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A short and brutal slave life
By 2NN
WARNING! This story deals with homosexuality, brutal, non-consensual S&M
and snuff. If you are a minor or don't like these subjects, go elsewhere
now.
Chapter 1
I come home from a real shitty day at work. My last shitty day
at work. I've just been fired along with everyone else in the company.
I've seen this one coming for awhile so it's not exactly a surprise, but
still; it's been an ugly day. My wife knows how bad my day must have
been and has prepared a surprise to cheer me up. Other people's wives
would no doubt be waiting with a fine dinner or a nice hot bath. Not so
mine. She waits for me sitting on the couch dressed in skin-tight, black
leather from top to toe, her feet clad in thigh-high six-inch stilettos,
laced up the front. On the coffee table her whip rests and from her
crotch sprouts a massive strap-on.
We've only been married about a year, but we have a strong common
interest: she likes to dominate me and I love to be dominated by her.
And this is exactly what I need to unwind after a shitty day: a good
beating followed by a good fucking.
She barely even glances at me as I enter the room. With the slightest of
nods she indicates the outfit she's picked out for me today. I'm
rock-hard before seeing the items on the floor and I certainly don't get
any softer as I recognize them. I rip off my clothes and put them on: a
pair of black stilettos with six-inch heels, broad steel cuffs for both
my ankles and my wrists and finally a broad collar made from shiny
steel. As soon as I am naked I put them on and approach my wife on all
fours, making sure to keep my head down.
Ever so carefully I kiss her boots and lick their soles as she turns
them up. She doesn't speak a single word as I remove even the tiniest
trace of dirt and gravel from her boots. Only after a prolonged period
of boot worship on my part, does she acknowledge me: "Into the bedroom,
you useless worm!"
Dutifully I crawl into the bedroom, where she's prepared a treat for me.
Our wooden horse has been placed on center stage. I am commanded to my
feet only to be placed at one end of the horse and bent over it. Soon my
ankles are tied wide to the supports and my body rest on the narrow bar
that is the horse itself. Then my hands are tied to the two other
supports and for good measure my body is strapped down. My legs are now
spread wide and Mistress has free access to my ass and my genitals. By
now I've forgotten about my shitty day and my cock is throbbing with
lust, screaming for attention. First, however, she gags me with a huge
black ball-gag. As she moves behind me, I tense up with anticipation.
What is she going to do first? Whip me? Fuck my ass? My breathing is
heavy as I wait for whatever Mistress has in store for me.
But instead I hear her steps retreat from the room and move away. This
has never happened before, but I have no doubt that she'll be back soon.
I am more than a little annoyed when I hear the doorbell and quite
shocked when I hear her footsteps moving to answer it. Surely she can't
have managed to change in that time? Nonetheless I hear her voice greet
whoever is at the door and I hear the deep tones of a man greet her in
return. As I hear her inviting him inside and her closing the door
behind him I begin to struggle to break free. There's an unimpeded view
from the living room into the bedroom where I'm tied up and I don't want
a stranger to see me like this.
But no matter how hard I fight, I can't break free and soon I hear a
very deep and masculine voice directly behind me: "So that's the
pathetic little shit," the voice says and goes on: "He certainly has a
tight little ass, very fuckable, just as promised." While shouting into
my gag trying to object, I try to turn my head to see him, but both he
and my wife stand directly behind me, mere shadows in my field of
vision. My wife's voice is high, peeling with laughter: "He certainly is
that. I'm sure that you'll enjoy fucking that tight ass of his very
much." I stop dead at this. Did she say that he was going to fuck me? I
am even more shocked when she says that he will probably enjoy whipping
me even more, since she's held back for a long time and that there's a
good chance that a proper whipping will break me for real.
My struggles intensify and my shouts of protest reach a new high as I
try to gain a measure of control over this strange situation. Then they
move into my field of vision and my struggles die down as I see them. My
wife is still dressed as she was when I came home, not half an hour ago,
every bit the dominatrix. The man she has brought into the house is
easily the biggest man I've ever seen, at least seen up close. He is at
least six feet ten and he must weigh three hundred pounds. None of it
looks like fat. His hands are probably big enough to hold my entire head
and his upper arms are easily bigger than my thighs. Easily. He has
closely cropped black hair, no facial hair and a subtle tan. He's
dressed in a pair of black leather pants and a close-fitting black
T-shit that looks as if it might burst from the pressure of his muscles.
On his feet are black boots and he looks about as dominating as anyone
I've ever seen. His black eyes look at me as if I'm an interesting bug
or an interesting new toy.
I am almost limp with shock as he, very calmly and matter-of-factly,
informs me that my wife has sold me to him and that he intends to keep
me as a torture- and fuck-toy. As I look at him dumbfounded, he pulls
out some papers and tells me there are a few formalities to settle
first: I have to sign divorce papers and a number of papers signing
everything over to my wife.
Finally I wake up from my stupor and begin to object. I scream and yell
into my gag, without really creating much noise, and I struggle as hard
as I can without achieving anything. When my struggles die down the man
grabs my chin and forces me to look him straight in the eye. Then he
tells me that I either I sign the papers right now and avoid a being
tortured or I refuse to sign them now and endure a torture session like
I've never experienced before. Personally he'd rather I refuse, because
he's been looking forward to torturing me for a while now. From my
wife's look of eager anticipation I can tell that she too would rather I
refused.
I'm dammed if I do and dammed if I don't, but I can't just give up
without a fight and so I toss aside the pen I am given to sign the
documents. This causes quiet jubilation in my two captors. Then they go
to work. First I am blindfolded and then I hear him ask her to go first.
She has of course whipped me before, but it's always been fairly soft
and always with either a cane or a vanilla edition of the cat-o-nine
tails. Not so this time. It feels like she's using a bullwhip and
there's no doubt that she really leaning into the blows. As I feel the
whip encircling my body as she whips my back, I realize that I can only
do one thing: scream. And for what seems like days, but is probably only
an hour or two at most, it's all I do. Gagged, blindfolded and tied down
all I can do is to scream and writhe as they take turns whipping every
inch of my body using both the bullwhip and a bamboo crop.
As he strikes my exposed balls I almost faint with the pain and I know
that I'll do absolutely anything they ask of me when they stop. I try to
scream to them that I give up, that they've broken me, but they don't
hear me or don't want to hear me. Instead they continue their torture
until I nothing but a sobbing wreck, trying weakly to muster enough
energy to scream, but failing to do even that.
They've robbed me of all resistance and when they remove my blindfold
and gag all I can manage is a pathetic, weak gurgling for mercy. This of
course makes both of them laugh and it is to that laughter of derision
that I cry as I sign away everything I own to my wife; giving her
everything as I sign the divorce papers.
My torturers agree that this calls for celebration and as my wife takes
position at my face, I feel how the man positions himself at my ass. As
the cold, slippery sensation of my ass being lubed up reaches my head I
begin to panic and protest, but now it is too late. My wife grabs my
head and forces her strap-on into my mouth and throat and I feel the
man's huge hands separating my cheeks. I pray that his cock will be more
normal in size than the rest of him, but as is presses against my
sphincter I realize that this is not the case.
I am too weak to keep him out and I would scream with pain if it weren't
for the rubber cock in my throat. Oh God he's big! He's going to split
me open; fuck me to death. I've had fantasies of men with big cocks
taking me, but the man is too big. I cry and try to scream but his
pumping in and out of my ass is unrelenting as is my wife's equally
rhythmic movements in my throat.
Her movements in my throat are very unpleasant and make me gag and
retch, but they are weak and distant compared to the action in my ass.
My whole being is focused on the sensation in my ass, on the huge tool
pumping in and out of me. It hurts unbelievably and I've never
experienced anything remotely like it when it comes to discomfort. And
yet I'm getting hard. In all the pain and discomfort; through the loss
and defeat I can feel myself getting hard. Hard and throbbing.
The man notices at once and both he and my wife begin laughing. Then,
unbelievably, he reaches down and strokes me. Were it not for the rubber
monster filling my throat, I would gasp from surprise and joy. Had I the
air for it I would moan with lust as his expert manipulations continue
and in a matter of minutes I am ready to burst. I can't hold it anymore
and my load shoot out of me like it has never done before. Spasms wrack
my body as the orgasm takes hold of me and I forget the pain for a
while, concentrating on the wonderful feeling of being fucked and
getting off.
Then he pulls me back. My spasms haven't even died down when his iron
fist closes around my balls and squeezes them until I think they'll pop.
The pain is like nothing I've ever experienced before and I am filled
with it. I want to scream my head off, but as I am about draw breath; my
wife thrusts her strap-on all the way down my throat, cutting off my
breath completely. The man continues both his fucking and the relentless
pressure on my balls, but my wife keeps the rubber cock wedged firmly in
my throat. The pain blends with lack of air and my whole body begins to
spasm as I run out. In unbelievable pain and choking I loose
consciousness.
I wake up in a state of panic, coughing and retching, but I'm quickly
brought back by two brutal slaps from the man. He informs me that I am
now his property as he nods towards my wife who is counting a large wad
of money. Before I have the opportunity to object, he pulls a very tight
rubber hood down over my head. It has holes at my nose and mouth, but
very soon my mouth is once again stuffed with the huge ball-gag. Then he
releases me from the horse only to retie my arms down along my sides.
Wrists and hands to straps around my thighs, arms kept pinned to my
sides by three straps around my upper body. My legs are also strapped
together and once I am just as helpless as before, he slings across his
shoulder as if I was a small toy. I hear him say goodbye to my wife and
then he carries me to his car, where he dumps me into the trunk. He ties
me down, so that I have almost no movement left and puts several thick
blankets over me and closes the lid. The sounds of the outside world
have all but disappeared behind the suffocating blankets and I am quite
sure that no one would be able to hear me if I had the ability to
scream. As it is I have to use all my energy to avoid panicking under
the suffocating blankets and so when they are finally removed I have not
been able to produce a single sound to save myself.
Again he slings me across his shoulder and carries me away. I am dumped
on a cold cement floor and my gag is ripped out of my mouth. He fucks my
face and he fucks it hard. His huge cock, tasting of his cum and my
shit, pumps in and out of my face as I try to keep up. My mouth is just
hole for him to pound and when he shoots his load, he presses his cock
as far down my throat as he can, making me retch and cough. He produces
an unbelievable amount of cum, which I am unwilling and unable to
swallow. Most of it dribbles down my rubber clad chin and onto my chest.
He reinserts the gag and secures my collar to a ring in the wall and
leaves me on the cold concrete floor.
I am now the property of a man, beaten, raped and defeated I lie on a
cold concrete floor, completely unable to escape my bonds and with his
cum drying on my chin and chest as I helplessly wait for whatever fate
he has planned for me.
Chapter 2
My wake-up call is brutal. A heavy boot hits me just below the
ribs and all air is forced out of me. I am cold, stiff and in pain from
the beatings yesterday and now the man has made me even more miserable
by kicking me in the stomach. I haven't even caught my breath when he
begins to beat me. It feels like he's using a bamboo crop and that he's
putting some force into it. Soon I am screaming while I squirm and try
to avoid the blows. All I achieve is pathetic wriggling while I scream
and try to beg my tormentor. My gag reduces my pleas to a wet mewling
and thus only serves to underline my position.
Then the blows stop and I begin crying with relief. This is of course
short-lived as he removes the straps holding my legs, flips me over so
that my rubber covered face touches the ground and my ass sticks out. I
know what comes next, but I am still unprepared for it and a hopeless
whine escapes me as he forces himself into me from behind. Oh God, he's
big! I can't believe how big he is or how brutally he uses his tool. I
am a rag-doll being jerked around helplessly as he pounds my ass with
his giant cock. Without me realizing I have once again become hard and I
am acutely embarrassed as his expert hands find my cock - again. How can
I enjoy this? His fucking is absolutely brutal and I am in more pain and
discomfort than I have ever been, but his hands reduce me to a panting
beast and soon my body tenses up as I prepare to shoot my load. I pass
the point of no return and another glorious orgasm begins and just then
his hands shift position. Instead of my cock, his hands now find my
balls and like yesterday the squeezing is so brutal that I can't even
scream.
I lie curled up, whimpering with pain as I feel his cum dribble out of
my ass. My balls hurt unbelievably and I must fight back the nausea this
pain causes me. There is a real possibility that he'll let me drown in
my own vomit if I throw up.
Rest is not in the cards for me. He pulls me to my knees and yanks my
gag out. I am just about to beg and plead with the man when his massive
palm strikes me and throws me, stars appearing before my eyes, to the
floor. I am not to talk without being asked to talk, something I am
beginning to doubt will ever happen. Instead I am to lick his cock
clean. I have an idea of what awaits me and it's disgusting, but the man
scares me badly and I am unable to object. I stick my tongue out
cautiously and begin my disgusting task. My caution soon earns me a
barrage of blows from the crop and not long thereafter I am licking and
sucking his tool, covered in my shit and his cum, far more
enthusiastically than before. Finally the cleaning part is over, but I
realize that my degradation will never end as he informs me that he has
to take a leak and that if I spill any of his precious urine I will pay
dearly.
It's not a stream; it's a river of warm, salty and revolting piss that
hits my mouth. I have no way of swallowing all of it, although my acute
fear of the man makes me try my very best. Warm piss runs down my chest
and I can hear him curse me out. When I am done swallowing I try to beg
for mercy; try to tell him that I didn't mean to let him down; that
there was just too much urine for me to swallow. With the hood still on
my head I can't see him, but I can actually hear the swoosh of air just
before his palm connects with my head and sends me sprawling.
My pathetic pleas are again ignored while he removes my bonds, only to
tie me anew. Again using my cuffs he hogties me and places me in a
bundle on the floor. But that's not all. My hogtie is somehow connected
to a wire, rope or chain hanging down from the ceiling and soon he uses
this to lift me from the floor. The strain on my hips and shoulders
alone is enough to make me groan and whimper with pain, but when he
begins to whip me I once again scream. He keeps up the whipping until I
again reduced to a sobbing wreck. Then he garbs my head and, using my as
a perverted kind of swing, he fucks my face so deep and hard I have
trouble believing that I actually survive it, especially the torrent of
jism being sprayed deep down my throat at the end.
Cum is still dripping from my lips as he reapplies the gag and leaves
me, moving gently back and forth like a perverted swing. Again I am
beaten and fucked and this time cum and blood are trickling out of my
very sore ass. Soon my hips and shoulders begin aching intolerably and I
begin to whimper at first, then moan and finally scream as the pain in
my muscles and tendons becomes unbearable. But of course there's no
relief. The man is long gone and I am left to suffer alone. Not only am
I humiliated and in pain. I am also quite hungry and more than a little
thirsty.
Although I have no way of knowing for sure, I think that it has been
more than twenty-four since I last ate or drank anything and in that
time I have been put through a regime of very strenuous physical
activity: an almost unbelievable amount of torture and forced sex. And
in all that time the only "sustenance" I have received is the small
amount of piss I have been forced to ingest. Shaming myself even further
I begin to regret not drinking his piss as ordered to and this more than
anything presses home the hopelessness of my situation and I begin to
cry again.
Finally I hear the man's footsteps and incredibly I begin mewling with
joy at hearing him. I am of course hoping to be let down. What happens
after I am let down is of no concern to me; I simply can't think that
far. All I think about is relief of the strain in my muscles. Relief is
at first only something he gets as he, without speaking a word, rams his
cock so far up my ass that my teeth actually jar. As before his fucking
is unbelievably forceful, a storm of deep, pumping strokes that
literally take my breath away. His fucking is so brutal that I must
breathe in small shallow gasps that are pushed out again as his cock
presses against my lungs.
He finds my cock and soon I am, weak and shamefully, as hard I have ever
been. My weakness and my joy at him finding my cock and stroking it is a
source of intense shame and pain to me. Nothing the man has done to me
feels good. Everything that has been going on has been painful and
humiliating in the extreme and although I have occasionally fantasized
about men, this has never been part of my fantasies. And still my lust
is literally apparent as I again keen with delight as I shoot my load, a
sound followed by my muffled screaming as he again crushes my balls with
his massive hands.
He sets my battered body down on the cold concrete floor to the sound of
me crying in defeat. I hardly notice that the strain on my shoulders is
relieved, unable to tear my focus away from the pain in my crotch and
ass.
Rest is again not part of the program in the man's dungeon. I am tied
down in what feels like a dentist's chair and then my hood is finally
removed along with my gag. As I blink against the light, trying to
adjust to it, I fight back the urge to speak, to beg and plead for my
release. Already I have learned to fear the man and to obey his wishes.
He stands above me, a towering figure regarding his pathetic catch, but
he does not speak. After a few seconds he grabs my chin and forces my
mouth open. Not that I offer much resistance. Then he places two thick,
rubber wedges in the back of my mouth, thus preventing me from closing
it. He finishes tying down my head by putting a strap around my forehead
and tying me to the headrest with so much force that I keen with the
instant headache it gives me.
Now that my arms and legs, even my torso, is tied down to chair most
securely, he removes my cuffs and my stilettos, all things my wife put
on me before selling me to the man. Then he begins the process of making
me wholly his property.
The first thing is removal of all my hair; all of it. He tapes my eyes
shuts and rubs me with a crème that soon has me screaming for mercy as
it burns me unbelievably. Eyes taped shut I am unable to see my own
body, but I am convinced that my skin is being peeled off. The pain is
so intense that I loose track of time and when he finally rinses the
crème off I cry with relief, babbling out inane thank-you's to the man
who of course ignores me. As he removes the tapes over my eyes and dries
my skin I see that I have no hair left and when his hand moves across my
forehead I feel that I am not only bald, but that my eyebrows too have
been removed.
I am once again deeply shocked, but I don't have time to think about it
as he moves along with his plan. Next up is my teeth. He clearly doesn't
like the idea that a slave might bite him, so he makes sure that I
can't. Completely ignoring my cries, pleas and screams he uses a pair of
pliers to remove all of my teeth. It not only takes a long time, but it
is also extremely painful and several times I pass out. When this
happens, he stops his work and wakes me up with smelling salts so that I
will miss none of the unbelievable pain he is subjecting me to.
When he is finally finished I am reduced to a pathetic slave-shit
pleading with his owner, promising him to be good. He probably can't
understand what I am saying now that my gums are a bleeding, painful
mess, but he wouldn't have paid me any heed even if he had understood
me.
The man is not finished with me and seemingly enjoying my screaming and
pleading immensely, he carries on with a great, big sadistic smile on
his face. Then it is time for my hands. Using the same pair of pliers he
rips out my nails one at a time, again making sure that am awake for
every little step of the torture. When it is over my screams and pleas
have turned into a high, hopeless and constant keening and I am in a
state of near-panic, nearly hyperventilating. He "cures" this by
climbing onto the chair and fucking my face deep and long, forcing me to
deal with the immediate threat of drowning from the river of cum that
will soon flood my mouth.
A big spill of cum drying on my chest he moves on to the final part of
his plan. I should have expected this, but I didn't. Now that he has
finished with my hands he moves on to my feet. Again working
methodically and with a big smile on his face, he removes all my
toenails. This time I do panic and as he removes the last of my nails I
hyperventilate myself into unconsciousness.
Chapter 3
I don't know how long it's been since the man took me, I
really don't. It could be a month, but it could just as easily be six
months or a year. I have no idea. I have now understood the man's plans
for me almost completely. There's not much to understand. I am nothing
but a doll to torture and a collection of warm holes to fuck. Warm holes
that scream pleasantly when beaten.
He does not train me. He has made no effort to train me at all. I had
somehow expected that he would train in some way; perhaps in how to best
use my mouth to please him, since his cock spends so much time in there.
He has shown no interest in this whatsoever. On the contrary he seems to
enjoy taking me by force every time; that I am unable to make things
easier for either myself or him. Same thing with my ass. As for my
hands, they are not part of his plan for his sexual exploitation of me.
Ever since my hands healed up after my nails had been removed, they have
been sealed away in some very tight, black rubber mittens, reducing them
to helpless and useless little cones. My feet received much the same
treatment and they are now sealed inside a pair of shiny, black plastic
ankle high boots, which are at least two sizes too small and have seven
inch stilettos heels.
Not that I spend much time walking in them. Mostly I think they are to
keep me under control while allowing me to walk - after a fashion.
Mostly I crawl, squirm or grovel on the floor and most of my moving
around is done by him carrying me, mainly sitting impaled on his giant
cock.
Right now I am hooded and gagged and my very sturdy stainless steel
collar is secured to the wall with a short chain. My hands are chained
to my collar but my feet are left unbound, a fact that does nothing at
all to improve my situation.
My situation has not improved since my arrival. I have not adjusted to
the man's torture or brutal fuckings. If anything I am worse off now
than when I arrived. When he first caught me I was unaware of just how
brutal and evil he is. No longer. I now know that no matter how hard he
beats me, and he beats me so much that my body is never without welts
and bruises, it can always get worse. Just when I think that it can't
possibly get more painful, he turns it up a notch. The same thing goes
for his fuckings. Just when I think that his ass fuckings are as brutal
as they can be, he uses his giant cock in a more brutal manner than
before.
As a result of this constant torture and constant awareness that it is
going to get even worse with time, I have developed a very unfortunate,
humiliating and disgusting reflex. The reflex is completely involuntary
and no matter how hard I try to suppress it, I can't. The sad fact is
that whenever I see or hear him come down into the dungeon, I loose all
control over both bladder and bowel. His mere presence scares me so
badly that I shit myself. And not just sometimes either, but every time
I hear his footsteps.
The man has a very clear policy in this. Whenever I soil myself I clean
up after myself - with my mouth. As a result I eat my own shit and drink
my own piss several times a day, or at least several times during the
period of time I think is a day. The task is revolting in the extreme,
but I do it as fast as I can every time and I try to smile eagerly as I
finish as this seems to make him smile. I am not sure that it causes him
to torture me less, but I try desperately.
Not only do I eat my own shit and drink my own piss, but I have now been
reduced to a toilet for the man. Not only does he take a crap directly
into my mouth, but what little food he gives me is always laced with
shit, just as the water he gives me always tastes of piss. Often days
(or what I think is days) goes by without me eating anything but shit or
drinking anything but piss; his and my own. He will release me so that
my arms are free, as are my legs. Since my hands are rendered useless by
the mittens (my hands would probably be completely useless anyway, since
they haven't been out of the mittens since they healed up), my feet are
imprisoned inside the much too small stilettos and I no longer have any
teeth, I am in no way a threat to him. After releasing me and depositing
me on my knees, he will turn his back to me and pull down his pants and
casually remark that he needs to take a dump. This is my cue and I will
crawl over and stick my face as far up between his butt-cheeks as I can,
my mouth open and ready to receive his revolting load. Every time I
almost choke in it, barely being able to keep up and each time I'll
succeed in the end, wishing I hadn't, that I had a choice. When he is
done I'll lick his rim clean and sit back on my heels, my face turned up
expectantly, smiling in the futile hope that it will put him in a better
mood so that he'll go easier on me in the torture session that will
inevitably come. I don't know if this is the case, because I have never
dared not smiling at him after completing my disgusting task. Looking
down at my no doubt grotesquely smiling face, he always "washes" first
my face and then my mouth with a stream of warm piss. Utterly disgusted
with myself I have realized that for this golden shower I am profoundly
grateful, especially when it flushes my mouth. I have sunk so low that I
am grateful for being pissed on!
Not only am I a slave constantly bearing the marks of brutal beatings
and torture, but I am also growing thinner and thinner. While never fat
in any way, I did have a bit of fat here and there when I arrived. Not
so anymore. Now I'm a very skinny slave, my ribs clearly visible, my ass
skinny and hard. The muscle-tone on my arms has gone, since I never use
then anymore. My arms are never free. There's a bit more muscle in my
thighs, but they too are affected by my lack of other exercise than
rigorous fuckings and a diet of mostly shit and piss.
He tortures and fuck me incessantly. Whenever he's around he abuses me.
And when he fucks my ass, he always reaches around to give me a
hand-job. As I cum, and I can't help it, he always, always, makes sure
to inflict as much pain on my balls as he possibly can, right at the
moment when I cum.
Mostly he does it by squeezing them, but needles and electricity are
also favorites of his. Sometimes he straps me into the chair I lost my
hair, teeth and nails in and fucks me face to face. This gives him
unimpeded access to my cock and balls while he fucks me and it leaves
his hands free to torture me. Often the result is horrible electric
shocks as I cum; my howls of pleasure turning into screams as the
fountain of jism from my cock is turned into a tortured spasm of pain
accompanying the discharge.
One favorite way of shocking my balls when I cum, is fit them with a
strange kind of spreader bar. The contraption is made of steel and
consists of two heavy "shackles", closing just above each testicle.
These are then connected by a heavy steel bar. The weight alone is very
painful, though not painful enough to prevent my erection. At each
"shackle" an electric wire is then attached and when I cum, he switches
the current on, making me twitch and scream in pain. Sometimes alligator
clamps, squeezing my testicles are also employed, but there are other
methods as well. Occasionally he will plunge thin skewers through my
testicles as I cum and follow this already outrageously painful maneuver
up by putting electricity through them. As my cum spews out over my
abdomen, I scream, twitch and spasm, usually loosing bowel control at
the same time. This means that I'll end the torture session by crawling
around on the floor, eating my own shit while I whimper in pain and
humiliation.
As a result I have begun fearing my orgasms. Not long ago I like almost
all other men and women, loved my orgasms. They topped almost all other
sensations. Not anymore. When his hands touch my cock and make me hard,
I cry, plead and beg. I actually beg not to cum; to be allowed a fuck
without an orgasm at the end. This makes him laugh and my humiliation
only grows larger when I grow hard regardless of the fact that I know
that I'll soon be in enormous pain. The fact that I can be in a
situation I hate and fear so much, that I thanks to this man lead the
life of a completely and utterly subjugated slave, a shit eating torture
puppet, yet cum every time my torturer touches my cock, is my greatest
shame and obviously a fact that amuses him enormously. If I had just
half a chance I would rum creaming away from this man. I loathe and hate
every, little thing he has done to me, but his touch makes me rock hard
and the orgasms he produces in me are far, far better than anything I
experienced before. And I fear them. The very prospect of cuming makes
me soil myself with abject terror.
Chapter 4
I can't get hard anymore. I have no real idea of how long ago,
but recently the man's torture of my balls has increased dramatically.
As always he tortures my balls mercilessly after I cum, but not long ago
he stepped this torture up. While my cock still twitched from the orgasm
that had gripped it just seconds ago, he would kick my balls, beat them
with closed fists or even hammers or bats. As a result my balls have
become increasingly misshapen and are now oddly flat and lumpy. This in
turn means that I began getting trouble getting it up when he touched my
cock and my ability to get hard has now disappeared altogether.
My fear of cuming, brought on by the man's incessant torture after my
orgasms, has turned into near-panic at the thought of what he will do
now that I can't get hard. The last ten or twenty times he has fucked
me, I have been unable to get it up, and it's clear that this has made
him increasingly angry. The last fuck was the worst yet and as I crouch
in my corner of the dungeon, chained, hooded and gagged, I tremble with
fear as I hear the door close behind him. As always the fear gets the
better of me and I feel how my bowels let go. I feel my shit running
down the inside of my legs and how this stream is joined by the trickle
of piss since bladder control has also been lost in the terror that
engulfs me every time he approaches.
Not long after I crawl around on the floor, my tongue not missing a
single spot as I clean up after myself. After this revolting task,
things get worse, as they always do, and soon I again find myself eating
the man's shit directly from his ass. I smile with sickly gratitude as
he flushes away the last remnants of feces with his piss, acutely aware
that the man owns me and has me turned into the lowest creature on
Earth; a shit eating slave.
Today I sense cold and calculating fury in my owner, something that
makes me tremble and be strangely grateful that I have already emptied
my bowel, since the sight of him like this would otherwise be sure to
make me loose control.
He picks me up as easily as if I were a small dog, only a dog would
never be handled this brutally. He handled me easily enough when he
first grabbed me, but now his task is grotesquely easy. I am now very
thin from eating mostly shit and thus weigh almost nothing. I would
probably have died from malnutrition long ago had he not begun feeding
me "real" food; dog food that is. He did so only reluctantly with a
remark about how it was no fun porking my bony ass. Still, I am a very
skinny and hairless slave, permanently marked by the constant beatings
me subjects me to.
I am deposited in the hated chair and as I am strapped very securely
down, my legs spread wide, I begin to keen with fear at what torture
will come next. My fear turns to terror when he doesn't begin to fuck
me. This is very bad news. The fact that he is now seemingly
concentrating 100% on torturing me makes me babble pleas for mercy,
something I know only spurs him on, without being able to stop.
First he takes a very firm grip around my balls and pulls them as far
away from my body as he can, which is a considerable distance
considering that they are still attached to my body. As always the pain
is excruciating and my screams are predictable both in desperation and
ability to please him. A thin smile creases his cruel face as he holds
them there before proceeding. Then he takes a plastic strip, the kind
used for tying together electric cables, and loops it around my nut
sack. Using only one hand this is quite difficult, but he finally
completes the circle and pulls it as tightly together as it will
possibly go. Compared to the pain in my balls this is mild, but still
very noticeable.
He takes out a truncheon and starts beating my now sequestered balls. At
first the pain is unbelievable, but gradually is subsides to a throbbing
ache as a result of the lack of blood flow. By then I have of course
been reduced to a wreck, screaming incoherently with pain. I am deeply
and absurdly grateful as he brushes my mangled balls out of the way and
fucks my ass, deep and hard. This time he does not even try to
manipulate my cock, which lies limply against my abdomen.
When he pulls out I am stupid enough to hope that it is over, but I soon
realize that all up till now has only been a prelude to the main event.
I am momentarily mute with horror as I see the things he is preparing
for action: needle and thread and a scalpel. He is going to castrate me!
I find my voice and scream with terror like I have never screamed
before. He can't co this! It doesn't matter that I am for all intents
and purposes already castrated; my testicles mangled lumps of useless
meat hanging between my legs. Removing them is much, much more final.
And so I scream my head off. At least until he slaps me three or four
times and my vision is wobbly. After that I am again reduced to futile
begging and crying.
He places ice-packs on my cock and balls to reduce the blood flow and I
watch in amazed horror as he pushes a giant ice-dildo up my ass to
further cool down my lower abdomen. After a while I am shivering with
the cold and my pleas are garbled further by my shaking as I have no
teeth to chatter.
Then he takes out the scalpel and my pleas take on a new intensity, no
doubt pleasing to him as he smiles. He uses one hand to hold my balls
and with the other he leads the scalpel and in one quick swoop he has
separated my balls from my body. There is very little pain and I sit
frozen in horror as he throws away what remains of my testicles,
bruised, mangled and useless as they are now. Then he sows the wound
neatly back together, showing surprising dexterity, overhearing my soft
and hopeless crying and finally he removes the plastic strip and my
crotch is now smooth, the only protrusion being my limp and useless
cock, now a symbol of my status as a worthless slave shit.
But he is not quite finished yet. Using his rough fingers he grabs the
tender flesh on either side of the wound and pulls the flesh away from
my body. The pain is worse than ever before and I nearly faint as I
scream at the top of my voice, desperately and uselessly trying to
squirm away from the pain. Then it gets worse as he punctures my flesh a
pointed metal object. It goes in on one side of the wound and exits at
the other and is soon replaced by a sturdy steel ring, which he then
solders in place. Where I once had balls in my crotch I now have a steel
ring and this more than the pain makes me cry hopelessly. Naturally this
makes him horny and soon I am thanking him for castrating me by sucking
his huge cock. As always it is not so much me sucking as him pounding
his cock into my face and like always I am close to drowning in the
torrent of cum he deposits in my mouth.
Chapter 5
I no longer remember my name. It seems like I have been down
here forever, but I know that it has not always been so. Once I was
free, only I can no longer remember what that means. Like my name that
knowledge has disappeared and all that is left is forced sex and brutal
torture. Even shit eating seems natural now, even if it still disgusts
me. I simply can't remember a time when I didn't eat shit every day,
when my thirst wasn't quenched with urine or cum. A vague recollection
of what it was like to be able to cum, to have an orgasm, exists in the
back of my mind, but it gets weaker and weaker every day.
Being the man's torture and fuck puppet must be my function in life. I
can't remember a time when it wasn't so, so he must be right in treating
me like this. I still scream and beg and the pain and humiliation is
still intense, but this must be my purpose; to be the man's property, to
do with as he sees fit, no matter how painful or demeaning it is to me.
But it bothers me that I can't remember my name. Maybe I was once
different. Maybe I was once something other than a shit eating slave, a
fuck hole, a mutilation doll. Maybe I was once someone, instead of being
no one. But it is no use. I can neither remember my name nor my past and
I am resigned to being the man's plaything.
Not that the knowledge would help me much. I can never escape. Never. My
feet are permanently imprisoned in stiletto boots and although I have
learned to walk and especially crawl in them with a certain measure of
perfection, they are still no good for running or even walking more than
a few hundred steps. The pain is simply too much since they are so small
and my feet so damaged. My arms are even worse off. I can't remember
when he broke them for the last time, but ever since that time they've
been stuck in a back-prayer, permanently secured to the back of my
collar, useless and out of the way. They must be even weaker and thinner
than the rest of me.
Besides I am never left unbound when the man is not around. I am always
hooded and gagged and chained to the wall. Usually my slave ring, placed
where my balls once were, is also chained to the floor, further limiting
my ability to move and constantly reminding me of what I am.
I still evacuate my bowels at the sound of his steps, but that doesn't
mean much these days. These days my ass can't hold anything. He broke it
a long time ago, but again I can't remember exactly when. While I
remember vaguely what it was like to cum, I remember vividly the
sensation of having my balls tortured. And I recall that the only thing
good about having them removed was that he could no longer use them to
torture me. This was first of all untrue since he's constantly reminding
me of what I have become and of what I once was. So now their absence is
used to plague me. Secondly their absence only made him more inventive
when it came to other forms of torture. Like his outrageous fistings of
me.
The first time he fisted me I thought he was killing me. I could not,
would not, believe that something that big could fit inside me. But of
course it did. He wanted it there and so it got there, no matter my
screaming, begging or pleading. I have since realized that the first
time was only a gently probe and that his hand didn't even make a proper
fist. But that changed. When he fists me now, his arms is buried up to
his elbow inside me and I can see the bulge it makes move around while I
am robbed of breath due to the monstrous intrusion.
Of course my ass soon broke from this treatment and so my waste simply
drops out of me and I am powerless to stop it. But things can always get
worse and not long ago he put two fists inside, again convincing me that
I'd rupture this time.
He has managed to break my tiny and limp cock too. Another favorite
torture method is to insert a flexible, but very large diameter, tube
into my cock and push it as far up as it will go. Naturally pleased with
my screaming, he soon increased the diameter of the tube until I was no
longer able to hold back my urine. It simply trickles out of my broken
bladder, just like my shit dribbles out of my broken ass.
His fuckings retained their usual brutality and frequency, to such a
degree that I think that maybe they have been the main reason for me
loosing all sense of time. It seems that I can never rest for long
enough before he forces his cock down my throat or pounds my ass with so
much force that my breath is beaten out of me. His cock's incessant
pounding of my throat has even ruined my voice, so that my pleading is
now a hoarse whisper instead of a high-pitched cry of desperation.
Lately though, his beatings and fuckings have taken on an air of
indifference. It seems like I bore him. I can easily understand his
feelings. After all, what am I but a badly damaged, maybe even broken
toy?
And so I am absurdly pleased when the bull-whip finds my chained body. I
scream as best I can of course, but in truth I am glad that he's giving
me a measure of attention. I am sure that I once hated this kind of
attention, but this is the only kind of attention I ever get and he has
left me alone for so very long now. To feel the whip curl around my body
is to feel the attention of the figure that dominates my world
completely and no matter how painful it is, I am grateful for it.
He is pouring an unusual amount of energy into the whipping today, even
removing my chains so that I can try to crawl away and so that he has a
bigger area of my skin to target. As always it goes on forever, but
finally he stops and the only sound I hear is that of my feeble begging.
I am picked up and deposited on the table in the dungeon. My upper body
is strapped to the table and my ass hangs over the side, unsupported,
putting a terrible strain on my lower back. He removes my hood and at
the same time provides support for my back as his massive tool invades
me again. Involuntarily my stiletto-clad ankles cross in the small of
his back. Once I hated him and everything he did to me, but now he is
all I have, all I can remember, all I can think about. I am just his
beaten and broken toy.
As always he fucks me vigorously, long and deep strokes driving into me.
Once I had the capacity to enjoy this, but all that is left of that
capacity now, is a hateful steel ring in my crotch and a tiny, limp
thing lying against my stomach.
He's pace increases and his grunts become deeper and then, suddenly, his
hands close around my throat, cutting off my breath. He squeezes my
throat as tightly as he can and I begin a futile and panicked struggle.
My upper body tries to spasm, but can't because of the straps and my
head is pinned down by his hands holding me by the throat. But my legs
can move and I can feel them kicking in complete panic, flaying about
behind his back, occasionally hitting him. He is completely indifferent
to this and simply keeps up both the fucking and the choking.
I feel the blood rush in my ears and it feels like both my tongue and my
eyes are in the process of popping right out of my head. My kicking
becomes weaker and my vision begins to narrow. I see the man at the end
of a long tunnel and he is all I see, just as he has been all I've seen
ever since he took me.
My struggles have now been reduced to weak spasms in my body and legs
and I can no longer see. Far away I hear him grunt and the last thing I
feel as my legs twitch for the last time, is his warm cum spraying into
me.
THE END
2NN
If you liked the story drop me a line at story_2nn@yahoo.com and tell me
what you liked about it.
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