorter and he took hold of my head once more to brace himself. “UHHHHhhhnnnnn!”

He groaned loudly just about the time a hot jet of gooey liquid rocketed against the back of my throat. I nearly choked, but he held tight to my head, keeping his spasming cock lodged deep within the confines of my mouth.

“Don’t…fucking…spill…a…drop…” he ordered, gasping between shortened breaths as he continued to unload his seed into me. “Just let it slide…all the way down. Good cunt.”

I struggled to swallow as fast as I could, my eyes starting to water as I felt as though my air supply was running low, and a mixture of emotions overwhelmed me as his sticky cum coated my throat. Shuddering, I could feel it sliding down into the pit of my stomach. But, I wasn’t fast enough, I gagged, and I could feel a trickle of cum oozing out the side of my mouth and running down my chin.

“I said, not a drop!” he snapped, his voice returning to normal as he began to pump his dick, squeezing out the remaining deposits of cum. “I’m pulling out now. Keep slurping like the slut that you are.”

My face flushed as I continued to suck at his slippery dick, feeling it deflate as he pulled it from my mouth. I gasped for breath, my tongue coated with the taste of his cum, still feeling the escaped trickle running down my chin.

SLAP!

Before I even had a chance to recover, he backhanded me across my right cheek.

“Stupid bitch! Rejecting a Master’s cum is one of the worst offenses a slave can make!”

“I…I’m sorry, Sir, I…”

“Shut up and fucking get it down your fucking throat!”

I jumped and immediately brought my hands to my chin, scraped the escaped cum onto my fingers and shoveled it into my mouth.

“That’s more like it,” he smirked with approval. “Now, what do you say?”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said, dejectedly. The weight of what I had just accomplished rested heavily on my shoulders. Instinctively, I lowered my head in shame.

“You’re welcome, slave. Plenty more where that came from, but you’ll have to earn it. “In one swoop, Ryan pulled his jeans and boxers back up, fastening the button. “Get up. Present your cock.” He reached down and grabbed both of my biceps, pulling me up to my feet.

I was shaky, and with my ankles still locked on either side of the spreader bar, I was unable to get up on my own. When I was balanced, with my legs already spread, I repositioned my hands in the small of my back, arched my back and thrust my hips forward as I had done repeatedly over the course of the week, allowing full access of my genitals.

Typically, I’d receive a quick inspection to ensure that I’d shaved properly, or just generally to reinforce my inferiority to him. Even though I had been horny enough earlier to jerk off in my sleep, I was now as flaccid as ever due to my nerves. As Ryan disappeared behind me into the shadows again, I could sense this would be more than a typical inspection, and I was right.

He stepped back in front of me. “Well slave, since you’ve demonstrated to me that you can’t be trusted to keep your hands off your dick like you are supposed to, I have no choice but to lock it up to make sure nothing like this happens again.”

I took a sharp, nervous breath, keeping my chin up and eyes forward as ordered. “Yes, Sir.”

His warm fingers took hold of my flaccid cock, and I felt it stir in his hands. “Don’t go getting excited now,” he warned. “I’ll just have to hurt these balls till you go soft.” I strained to keep from getting hard as I felt something hard, like plastic, encircle the base of my balls and cock. There was a metallic snap of a small padlock holding the ring into place. Then, I felt him take hold of my cock and feed it into what felt like a tube, and then another snap, and he released my cock. “There.”

I felt my junk drop between my legs. There was a noticeable heft to the plastic encasement, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable.

“A chastity device,” he explained. “Lightweight, simple and effective. You can piss normally, well sitting down, but that’s normal for you now. Getting hard, however, is out of the question.”

“Yes, Sir,” I acknowledged, nervously.

“Your dick will remain locked up until you prove that you can be trusted not to touch it,” he warned. “And I will be the one to decide when that is. Full display!”

I snapped to attention as he barked the order. “Yes, Sir!” I straightened my posture, and placed my hands behind my head, holding my elbows out wide, trembling slightly.

Ryan began to pace around me slowly. “Big day for you. You’re learning much more about what it means to be a slave. Am I right?”

“Yes, Sir…”

“What did you learn how to be today?”

“Uh…how to be a slave, Sir?”

SLAP! He backhanded me across the left cheek.

“Dumbass. You ARE a slave. What did you learn how to BE?”

I took a nervous breath through my nose, racking my brain. I could still taste Ryan’s cum on my lips. “A cum dump, Sir?”

“Good. And what do cum dumps do?”

“Receive their Master’s cum, Sir…”

“Where?”

“Down their throats, Sir?”

“Right. But, how many holes do male slaves have?”

“Uh…two, Sir?” I asked timidly.

“Oh, really?” he asked, playing dumb. “Where else can I dump my cum besides your throat?”

I swallowed, my face flushing as I spoke. “My ass, Sir…”

“Oh? Should I deposit my cum there next time?”

I hesitated. “If…if you want, Sir.”

He snickered. “What a slut. Too bad you’re not ready for it. I’d rip that pussy of yours open and then you’d be good to no one.”

I flushed with humiliation. He basically forced me into asking him to fuck my ass, only to leave me rejected.

“Aww, disappointed?” Ryan taunted, giving me a playful pat on the cheek. “Tell ya what, since you were such a good cocksucker today, I’m going to bump up the size of your butt plug tonight. You can imagine it’s your Master’s cock inside you, only knowing that it’s not as big. And, best of all, you won’t have to worry about accidentally jerking off while you dream about it. Sound good?”

“Yes, Sir,” I agreed without really having a choice in the matter. In fact, the idea was all together degrading, but I had crossed the point of no return. Degrading had become the norm.

He squatted down in front of me and began to unlock the cuffs around my ankles, releasing the spreader bar with a clang on the cement floor. “Get on your knees.”

I dropped to my knees, keeping my hands behind my head, as I hadn’t really been instructed any differently. He disappeared behind me again for several long moments. I took advantage of the opportunity to really catch my breath and compose myself. Absorbing the shock and humiliation of sucking a man’s dick, swallowing his cum, and now having my own manhood locked up literally as well as figuratively.

I was completely spent. Exhausted. As usual, I was not privy to what time it was, but before Ryan had gone out and I had drifted to sleep in my closet cage, I had assumed it was fairly late. I could only pray it was close to bed time.

Moments later a metal bucket dropped to the ground in front of me, soapy water sloshing over the side. No such luck.

“The dungeon floor is filthy, slave,” Ryan noted. Whether it was true or not was irrelevant. It was a cement floor. “You have work to do.” He dropped an old toothbrush on the floor in front of the bucket.

I looked down at the toothbrush, and then up at him in confusion.

SLAP!

“Is there a problem, bitch?!” Ryan asked, raising his voice in warning.

I shook the sting out of my cheek. “No, Sir.”

“Then what are you waiting for? You’re not going to sleep until you go over every square inch of this dungeon with that toothbrush, and I don’t give a shit if it takes all night. That alarm is still going off at 4:00am,” he warned. “Not to mention, I know how much you are looking forward to that larger plug filling up your ass later. Think of it as a reward for a job well done.”

“Yes, Sir,” I acknowledged, defeated, and picked up the handle of the toothbrush, dunking the head into the soapy water. I ran the wet bristles over the dry cement in a circular motion, barely wetting two square inches before I needed to re-dip the brush. It was going to be a long night.

Ryan watched me for several minutes, eventually picking up his discarded t-shirt and tossing it over his bare shoulder. “I’ve got better shit to do,” he remarked, walking towards the dungeon door. Flipping a light switch on the wall, the dungeon was suddenly flooded with light as all of the overhead bulbs were illuminated. I winced, looking around at the expanse of the room and the seemingly acres of cement I still had to brush clean. “But don’t even think of cutting corners or you’ll start all over. I’ll be checking in on the security cams.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Ryan left the dungeon, slamming the door behind him. He would come back eventually, probably long before I finished scrubbing, but that was his prerogative, not mine. I continued to run the brush over the dry cement in small circular motions. My knees were already throbbing from the unforgiving cement, and the muscles in my forearm were already cramping. The work was pointless, that much was clear. But, it was punishment. Tedious, unimportant, and pointless, just like the way I felt at that moment.

***

CHAPTER 9 – GAME TIME DECISION

“Slave!” Ryan’s voice echoed up the stairway moments after the front door to the guest house slammed shut.

I glanced at the digital clock on his vanity. It was just past 1:00 am, and I was scrubbing clean the last bit of the tile floor of his expansive master bathroom. I hadn’t expected him home until well after the bars closed, if he even came home at all.

“Slave!” He yelled again, “Get your bitch ass down here, right now!”

I jumped, dropping the scrub brush where it was and scampered into the hallway and down the stairs. Except for my collar and chastity device, I was naked and unfettered. He had allowed me to work without my house chains for the last week or so. The shackles were now reserved for punishment and various other whims.

“Sir?” I asked, dropping into a respectful kneel at the bottom of the stairs. Glancing up, I saw him wobbling a bit as he shucked his wallet and keys onto the kitchen counter. He was clearly intoxicated.

“Fucking bitches,” he murmured. “Get me a beer.”

“Yes, Sir,” I nodded, pushing up to my feet as he strode into the living room.

Quickly, I scavenged the fridge in the kitchen for a cold beer. Of course, it was only stocked with his favorite kind. I had been told that stocking it would soon become my responsibility, but while I was in training, I was confined to the property. The kitchen had been regularly restocked with groceries over the course of my training, and I could only assume that the other slaves, my parents, had stocked it at various times while I was otherwise occupied.

Strategically, I had not seen my parents since the day I submitted. Although I was never given a formal explanation as to why, I could only assume that my Masters feared it would interrupt the course of my training, and they were probably right. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about my parents giving their lives over to slavery, yet the deeper I got, the more I understood in some deep set way how it could be fulfilling. Despite the humiliation, despite the pain, despite the degradation, I found myself wanting to live up to the expectations that Ryan had for me. My goal became more and more to exceed them.

“Where’s that beer, boy?” he called from the living room. I trotted lightly across the floor to where he was sprawled casually on the massive leather cough.

He was just pulling his gray university hoody over his head leaving a disheveled striped button down shirt underneath, unbuttoned enough for his white wifebeater to be seen. It looked like he’d gotten something started wherever he was, but it didn’t get very far.

“Your beer, Sir.” I knelt down beside the coffee table, and held the bottle up for him.

Glancing at me, he groaned and swung his legs around so he was seated upright in front of me. He snatched the bottle, and motioned for my neck. I put my hands behind my back, and leaned my chest forward, tilting my head back. Ryan liked to open his bottles using the ring attached to my metal collar. I winced a bit as he scraped the tin cap against the ring several times, praying he wouldn’t slip and cut my neck. Had he been sober it would have been a little easier for him.

“Fuuuuck,” he remarked in frustration at his failed attempts. Reaching forward to brace my collar with his left hand, another attempt resulted in the light hiss of carbonation as the lid rolled down my chest and bounced off my thigh. “Cheers.” He held the bottle up to my, and then clinked the base of it against my collar.

He took a long swig, and I waited respectfully bowing my head to either be dismissed or given something else to do.

“Do something with my shoes,” he remarked casually, as he picked up the remote off the couch and the huge flat screen TV illuminated to life.

“Yes, Sir.” I pulled off his right sneaker, and then his left. They were relatively new, expensive, the kind designed to be worn out and not to the gym. His white ankle socks were a bit damp.

“And this…” he ordered, tossing his rumpled sweatshirt to me.

“Yes, Sir,” I murmured, as I picked up the shoes and the sweatshirt and walked them over to the entryway. Placing the shoes neatly by the door, I hung the sweatshirt on one of the coat hooks neatly by the tag inside the collar.

“Get your ass back here. I need a footstool,” he observed, without looking away from the TV as he blindly channel surfed.

“Yes, Sir.” I swallowed, and reluctantly knelt back down in front of him, dropping to all fours. Moments later his stocking feet her crossed on my bare back, his heel digging into the space between my shoulder blades.

He let out a long sigh of frustration. “Fuckin’ bitches,” he repeated, as if talking to no one in particular. “Some fucking skank ass bitch…nerve to go calling me a loser townie?! ME?! She has no fucking idea who she’s talking to. We practically fucking own this town…”

I stared down at the space between my hands, unsure of whether I was supposed to respond or not. “I…uh…I’m sorry, Sir…?”

“Fuck, Drew. She’s the one who should be sorry, in fact,” his voice trailed ominously, “when school’s back, me and my bros will make her sorry if she ever brings her beat face around me again…”

He kept rattling on in his drunken tirade about this girl who rejected him, but I lost complete focus. I was completely taken off guard. He called me Drew. I hadn’t heard my name in weeks now. I’d become slave, bitch, boy, cunt, and a million other degrading names, but never my own. I wasn’t sure if it was the beer talking or what.

“Earth to Drew..?” Ryan’s slightly slurred voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Sir?” I shook my head, coming into focus.

“I said I’m bored,” he repeated, taking his feet off my back. “Let’s play something. Football.” He motioned to the video game system sitting under the TV. “Get it going.”

“Uhh, yes Sir,” I said cautiously, crawling over a few paces to the entertainment system and firing up the game console. His favorite game was already inside. I picked up a controller and stood up to give it to him.

“We’re both playing,” he said flatly, taking his controller.

Again, I was taken aback as I watched him select two players on the menu screen. “Yes…Sir.” Cautiously, I picked up the second controller and took a few steps back towards the couch, glancing skeptically over my shoulder.

Without looking up from the screen, he snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor to his right. “Knees.”

I knelt, knowingly, taking up the controller between my spread thighs.

“This is how it works,” he continued. “You give me two push ups for every point I score. For every point you score, you give me one push up for disrespecting me, but don’t even think about purposely letting me win or you’ll be doing push ups until your arm falls off while I whip your ass along the way. I know you’re good at this game, so I’ll know.”

I swallowed. “Yes, Sir.”

“Kick off!” Ryan practically shouted, and we both began to madly click away at the buttons on the controller.

Almost an hour and 56 push ups later, we were just starting the fourth quarter of the game. Ryan was ahead, 21 to 14 and we had already paused twice for me to refresh him with additional beers. I glanced over my shoulder, as his team suddenly seemed to miss an easy interception. His eyes were glazed over and his eyelids were fluttering as he stared at the large screen. Remembering my orders not to go easy on him, I continued my team’s advance down the digital field and scored another touchdown, followed quickly by an extra point to tie the game.

I clenched my fist in momentary celebration, forgetting for a moment where I was, and who I was. Before I got scolded, I quickly paused the game, and pushed forward into a push up position.

“1 Sir, 2 Sir, 3 Sir, 4 Sir, 5 Sir…” I pounded out the push ups. Usually by this point, he was correcting me in one way or another. Criticizing my form. Reminding me to go all the way down, but there was nothing. “6 Sir…7 Sir. Sir?” Pushing back up to my knees, I glanced over my shoulder. “Ryan?”

He had completely passed out, his head resting on the back of the couch cushion, the controller resting loosely in his hands. His chest was rising in long slow breaths, and his mouth was parted just slightly. I stared at him for a long moment. He looked so innocent, almost angelic, a far cry from the domineering Master he had revealed himself to be over the past several weeks.

I glanced at the game, swallowing. It had been fun, the distraction, but it was clearly short lived. Gently, I took the control from his limp fingers, and turned off the TV, putting the game console away. I looked back to him, debating for a long moment whether to wake him for bed, or to leave him on the couch.

I decided finally to let him sleep on the couch. Quietly, I went to the hall closet and pulled out an extra pillow and blanket. Crouching down in front of the couch, I ever so gently lifted his feet from the carpet and swung them up onto the couch, allowing him to fall groggily onto his side on the waiting pillow I placed beside the arm rest. He murmured some gibberish as he rolled over onto the pillow, pulling his knees toward his chest as he sank into the leather cushions. I draped the blanket lightly over him.

Swallowing loudly in the silent room, I looked around, unsure of what I should do. I hadn’t been dismissed, put to bed, or given any other direction. It hit me that I had a decision to make, something I hadn’t had to do in quite some while. Stay nearby, perhaps curl up on the floor for the night? Go up to my room, and await the dreaded alarm?

Flipping off the light switch to darken the room, I finally decided to retreat to my room. Surely, I would be punished should I miss the call for my morning run. About a week ago, I had earned the privilege of waking myself and letting myself into the basement fitness room of the main house. Ryan had quickly grown weary of the 4:00am wake up calls, and with good reason.

As I ascended the stairs quietly, I could hear the sound of his heavy breathing intermixed with quiet murmurings. I knew that whatever decision I made would somehow be the wrong one, but there was nothing I could do about it. Such was the life of a slave.

***

CHAPTER 10 – FINAL EXAM

“Medium..Sir!”

ZAP!

“Wrong!”

“AGHN!” I screamed, as a sharp jolt of electricity stung my ass. “Medium-rare! I mean, medium-rare, SIR!”

“And, my coffee?” Ryan demanded.

“Black, Sir,” I responded. Even though I knew it was the right answer, I fearfully braced for another jolt of electricity against my tortured skin.

Every muscle in my body was tense and trembling as I stood in the center of the dungeon displayed before not only Ryan, but Mr. Grey, as they both circled around me. My body was completely coated in a sheen of sweat, both from nerves and exhaustion. My legs were spread wide, held apart by an extra long steel bar locked to both of my ankles.

Although the chastity device remained firmly locked into place, an additional cord had been tied around the base of my balls and then looped around the center of the spreader bar, forcing me to keep my knees bent slightly. Any attempt to straighten my legs completely would yank my balls painfully downwards. The burning sensation in my thighs was unreal.

To make matters worse, vicious alligator clamps were biting down hard on each of my nipples. The clamps were joined by a thin chain on either end that was locked to the rigid set of handcuffs that were adjoining my wrists in front of me. The cuffs were unforgiving and allowed little movement for my elbows, nor could I put my arms down completely. The slack in the chain between the nipple clamps was just enough that I was forced to hold my arms out in order to avoid letting the chain sag which would ultimately add additional weight to the clamps and additional pain for me. Though, the way the muscles in my arms were burning from holding them out, I wasn’t sure what was worse.

And, as if that wasn’t enough, a full sized dildo was lodged firmly in my ass, vibrating intermittently. Over the course of the last month, I had graduated to larger and larger butt plugs, then through a series of vibrators and dildos, and now my ass held what I had been told was an approximate replica of Ryan’s cock. Despite the size, it was a mild nuisance in comparison to the other current trials of physical and mental endurance.

There was little I could do to relieve the various torments. Straighten my knees, and I’d yank on my balls. Lower my arms and I’d yank on my nipples. No option was a good option.

“How many cars do I own, slave?” Mr. Grey interjected.

“4, Sir!” I shouted clearly, between trembling breaths.

“Slaves?”

“3, Sir…”

“Good boy,” he slapped my cheek lightly, as if to give me encouragement. “Maybe that’ll change soon.”

I swallowed hard, unsure what he meant by that. My chest heaved, and I winced involuntarily as I fought to keep my stamina up through the interrogation. The rapid-fire questions actually helped to give me focus, distract me from the pain.

The day had started like any other, at least the way my days had been starting for the last month. Yet, I had barely finished my five mile run on the treadmill when both Ryan and Mr. Grey swept into the basement and whisked me swiftly into the dungeon room. I was stripped of the sweaty jock and locked up as I was now. Then, the pop quiz began, one question after the next, from both of them. They tested me on everything I had been taught, learned, observed, since my enslavement.

Each wrong answer was corrected with the tap of a violet wand somewhere against my bare skin. It was a stick like device that emitted a small spark of electricity on contact. It was enough to hurt like hell, with the unfortunate side-effect of causing me to lose my physical focus, thus setting off a chain reaction of pain in my balls and nipples. Correct answers were barely acknowledged.

The drilling had commenced what felt like an hour ago, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take without passing out.

“He’s getting weak,” Mr. Grey observed, lifting my chin lightly.

“Nah,” Ryan disagreed. “Just lazy.”

ZAP!

“GAHHHHN!” I lurched forward as pain flooded my nerves in all directions, gasping for breath between involuntary sobs.

“Enough, son,” Mr. Grey commanded, holding out his hand for Ryan to back away. He crouched down and untied my balls from the spreader bar. “Inflicting pain alone will not give you the sense of control you seek. It’s time you took total ownership of your property. Help me here.”

“Whatever,” Ryan muttered, as he walked around in front of me. He glared at me, and took hold of the chain between my nipple clamps. Yanking hard, the clamps slipped from my nipples leaving behind an indescribable sting as the blood rush back into my tortured tits.

“AGHN!” I cried out.

Ryan was unfazed as he took the key from his pocket and unlocked my cuffs. I wasn’t sure if his contempt was directed at me or his father.

Mr. Grey was just releasing my ankles from the spreader bar, and he saw my knees giving out just before they actually did. As I collapsed forward, they both leaped to catch me, setting me gently down on my hands and knees, the dildo still protruding from my ass. I trembled violently for several long moments as the muscles in my body spasmed with relief and confusion.

“His mind is sharp. You’ve taught him well to listen and observe,” My Grey continued, stroking the back of my head lightly as he spoke, still crouched down beside me. “And his body, of course, is near physical perfection. Respectful, obedient…”

“He obeys every command,” Ryan added.

“Because he wants to? Or, because he’s afraid not to?” Mr. Grey challenged.

Ryan hesitated, then responded. “He chooses to, which means he wants to.”

“Oh?”

“Fuck yeah. There’s a million times he could have taken a swing at me, maybe even run off if he changed his mind, but he didn’t. He’s taken it. All of it.”

“Why do you think?”

“Because he’s a fucking bred slave, born to be owned,” Ryan reiterated. “We established this already.”

“Well, we hoped,” Mr. Grey agreed. “And now that we know, it’s time to take full ownership of your property.”

“I have…” Ryan disagreed.

“You haven’t,” his father stated. “Take him. Take his ass. No chains, no whips, no electricity. Raw dominance. Master and slave. He will beg you for it.”

“Yes…” Ryan agreed, a hint of excitement and confidence in his voice. “He will.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Mr. Grey said, opening the dungeon door. “Bring him to me when you are done. There is further business to attend to.”

The dungeon door slammed shut, and I glanced up timidly towards Ryan, still collecting myself from the grueling interrogation.

“That true, boy?” Ryan asked, nudging my bare side with the tip of his sneaker. “You gonna beg me for it?”

“Sir?” I looked up at him, my voice shaky, still trembling involuntarily.

“Bet your ass is tired of this fake shit,” he remarked as he leaned over and pulled the protruding dildo from my ass. My sphincter clamped shut as soon as it was gone. Then he barked suddenly, “Cum dump!”

Wearily, I scrambled to lift myself up from all fours until I was kneeling properly, holding my hands behind my back, and presenting my open mouth to him as he circled slowly around me. He was wearing his favorite loose fitting sweat pants, an old t-shirt and his soccer slide flip flops. Pulling the t-shirt over his head, he discarded it in the corner, kicking off the sandals and squaring himself in front of me so that my mouth was at crotch level. Slipping the sweatpants and boxers quickly to his feet, he kicked them off to the side, his semi-hard dick swinging in my face.

“Get me hard,” he murmured.

Using what he had already taught me about the proper way to suck a dick, I went to work with my mouth and tongue, sucking gently at his balls, nibbling at his shaft, and gradually working my way up to the tip, feeling it harden to its full enviable size as soon as I wrapped my lips around the head. It took what only felt like moments, and somewhere deep down, despite the pain I was in, despite the humiliation that I fought to ignore, I felt an odd sense of pride in my accomplishment.

He pulled out, a trail of saliva dangling from his bobbing erection. “How many holes does a male slave have to offer his Master?”

“2…Sir,” I answered timidly.

“Louder, cunt!” He shouted, slapping me lightly across the face. “This is game time. Let me hear you when I ask a question.”

“2, Sir!”

“How many have I used?”

“1…Sir!”

“What else can you offer me, slave?”

“My ass, Sir,” I answered, firmly but nervously.

“Show me.”

I swallowed, and started to push up to my feet to display my ass as I had been taught before. A firm foot to my stomach pushed me back to the ground.

“Stay down,” Ryan snapped. “This time, you’re not just showing me your ass, you’re presenting it for use. Stay on your knees, turn around, put your chest down to the floor and then display your hole.”

“Yes, Sir.” Timidly, I shuffled around on my knees, lowered my chest to the ground awkwardly, which forced my ass up high behind me. Turning my head to the side to rest my left cheek on the ground, I reached behind with my free arms and pulled my ass cheeks apart. I had never felt like such a slut.

“Good,” he remarked as he squatted down and ran his warm hand over my bare ass, pausing to tease my quivering hole with the tip of his finger. “Of course, you’re not really much use to me down here. I’m not getting down on a fucking cement floor to fuck a slave.” He emphasized his comment by pushing his probing finger unexpectedly into my hole. I gasped. “But, I can tell you’re ready for it. You’re practically shaking with excitement.”

His finger slid out of my ass, and I exhaled. Then, he grabbed my left arm and my collar with both hands, and pulled me up roughly to my feet. I stumbled to catch my balance as he half pushed and half dragged me across the dungeon to a dark corner that had been shrouded in shadows. He pushed me forward until my stomach came into contact with something firm, and the pressure on my collar bent me forward at the waist. He released his grasp on my arm and collar, and I remained bent over on some sort of wood and leather horse-like contraption.

“Spread your legs,” he barked, flipping on a light switch that illuminated the bare bulb above us so he could see what he was doing. Squatting behind me, he secured each of my ankles to the opposite legs of the table with leather cuffs, keeping my legs spread wide.

It wasn’t uncomfortable as much as awkward. I was completely helpless as my head dangled a bit over the edge of the table, my stomach and chest flat against the leather-padded surface. My arms dangled freely in front of me, the tips of my fingers barely touching the ground. I heard him behind me. The snap of a plastic cap. The familiar sound of wet lube sliding between his hand and his cock.

My body trembled involuntarily out of nerves. I had trouble discerning between my emotions. Fear, anxiousness, excitement, even accomplishment. So many times over the past several weeks I had questioned my decision. So many times I had wanted to run away, beg it to be undone. Yet, so many times I chose to obey, each and every command. So many times I allowed myself to be humiliated, manipulated, punished. And, for what? For this. To complete my training. To find myself.

Flashes of my former life sped through my mind, mixed with the images of what I’d seen on Ali’s computer that fateful night of my birthday. I remembered the odd sense of excitement I felt as I had just scratched the surface of what it meant to be a slave. And now, I was finding out for real. I had surrendered my freedom voluntarily, and now, I was about to be truly owned.

“Take a deep breath,” Ryan suggested.

And with that, I felt his slippery warm cock head probe briefly at my hole, and then he was in with a triumphant grunt. My eyes popped open and I gasped. It didn’t hurt too much, the graduating sizes of dildos and plugs had trained my ass well, but the shock of having another man inside was the bigger shock to absorb. He braced his hands on the table on either side of me as he pulled almost all the way out, and then pushed back in with another grunt. His weight behind me ground my torso into the leather padding off the table.

Then, he fucked me. Hard. His grunts got increasingly louder, as he drilled into me over and over. It was different than a stagnant dildo. More raw. More real. I took several short and gasping breaths, grunting along with him at points, wincing from time to time. We were both sweating after a few minutes.

“Fuuuuuuck!” Ryan exclaimed suddenly, between his shortened breaths as I felt a sudden vibration in my ass, followed by an explosion of hot cum coating my guts. He leaned on top of me for a long moment after he came, grinding my ass a few extra times for good measure, and then pulled out quickly.

I gasped to catch my breath as I could feel a river of escaped cum running down the back of my thighs.

“Ah, ah,” he remarked, still catching his breath. “Wanna keep that in there for a while.”

A moment later, I felt something firm at my quivering hole, and then a medium sized butt plug forced its way into my rectum, trapping the rest of Ryan’s cum inside.

I glanced up at him a bit abashedly as he circled in front of me, his softening dick bouncing lightly in front of my face.

“Clean it up,” he ordered coldly, but quietly pushing his dickhead between my lips.

Without thinking, I instinctively took it in as far as it would go, and ran my tongue around the semi-hard dick, tasting the rest of his leaking cum and faint remains of lube along my tongue before it mixed with my saliva and slid down my throat. I was grateful at that moment for the daily enema in my ass, fearing what it may have tasted like otherwise.

When he was satisfied that I had licked him clean, he pulled out. “Good, slut,” he remarked, giving me a playful slap on the cheek.

Without another word, he left me there for several long minutes as he went casually about the dungeon, redressing himself as if nothing had just happened. I wondered for the first time what must have been going through Ryan’s mind. Flashing back to my initial inspection and enslavement, I remembered him being timid when it came to inspecting my ass. Mr. Grey had to coax him through it. Ryan wasn’t gay, neither of us were, but the raw domination of Master taking slave was so inherent to the relationship. It was the ultimate sense of ownership and power exchange. I understood that now. I couldn’t help but wonder if he did.

Eventually, he squatted down behind me, and began to unlock my ankles from the legs of the table. “We have an appointment upstairs.”

“Yes, Sir,” I acknowledged, remembering what Mr. Grey had said.

Ryan took hold of my arm, and helped me to stand upright. I was a bit shaky on my feet. “Follow me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I moved my arms behind me back, and respectfully followed him out of the dungeon, through the basement, and up the stairs to the main house. As we walked down the main corridor, I couldn’t help but glance into the room where I’d made my fateful decision weeks ago. We continued, and I swore I could feel Ryan’s cum sliding around in my ass, trapped above the hefty plug.

I followed Ryan all the way to the more formal living room where Mr. Grey was waiting patiently for us.

“Well?” Mr. Grey inquired, raising an eyebrow over the morning paper he was reading from his seat in a large arm chair.

“It’s done,” Ryan informed him, flatly. He gestured for me to stop walking, and I stepped to his side, squaring my legs apart as I’d been taught to do.

“Good.” Mr. Grey smiled slightly, just containing a hint of pride in his son. “Get that thing off him,” he said, gesturing towards my crotch.

I glanced down as Ryan fished a key out of the pocket of his sweatpants, and grabbed hold of the chastity device that kept my cock securely caged. It had been taken off several times since he first introduced it for cleaning purposes. And each time, it was torturous to get my dick soft enough to lock back up. He seemed to find that icing my balls was the most effective method. For each time the device was removed, my cock literally sprang free to a raging erection. I hadn’t cum in so long, and despite everything that had kept me distracted, I had begun to think about little more than doing absolutely anything for the privilege to cum. This time was no exception.

“That slave has got a serious case of blue balls,” Mr. Grey chuckled. Ryan flicked my rock hard erection for good measure. “That right, boy? You wanna cum?”

I glanced to Ryan at the question a bit nervously, and then back to Mr. Grey. “Uh…yes, yes Sir.”

He smirked slightly and stood up, tossing the paper aside. Circling behind the massive wooden coffee table that stood between us, he reached into his pocket and took out a handful of something which he tossed haphazardly onto the surface of the large table. Hundreds of hard little grains of uncooked rice bounced and scattered across the surface.

“Present, kneeling,” Mr. Grey ordered sharply, with a snap of his fingers he pointed to the top of the coffee table.

I glanced cautiously at the scattered rice on the hard wooden surface as I took a step forward. Carefully, I lifted one knee onto the surface of the table, wincing immediately as the grains of rice cut uncomfortably into my hard knee caps and shins. Grunting slightly in pain, I lifted the other knee onto the table and shuffled forward a half foot, squaring my body to face them. As I’d been taught, I spread my knees, put my chest out, shoulders back, and held my hands behind my back, bowing my head slightly.

“You’ve done well, slave. I’m impressed with your progress in such a short time,” Mr. Grey began, patting his son firmly on the back. “Your Master has done an excellent job teaching you who you really are.”

I tried to maintain my composure as my legs began to shake from the pain of kneeling on the rice and focus on what he was saying.

“The initial phase of your training has come to an end, but keep in mind that a slave is always in training. There is always more he can learn and more he can do to better serve his Master. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” I acknowledged firmly, biting back deep breaths of pain.

“This part has been easy,” My. Grey continued. I couldn’t help but glance up at the ludicrous statement. “Tomorrow, your real test begins. You will reenter society for the first time, and you must remember that you are no longer Andrew the plucky college freshman, you are Andrew the slave. You have the privilege of receiving an education for the benefit of your Masters. Your orders are to earn a college degree. And even though you may be free of your shackles and out of your Masters’ sight, you are not free. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Sir…” I nodded, hesitantly, absorbing the notion. I couldn’t believe the entire semester break had gone by already. The idea of going back into the real world and back to school had been lodged in the back of my mind, but I had barely considered what it would actually mean for me.

“Your Master, Ryan, will instruct you further tomorrow, but for now, there is other business to attend,” Mr. Grey remarked, as he swept the portion of the exposed coffee table in front of my knees clean of the rice. Ryan handed him a black portfolio, and Mr. Grey carefully laid out several pieces of what looked like legal documents, each with a signature line clearly highlighted. “Each of these documents requires your signature, slave. While your Masters should be able to sign on your behalf, as you well know, your slavery is voluntary and I want each legality to be equally voluntary.”

I glanced down nervously as the sea of paperwork, taking a deep breath to absorb some more of the pain beneath my legs.

Mr. Grey began to point to each document, explaining briefly what they were. “This is your new medical insurance, full coverage… let’s see, car insurance here, so that you can chauffeur any of the family vehicles. This one makes me the executor of your assets, followed by Ryan. This is to close your current bank account and transfers the money to your new emergency savings account. This one puts you on my company’s payroll as an assistant. Each week your salary will be deposited into your emergency savings. Of course, you will have no regular access to money beyond what your Masters allow you, but should something unexpected happen, you will have a nest egg waiting for you,” he paused. “Think that about does it.”

He held out a pen for me. “Yes, Sir,” I acknowledged with a nod, taking the pen. My eyes blurred slightly as I tried to scan the sea of black and white that could have been all gibberish for all I cared at the moment. It all seemed legit. Good, even. I felt secure that these arrangements had even been considered. My hand trembling slightly, I began to scratch my signature across each of the marked lines.

When i finished signing the last document, Mr. Grey snatched the pen from my hand and quickly scooped all of the papers into a pile, sliding them back into the leather portfolio.

“Good boy,” he remarked, handing the portfolio to Ryan. “Now, as you’ve learned well, a slave is rarely entitled to the pleasure of an orgasm. Sexual gratification is the right of a man and a privilege for a slave that must be earned. And I, for one, am prepared to grant you that privilege today as a reward for the hard work you have put into your training thus far. But,” he paused, glancing to his son, “your trainer will decide whether you have earned that right.”

I swallowed, having returned my hands behind my back, I glanced quickly to Ryan. My cock was still rock hard and had begun to leak precum onto the surface of the coffee table without a single touch. It was excited enough just being free from the chastity device.

“Maybe…” Ryan began as stepped forward, crossing his strong arms, a slight smirk on his lips as he stared down at me kneeling pathetically before him. “But, he’ll have to beg me for it. Still wanna cum, boy?”

“Yes, Sir,” I answered automatically, almost desperately.

He extended his right hand and flicked my throbbing cock. “Then, beg.”

“Yes, Sir. Please, Sir! I’m begging you to let me cum, Sir. I can’t take it any longer. I’ll do anything Sir! Please, Sir, please!” I began to sputter, looking up at him. I hoped the horny desperation that I felt in my gut translated to my expression. I felt utterly pathetic, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to cum.

“Pathetic.” Ryan smirked. “Fine. I guess as long as my cum is still inside you, I don’t mind so much if you shoot a load. Do it quickly. And, you better fucking use your other hand to catch it. We don’t need a fucking cum shower in the living room.”

“Yes, Sir!” I almost shouted, as I grabbed hold of my throbbing dick with lightning speed. A storm of erotic sensations shot through my entire body. It felt so indescribably good.

“Look at him go,” Ryan taunted.

“He’s a young male,” Mr. Grey remarked with a shrug. “He is wired to want to spread his seed as much as any other his age, only difference is, he’s not allowed to.”

“Must really suck,” Ryan snickered, sarcastically.

“It is the burden of a slave,” his father reminded both of us.

The banter barely registered, as I winced my eyes closed. My breath increased quickly in pace as I ran my bare hand over my raging erection, savoring each jerk. Under any normal circumstances, the mere notion of jerking off in front of two other men would have been enough to send me flaccid, but now, I could have been in the middle of Times Square and wouldn’t have cared.

“Uh oh,” Mr. Grey observed, nodding towards me.

The muscles in my body began to tense all over. I felt my asshole clench hard around the plug in my rectum. My balls tightened against my body, and I cupped my left hand over the head of my cock just in time for the first volcanic eruption of cum.

“Ahhhhh…” My groan was purely primal as cum began to spew from deep within my balls. All of the muscles in my legs began to spasm as I struggled to maintain balance on my knees while my orgasm vibrated throughout my tortured body.

Mr. Grey and Ryan watched in complete silence and fascination as I spasmed until the flow began to trickle. A waterfall of cum was running down my cock, dripping from my hand, pooling on my thighs and the surface of the table. After several blissful moments, I swallowed hard, slumping forward, looking down at the mess I’d created, my cum covered hands, and feeling a rare moment of clarity wash over my mind, followed swiftly by a wave of panic and regret. What had I done?

“Now, clean it up,” Ryan barked. “Every drop goes right back in, down the hatch.”

I felt my lip quiver a bit and my eyes blur with uncertain tears as mixed emotions flooded my mind, but my emotions were irrelevant. I was a slave. “Yes, Sir.”

*** CHAPTER 11 – BACK TO SCHOOL

There were butterflies in my stomach as I waited patiently on the hard floor of my bedroom, or cell, as Ryan now called it. I was kneeling at attention with my hands behind my back as the last droplets of water from my shower evaporated from my body. No sooner had I finished drying as much water off of me as I could muster with the small bar towel did Ryan swoop into the door-less bathroom, grab me by the arm, and drag me back into my room where he threw me down on the floor to wait.

He walked over to my closet door, unlocked the large padlock that held it closed for the last month and tossed it on the mattress where I slept. Opening the door, I saw that my dresser had been pushed into the closet. The hanging shirts and dress clothes that had once been stored within were no where to be seen. A few pairs of shoes were lined up on top of the dresser.

There was extra life in his step as he pulled open the top sock drawer, withdrew a bunched up pair of white ankle athletic socks and tossed them to the floor in front of me.

“Don’t touch anything until I tell you,” Ryan warned, as he shut the drawer, and pulled open the next one down.

“Yes, Sir,” I acknowledged nervously, glancing at the socks.

I heard the ripping of plastic, and glanced up to see Ryan pulling a piece of white fabric from its packaging. It was a fresh white t-shirt that soon landed on the floor at my feet. I hadn’t worn a stitch of clothing in weeks, save for the jockstrap and socks I worked out in every morning. It was hard to imagine what the shirt would even feel like against my skin, assuming that was his intention for it. I took immediate comfort in the fact that I wouldn’t be going back to school in the buff, not that I really believed that was a possibility.

Yet, anything was in the realm of possibility where my slavery was concerned. I had already experienced so much in a short time that I could never even have imagined experiencing. So, maybe walking through the quad naked wasn’t as infeasible as it had once seemed. Fraternity pledges did it all the time. I swallowed, feeling more nerves in my stomach as I let my mind wander over the possibility.

Another drawer pulled, and a pair of worn jeans landed on the small pile of clothing. The drawer slammed shut, another opened. A rumpled gray zip-up hoody that I didn’t recognize landed on top of the jeans. Lastly, an old pair of my sneakers that I often wore were taken from the top of the dresser and thrown on top of the pile. The closet door slammed shut.

“First things first,” Ryan prefaced as he walked over to where I knelt. “As much as I’d like to keep this on you full time, it would only embarrass me in the long run.” He bent over behind me and I felt a key scraping against the lock in my steel collar. There was a click and I felt the band loosen against my throat. Gently, he pulled the collar away from my neck. It felt so odd to have it gone. I suddenly felt lighter than air. “Hold out your hands, palms up.”

“Yes, Sir.” I complied. He pulled out a tiny tube of lotion and squeezed a generous amount into my left palm.

“Go ahead, massage your neck, but make it quick. Your skin has gotten used to the collar.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, gratefully rubbing the lotion between my hands and massaging it into my neck. It felt so strange to touch my neck, unfettered. I winced. The skin was indeed sensitive to the touch. I wasn’t sure if there were visible abrasions, but even if there were, there was nothing I could do about that at the moment.

“Enough. Hands behind your back, eyes here,” he ordered, pointing to his crotch and squaring himself in front of me. It was late in the morning, and he was already dressed and ready for the first day back on campus. He wore a fresh pair of jeans and a white long-sleeve t-shirt with one of his maroon fraternity t-shirts over top. “Focus. It’s a big day for you. Not only are you going back to school, but more importantly, you will be stepping back into the real world for the first time as a slave and we need to make sure you’re prepared.”

“Yes, Sir.” I nodded cautiously.

“Do not forget, for one minute, that you are my slave. I own you. You belong to me. That doesn’t change whether we are 5 feet from each other or 5 miles from each other,” he began. “What does that mean? It means standing orders are obeyed at all times. Any tasks or orders I give you are your first priority at all times. My command supersedes the authority of any fucking college professor, and it most certainly supersedes any social activities you may be tempted with. After all, don’t forget who’s allowing you to go to school, let alone who’s paying for it!” He paused. “Does this mean that every minute of your day will be filled with orders on campus? Hell no. I have a life that does not revolve around you. Your life, however, does revolve around me, so you will just need to get used to integrating your slavery into your student life. Questions so far?”

“No, Sir.” I shook my head. It was a little confusing, but I figured I would get the gist.

“You will carry this cell phone on you at all times. I may text you at anytime and you must respond to any text from me within 5 minutes. Failure to do so will result in punishment. Interrupting a class or lacking cell service are not excuses I will accept. They are not my problems; they are your problems,” he explained, holding up my old cell phone,. “I was tempted to wipe it clean, but decided to keep your current contacts in there. You are forbidden from deleting any messages, sent or received, and I will review them, along with your call log, each day. The log will be compared with the data statement online each month and any discrepancies will be result in severe punishment.” He emphasized the word, tossing the cell phone on the pile of clothes. “Heads up, your buddy Sean is going to be pissed as hell you ignored all his messages and calls over break. Looks like he gave up trying after a week or so.”

Sadly, I looked down at the phone. I had nearly forgotten about my lack of communication with the outside world. Being a townie and consumed with my relationship with Ali, I hadn’t made too many new friends my first semester, and I had already lost touch with most of my high school buddies, so it was likely that Sean was the only one that had been trying to reach me. A slap to the face got my attention.

“Your attention is here!” Ryan snapped, pointing again to his crotch. “Now, on that note, I have no intention of forbidding you to interact with others socially on campus. It’s unrealistic to expect that. Besides, I don’t want a complete social outcast for a slave. Want your mind to stay sharp and current. You will, however, need to keep your mind on any standing orders or current assignments I may have given you. As always, your Master comes first. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. On your feet. Display,” he ordered.

I obeyed, pushing up to my feet, spreading my legs, straightening my posture and locking my hands behind my head. “Yes, Sir.”

“It’s going to be a challenge for you, you know,” Ryan began, as he circled me. “Like my father said yesterday, this part is easy. Naked, exposed, nothing to hide and no where to hide it. Today that will change. You will be out in the open, hiding what you really are from the outside world. You will face temptation to have the things you can no longer have. You will have the same wants and needs as your peers, but you won’t have the right to fulfill them. You will likely experience a range of emotions. Jealousy…anger and resentment over your status. But, at the end of the day, you will remember that you made a choice. You chose to be owned, and what does that make you, boy?”

I swallowed, listening carefully. “A slave, Sir.”

“Good boy,” he smirked, clearing his throat. “Standing orders. Repeat each after me so that I am sure that you understand. When we are together on campus, you will walk casually a few paces behind me, never side by side. If others happen to be present, you will stand back slightly, casually grip one wrist with your opposite hand behind your back, and make sure your legs are squared naturally shoulder width apart. Repeat.”

“I will walk casually behind you on campus, and stand back slightly with my legs open and hands casually behind my back if I’m around you and your friends, Sir.”

“Good. And, by the way, all of this is to look natural, not awkward. The idea is to remain respectful in a public setting, not rigid. Think of it as casual protocol,” he advised.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Second thing,” he continued. “Never ever start a conversation with anyone. You will wait until you are addressed before talking. This is with or without me present.”

“Yes, Sir. I won’t speak until spoken to.”

“Right. Third, never cross your arms or legs, sitting, standing, anytime. Your body is always open and on display for whoever wants to look at it. Doesn’t matter whether you’re clothed or not. Repeat.”

“Yes, Sir,” I nodded, absorbing all of this new information as best I could. “I won’t cross my arms or legs.”

“Your downtime between classes should be productive. I expect that you will spend it studying in the library. You may not snack, nap, or lounge in the student centers. I will allow physical activity. Extra workouts in the campus gym, or pickup games of frisbee, basketball, whatever, are fine. I’ll find creative ways for you to occupy any long breaks between classes.” He smiled devilishly. “If you are ever unsure about what to do with your time, text me, and go wait in the nearest bathroom stall for a response.”

“Yes, Sir,” I agreed, a bit nervously thinking about what types of creative ways he might come up with to occupy my time. “I will spend downtime productively.”

“Speaking of bathrooms, you may not piss or shit without explicit permission. Text to ask permission. If it’s granted, use the nearest stall and sit directly on the rim, just as you do here. Repeat that. Very important stuff, cunt.”

“Yes, Sir. I will not use the bathroom without permission. When I do, I will sit on the rim of the toilet.”

“It goes without saying that the obvious already apply. No touching yourself. No flirting, kissing or physical contact of any kind with the opposite sex. Remember, college girls would have no interest in a slave and it would be deceptive to lead them on. A slave should never attempt to deceive his betters.”

“Yes, Sir,” I repeated, a bit distantly.

“However, as a slave, you should feel free to make yourself generally useful to your superiors when the opportunity arises. Offer to hold doors open, carry heavy objects, stuff like that,” he advised.

“Yes, Sir. I will try to make myself useful around campus,” I suggested.

“You won’t try,” he snapped, slapping my face. “You will.”

“Yes, Sir!” I yelped, wincing at the sting. “I will, Sir.”

“You may eat lunch in any of the student dining halls. There is money on your student ID card. However, you must make healthy selections and may drink only water. I will monitor your purchases online and will order adjustments if necessary. If worse comes to worst, you will be taking your slave smoothies with you to campus. Repeat.”

“I will eat healthy lunches and drink only water, Sir.” So far, nothing was terribly unmanageable. It was all just a bit restrictive in comparison to what I’d been used to.

“Should be enough to get us started. You should expect random texts throughout the day and be prepared to make yourself available for random inspections. Got it, bitch?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good, and lastly, you may use my name in public settings, but only if others are in ear shot. At all other times, you will address me as Sir.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He fished in his pocket and took out a small key. I recognized it immediately as the key to my chastity device, which he then began to unlock. “Another little test for you. Can you avoid touching your pathetic slave cock without the aid of this thing? Sure, hope so.” He pulled the device away from my cock and released the ring around my balls, however, he quickly replaced it with a sizable metal cock ring much like the one I’d worn before I’d been put into chastity. “Just a little reminder of who this belongs to.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, glancing down at my crotch. My cock sprang to life at his touch. Even though I had finally cum the night before, I was certainly ready to go again.

“Gonna be a tough day for you if you can’t get that thing under control,” Ryan taunted, flicking my bobbing cock. “Last but not least,” he began, reaching into his pocket again and pulling forth a dangling metal necklace. “Dog tags.”

He held them up for me to see one at a time. The first spelled out “R.D.G.” which I knew immediately stood for Ryan Daniel Grey. The second was a 10 digit number. My eyes blurred, but once focused, I recognized the sequence as Ryan’s cell phone number. He looped the necklace over my head, and let the tags fall against my chest.

“Let’s just call this your public collar. Now, get dressed,” he nudged the pile of clothes on the floor with his shoe. “You have 60 seconds.”

I jumped at the sudden command, looking down at the clothes. “Yes, Sir.” I leaned over and fished the t-shirt out of the pile. It was a made of cotton, size small. I usually wore medium and I knew as soon as I pulled my head through the neck hole that it was going to be a tight fit. It felt so strange to feel the soft fabric against my chest and stomach, almost foreign after being shirtless for so long. It barely came to my waist and clung to every muscle that I’d been forced to exercise.

Next, the jeans. I fumbled with the leg holes, nearly tripping as I hopped to put them on quickly. It was obvious that underwear was not going to be an option. The jeans were new as well, but felt well worn. I could tell they weren’t mine from the tighter fit, especially in the crotch area as I stuffed my semi-erect dick into the waist band and carefully zipped the fly. The jeans still appeared masculine, but it didn’t take a mirror to know they were cut to fit tighter around the ass and crotch.

Ryan commented on the jeans as I pulled them on. “My father’s female slave,” also known as my mother, “did all of the shopping. You’ll find a lot of your new wardrobe to be second hand. Wanted to give you peace of mind knowing that some other dude’s junk has lived and sweat in those jeans before.” A fact that made me all the more conscious of my lack of underwear as I felt my own semi-hard cock press against the denim prison.

I dropped to the floor and pulled the socks quickly over my feet, followed by the sneakers, tying each one quickly. I’d become an expert at that during my morning workout routine. As I stood up, I grabbed the sweatshirt by the hood and shook it out. It was a plain heather gray gym zip-up, cheap, like it had been purchased at some discount chain store, also size small. Not having time to worry about it, I pushed my arms into the sleeves, and quickly brought the zipper together, zipping it up the front till it reached mid-chest height. It was snug, much like the t-shirt, leaving little to the imagination in terms of what kind of shape my body was in. Lastly, I bent over and picked up my cell phone, slipping it into my pocket. It was tight against my thigh.

“Stand at attention, hands at your sides, eyes straight ahead,” Ryan ordered. “Let’s have a look.” He circled me, tugging at my sweatshirt at different places, testing the tightness of the jeans, giving my crotch a squeeze through the denim. “Yeah, this will do.” He ran his fingers roughly through my barely damp hair for a moment, mussing it up a bit. I’d almost forgotten about my hair. It had grown out to just about an inch and a half since Ryan had buzzed it short, but it was nothing close to the stylish mess I’d had maintained before. “Just how a slave in public should look…unassuming. Attractive, sure, but plain. Bland. Nobody.”

“Yes, Sir,” I agreed, a bit sadly.

“By the way, bitch, it took you 74 seconds to get dressed. I gave you 60. 14 push ups,” he snapped, pointing at the floor. “All the down, all the way up. Count them out loud, then meet me by the front door.”

“Yes, Sir,” I sighed slightly, as I dropped down to the floor into a push up position. He left the room as I began to count. “1…Sir, 2…Sir, 3…Sir, 4…”

After fourteen push ups, I hopped up to my feet and hurried down the stairs, not wanting to risk the consequences for dawdling. Ryan was by the front door, slipping one of his many university sweatshirts over his head. We were fortunate in our climate to have cool winters, but never freezing ones. The temperature rarely dropped below 50 on the coldest days, and 40 on the coldest nights. I waited respectfully at the edge of the entry foyer clasping my wrist lightly behind my back while he checked himself out in the mirror by the door, testing out the new public protocol I’d just been given.

“Good, just relax your shoulders a bit,” Ryan remarked casually, as he glanced at my reflection in the mirror. “Remember, look natural.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He turned around and bent over to pick up a black backpack. It appeared full and heavy. Unzipping the front pocket, he showed me the contents. “1 pen, 1 pencil, 1 calculator, 1 notebook. All you should need,” he remarked, zipping the front pocket, and then unzipping the main section to show me. “Your course books have been purchased for you, and they’re all here. You will carry all of them with you at all times. Doesn’t matter if you need them or not, doesn’t matter if that class is scheduled that day or not. Your education is a privilege now, not a right. You will need to shoulder the burden, literally and figuratively.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, looking down nervously at the heavy bag as it landed at my feet with a loud thud. I could only imagine how heavy it would be carrying all of my books around.

“You’ll also need this,” he said, holding up a folded piece of white paper. Stepping forward, he stuffed the paper in the pocket of my sweatshirt. “Class schedule. By the way, I’ve taken the liberty of changing your major. No more of that pansy liberal arts psychology bull shit. Now you’re studying business and finance. Skills that will benefit me and the family business after I take over.”

I lost focus at that, looking directly at him. My mouth dropped open a bit and I could tell my eyes were wide in surprise.

“Don’t act so surprised, slave. Your job is to make yourself useful, not psycho-analyze me. A business degree will make you useful,” Ryan snapped, picking up his own significantly lighter backpack. “Now pick up that bag. We’re leaving.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said dejectedly, as I bent over and hefted up the heavy backpack. It weighed even more than I imagined as I fed my arms through the straps and let the weight rest on my back.

He opened the front door and motioned for me to lead the way. Locking the door behind us, he took casual hold of the backpack, and half guided, half pulled me across the courtyard to the main driveway and the four car garage. Ryan entered the key code, and the last garage door lifted revealing his jeep.

“Put your shit in the backseat. You’re riding shotgun today. Consider it a privilege, because it definitely won’t always be the case,” he ordered, as he opened the backdoor on his side and tossed his bag in, while I went around to the passenger side. We both climbed into the front seats of the jeep. Ryan spoke as he buckled his seat belt. “First buckle-up, then spread your legs as wide as you can, keep your feet flat on the floor. Hands behind your back.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, complying with the commands.

He started the engine. “Keep your head down while we drive. You should be staring at your slave crotch or the space between your knees, not the scenery. I’ll worry about the road.”

“Yes, Sir.” I bent my head slightly, taking my eyes completely off the windshield.

With that, he flipped on the radio and loud rock music flooded the cabin of the vehicle. I knew the song well, but it almost hurt my head to hear it now after so many weeks of virtual radio silence. The noise was so foreign. In fact, it felt completely foreign to be back in the jeep period. I could feel the shocks bounce along the gravelly roads as we left the driveway and the Grey’s gated community, but realized quickly I had no idea where we were exactly. I could feel the jeep slow to stops, and turn left or right. I also knew the general route to campus, which took about 25 minutes, but nevertheless, I could have been blindfolded and the effect would have been the same.

Suddenly, Ryan’s cell phone sprang to life in his cup holder. He cut the music, and flipped open the phone.

“Dude! What’s up?” he paused. “Yeah, yeah…just pulling in now. Where are you?” I felt the jeep slow, and we turned onto a much more gravelly surface. Obviously one of the student parking lots. “Alright bro, I’ll see you in a sec. Got some time before my first class. K, be right there.” Click.

We cruised into a parking spot, and I felt the engine cut out. I took a deep breath, realizing suddenly that I was nervous. Really nervous.

“Last thing,” Ryan began, unbuckling his seat belt and fishing something out of his pocket. It was a small black leather wallet. He flipped it open to show me the contents. “Your license, student ID, health insurance card. Hundred-dollar bill and a credit card for emergencies, and I do mean fucking emergencies. If you EVER charge anything to this card or spend this cash without explicit permission, you will be in for a world of hurt. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir,” I agreed, taking the wallet from him.

“Alright, this is it, boy. Out,” he commanded, hopping out of the driver’s seat and grabbing his backpack from the backseat. I did the same, hefting the weighty bag once again. “Remember your orders, and follow me.”

He turned and started heading towards the main quad outside the student union. I knew the spot where he was headed. There was a specific set of benches on the main patio where his frat brothers liked to congregate between classes.

I followed casually behind him, just holding back a few paces. Students were buzzing by all around us in the quad, laughing, exchanging high-fives, chatting on their cell phones over morning cups of coffee. The campus was definitely alive, and I never felt more out of place. The noise and the visuals were putting me into sensory overload. I’d been so cut off from the outside world for such a concentrated period of time, that I felt almost like I’d just landed in some foreign country.

“There he is!” a voice suddenly exclaimed. I stopped abruptly behind Ryan as he exchanged an elaborate handshake with one of his frat brothers, a generic looking jock with short cropped dark hair and broad features. Quickly, I casually grasped my left wrist with my right hand under my backpack. “What’s up, Grey?”

“What’s up, dude?” Ryan jovially asked, patting him on the back. “Psyched to be back?”

“Hell no! Fuck this class shit,” the other guy exclaimed with a smile. “Got some sick parties lined up already though.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Ryan agreed, exchanging another handshake with his friend. “Yo, have you seen Brent yet?”

“No, man. He might have an early class or something…” the jock stopped short. “Hey, who’s that?” He asked, nodding over Ryan’s shoulder at me.

Ryan turned around to glance at me. He half smiled, seeing me in proper form. I took the smile as a sign that I looked casual enough. “Oh, this is Drew. He lives with me. Parents work for my father, practically grew up together. Right, Drew?” Ryan gave me a firm pat on my shoulder.

“Uhh…yes, I mean, yeah, right,” I stammered slightly, my nerves getting the best of me.

“Oh yeah, sweet place you got up there,” the guy responded.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Ryan agreed with a shrug. “Actually just moved into the guest house, totally tricked it out. I’m gonna have a housewarming soon I think.”

“Sweet,” the guy smiled. He extended his hand to me suddenly, stepping past Ryan. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

I looked awkwardly to Ryan, and then remembering to act natural, I unclasped my wrist and took his handshake. “Drew,” was all I said.

“Yeah, nice to meet you dude,” Jason said. “You a freshman? Thinking about pledging this semester?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Ryan quickly interrupted, putting his hand on my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as if to indicate I should return my hand to where it was. “Drew’s not really the frat type. Are you, buddy?”

I swallowed, “No, sss.. I mean,” I cleared my throat, catching myself at an almost fatal error. “No, I’m sure I’d never get a bid.”

“Ah, well, think about it,” Jason said, turning back to Ryan. “So, we getting breakfast, or what?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan agreed. “Drew has to get to class anyway, I think. Don’t you?”

I looked at him a bit uncertainly, but nodded my head. “Yeah.”

“In fact,” Ryan began, his voice suddenly concerned as he looked down at his expensive sports watch. “Didn’t you say your first class was in Gilbert Hall? 10:30? That’s like in 5 minutes.”

My face flushed, suddenly. Gilbert Hall was practically on the other side of campus. I hadn’t even had a chance to look at my schedule, let alone know where I had to be and when.

“Shit, dude,” Jason interjected. “That’s on the other side of campus. Better run.”

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed, giving me a look. “Better run. You don’t want to be late.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I…uh, I’ll see you guys.” Taking a few deep breaths, I brushed past them to jog up the steps to the student union. There was a shortcut to the other side of campus.

As soon as I pushed through the glass doors of the student center, I felt lost as students rushed by all around me. I looked back over my shoulder through the glass doors to see Ryan laughing heartily at something Jason said. I couldn’t believe I was just walking away from him, alone. No chains, no bars, no locks. It was the simplest of everyday things, and yet I felt extremely uncomfortable, like I was lost and drowning. Then suddenly, I slammed into something hard that felt like a brick wall, only it was moving.

“Hey!” a loud angry male voice rang out, following the crash. “Watch where you’re going, faggot!” A large football jock glowered in my direction as he gave me a hard shove, and kept on walking.

“I…I’m sorry,” I stammered after him, swallowing hard. I looked around nervously, wondering if anyone else noticed the encounter. No one seemed to be paying a bit of attention. Collecting myself, I hurried down the busy hallway and out the opposite doors that led to the other side of campus.

When I was back outside, I did my best to jog lightly across the tree lined pathways towards Gilbert Hall with the heavy pack pulling down on my shoulders. I pulled the folded schedule out of my pocket to check the class schedule. Principles of Finance, Room 303. It was true. Ryan had changed my schedule of classes.

I pushed into the lobby of the bustling academic building, and bolted for the stairs. Jogging up the series of steps to the third floor was no picnic with the extra weight on my back. Pushing into the hallway, I nearly knocked someone over with the door, making light apologies as I rushed towards the room labeled 303. The door was closed. I swallowed, pulling out my cell phone to check the time. It was 10:34.

Keeping my head low, I pushed through the door as quietly as I could, stepping into the medium-sized lecture hall, with stadium style rows of desks. A hundred set of eyes all turned in my direction as the door creaked a bit, and then closed. I was a deer in head lights.

“Young man,” the professor commanding the front of the room suddenly paused his introduction to the course, looking in my direction. He snapped and pointed to an open desk in the front row. “Take a seat quickly. Much to do.”

I nodded slightly, my cheeks flushing red, and hurried to the seat that was selected for me. It felt oddly familiar to be sitting back in a desk, and yet foreign at the same time. I hadn’t done much in the way of sitting at all since I’d started my slave training. Opening my backpack quietly, I pulled out the notebook and pen I’d been given, and did my best to tune into the lecture.

The professor, an average looking academic man in his late 50s, haphazardly placed a syllabus packet on my desk as he continued to drone on about expectations for the semester and his various objectives. It was extremely difficult to focus on what his was saying. I swore I could still feel the hundreds of eyes behind me drilling into the back of my head. They knew. They knew I was wearing a cock ring. They knew I was wearing dog tags with my Master’s initials around my neck. They knew I was a slave.

Suddenly, my stream of thoughts were interrupted by a strong vibration against my thigh. I knew it was a text message, and I knew who it was from. Almost in a panic, I glanced up to see the professor pacing in front of his podium on the other side of the room. Why did I have to sit in the front row? Why did Ryan have to text me now?

As subtly as I could, I slid the phone out of my pocket with my finger and thumb, resting it on my thigh under the shadow of the desk. Keeping my eyes in the general direction of the professor, I carefully unfolded the phone, and clicked the button to open the next text message. I glanced down, “MEET ME IN S HALL BASEMENT AFTER CLASS.”

Glancing around quickly to see if anyone noticed, I began to slowly type out my response. S Hall, as everyone referred to it in short for some long unpronounceable last name of a long-deceased founder, was on yet another far end of campus from where I was now.

“YES SIR” I sent the typed response, and casually returned the cell phone to my pocket, trying to focus in on what the professor was saying about the state of the economy.

The next hour crawled by painfully slow. Sitting in the front row, I had little choice but to pay strict attention, as the professor seemed to glance at me every five seconds to watch me taking notes. The hard chair growing more and more uncomfortable, I rolled my shoulders a bit, and stretched my legs out, crossing my ankles casually.

Suddenly, I sat upright with a start, the realization hitting me that I wasn’t supposed to cross my legs. I looked around with a sudden wave of guilt washing over me as if I’d been caught cheating. Of course, Ryan was no where in sight, and no one else was paying a bit of attention to me. I exhaled quietly, wondering how quickly I would fuck up again. It was so easy to let my mind slip when I had other things to focus on.

“Okay. Next class, chapters 1 through 3. Dismissed,” the professor abruptly changed course from his lecture, glancing at his watch.

Everyone around me started to gather their belongings, and made their way to the door. I was just hefting my backpack onto my shoulders when I felt a light touch on my right arm. Whirling around in almost a knee-jerk reaction, I was face to face with a girl I recognized from one of my classes last semester. She was my age or maybe a year older, average height, slender, long blond hair, incredibly hot.

“Hey…sorry,” she giggled slightly. “Just wanted to say hi. We had psych together last fall, remember? It’s Drew, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” I nodded, a bit uncomfortably as I adjusted the pack on my back. “You’re…uh…”

“Jen.”

“Jen, right,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at the door.

“So, how was your break?” she continued casually, leaning against the desk. “Get up to anything fun?”

“Not really. I just, I…uh, just hung out around the house mostly,” I said flatly. “You?” I looked back to her quickly, and then over my shoulder again at the door.

“Yeah? Did a lot of that myself…went skiing, saw some old friends. Glad to be back though,” she paused, glancing towards the door herself. “Oh, you probably have to go? Sorry, I’m just excited to see everyone. Glad I know someone in this class, too. Sounds like it’s going to be brutal! Did you see the syllabus?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said with disinterest, turning towards the door.

She started alongside me. “Hey, maybe we can study together sometime? Get coffee?”

I stopped short. It hit me suddenly that this girl was completely into me and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. So much of me wanted to say, “How about right now?” So much of me wanted to blow Ryan off. At that moment, so much of me just wanted to be normal again. But normal was no longer an option.

“Coffee…yeah, maybe,” I muttered. “Look, sorry, I gotta, uh…” I motioned with my thumb over my shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s cool,” she said, forcing a smile but clearly disappointed. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, definitely,” I said, returning a slight smile before turning to bolt out the door and down the steps. Class had now ended 5 minutes ago, and I knew Ryan was probably timing me on my arrival.

S Hall was one of the original buildings on campus, and was so old and out of date that it was barely used anymore. Professors hated teaching in a building that lacked modern heating and cooling systems, not to mention proper ventilation. A lot of clubs held meetings there in the evenings, but otherwise it was reserved for overflow space, recitations and study groups.

I jogged across campus as quickly as I could, the heavy backpack weighing on my shoulders, pounding my lower back with each stride. It made jogging awkward, but I knew it was necessary. When I arrived at the main entrance, I pushed into the dimly lit lobby, the smell of must filling my nostrils. Looking around for the stairs, I made my way slowly down to the basement level.

It was eerily quiet in the building, almost like a library. There was no bustle of students coming and going between classes. Really, I hadn’t seen any students at all on the main level.

“What took you so long?” Ryan demanded the second I exited the stairwell on the basement level. He was sprawled lounging on a bench between two classroom doors playing with some game on his cell phone.

I froze in my tracks, looking quickly around nervously.

“We’re alone,” he assured me, pushing up to his feet. “No one uses this building much, especially the basement. I asked you a question, slave.”

“Yes, Sir. Nothing, Sir. Class…”

“Mmhmm,” he agreed, skeptically. Snapping his fingers, he pointed to the first classroom door by the stairwell. “Inside.”

“Yes, Sir.” I swallowed, a bit timid, as I pushed open the door into the dank, musty classroom. There were overhead fluorescent bulbs, but there was enough daylight coming in from the slat windows up at ground level that you could just see without turning on the lights. The desks were kind of pushed to the side, some of them stacked, like they were in storage.

He closed the door behind us, but I noticed there was no lock. “Strip, everything,” he ordered, flatly.

I know I looked at him like he had grown two heads.

“Is there a problem, slave? STRIP!” he barked.

“Yes, Sir!” I jumped at the command, and shucked off my backpack, and pulled the sweatshirt and t-shirt over my head in one motion, before hopping from foot to foot removing my shoes and socks. Lastly, I pushed the jeans down to my ankles and stepped out of them, leaving me in nothing more than the cock ring and dog tags. I stood awkwardly, glancing nervously towards the door as if someone was sure to walk in any minute.

SLAP! His hand connected with my right cheek.

“Don’t look away from me when I’m talking to you,” he barked, pointing to the center of the room, “Display.”

I shuffled a few paces to my left, and faced him, spreading my legs apart and locking my hands behind my head. He circled me slowly, poking and prodding at my exposed body with no real rhyme or reason other than he could. “You’ve gone almost two hours now disguised as Joe College. Don’t want you thinking that’s normal, that you deserve to be clothed. Do you, boy?”

I swallowed. “No, Sir.”

“And, why is that?”

“Because, I’m a slave, Sir.”

He bounced my dangling balls in his hand, adjusting the cock ring slightly. “Get hard in class, slave?”

“No, Sir.” It was the truth. I’d been far too nervous to even think about being horny in class.

“No? No hot chicas to get your juices flowing?” he asked, with a smirk, as he released my balls and gave my cock a few playful strokes.

“No, Sir.” I shook my head. As he stroked my dick, I felt it stiffen, springing to a full erection very quickly. I thought of Jen, wondering what she would think if she saw me now.

Suddenly, he stopped stroking, grabbed a firm hold on my dick, and yanked it downwards painfully. I gasped, and he crouched to put his face close to mine. “Either you’re fucking lying to me, or you really are the cockslut I’m training you to be, and for your sake, I hope it’s the cockslut because you know what happens when you lie to me.”

“Yes, Sir, no, Sir!” I stammered. “I mean, not lying Sir.”

He held my cock down for another long moment, and then released it so that it sprang up and slapped me on the stomach. I winced.

“Get down on your knees. Back to the door,” Ryan ordered coldly. I was grateful that he didn’t press the lying issue, but I wasn’t sure exactly what he had in mind for me now as I turned around and lowered to my knees. “Get your chest all the way down, cheek to the ground, ass up.”

“Yes, Sir.” I said, as I lowered myself awkwardly, shuffling my knees a bit to get my chest against the ground, turning my head to the right, lifting my ass up. Suddenly, I felt incredibly exposed.

“Good. Put your hands behind you, pull your ass cheeks apart. Display your ass.”

“Yes, Sir,” I muttered into the ground, as I reached behind me and pulled my cheeks apart, feeling air against my puckering hole.

I heard Ryan stepping around me. There was a rustle of clothing as he picked up my jeans. I had a sudden wave of panic. He was going to take my clothes and leave me here. Images of me running through the quad naked suddenly returned. He couldn’t be that cruel.

Then, he stepped to where I could see his sneakers, and crouched down, laying my cell phone gently by my head. “Set the alarm for 20 minutes. Stay just like this until it goes off. Once it does, get yourself dressed and get your ass to the dining hall before your next class. Your lunch allowance is five bucks.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, swallowing hard at the fear of someone walking in and seeing me like this.

“Don’t worry, boy. Like I said, no one uses this place, especially the basement.” He gave my ass a playful slap as he stood up. “But, tell ya what. If on some 1% chance someone does walk in here, you have permission to tell them you’re pledging a frat. Cool?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, not really taking much comfort in that, but at least I had a semi-plausible excuse at the ready.

“And while you’re down there I want you think long and hard about me riding that ass, turning you into the cockwhore that you were born to be,” he instructed. “Too bad there’s not a class for that!”

“Yes, Sir,” I muttered into the floor.

“Later, bitch,” he snickered, as he walked out the door, letting it slam behind him.

I took a long deep breath when I heard the door close. The cell phone taunted me as it lay a few inches from my face. 20 minutes was a long time to wait, and I was already uncomfortable to begin with, but I didn’t dare move a muscle. For all I knew, Ryan could have been waiting on the other side of the door, watching through the dusty glass window. I almost prayed that was the case. It would be the only sure way of knowing that some random stranger wasn’t about to burst through the door and see me spreading my ass open for the world to see.

Ten uncomfortable minutes later, I had calmed down a bit, as it remained perfectly quiet in the room. No voices or footsteps in earshot. In truth, I couldn’t determine if this exercise was punishment for the suspected lie, or just a general reminder of my status, even on campus. It occurred to me, that should it be a punishment, I might actually deserve it. Not only did I lie to Ryan about seeing a hot girl in class, but I crossed my legs in class. I hadn’t been given the opportunity, but I’m pretty sure I would have chosen not to report the infraction.

My eyes blurred as I glared at the cell phone, willing the alarm to ring. My arms were tired of holding my ass open, and I relaxed them a little bit. My back and legs were cramping from kneeling awkwardly. I was in hell. It hit me suddenly that one of the main reasons I’d chosen enslavement was to salvage my college education, and this is what I ended up with? Classes that I don’t want to take, and a constant threat of public humiliation?

Beep-Beep-Beep. Beep-Beep-Beep.

The alarm jolted me from my daydream, and I wasted no time in scrambling out of the position and to my feet. I was fully dressed in no time. Grabbing my backpack, I practically ran out of the room, wanting to leave no trace of having occupied it.

Less than ten minutes later, I was making my way through the crowded dining hall with a tray in my left hand. I’d selected a basic turkey sandwich, an apple and a bottle of water. I assumed my five-dollar allowance allowance would cover at least that much, and since I had had very little in the way of solid food the past month, I didn’t want to go overboard, however tempting the cheeseburgers and pizza were.

I paid, and moved through the sea of tables filled with chattering students and faculty members alike. I’d never felt more alone. Keeping my head low, I made my way towards the back of the room, spotting an empty table near the corner. I threw my backpack into the empty chair next to me, and plopped my tray on the table.

“Drew!” Someone practically shouted in my ear.

I spun around to find myself face to face with Sean, the best friend I’d made on campus over the first semester. We had had an abnormal number of classes together, and hit it off right away. He was just a bit taller than me, skinnier with a swimmers’ build, and short, reddish blond hair that curled slightly along the top of his forehead.

“Sean…hey,” I managed, almost nervously.

“Hey? Dude, what the fuck? What happened to you? Thought you might have died or something,” he exclaimed, pulling out the chair next to mine at the table and setting a half empty bottle of soda down.

“Yeah…sorry about being so out of touch,” I said, feeling a little awkward as I sat down at the table.

“So, what’s the deal then? And, what the fuck did you do to your hair? I barely recognized you,” Sean continued, relentless on the questions.

I ran my fingers casually through the short chop on my head. “Yeah, I dunno man, I just…” I swallowed, my mind spinning. “Ali broke up with me,” I spat out suddenly, turning to make eye contact with him for the first time.

“Dude…rough! So sorry to hear that, man. What happened?” He asked, with genuine concern. “You guys were so great when we left for break.”

“Yeah, I know. I dunno. That’s when she did it.”

“On your birthday?!” he exclaimed.

I nodded.

“Bitch! That’s cold,” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “Real sorry. No wonder you’ve been so out of touch.”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Didn’t really feel like talking to anyone.”

“Yeah, sorry man. Wish I coulda been there for you,” Sean continued, shaking his head in disbelief. “At least you had Ryan, I guess.”

I sat up suddenly, alarmed. “What do you mean?”

He was a bit taken aback. “Ryan? As in Ryan Grey…you know, just hoping he was there for you. Aren’t you guys like practically brothers?”

I settled back in my chair, still a bit uncomfortably. “Yeah….yeah, I guess you could say that.” I opened my bottle of water and took a long swig, anxious to change the subject. “So what about you? How was your break?”

“Kick ass!” Sean exclaimed, before he began to rattle on about a tropical vacation, hooking up with some ex-girlfriends from high school, and who knows what else.

I pretended to listen, and responded mechanically as I ate my sandwich and apple. Part of me seethed with jealousy. Sean was living the college experience that I had wanted so badly. It wasn’t that long ago that I was living it alongside of him, and now, it was all so foreign to me. So unattainable.

“Oh! And then New Year’s…holy shit, you’re never gonna believe who I got a text from…” he rattled on. Abruptly, I glanced at the clock on the wall and scooted my chair back. “Uhhh, you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” I muttered, standing up. “Don’t mean to cut you off, just gotta get to class.” I nodded toward the clock on the wall. It was a half-truth. I still had enough time to get to the next class Ryan scheduled for me, but I also couldn’t stand to listen to him torture me with his sexcapades any longer.

“Oh. Yeah,” he agreed, a little disheartened as he stood up as well. “So, I guess I’ll see you around then? Party this weekend? Maybe shoot some hoops between classes?”

“Sure, yeah,” I nodded, not really sure what I was agreeing to. “Ball sounds good. I’ll catch you later.”

“Later, man,” Sean muttered as I walked away, undoubtedly leaving him a little confused.

I quickened my pace as I slammed my garbage in the nearest can and exited the student union. There was a lump forming in the back of my throat, and it took all of my will power to hold back a fresh round of tears as I hurried across the quad towards my next class. I glanced back over my shoulder catching a glimpse of a large banner waving lightly in the wind over the student union that read, “Welcome Back Students!”

***

CHAPTER 12 – SLAVE SAT

By the time the fourth day of classes rolled around, I was in a new kind of hell altogether. The business and finance classes that I had been unwillingly enrolled in were quickly becoming far greater torture than the physical and mental abuse I’d been subjected to in the course of my slave training. The class lectures felt like foreign language to me half the time, and it was a struggle to pay attention.

On top of the classes themselves, a series of new routines had developed at home. Each morning began the same as always with rigorous physical conditioning, but Ryan had decided to allow me two extra hours of sleep on any day I had classes, not that the 6 am wake-up call was all that much less painful. After I was showered and groomed, I would wait in my room until Ryan presented me with my clothing. Second-hand jeans and tight-fitting t-shirts and hoodies had essentially become my school uniform, and although I was fortunate not to be wearing the exact same thing everyday, all of the garments seemed to come in various bland shades of gray, navy or army green.

Ryan, of course, drove me to and from campus everyday. He seemed to have planned our schedules accordingly so that our days began and finished around the same relative time. By the third day, however, he had already made a habit of dropping me off at the house, only to return to campus for some quality time at his fraternity house.

My orders after school were strict and concise. I went directly to my room where I immediately surrendered my clothing and knelt to be re-collared in steel. Then, I was to begin studying, reviewing any class materials and writing any necessary papers.. My access to my laptop was somewhat restricted, but I was allowed to use whatever programs and resources I needed to complete my work. Of course, I had long-ago surrendered the passwords to all of my email accounts to Ryan and he checked them sporadically to ensure I wasn’t making unauthorized contact with the outside world.

If Ryan was home, the evening was subject to his whim. He might interrupt me at anytime for punishment, training or just to make him dinner. If Ryan was out for the evening, I was given standing permission to take a break at 8:30pm sharp to use the bathroom and prepare myself one of the infamous slave smoothies for dinner. However, I was to be back hitting the books by 9:00pm. Unless I received special permission to work later on a paper or to study later for an exam, I was to be in bed by 10:30pm.

On campus, I’d started to make a habit of avoiding people. I darted out of classrooms, sequestered myself in the dining hall, and basically did what I could to go unnoticed. For the most part it was working, but I realized quickly that I couldn’t be completely invisible. My two worlds had just begun to collide, and I knew it would only get worse.

I shivered slightly as I made my way across the quad, having just finished up a quick lunch, the light sweatshirt providing little more than protection from the wind on the chillier-than-usual afternoon. My classes ended early that day, and I was planning on spending the rest of it studying in the library while I waited for Ryan to finish up.

“Drew! Wait up!”

I hesitated slightly, glancing over my shoulder to see Sean bounding up beside me.

“Oh, hey,” I offered.

“Seriously, man, what’s the deal? I feel like you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

I slowed my pace to keep in line with him. “Oh really? I haven’t been…sorry. Just, uh, not feeling it I guess.”

“Feeling what?” he asked, somewhat annoyed.

“Class, I mean,” I added, quickly. “School. Just not in the mood to be back here.”

Sean half-sighed, not entirely convinced, but continued, “Yeah, class sucks. But you know what? Fuck that. Last semester was a blast. Forget about class, dude. You’re on the rebound! Gotta put yourself out there, man,” he encouraged, giving me a playful shove on the arm.

I faltered slightly. “Yeah…”

“Look, week’s almost over. What do you have going on this weekend?”

I froze at the question, unsure how to answer it.

Sean went on, “Wanna hit up The Tap? Still got your fake?”

The Tap was a dive bar in town notorious for letting University freshman and sophomores slide as long as their fake IDs were passable.

I hesitated, taking a few extra steps, and then shrugging. “Oh, yeah…umm, actually I tried it at another place over break and it got confiscated.”

Sean frowned. “Bummer, dude. Well, we’ll get you another one.”

Suddenly, there was a familiar strong vibration in my pocket. I panicked, glancing up to Sean, as I reached in my pocket.

“Anyway, hey, did I even finish telling you about this chick I started talking to over break? We kinda met online, lame I know, but whatever. She goes here, and we’ve already hooked up twice this week!”

“Yeah? Cool…” I responded, half-listening as I flipped open my cell phone to look at the text message from Ryan.

“STOP TALKING TO THAT TOOL AND GET YOUR ASS TO MY CAR.”

I looked up like I’d seen a ghost, glancing over my shoulder through the crowds of students in the quad. I couldn’t see Ryan, but he obviously had his eye on me from somewhere.

“Yeah, and,” Sean paused to glance around, “I think she’s a little freaky too.” He grinned with pride, expecting some sort of congratulations from me.

“Oh, really? That’s, uh,” I began, glancing around still trying to locate Ryan. “That’s great, man. Hope it works out. Have to meet her someday.”

“Yeah…” Sean agreed, his smile fading, as he glanced to my phone. “What? You look like your dog just died. That Ali, or something?”

I shrugged slightly, shaking my head as I typed a response to Ryan. “Nah, I wish. Gotta meet Ryan for a minute. Left something in his car.”

“YES SIR.” The message flew off into cyberspace.

“Okay,” Sean sighed. “Catch you later, then.”

“Later,” I agreed, exchanging a quick handshake with him as we parted ways. I made a bee line for the parking lot while Sean continued on towards the student union.

Ryan was there waiting for, leaning casually against the back bumper of his jeep. I swallowed slightly as I approached, stopping just a few paces away, presenting casually in front of him with my head slightly bowed. Fortunately, the parking lot was virtually empty at this time of day.

“So, this is how you spend your free time?” he asked with a bite to his voice.

“Sir?” I asked, almost in surprise, glancing up at him.

“Socializing in the quad with douchebags like that? Was that one of your options?”

“Yes Sir, I mean no Sir…I wasn’t Sir,” I stammered, struggling to keep my voice low.

“Then what would you call it?” Ryan asked, unrelentingly.

“He stopped me, Sir. Started talking…”

“Oh? So it’s his fault?” he asked, challenging me. “You’re blaming a free man for your fuck up?”

I hesitated. “No…I mean…no Sir,” I trailed, lowering my head again in silent frustration. All week I had been so careful to manage my time as ordered, and the one time he sees me in the quad I’m caught talking to an old friend.

“Really? Because I think that’s exactly what you’re doing. Pointing the finger. You think you can do whatever the fuck you want just because I’m not around. Don’t you, boy?”

“No! No, Sir,” I exclaimed, a little too loudly.

“I’m not convinced, slave,” Ryan snapped, lowering his voice. He glanced at his expensive watch. “And this is a problem, because I still have an afternoon full of classes before we head home.”

I took a deep breath, and glanced up at him, not sure what exactly was going through his head.

Suddenly, the alarm beeped on the jeep, and Ryan produced his keys. “Fortunately, I anticipated something like this and have made other arrangements. Get in.”

“Yes, Sir,” I agreed nervously, as I walked around to the passenger side.

Minutes later we were cruising down a side street in silence just about a mile from campus. I tried to keep my eyes down as I’d been ordered in the car, but couldn’t help but glance up from time to time. The route was alarmingly familiar. I glanced quickly over to Ryan quickly as he mouthed along the words to the song on the radio and drove as if nothing unusual was at play.

My stomach twisted into knots as the jeep slowed to a stop. I looked up just in time to confirm my worst fears. We were in the parking lot of Ali’s apartment complex.

“Out,” Ryan ordered.

He jumped out of the driver side, as I climbed reluctantly out of the jeep, and closed the door behind me, backpack in tow. Hesitantly, I lingered in front of the jeep glancing from the building to Ryan.

“Walk,” he barked, giving me a shove from behind. “Don’t pretend you don’t know where you’re going. Fortunately for me, Kara, or Mistress Kara to you, has agreed to slave-sit for me on Thursday afternoons,” Ryan explained casually, as I led the way up the flight of stairs to the second floor apartment.

I was dizzy at the notion, the color draining from my face. My stomach was now flooded with nerves and I felt like I might actually throw up. “Please…don’t do this, Sir…” I managed to choke out the words, unsure if they were even audible.

Ryan reached out to stop me as we reached the top of the stairs. “Oh shut the fuck up. Get a hold of yourself. It’s not like she doesn’t already know what you are. Hell, she’s half the reason you’re where we are.”

I nodded, croaking slightly, “Yes, Sir.”

He took hold of the collar of my t-shirt and pulled me closer to him, speaking lowly, “But let me make this very clear. While you’re here, her word is law. You obey her as you would obey me. You’re a slave through and through, and it’s time you understood that this world is much bigger than just you and me and our family. Got it, bitch?”

“Yes, Sir,” I managed, still feeling like I might be sick.

Ryan rang the doorbell, and moments later, the door flung open. I couldn’t bring myself to look up, as I felt myself flush immediately.

“Well, well,” Kara purred from the doorway in a mocking tone. “Master McFrat and the bred slave here in the flesh. Wasn’t sure I’d see the day.”

“Funny,” Ryan retorted flatly, unimpressed with her tone. “Are you doing this or not?”

“You never were any fun,” she sighed, stepping aside to let us in. Ryan grabbed my arm and pushed by her just as she whispered in his ear, “That’s why it would have never worked out.”

He pushed me a few paces into the living room, and I collected myself nervously while Kara closed the door. I glanced over at her while she adjusted the deadbolt. For the first time, I was seeing her in a different light. Whereas before I’d only seen and dismissed her as Ali’s bitchy roommate, now I was intimidated, practically fearful of her. Her long dark hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, which rested along her tan back, visible above the low cut of her slinky black tank top. The curve of her taught ass was visible through a tight-fitting skirt that clung to her thighs above the knee. Dangerous looking stiletto heels completed the look, as if she had just come from some sort of strip club. She seemed taller, stronger, and even sexier than I remembered. Without a doubt, more powerful too.

“What the fuck is he still wearing clothes for?” Kara demanded, spinning around suddenly. “Slaves don’t wear clothes in here. Show some fucking respect.”

Ryan gave me a firm shove. “You heard her, slave. Strip.”

I swallowed, feeling a bit faint again, letting the backpack slide off my shoulders. Slowly, I began to unzip the sweatshirt.

“What is this? Did you cut his tongue out?” she asked.

“No,” Ryan answered, giving the back of my head a rough shake. “Just being shy. He knows his manners, don’t you bitch?”

I glanced over at him, my hands trembling as I pulled my arms out of the sleeves. “Yes…yes, Sir.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

“Awwww, he’s shy now, is he?” Kara asked in mocking as she stepped over to me and grabbed my cheeks between the fingers of her right hand, massaging my face for a quick second. “Funny. He wasn’t so fucking shy when he made himself at home last semester, eating my food, drinking my beer. Were you, boy?” She gave my face a rough shake, and released her grasp.

“I…uhh…” I was so caught off guard, I didn’t know what to say.

“Answer her,” Ryan warned.

“It’s yes, Mistress. No, Mistress,” Kara interjected, firmly.

“Yes, I mean, no, Mistress,” I stammered quietly. “Sorry, Mistress.” I looked down at my shoes. It felt so strange to be calling anyone, let alone Kara, Mistress. Despite the depths of my training and my conditioning to understand I was less than, I had yet to feel so blatantly inferior to a woman, until now.

“Better. Now, hurry the fuck up and lose the clothes,” she snapped. “As I already said, slaves aren’t allowed clothes in here.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I responded, more readily than I expected, as I pulled the tight t-shirt over my head and tossed it to the floor, bending over to start at my jeans.

“He looks different…” Kara observed.

“He should,” Ryan agreed. “Strict diet, daily work outs…”

I kicked off my shoes, just as I pushed my jeans down to the floor. Stepping out of them, I stayed crouched down to pull off the socks, delaying the dreaded moment in which I would have to stand naked in front of Kara.

“The hair,” she suggested. “Think it’s the hair. Used to be a lot more gay.”

Ryan snickered, “I know. He spent way too much time on it when he used to be free. Had to buzz it down.” He reached over and laced his fingers in my hair while I was bent forward, giving it little tug. “Let it grow out some. Enough to grab onto.”

She chuckled with him, and then nudged my thigh with the tip of her shoe. “Don’t just drop your shit on the ground. Fold it neatly and put it next to the door. You may be a pig, but this isn’t your personal sty.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I murmured quickly, and scooped everything up into a pile and shuffled to the door, keeping my back to them. Squatting down, I folded the jeans, t-shirt ,and sweatshirt as neatly and quickly as I could, piled them by the door, and set the shoes and socks next to them.

“Good. Now, let’s see what we got,” Kara said.

Ryan snapped. “Over here, boy. Display for your Mistress.”

I swallowed nervously as I turned back to them, glancing up only briefly to follow Ryan’s finger to where I should stand. Stepping over to the edge of the living room, I squared myself in front of Kara, and hesitantly opened myself up, spreading my legs apart and clasping my hands behind me head. I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact with either one of them, as I felt my cheeks heating up.

Immediately, her sharp fingernails danced across my stomach, lightly scraping along the cuts of muscle in my abdomen. I felt my stomach clench at the touch, inhaling a short, anxious breath. Her soft fingers pressed a bit harder into my skin as she slid her palm up my torso, cupping my left pec in her palm and squeezing lightly. Her other hand joined her exploration of my right pec, and she kneaded the muscle lightly between her fingers.

“Really is quite a piece of slave meat you got here,” Kara remarked over her shoulder to Ryan, who was watching with amusement from a few paces away, arms crossed over his chest.

He smirked, nodding towards me. “Better be careful. Been quite a while since he’s been touched by a woman. Might not take much for him to blow.”

“Oh?” Kara purred, turning back to me with a devilish grin, tip-toeing her fingers down my abdomen to my cock which was hardening almost on cue. I swallowed as she lightly ran her finger up and down my shaft. She gave my cock ring a small flick. “That true, boy? This make you excited?”

It didn’t take much to pop a full erection, especially when I had been kept almost completely chaste for the past month. I shifted my weight uncomfortably between my spread feet as she continued to tease my bobbing dick. Gritting my teeth slightly in a mix of embarrassment and anger, I said nothing.

Suddenly, she grabbed my balls and twisted viciously, pulling them down and away from my body at the same time. “Slave? You were asked a question.”

“Aghn!” I gasped, nearly doubling over in pain. My hands left my head on instinct, and rushed to protect my crotch, but stopped short of actually touching her.

Ryan wasted no time in rushing in to assist. His fingers laced in my hair, and he yanked my head back, pulling me up to my feet, my arms flailing a bit for balance.

“I thought you said he was trained?” Kara hissed, giving my balls another vicious twist before releasing them in disgust.

“He is,” Ryan retorted. “It’s only been a month. Looked like you were about to rip his balls off!”

My mouth dropped a bit in surprise. Was Ryan actually defending me?

“Stop fucking around and display!” He released his grip on my hair with a shake. “And this time, don’t fucking move.”

“I want him in chains. Now,” Kara demanded. “Not fucking around with this shit until he proves he can be trusted.”

“Fine,” Ryan agreed. “Where are they?”

“Coat closet. Black box on the floor,” she directed, turning back to me, the playful tease gone from her expression. “Bring me the cock leash too.”

I waited uncomfortably while Ryan gathered the items from the closet and dumped them with a loud metallic clang at my feet. He fished though the small pile for the wrist shackles, glancing to Kara.

“Behind him,” she ordered, squatting down to pick up a small leather device and a long metal chain leash.

Ryan stepped behind me and coaxed my arms down from behind my head to the small of my back, where he encircled each of my wrists with cool, weighty shackles. I felt a length of chain graze against my bare ass.

In the meantime, Kara wasted no time in popping my balls through my metal cock ring and tossing it on the kitchen counter that was positioned just across from the living room. “It seems to me,” she rattled on with agitation as she expertly wrapped a strip of leather around the base of my balls and cinched it tightly with a snap, holding it firmly in place, “That you have a lot to learn about respect.” She emphasized the word as she snapped a long thin leash to a ring that was protruding from the strap around my balls, and gave it a firm yank to test. I winced.

Ryan gave me a firm shove between my shoulder blades. “It starts with your manners, boy.”

I nodded, knowingly, biting my tongue slightly as I caught my balance. “Yes, Sir. Yes, Mistress.”

“Better,” Kara acknowledged, with another firm tug to the leash, yanking at my balls painfully. “On your knees. Down where you belong.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I muttered, my voice feeling smaller by the second as I struggled to bend my knees without falling, my balance thrown off with my hands behind my back. To make matters worse, Kara kept a firm tug on my balls as if to guide me down. Finally, I landed hard on my knees, my ball sack pulled upwards by the taught leash.

“Don’t you have class, or something?” Kara asked suddenly, addressing Ryan. “I think things are under control here. Right, boy?” She asked, emphasizing the word with a yank to my balls.

“Ye..yes, Mistress,” I whispered in pain.

“Just do me a favor and keep him all in one piece, k?” Ryan asked, half-seriously as he started toward the door.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she sighed in mocking. “Just get out of here. See you in a bit.”

“Later,” Ryan muttered without looking back as he slipped out the front door of the apartment.

Kara glanced over her shoulder to watch him go, and then turned back to look down at me. “Well, the tables have certainly turned around here, haven’t they? A few months ago, you thought you were just the shit. Freshman stud lands the hot older chick before classes even start, well on your way to ruling to this campus, and now look at yourself.” She chuckled in evil bemusement. “Just think, all those times you got off fantasizing about sticking that…thing in my girl, she was right here on her knees lapping at my pussy, probably with a vibrator lodged up her ass.”

My face flushed a deeper shade of crimson, and I swallowed, trying to ignore the visual as she tapped my flaccid dick with the toe of her stiletto to emphasize her amusement at the notion of me fucking Ali, and then planted her right foot squarely between my spread knees.

“Kiss my shoe, slave,” she demanded suddenly, her voice icy cold.

I looked up at her in surprise at the sudden command.

She gave my leashed balls a bit of a tug, and repeated herself, “I said, kiss my shoe. Now.”

Glancing down at the shoe, I swallowed a mixture of anger and nerves, and muttered quietly, “Yes, Mistress.” Realizing I had no choice but to obey, my balls firmly in her control, I constricted the muscles in my abdomen for balance as I clenched my fists behind me and leaned forward slowly, wincing as my lips connected with the soft leather at the tip of her shoe.

Snickering slightly, she shuffled her foot slightly, nudging my face away with the toe of her shoe, and then leaned forward to lace her fingers in my hair, pulling me back up to a full kneel.

“Good slave. Lucky for you, I have no interest in having some boy slobber all over my $400 shoes, but it’s important that you understand your place from now on when you’re in this apartment,” she explained, releasing her grip on my hair, and tracing her finger along my jawline in a teasing manner. “And, what is your place?”

I glanced up at her, hesitating slightly, “At your feet, Mistress?”

“Close enough.” She shrugged, and continued, “Second thing you need to understand is that your time here isn’t going to be some sort of vacation for you. Ryan isn’t paying me jack shit for this, so you better believe that it’s going to be your job to make this worth my while.”

I felt my stomach tighten a bit at the ominous warning. Without another word, she let the leash drop and pulled her tank top casually over her head to reveal a lacy black corset-style bra that accentuated her breasts in a way I’d never noticed before. I glanced up and caught her eye as she gave me a knowing smirk. Seductively, she unfastened her skirt and let the black silky fabric fall to the floor in a puddle around her heels. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“Well?” she asked, almost in a whisper as she gingerly lifted the skirt with the tip of her shoe, and tossed it aside, her fingers sliding lightly down the curves of her bare hips toward her smoothly shaved pussy. “Got anything to say?”

I looked up, almost in disbelief taking the sight of her nearly naked body in. She had always been such a bitch to me and I’d never really taken the time to notice how hot she actually was or think about what she looked like underneath. And now I knew, and fumbled to put it into words. Was it a trick question? “I…uhh…”

“Don’t be shy,” she purred, almost warmly. “I want to know what you think?”

“Uh, ver..very nice,” I swallowed, “Mistress.”

“You like what you see?”

I nodded. “Yes. Yes, Mistress.”

She slid her fingers closer to her cunt lips, then gliding them lightly up and down, exhaling deeply. “Yeah? Bet you’d love to be inside me right now, wouldn’t you? Fuck me hard?”

I felt my face flush a bit, and couldn’t help but wet my lips, giving her a sheepish nod. “Yeh…yes, Mistress.” It was true. I could feel my deprived dick rising to attention at the prospect.

Sliding her tongue over slightly parted lips, she smiled and leaned forward slightly. She lifted her right finger from her crotch and ran it lightly over my lips and under my nose. “Yeah?” she asked, seductively.

SLAP!

Her open palm suddenly collided with the side of my face jolting me back from the momentary fantasy with a vicious sting.

“Too bad you’re just a piece of shit slave who doesn’t understand his place,” she barked, her tone changing dramatically. “Slaves don’t get to fuck. They get to be used, and even then, you have to earn that kind of honor, boy.”

I looked back to my knees, my cheek red and stinging. Of course I did. “Yes, Mistress…”

“Crawl!” She suddenly ordered, snapping and pointing towards the living room couch.

Reluctantly, I placed one knee in front of the other and began to shuffle towards the living room, keeping my head down in shame. It was a difficult task without the use of my hands, and I nearly fell forward several times. At one point on the short journey, I felt her lean down behind me as I crawled over the leash that was still lashed to my balls.

“Stop! Right there,” she demanded. “Turn towards the couch. Okay, good. Back up a few feet.”

I obeyed the directions until I was about three feet from the couch. She moved behind me, and I felt the leash tighten against my junk, pulling it backwards between my legs. It would tighten, then loosen, and then tighten again until suddenly I felt my balls hang normally again between my spread thighs.

Walking slowly in front of me, still naked except for her shoes and bra, she slowly set herself down on the edge of the couch, and spread her legs wide, teasing her puckering cunt with her fingertips. “Time to put that whiny mouth of yours to good use,” she stated matter-of-factly.

My mouth dropped slightly, and I blinked, glancing up at her.

“Well? What are you waiting for slut? Come get it.”

Taking a nervous breath, I hesitated for a moment, and then put my head down and began shuffling towards her splayed legs one knee at a time. It hit me all at once. This is what Ryan had in mind for me? He wanted me to spend my down time eating out one of the people I despised most?

“I don’t have all day!” she snapped.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my groin as the loop around my balls went tight and my advance stopped short. “Gah!”

Kara smirked. “Come on, boy. Almost there.”

Wincing as the leash tightened around my balls, I took another knee forward feeling them stretch tighter behind my legs, going taught against the base of my ass cheeks. I tried to stifle my discomfort with deep breaths as I took another knee forward, nearly losing my balance without the use of my arms.

“Pathetic,” she barked, grabbing my head suddenly. With one set of fingers laced into my hair, she yanked my neck forward toward her waiting crotch. “Closer! Get that tongue out.”

I barely had time to swallow before my neck was painfully extended in the direction of her pussy, my advance toward her halted sharply by the tether to my balls. Reluctantly, I stuck my tongue out as far as I could, reaching towards the smooth lips of her cunt. I grunted slightly, as I nearly fell forward into it as I stretched, balanced by her grip on my head.

“That’s it,” she coaxed, pulling my head and outstretched tongue forward until it just grazed her soft moist skin. “If my slave did her job, you should be a pro at this.”

My cheeks burned again at the thought of all of the times Ali had me go down on her. She would give me notes and guidance. Thinking back, it had felt almost more instructional than romantic at times. Little did I know I was being trained for a future of service.

SLAP!

Her hand connected hard with my cheek, snapping my mind back to the task at hand.

“Lick, slave!”

I winced at the slap, and strained to get my tongue to touch her. “Aghn!” I groaned as I instinctively leaned forward, forgetting about my leashed balls that were holding me back. Her crotch was just out of reach.

SLAP! SLAP!

“Pathetic bitch. I don’t give a shit about your balls. This isn’t about you, it’s about me!”

It didn’t take long to realize that the virtually impossible task was completely intentional, as I winced and panted and strained to lap at her crotch which was placed just beyond my reach. A light sheen of sweat had broken out over my forehead and a bit of saliva began to run down my chin as I flicked my tongue desperately toward her pussy.

“Enough!” she exclaimed in exaggerated exasperation as she lifted her stiletto up, planted it firmly against my chest and used the force of her leg to shove me away.

The kick knocked me to my side, unbalanced as I was with my hands chained behind me and the leash at my balls. I curled slightly into a fetal mix of shame and helplessness on the floor.

She pushed up from the couch, and slowly began to circle in front of me. I watched the sharp heels of her shoes press dangerously into the plush carpet under my body as she neared my face. Reaching down, her fingers once again curled in my hair, and she yanked my head back so that I could see her face. She smirked for a long moment, and then unexpectedly spit. I winced as a soft wad of saliva pooled at the side of my nose and ran down my cheek.

“Your Master has a lot of work to do,” she hissed, releasing her grasp on my hair and letting my head fall back to the carpet.

Suddenly, there was a loud click at the front door of the apartment, and we both turned our attention in the direction of the door just as it creaked slowly open. My heart stopped beating for a moment, only to race as Ali slipped through the door and closed it securely behind her. Kara rose to face her, just as Ali turned to take in the scene. Her face paled as her eyes settled on my naked form lying in her living room.

“Don’t be shy, girl,” Kara said flatly, breaking the awkward tension. “We have a guest.” She snapped and pointed to the ground a few paces away from me.

“Yes, Mistress,” Ali said, snapping to attention. Mechanically, she disrobed completely in no time flat, pulling her long hair back into a simple ponytail with a band that she kept around her wrist. Silently opening the door of the coat closet, she reached inside and withdrew a black strip of leather and expertly fastened it around her own neck before stepping lightly to the spot where Kara had pointed, and sank beautifully to her knees. She was just as I had seen her last, the night of my birthday, the night everything changed.

“And you,” Kara snapped, turning her attention back to me and prodding my side with her foot. “Stop being a lazy fuck, and get yourself up on your knees.”

I swallowed nervously, glancing up at her, and then to Ali who was once again watching me almost blankly. Struggling a bit, I pulled my knees up towards my chest, and used my abs to life my weight up, wincing once or twice as my tethered balls pulled painfully tight in the process.

“Cat got your tongue, boy?” she demanded.

My cheeks immediately flushed as I glanced again to Ali before speaking. “No, sorry Mistress.”

“Good, slave.” Kara nodded, giving my head a rough pet as if to emphasize her control over me in front of Ali. “Now, you remember my slave Ali, of course?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I whispered shamefully, turning my eyes away from both of them.

“And you, girl, I want you to meet my friend Ryan’s slave, Drew,” Kara explained. I could tell Ali was surprised as I was by the way Kara introduced me as if we were strangers. “He may look familiar, but the man that you thought you knew is gone. Now, in his place, we have this pathetic excuse for slave meat. Isn’t that right, boy?”

I flushed, glancing to Ali and then back to the floor. “Yes…yes, Mistress.”

“He’s here because his Master can’t yet trust him to be left alone without supervision,” Kara explained. “So, he’ll be spending a few afternoons with us for as long as his Master deems necessary.”

Ali turned to me slightly and nodded her head. “Yes, Mistress.”

“You have excellent timing, girl,” Kara continued. “We were just getting to know each other better.” She looked back down at me. “So, let’s see what we really have here. We already know that he can’t eat pussy to save his life. Right, boy?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I muttered, looking down at my knees.

Kara reached down and grabbed my chin, lifting my head. “Keep your line of vision straight and proud. Nothing you need to hide here,” she warned. “Ever fucked a pussy, boy?”

My cheeks burned crimson as I swallowed hard, trying to keep my eyes from darting around the room. “No, Mistress,” I managed, quietly.

“Bet you sucked cock, though? You a cocksucker, slave?”

“Ye…yes, Mistress,” I whispered hoarsely, wanting to die of shame.

“Tell us, boy. Tell your new slave sister what you are,” Kara coaxed, almost sweetly.

“I…I’m a cocksucker,” I somehow managed, a huge lump forming in my throat and acid swirling in my stomach.

“Of course you are,” Kara agreed, patting me lighting on my cheek. “A cocksucker knows jack about eating out a pussy. But you’ll learn.”

She walked behind me, and suddenly I felt the heel and toe of her shoe press against my back between my shoulder blades, and a forceful kick pushed me forward until I landed hard on my chest, turning my head so that my cheek pressed into the carpet to help with the balance.

“Display that ass for me, boy,” she commanded.

Reluctantly, I reached for my ass cheeks, the chain my between my wrists allowing me just enough slack to take hold of each cheek and pull them apart enough to display my puckering hole in the most humiliating of ways.

“Nice. Tight,” she observed, running her soft hand around my ass, just teasing the hole with her sharp fingernail. “Had a cock up this ass, boy?”

Swallowing hard, I nodded against the carpet, almost croaking, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Bet your Master loves the feeling of this tight ass around his cock. Am I right, slave?”

“I…I don’t know, Mistress.”

Kara chuckled. “I don’t know. What do you think, girl? Think this boy is slave material?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Ali agreed without hesitation.

“We’ll see,” Kara said darkly. “Two gags, a spreader bar, and a nice thick leather collar for the boy. Fetch quickly, girl, and meet us in the slave quarters.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Ali acknowledged, springing into action.

In the meantime, Kara walked behind me and untied my leashed balls from where she had secured them. Giving my balls a slight yank, she spoke, “On your feet boy.”

It was a relief to have the tension released from my balls, although they remained leashed. I was breathing hard by the time I managed to pull myself back up to my knees, and then push up to my feet, still without the use of my hands. Kara could have helped to guide me up, as Ryan had done many times in the past, but I could tell she enjoyed watching me struggle to do the simplest of tasks. When I was standing, she passed the leash back between my legs, and with a slight tug, led me trailing after her down the hallway of the apartment and into what had once been Ali’s bedroom.

She pulled me all the way inside the room, and when she stopped, she unceremoniously unclasped the leash from the strap around my balls, and snapped, pointing to one end of a long yoga mat that was unrolled on the hard wooden floor. “Kneel at that end.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said quietly, dropping to my knees at one end of the yoga mat.

Moments later, Ali entered carrying the requested items.

“Collar him, and gag him,” Kara commanded.

“Yes, Mistress,” she said, setting the items on the bed.

Ali circled a thick strap of leather around my neck, and buckled it behind my head. It was much sturdier than the one she wore, and I felt it tight against my adam’s apple. I could just see the thick metal ring that hung at my throat, much like hers.

“Open,” Kara ordered, and I opened my mouth just enough for Ali to push a thick phallic shaped piece of black rubber into my mouth. She pulled the straps tight about buckled the gag behind my head, as I exhaled deeply through my nose. “Now, gag yourself, and kneel facing him,” Kara continued, watching us both.

“Yes, Mistress,” Ali agreed, and sank to her knees at the other end of the yoga mat, sweetly wrapping her supple lips around a similarly shaped gag, and strapping it behind her head. She fumbled with the buckle for several moments until Kara took over, and pulled the gag tight before locking the strap in place with a small silver padlock.

Kara went to the bed and picked up the spreader bar she had requested, extending it to its full length of about four feet. She squatted down between us, and beginning with Kara, used a small padlock to lock one end of the bar to the ring in her collar. Next, she locked the other end of the bar to my collar. Although Ali’s hands were left unbound, we were left just out of arm’s reach of each other.

“To be human,” Kara explained, rising back to her feet, and stepping slowly around us to inspect her cruel handiwork, “is to crave the touch of another, to give into the temptation of lust, and to surrender to your primal sexuality. But, to be a slave, you must learn that the ability to fulfill those desires no longer belong to you. A slave bows to the will of his or her owner, and the discipline of managing this frustration with dignity and respect is what truly makes the ultimate slave.”

Ali and I looked at each other as she spoke. I felt a warm sensation fill my loins as I soaked in the sight of her naked, splayed form that was so close, yet so far.

“I’m aware that you have much to catch up on, so I’ll leave you to it,” Kara taunted, knowing full well that only thing we were able to do was stare awkwardly at each other. “Bye slaves,” she said flatly, exiting the room and slamming the door shut behind her.

We both glanced toward the door as the sound of the lock clicked from the outside, and then awkwardly back to each other. Almost immediately, Ali began to shift on her knees making herself a bit more comfortable. I did the same, but there was little I could do.

Each movement she made tugged slightly at the dangling spreader bar locked between our necks, and we realized quickly that we had to take the other into consideration when making any future movements.

After we were adjusted, she attempted to give me a reassuring smile with her eyes, but I could easily detect a bit of sadness, maybe even guilt behind the smile. She turned her gaze away for a long moment, and then looked back to me.

Having the use of her hands, she used her right hand to point casually at me, and then connected her finger to her thumb in the form of the OK gesture. She shrugged her shoulders to indicate that it was a question.

I shrugged and nodded slightly in response. I was okay. And then it hit me: I really was okay. The last time I’d been in this room, my world was on fire. I was lost and confused. More than that, I was hurt and terrified and had never felt so alone. I had felt so betrayed by everyone that I ever trusted, my family, the Greys, and my girlfriend who I had fallen in love with. My life had been swept out from under me and I’d been given the most unimaginable of choices, sacrifice everything and everyone in my life, or sacrifice my freedom.

All the while I wrestled with the decision, my loins had burned with a lust I had never felt before. I recalled being so horny as I surfed through the endless bdsm materials that Kara had given me access to. It was an enlightenment like you only see in movies, where suddenly everything made perfect sense. Sure, it was nontraditional, twisted in ways, and not without innumerable challenges and hardships, but at the time it felt right. It felt natural. It was who I was, and I needed to surrender to it.

Ali nodded, and gave me a shy thumbs-up, before resting her hands back on her spread thighs. It occurred to me at that moment that she could have covered herself up, protected her modesty, but made no attempt. I didn’t have that option.

We continued to kneel awkwardly facing each other, eyeing each other up from time to time. My mind ran the gambit of scenarios, wondering what it was like for her as Kara’s slave, how it compared to my experience with Ryan. I had learned in a short time that Kara was a strong, demanding bitch, and that she definitely knew what she was doing when it came to domination.

When the initial awkwardness had passed, I let myself realize that it was actually good to see Ali. Part of me had wondered if I’d ever see her again after my initial enslavement. At the time, I’d hated her for what she helped put me through, but now as a slave myself, I understood. There was, however, one question I just couldn’t shake from my mind. Were any of her feelings for me genuine?

After what felt like a good half hour, she grew coy and began to dance her fingertips along the length of her taught thighs, clawing at them slightly, and then tip-toeing them toward her crotch.

She was teasing me, but I could sense it wasn’t malicious. She was having fun. I had seen her naked many times, but there was something about the way she was now. Kneeling, spread, the collar, her mouth stuffed with the gag, that made her figure exponentially more attractive.

I felt a stir in my cock, and felt the blood rush into my sexually deprived shaft. My cheeks flushed, but my erection only grew stronger as her eyes moved to my crotch. I could tell that she giggled slightly through the gag, almost as if she was relieved. I was enjoying myself in some twisted way, and there was nothing I could do but watch.

She closed her eyes lightly, and rubbed her fingers lightly up and down the length of her cunt, as her breathing increased in volume through her nose. I could tell she was growing moist as she continued to stroke herself, just always painfully shy of inserting her fingers. I’m sure Kara wouldn’t want her to. I wondered if she was even allowed to touch herself as she was, just as I was forbidden to touch my cock or balls without permission.

I shifted again on my knees after what felt like an eternity, clenching my fists behind me in frustration, the movement between our collars jolting her eyes open, but she didn’t stop teasing herself, teasing me. The strap around my balls kept my erection rock hard, and soon I could feel the hint of precum pooling at the tip. The show had gone from entertaining to torture.

Suddenly, she tensed up, hearing something out in the hallway. Loud steps. She put her index finger to her mouth, and then returned her hands behind her back just as the loud click of the lock turned on the door, and it swung open. I saw Ali glance to the door, and then lower her eyes submissively. As I couldn’t turn my head, I followed suit and lowered my eyes as the clicking of Kara’s stiletto heels approached and stopped behind me.

In a surprise, Kara wasn’t alone, and a male voice broke the silence, “Well, well. I’ll give you points for creativity.”

Ryan brushed past me, turning to squat down behind Ali. I noticed he was shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but his boxers as he reached around from behind Ali and began to unlock the spreader bar at her collar. I felt Kara’s hands at my collar as she was doing the same.

“Maybe we should leave them like this,” Kara suggested. She reached around and grabbed my still erect cock, and gave it a milking squeeze, pooling more of the precum at the tip, allowing it to trickle down to the yoga mat in a stringy web. “Look. The boy seems to like it.”

Ryan snickered, “I’ll keep that in mind.” When the bar was detached at both ends, he tossed it aside with a clang, taking hold of Ali’s ponytail and pulling her back slightly on her knees. He reached around and brusquely inserted his fingers in her cunt. “What do you know? The slut likes it too. She’s practically dripping here.”

I narrowed my eyes without thinking as I watched Ryan manhandle Ali with such disrespect. She moaned slightly through her gag. Unfortunately, he caught my eye, pulling his fingers out and pushing Ali to her side.

“Gotta a problem, boy?” he barked.

Kara moved instantly from my shaft to my balls, gripping them like a vice, and twisting viciously.

“Mmmmph!” I cried into my gag, wincing and shaking my head no.

“Awww. He wants to protect his little girlfriend?” Kara teased in mocking, twisting my balls in the other direction. “Can’t even protect himself!”

“Still got a lot to learn about being a slave,” Ryan agreed, reaching down and pulling Ali back up her knees with ease. He went back to unlocking her gag. “Let’s get these out of their mouths. No good to us this way.”

Kara agreed and mercifully released my balls to follow suit. The gag was pulled out of my mouth with a long trail of saliva, and I winced in pain as I stretched my aching jaw. “Time to have some fun.”

Ryan nodded, releasing Ali again and stepping in front of where I knelt. Without a word, he simply dropped his boxers to his ankles and kicked them aside. “Get me hard, boy. Show your little slut friend how you do it.”

I flushed in humiliation as his sizable dick and balls swung in front of my face, but managed a meager, “Yes, Sir.” He adjusted himself slightly, and then grabbed my collar with one hand and the back of my head with the other, guiding my mouth to his dick. Having no choice, I licked and slurped at his dick as it stiffened, which took no time at all. The way he was dressed, I could only assume that he had already gotten things warmed up with Kara.

While I gagged on Ryan’s cock, I heard Kara grab Ali and demand something about getting her wet. I couldn’t see anything beyond Ryan’s pubes, but my own cock remained rock hard from the notion of Ali’s face in Kara’s crotch, not to mention the odd satisfaction I felt as Ryan’s breaths began to indicate pleasure from the work my tongue was doing on his dick.

After a few minutes, he pulled out abruptly, and shoved me hard on my back. I was stunned a bit, wincing as I landed on my pinioned arms beneath me. Squatting down, Ryan grabbed my legs and helped pull them out from under me until they were outstretched and I was as flat as I could be.

“Do you have them?” he asked, suddenly.

“Yeah,” Kara responded. “Girl, bag those cocks up. The slave first.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Ali offered, a bit breathlessly.

I looked around, a bit alarmed at the order, uncertain as what to expect next. Moments later, Ali was crouched down in front of me. Almost mechanically, without any noticeable affection, she gave my throbbing erection a few quick strokes. Then in a fluid motion, pulled a condom from its wrapper, and slid it over my cock, unrolling it all the way down to the base.

“Now, me,” Ryan demanded.

“Yes, Sir,” Ali said. I watched as she shuffled on her knees to where he was standing, and in the same expert fashion, the condom was sheathed over his erection.

“Good. On the mattress. I want you from behind,” he said, almost coldly.

“Yes, Sir,” Ali agreed, as if it was the most mundane of requests.

My eyes popped open in alarm as I watched her rise to her feet, and press herself chest firmly against the top of her bed, lifting her ass and spreading her legs behind her.

“Good slut,” Ryan coaxed, as he slid up behind to mount her. “Now, don’t be shy,” he continued, almost in a whisper as he gently ran his hand over her back and ass. “I want my slave to know what a slut you are.”

My face burned in anger as I realized that Ryan was purposely going to fuck Ali in front of me, as if my humiliation could get any worse.

“Don’t worry, boy,” Kara suddenly interrupted my thought process, stepping over me, kicking my legs further apart from where I lay. “The girl isn’t the only slave getting fucked today. You told me earlier that you were ready to fuck me, so we’re giving you a chance to prove it.”

And with that, she sank sensually between my legs, and began to run her hands softly over my chest and stomach, teasing my sensitive thighs in between. My eyes widened with the further realization that I was about to be fucked.

“You’re a pathetic slave,” she continued in a soft whisper, “but you’re a hot piece of meat.” Leaning forward over top of me, she let her breasts press into my chest, and her hair brushed against my shoulder as she whispered in my ear, “And, I’m going to ride you like a fucking bull.”

I gasped as she suddenly pushed herself back up, grabbed my throbbing cock, and inserted it into her hot, wet pussy. She began to writhe slightly, pushing herself up, and then back down. The room was suddenly a chorus of grunts and breathless moans.

“Fuck!” Ryan broke the silence as he drove into Ali. “Yes, bitch. Take it!”

“Yes, Sir! Fuck me! Ah…ah…yes,” Ali responded between gasps.

SLAP!

Kara whacked me across the face as she continued to fuck herself on my cock. “Pay attention, bitch. You have a job to do,” she warned as she exhaled a long breathy moan.

Suddenly, I felt my body tense and my balls tighten. I exhaled a deep grunt, and winced my eyes shut. I knew I couldn’t last much longer. Despite everything, I couldn’t deny the innate pleasure of my cock sliding around in Kara’s cunt.

“Don’t you fucking cum!” Kara demanded, slapping me again.

“I…I can’t, Mistress…I…fuck! I’m trying,” I stammered, out of breath as I tried to hold back the impending orgasm.

Ali squealed in pleasure from across the room. “Yes, yes! Please, fuck me harder! Please, Sir!”

“Ah…ahh…fuck!” I cried out, as I lost complete control of my body. My cock exploded inside Kara sending shock waves of pleasure through every nerve. I winced my eyes shut, trying to savor what milliseconds of pleasure I’d been given.

“Fuckin A!” Kara screamed, but didn’t stop riding me. In fact, she grew malicious as she held tight while my climax subsided and my cock grew extremely sensitive. “Come on…come on bitch. Stay hard!”

I winced as the pleasure quickly turned to discomfort, writhing around beneath her. Fortunately, for me, my cock began to deflate, and it reached a point where she lifted herself off of it, slapping me once more.

SLAP!

“Fucking pathetic!” she sneered. “Your master is right. Only thing you’re good for is taking cock, not giving it!”

“I…I’m sorry, Mistress,” I offered in utter humiliation. Maybe it was true. My first time fucking pussy, and I couldn’t last 5 minutes.

“Hear that, girl?” Ryan asked between breaths as he continued to fuck Ali from behind. “Bet you’re glad you have a real man’s cock inside you, right now?”

“Yes, Sir!” she moaned in agreement.

“Only…problem…is,” Ryan continued, his breaths suddenly growing faster and I could sense what was coming. “FUCK, yes!” He cried suddenly, and I knew he exploded into her. She continued to grunt and moan in pleasure as he held tight to her for several moments before abruptly pulling out. “Only problem is,” he repeated, catching his breath, “Can’t let you have the pleasure your Mistress was denied. You can thank my slave for that too.”

All three of them turned to look at me where I lay on the floor, a pathetic sight, my cock half-deflated with a baggy condom hanging off. Worst of all, I could feel Ali’s detest. Could she actually blame me for being denied an orgasm? The whole scenario was so unfair, not that that surprised me.

“Here, boy,” Ryan offered, sliding his cum filled condom off his dick. He bent down near my face, and shoved it between my lips. “Suck it clean. Nothing better than the taste of slave cunt and your master’s cum, is there?”

I glared up at him as I swished the latex around in my mouth, sucking the disgusting mix of fluids around with my saliva, and swallowing the best I could without swallowing the condom itself.

“Here, suck his,” Kara ordered, pulling my cummy condom off my dick and shoving it in Ali’s mouth. “When it’s clean, get rid of it. Then get yourself cleaned up. Want that stench off of you. And, as for you…”

Ryan took the cue and reached down to grab my arms, helping to push me up to my knees and then my feet. “Come on, boy. Time to go.”

He took hold of the leather collar around my neck, and pulled me out of the room and back down the hallway to the living room. I continued to suck on the condom while he fumbled with the key to my shackles until my wrists were free. Then, he removed Kara’s collar, and walked in front to replace the leather strap around my balls with the cock ring Kara had left on the counter.

“Really fucked things up today,” Ryan said quietly, shaking his head slightly. He snapped and pointed to the kitchen trashcan. “Spit.”

Gratefully, I spit out the disgusting latex, and turned back to him shyly. He was putting Kara’s items away back in the coat closet.

“Get dressed,” he ordered.

I found my pile of clothes where I left them, and slowly clothed myself. He did the same just as Kara sauntered back down the hallway.

“Well, thanks for nothing,” she offered coldly, crossing her arms. “Seems to me that you both have a lot of work to do.”

“Screw you bitch,” Ryan retorted, rolling his eyes. “We’re outta here.”

“Bye,” she sang in mocking, faking a wave that morphed quickly into a middle finger.

Ryan opened the door and shoved me out in front of him before slamming it behind us. “We’ll talk about this when we get home.”

***

CHAPTER 13 – LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

“Please, Sir! PLEASE! Fuck!” I begged, my voice almost hoarse from screaming as I bucked my hips pointlessly in despair. My cock was rock hard and dripping, flopping in all directions as it swang between my legs.

Ryan took hold of it for a split second, pushed it back between my thighs towards my ass until I groaned in pain, and then released it so that it snapped back and slapped against my stomach.

“This what you want, boy?” he asked, almost grinning at my state of anguish.

“Yes, Sir! I mean…no, Sir!

“No?” He repeated the maneuver, letting my cock slap against my stomach again. “Then, what do you want, slave?”

He had kept me on the edge of cumming for nearly an hour. We were in the dungeon, deep within the basement of the main house, where I’d come to learn Ryan would take me if he really wanted to make a point. My legs were held wide apart by a long bar that was chained to cuffs around my ankles at either end. Ryan had chained my wrists together with leather cuffs that were looped through a hook that hung from the ceiling. My arms were pinioned high behind my head so that I was suspended by my wrists with just enough slack to let the balls of my bare feet and toes cling to the cold floor.

Ryan was dressed casually in gym shorts emblazoned with our university letters and an old t-shirt. He was sweating a bit from working me over, a small flogger clasped in his right fist that he’d used generously on my ass and thighs to distract me from my raging erection. His left hand was slick with the lube he had been using to bring me to the edge of cumming over and over again.

“I said,” he repeated, whacking my right thigh with the leather flooger, “What do you want?”

“Gah!” I yelped. “To cum! Please, Sir! Please!” I swore that I could feel my balls literally turning blue.

He snickered, “And, why would I let you do something like that? You embarassed me earlier with your inability to keep it up, so we’re gonna have to work on that. Over, and over, and over.” To emphasize his last point, he gave my dick another torturous pump with his lubed fingers. “See, this is what I’m talking about. Nothing like a good bitch in heat.”

We both turned our attention suddenly towards the heavy metal door of the dungeon as it creaked open. Mr. Grey stepped inside the dimly lit room, a dark smile spreading across his face.

“Ah, I thought I heard something going on in here,” he observed aloud, crossing his broad arms.

“Just takin’ care of some business,” Ryan muttered. He looked almost sheepish, stepping back from me a bit as his father strode up beside him.

“I can see that.” My. Grey stepped closer to watch.

“The boy had a little trouble…performing earlier. First time in a cunt and he couldn’t wait to get out,” Ryan explained, giving my dripping erection a flick. “But, we’ve got him nice and hard now. Don’t we, boy?”

I inhaled sharply. Even the painful flick sent a wave of pleasure through my quivering loins, but it wasn’t nearly enough to trigger my pent up orgasm. “Yes, Sir.”

Mr. Grey nodded and stepped forward, giving my cock a casual stroke. I winced, shuddering with a mix of pleasure and angst. It no longer felt that odd for him to handle my cock, either of them. I had been all but naked for the better part of 2 months now and endured an unimaginable range of humiliation at their mercy. “He’ll learn,” Mr. Grey assured, giving me one more quick stroke for amusement. “Easy boy. Your punishment will be much worse if you cum without permission.”

I nodded, swallowing hard, knowing that he was right. “Yes, Sir.” Wincing, I tried to divert my thoughts from the agonizing desire to shoot my load then and there.

WHACK!

Ryan helped to distract me by cracking his strap against my bare ass. I yelped in pain, lurching forward a bit, nearly losing my balance.

“Did you need something?” he asked, sounding a bit annoyed at his father’s intrusion.

Without missing a beat, Mr. Grey snatched the strap from Ryan’s hand yet retained an even tone, “Yes, I need the slave. Get him down from there,” he ordered. It was clear that despite Ryan’s best efforts, Mr. Grey remained firmly in charge. “And, I suggest you lock that thing up before we get cum stains all over the house.”

I blinked, a wave of concern washing over me as I wondered what Mr. Grey needed with me. Equally concerning was what he meant by locking my thing up.

Ryan grumbled a response and stepped behind me to grab something from the shelves at the back of the dungeon. He returned with something that looked like a clear dildo and set it on the ground before stepping in front of me. Glancing into my eyes for a brief second, he grabbed my dangling balls, and twisted viciously, crushing them in his palm.

“Aghn!” I cried out, wincing my eyes shut as pain shot up from my groin and exploded into my torso.

“Get soft,” Ryan instructed calmly, twisting my balls in the other direction. “Focus on the pain. You know how to end it.”

I nodded between sharp, pained breaths, writhing slightly in my restraints. He had never been so vicious in handling my balls before. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for my erection to subside, despite my desperation to cum.

“Good boy,” Ryan remarked, patting me on the cheek and releasing my balls.

I exhaled in relief as Ryan squatted down and picked up the device he had deposited on the floor. He held it up briefly for me to see, before snapping it apart in his hands. Grabbing my balls, he expertly worked them to the base of my scrotum, and circled a hard plastic ring around the base of my cock and balls.

“Chastity device,” Mr. Grey explained as Ryan worked. “Personally, I prefer my slaves to go without. The will it takes to avoid unauthorized contact with your cock and balls is much more challenging for a slave than having the option unavailable to you. However…” he mused as Ryan slid my flaccid dick into a clear plastic tube shaped much like my dick, “Sometimes the device is a necessary evil and the only way to ensure you stay in heat while you’re being punished.”

Ryan smirked as he carefully aligned the tube with the plastic cylinders protruding from the ring around my cock and balls. Clicking the two ends into place, he fished two tiny padlocks out of his pocket and quickly snapped one to either side of the device. My cock was firmly locked into the chastity device.

He shook the tube, testing that the fit was firm, and then nodded his approval. “How’s that feel, boy?”

“Okay, Sir,” I managed, a bit bewildered at my latest predicament. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable.

“Yeah?” He asked, reaching between my legs and gently stroking the back of my ball sack, creeping his fingers slightly towards the sensitive area near my asshole.

Almost instantly, I felt my cock stir. I gasped, feeling the blood rush back into my dick and inflating until it was pressing hard against the confines of the plastic tube.

“Careful,” Ryan chuckled darkly. “No room to grow in here.” To emphasize the obvious, he tapped the cock tube with this finger.

“Alright, let’s get moving,” Mr. Grey interrupted. “Get his hands.”

Mr. Grey squatted down behind me, and began to unbuckle the leather cuffs around each of my ankles, while Ryan used a key to unlock my wrists from the dangling hook above.

Almost at once I was free, and I practically fell down to all fours from the stress on my body. Ryan’s fingers laced in my hair almost immediately and he jerked my head back as if to guide me up to my feet.

“Wait,” his father ordered calmly. “Give him a minute. Let the blood flow a bit.”

Ryan grunted a sigh of frustration, but let me rest for a minute as ordered while he held my head back tightly.

“Okay, up slave,” Mr. Grey ordered. “Present.”

I struggled up to my feet, and as Ryan released his grip on my hair, I placed my wrists behind my back, squared my posture and spread my legs slightly to present as instructed.

“Gag him,” Mr. Grey continued as he walked to a box near the entrance of the dungeon and leaned over to retrieve a scrap of fabric.

Ryan disappeared again to grab one of the gags that hung on the wall.

Mr. Grey held up the fabric for me to see. It was a very old and very used jockstrap. The material was almost gray, stained with any number of bodily fluids. “Put it on,” he instructed, pushing it to my chest until I brought my hands around to retrieve it.

“Yes, Sir,” I said, as I opened the waistband of the dirty jock and stepped into it, pulling it up until it was situated properly around my waist and cupped my encapsulated junk.

“Open,” Ryan ordered coldly, appearing suddenly in front of me with a phallic piece of rubber aimed at my mouth.

I complied, opening my mouth just wide enough for Ryan to push the gag over my tongue towards my throat. When my mouth was thoroughly stuffed, he gathered the leather straps behind my head and strapped the gag into place.

Without waiting further, Mr. Grey took hold of my arm and pulled me out of the dungeon at a quick pace. I stumbled after him, my stomach knotting in nerves over where he was taking me and what he needed me for. I heard Ryan plodding casually along behind us. His presence had not been requested, but it appeared he was as curious as I was.

Without a word, I followed in his grasp through the basement, up the stairs to the main floor, through the kitchen toward the garage. We paused for him to open the garage door, a blast of chilly air hit my nearly naked body almost immediately, and I shivered. He pulled me down the small set of steps into the large garage, illuminated by four exposed light bulbs in the rafters. Fortunately, the large car doors to the outside were closed, but it did little to warm the room.

It occurred to me suddenly that the garage was one of the most well-kempt I had ever seen. The near side of the garage was lined neatly with the various machines used to take care of the property, large lawn mowers, leaf blower, hedge clippers, shovels, and so on. A long, custom made work bench was lined neatly with tools and small gadgets. Also close by was Mr. Grey’s prized luxury sedan, gleaming as if it was still in the show room. The garage floor itself was a smooth cement, nearly spotless except for a few faint oils stains.

My sight, however, quickly turned to the far side of the garage where Mr. Grey’s large luxury SUV was parked, the trunk of which was propped open. More noticeably, however, was the nearly naked man kneeling by the back tire of the SUV with his hands behind his back. It was my father.

He looked up, and almost immediately we caught each other’s eyes and looked away and then back stealing curious, yet timid glances at each other as Mr. Grey dragged me towards him.

“Present, slaves!” Mr. Grey commanded, his voice echoing slightly in the garage as he shoved me forward. “On your feet, boy. In line.”

“Yes, Sir!” My father’s deep, militaristic voice also echoed as he jumped to action, pushing up to his feet, and presenting at attention exactly as I had done moments ago in the basement. He looked just as I had last seen him on that fateful day of my submission, strong, handsome, and sincere. Though, his nearly naked body and hefty metal collar made him as much of a stranger as he was familiar. A dirty jockstrap, similar to mine, was also cupping his genitals, a small relief in the wake of my larger concerns.

I hesitated, but took my place next to my father, squaring my shoulders in line with his, directing my attention toward Mr. Grey.

“Now, this is something I’ve waited a long time to see,” Mr. Grey remarked as he stepped toward us, a slight smirk on his lips. “Two generations of slaves, side by side in submission.”

“Like father, like son,” Ryan retorted almost in disgust from where he leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms.

“Indeed,” Mr. Grey agreed, ignoring Ryan’s inflection. He traced his fingers lightly over my exposed chest and abdomen and then grasped my chin lightly as he turned toward my father. “You should be commended, slave, for breeding such a well-manufactured offspring.”

My cheeks flushed in embarrassment as I tried to maintain my composure. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my father do the same, as his adam’s apple bobbed in this throat behind his collar.

“Thank you, Sir,” he stated clearly, shielding any emotion from his voice.

Seizing the opportunity, Ryan stepped forward from the doorway and joined his father. “Yeah, you raised one hell of a cocksucker,” Ryan added, giving my father a firm pat on the shoulder. “Congrats.”

I heard my father take a deep, controlled breath. “Thank you…Sir,” he repeated, hesitating a bit on the last word.

“Boy’s got a real nice tight ass, too,” Ryan continued. “Just like yours used to be.”

“Enough,” Mr. Grey interjected, holding up his hand for Ryan to stop. “Leave us.”

A thick air of tension fell over the room. Ryan glowered at each of us individually, and then rolled his eyes and left. I realized almost immediately that although Mr. Grey could not and would not apologize for the actions of his son, our superior, sending him away was his way of acknowledging that he had shot his mouth off a bit too much for one evening.

“As I was saying,” Mr. Grey continued, “The boy is shaping up to be a fine slave and you should be proud.”

“Yes, Sir.” I heard my father swallow hard.

“Now, there is work to be done.” Mr. Grey looked to me to explain. “My slave just returned from picking up this new inexpensive desk for the slave office. Now that I’ve moved my slaves back into the main house, I’m in the process of converting one of the spare rooms to a home office for them. If you remember, they are on payroll with my company, just as you are, but I’d prefer to keep them under lock and key in the house,” he paused. “We have a lot of lost time to make up for.” He gave me a playful pat on the cheek as if to remind me that it was my fault.

He walked to the open trunk of the SUV and patted a large cardboard box that was protruding from the vehicle. We both turned to watch him.

“Of course,” Mr. Grey sighed, “These cheap things come in a million little pieces that need assembling. That’s where you boys come in.” He looked down as his expensive watch, and then spoke in a much more serious tone. “I’ll give you one hour to assemble the desk and move it into place. If you’re not finished within the hour, I will strap you once for every minute you go over. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir!” my father acknowledged, snapping back into slave mode.

“Questions?” Mr. Grey asked.

“No, Sir.”

“Good. One last thing…” Mr. Grey turned and picked something up off of the work bench. Another gag. “Open, boy.”

Mechanically, my father opened wide and allowed Mr. Grey to stuff the gag deep into his mouth before strapping it tight around his head.

“No idle chit chat,” he explained, looking back to his watch. “Get going.”

With that, Mr. Grey turned and left us, slamming the interior door shut behind him. My father and I turned almost immediately and looked awkwardly at each other. The gags were a blessing in disguise. If we could have spoken, I didn’t even know what I would say or what I would want to hear. I had so many questions that needed answering. Had this always been a greater plan? Were my parents happy with the choice I’d made? Did they have any regrets? Did they feel any guilt? Was their slavery truly of their own free will, as I’d been led to believe? Was mine?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to even know the answers. At this point, what had been done was done. We were a family of slaves, for better or worse.

“Mm, mmph,” my father muffled something and nodded towards the box. He took hold of one end, and nodded towards the other side.

I got into position on the other side of the box, and we worked together to slide the box out of the truck, tilting it towards the garage floor. It was insanely heavy and awkward. Tensing our muscles, we guided it slowly out of the trunk, and then hefted the other end, sliding it slightly along the garage floor until we had enough space to set down the back end. In tandem, we let the box drop the final inches to the floor with a slight bang.

My father wasted no time in rushing to the work bench where he grabbed a box cutter and two handheld screw drivers. Crouching over the box, he slit open the taped seams, and working together, we pulled the flaps apart revealing the interior contents. A few large flats of fake plastic-stained wood, and a mountain of smaller pieces with several bags full of screws and brackets. We looked at each other at once knowing full well that this was no easy chore.

Taking the lead, my father fished the white pamphlet of directions out of the pile and opened it up to make sense of the step by step. He began to point from the paper to the various pieces, and somehow, we managed to find pieces 1A and 1B along with the various screws we would need.

A few steps in, the palm of my hand was already sore from hand-screwing the screws into the pre-drilled holes. I paused without warning and walked over to the work bench. My father stopped and rose to follow me, tilting his head in confusion. I went to grab an electric screwdriver from the top shelf of the work bench, but my father reached out to grab my wrist.

I spun to look at him in confusion. He shook his head, and gestured that it was a no-no.

“Mmph?” I asked through the gag.

He pointed to my pronounced bicep, and then tapped my collar lightly with his screwdriver. I got the idea. We were slaves, and this was manual labor. Reluctantly, I followed him back over to the pile of wood pieces and crouched back down to screw another hole.

I lost complete track of time as we worked. Piece by piece, slowly but surely, the desk began to take form. Despite the cold, we were both sweating a little from the constant crouching and screwing. The palm of my hand was red and chapped from the friction of the screwdriver handle, and my wrist and forearm were sore from the motion.

With the exception of the awkwardness of our appearance, it felt almost normal and familiar to be working with my father on a project. We were in sync, and as with many times growing up, it was how it’d always been. He took the lead, and I was there to help out until the project was done.

As an added bonus, I’d all but forgotten about my heightened state of horniness that Ryan had induced earlier that evening. My cock remained comfortably flaccid in the chastity device, supported by the jockstrap. I wondered for a moment if my father’s cock was also caged, and then decided I didn’t want to know and refrained from looking too closely.

“Mmph…mph!” I declared victory some time later with a final twist of the screwdriver as the last drawer guide of the desk was screwed into place.

Tossing the screwdrivers to the ground, my father and I crouched at either side of the desk, and lifting together, flipped it over upright. I patted the top, and ran my hand over the smooth surface, satisfied with our work. Although I had no idea how much time had gone by since we started, I was anxious to move the desk into position, and took hold of my end.

To my surprise, my father again gestured no, and pointed to the mess on the floor. The cardboard box, scraps of plastic, extra screws and various remnants of the packaging. I sighed into my gag, knowing that he was right. Together, we crouched back down and began to gather up the mess.

When the box was neatly broken down and stacked into the large recycling can, and the rest of the trash and extra hardware neatly sorted, we returned to the desk.

“Mmph, mmph, mmph,” my father counted, and we lifted the desk and shuffled it across the garage floor to the door. He opened the house door at the top of the short set of steps, and again we hefted the piece carefully up the stairs and into the mudroom that led into the kitchen.

I wasn’t sure exactly where the desk was going, but my father seemed to know, so I followed his lead as he shuffled carefully backwards across the kitchen floor. Confirming my worst fears, the desk needed to go upstairs to the second floor. When we reached the bottom of the back steps that led from the other end of the kitchen upstairs, my father stopped to indicate that I should take the front of the desk and he would anchor the back.

I shook my head in disagreement, as I was a tad taller, and it would be easier to take the back. He nodded, and crouched at the base of the heavy desk. I did the same, and on the count of three muddled grunts, we took deep breaths and lifted the desk, awkwardly, yet carefully, heaving it up to the second floor of the house.

At the top of the stairs, we set the desk immediately on the floor and braced ourselves on top to rest for a moment. Then, my father nodded over his shoulder, and we picked the desk up again and moved it toward the dimly lit end of the hallway, opposite from where the master suite and Ryan’s old room had been located.

I remembered one of the two doors at the dim end led into an unused nursery, and the other was a secondary guest room, but no longer. I glanced into what had been the nursery as we walked by, my stomach knotted a bit as I quickly took in the sight of two twin day beds with high metal frames positioned about five feet apart dressed in simple bedding. Clearly, the nursery had been transformed into my parents’ slave quarters.

The desk, however, was headed through the open door at the very end of the hall, which had once been a scarcely used guest room. Memories of building forts with Ryan in the nearly empty room flashed through my mind as I thought back to a much more innocent time.

We crossed the threshold and set the desk down in the darkness. I felt hard wood under my bare feet as my father felt his way to the light switch and illuminated the bare room. Glancing around, I noted the bare white walls, heavily draped window, bare metal folding chair, and a small pile of boxes stacked neatly in one corner containing various computer and phone equipment.

“Mmph,” my father grunted in the direction of the left wall and we moved the desk flush against it, setting it into place at last.

I dusted my hands slightly, realizing almost immediate that anyone sitting at the desk would be clearly visible through the open doorway. Glancing to my father, I gave a slight shrug with my shoulders as if to ask, “Now what?”

My father glanced over my shoulder, and I could see from his face that we didn’t have to wait long to find out. Almost immediately, he straightened into a present position. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Mr. Grey poised in the doorway, and he pointed for me to fall in line next to my father.

“Well boys, your work is complete, but,” he paused to glance at his watch, “It’s been well over an hour. 32 minutes over, by my watch. You know what that means?”

We both bowed our heads slightly, knowing full well we would be punished as promised. It didn’t seem fair. We had worked as fast as we could, and it didn’t feel remotely that long, but we were in no position to argue.

“Remove your jockstraps,” Mr. Grey ordered, calmly.

We complied, leaning forward slightly to slide the thin strips of material down our legs and out from under out feet.

“Well, it’s about time,” Ryan exclaimed suddenly, striding into the room holding two small leather floggers in his hands.

I glanced up at him just as I stood back upright, awkwardly holding the dirty jock in my hand.

“I’ll take that,” Ryan offered, snapping the strap from my grasp. I glanced over my shoulder as he walked around behind us. In a quick motion, he flipped the strap over my father’s head so that his nose and eyes were covered by the pouch of the material. Pulling the elastic straps behind his head, he tied a small knot to secure the improvised hood in place.

Moments later, my father’s jockstrap was flipped over my face, and the material pulled tight against my nose and forehead. Gagged as I was, I couldn’t help but breathe deep through my nose, my stomach curling a bit at the inevitable musty scent.

“Over here, slave,” Ryan ordered. I could hear him guiding my father a few paces. “Easy…hands out. Brace yourself on the desk. Yup. Arch your back. Ass out. Good. Spread those legs.”

I felt Ryan’s hands suddenly on my upper arms. He turned me to the right, towards the desk, and shoved me forward a bit.

“Hands out, boy. Brace yourself…there,” he instructed. Placing his hand on my lower back, he pushed down slightly. “Arch your back. Legs spread. Get that ass up…okay, good. Now, don’t fucking move. You either.” I heard a slap against my father’s ass.

“Slaves,” Mr. Grey stepped forward and spoke, clearing his throat. “You were given a specific task to complete with a specified time limit. Since you failed to complete your task in the allotted time, you have earned a strap for each minute longer you took. This is time you have taken from me which was not given to you. You do not own your time…do you understand why you are being punished?”

“Mmph, mph,” we both spoke through our gags, almost in unison.

“Good. As my older slave well knows, it is important to understand why you are being punished and to learn from each and every one.”

“Here, dad,” Ryan jumped in. “How many they getting?”

“32,” Mr. Grey responded. “Each.”

“Nice,” Ryan responded. “I want this one.”

CRACK!

“Mmph!” my father yelped into his gag as one of the leather straps connected with his ass.

I cringed, both from the odd shame I felt in hearing my father’s painful grunt and the nerves I felt in bracing for my own punishment.

“Very well,” Mr. Grey agreed.

CRACK!

“MMMPH!” I cried into my gag, as Mr. Grey’s strap connected squarely with my bare, exposed ass. It stung like a bitch.

“Steady, boy. Remember, you deserve this.”

His words echoed in my head as I braced myself firmly against the top of the desk, and the real assault began.

CRACK!

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK! CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK! CRACK!

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The small room was suddenly filled with explosions of cracking leather against skin and muffled cries of pain.

“MMMPH!” I screamed into my gag, losing count of how many cracks I’d received, squirming madly with my chest pushed firmly against the desk. I tensed my fingers on the smooth surface, nearly slipping several times and covering my ass.

I couldn’t see my father, but his grunts were more even and subdued than mine.

“Steady,” Mr. Grey coaxed, as he continued to strap my ass. “Process the pain and learn from it.”

CRACK! CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

“MMMMMPH!! MMMMPH!”

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

“And…”

CRACK!

“Done,” Mr. Grey stated.

CRACK!

Apparently, Ryan decided to deliver my father an extra strap for good measure. I felt hands on my flaming ass cheeks massage them slightly for a few moments. It almost made the pain worse, yet it was comforting at the same time as I squirmed against the desk.

“On your knees!” Mr. Grey ordered suddenly, the volume intended for both of us.

I pushed myself up to my feet shakily, and Mr. Grey supported my upper shoulders and helped to guide me down to the ground.

“Present, boy,” Mr. Grey coaxed quietly, as I moved myself into a respectable kneel. I heard my father settling down beside me.

Suddenly, the jock was ripped from my face and I blinked in the light, my eyes a bit blurry. Behind my head, I felt the buckle of the gag loosening, and then Ryan stepped around in front of me, slowly pulling the phallic gag from my lips.

I moaned slightly, grimacing in pain as my sore jaw muscles screamed in discomfort, as I stretched my mouth. Ryan ran his fingers roughly through my hair for a quick moment, as if to congratulate me.

“Anything to say, slaves?” Mr. Grey asked.

“Sir, thank you for the punishment, Sir!” my father barked in response.

I glanced over my shoulder, and then swallowed, repeating a little more quietly, “Sir, thank you for the punishment, Sir.”

“You’re welcome,” Mr. Grey responded flatly, giving us both a light pat on the cheek as we knelt side by side.

It was worth noting that neither Mr. Grey nor Ryan even appeared to acknowledge the presence or the completeness of the desk. Though, I was certain that the timeframe we had been given was purposely unrealistic.

“You,” Mr. Grey spoke as he poked at my father’s abs with the tip of his shoe, “Put away these toys and report to the garage for further inspection of the work area.”

“And you,” Ryan added, grabbing the ring in my collar and pulling upwards, “still have chores and studying to do.”

I struggled to my feet, finding my balance just as Ryan began to pull me out of the room. I couldn’t even look back, but I took with me a small modicum of comfort in seeing my father in action as a slave. It was evident, from his body language to his responses, that Mr. Grey had not been lying. Despite the humiliation, despite the pain, despite the lack of freedom, something inside him made him enjoy his slavery.

Ryan let go of my collar at the top of the stairs, and I fell in line behind him as we descended the back stairs into the kitchen.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed this little distraction. But, don’t get used to it,” he warned, as we walked towards the back door that led out to the courtyard between the two houses. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the lesson I was teaching you earlier.”

“Yes, Sir,” I muttered in response.

He flung open the door and I shivered as the cold evening air assaulted my naked body. It never got any easier. Keeping my hands respectfully behind my back, and my head bowed slightly, I followed Ryan across the courtyard to the guest house, trying my best to maintain my composure and suppress my desire to run clamoring for warmth inside.

“Yeah, that cock is going to stay good and soft for…” He stopped suddenly.

I looked up, and my heart skipped a beat. The silhouette of a man was illuminated in the porch light outside the guest house door. He was knocking at the door. We both stopped in our tracks as the figure turned around, hearing us coming. It was Brent.

***