Orville rolled over in bed, waking up to a hangover, and wondered why in the world he’d drank so much last night. He knew better, especially now that he was older. Sure, retirement meant he didn’t need to get up for anything, but he just couldn’t handle his liquor like he’d used to. He reached up to touch his forehead and heard the jangle of chain, and with the sound came a crush of thoughts.

Just a worthless faggot slave…nasty old pig…pervert…serve to exist, serve your betters…young men…just a worthless old fuck…

They were overwhelming, but I fought against them pushed back, and when I regained my bearings, I discovered I wasn’t in my bed anymore–I was in the bathroom. I had a razor in my hand, and I looked at my reflection in the mirror, and my beard–it was gone. Not just my beard, most of my hair was gone too–I’d just shaved it all off. I dropped the razor in the sink in fear and stepped back, and the chains attached to the shackles still binding me rattled again, and the sound dragged me back under.

Waste of space…Good for nothing faggot bitch…whore, just a fucking whore for cock…

“No!” I shouted, but it was too late–I’d finished off my head, and done the rest of my body too–was still doing the rest of my body, in fact. I couldn’t stop myself, as my shackled hands shaved the rest of my pubes off around my short, worthless cock.

I don’t even deserve to have a cock, do I?

I shook my head, trying to beat the thoughts back, but my hands wouldn’t stop. They picked up the strange cage from the sink and worked it over my limp cock, securing it away so my betters wouldn’t have to have their vision spoiled by a disgusting erection on my faggot body. But I would need more–more to make me worthy of their service. I could see myself now, tattooed all over, and I pulled on my socks and shoes, still fighting, but only halfheartedly now. It wasn’t long before I would look like a worthless faggot slave, and I knew I would be thinking like one not soon after.

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