Tag: slave

“Wake up, number 416. It is time to begin your daily exercises.”

The man on the small bunk sat up and groaned, unsure of where he was…or even who he was. He was naked, aside from a padlocked piece of chain around his neck, and sitting up, he found himself in a small, cell like room, and went to the gated door, shaking it, finding it locked.

“416, begin your exercises, or you will be reprimanded,” the voice said.

“What–what exercises? 416? Is that me? Is that my name?”

“No speaking. Begin your exercises, 416.”

416 went over to the bag and found it full of leather gear and some rubber dildos. Of course! His exercises–how could he have forgotten? He grabbed a dildo and set it on a small stool found under the bed and began his squats, being sure to lift off the dildo completely between each repetition.

“Very good, 416. Master is pleased.”

Hearing that pleased 416 greatly, but he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t really sure of anything, really. But Master was happy–and that was the most important thing, and would remain so for the rest of his life.

Source: barebearnc

“I find that there are much better ways to encourage my clients to commit to their personal training with me. Now, the only clients I take are straight men, but the first hypnotherapy sessions embed them with two very specific rules for the program. First, that they must obey the orders of anyone with a lower body fat percentage than them, and second, to make things more interesting, I make it so they can’t perform, so to speak, with women until they reach their target weight. 

It turns out when you’re compelled to suck the cocks of all the jocks I train, that is some strong encouragement for those fatsos to loose weight. A few of them though–man, something happens in their heads. They reach a point where they’d rather suck cock than loose weight, and they just balloon into tubs of lard, and the bigger they get, the more submissive they become. I’ve had to take a few on as personal slaves, just because they wouldn’t stop begging for me to fuck their big asses in the locker room. Still, fat boys sure do know how to suck cock–I’m not complaining.

The hypnosis files had seemed like a funny and harmless gag at the time. Each of the fraternity initiates had their own file to listen to that would be active throughout the week–files where the frat members could make them act like chickens or fall asleep in class–but a file which made him act out whatever he was wearing at the time? Terry didn’t see how that could be bad at all.

Well, really bad, if you’re rushing a wild and crazy frat like Phi Sigma Eta. No one had told him that he wouldn’t be able to put on or take off clothes by himself, and so he was helpless as the brothers dressed him up in a diaper and a leather collar, making him their personal slave and incapable of keeping in his piss or his shit. He’d worn that nasty diaper for the entire week, and licked every one of his brother’s feet in the meantime, but the worst punishment was when they put a pig mask on him, forcing him to crawl around on all fours, grunting and squealing like an animal the whole night long.

Of course, the frat had promised that the effects would wear off at the end of the week, but for Terry, he wasn’t so lucky. Sure, he wasn’t affected by any new clothing, and he was free to dress himself, everything he’d worn that week had left effects which were impossible to reverse. He was forced to wear diapers out of necessity now, and couldn’t disobey a direct order by one of his brothers–causing quite a few of them to call in sexual favors when their girlfriends were angry or on the rag. Worse, there were times, especially when he got drunk, when he couldn’t stop acting like a real pig. Hell, a few times in class he’d started crawling around and squealing, unable to help himself. 

The frat told him they were sorry, and hired the best hypnotist they could find to fix his problem, but in reality, they had an entirely different goal. They watched the hypnotist put Terry under, and then start ingraining his new habits deeper into his psyche. When Terry woke up, he knew something was wrong when he found himself unable to stand, or even speak. Worse, he felt himself drawn to the hypnotist, and as he nuzzled the older man’s crotch, he pulled out his cock, allowing Terry to suck him off much to the glee of the rest of the frat.

Now, he was little more than a mascot, often kept outside in a small pen, diapered, collared and masked, grunting and helplessly begging for his masters’ cocks up his ass or down his throat. Even worse, he loved it–he really did. In his new mind, he could imagine nothing better than his new life as an incontinent, pig slave.

Source: faggotmaster

He keeps staring at you…you think. It’s hard to tell with those strange lenses in his mask. He’s watched you since you arrived at the bar, and the mesmerizing attraction you feel towards him is easily countered by his strange, not-quite-human movements. You decide to leave–but he follows you, grabs you and drags you into an alley, stripping away your clothes with amazing strength.

His red cock spews a strange, black liquid onto your flesh, and when you try to wipe it off, you realize it is latex which had already adhered to your body. He pumps more and more, coating you, bringing you under his physical control, and when all that remains uncovered is your mouth, he shoves in his cock and begins pumping the latex into your body. 

It is a strange sensation, feeling your stomach and lungs fill with fluid until they burst in your chest. No longer able to breathe, you sense, more than know, that you should be dead–but strangely you can still think. You feel the rubber flowing directly into you now, filling your chest cavity, coating your muscles–your heart pumping liquid rubber to every inch of your body for a minute before stopping all together. 

You sense that you are full, and yet still it flows, and you begin growing. The rubber pulses and bubbles under your skin before layering on top of your muscles and bones, expanding them to inhuman proportions, your veins bulging from your black, shiny skin. Your cock grows as well, dropping down and growing to nearly two feet long, with massive balls suspended beneath. They feel surprisingly heavy, and a moment later a strange liquid begins to pump from your cock–the fleshy pump of your own body. Only one part of you now remains–your brain–but not for long, you realize. Your new body is nearly complete–and the rubber is already creeping up and over your fleshy mind.

You imagine that it will simply coat it, but when the headache starts, you discover that it has no intention of allowing you to continue thinking. It is crushing you. Destroying your brain, turning it into pump to be discarded and replacing it with a small, rubberized computer. It isn’t much, but it need only regulate a few simple tasks. You no longer need to think–only obey. The red man removes his cock and the last rubber seals your mouth shut. You stand, the last of your humanity dribbling from your now hollow balls. They can now be filled through your anus with any liquid one might desire pumped from your massive cock. The master’s will enjoy pumping you full of their cum, before having you serve it to their prisoners and human slaves in training. You do not care–you only serve, and you follow your compatriot to your master’s lair, where you will serve for eternity.

Ned hadn’t had a very happy birthday yesterday. You see, as a greedy child, Ned had been cursed to receive a gift from everyone he met on his birthday–only it was never something Ned wanted. Well, he’d managed to avoid going out on his birthday–but this year had been a mistake. See–he’d paid a gypsy to protect him from the curse, and it had worked for a while–until he’d accidentally wandered past a gay leather bar. 

The sheer force of desire had overcome the gypsy’s protections, and before Ned could escape, he’d taken on so many gifts he could barely process them. Some were small, but others, like a fascination with piss and shit, or the need to have his mouth and face stuffed with filthy dildos–those were going to be harder to manage. He was definitely getting a refund–but that could wait until he’d found his master. He’d picked up a collar from some unhappy sub–and now all Ned could think about was servicing a Master Jordan. He didn’t look forward to finding out why the sub hadn’t liked his master–but Ned knew he was about to find out.

When my son told me he that someone was bullying him at school, I hadn’t imagined it would be a teacher. Apparently Mr. Wilson, his English teacher, was a bible thumping conservative–and as soon as he’d found out that my boy and I are gay, he’d started flunking him on nearly every assignment. 

Now, I’ve raised my boy right–he’s going to be strong, masculine man like his dad when he grows up, but while I knew he could take care of himself in a school yard brawl, I figured a more nuanced approach would be best here. I went in and tried talking like a reasonable man, but Mr. Wilson didn’t want to hear it, and the administration was no help…so I took matters into my own hands.

My son’s off at college now, and Mr. Wilson is in my basement. He doesn’t want to be there right now, but he’ll change his mind soon enough. I have four years to get him pretrained so I can hand the leash over to my boy as a present when he graduates. My boy’s first slave–goodness, how time flies.

Source: barebearnc

“Those…those are them?”

“Yep, two cubs, pretrained, and just waiting for a good Master. Can only sell ‘em as a pair though–the conditioning and training only took if we kept the two of ’em together.”

“Where…who were they?”

“Just a couple who wanted to play rough and try some new things, so I showed them the pleasure of complete servitude. You want to give ’em a try? I can tell they like you already. How about it cubs, you want to convince this guy to take you home as his slaves?”

“What–can they even talk?”

“They can–I just have them in pup mode at the moment–they’re easier to transport. Alright cubs, come on out, and give my man here your best.”

“Holy–they sure don’t hesitate, do they? Fuck…”

“Yeah, that one’s definitely the better cocksucker, however, his friend has an ass to die for, trust me.”

“How…how much were they again?”

“Five million for both. Shall I have my men set up a wire transfer?”

“I can’t believe…I’ll take them.”

“Very well. I’ll leave the three of you alone while I finalize the sale. Enjoy your new slaves, sir.”

The house was haunted, or at least, that’s what everyone said. No one in the neighborhood had ever seen the ghost themselves–but everyone knew the stories. The children made up their own tales to terrorize, gleaned from small, true details overheard from hushed whispers–the rattling of chains, the screams of pain coming from the basement. 

It never stayed vacant for long–a young couple would move in, convinced that with some hard work they could have the dilapidated old building looking good as new–and the price was always such a steal. They would move in, and the neighborhood would watch. The wife would leave within a month, driven away by the specter and their suddenly intolerable husband. They always became demanding–abusive, with a new desire for doggy style and the wife’s back door, yelling at empty spaces, spending days in the basement all by themselves.

No one knew where the husbands went. One day, they were just not there anymore, a new “for sale” sign up within a week, luring in another victim, another master to sate house slave’s endless desires.

Source: fagthing

Hank had been so wrong when he’d walked into the leather bar that evening, in his new, shiny pants and jacket, scanning the room. He’d imagined himself a master. He had thought that looking the part was enough to gain a slave–to gain respect. He’d been wrong–the Masters had been kind enough to show him that.

No, his place, where he belonged, was beneath them. Not next to them, on his knees like their many slaves, waiting to be called upon and served. No, he was lower than even them, only worthy of crawling along the filthy floor, licking up their spilled beers, piss and cigar butts, but most importantly, cleaning the filth from the bottom of their boots. 

They stepped on him without paying him any regard, and he bore their weight like a good worm, orgasming helplessly whenever their soles crushed his worthless groin. One day, maybe, one of these leather gods would take him as a slave. Perhaps, even later, he might earn the right to become a Master himself, but for now, he finally knew his place. 

Source: boytony

It was their first family portrait, Mark and Brian, the two daddies with their new beardslave, Joey. Their last beardslave, in a moment of resistance, had managed to get a hold of some sheers and cut away enough of his facial hair to gain back some semblance of free will, and had run off on them. Joey though–they could both tell he would be with them for a long time. They had been courting him for a while, through a community dedicated to bearded men. Joey had confessed that he’d always wanted a big bushy beard like Mark and Brian, but his genetics weren’t on his side, but Mark and Brian knew how to fix that.

He had been scared at first, they always were after the abduction, but once the daddies applied their special beard growth formula, he settled down. His beard was lush and full only three days later, and already he was wonderfully compliant. In a few more months, when his beard was long enough to reach his belly button, he wouldn’t have a single thought of his own ever again, a complete thrall to his ever growing beard.