Product Placement
sheepfilms
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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Cosimo Galluzzi
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titsay
todays bird
oozey mess
Not today Justin
Keni
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Misplaced Lens Cap
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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noise dept.
art blog(derogatory)
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
ellievsbear
blake kathryn
seen from Namibia
seen from United States
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@anonymous2469
If you post AI content I will block you you. Stop being a moron and actually post content made by real humans. If you continue to post AI images and short clips you are literally saying real life interactions aren’t worth it.
Do me a favour. If you are that much of a loser block me before I block you.
The truck pulled into the farthest corner of the Silver Spur Motel’s cracked parking lot. Room 12 stood alone at the end of the row, where the building met an overgrown field. Perfectly isolated, perfectly quiet. Nobody would hear what happened inside, and nobody would dare ask.
Travis stepped out, the heavy duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his boots crunching on the gravel. The crisp morning air mixed with the faint smell of dew and asphalt as he paused to take it in. Anticipation tightened his chest. This wasn’t just routine—it was release.
The door to Room 12 was unlocked. Inside, the space was simple and clean but unremarkable. Beige carpet, floral bedspread, disposable cups wrapped in cellophane on the sink. The hum of the window AC unit filled the air.
Kneeling in the center of the room was the slave.
The leather hood clung tightly to his head, laced up the back and smooth across his features, save for two small holes at the nostrils. His hands rested obediently on his thighs, his body trembling slightly as he waited.
Travis dropped the duffel bag onto the bed with a heavy thud. He strode over to the slave, boots thudding against the carpet, and crouched in front of him.
“Look at you,” he said, his voice low and mocking. He grabbed the slave’s chin, tilting his head back so the hooded face turned toward him. “You’re nothing but a sewer pig. Filth. And today, you’re going to prove it.”
The slave whimpered softly, the sound muffled by the hood.
“Up,” Travis barked, his tone snapping like a whip. “On the bed. Now.”
The slave scrambled to obey, his movements clumsy but desperate to avoid punishment. Travis shoved him onto the bed and pushed him flat on his back.
“Arms and legs out,” Travis commanded, already unzipping the duffel bag.
The ropes came out first, thick and coarse, perfect for what he had in mind. He grabbed the slave’s wrists and ankles, tying each one tightly to the bedposts. The knots were deliberate, practiced, leaving just enough slack for a futile struggle. The position stretched the slave’s body taut, his head hanging slightly over the foot of the bed.
Travis stepped back to admire his work, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Perfect,” he muttered.
From the duffel, he pulled the Jennings gag. The polished metal gleamed in the light as he turned back to the bed. “Let’s see that sewer mouth of yours,” he said, grabbing the hooded face roughly.
He unzipped the small opening at the mouth of the hood and forced the gag into place, pulling the slave’s jaw open wide. The clicks of the device echoed in the quiet room as he tightened it further, ensuring the slave’s mouth was stretched as far as it could go. Spit immediately began to gather at the corners, dripping over the leather.
“Now that’s better,” Travis said, stepping back to light a cigarette. He took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl lazily around him.
He leaned down, tapping the ash into the slave’s open mouth. “That’s all you’re good for, sewer pig, at least for now.”
The slave gagged, his throat convulsing as the bitter ash melted down his throat. Travis chuckled, low and cruel.
“You’re pathetic,” he sneered. “But you’ll get used to it. Every drop of spit, every load of cum, every bit of dirt—you’ll love it by the time I’m done with you.”
He crossed the room and pulled a chair toward the foot of the bed. Sitting down, he propped one leg up, resting his filthy boot on the edge of the mattress.
“Now, let’s put that mouth to real use,” he said, smirking as he pressed the heel of the boot into the slave’s mouth.
“Lick,” he commanded, his voice cold and unrelenting. “Heel first. I want it spotless.”
The slave’s tongue flicked nervously against the rough leather, the taste of dirt and sweat making him gag. But he obeyed, dragging his tongue slowly along the heel of the boot.
Travis watched, exhaling a puff of smoke as he leaned back in the chair. “That’s right, sewer pig,” he taunted. “Every inch. And when you’re done with this one, there’s another waiting.”
He pressed the boot harder into the slave’s mouth, forcing his tongue to work harder against the grime.
“You know what this does to me?” Travis asked, his voice dropping to a growl. “Watching you like this—gagged, stretched, licking dirt off my boots. It’s like waking up a demon inside me. And you’re the one who feeds it.”
The slave whimpered again, his breathing labored through the gag and hood as he worked. Travis reached down to flick ash into the slave’s mouth, grinning as it clung to the leather.
“Keep going,” he said, pulling his boot back and propping the other one up. “This one’s dirtier.”
The morning stretched ahead, full of possibilities, and Travis intended to savor every single one.
——
Travis had drifted in and out of watching the sewer pig clean the heel and back of his boots. The rest of histhe boots needed the same attention but that’s for later he thought to himself. There was so many things left to do with the slave in this position that he couldn’t wait to do.
He tossed the duffel bag on the slaves chest. The thud made the him gasp for air. Travis dug around for a roll of duct tape and a clear plastic heavy duty bag.
“If you think that made you breathless, wait for what’s coming next” Travis said with a sadistic look in his eyes. The slave glared deep into Travis and knew what was about to happen. He started pulling at the restraints with futile attempt while Travis flicked the bag open. He loosely placed it over sewer pigs head and then grabbed the duct tape.
He pulled some of the tape from the roll and laid it in the middle of the slaves neck over the bag and started tightly wrapping it around his neck. Sewer pig started to breathe fast and heavy. “I’d slow down if I were you, if you take away the pleasure of this from me we will do this over and over until I’m satisfied” he said laughing almost uncontrollably.
On each inhale the bag started to suck tighter onto the leather hood. On each exhale it expanded less and less. Travis stood over top while lighting a cigar. Watching the life slowly slip away from the slave. Travis knew he had to give him air but not yet. He wasn’t close enough yet.
The slave finally stopped struggling and just before he took his final breath Travis ripped a small hole where the slaves open mouth was. A rush of air went into the slave and he started to breathe fast almost hyperventilating.
Travis took a big inhale of the cigar and blew it into the hole then closed it off with more duct tape. “Oxygen is only an option for you faggot, be thankful your suffering is more entertaining than the alternative.”
Round after round a hole was made, filled with cigar smoke, closed off and the slave kept slipping close to the edge. Travis cock was hard and was the only reason the sewer pig was allowed those brief moments in the cycle of air.
Eventually Travis needed to give the slave a different reason to be breathless so he ripped the bag off and with one thrust threw his cock deep down the pigs throat cutting off breathing. He watched his cock slide down the pigs neck and saw his cock twitching through his neck.
“This is another thing you are good for sewer pig, my cock and cum” at that point he started to fuck his skull harder and deeper but something was missing. “Oh ya. You aren’t screaming” he said. He pushed his cock deep into the throat and grabbed a tube of icy hot out of his bag.
He squeezed some out of the tube onto the slaves balls and cock. As he started fucking the faggots throat again he was stroking the icy hot onto his cock. The slave started to scream as his crotch was burning uncontrollably. The sewer pig was thrashing his arms and legs with what little movement he had but Travis kept thrusting deep down the slaves throat. This was not a time to stop but to push the limits of what the slave could take. “fucking useless faggot, I want to feel you SCREAMING on my cock”, Travis said, and with that he slapped the slaves balls as hard as he could. The slave tried to scream but all that came out with a muffled sound because travis had his cock so deep down his throat there was no place for sound to come out but it was a rush of vibration on his cock. Travis had never felt anything like it before but he wasn’t going to stop feeling it.
He kept slapping the slaves balls every time the vibrations slowed down feeling his whole cock almost being milked and stroked at the same time. There was also this feeling of suction that was almost pulling his cock deeper down his throat. The slave was starting to also gag and gasp for air.
On the last slap the slave started to have a full body convulse that made Travis also start to shake and his cock exploded. He felt his cum being pulled out of him like nothing he ever felt before. His whole body felt like it was being sucked into the throat of the sewer pig.
Once he was done exploding he pulled his cock out and the slave was a ball of flesh just laying there. Not moving but breathing heavy. Travis collapsed into the chair behind him breathing heavily. It was the best orgasm he ever had. He leaned over and spit in the slaves mouth. “We will be doing that again faggot, and again and again. You might finally have found your purpose for your existence”. The slave started crying uncontrollably. His mouth still wide open allowing his cries for mercy to echo throughout the room.
The bulb hummed overhead, throwing weak light onto the chair. The captive slumped in it—clothes torn, skin streaked with dirt. Beside him, the metal hood waited.
The door groaned open. Boots struck the concrete, steady, deliberate. He set a bottle of whiskey on the table, pulled out a chair, and lit a cigar. Smoke curled into the stale air as he poured a glass, the amber liquid catching the bulb’s glow.
“You’re filthy now,” he said calmly. “But we’ll fix that. The hood—” he nudged it with his boot “—that’s where it starts. Once it’s on, this doesn’t stop. Not for a long time.”
He drank, smiled. “That’s when the fun begins.”
The chains along the wall rattled faintly in the draft. He tapped one with his fingernail. The metallic ring echoed through the room. “People think chains are for holding. They’re not. They’re for reminding. You don’t forget where you are when steel bites your wrists.”
On the table, tools lay scattered. Not new. Not clean. He traced a finger across one, not lifting it, just letting the moment hang.
“The last man here thought he’d leave unchanged. He was wrong. The room remade him. He walked out… less than a man.”
The captive shifted, cords tearing at his wrists. His throat was too dry to swallow. Every word crawled under his skin. The smoke pressed inside the hood’s edge, mixing with the stench of damp concrete. His heartbeat hammered in his chest.
The man poured another drink, lifted it in a mock toast. “You feel it already, don’t you? The weight. The chains aren’t on you, but you feel them.”
The captive shut his eyes. The rattle of links grew louder in the dark. When he opened them, the man’s hand hovered above the tools. A hammer. A wrench. Something sharp. None lifted. Just waiting.
“You’ve already begun to change,” he said softly, leaning back in his chair. The cigar’s glow lit his eyes. “That fear in your chest? That’s the first cut. The room’s already working on you.”
The "cashmaster" fetish is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of
It's just prostitution with a twist
A real Alpha has money, he doesn't need yours
A real Alpha provides, he doesn't take
A real Alpha leads and protects, he doesn't bully
A real Alpha lifts you up and makes you stronger, he doesn't put you down
A real Alpha inspires your respect, loyalty, and obedience; not your cowardice.
And a good beta knows the difference.
I find it absolutely amazing that someone would make a comment about a fetish while at the same time promoting “white bros matter” which is a whole different level of stupidity.
If you don’t understand a fetish that’s fine but what works for some does not need to be understood by all.
I love when people steal my images
Permanent Bondage
My Master is a stickler for details. The lists and schedules that now define my life reinforce this, and that he is in total control of me: mind, body, and spirit. From our first encounter there was no doubt who was in charge. During initial discussions, he was very careful to allow me enough leeway to ascertain that I was committed to the choice I was about to make, but the contract that I would eventually sign would be ironclad, literally, and there would be no returning to my previous station once the document was signed. There were three meetings planned.
The first was in his living room, our initial face-to-face encounter after weeks of communication by e-mail. My first sight of him put me at ease.
Even before he spoke, there was wisdom and stability in his demeanor.
He offered me water, nothing else. We sat opposite each other on a large, soft sofa. We were both cautious, but both equally sure of speech.
He had many questions regarding my current situation and how I would be properly taking care of what he called loose ends. He wanted to make sure that I didn’t owe any money to anyone, or have any personal or legal ties that would interfere with transferring me into his keeping.
Slaves can be allowed very few expectations - it is the nature of slavery.
But he was willing to assure me that I would be kept healthy and clean.
The details of my servitude I would learn later, but there were three elements that were nonnegotiable… 1. I would effectively “disappear” permanently from my current existence, 2. I would be kept in naked bondage at all times, and 3. The arrangement would be permanent!
There were no pretenses, there was no physical contact; we talked only, and I was allowed to say anything and ask any questions. After a couple of hours of talking, we set the date of the next encounter, and I left, letting myself out. The second meeting would be in his dungeon. I would be allowed to see my future quarters, to view the bondage and training equipment, to study the contract I would be signing and, once again, to ask questions and clear up any doubts I had. We lived in the same town.
I had ridden the bus to the nearest stop, a few blocks from his house. I didn’t want to leave. I knew he was the one and I was ready to begin my slavery journey, but there was much work and introspection to be done. I would learn more as time passed of his thoroughness, his caution, and his dogged attention to endless details. His attitude toward my bondage was simple - once in, never out. We were both serious about this. For years I had fantasized endlessly about that click of the lock that would permanently “bind” me to my Master’s dungeon floor or wall. I even fantasized the collar or cuffs being welded or riveted into place. The bondage we were considering was permanent and we must both be very sure of our commitment. And so, during our second encounter, although
I was required to strip before entering the dungeon, there was no physical contact between us. The dungeon was in his basement. Simple wooden stairs led down from his kitchen. I followed him as directed. We reached the bottom stair and stepped onto a concrete floor. The basement was typical looking, long and narrow, a laundry area off to one side, numerous shelving units containing household supplies, tools, At the other end of the lengthy, rectangular room there was a large padlocked wooden door. Master stood to one side and had me stand and face the door. To this point he had not spoken. “This side of the dungeon door,” he spoke softly and slowly, “is something that you will only see twice!” I was engrossed in the massiveness of the door, the iron hinges, the solidity of it, and it took a moment for his words to register. I would see the door again for the last time on my third visit, at my incarceration.What lay behind the door would become my world, my existence.
Beside the door was a small table where I was instructed to leave my clothes. Master Rick stood patiently and watched as I removed my shirt, trousers, underwear, shoes and socks, and placed them neatly on the table. The floor was cold to my bare feet. My nakedness made the door seem larger. A simple cloth hood was placed over my head but left loose around my neck. I heard him unlock the door. He took my arm and led me in. I was instructed to take 5 short steps, then stand still. There was faint light coming from somewhere. Looking down, I could just barely see my toes from under the hood. The air was warmer inside the dungeon, the same concrete floor not as cold. I was then instructed to sit on the floor.
I sat cross-legged, my hands carefully placed on my knees, listening. The door closed behind me and I didn’t know if Master was in the room with me or not. I looked down at my dimly lit cock, which had been steadily achieving erection since I had walked through the wooden door. I knew instinctively not to touch. Master had made it clear in our first session that total control of my genitals, their pain, their pleasure, and all their functions, would be an essential component of my slavery! I wasn’t cold, but I shivered gently anyway from the solemnity of the moment! I lost track of time as one does in such situations. I tried to connect with smells and sounds as these were temporarily my only inputs. Other than the faint scent of leather, the air smelled clean. I became aware of some type of ventilation system gently and quietly circulating air - no other discernible smells - no other sounds - and only a very faint light evenly distributed around me.
The door opened and Master reentered - he HAD left me alone. He walked slowly toward me, stopping beside me. He removed the hood from my head and I saw for the first time my surroundings. I began to turn my head when Master said curtly, “Look straight ahead.” The back wall of the room was literally covered with every type of implement of bondage, restraint, and correction that one could imagine, all hanging from carefully placed hooks and arranged neatly. Soft spot light aimed downward cast a gentle but eerie light on the collection. There were the expected metal and leather restraint cuffs, handcuffs, leg-irons, metal and leather collars, spreader bars - several lengths - and one that looked adjustable; there was a shelf of dildos, some of metal, some of plastic, and a formidable one that looked like a policeman’s night stick, I assumed made of wood.
There were leather harnesses and straps lined up neatly, cleaned and polished to a fine shine. There were a group of shelves that held plastic storage boxes, the contents of which I could not discern. Master pushed me gently toward them the better to see. They contained an unbelievable collection of small clamps, connectors, locks, bits of chain and other assorted bondage paraphernalia - some I recognized - others I could only guess at their use. Master turned me around as he touched a switch on the wall.
The rest of the room became slowly flooded with gentle down light which came from recessed fixtures around the circumference of the otherwise dark ceiling. “I will leave you for a while now,” he said. “You may walk around, you may look, but you may not touch anything,” he added, and quickly left, closing and locking the door. I was certain that he would be watching me on a remote monitor and so I was uneasy as to what to do with my hands. I clasped them behind me and left them there as I walked around the room. Later on I knew that bondage would be employed to restrict my movements, including being able to touch myself, but now I would restrain myself voluntarily to demonstrate that I was earnest in this matter.
Yes, I was trying to impress him - we both still had the option of backing out of the deal. The point of no return for BOTH of us would be at the third encounter. The details of the transaction would be revealed to me later on, but it had been made clear to me that when I stepped through the door of this room again, if I chose to do so, it would be for the last time. For now, however, we were both still struggling with that final decision. He volunteered to me that he had never had a long-term slave. Like me, and most of us I assume, his encounters to date had been short - overnights, weekends, and a few week long encounters. Once he had a slave for a summer.
My longest session ever had been 4 days…all in blissful bondage. But he, like me, in his very core had always fantasized about a permanent situation, a full-time slave, true ownership, and TOTAL control. He, also like me, was fascinated by the idea of “permanent” bondage. I had spent many hours in self-bondage over the years, wearing leg irons, ball cuffs and the like, and pretending that someone else possessed the keys, engaging passionately in self-stimulation, and at the same time wishing there was someone in control who would not allow it; a Master who would allow me to ejaculate only at his whim, and according to his schedule; to be alternately “milked” mercilessly, then denied even an erection for weeks on end; or to be required to maintain constant erection, but NOT allowed to relieve it; to yield total control of my pain and pleasure to another! Now the prospect of my fantasies coming true caused me to shiver.
It wasn’t cold in the room, I was shivering from excitement. My cock continued to harden. The room was about 20 feet deep from the door to that back wall covered with implements and tools. It was wider by 1 or 2 feet, roughly square, with a polished concrete floor painted flat black. The ceiling was high, maybe 11 or 12 feet and completely black also. From its center, and from four more points equally spaced about the ceiling, there hung large metal rings, suspended on heavy lengths of chain about a foot down from the ceiling. I stared for a while at these rings.
They caught the light and stood out ominously against the opaque ceiling. They looked like they could hold an elephant I mused to myself, and I’m sure they’ll be holding me one day, I allowed myself to fantasize. The ceiling held the only lighting, a series of recessed fixtures circumvented the room and cast their light eerily downward, flooding the walls, and leaving the center of the room unlit by comparison. There was one more fixture in the center of the ceiling which looked like a traditional flood lamp, but it was not on.
I fantasized that it could be employed to spotlight the center of the room when something interesting was happening there! Everything I saw spurred rampant fantasies. My mind was racing. Every inch of me was tingling with excitement and childlike delight! The other three walls were basically bare except for numerous heavy iron rings positioned as various heights. I imagined myself chained to these rings, my legs stretched across the room and spread wide apart, a metal collar chained to the ceiling, arms stretched and chained to opposite walls! Chain and metal has always played heavy in my fantasies, and I could see easily that Master shared these fantasies with me. I could not have designed a more perfect dungeon to fit my bondage desires! I turned my attention now to the four corners of the room.
Each of the two back corners had large pieces of dungeon furniture. In one corner there were two items; a padded punishment horse, over which a slave could be stretched for whipping or ass-work, and, leaning against the back wall what seemed to be a portable work table or stretcher. It was basically a table top without legs, and it had holes around the outside edge, obviously for tying down a slave! I assumed that either it had attachable legs, or that it could be suspended from the ceiling when in use. The other back corner housed a traditional, but very elaborate leather sling. It was hanging from a hook high on the wall, but could obviously be moved to anywhere in the room as needed. In one corner along the door end of the room there was a commercial shower and wash area, a 3x3 concrete basin with 1 foot sides, and with a large drain in the center.
Overhead hung a hose with various attachments, one of which I was sure would be used to clean out my insides. There was a small shelf on the wall which housed what looked like enema equipment, soap, and other cleaning solutions. The corner walls behind the shower area had extra rings to which a slave could be attached and kept immovable. I fantasized being washed, shaved, and generally kept clean at this little corner facility.
There was no traditional toilet, and I assumed that this single drain would serve all my waste elimination needs. Near the shower area, at about crotch height, a single metal bar protruded about 18 inches straight into the room. It was obviously adjustable in height, but otherwise rigid. At its end was a heavy, chrome ring. The ring, upon closer examination had two halves which could be opened, but it was tightly screwed together with Allen screws - obviously a device for holding a slave’s balls and keeping him attached firmly to the wall at the same time.
Apparently the slave would straddle the bar with his back to the wall, and his balls would be encased by the heavy metal ring. There was but one corner left to explore. It alone was NOT well lit. Master had obviously wanted me to see it last. As I turned my attention toward its darkness and began to strain my eyes to see, a spotlight magically came to life and shined upon a metal cage.
Master WAS watching me and choreographing this whole scene remotely. The cage backed up against the corner, and as I examined it more closely, I could see that its bars were embedded in the concrete floor and that its two back walls were the walls of the room. It was a permanent fixture. Entry into the cage seemed to be on its top side. The whole top seemed to be on hinges, and there was an ominous hasp and lock on the side opposite the hinges. It looked awesomely stable and I longed to touch it. But I dared not.
Later on I might venture an occasional breaking of a rule in order to illicit the punishment I long for, but for now, I’d better not take any chances. After all, Master was watching. The cage was approximately four feet square. The bars, each at least two inches thick, were about five inches apart.
I could easily place my hands or feet through the bars. On the rear walls of the cage were numerous extra metal rings. I imagined me inside the cage, secured to the rear wall and with my feet and hands cuffed outside the bars. I wondered how much of my future time would be spend cramped inside this cage…would it be for occasional punishment only, or would it, in fact, be my new home? So far, as I have mentioned, Master only has spoken in generalities. “Details come later,” he always added secretively.
Of course, now as I took in all these dark and ominous surroundings, those details allured and tantalized me. My eyes reluctantly left the cage and followed along the side wall to a curious installment. Near the cage, about 3 feet from it, a single metal pole, about 4 feet in height, rose from the floor some six to eight inches away from the wall. There was an adjustable mechanism near its center, and a screw fitting at its top, obviously for attachments of some sort. It was bolted firmly to the concrete. There were two D rings welded on either side of it near the floor.
I literally shook, and for the first time, my hands came down to my side. I quickly put them up behind my neck. This was an impaler! I had seen these in online catalogs, and the photos had been a source of endless fantasizing.
The slave’s feet would be attached to the rings near the bottom. A dildo would be connected to the screw fitting on top, then adjusted upward and into the slave’s ass, impaling him and securing him immovably to the spot. Pre-cum dripped from my erect cock. I was mesmerized by this device and the fantasies it dredged up within me. Suddenly the door opened - my viewing session was over. I was instructed to sit on the floor again in the center of the room. I was handed an envelope with my name printed on it and the words, SLAVE CONTRACT!
A very bright overhead light came to life and I was instructed to read the document, taking as much time as I needed, and to indicate that I was finished by standing. I would be allowed to ask questions afterwards, but for now I was left alone again, with the envelope. Once again, the door was closed and locked! I sat naked on the floor and slowly opened the large brown envelope. Releasing the metal clasp, I removed the three crisp pages of the document that would define my future life. Thumbing through them I noted that there were numerous blanks to be filled in, and several places for both mine and Master’s signatures. I would be allowed as much time as I required to study it, but I would not get a copy to take with me as I had secretly hoped - and I dare not ask for this. I began to read…
SLAVE CONTRACT
To whom it may concern: The slave contract described herein is entered into on this ___ day of ___, in the year ___, and is entered into willingly and freely by the two parties involved. Upon signing, this contract is absolutely binding, and may not, under any circumstances, nor for any reasons, be either revised OR revoked. To this end, the Master, _____, and the slave, _____ both, with their signatures, will attest that the elements of this contract are understood and accepted. There are three components to this contract, each of which must be agreed to, and signed for the entire contract to be viable.
POINT ONE: The slave, ___ agrees to leave his former life, severing all ties, real or imagined, and to grant full ownership of his being, body and mind, to the Master, ___. Ownership shall be defined as follows: The Master will have total control and direction over the slave and shall own him outright. The slave will no longer have any rights or privileges other than those specifically granted by the Master. The slave will not make decisions or have opinions. The slave will not have possessions. The slave’s life and existence will be totally under the direction of the Master. The slave will be kept clean. The slave will be appropriately exercised, nourished and watered. Otherwise, the slave will have no guarantees and will exist completely at the Master’s disposal, and be guided and directed by the Master’s whim. With regard to POINT ONE, I, slave ___, do accept, and willing comply. slave’s signature and date: _____ With regard to POINT ONE,
POINT TWO: The slave, ___ agrees that he will be kept completely naked perpetually; that he will never again be allowed to touch any part of his body with his hands or feet without the Master’s express permission and direction; that absolute control will be maintained over his genitals, body orifices, and ALL body functions; and, that various bondage implements, and restraints will be regularly employed to enforce these requirements. With regard to POINT TWO, I, slave ___, do accept, and willing comply. slave’s signature and date: _____ With regard to POINT TWO,
POINT THREE: The agreement described herein, and entered into between slave, ___, and Master, ___, will be PERMANENT. It will not, and can not, ever be revoked or revised for any reason save the death of either of the parties involved. As a safety measure, two witnesses, who are associates of the Master, will witness and sign this document.
Both of these witnesses will have full access to the Masters house and property, and should the Master die, fall gravely ill, or for any other reason be unable to fulfill his portion of this contract, the witnesses shall assume joint ownership of the slave herein described, and they shall decide jointly as to his fate.
He may be moved to another residence, sold, or disposed of in any manner the witnesses find mutually acceptable. This agreement between the Master and the Witnesses is further outlined and attested to in a separate document, and is alluded to herein to allay any anxieties the slave might have regarding the future health of his Master. With regard to POINT THREE,
CONCLUSION: The involved parties, having thoroughly read and understood this entire contract, shall below affix their dated signatures, as guarantee of same, and that all parties fully accept the terms outlined herein:
After reading the entire document several times, I put it back into the envelope and laid it beside me. My thoughts were racing! Reading the contract was such a turn on. But I must be sure. I must be careful. I ran over and over in my mind, would I miss this, would I miss that? But my core slave self consistently took over.
My entire life had led me to this moment. I would go home and think some more before the THIRD ENCOUNTER, but I was sure that I was sure! I retrieved the envelope and stood up, and waited several minutes for his return.
The door opened and I was escorted out. I dressed at the small table beside the door. We went upstairs. I was offered water and asked if I had any questions or comments. I didn’t have questions, just an intense longing that totally consumed me. I looked him in the eye for some time. I needed desperately for him to touch me, to man-handle me, but that would come, according to his plan! He seemed to understand my need to search his eyes…for that is where the soul is. Perhaps his soul would mesh with mine…it certainly felt so. Perhaps I was making the right choice.
Ninety per-cent of me was sure. But I must be sure not to let my cock lead me into something that I would regret. I would have two weeks to wrestle with the other 10 per-cent. In one week I would return for the THIRD ENCOUNTER! I would strip, be bound, and become the permanent property of my new Master.
There was much to do, and much to think and fantasize about. I left his house and took the bus back to my apartment for the last time. We met, the four of us, in Master’s living room.
I eyed the two witnesses carefully, knowing that they were full participants in whatever future Master had planned for me, including inheriting me if Master died! After brief, perfunctory introductions, we moved to the dining table, Master indicating where each one of us should sit.
At my place there was that envelope I had seen on the last visit. My heart did the first of several leaps it would make over the next while…and so did my cock! They all sat the same way as if it were planned (perhaps it was)…their elbows informally laid on the table, their hands clasped before them, and gazing blankly, but seriously at me. I put my slightly trembling hands on the table on either side of the envelope, trying not to look too relaxed, and awaited instructions.
After a few moments of silence, Master produced a pen and laid it on the table beside him. Looking me right in the eye, he asked, “Are you prepared to sign the document?” “Yes…” I tried to say, but it stuck in my wndpipe and I only let out a pitiful squeak. Quickly clearing my nervous throat, I continued, “Yes Sir.” “Open it,” he said. I fumbled it open, laid the envelope aside and spread the contract out on the table before me. “Read it again,” he instructed. I did…
As I read through it carefully, for the last time before signing, pertinent words leapt off the page and sent pangs of both fear and excitement through my entire being: kept clean, Master’s whim, completely naked perpetually, absolute control over genitals, bondage implements, restraints… I made my way slowly through Point One, Point Two, Point Three, The CONCLUSION.
I was finished reading, but I hesitated for a few tense seconds, exercising my last little bit of control, but merely putting off the inevitable. I had already decided to sign. I swallowed deeply and slowly and, finally, looked up at Master indicating that I was through. He immediately handed me the pen. I took it in trembling hands and signed all the places indicated.
I pushed the document over toward him. He carefully inspected all of my signatures, signed it himself, and, in turn, passed it to the two witnesses. Their heretofore solemn faces now sported the slightest smiles. This had obviously been a tense moment for them too! But it was over. The contract was signed and witnessed and I was his and, in fact, theirs. “Wait here,” Master said to me, then escorted his two friends to the door. They spoke briefly and softly. I didn’t even try to listen. I was engrossed in my own briskly racing thoughts. What had I done? Was I sure? Too late! I could run. I was still dressed. I could “escape” out the back. But I sat and waited as commanded.
When he returned his demeanor was different. He looked at me sitting at the table. I thought that I should perhaps know what he expected, but I didn’t. “Stand up,” he commanded, not harshly, but firmly. He was taking command. This is what I had longed for. “Follow me,” he added tersely. I did. We stopped at the door to the basement. He turned to face me. I was following him so closely that I almost ran into him. Stumbling slightly, I regained my stance just in time, even though my knees had turned to butter! He put his hands on my shoulder to steady me. “Relax,” he said, “You’re doing the right thing.
Now, just trust me. Before we go downstairs,” he continued, “let me give you some instructions. Listen very carefully, you will only hear this once, and there will be no speaking for quite some time after this!” He paused. I regained my composure, looked at him longingly, and listened intently. I am his slave now, I thought. He owns me!
It felt good already, even though I didn’t know fully as yet what it meant. I would learn. “Initially,” he explained, “your captivity will consist of a transition period, with varying schedules and routines. You will lose track of time as you know it now. After this you will be settled into a regular, very detailed schedule. Nothing will ever be explained to you, you will never be made aware of anything other than what to do and when to do it.
You will learn through punishment and reward just what I like and what I expect, and when you have pleased me! There are two rules: 1. Never speak unless I tell you to!, and 2. Do what I say immediately and without hesitation. Do you understand?” “Yes sir,” I said, and my cock stiffened. He allowed me to continue to gaze into his eyes. I knew in that moment that he would sense all my needs, that I would not need to ask questions! I would work so hard to please him, but I would also welcome punishment for not pleasing him. I shivered again with delight. He lowered his hands from my shoulders where he’d kept them. He reached around me, pulled me to him and hugged me reassuringly. I loved him. “Alright then,” he said, “come, it is time.
I followed him down the basement stairs. At the bottom of the stairs there was a 5 gallon plastic utility bucket, unmarked and covered with a lid, and a small black satchel. Motioning to them, he said, “Bring these along.” I picked them up, one in each hand, and we walked the length of the storage space and up to the huge wooden door. The small table where I had placed my clothes had been replaced by a garbage can with a plastic liner. At his instruction, I put down the bucket and the satchel and began to remove my clothes. Getting naked was always a rush for me, especially if someone was making me! This was the last time I would strip. I did it slowly, savoring the rush, welcoming the coolness against my skin, the cold floor against my bare feet.
Putting my clothes and shoes into the garbage sent me over the edge. My cock was totally stiff now. Master looked at my cock, then looked me in the eye and said, “We’ll have to get that under control, won’t we?” I shivered again. He swung open the large door. I picked up the bucket and the satchel, and followed him inside. He closed the door and secured it with a huge combination lock. There was the answer to one of my questions; if I changed my mind and wanted to escape, even if I were not otherwise bound,
I would not have the combination to that massive lock. I was completely caught now, naked and locked in his dungeon. My knees were butter again, I almost fell from the weight of my load. He directed me to put the bucket and the satchel down, took me under my arms for support and led me over to the cleaning area. He directed me to step into the wash basin. I noticed a single chain hanging down from over my head. He cuffed my hands with simple metal handcuffs. He then operated a mechanism on the wall beside us which lowered the ceiling chain. The handcuffs were attached to the chain and pulled up just over my head. “Kneel”, he said, and, with some difficulty, I did.
Pulling my head forward, he wet my hair with warm water. He sat down in front of me, took out a razor and began to shave my head. I was weak with the joy of it. He was cleaning and shaving me, getting me ready to be bound into his service. It was a delicious sensation to know that I know longer had to make plans or have any concerns at all, other than to please him. I was now completely his! He shaved my head, and then continued down my body, carefully removing all hair, down to my toes. It was an unbelievable sensation to have someone else handling and touching EVERY inch of me.
I had been shaved before in scenes, but nothing like this. He was meticulous. The overhead chain was connected through a mechanism that could be adjusted by pulling either of two chains hanging against the wall. Like Venetian blinds, he pulled me up or let me down, turned me around, had me kneel, and adjusted me as necessary to accommodate his careful work.
When he had finished shaving me all over, he stretched me up tall, standing on my tiptoes, and stood back to admire his work. I turned around several times, balancing on my toes. He was viewing his handiwork, and surveying his new property. He lowered my hands to about chest height and turned me around, instructing me to lean against the wall and to spread my legs apart as wide as I could. Sitting on a stool behind me, he inserted an enema nozzle into my ass. From an overhead bag he filled me up several times, stretching my gut like it had never been stretched, forcing me to hold it, then having me squat and release. This continued until I ran clear.
I had never been so clean inside! Satisfied that I was clean, he stretched me upward again. He then washed me all over with soap, rinsed me and left me hanging there to dry while he busied himself in the back of the room. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but the tinkling of chain and the rustling of leather and rope kept me hard with anticipation. My hands tired quickly - my wrists were hurting, but blood was still flowing and I welcomed the slight discomfort as symbolic of my captivity.
When I was dry he lowered my hands and released them from the cuffs. I was naked and unbound in my Master’s dungeon, but not for long. He re-cuffed my hands behind my back and, while I was still turned around, he took what looked like a caulking gun and, inserting the tip into my ass, filled me up with lubricant. It oozed out as he turned me around to face him, feeling squishy between my cheeks. He then retrieved a small leather device from his pocket, a harness, which fit snugly around my balls, forcing them down into their sack, and separating them with a tight leather strap. My cock was left free.
It had been hard since I walked through the door. Master made no effort to control it. I wondered what would happen to my cock. Would he tie it up too? Would he contain it in an anti-erection device? Would he punish it for being hard? It longed for release…to be touched, but he ignored it! He walked across the room and adjusted the lighting so that the middle of the room was flooded, the periphery dark.
He directed me out of the wash basin and instructed me to lie on the floor with my head near a small black heavy-looking, drum-shaped metal object. A huge metal mallet lay near it. He position me with the metal object behind me and close to my neck, and pulled the satchel over toward my face. I shivered uncontrollably as he removed a heavy iron slave collar slowly from the satchel. He put it down on the floor at my nose and stood back briefly, allowing me to savor the collar. “Look at it carefully,” he instructed. “You will never see it again!”
As I stared at it and trembled slightly, the sinisterness of what he had just said bore down heavily upon me! I would not see it, but I would feel it, ever-present, around my slave neck! The collar was made from curved, solid metal bands, about two inches wide, and at least a quarter of an inch thick. It was hinged, and met on the opposite side with tabs that contained holes through which a lock could be placed.
On the hinged side there was a permanently attached length of heavy chain. The rest of the chain remained inside the satchel. Around the collar, equally spaced, there were four iron D-rings to which other chains, locks, ropes, etc. could be attached. It would be heavy, but I would bear it. I would have no choice. It would further bind me to him, a thought I relished. He lifted the collar and moved it towards my neck, pulling more of the attached chain from the satchel. I followed his hands with my eyes. The chain jingled. The D-rings jingled.
I lifted my head slightly as he unceremoniously placed the collar around my neck. It was cold, and immediately very heavy. It clanked slightly as he closed it and touched the tabs together behind me. He was fumbling with something behind me that I assumed was a huge lock.
It was not until he picked up the mallet and began to bang away at the small anvil behind me that I realized it wouldn’t be a lock, but a metal rivet that would keep the collar in place. My balls strained in their leather bondage, my hard dick bounced freely as I startled and shuddered from the loud noise.
My hands pulled at the cuffs behind my back. He had said “permanent”, but little did I know just how permanent he meant! He helped me to stand, and as I stood up the gravity of my new PERMANENT collar hit me. It would take much getting used to. I would never forget that I was wearing it. It bore down on my shoulders, still cold. It would eventually warm up to by body temperature, but it would never become lighter.
The attached chain extended from the satchel as I rose, adding to the weight of the collar. Master directed me over to the wash basin, and followed me carrying the satchel. He put the satchel down beside the plastic bucket and had me turn around. Sitting on a stool as before and spreading my legs apart, he removed the leather bondage from my balls and replaced it with a locking metal ball cuff attached to a small length of chain. He then removed the handcuffs and directed me to remove the lid from the bucket. It was about half filled with a white powdery substance. Master sprayed some water into the bucket, gave me a stick and instructed me to stir the mixture.
When the water was completely incorporated, he directed me to pick up the bucket and the satchel. I followed him to the center of the room, placing them beside a small square of cardboard on the floor. Master pushed the cardboard aside, revealing a round hole cut into the floor. Either the hole had not been there before, or it had been carefully concealed. In either event I had not noticed it. It was about eight inches in diameter and approximately twelve inches deep. My knees buckled under my load as I mentally pieced together his plan. Master took the chain attached to my collar and pulled it from the satchel.
At the other end of what seemed to be about a fifteen feet chain, there was a small, iron anchor. The anchor was roughly the size of the hole. His intentions were clear. He placed the anchor into the hole and instructed me to pour the liquid cement in to cover it. I poured, shaking as I did. I stood and watched as he smoothed the cement, removing the excess with a trowel. He placed a small metal frame over the hole which would hold the attached chain up off of the cement until it dryed, and directed me to follow him. I did, swinging the short chain from my balls, and dragging the long length of chain from my neck. We walked over to the corner which held the cage.
I was obviously going to spend some time in the cage, a thought which sent pulses through my throbbing dick. How much more adrenilized could I become???
We walked to the corner that held the cage. Master carefully led me with the chain that was attached to my collar, making sure not to pull against the still wet cement. I noticed when I stepped into it that the cage was slightler larger than I had previosly assessed it to be. There would be room for me to sit upright in it.
The top was opened and temporarily secured with a small hook against the wall. Master turned me facing the corner and had me bend over with my legs spread apart. He squirted more of the cold lubricant up my ass, then told me to sit in the corner with my back toward the wall. It was then that I noticed something that had not been there before, a LARGE dildo, bolted into the floor, out from the corner about 8 inches.
It was dark in color, perhaps made of rubber or plastic - I couldn’t tell. Master was patient and I took my time. I knelt facing it at first, getting a good close look at it. It was between 6 and 8 inches in length, pointed then tapered out toward the bottom to a narrow spot around which my asshold would tighten, essentially attaching me to the floor by the ass! Now I knew why Master had put so much lubricant in me. I’m no virgin, but it took some time for me to get the thing completely in me. Master gave me no instructions except to “sit on it”, so I squatted, held onto the upper edge of the cage and slowly lowered myself onto the dildo, gradually moving my feet forward as I took in more and more of it. I had to raise up and try again several times before I could get my asshole to relax sufficiently.
Eventually my ass did relax, sucked in the monster, and closed down gratefully around the narrow section near the floor, effectively attaching me immovably to the floor. I lowered my hands and leaned back again the corner wall. It was very cold to my back. I wiggled slightly, feeling the fullness of the object within me, and realizing that I couldn’t move my torso in any direction.
I was held fast to the floor. Before I had much time to think about it, Master took my feet, spread them apart, and placed them into iron stocks. The implement consisted of two metal bands with curved sections at either end that, when closed together, formed ankle cuffs. The device screwed together at three places, by each ankle, and in the center.
Each of the screws was topped with an eye hook. Master then connected a short length of chain from each eye hook to the short chain hanging from my balls, pulling my feet back away from the bars of the cage and forcing my knees into the air and apart! This forced my back against the corner. Master then pulled two straps from behind me and used them to attach my upper body to the wall; at my waist, and at my chest. He then adjusted my collar so that the attached chain was in front, and using the D- rings on either side of my collar, he attached the back of my neck to the wall.
At the outside upper corner of the cage there was a narrow slot, just big enough to hold one link of the chain. He stretched the chain out from me until it was straight, then secured it into the slot. This would keep me from pulling on the chain and disturbing the still drying cement. Instructing me to keep my hands out of the way, he reached down between my legs and grabbed my cock…finally, I thought, he going to do something with my dick, but what? Holding my dick in one hand, he pulled a plastic sleeve onto it, securing it with a strap that went under my balls.
He used medical tape to tighten the device around my dick, especially near the head. I could still get hard, but not completely. On the end there was a small nipple to which Master attached a long piece of tubing. The tubing was long enough to reach across the room and empty into the basin drain.
I doubted that I would ever be soft enough to piss, but in case I needed to, I could. Another piece of tubing, slightly larger, was place near my mouth and taped into place. It led to a gallon jug of water just outside the cage. I would be watered and could piss all I needed to. Master obviously intended for me to be here a while! Only my hands needed to be secured. “Raise them up and place them against the wall,” he instructed, showing me where to put them. He slowly lowered the top of the cage and I could see two cut out areas along the edge, just the size of my wrists. The top of the cage barely grazed the top of my head as it closed down into place, securely locking my hands against the back walls about 8 inches away from my neck on either side.
For one last touch, Master connected a chain from the iron leg stocks to the outside corner of the cage, pulling my feet forward as far as they would go and slightly stretching my balls. My knees were free - but not for long - Master tied a bungee cord loosely around each knee and pulled them apart, securing them to the bars of the cage.
I could stretch my legs slightly for a little exercise, but they were always quickly pulled back by the bungee cord. He left the light on in the center of the room. I could only sit still, impaled by the dildo, strapped helplessly to the inside of an iron cage, and await his return. Master did one last check of all my bindings, checking for circulation.
I would obviously be there for a while. He reached down and fiendlishly pulled at my tits, mashing them between his fingers and twirling them relentlessly. My cock strained in its plastic sheath bondage. My asshole tightened around the dildo.
My balls pulled hopelessly at their iron bondage. My feet cramped, but when I wiggled them for relief, the chains pulled at my balls. I could only look straight ahead and watch the cement dry - obviously Master’s plan for my next few hours. He left the dungeon, closed the heavy door behind him. I heard the massive lock click, and faintly, his booted steps as he walked away.
My ass longed to rid itself of the monster. My hands, hanging helplessly began to ache. My balls were stretched and sore. Any slight movement I made pulled on the chains connected to them. My feet and legs cramped from being held rigid in one position for so long. My entire body went from uncomfortable, to sore, then to painful…pain that was unendurable, and yet I had to endure it! There were no choices for me any longer.
Master would decide how much pain I could take, and just what I could and WOULD endure! I lost conscientiousness several times. Each time I roused from pain-induced stupor,
I wished to be unconscious again. I wished most of all for Master to return and to release me from this cage. I knew full well that release from this current horror would only be replaced by some other horror. This was what I had longed for all my life - total slavery - permanent bondage. Whether or not I could “take it” mattered not in the least. I would endure it. I had signed the contract. I no longer had choices, and I had to learn to quit wishing and hoping. I would simply endure. This was my fate. To even mentally question this was futile.
This monster up my butt was there to teach me about futility, about hopelessness. The iron encircling my ankles and my balls were my new teachers. The collar around my neck was my guru, leading me to acceptance of the fact that I was now the property of another. My attachment to Master’s dungeon was permanent. I was now a part of the dungeon, cemented to its floor. I have no idea how much time passed before Master’s return. The water jug was empty. The cement was long dry. I had watched it turn color, from dark when wet, to a powdery white when dry.
The door opened. He paid me no attention initially and went to the center of the room to check the cement, removing the frame which held the chain and pulling with all his weight against the floor. He knew it was dry and that the chain was secure. This show was for my benefit. My dick sprang into action and labored against its bondage as I watched him. He walked slowly over toward me, looking at me without emotion. After standing and staring for a moment, he unlocked the top of the cage which released my hands. I couldn’t move them at first, then slowly, painfully, I lowered them to rest on my knees. I dare not touch anything else for fear of being punished - as if I were not ALREADY in pain. He released the iron from my ankles and disconnected the chains from the iron ball ring which he left in place.
The chest and waist straps were removed. “Get up,” he said, knowing that I could not without assistance. He placed his arms under mine and pulled me up off of the dildo. My ass stretched painfully as it came past the wide point of the monster. “Unscrew the dildo,” he added after I was fully standing. I thought I was rid of the monster, but apparently wherever I was going, it was coming with me. I knelt on sore knees and unscrewed the thing from the floor. I stood with Master’s help and stepped painfully out of the cage, wondering when I would visit it again.
We walked over to the wash basin where he made me stand still so that he could remove the penis sheath and the iron ball ring. I stood naked except for my collar. I leaned backward slightly to counter the pull of the heavy chain. He motioned me into the basin, and directed me to clean the dildo, and then to lay it aside on a shelf to dry. After several enemas, he washed me all over with soap and left me standing to dry. I liked very much the feeling of being completely naked except for my collar. After I was mostly dry, Master cuffed my hands behind me, then placed the dildo in my hands.
I was to keep it with me. I was then led me a small metal bowl on the floor near the door. I was apparently going to be fed. I was hungry. I knelt down and ate the tasteless, cereal-like mush ravenously. It was difficult to keep my balance, struggling on sore knees and balancing the dildo behind me, but I managed to eat all of the mush. I then drank some water from another bowl. Such was breakfast, or lunch, or dinner or whatever it was. I no longer had a sense of time. We headed back over toward the cage. My heart sank. I had had enough of the cage for a while. The neck chain pulled at me as I walked. Master lifted the chain to assist me. We passed the cage and stopped at the impaler, a simple metal rod rising from the floor.
My mind raced with joy and fear! I tried not to tremble as Master released my cuffed hands. I brought my hands and the dildo around to the front of me. Master instructed me to mount the dildo onto the metal rod. There was a screw fitting to accommodate it! He then had me bend over and, sticking the squirt gun up my ass, filled me with the lubricant. I knew what was coming.
Turning me around, he backed me toward the wall until I was standing over the dildo aimed at my ass. He reached over into the cage, retrieved the iron ankle stocks I had worn before, and screwed them into place around my ankles. Spreading my legs apart brought my ass downward. The dildo barely grazed my asshole. Next he put the locking ball ring back around my still aching balls. Should I complain? Should I ask for mercy? I dared not speak - it might make things worse!
My job was to comply willingly and to respect Master’s plan, whatever it might mean for me. After recuffing my hands behind me, he put the plastic pissing sheath back on my struggling dick. I enjoyed his touching my dick and longed for more, but Master had a plan for it I was sure! For now, I must be content to suffer bondage. He hung a light weight metal pail from my bound balls.
There was enough room between my spread-apart legs for the pail to swing to and fro. He then ran the piss tube into the bucket and taped it into place. My own piss would fill the bucket and lightweight would turn to very heavy. He put ear plugs into my ears and onto my head he placed a leather hood with no eye holes, only nostril ventilation and a hole for the water tube to be taped into place in my mouth. The hood laced up the back of my head, and around my neck. It felt good. He ran his hands lightly over my arms, checking for circulation, I guess. He cupped and fondled my balls and rechecked the penis tubing.
Then there was a long pause. I could not tell if he had walked away, or was standing near me. And then I felt his hands on my shoulders. He gently pushed me down onto the waiting monster. I sat down, slowly consuming its hugeness, pushing, stretching, until my asshole found the narrow spot and I was stuck. He then loosened the rod so that it could be raised, and pushed me up with it until I was barely standing on my heels. I was impaled, stretched upward by the ass. I could only stand there helpless, and drink water, and piss, and fill the bucket. How long would he leave me in this state? What difference did it make? There would only be some other fiendish bondage situation to follow, then another, then another…for the rest of my life!
Countless days and nights went by. I was no longer aware of time. My only focus was on my bondage which was never-ending. When the piss bucket hanging from my tender balls was full and dripping onto the floor, splashing onto my legs, Master came in, emptied it, and hung it there again to be refilled. I don’t know how many times I filled the bucket - several.
Then, suddenly, it was over. The bucket was emptied and not replaced. The impaler was lowered and me with it. I was pulled up off of it, my legs, hands, head, and balls released from their prisons, and led over to the corner wash basin. The slight stubble that had collected all over me was my only clue to time passed; around a week I judged. I don’t know what in me encouraged me to try to keep up with time. Why? There was no time for me in the traditional sense. T
his was obviously his plan, to obscure my sense of time. It was working. But meanwhile I would hang on to this only clue - the stubble of hair. It was a simple thing, but somehow I needed the connection with time reality. Otherwise I imagined that I would be insane. And maybe I already was? In my former life I had been a stickler for keeping to the schedule. I never missed a deadline in my 12 years as a journalist. The schedule was, I began to realize now, my former Master. I had simply exchanged one for the other.
The difference now was that I had zero input. I would be making no decisions. Whereas before I had focused on my creative output, I now was forced to focus ONLY on my bondage. The chain that pulled constantly at my neck did that. Hoods, ball rings, manacles, leg irons, dildos, would all come and go, but that collar and chain was on me for good.
Love it
ein Traum wird wahr, so sollte es sein
To be a good dom you must know what you do to a sub. So yes I know what piss tastes like.
Comment ur inferior slut’s name!
Humiliated Fuckdoll
Ugly Air headed Disgusting Pisswhore (I did first letter of first, middle and last name - and wish I had been born in May)
Useless
Adorable murder weapon
Can’t stop laughing at this!!!
75 Ways to Humiliate a faggot slave
Humiliation is an important part of every faggot’s training. When a Man humiliates a faggot, He’s teaching him humility (a faggot must remain humble and not allow his ego to get in the way of his ability to serve and obey superior Men), respect (a faggot must learn to show appreciation and esteem to superior Men) and obedience (a faggot must learn to cede all control to superior Men). Plus, it’s just plain fun to embarrass or shame a faggot sometimes — and faggots exist to amuse as much as they do to serve.
Unfortunately, faggots have very little shame. Therefore, it can sometimes be difficult to imagine new ways to humiliate them. With that in mind, I’ve created the following list of 75 ways for Men to humiliate Their faggots. Go forth, Men, and have fun playing with your subs!
1. Forbid from entering Your apartment on two legs – he must always drop to all fours and crawl in.
2. Make him kiss Your feet as soon as he sees You and just before he leaves You.
3. Forbid him from wearing clothes in Your home – Your faggot slave should always be naked in Your presence.
4. Every visit to Your home should begin and end with You paddling his naked ass.
5. Make him wear a butt plug and send him to the gym to workout — ensuring that he changes and showers in the locker room with the butt plug still in.
6. Cum on his face or in his hair, then send him out to run errands for You; make it clear that he’ll be severely punished if he returns and You discover that he’s wiped the cum off.
7. Call or text him at will and order him to piss his pants and send You a picture of it. If You do it when You know he’s out in public — at a bar, perhaps, or on the train during their evening commute home from work — even better.
8. If You choose to feed him, always serve his “dinner” in a dog bowl and make him eat it kneeling like an animal on the floor next to You while You sit and eat Your dinner at the table like the Man You are.
9. Make him serve as a piece of furniture — a footrest, perhaps, or a coffee table on which people can set their drinks — during Your next party.
10. Make him address You as “Sir” in public. He should already be doing it in private, but addressing You that way in public will take Your power dynamic to a whole new level. To kick it up yet another notch, make him call You “Master, Sir.”
11. Outfit him with an ashtray mouth gag and station him on Your patio for smokers to use during Your next get-together.
12. Spontaneously order him to jerk off to completion in front of You or others while locked in chastity; punish him if he doesn’t complete in a specified period of time.
13. Forbid him from using the restroom for the day and make him wear a diaper, instead. Let him know you’ll be inspecting the diaper later, so he’d better make use of it.
14. Make him beg permission to use the bathroom; if approved, forbid him from standing at a urinal – he must always sit and sit directly on the porcelain bowl.
15. Require that he always keep the door wide open when he’s using the bathroom at home.
16. Perform an unannounced strip search and/or cavity check in an unexpected time or place — out at a bar, for instance, or in the parking lot when You’re out running errands.
17. Piss or cum into his food; make him eat it while You watch.
18. When out in public, forbid him to walk in front of You.
19. Lock him in a cage naked during Your next party and let Your guests ogle at him like a zoo animal.
20. Make him give himself an enema while You watch.
21. Make him use the urinal in a public mensroom with his pants around his ankles; or, if he has to shit, make him do so in a stall with the door wide open.
22. Make him wear a leash and collar in Your presence. Or, even better, out in public.
23. Forbid him from making eye contact with You.
24. Forbid him from using furniture at Your house.
25. Handcuff him in places like gay bars.
26. Make him kneel in a public restroom with the word “toilet” written on his forehead.
27. Lock his cock in a chastity device.
28. Lock his cock in a chastity device, then make him change at the gym, the swimming pool, the beach, etc., with the cock cage on.
29. Make him service a set of number of Your Friends with video proof that is submitted to You before he can be released from chastity.
30. After months in a regularly sized chastity device, make him wear a smaller one so his dicklet shrinks even more.
31. Scold him like he’s a little boy.
32. Reprimand him in public when he does something bad.
33. Spank him in public.
34. Make him wear a T-shirt out to gay bars, sex clubs or similar that says “i’m a faggot,” or “slave,” or “pussyboy,” or “cumdump.”
35. Put him in a timeout, standing naked in the corner facing the wall for a period of time.
36. Spit in his face especially if it’s a loogie and make him keep it there to dry. Forbid him from wiping it off. Bonus to do it in public and he is forced to wear it all day.
37. Take him to the bathhouse with messages like “breed me” or “i drink piss” or “cocksucker” written all over his body in permanent marker.
38. Next time he’s eating Your ass, rip a fart in his face.
39. While lounging on Your couch, push Your underwear down around Your ankles and make me lay on the floor with his face in there.
40. Next time You take a dump, take Your finger — or even Your turd itself — and wipe a streak of shit on his upper lip. Demand that he wear Your shit mustache there all day.
41. Make him eat things out of Your ass.
42. Make him sleep on the floor next to your bed, instead of in the bed.
43. Train him to sleep in restraints, locked in a cage.
44. Slap him. Hard.
45. Pee next to him at the urinal when You’re out and about; turn and face him so that You piss on him instead of in the urinal. Laugh, and make him walk around with Your piss all over him.
46. Make him wipe Your ass for Your. Either with toilet paper, with his hand or with his tongue. All three are extremely humiliating.
47. Give him an enema and then take him on a walk around the neighborhood with it still in.
48. Whenever You need to use the toilet — at home or in public — escort him in with You and make him lick it clean for You so you have a pristine place to relieve Yourself.
49. Clip a clothes pin to his tongue and make him say “i am a faggot” 10 times until he’s drooling all over himself.
50. After you fuck him, hose him off with Your Piss.
51. Make him approach a stranger and “confess” something dirty and embarrassing. Like, “Hello, i’m a faggot, and i like to sniff Men’s asses.” Or, “Hello, i’m a faggot, and my cunt is filled with cum right now.” Or, “Hello, i’m a faggot, and i drink piss.”
52. Make him make animal noises for You on command: “Bark like a dog!” Or, “Meow like a cat!” Or, “Show me what sound a pig makes!”
53. Make him clean his cunt every time he shits. Pre-mix a cleaning solution for him to use — Your piss, perhaps, mixed with some dish soap — and store it in a spray bottle labeled “fag bath” or “cunt cleaner.” Make him display this cleaner next to the toilet in his home, where any guests are sure to see it.
54. Take him into a photobooth and make him pose for pictures with Your cock in his mouth, then walk away and make him leave the pictures for the next patron to find — not knowing who will find them or what they’ll do with them.
55. Make him approach a stranger at a bar, in a bathroom or at a sex club and beg for their cock, piss or cum.
56. Make him clean Your apartment – to further humiliate him, make him wear a bra and panties.
57. Train him to be Your urinal.
58. Force him to cook dinner for You and Your Friends, and then be Your waiter. Make sure that he’s on his knees at Your side, ready to serve when needed. To add to the humiliation factor, make him buy the food, take orders and clean the dishes/kitchen.
59. Make him service Your feet with his mouth – especially if Your feet are dirty.
60. Force him to service Your friends when They visit Your home.
61. Make him wash You, shower You, towel dry You, etc. his shower will consist of Your Piss.
62. Strap a dildo to his face and have him fuck You until You cum.
63. When you allow the faggot slave to serve You or give him the training he deserves, charge him for it – make him pay You for the opportunity to be in Your presence.
64. Photo and film the faggot slave when he serves You and post the files on a site dedicated to his humiliation.
65. Make him drink Your piss, kneeling at the trough in a men’s room; let Your friends know that he’s available for urinal service.
66. Require that he massage Your body until You are properly relaxed; punish him if does not make You fully relaxed.
67. Put a blackout hood on him after you place an ad for free blowjobs on craigslist – force him to suck off any of the ad respondents and film it.
68. If You wake up before Your faggot, wake him up by farting directly into his face/mouth.
69. If Your faggot wakes up before You, instruct him to wake You nicely by licking Your feet seductively, then service Your cock to completion.
70. Instruct your faggot to buy You a rim seat – then make him rim You for hours while You play video games, watch movies, etc.
71. Make Your slave do Your laundry.
72. Make him sit on dildos while You watch and laugh at him.
73. When out in restaurants together, order his meal for him – make sure it’s low calorie and small portioned while You order a full meal. Make him pay.
74. Attend festivals such as Dore, Folsom, Wet n Hot as a slave – naked, hooded, collared, plugged and chastised. Amp up the humiliation by removing the hood.
75. Make him wear chained nipple clamps like a woman.
This list gets me so worked up every time i see it.
Yeah - there are several good ideas on this list that have real impact to a faggot.
Some excellent ideas but I always say the most important thing is to know what humiliates Your faggot. Many of these I would love and not find particularly humiliating, some I would love eg. 11. Others would mortify me eg. 56. Good reason to work Your way through the list and see what works best so it can be repeated time and time again!
Thanks so much for letting me borrow your gimp for the weekend. I promise to return it in working condition.
Because IT is just an Object… that is why!
SUBMISSION - OBEDIENCE - COMMITMENT
Thank you Mistress
You know it makes sense, faggots.
FirstAmongMen
