Martin found himself, eventually, falling into a routine. Before, when he’d try to lose weight, he’d always end up running into a wall of some sort, something coming up that was just more important to him than exercise was, and so he would skip the gym, and before long, abandon his resolution entirely. Now, however, there wasn’t anything else–there was just him, the Sergeant, the woods, and his punishing exercise. There was no work, other than the general upkeep of the house where they lived. There was no TV, there was no internet. On a calm night, the Sergeant would, at most, relax with a cigar, some bourbon, and a book of history, while Martin finished his chores–or more likely, sat at the Sergeant’s feet, polishing his boots, or servicing his cock.
The thing that he hated most, however, was that it was working. The weight fell right off him, and after three months, he barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror, fifty pounds lighter, without a hair anywhere on his body, with a bit of muscle starting to show under his skin. The sun was out in the Spring, and he was already starting to tan a bit. Satisfied that his charge was progressing well, the pace of the exercise slowed somewhat–that, or Martin was simply getting used to the punishing pace. Instead, Martin found himself spending more and more time with the Sergeant down in the dungeon, working on various other exercises.
The first time he went down with his Sergeant, he wasn’t sure what to expect. The basement was rather bare, with just a cement floor, the walls painted black, the lighting dim. The Sergeant collared him, then cuffed him, then put a blindfold over his eyes. After a few minutes, he was hauled up by a leash, pulled over to a cross on the wall and shackled there–and then the Sergeant pulled off the blindfold. He had swapped out his fatigues for a full leather military uniform, with a flogger in his hand–and he proceeded to whip Martin until he was begging for mercy. Only then did the Sergeant fuck his ass, still shackled there on the cross, Martin feeling the precum dribbling from his caged cock onto the floor under him.
The collar never came off after that–the Sergeant padlocked it in place. Martin begged him, pleaded with him to never to that to him again–the Sergeant just laughed at him, and that night, he found his cot was replaced with a mummy sack. After he was locked securely inside, the Sergeant placed headphones over his ears, and Martin spent the night listening to hypnosis, conditioning him for…well, who knew what. But the pain…he found himself enjoying it, more and more. The act of submission, the punishing workouts, seeing the smile on the Sergeant’s face after he’d served him well–outside, in bed, in the dungeon, it didn’t matter where. He…found himself wondering if he might actually be falling in love with his captor.
That, he decided, could not happen. Martin did his best to balance the knife’s edge, pretending to be the perfect slave, while keeping his own thoughts of resistance alive. Eventually, the opportunity presented itself–and he found a stash of chloroform while cleaning out the dungeon. That evening, while the Sergeant was reading his book, Martin got up to refill his bourbon, and returned with a cloth soaked in the drug, which he forced over the Sergeant’s face. The man struggled mightily. Thankfully, Martin was no longer the weakling he’d been when he arrived, or he would have lost easily–but soon the Sergeant was passed out in his arms, and Martin found himself with an aching cock inside his cage. Had…this turned him on? Really? He couldn’t quite process that–all he could focus on was getting the Sergeant downstairs, where he hauled him into a bondage chair and secured him in place.
But now what, exactly?
He was angry. Furious, really. He found the key to his collar, and he took it off–he felt naked, so naked without it, but free too, so fucking free! It took some searching, but he found the key to his cock cage as well, and freed himself. By then, the Sergeant had woken up from his nap, and was struggling against the chair, shouting and screaming at Martin to free him, or else he would be in for a nasty fucking surprise.
Use the poll below to select the final chapter in this story! After this next chunk, I’ll be taking a little time off from interactives to work on some commissions–the next one will start up sometime in March! Patrons have their bonus poll over here as well.