Untitled

[celebsbyseb]

Ross

[hotfamousshirtlessmen]

[hotfamousshirtlessmen]

[bndjack]

The Dare - part 3

The Lockmaster’s Solution

The next night Ryder drove Jax back to the warehouse, the slave hooded and chained in the backseat the entire way. When they arrived, the Lockmaster greeted them with that same calm, predatory smile.

They sat down in the dimly lit office while Jax knelt silently on the concrete floor between Ryder’s boots.

“I can’t make him disappear completely,” Ryder explained. “His parents, my parents—they’re all friends. People would notice. School’s starting. I need him to function in public… but still be mine. Like an off-and-on switch. He goes back to looking like normal Jax when we need him to, but the second we’re alone he drops back into full slave mode.”

The Lockmaster laughed, deep and amused. “A toggle. I like it. Let’s do this.”

They worked on Jax for the next twelve hours straight.

The mind fucking was even more intense than the first time. Jax was strapped into a heavy rubber isolation chair, hooded, earphones blasting hypnotic loops while the Lockmaster and Ryder took turns reinforcing new programming:

• The Switch: In public or around family/friends, Jax would act mostly normal—talk, laugh, go to class, see his parents. But the second Ryder said the trigger phrase (“Down, boy”), Jax would drop into full slave mode: silent, obedient, horny, and ready to serve. Another phrase (“Back up”) would bring him back to semi-normal functioning, though the programming ensured he’d never truly be free again.

• Identity Rewrite: The once-proud straight man was conditioned to accept his new reality. Deep in trance, Jax was forced to repeat for hours: “I am Ryder’s boyfriend in public. I am Ryder’s slave in private. My holes belong to him. I crave his cock and his piss.” Memories of his old straight life were twisted into shameful, arousing fantasies that only made him harder in his cage.

Permanent Body Modifications

To seal the ownership:

• A sleek, permanent titanium collar was locked around his neck. It looked like a stylish, thick necklace in public—something a gay guy might wear—but it was locked with a hidden mechanism only Ryder could open. A small ring at the front allowed a leash to be clipped discreetly.

• His nipples and cock were pierced with heavy rings. The cock ring integrated with a new, more secure steel chastity cage that could only be removed by Ryder’s key.

• A small, discreet tattoo was inked just above his cage: “Property of Ryder” in elegant script. Another, a small lock symbol, was placed on the back of his neck.

• His ass was permanently plugged with a training device that could vibrate on Ryder’s phone command.

By the end, Jax was a drooling, broken mess—mind thoroughly rewired, body marked forever.

When they were done, the Lockmaster stepped back. “He’s yours. The cover story is simple: you two figured out you’re a gay couple over the summer. It explains the closeness, the shared place, everything. You’ll both sell it to family and friends. And the second you’re behind closed doors… he’s your slave again.”

Ryder looked down at Jax—smooth head bowed, new collar gleaming, body trembling with conditioned need. He felt a surge of dark satisfaction. He’d never been into guys before this summer, but owning this one—his former best friend—had unlocked something primal in him. He loved fucking that tight, trained hole. He loved pissing down his throat while Jax looked up at him with total devotion. He loved the power.

“I’m good with it,” Ryder said, pulling Jax’s head against his crotch. “We’re boyfriends now. And you’re still my slave.”

Jax’s voice was soft, broken, and happy in his new role: “Yes, Master… I’m yours.”

The New Normal

They drove home as an official “couple.” When they walked into the apartment, Ryder locked the door and spoke the words:

“Down, boy.”

Jax dropped to his knees instantly, the switch flipping perfectly. The proud man from before the summer was gone. In his place was a perfectly trained slave who would live a double life—boyfriend by day, owned property by night—for as long as Ryder wanted.

The summer had ended.

The ownership had only just begun.

The Double Life

The new arrangement worked perfectly. To the outside world, Ryder and Jax were just another college couple who had finally admitted their feelings over the summer. Their parents were surprised but supportive—“We always thought you two were unusually close,” Jax’s mom had said with a warm laugh. Friends bought it too. The small lock tattoo was explained as Jax’s commitment to Ryder. They posted a few carefully staged couple photos and life went on.

But behind closed doors, the switch was everything.

Morning Routine

Ryder woke up to Jax’s warm mouth already working him under the covers. Ryder would murmur sleepily, and Jax stayed deep in slave mode—smooth head bobbing, throat relaxed, taking every inch like the well-trained slave he was. After Ryder came down his throat and followed it with a long, lazy piss, Jax crawled to the kitchen to make breakfast.

While they ate (Ryder at the table, Jax kneeling on the floor beside him), Ryder liked to reminisce.

“You remember when you used to be straight? Always bragging about chasing girls, talking shit about how no one could break you?” Ryder chuckled, forking eggs into his mouth. “Look at you now. Bald, collared, swallowing my piss every morning like it’s your favorite protein shake.”

Jax whimpered, cheeks burning with shame and arousal. The cage strained painfully around his pierced cock. He kept his eyes down. “Yes, Master… I remember.”

“Good boy. Now thank me for reminding you who you really are.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Public Days

On campus, they played the part. They walked together, Ryder’s arm slung casually around Jax’s shoulders. The titanium collar looked enough like edgy jewelry that no one questioned it. Jax attended classes, laughed with friends, and even joined study groups. But Ryder kept the remote to the vibrating plug in his pocket. He’d buzz it during lectures just to watch Jax squirm and bite his lip.

One afternoon they ran into some old gym buddies. While Jax made small talk, Ryder leaned in and whispered, “Down, boy,” under his breath. Jax’s posture changed instantly—subtler in public, but Ryder could see it: the slight glaze in his eyes, the way his voice got softer.

Later in the car, Ryder laughed. “You used to be such a cocky asshole. Always trying to out-lift me, out-drink me. Now you’re my quiet little cock warmer. Does that make you hard, slave?”

Jax whimpered, nodding. “Yes, Master.”

Nights of Ownership

Evenings were when Ryder really indulged. The second the apartment door closed, it was “Down, boy” and Jax dropped. Some nights Ryder chained him to the wall frame and fucked him slow and deep for hours, reminding him between thrusts:

“You used to have your own bed. Your own clothes. Your own life. Now you sleep on the floor like a dog and wear what I allow. You’re never going back, are you?”

Jax would moan and whimper around the gag or Ryder’s cock, tears of overwhelming submission in his eyes, but his body always responded—pushing back, begging for more.

Weekends were intense. Ryder would keep Jax in full rubber bondage for hours, hooded and plugged, while he played games or watched TV with his feet resting on his slave’s back. He’d take the hood off only to piss in Jax’s mouth or make him recite his old proud memories before forcing him to thank Ryder for destroying them.

Deep into the Semester

Ryder never got tired of it. The contrast thrilled him—watching Jax act mostly normal in public, knowing that with two words he could turn his former best friend into a whimpering, obedient slave. He loved the power. He loved the sex. He loved owning someone who used to be his equal.

One quiet evening, after a long day of classes, Ryder had Jax kneeling naked between his spread legs. He stroked the smooth shaved head almost tenderly.

“You know you’re never getting rid of that collar, right? Even when we graduate. Even when we’re old. You’re mine forever now.”

Jax whimpered softly, pressing his forehead against Ryder’s thigh in total surrender.

“Yes, Master… I’m yours.”

Ryder smiled, satisfied. The coin toss had been the best decision of his life. And Jax’s old life was never coming back.

[celebsbyseb]

Noah

[celebsbyseb]

Ross

[malehub20]

DECLAN RICE

[hotfamousshirtlessmen]

[hotfamousshirtlessmen]

[hotfamousshirtlessmen]

[wherearethefitguys]

[blondeguysforme]

[hotfamousshirtlessmen]

[bndjack]

The Dare - Part 2

After the Fucking

Ryder pulled out slowly, his cock still throbbing as he looked down at the wrecked man beneath him. Jax was face-down, ass up, cum leaking from his stretched hole around the thick plug Ryder had shoved back in. The smooth, freshly shaved head glistened with sweat. Jax’s thick mustache was the only familiar thing left on his face—everything else screamed broken slave.

“Good boy,” Ryder muttered, giving Jax’s ass a hard slap. He unclipped the chains, yanked the leash, and dragged his former best friend to his feet. Jax’s legs shook, but he followed without resistance, eyes down, collar tight around his neck.

“Come on, slave. Time to go through your old room.”

Ryder led him down the hall on the leash like a dog. He pushed open the door to what used to be Jax’s bedroom. The familiar space still smelled like him—sweat, cologne, the leather boots he loved. Ryder’s grin widened.

“Strip the closet. Everything.”

Jax hesitated for half a second. Ryder yanked the leash hard, forcing him down onto his knees.

“I said everything. You don’t own shit anymore.”

With trembling hands, Jax emptied his own closet. All his favorite clothes—tight workout tanks, jeans that hugged his ass, the leather jackets he’d spent good money on. His collection of boots: heavy work boots, combat boots, the expensive cowboy pair he wore on nights out. Hats—baseball caps, beanies, the nice fitted ones. Ryder watched with growing satisfaction as Jax piled it all on the floor.

One by one, Ryder claimed it. He pulled on Jax’s favorite black leather jacket, checked himself in the mirror, then tossed his own old shirt aside. He tried on the boots, stomping around in them. “These feel good. Better on me.” He grabbed one of Jax’s favorite caps and turned it backwards on his own head.

“You loved this shit, didn’t you?” Ryder laughed, low and cruel. “All these nice things… mine now. You will wear exactly what I say. Nothing more. And most days? You’ll wear nothing at all except your collar and cage.”

Ryder stood over the pile, laughing harder as the reality hit him. “Fuck, man… I’m so glad I won that coin toss. You are completely fucked, Jax. Or should I say… slave.”

Jax stayed on his knees, silent, the weight of his new life sinking in deeper with every laugh from his old friend.

Ryder sat and pointed at the floor in front of him. Jax crawled closer.

“House rules, slave. Listen good, because you only get told once.”

1. No furniture. You don’t sit on couches, chairs, or beds. Ever. You kneel or you stay on the floor.

2. Sleep where I tell you. Usually on the floor right next to my bed, chained to the leg if I feel like it. Sometimes in the closet, the basement, or the garage if you piss me off.

3. Chastity stays on unless I want to use your cock as a toy. You don’t touch it. You don’t cum without permission.

4. You address me as Sir or Master. No more Ryder. No more first names. You’re below me now.

5. Housework is your life. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, shining my boots—your old boots. You do it naked or in whatever humiliating thing I dress you in.

6. Holes are for use. Any time, anyway. Mouth, ass, whatever I want. You thank me after.

7. No privacy. You piss and shit with the door open. I watch when I feel like it. You drink what I give you—straight from the tap when I say.

8. Attitude correction. Any backtalk, hesitation, or forgetting your place gets the rubber hood, the cane, or a long night zipped up in a bag.

Ryder leaned forward, resting a boot on the slave’s smooth head, pressing him down.

“You used to be my equal. Now you’re my property for the whole summer. Maybe longer if I decide I like you like this. Nod if you understand, slave.”

Jax pressed his forehead to the floor, voice hoarse and broken. “Yes, Master… I understand.”

Ryder smiled, feeling a dark thrill run through him. The coin toss had changed everything. And the summer was only just getting started.

The Summer of Ownership

The rest of the summer became a nonstop descent into total control. Ryder embraced his new role with a hunger he never knew he had. Jax remained locked in chastity, collared, and smooth-headed, his thick mustache the only reminder of the man he used to be.

Every morning Jax woke on the floor beside Ryder’s bed, often chained by the ankle. He started the day by crawling between Ryder’s legs and waking his Master with his mouth. After swallowing his first load of the day, Jax made breakfast, cleaned the apartment, did laundry, and polished Ryder’s (formerly his own) boots until they shone. He worked completely naked except for the collar, cage, and plug.

Ryder used him constantly. Quick throat-fucks during lunch breaks. Bent over the kitchen counter while dinner cooked. Long, rough sessions at night where Ryder fucked him for hours, sometimes while Jax was bound to the wall-mounted frame, hooded and gagged. Ryder loved pissing down his slave’s throat in the shower, making Jax thank him afterward like it was an honor.

Weekly Rituals

• Shaving Days: Every few days Ryder would strap Jax to the table and shave his head and face himself, keeping that smooth, vulnerable look. He’d edge Jax mercilessly during it, denying orgasm.

• Chore Slavery: Jax scrubbed floors on his hands and knees. He became an expert at boot worship—licking Ryder’s feet after the gym. Publicly, Ryder made him wear loose shorts with nothing underneath so he could grope his slave in parking lots or trails.

• Bondage Nights: Ryder used the rush-delivered gear constantly. Jax spent entire weekends zipped into heavy rubber sleep-sacks, locked in the closet, or suspended while Ryder played video games. Breath play, electro, forced milking—Ryder explored everything the Lockmaster had introduced.

• Mind Games: Ryder made Jax repeat mantras daily: “I am Master Ryder’s slave. My holes belong to him.” He took Jax’s phone and started replying to friends and family as Jax, keeping up appearances while the real Jax served in silence.

• Humiliation: Ryder dressed Jax in old jockstraps or rubber shorts and made him do yard work at night.

Ryder wore Jax’s clothes the entire time—his leather jackets, favorite boots, hats. It felt like wearing the skin of his conquered friend. The power rush never got old. He fucked Jax in every room, every position, and grew to crave the total submission.

As August bled into early September, Ryder realized he didn’t want it to end. Jax was perfect like this—broken, obedient, his. Going back to being “best friends” felt impossible. But school was starting back up for both of them, and their parents had already been texting about Labor Day plans and “how’s the summer been?”

Ryder sat on the couch one evening, Jax kneeling silently between his spread legs, collared head resting against his thigh. Ryder stroked the smooth scalp absentmindedly.

“I’m not giving you up, slave,” he muttered. “Not after all this.”

He grabbed his phone and dialed the number the Lockmaster had left him “in case you want more.”

The deep, calm voice answered on the second ring.

“Lockmaster here.”

Ryder took a breath. “It’s Ryder. The summer’s almost over… and I don’t want my slave going back to normal life. I like this too much. School’s starting, parents are going to ask questions. I need a plan. A permanent one.”

There was a low chuckle on the other end of the line.

“Interesting. Most owners eventually want to keep their property. Bring him back to me tomorrow night. We’ll discuss options. Full irreversible mind fucking. Permanent modifications. I can make sure Jax becomes exactly what you need him to be from now on.”

Ryder looked down at the obedient, broken man at his feet—smooth head shining, eyes lowered in perfect submission.

“We’ll be there,” Ryder said firmly.

He hung up, then tilted Jax’s chin up with two fingers.

“Looks like your summer slavery might be turning permanent, boy. How does that make you feel?”

Jax’s voice was soft, trained, and completely surrendered:

“Sir, I thought I was being set free soon?” Jax asked softly.

Ryder laughed and Scolded Jax for questioning him. “You will be whatever I fucking say you will be.

Jax returned to his submissive state “Thank you, Master… whatever you decide.”

The Lockmaster’s warehouse waited. And Ryder was ready to make sure his best friend never escaped the collar again.

[bndjack]

Blogging

This is Bram. He woke up strapped down hard to my heavy oak table in the basement, wrists and ankles locked in thick leather cuffs bolted to the wood. His mouth was stretched wide around a fat ball gag, drool already spilling down his chin. Completely naked from the waist down, his thick cock and heavy balls hung exposed and vulnerable between his spread thighs—mine to play with however I wanted. The bright overhead lights glared down on his sweat-slicked skin. His eyes were wide with panic, darting around the room as the reality crashed over him.

He started making desperate, garbled noises through the gag—pleading, apologizing, the same bully who once laughed while shoving my head into a toilet now reduced to pathetic whimpers. It was getting on my nerves. I stepped closer, grabbed his balls in my fist, and squeezed hard, yanking them brutally downward, stretching the tender sac away from his body until the skin went taut and white. Bram’s scream exploded around the gag, raw and animalistic, his whole body bucking against the restraints. Before he could draw another breath, I cracked my open palm across his face with a sharp SMACK. The shock snapped his head to the side and cut the scream off instantly. His cheek bloomed red.

“Take it like a man, Bram,” I hissed, leaning in close enough for him to smell the satisfaction on me. “You’re not in charge anymore.”

You see, Bram and I go way back. He was the fucking king of my high school nightmare—four long years of pure hell. Daily insults that cut deep, surprise wedgies that left me humiliated in front of everyone, brutal shoves and punches in the hallways, being taped naked to the toilet while the whole team laughed, or slammed into my locker until I couldn’t breathe. He made my life a living torture chamber. But something twisted inside me during those years. Every time he hurt me, a dark heat grew. I discovered that pain turned me on—especially when I was the one dealing it out.

It took years of planning, saving, and waiting for the perfect moment. But I finally got him. As he stumbled out of the local bar last night, drunk and cocky as ever, four hired professionals I paid very well jumped him. Despite still being bigger and stronger, Bram didn’t stand a chance against four hired thugs. They zip-tied him, hooded him, and delivered him straight to my door like the package he now was. I watched from the shadows as they finished securing him to the table—legs forced wide, upper body pinned flat, every inch of him helpless.

The moment the hood came off and he saw my face, his eyes filled with rage. He started thrashing and shouting muffled threats: how he was going to kill me the second he got free. I just smiled, stroking his exposed balls lightly with my fingertips, feeling them twitch.

“What makes you think you’re ever getting out of this, Bram?” I asked calmly. “You’re my slave now. Forever. Let me explain exactly what’s going to happen to you.”

This is his turn to suffer—just like he made me suffer. But I’ve added a delicious twist.

I run a small, private blog. Only about a thousand followers right now, but the community is loyal… and delightfully sadistic. The game is brutally simple: every single like, reblog, comment, or share on this post—and especially on the photos and videos I’ll be uploading of Bram’s torment—earns him immediate punishment on those fat, sensitive balls. Hard slaps. Kicks. Vicious squeezes. Alligator clips biting deep. Scalding hot wax dripped slowly onto the skin. Ice, then heat, then more pain. Needles. Weights. Electrodes. Nothing is off limits. I know many of you will reblog him multiple times just to watch him break. I’m also crowdsourcing new ideas—send your most creative, cruel suggestions in the comments. The more likes he racks up, the longer and harder he suffers.

Bram’s eyes were locked on the laptop screen I’d positioned right in front of his face, showing the blog post live. The counter was already ticking upward as early notifications rolled in. His muffled begging grew frantic, tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes. He shook his head desperately, as if that could stop the inevitable.

Too bad, slave. You don’t get a say. Your pain, your fear, your broken pride—that’s my entertainment now. And it’s only just beginning.

I picked up a thick wooden paddle from the table, letting him see it. The counter hit twenty likes. I grinned.

“Looks like the boys are already excited to see you cry.”

THWACK.

The paddle connected hard with his dangling balls. Bram’s body convulsed violently, a strangled howl ripping through the gag as his eyes rolled back. I gave him just enough time to suck in a ragged breath before the next wave of notifications came in.

This is going to be a long night, Bram.

And an even longer life.

Come on, keep those likes and reblogs coming. The more you give, the more he breaks. What should I do to him next?

[austinsfaggot]

Austin Mahone

[bndjack]

The Dare real

Jax and Ryder had been best friends since elementary school—now two cocky, athletic twenty-one-year-olds who pushed each other harder than anyone else. Jax was the taller one, broad-shouldered with a thick dark mustache that he’d started rocking after High school. Ryder had wavy brown hair, a trimmed beard, and the kind of easy grin that made people underestimate how competitive he really was. They were at the gym again that humid July afternoon, sweat pouring off them as they finished a brutal chest session.

“Yo, you hear about that guy they call the Lockmaster?” Ryder said, wiping his face with his tank top. “Supposedly some twisted fuck who takes dudes off the street and breaks them into total slaves in like twelve hours. Mind, body, the works.”

Jax barked a laugh, racking the bar. “Bullshit. Nobody’s breaking me in twelve hours. I’d wreck that dude.”

“Same,” Ryder grinned. “Guy couldn’t touch us.”

They both laughed… until the dare slipped out.

Neither of them could resist a dare. It was their thing.

“I dare you to go find him,” Jax said, eyes gleaming.

Ryder shot back instantly, “I dare you.”

Jax’s stomach tightened, but he played it cool. “Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll find him. Then when you lose the coin toss it will be three months of you being my slave for the rest of the summer if he actually pulls it off. But he won’t.”

They found the guy through a shady contact they had that weekend. The Lockmaster lived in an old warehouse on the edge of town. When they showed up, the man who answered the door was bigger than both of them—calm, muscular, shaved head, intense eyes. He listened to their stupid bet without blinking.

“Interesting,” he said. “One of you stays. The other leaves. If I break him, he belongs to the other for the summer. Full ownership. No limits.”

They agreed.

“How doe wee decide who stays” Ryder asked.

The man pulled out a coin and had then stand facing each other.

He yelled call it pointing to Jax.

“Heads” Jax yelled instinctively

The man flipped the coin and showed it to the tow men..Tails.

Jax was chosen.

Ryder clapped him on the back, trying to hide his excitement. “See you in twelve hours, slave boy. Don’t let him break you too bad.”

The Lockmaster shut the heavy door behind Ryder. Then he turned to Jax with a small, knowing smile.

“Strip.”

The breaking began immediately.

Jax was cuffed, hooded, and dragged into a soundproofed room lined with every kind of restraint imaginable. The Lockmaster didn’t waste time on conversation. Within the first hour Jax was strapped to a bondage bench, muscles straining, while the man methodically shaved his head completely smooth with a straight razor, then his face until only the thick mustache remained—it felt like a mark of ownership.

“You thought you were unbreakable,” the Lockmaster murmured as he locked a heavy steel collar around Jax’s neck. “By morning you’ll be begging to serve your friend like a good dog.”

The next hours blurred into a relentless cycle of sensory overload and mind games. Jax was edged for hours in tight rubber bondage, a thick gag stretching his jaw while electro pads tortured his cock and balls. Every time he got close, the stimulation stopped. The Lockmaster played “life-ending” fear games—tight vacuum bags, breath control hoods, near-blackout suspension—bringing Jax right to the edge of panic before pulling him back and forcing him to thank his new Master.

Hypnotic audio looped in his ears while he was plugged and fucked with progressively larger toys. By hour ten, Jax was broken and sobbing into the gag, repeating mantras the Lockmaster fed him: I am a slave. My body belongs to Ryder. My holes exist for use.

The final hours were pure psychological demolition. Jax was sealed inside a heavy rubber sleep-sack, completely immobilized, while the Lockmaster whispered future plans—how Ryder would use him, fuck him, own him. When the twelve hours ended, Jax was a shivering, dripping, mind-fucked mess. His head was freshly shaved smooth, his body marked with rope burns and ligature marks, and his eyes had that distant, obedient glaze.

Ryder’s Drive Home

Ryder drove home in silence, heart pounding. At first, he told himself it would just be funny—making Jax do all the housework, cook, clean, maybe some embarrassing chores in nothing but an apron. But the more he thought about it, the darker his mind went.

True Domination.

By the time he pulled into their shared apartment his mind was racing with ideas. Ryder unscrewed Jax’s bed frame from the floor. He dragged the mattress out and bolted the metal frame directly to the wall like a permanent bondage rack—chains and attachment points ready. He’d ordered rush-delivery bondage gear online while waiting: heavy leather cuffs, a thick rubber hood, chastity cages, a fucking machine, and several bottles of lube. The packages were shipped, same day delivery.

Ryder was straight. He’d never wanted a guy before. But the thought of his best friend—now his slave—on his knees, head bobbing on his cock, throat bulging… it made him rock hard. He kept imagining pissing down Jax’s throat while the broken man looked up at him with total submission.

Twelve hours later the doorbell rang. Ryder opened the door. The Lockmaster dropped Jax off exactly on time. Lockmaster gave some instructions to keep Jax compliant and left. The once-cocky jock was naked except for the steel collar, a locked chastity cage, and a thick rubber plug stretching his ass. His head gleamed under the apartment lights, freshly shaved. His eyes were downcast, cheeks flushed with shame and lingering arousal.

“Welcome home, slave,” Ryder said, voice low and thick with new authority. He clipped the leash to the collar and gave it a firm tug, pulling Jax inside. “On your knees.”

Jax dropped instantly, the fight completely gone. The twelve-hour breaking had worked.

“Do you know who owns you boy?”

Jax looked up at his best mate. The training and torture slamming into him. “You do, Master Ryder, Sir.”

Ryder’s hand rested on his best friend’s smooth head. “Good slaveboy. Housework can wait.. I have other plans. First… you’re going to show me how well that mouth works. Then I’m going to fuck you on that wall rack I built. And when I’m done, you’re going to drink every drop of piss I give you.”

Jax’s voice was hoarse but obedient. “Yes, Sir.”

The summer had just begun. And Ryder was already planning all the ways he would use his new permanent slave.