Becoming An Unwilling Piss Slave

 

From high school wrestling star to pathetic piss-bitch, it’s been quite a rapid descent for Card Stevens. In less than a year, he’s gone from big man on campus to a human urinal who spends his weekends in the bathrooms of a gay bar, sitting naked in his own piss while downing load after load of stinking bladder wastes from dudes he used to scorn as disgusting perverts. And even though he’s already swallowed enough pee in the last six months to float a battleship, he still blushes like a little girl every time a dude he knew in high school steps up, unzips, and unloads his stinking urine down Card’s frantically gulping throat. He’s an honest-to-God piss-bitch now but that sure as hell wasn’t the future he saw laid out in front of him when he first ran into his Master, when he first met Jackson Anders.

He didn’t know that the dude sticking his hand out and introducing himself as his new roommate was going to be his Master. No, Card didn’t have a clue what the larger boy had in store for him. He took Jackson Anders for what he purported to be, a fellow wrestler, another scholarship student destined to help out State’s fabled wrestling team win another National championship. Little did he realize that behind the placid demeanor Anders presented to the world lurked a brutal sadist who took particular pleasure in sexually abusing and degrading other jocks, turning them into cowering, pathetic fuck-toys who would submit to any sick perversion Anders’ mind could devise. But Card’s epiphany was not long in coming.

They’d only been roommates two weeks before Anders made his move. The two of them had gone out after classes were over on Friday for a few brews. Card was surprised at what seemed to Anders unlimited capacity, but he tried to keep up with the bigger boy. By the time they called it quits, Card was finding it difficult to focus and he never would have made it back to the dorm if Anders hadn’t been there to help him.

And Anders continued to help him once they got back to their room, helping Card doff his clothes, though at times it seemed that his lands lingered a little too long on the smaller wrestler’s body. However, it wasn’t until Card was completely naked that the true nature of his roommate’s interest in Card’s body became apparent. Card felt Anders’ fingers running up and down the cleft of his ass. “Dude,” Card asked, trying to shake Anders’ hand off his butt, “what are you doing?”

But instead of removing his hand, Anders fingers stopped at Card’s puckered sphincter and began pressing a rigid digit against it. A second later, Card was shocked to hear Anders ask, “You cherry, Card? You ever been fucked?”

“What the fuck you talking about, dude?” Card exclaimed, trying to move away from his roommate. In just seconds, the two of them were grappling with each other, tumbling onto Card’s bed. Even sober, Card was no real match for his larger roommate but in his inebriated state, the fight was over in less than two minutes. Card was still struggling underneath his roommate when Anders ripped off his own briefs and jammed them into Card’s mouth, muffling the smaller boy’s screams and protests. And there, on Card’s own bed, Anders raped his smaller teammate, destroying the boy’s asshole, turning it into his own personal fuck-cunt.

Anders kept fucking him the whole night. Or at least it seemed that way to Card, who passed out around three in the morning while Anders was plowing away at his hole for the third time only to wake up hours later just as his roommate’s creamed the boy’s aching pussy-hole yet again. By the time Anders finally yanked his cock out of the ruins of Card’s sodden asshole, it felt to the smaller boy like his roommate had fucked him with a blowtorch, his ass burned and hurt so much.

Card was lying on the bed utterly exhausted by the ordeal he’d just gone through. But even though he’d spent the better part of the night coring out Card’s no-longer-virgin boycunt, Anders didn’t seem tired in the least. Instead, he reached down and grabbed a shock of Card’s hair and yanked the boy to his feet. “Come with me, bitch,” he said imperiously, “we need to get you cleaned up.” The next thing Card knew, he was being pulled out of his dorm room and led, by his hair, into the dorm-suite’s showers. And there, as two of his suite-mates watched in stunned disbelief, Anders proceeded to shave Card’s ass, his pubes, and his pit-hair, explaining to the other two boys that, “I like my bitches nice and smooth where it matters.”

In retrospect, Card realized that then was the time he should have protested, should have told his suite-mates that Anders had forcibly raped him, that Card wasn’t a willing party to what was happening. But whether it was the shock of having been violently and repeatedly raped the night before or the sheer humiliation that overwhelmed him as his pubes and other body hair were publicly shaved off, Card failed to make any objection. It was therefore not surprising that when Anders, having finished shaving Card’s most private parts, proceeded to violently fuck the boy again, right in front of his two suite-mates, neither of them made any attempt to intervene even when Card began squealing and shrieking in pain. And when, after he had finished fucking Card, loudly screaming as he shot a fresh load of Man-cum up the teenager’s aching shitter, Anders pulled the boy by his hair back to their shared bedroom, it took less that five minutes for the rest of Card’s suite-mates to learn that Card was a faggot who was serving as his roommate’s fuck-bitch.

Anders kept Card naked, in their bedroom, for the rest of that first weekend. And when he wasn’t brutally fucking the boy’s ‘cunt,’ he was training the boy in his new role as the bigger boy’s fuck-whore. “The rules are simple, bitch,” Anders told him, “you do whatever I tell you to do and you do it without any hesitation or any backtalk. And understand, failure to do so will result in immediate and severe punishment. Do you understand, bitch?”

Card was kneeling before his roommate, a fresh load of Man-scuzz dripping out of his battered boy-bung. “Yes…yes, sir,” he replied, now terrified of his roommate, not wanting to do or say anything that might set him off. But all his meek acquiescence gained him was a sharp slap to his face. “You will address me as ‘Master Jackson,’ bitch, because that’s what I am – your Master.”

“Yes, Master,” Card quickly amended, his face flaring both from the slap and the profound humiliation he felt at his abject submission to the bigger boy. But even his immediate submission did not serve to keep Master Jackson from roughly hauling the boy over his lap and administering a brutal ass-spanking that left Card’s ass-cheeks a fiery red and left him sobbing just like any little boy who’d recently been punished for his misdeeds. And it was merely the first of many ass-thrashings that Card had to endure that first weekend.

And it wasn’t only Card’s ass that was the focal point for Master Jackson’s discipline. Card’s balls and cock – his boyvaries and boy-clit as he was instructed to call them – were squeezed, twisted, and pummeled so much that Card began to view them as merely a source of pain and agony rather than one of pleasure. But even the way Card’s boy-junk was manhandled paled when compared to the mistreatment his poor nipples – his boy-tits – suffered.

Card’s little nips had always been particularly sensitive and, sitting the way they did on Card’s well-developed pectorals, it wasn’t long that weekend before they came in for their own abuse at Master Jackson’s hands. And once his new Master discovered how sensitive they were to pain, they became his favorite way to inflict pain on his bitch, something he seemed to enjoy even more than fucking the boy. Master Jackson squeezed and twisted and pinched Card’s boy-tits mercilessly, bit them voraciously, adorned them with weighted alligator clips until Card was shrieking in agony. And when Card, almost insensate from the pain shooting throughout his body from his tortured boy-tits, was reduced to begging and pleading with his Master for mercy, Master Jackson would laugh at him and add more weights to the tit-clamps. And those hated tit-clamps were all Card was allowed to wear when, on Sunday afternoon, at his Master’s direction, the boy went door to door in his suite, telling his suite-mates to please feel free to fuck his ‘faggot cunt’ whenever they got the urge. Two did, right then and there, and it didn’t take more than a week later before all of his suite-mates had come round to routinely fucking Card’s pussy whenever they got the urge.

But if Master Jackson was definitely aroused by the pain he could inflict on his new bitch, he was even more excited by humiliating the boy, particularly when he could do so in public. Master Jackson forced Card to dress in the most revealing clothes for his classes – cut-off tank-tops that barely covered his perky and swollen boy-tits, shorts so tight they looked they had been sprayed on. And Card was never permitted to leave the apartment without wearing a stainless-steel chastity cage complete with a multi-balled butt-plug that forced him to groan in discomfort every time he sat down.

Master Jackson even made Card wear his chastity cage to wrestling practices, forcing Card to out himself as a pathetic fuck-bitch in front of all of his fellow-jocks. Card’s entire body was blushing a brilliant scarlet that first day as he lowered his shorts in the crowded locker room to reveal the metal cage encasing his boyhood and then, as he’d been instructed, go over to Master Jackson and ask his Master to ‘please remove my clit-cage so that I can put on my wrestling singlet.’ The initial round of shocked gasps from the other wrestlers soon gave way to derisive jeers and insults as Master Jackson unlocked the cage and removed it to expose not only Card’s pubeless groin but the large butt-plug that had been wedged up the boy’s fuck-twat. And when, a few seconds later, a large effusion of Master Jackson’s ball-scuzz began trickling past the boy’s swollen cunt-lips, absolute bedlam ensued. “Get that faggot out of here,” one teammate shouted while another, calling Card a ‘disgusting piece of homo-shit,’ literally spit on the boy’s face.

Card thought he’d die of shame the way they ragged on him, throwing one obscene epithet after another at him, and it wasn’t until two of the coaches came into the locker room that some semblance of order was restored. The coaches looked at Card with undisguised contempt, shaking their heads. Finally, Rock Stranger, the head wrestling coach, spoke up. “Get dressed, boy,” he roughly ordered Card, “we got a practice we need to get to. I’ll deal with you, later.”

It was a practice unlike any Card had ever experienced before. None of his opponents held back in the slightest and while most of them seemed to go out of their way to squeeze and molest his junk in ways that would never be permitted in an actual match, the coaches never called any of them on it. It wasn’t surprising, considering the constant mauling it was undergoing, that Card’s boy-clit was totally boned up during the entire practice, actually dribbling pre-cum that was staining the front of his singlet, which, of course, generated no end of slurs and caustic comments from his fellow-wrestlers. Card was sure the was going to be cut from the team and, by the time the practice ended, even he thought that might be the best resolution possible.

During the practice session, Card had noticed that Master Jackson in frequent conversation with Coach Stranger. He had no idea what was going on, though things became perfectly clear once the practice ended and they all trooped back into the locker room. Once they were all inside, Coach Stranger told the wrestlers to gather around him. When they did, the coach turned to Master Jackson and said, “go ahead, Anders, tell them what you’ve already told me.”

Master Jackson look around for a moment and then stared directly at Card. “Okay, bitch,” he ordered with a smirk, “strip.” His whole body once again flushing a bright red, Card did as directed, having already learned what failure to do exactly what his Master told him would result in. Card couldn’t believe how humiliating it was, stripping while everyone else snickered at him. And it didn’t help matters that his boy-clit was still fully erect. Once he was totally naked, he looked at Master Jackson and waited for his Master to continue forcing himself not to try to cover up his embarrassing erection, knowing that Master Jackson would be furious if he did so.

Master Jackson was grinning as he took in his bitch’s obvious embarrassment. Then, he turned to speak to his fellow wrestlers. “As most of you already know, I discovered this weekend that my roommate, Card Stevens, was a pathetic little faggot fuck-whore. I’d had practice dealing with fags before, so I knew exactly what to do – I fucked the living crap out of his faggot-pussy and started training him up to be a respectful faggot-bitch for Real Men to use and enjoy.”

At this point, Jackson Anders paused and looked around the room. “Now I know a lot of you have never fucked fag-pussy and some of you may be put off by the idea of it. But let me assure you that once you try it – and please feel free to fuck the bitch’s pussy whenever you want – you will enjoy it. As they say, a pussy is a pussy. And the thing about fag-pussy is that you don’t have to worry about the fag. You can fuck his pussy as hard as you want. And, if it hurts him, so what? He’s a fucking fag. Who gives a shit? I sure don’t. And you shouldn’t either. So please, all you guys, feel free to fuck my new bitch after every practice. Just like I’m gonna do right now.”

And with that, Master Jackson began shrugging off his singlet and in just seconds his big cock was buried balls-deep in Card’s still-sore boy-cunt, as Card squealed in renewed pain as the bigger boy began jackhammering his tender hole. By the time his Master had once again creamed his tortured cunt, a line of horny wrestlers had formed up behind him.

Over half his teammates fucked his pussy that first afternoon, and by the third practice session every one of Card’s teammate had tried out his ass-cunt at least once. They all pretty much still treated him like shit when they weren’t fucking him, which wasn’t surprising since that’s exactly how they treated him while they were fucking him. He wasn’t their teammate anymore – he was the team’s faggot fuck-bitch. And Card, who before had always looked forward to these practice sessions where he got to pit himself against his fellow wrestlers quickly learned to dread them.

But as bad as being bitched out to all of his teammates was, it wasn’t the worst thing Master Jackson did to Card. Not even close. Because as Master Jackson had discovered early on in his training of his fag-bitch, the one thing that Card hated the most was being forced to drink his Master’s pungent urine. At least when he was being used as the team’s cum-dump, Card could appreciate the sexual pleasure his teammates were experiencing as they pounded away at his boycunt. It was incredibly demeaning lying there as one dude after another jammed his cock up Card’s back-hole and used his pussy to get a nut, but Card could at least understand the pleasure they felt when they used him that way. But to serve as another dude’s urinal, his piss-hole, seemed to have no purpose other than to humiliate Card, to degrade him, to emphasize how far away from being a Real Man Card really was. The pleasure a man felt in pissing down Card;s throat didn’t come from his own sexual release but in Card’s total degradation and humiliation. There was nothing else that Master Jackson did to him that disgusted and embarrassed him nearly as much, nothing that Card hated more. And, unfortunately for Card, Master Jackson understood this. And so, sadist that he was, Master Jackson determined to turn Card into a groveling piss-bitch.

Twice every day, Card was required to crawl naked, as he always was kept in the suite, from room to room and beg his suite-mates to be allowed to drink their pee. The looks of shock and contempt that greeted this request the first time he was forced to make it made Card literally shake with humiliation, but that was nothing compared to the shame that overwhelmed him when one of his suite-mates took him up on the offer and peed down his throat, literally snorting his disdain as he did so. As the days passed, one by one, his suite-mates took him up on his offer and, in less than two weeks, he had become the urinal of choice for all of his suite-mates.

It wasn’t long after that that Master Jackson made Card drink his pee in front of all his fellow-wrestlers, laughingly telling them that he hadn’t used the porcelain urinal in his dorm suite in three weeks. “Why bother?” he asked rhetorically, “when I’ve got a human piss-hole right at hand to take care of it whenever I want? And all you guys,” he added as he zipped up, “should feel free to use the little whore the same way whenever you need to take a leak.” Within days, the wasn’t a single teammate who wasn’t routinely using Card’s mouth whenever he needed to take a piss during practice and, by the time any practice ended, Card’s belly would be visibly bulging out his singlet with all his teammates’ bladder-wastes.

But the worst of it all started a couple months later. Card knew something was up the moment Master Jackson returned from the post office carrying a large cardboard box. He recognized the gleam in his Master’s eye as something that always presaged some new humiliation that was about to be inflicted on him. And the moment his Master began removing items from the box, beginning with the large metallic funnel, Card understood what it would be used for.

Card knelt in front of Master Jackson, blushing furiously, as his Master affixed the metal contraption to Card’s head. It had been cunningly designed to keep his head in an upright position that forced Card to look straight up at the funnel that led directly down to his mouth. And as Card watched in humiliated horror, no sooner had Master Jackson fitted the gag firmly over his mouth than he unzipped his pants and proceeded to aim a torrent of his rancid pee into the funnel and down into Card;s frantically gulping throat. The disgusting taste of his Master’s piss was still permeating his mouth when Master Jackson ordered Card to make the rounds of their suite so that their suite-mates might have their own opportunity to try out Card’s new piss-gag.

Card had been serving as his dorm suite’s piss-hole for a couple of months now, but even though he couldn’t even estimate how many gallons of his suite-mates’ piss he’d downed during that time, he still found it repulsively demeaning every time he did it. And his new piss-gag seemed to make it somehow even worse. It made Card feel not merely that he was serving as a urinal but that he actually WAS a urinal, that being their human piss-hole now defined him even more than being their faggot cum-dump. Before, as a practical matter, Card had served each of his suite-mates as a piss-pit individually, kneeling before each boy as he emptied his bladder into him. It was disgusting and demeaning to be sure, but there was still an element of a personal relationship to the act. But the funnel at the top of his piss-gag allowed multiple boys to simultaneously pee into it. And that’s exactly what they did – two or three boys standing up and pissing together into the funnel, laughing with each other, enjoying the bonding experience of mingling their piss into the same hole, while Card just knelt there almost ignored, desperately swallowing as fast as he could, watching his fellow suite-mates enjoy an experience that seemed to exclude him even though he was literally at the center of it. It made serving as their collective piss-hole more dehumanizing than it had ever been before.

But it wasn’t until that weekend that Master Jackson truly unveiled the full depths of the degradation he had planned for the boy. Card knew something special was up when Master Jackson fitted his thighs and calves with multiple metal straps and then affixed his ornate metal cock-cage/butt plug onto his boy-clit and up his pussy. From past experience, this only happened when Master Jackson was taking him to a wrestling team party, where he would serve as the group’s entertainment. When Master Jackson ordered him to bring the box containing the piss-gag with him, Card’s heart sank since he was sure that this meant that all of his fellow wrestlers would be using him as a urinal the same way his suite-mates now did – with the piss-gag fixed firmly on his head and in his mouth.

But it wasn’t a party Master Jackson was taking him to, it was The Last Stop, the most notorious gay leather bar in town. Just walking into that bar was an agony of embarrassment for Card, dressed the way he was. Heads turned, wolf-whistles and catcalls greeted him as he followed his Master into the back bar, barefoot and naked except for his metal cock-cage and the metal straps around his thighs and calves. Master Jackson walked right up to another man who was standing behind the bar.

“This is the bitch I told you about,” he said.

The dude looked Card over and then just shook his head. “I never would have figured a boy like him would be a piss-queen, but I guess it takes all types. Okay, get him set up in the bathroom. Just remember, he cleans up any mess that he’s made at the end of the night.”

“No problem,” Master Jackson replied. Then, turning to Card, he said, “C’mon, bitch. Let’s get you ready to show all these Real Men what you’re really good for,” and then headed off towards the bathroom, leaving Card to follow behind.

Once inside the bathroom, Master Jackson directed Card to kneel between the two urinals. Then he took the box from the boy and began fastening the piss-gag onto the boy’s head. “Oh, please, Master, please,” Card started begging. “Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me do this. Please, Master, I’m begging you.” But Master Jackson just ignored Card’s plaintive pleas and they were soon cut off as the gag was jammed into his mouth. Once the gag was properly in place, Master Jackson ordered Card to sit his naked ass down on the floor and to spread his legs apart, blocking access to the other two urinals. That way, bar patrons would have no choice but to use his funnel when they needed to relieve their bladders.

“You’re here for the duration, bitch,” Master Jackson advised as he unzipped his pants and began whizzing into Card’s piss-funnel. “And remember, any mess you make, you’re gonna be cleaning up.” Card was still gulping down his Master’s accumulated piss when the Man zipped up and headed towards the door. “Have fun, bitch,” Master Jackson sarcastically added, as walked out.

Master Jackson hadn’t been gone thirty seconds before the door banged open and in walked a biker wanting to take a piss. “Holy Fuck!” he exclaimed when he saw Card on the floor with the funnel from the piss-gag sticking into the air. He looked around for a few seconds, uncertain as to how to proceed, but finally just shrugged his shoulders and walked up to Card, pulled his cock out and started pissing. “Drink up, faggot,” he sneered, as Card began swallowing convulsively. The biker hadn’t even finished washing his hands before he was joined by another patron.

“Motherfuck!” the new man exclaimed as he took in the sight of Card, naked except for his cock-cage, on the floor. “What the fuck’s going on?”

The biker at the sink, chuckled loudly. ‘Looks like we got ourselves a human piss-hole for the night.”

“God,” the second dude replied, “that’s disgusting. What type of sick pervert would want to spend the night downing other dudes’ stinking pee?”

“One sick motherfucker, you can count on that, bro,” the biker opined. “But, I figured, if that’s what floats his boat, that’s his problem. There’s a lot of really twisted pervs in this world. He’s a good looking dude, but who knows what else he’s into. Probably eats shit, too, sick motherfucker. But I figured. when you gotta piss, you gotta piss so I gave the little bitch just what he wanted – a hot load of my bladder juice.”

“Well, he’s welcome to mine, too,” the second dude said, walking forward and unzipping. “I gotta piss something fierce.” And with that he started whizzing away into the funnel leaving Card with no choice but to swallow as fast as he could. And even before he’d flicked off the last few drops into the funnel, yet another dude came into the room wanting to take a piss. “What the fuck,” the new dude muttered as the guy who had just finished peeing down Card’s throat turned to explain things to him.

And so it went for the first couple hours as Card sat there naked on the bathroom floor. Dude after dude would come through the door, express his surprise, and then his contempt, and then use Card for the obvious purpose that he was there – as a human urinal. For Card, it was an unending nightmare of abject humiliation as he had to listen to all their exclamations of surprise, contempt, and disgust and then still had to swallow their stinking pee, thereby seemingly validating every vile thing they’d said about him.

And, as time went on, things only got worse. It was bad enough when he looked up and realized that a dude was peeing into his mouth for a second and then a third and fourth time, but what was even more embarrassing was when, as happened on a number of occasions, Card recognized the dude pissing into him from one of his classes – and the dude recognized him, too. Knowing the way the news spread on twitter and other sites, Card realized that virtually all of his classmates would have heard about the disgusting display Card had put on in the bathroom of The Last Stop before he even made it out of the bar.

Roughly two hours after Card had started serving as the bar’s urinal, he reached the point that he’d been fearing from the very beginning. His belly was bulging, the multiple loads of piss that he’d down obscuring his abs, his stomach extending so far forward that it protruded well beyond his pecs, the need for him to piss almost unbearable. The breaking point came when three dudes joined in filling his piss-funnel to the very top. Card’s control over his own bladder finally gave way and he began pissing himself on the floor, to their raucous amusement and his own excruciating humiliation. Card pissed himself a good five minutes and, by the time he finished, he was not only guzzling down other dudes’ pee, he was sitting in his own.

From that point on, Card pretty much lost all control over his own bladder and he was pissing himself constantly throughout the rest of the night. By the time the bar closed at 3:00 a.m., nearly half of the bathroom floor was covered with Card’s recycled piss. When Master Jackson finally came in to collect him, Card knew he stank exactly like you’d expect a urinal to.

“You have fun, bitch?” Master Jackson asked contemptuously as he finally took off the piss-gag that Card had been wearing for the last six hours.

Card just stared at his Master, all the accumulated humiliations of his long evening forcing tears to his eyes. But when Master Jackson raised an eyebrow in a way that Card had learned to fear, Card knew what he had to do. “Yes, Master Jackson,” he replied. “Thank you, Master.” Just saying those words, thanking his Master for inflicting upon him the worst night of his entire life, crushed any last remnant of manhood that Card had somehow managed to retain through all the other degradations he had endured.

A huge smile lit up Master Jackson’s face. “I’m glad to hear that, bitch, cause you were a real hit tonight – everybody was talking about the piss-bitch in the bathroom. So much so that they’ve asked us to come back tomorrow night. And,” Master Jackson continued, the raw humor making his voice almost cackle, “assuming things go as well, you’re gonna be a permanent weekend fixture here from now on. Isn’t that great, bitch? Isn’t that great?”

Card didn’t want to cry in front of Master Jackson – he knew how much his Master enjoyed making his bitch cry like a little boy. But Card couldn’t help himself and the tears just started cascading down his face. Yet even as he was audibly sobbing Card forced himself to respond, “Yes, Master. That’s great, Master.”

His triumph now total, Master Jackson’s grin grew even bigger. “Okay, bitch. Now you need to get his place clean. And you know exactly how a bitch cleans up a mess he’s made – with his tongue. So get slurping, bitch. Get slurping right now.”

And as Card knelt down and began slurping his own recycled bladder wastes from the bathroom floor of a seedy bar, the tears kept flowing uncontrollably. He was a piss-bitch now. A human urinal. That was the life that now awaited him. And even with everything else that had already happened to him, Card couldn’t imagine a worse fate.

There is nothing quite like a “real” chastity belt….

There is nothing quite like a “real” chastity belt.  I have a model similar to this, and I have to say my relationship to it is unlike any other toy I own. You could call it “love-hate”.

It screams raw masculinity, with its sports protective cup shape and the way it is made of heavy steel with ratcheting locks. It looks like a piece of athletic gear, and it doesn’t seem out of place on the shelf along with my football shoulder pads and hockey pants.

Weeks or months will go by without me thinking about it, but then I’ll spot it and suddenly I’ll have an intense craving to put it on.
It was constructed to custom fit not just my pelvis and waist, but the curved steel tube inside was made to match the thickness and length of my cock. I’ll long for that feeling of cold curved metal wrapping around my manhood, holding it in just the right way to prevent me from getting any further than half hard. The way my balls are tucked inaccessible inside grated metal pockets. That incredible sound of the locks clicking securely into place. I imagine how the whole contraption will feel held snug on my cock and fitting comfortably tight around my waist.

I’ll recall how after ten minutes or so the metal will adjust to my body temperature. How when I grasp that warm metal cup, no matter how I pull it or try to shift it around, it won’t move more than a few millimetres. How once it is locked on, nothing I do will provide me with any relief.

I’ll think of how much I love that feeling, and all of those ideas will draw me in, and I’ll find myself reaching for it, stripping nude, lubing up my half hard cock and sliding everything into place, and then locking it securely and handing the keys over to my partner.

After several hours of wearing it, I am still half-hard, dripping a steady stream of pre-cum.  I’m mad with desire and as horny as I can possibly be.  All I want is to be out of it. To have that infernal thing unlocked and to have my cock free to be completely hard…to feel.

But now it is too late. I’m denied. It is a prison I placed myself into and I’m at the mercy of someone who has locked the keys away in a safe, for a day or a week, or maybe longer. I know that eventually I’ll agree to do almost anything in order to feel the relief of my cock again.

And I absolutely hate it, and I swear I’ll never wear it again. But all the time I’m hating it, I’m still dripping.

The Recycler Boy – Part 29

“Yes Sir” I replied, and immediately started following his instruction, stripping off my clothes and putting them into a neat pile on the floor. I placed my bag on the floor beside my clothes, and assumed what I considered a good position for a boy on his knees, which my head bowed and my hands behind my back.

“Not bad piss boy – I’m glad to see you followed my instructions. I’ve got lots more in store for you this weekend. But first, we have a few things to get ready for.”

With that, he reached in to my diaper and pulled out the end of the catheter. I hadn’t noticed the small towel covering some things on the table beside the door, but he removed the towel and pulled out a rather large syringe that was filled with something. He pushed the tip of the syringe into the drainage tube of the catheter and started pushing on the plunger.

“I told you I might drain you or fill you or do all kinds of things to you boy. For now, I’m going to fill your bladder with saline, and then clamp it off so we can start preparing you to be a true recycling slut.”

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A Story of a Rubber Slave’s Forced Training

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I followed Alan down the steps into the dungeon. We both wore jeans and t-shirts and I began to feel nervous as I saw the various rubber suits and restraints hanging from the walls, and the cage and sling and rubber bed in the semi-darkness of the room. “This is where...

Tricked

Tricked

The door to my room is closed as I lay on my bed, touching my naked body. My chest is hairless, except for a few wisps around my nipples, which are pinker and larger than they used to be. I trail my hand down to my stomach, which has lost most of its definition. My...

Turning Fantasy Into Reality

Turning Fantasy Into Reality

Note: At this stage, this post is purely fantasy, based on an arrangement that almost was… After actively searching for over 5 years, I believe that I may have found the right person, and if all goes as planned, I will become his full time slave within a few weeks....

The Dice Game

The Dice Game

I was attempting to figure out how long a bondage session should last, and I just couldn’t decide on a time.   No matter what number I thought of, it seemed either too short or too long. It was then I got the idea to let FATE decide.     While this...

10 Days in Detention – Part 09

It was a short drive to our destination. I tried to remember the sequence of turns and stops that we would have taken to get to the taco place, thinking I could figure out if we are going back to John’s place in reverse. The reality is I didn’t pay all that much attention on the way there, so reconstructing it in my mind was useless. When you’re in the back of a car handcuffed, gagged and hooded, though, your mind wants to engage in some level of activity to prove to itself that you’re safe.

The car pulled into a driveway before it stopped, and I heard another car door open and close before Dan got out of his car, leaving me in the back seat. Within moments the passenger door next to me opened, and I heard Dan and John talking. My initial reaction was one of relief. The seat belt was removed from across my lap, and Dan helped me out of the car. The car door closed. I heard John’s voice next.

John said, “Listen up, boy. You have punishment coming to you. What that will be is up to Dan. We have come back to my place, and my intention is to let Dan have you to himself until sometime tomorrow. He will take you down to the dungeon, and you will be his slave until he’s done with you. He is an experienced dom, and I have no doubt you will have a difficult night ahead of you. Having said that, I leave it up to you whether to submit to Dan or not. You have just met him. While I trust him implicitly, you have no reason yet to be in that position other than my speaking up for Dan. The decision is yours whether to submit to him or not. If you desire to submit to Dan and be his bondage slave tonight and into tomorrow, simply slip out of the flip flops you are wearing. By going barefoot, you are indicating your submission. All limits and expectations with me are the same for Dan.”

When he finished talking, I kicked off the flip flops and stood barefoot on the driveway. I knew I wanted to do this. Dan needed to play with me, so he could understand what I was about as much as I needed to surrender to him. This was all prelude, after all, to the fantasy that we had all decided I was going to work toward.

I felt a hand on my upper arm, and the pressure indicated for me to start walking. Since I assumed we were indeed at John’s place, I sort of knew the direction from the front of the house around to the back and the rear dungeon entrance. Understandably I needed to be guided, since I was still hooded, gagged and handcuffed.

We stopped when we reached what I thought was the outer door. I heard the door open and then was guided in to the storage area. A few more steps and we were at the door to the dungeon, I presumed. Dan started talking to me through the hood.

“All protocols in place with John are in place with me,” Dan said. “Nod your head if you understand.” I nodded my head.

“This is a last chance to back out. I intend to put you through some intense play through tomorrow afternoon. You can back out if you want. But something tells me you want to continue,” he said as he grabbed my cock through the shorts and squeezed. I was rock hard, of course.

Dan spoke again, “Do you want to submit?” I nodded my head yes and his hands went to work on stripping off the shorts I was wearing along with the jock strap. Dan opened the door to the dungeon and guided my naked body in closing the door behind us. He walked me to a spot and pressed down on my shoulders indicating for me to kneel.

Dan removed the handcuffs and positioned my wrists in the center of my back, pushing on them a little to indicate that is where I was to keep them. Next I felt the cinch on the hood being loosened and the hood was pulled off my head. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dim light within the dungeon.

I was kneeling in the center of the dungeon space. Dan was standing behind me. When he came into view, he was shirtless and barefoot with just the jeans on. My expression must have changed because even though I was gagged Dan smiled and said to me, “I think you like what you see, don’t you?” Indeed I did. Dan had six-pack abs and looked amazing. He was a cute guy. I liked John, but in some way I was attracted to Dan.

Dan knelt down in front of me so we were eye to eye and reached around to remove the gag. When it was away he leaned in and kissed me. He placed his hands on the back of my head and continued to kiss and hold me. I instinctively kept my wrists behind my back, even though I was fighting the urge to pull them around and embrace Dan as we were kissing.

When he pulled back he took a hold of the collar around my neck and said, “This symbolizes your submission. It will stay on until you are released tomorrow. I intend to put you through intense bondage to see what you are made of. If you do well you can expect a reward from me. Make no mistake, though, I intend for you to be uncomfortable, and I will hurt you. And you will take it in addition to servicing me. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” I responded.

“Any questions before we begin?” he asked.

“None, Sir. The slave is ready, Sir.”

“Good boy,” Dan said.

Dan stood up and ordered me to place my hands behind my head with fingers interlocked and to stay on my knees with my back perfectly straight. He then proceeded to inspect me, making sure my elbows and arms were in alignment with my shoulders – perfectly straight across. He pushed my knees slightly further apart and had me bring my feet together so the big toes were touching and the tops were flat to the floor exposing my soles completely. Next he corrected my back, as there was some arch to it. He had me perfectly straight up on my knees. It only took a couple of minutes for this position to become uncomfortable. I was trying to keep everything aligned as he had instructed. It was difficult.

Dan kept circling me slowly. When I tried to follow him with my eyes I was told to keep looking forward and concentrate on one spot ahead of me.

“Keeping that perfect slave position is difficult, isn’t it, boy?” Dan asked.

“Yes, Sir,” is all I responded. My body wanted to compensate here and there and I had to use all my energy to stay as instructed. Dan would continue to correct me and touch my body any time he saw me falter from what he wanted. I felt on display as he continued to circle me.

This was interesting. Here I was without any restraints on at all. I was simply naked kneeling on the floor yet I felt compelled to do exactly as Dan was telling me and expecting me to be. I wondered how long he was going to make me stay like this.

Dan stopped in front of me and just looked at me as I strained to stay in this position. He said, “Looks like it’s starting to get hard for you. It’s one thing to be on your knees as you are and it’s another to stay perfectly aligned as I have you. Let’s see how you do when you are pushed.”

With that Dan went around behind me and I heard him looking for something where the gear was located. When he came back he was holding a riding crop. He took a moment to make sure I saw it. He then leaned forward and put it to my mouth. I opened my mouth and he put it between my teeth and I bit down. He walked away again and went behind me. I felt his presence near me. His head was near mine and I could sense his breathing.

When he was very close to my ear he said, “You will stay like that holding the riding crop in your teeth until I take it out. Let’s see how long you can handle being like this before breaking. This should be interesting.”

With that he left my immediate presence and I could hear him still behind me for a moment and then it got quiet. I imagined he was either sitting on something or on the floor and was just watching me now.   It was up to me to stay like this for as long as he wanted.

I was getting tired trying to stay perfectly still and in alignment, as he wanted me. It was really starting to cause me issues. I kept thinking I was going to lose my balance being like this. Again my thoughts went to how submissive I was being. There were no restraints. There was no contact with me at that moment. I was simply doing what I was doing because I had been told to and felt as if I needed to do my best to please Dan as my master.

It was a while before Dan came back over to me. He stood in front of me and said, “Sucks, doesn’t it?” I nodded my head slightly agreeing with his comment. “Good,” he replied and gave a big smile across his face.

“There’s nothing keeping you from not being as you are, is there? You’re not cuffed. You’re not in any type of predicament. Are you? This is really about you. What you are and what you are becoming. You do because you are told to and you comply. And deep down you want to experience this, don’t you? The submission, the pain, the control are all things you need and want.” Dan finished talking and just looked into my eyes. He knew me well in just a short time and I’m sure from what he and John had been discussing about me prior to this.

He took the riding crop out of my mouth. Then he ordered me, “Remain still.”

The first whack of the crop was to my right nipple. It stung and I flinched.

“Didn’t I tell you not to move?” Dan asked.

“Yes, Sir”

“Apparently you don’t listen to well, yet.”

He started using the crop again on my right nipple. It was light at first but with each successive swat the sting and his intensity increased. My breathing started to become heavier and quicker and then I couldn’t take it any longer and I compressed my body forward folding over to protect my tits.

Dan grabbed me by the hair and pulled me up back into his desired position. He said nothing.

He went to work on my left nipple this time repeating what he had done to the right nipple. Light swatting commenced but soon become harder and more painful with each swat. At some point I couldn’t take any more and bent forward again. Dan pulled me up by the hair a second time but still said nothing.

Next he used the crop on my abs. His rhythm was like that on the nipples. I could take it for a while but soon the pain and the swats became too much for me and I twisted to the side and over. Again, Dan pulled on my hair and I knew to get back into position. What was happening here? There was no verbal communication between us. Just our looks into each other’s eyes and Dan’s pulling on my hair to get me back up in the kneeling position.

“Hands behind your back, boy. Make sure they are in the small of your back.” Dan ordered me to change positions slightly and it was welcome relief. This time he instructed me how to keep the elbows still in alignment with the shoulders even with my wrists behind me. Clearly he knew how to make use of the body to quickly make it uncomfortable.

Dan looked at me and said, “This time the crop is going to hit various places on your body and in rapid succession. The slave will continue to hold its position. Failure to do so will affect the punishment that is yet to come. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied. I was screwed. I’m sure Dan was going to hit me and not stop to ensure that at some point I wouldn’t just stay like I was and continue to get hit. This was a no win situation for me. Clearly this was the intent.

The crop started to impact me again. Nipples, abs, pecs, inner thighs – there was no relief form the constant impacts. I was doing everything in my power to hold the position and I finally succumbed and bent over.

“Get up, slave,” Dan yelled at me and I got up and the crop continued to strike me. It was so painful the intensity he was hitting me with. Within a few moments I was down again and the strokes stopped. My breathing was labored and hard. My eyes were closed as I just lay on the floor.

Dan eventually came over to me and sat on me with his back to mine so he was facing my feet. I felt him use his body to hold my legs down and then I found out why. He started using the crop on the soles of my feet. It hurt like hell. I started screaming for him to stop, but he kept going. I was pleading and trying to get up but the weight of his body kept me down.

The strokes stopped. I was panting now. Dan got off of me. He went around and stood in front of me with his feet at my face. I just lay there trying to gain my composure. It took a few minutes but I finally calmed down.

When Dan had sensed I was back he slowly moved his right foot toward my mouth. He lifted up his big toe and it got close to my lips. I understood what was happening here. I opened my mouth and took in his toe, using my tongue to bathe it. When he pulled it out I moved closer to him and started to kiss the tops of his feet. I wanted to please this man that had just beaten me with a riding crop. What was happening?

“On your knees,” Dan commanded.

I stopped servicing his feet and got on my knees, placing my hands behind my back, elbows out, knees apart, feet together with toes touching. My training was taking hold.

He used the handcuffs to secure my wrists behind my back again.

Dan knelt in front of me and looked into my eyes.

“That was very painful for you, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” I answered.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

I had to think about it for a moment.

I responded, “No, Sir, it was hard and painful. But it was necessary.”

Dan thought for a moment before he said, “What do you mean it was necessary?”

“Sir, the slave has requested a journey from you and Master John. This is part of the journey. The slave will not like most aspects of what it is requesting to have happen to it, but they are necessary to fulfill the slave’s desire to service you through its suffering and service. Eventually the slave will make it out the other side and will know it accomplished something.”

“The slave understands the harshness of the journey it has asked for, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir, it does,” I responded.

“Good, because this is just the start for you and I, boy.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

With that he pulled me into his body so our bare chests were touching and kissed me deeply. His hands were all over me and it didn’t take long for me to get hard. He reached down with his hand and started to stroke me. It was just enough to keep me hard and on edge but not close to shooting.

When he was done he pulled back and said to me, “I was honest when I said I was going to hurt you. I’ve just started. I purposely put you through that to see what you would do. At no time were you restrained. You kept getting up and taking more. At any time you could have freely walked away to the door and left. But you didn’t. And when offered my feet, you instinctively took them and kissed them. From this point on until you are released tomorrow, you will be restrained at all times. I will continue to hurt you and you will continue to service me in return. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir”

“It’s getting time for your punishment to begin. John said you forgot your place, what you are within this space. That is never permitted. You are never to forget your place when in the dungeon or at any time when you are within the control of one of your Sirs. I intend to make sure you never forget that again.”

His tone and demeanor told me all I needed to know. If the riding crop hadn’t been punishment enough, what was about to happen to me would be far worse.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir.”

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