Darren could not believe his luck – the 29 year old successful novelist had been looking for a place to hole up in and complete his fifth novel, sure to be yet another best seller in his string of literary offerings. While surfing through real estate listings for acreage properties high on privacy and as far off the beaten track as possible he came across what seemed to be the perfect opportunity. It was a small acreage, a hobby farm really that had long since given up any semblance of producing a significant crop, becoming instead a rental property for people like himself – looking to get away from it all. It was located 75 miles outside of Louisville, in rural Kentucky. The listing simply asked for interested parties to make contact my email for further details. It was relatively cheap, appeared to have all of the modern amenities including wifi, and was comprised if a main house – 3 bedrooms – and a series of outbuildings of various sizes and functions. His agent had suggested the website with the property listings, and once again, Kent had not steered Darren wrong when it came to advice. His agent was a former writer, never really made it big in terms of book sales and turned instead to assisting younger and perhaps more talented individuals in forging multi-million dollar careers with sales of tens of millions of copies. Interested in the property, Darren asked Kent to source out more details and get back to him as soon as possible. His publisher's deadline was approaching and he wanted to knock off this next manuscript in time for a pre-Christmas book release.
Kent Davis hung up the phone, swamped with requests from his various clients, all of which needed their particular issues attended to "as soon as possible". He had always had a soft spot for Darren Somer though – easy going and exuding effortless writing ability – he was easily Kent's favorite client and routinely received the lion's share of the aging agent's attention. With the detailed information on the Kentucky hobby farm obtained, he fired off an emailed reply to Darren, which ended with a query as to whether or not the author wished him to go ahead and secure the property for his exclusive use. The answer of course was yes, along with a reminder to ensure that the usual privacy protecting precautions were to be taken. This of course went without saying, and Kent Davis, like he had done many times before, executed a transaction for Mr. Devon Carlisle – a fictitious person complete with social security number and credit cards. This time it was the booking of a hobby farm in a little ways outside of the Kentucky urban sprawl, for a period of one year, paid in full up front with a healthy bonus on top of the rental fee to ensure total and complete privacy. No interruptions whatsoever. Devon Carlisle of course, was really Darren Somer.
Having been mailed the keys from his agent's Manhattan office, along with a map of the state of Kentucky, Darren had set off with suitcase and laptop in tow, to buckle down to some months of solitude and productivity. He enjoyed the peace and quiet of the open road, and having been a loner most of his life there was nobody's company that he enjoyed more than his own. He had long since cut off ties with his family such as it was – divorced parents who had never really had much time for each other never mind their only, and unplanned child. Having no siblings and no extended family to speak of, he had struck out on his own at a young age, and doubted very much if his parents were even aware of the success that he had achieved. Now a multi-millionaire, it didn't much matter to him if he ever laid eyes on them again. It had taken him three full days to reach his destination, but as he got closer and closer he began to enjoy the beauty of the Kentucky countryside. The private road to the hobby farm was somewhat well marked, but had he not had explicit instructions from Kent, he very easily could have missed it altogether. Once he left the main highway behind, the winding private road quickly gave him the feeling of being a million miles away – exactly the feeling he had craved. Having stopped for two full weeks of provisions, he would have no need of re-entering civilization for quite some time. He could feel the creative juices flowing already.
Little did he know that his secret identity was no longer secret at all, and that in as much as he had planned his seclusion as a means to finish his next book, another had been making plans as well – plans of a very different nature that would forever alter the life of one Darren Somer.
The farmhouse was clean and tidy, having been freshened up by the owner in preparation for its new and long-term tenant. It was a two-story red brick structure, with little in the way of architectural detail to make it stand out in one's memory. Clean, neat, non-descript. Across the yard from the main house lay a small barn, and further afield Darren could see some smaller sheds and buildings that he would investigate as time permitted. He parked the car on the gravel driveway, and let himself into his new home. It was perfect. Comfortable and compact, he decided to unpack all of his gear, have a hot shower, and get his computer set up while eating a light dinner. Everything was going to plan until later that evening, when the author's short-lived solitude was interrupted by the distant glow of what he was sure were headlights on his previously private road. He had JUST finished setting up his computer station when he noticed the lights, and it quickly became apparent that they were getting closer and closer, culminating with them arriving right in his driveway. The vehicle, an older model SUV of some type, was dusty and dirty from the gravel road, and Darren peered out the window as he watched a lone man exit the vehicle. Sure that he could see another figure in the passenger side, he contemplated his next move. Although he was no A-list celebrity, his recent success in his field had rendered him recognizable to anyone who still enjoyed reading over a night spent in front of the television or computer screen. He didn't have to answer the door, but his curiosity got the better of him.
As he opened the door Darren's gaze fell upon a thin man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties. Wiry and standing about 5'8" tall, he was hardly an imposing figure. "Can I help you" Darren asked? The only response that he received was feeling a hard object shoved against his abdomen, followed by a searing electrical jolt and the sensation of blacking out and falling to the floor. Having successfully tasered his prey, the thin man used his booted foot to shove the flail limbs of his quarry back inside the doorway before closing the door and getting down to business. He drew a pre-prepared hypodermic needle from his jacket pocket, uncapped it, and plunged it into the semi-conscious writer's left thigh. The fuzziness that pervaded Darren's head gave way to total darkness, as he slipped into a deep sleep induced by the assailant's drug. It would be several hours before he would awaken to an entirely new reality.
Stinging. Sharp pain. Heat and burning on the side of his face. Slowly becoming more and more aware of these sensations the effect of the drug on Darren's body slowly gave way. As his thoughts and his vision cleared, he became aware that he was being repeatedly slapped across the face. "Wake up!" he heard the voice shout. "Fucking wake up you piece of shit". It was the thin man, the one who had knocked on his door. But what happened after that? Everything had gone black...but he remembered the searing jolt of the stun gun. This asshole had tasered him! What the fuck was going on?
Moments after thinking this question, Darren tried to ask it out loud, resulting in merely some grunting sounds that were severely muffled and unintelligible. It was then that he became aware of the large object shoved into his mouth stretching his jaw so wide that it ached. Had he been able to see himself as his attacker saw him, he would have been horrified. Stripped naked, and duct taped into a wooden chair, silenced by a hard red rubber ball strapped into his mouth by a wide piece of leather buckled behind his head – thick strings of drool slowly stretching with gravity then breaking only to land on the exposed flesh of his thigh. How long had this prick been hitting him? What the hell was going on?
As his victim's eyes fluttered then opened completely, he stopped slapping the young man's face back and forth, waiting for the reality of his predicament to dawn on him. He could always tell when this moment had arrived by the look in the eyes. It went from inquisitive, to angry, to fearful. This was the look he liked. It was essential that they fear him. The best slaves were always produced when the property had absolute fear of its owner.
"Just stop trying to talk and listen you little shit. I am only going to say this once, and you definitely don't want me to have to repeat myself. I know exactly who you are – some hotshot millionaire writer without a goddamn care in the world. Well all of that is about to change. You now have one care and one care only – keeping me happy. If I am happy, things will go easier for you – if I'm unhappy, your miserable existence can be made into a living hell...which come to think of it will cheer me up to no end – so maybe you should go ahead and act like a damn fool instead of accepting reality. The reality is my boy, that you, are no longer you." At this point Darren started to grunt and mumble incoherently, and shook the chair as violently as he could; using any means he had available to demonstrate his protest to his current predicament. After his captor had allowed the writer to exhaust himself, he calmly walked around behind his victim's chair. He then used both hands to grab handfuls of the author's hair, yanking him backwards tipping the chair and slamming the 29 year old to the floor. Darren's skull impacted the hard wooden floor, and darkness once again threatened to overtake his consciousness. The pain of his attacker's booted foot slamming repeatedly into his chest actually revived him, only to leave him reeling from the pain of being stomped on with all of his assailant's might. Darren thought his ribs would surely crack and under such an assault, which lasted for what seemed to be an eternity. After about ten vicious blows the thin man reached down and once again by the hair, yanked his bound victim upright, with the chair teetering back and forth several times before coming to rest on all four legs. "Don't EVER do that again" his attacker ordered – and Darren decided to take the advice to heart, wanting to do whatever he could to avoid another beating.
"As I was saying" the thin man continued, "if you do what you're told and behave yourself, you can make this as easy on yourself as possible. Defy me or disobey, and believe me I will have no problem in torturing you and even killing you – you mean less than nothing to me and I wouldn't give it a moment's hesitation." Darren was starting to learn the depth of the trouble he was in, and he was starting to become truly terrified.
Over the following hour as the author ached in his restrictive bonds, drooling profusely with the rubber ball gag wedged into place, his attacker explained just exactly what was going on. His name was Clint, but he demanded to be referred to at all times as Sir or Master. He had been retained, employed if you will, to take this independent and wealthy young writer traveling under an assumed name, and turn him into an obedient total slave to be used, controlled, and owned by a superior dominant man. With the farmhouse and its seclusion having been secured for such a long time, there was no chance that the process of Clint achieving his task would be interrupted by nosey outsiders. The explanation Clint gave was chilling, and Darren became aware of the fact that what he cherished the most – his solitude, his loner lifestyle – was now going to prevent anyone from coming to look for him or rescue him from the clutches of this madman. What was worse was that basically nobody even knew he was here. His only hope was that his agent Kent would somehow come to his aid – but with explicit instructions NOT to disturb him – the likelihood of that happening was extremely remote.
With his future now explained to him, the author was left to stew as Clint spun on his heels and left the room. Darren could hear the sadist's heavy boots clomp down the farmhouse stairs as reality set in. Darren was in shock – too stunned to cry or get angry – just simply in disbelief about what he had heard. Someone had hired that madman to attack and abuse him? He mentioned that his job was to make a slave out of him...what the hell was he talking about??? Darren's thoughts were interrupted by what he thought was the sound of a car's engine starting up and driving away. The mind-boggling events of the day had thrown off his sense of the passage of time, and left him exhausted. Still bound and gagged, he drifted into a deep sleep as his head slumped forward onto his chest, his mouth continuing to drool uncontrollably.
"Wake up bitch!" Darren's head snapped back at the sound of his new Master's voice, instantly wide awake but still strapped into the chair. This time however, Clint was not alone. He had been joined by a much younger, and much larger man. "I see you've noticed Pete" Clint chuckled. The giant of a man gave no sign that he was even aware of the conversation going on as Clint continued to explain. "Pete here is my son, and he's gonna help me make you into the obedient little boy bitch that you oughta be. Pete was 28 years old, 6'5" tall, and weighed over 300 pounds. He sported a heavy thickset build, not muscular, but incredibly powerful, with a large firm belly, enormous hands, and size 16 feet. His head was shaved bald, and his eyes had a vacant look that gave the giant a sort of a boyish and simple appearance. He was wearing a faded pair of coveralls, a white t-shirt underneath that was straining to contain the bulk of his chest and belly, and he was busy unwrapping the duct tape holding the captive in place. Darren then felt Pete's meaty hands undoing the buckle of the ball gag, yanking it out of the author's stretched and aching jaws. He was then shoved out of the chair, landing in a heap at Master Clint's boots. "Now bitch, you can start yer training by licking your Master's boots clean" the wiry sadist ordered. Darren hesitated for only a brief instant, but is was long enough to feel an incredible pressure across his back forcefully shoving his face down towards the dusty workboots of his new Master. The force had been caused by one of Pete's big size 16's planted right in the author's back, pushing so hard that Darren's mouth was squashed against the steel toe cap of Clint's left boot. "Get to work" his Master ordered, and Darren had no choice but to obey. His mouth and jaw still aching from being propped open by the ball gag for so long, he slowly began to lick and clean the boots as he had been instructed. From behind him he heard a deep and demonic laugh – Pete – who would soon become the source of extreme terror for the captive young writer.
For 30 minutes Darren was forced to lick and clean Master Clint's dusty biker boots. Every time he hesitated or paused, Pete would force the slave's mouth back down to work with no mercy whatsoever. Clint laughed and enjoyed seeing the humiliation on the writer's face as he swallowed the dirt and debris from the soles of his filthy boots. He enjoyed even more watching his oversized simpleton of a son use his huge booted feet to force the slaves head painfully down to the floor, sometimes pulling his boot away so that Pete was simply squashing Darren's face flat against the floor. When this would happen the author would cry out in agony, giving his giant abuser a rock hard cock and the motivation simply to press down harder until the author thought his facial bones would snap. While this was going on Clint told Darren that they had been busy while he had been slumped forward sleeping in his chair. Pete and Clint had driven the author's car out into a secluded part of the country, along with all of the writer's ID, his current manuscript, and several changes of his clothes. Along the way they had picked up food and supplies for a weekend of camping – everything a single guy would need for a couple of days of getting back to nature. They had set up a campsite, built a fire pit, put some steak on the grill, and deliberately left garbage in such a way as to attract members of the local black bear population. Something that a rookie camper or city-slicker like Darren might do being inexperienced in this neck of the woods. To the authorities, it would look as though Darren had decided to relax in the great outdoors for a weekend, and had been dragged off to his death by the local wildlife. For all intents and purposes, to the world, Darren Somer would be dead. In truth, the writer's identity as it had been would be dead – reborn as a submissive slave being trained and molded into a perfect plaything, object, and sextoy for its Master. Since nobody knew where Darren had gone on his writing retreat – nobody would come to the farmhouse looking for him.
Hearing all of this made Darren's heart sink. He knew now that he had no recourse – no way to fight the two sadistic intruders who had invaded his tranquil country retreat. He would have to do as they said, comply with their orders, and either find a way to escape, or hope somehow that Kent would swoop in and save the day.
"Enough of that bitch!" Clint bellowed – announcing that it was time to get started on his real training in earnest. With that pronouncement, Pete reached down and wrapped the exhausted writer up in a bear hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him as he slung him over his broad shoulders and carried him from the room. Down the stairs they went, Clint bringing up the rear, talking the whole time about how he and his lumbering son would enjoy turning his sorry ass into mind-fucked turned out homo sex slave cunt who's only desire would be to serve and debase himself for his Master, or any men that he was given to for their use and enjoyment.
Pete lumbered down the stairs with Darren over his shoulder, and straight out the door. He walked slowly, and although the writer struggled as best he could to escape, the giant's arm around him was like an iron bar pinning him down – immoveable. It seemed effortless for Pete to control his captive, and the entire time he was carrying Darren off to his unenviable fate, he was thinking about all of the fun he was going to have at the sex slave's expense. The final destination was one of the smaller buildings near the distant edge of the property. Unbeknownst to Darren, the building had been under renovation for quite sometime. In fact, its new purpose was something that had been a long time in the making. Once inside, Pete dumped Darren on the floor in a heap with a thud. As he rolled over to sit up he got his first glimpse of the interior of the building – a building he would not leave for a very long time.
The writer was shocked into reality by the sound of the slamming of the heavy steel door. "Alright bitch – strip" Master Clint ordered. Feeling helpless, Darren slowly stood up, and began taking off his shirt and pants. "All of it slut". With a sigh of defeat, Darren slowly lowered and then stepped out of his boxer briefs – completely naked, exposed, and vulnerable. "Welcome to your new home", Master Clint announced with a laugh. "Your Master wants you fully trained by the end of the month – so we have a lot of work to do slut, and there's no time like the present for getting started."
With that Master Clint went to a wardrobe-type cupboard that occupied one corner of the room, unlocked and opened the door, and started to rifle through objects unseen to Darren as his Master's body was blocking his view. It did give the captive slave time to take in the rest of his surroundings. Darren was shocked by what he saw – the inside of the building was a solid concrete prison. No windows, lit entirely by bright but bare overhead bulbs. The floor seemed to be covered from wall to wall in some kind of thick black rubber matting, its smell pungent and permeating the air. In one corner a rain shower fixture dropped from the ceiling, overtop of a tiled section of the floor that sloped into an industrial looking grated drain. A spigot protruded from the wall as well, beside a black lockbox that was mounted next to it. Throughout the room were chains and slings and frames of all types – some mounted to the wall, and some free standing. All of it looked truly diabolical and if he hadn't been so exhausted by the day's events so far, he would have screamed. His perusal of his surroundings was interrupted by the return of Master Clint, the object he had been searching for dangling from his grasp. It was a gag – an iron ring wrapped in leather cord, with two broad leather straps used to secure it to the wearer's head. The gag was unceremoniously wrapped around the slave's head and tightly secured. The leather straps bit into the flesh at the side of his mouth, and the iron ring embedded itself deeply behind his lips, forcing his mouth to remain open in a wide "O". The gag effectively silenced the captive writer, not that there would be anyone within earshot through the thick concrete walls that would be able to hear him scream anyway. From the outside, the sex dungeon that now housed its captive occupant looked simply like a regular farm outbuilding.
With strings of drool once again beginning to drip uncontrollably down his face, Darren heard Master Clint bark out some instructions to his sadistic son. "Pete, it's time we got starting preparing this little cunt to be used good and proper. He's probably gonna resist us some at first, so why don't you soften him up and show him what's gonna happen if he decides to be disobedient."
That same demonic laugh that had sent chills down the slave's spine a little earlier once again rang out, and the huge 6'5" monster started to advance on Darren's position in the room. Being locked in this concrete prison there was literally no place to go, so the slave merely began to shrink away from the ever approaching Pete until he had been backed right into one of the corners. With surprising speed the behemoth reached out with one of his great big paws and wrapped his hand around the slave's neck. His hand was massive, and unbelievably powerful. Darren truly felt as though this massive simpleton could snap his spine without breaking a sweat. Darren had no time for any other coherent thoughts to run through his mind as he was yanked towards Pete's hulking frame, and the giant then placed his other massive hand right over the slave's face, gripping it like a basketball player would palm the ball. The hand around his throat was released, but the grip around his face was excruciating. Pete then began to squeeze...slowly...steadily...squashing the slave's gagged mouth and face in his iron grip. Darren tried to scream, but with the gag firmly seated in his mouth only a croaking gasp was audible. The more his captive's pain increased and became obvious, the more excited Pete became and the harder he began to squeeze. Just when Darren was sure that his face would be crushed, the giant released his grip, but followed with a clubbing backhand blow that stunned the slave and knocked him to the floor. With surprising agility the behemoth scooped his slave up, and placed him in a vicious bear hug, once again applying enormous amounts of pain through pressure. Darren could not breath, and started to struggle and wriggle as best he could as he felt the life being crushed out of his lungs. He was then thrown back against the concrete wall, and slumped down to the floor in agony. Kneeling down on one knee Pete grabbed a hold of the slave's hair, and dragged him up and over his bent leg facing up towards the ceiling. The middle of Darren's back rested on the giant's thigh, and with one huge hand on the salve's throat, and the other on his pelvis, Pete began to push down towards the floor with all of his might. It felt like Darren's spine would snap like a twig – the pain was intense, and with the gag in place it was a struggle even to draw a breath. The slave was absolutely exhausted, and the son had succeeded in following his father's instructions and softening the slave up. Darren was now well and truly broken – physically and mentally – the next phase was to begin the preparation of his body to be violated and tortured in the most extreme ways...a process that both Clint and Pete were looking forward to with sadistic anticipation.
"Let's start with its cunt" Darren heard Clint say to his son. We need him stretched and cleaned in there nice and deep. "You know what to do Son". The slave was thrown over one of the bondage benches in the room, and his arms and legs were securely fastened to the legs of the apparatus so that his ass was stuck right up in the air. He saw Pete grab a jar from a shelf at the side of the room that appeared to be filled with some kind of grease – a generous portion of which was scooped out and slapped down like a dollop on the small of the slave's back. From there Pete stuck one of his big stubby fingers into the blob of lubricant, and started to smear it around on the slave's exposed and vulnerable asshole. Darren had never been touched there by anyone else, and he found the sensation to be decidedly unpleasant and completely violating. This feeling was taken to an entirely different level when he felt the giant simpleton start to work the tip of his finger into his hole, spreading the sphincter around his big digit as it buried itself deep inside the slave's ass. Right to the base Pete inserted his finger, before pumping it in and out roughly several times in a row. He then yanked it out, picked up some more lube, and repeated the process with two oversized fingers...then three...then all four of the fingers of his right hand were lodged in the slave's rectum – stretching it open to the point that Darren thought he would be ripped in half. Strings of spit poured from the captive's gaping open mouth into a puddle on the floor, and his whole body quivered in pain as the giant hillbilly repeatedly worked the four fingers in and out, twisting them as he did so, scouring the tender insides of Darren's previously pristine hole. Tears were dripping down Darren's face as he felt the wad of fingers being once again removed, and the giant paw of his assailant smearing around in the remaining grease on his back, coating the rest of his enormous hand. With pressure once again building and wedging open the slave's cunthole, Pete placed the tips of all of his fingers into the slave's warm wet insides, and the tip of his giant stubby thumb right on the centre of the now puffy asslips. Twisting and pushing he began the process of seating his entire, enormous hand all the way inside of Darren's abused pussy. The gag was no longer sufficient to silence the bound captive's screams, and a blood curdling guttural shriek exploded from Darren's throat as the widest part of Pete's hand challenged, and then overcame the defenses of the slave's abused sphincter. The massive hand was sucked deep into the slave's pussyhole, with Pete's thick wrist now propping open the anal muscle, causing it to blanche and stretch – slowly accommodating to the massive invader it had been forced to admit. Pete grunted and sweated as he started to shove and twist, working his hand deeper into the depths of Darren's now gaping rectum. Through blurry tearful vision Darren saw Clint over at the tiled corner of the room. He unlocked the black box mounted on the wall and removed a giant black dildo – very realistic – but much larger than any human cock could ever be. He proceeded to attach it to the spigot sticking out from the wall, protruding now like a huge black erection. Once it was securely fastened, Clint tried the valve on the wall that controlled the spigot. Water shot out in a stream from the head of the giant black cock like a violent never-ending climax. Content with the current set up, Clint stood up, walked over to where his son continued to fist and stretch the submissive bitch's cunthole, and told Pete to remove his hand so that he could be mounted and cleaned out over in the corner.
The bondage frame that the slave was mounted on had wheels at each corner that could be flipped down so that the entire apparatus could be moved around the room. There was also a hand crank that allowed for the entire arrangement to be raised or lowered to the desired height. As Pete cleaned the greasy lubricant from his hand and wrist, Clint wheeled Darren's immobilized body over to the spigot by the wall. Carefully matching up the height of the frame with the dildo secured to the spout, Clint pushed the frame back towards the wall until Darren felt the tip of the rubber truncheon against his previously virgin hole. Having been thoroughly lubed, and stretched out by Pete's giant paw, the dilated sphincter of the writer's anus gave way immediately. Slowly but surely Master Clint pushed on back on the bondage frame, seating the huge dildo deeper and deeper inside of his captive slave. Once fully impaled, the slave had 10 inches of thick rubber buried in his ass. "Now for the fun part" Clint cooed in Darren's ear as he slowly began to turn the release valve on the tap. "I think we'll start with a long slow cleanse, and move on to some high pressure washing in due time" the sadist stated as Darren began to feel a warmth spreading through his bowels. Slowly the volume of water being driven into the bound and helpless slave increased, until the telltale cramps began and Darren began to moan softly through his ring gag. Not yet satisfied, the Master and his simpleton son looked on with glee until Darren's abdomen began to bloat and distend with the amount of fluid it now harbored. Once filled to beyond capacity, Clint shut off the flow, but instead of letting Darren's insides purge the invading liquid – he kept the slave positioned exactly where he was, and jumped on top of Darren's back like he was riding a horse with no saddle. The extra weight on his back intensified Darren's agony, and once Clint started yelling "giddee-up" and digging the heel of his boots into Darren's sides, the slave nearly passed out. "Aww this just ain't quite right" Clint complained, and with that he hopped off of Darren's back and crossed the room towards one of the storage cabinets. Not to be left out, Pete then took hold of Darren's shoulders and began dragging him and the frame away from the wall by about six inches. With a ten-inch column of rubber filling his ass, this was just enough of a distance to provide the slave with a sense of impending relief...once he was slid right off of the dildo he would be able to expel all of the water that they had deposited into him. There was to be no final relief however, as the demonic laugh once again rang out and the behemoth shoved Darren's helpless body full force back onto the dildo to the hilt – six inches of thick rubber taken in a fraction of a second. Pete enjoyed fucking Darren's body back and forth on the spigot for a couple of minutes until the attention of both men was captured by the sound of jingling coming across the room. They turned to see Master Clint approaching with a wry smile curled across his lips. "How do ya like my spurs slut?" he asked Darren, who then noticed the shiny source of the jingling strapped to each of his Master's boots.
Clint mounted his would be pony once again, and this time proclaimed that now things truly felt as they should for a Master riding his bitch boy. "Giddee-up" rang out once again, but this time was accompanied by a slashing pain in each of the slave's flanks as Clint raked Darren's sides with the spurs. Repeatedly Clint threw his weight around on Darren's back and dug into his exposed flesh with his sharp silver spurs. By the time Clint was tired of the game, blood trickled from scratches and scrapes on Darren's body, and he was covered in a thick sheen of sweat. "All right Pete – empty him out and get em ready for a re-load would ya". Darren was slid from the wall until the rubber invader slipped from his abused hole, immediately followed by a torrent of shit-stained water that slithered down the drain in the floor. Clint changed the dildo on the spigot to a much shorter, but significantly fatter version, and the slave was once again connected to it by virtue of his younger Master unceremoniously shoving him back against the wall. There would be no slow agonizing filling this time however as Clint threw to valve open full bore and pressure washed the inside walls of Darren's rectum not once, twice, or even three times. Six times he was filled to the point of bloating, emptied, and re-mounted to be rinsed out until the water exited the same color that it entered.
"I think he's had enough for today boy" Clint said to his son as they stood back and considered the sight in front of their eyes. Darren was passed out – from both the pain and the exhaustion of the day's events. "We can carry on tomorrow – let's get him trussed up for the night and then we can go back to the house and relax". Pete untied Darren's limp body from the bondage frame, and removed the iron ring gag from his face. Slung over the giant's shoulder he was carried to a large flat table in the corner of the room and dumped on top of it. Clint lubed up a giant inflatable butt plug and worked it into Darren's unresisting hole. Once seated inside, the sadistic Master began to pump the inflation bulb until it reached its capacity. For the last few pumps Darren's unconscious form let out audible gasps in time with the final stages of the inflation. The plug in the slave's ass was now the size of a grapefruit, and would not be coming out until either Clint or Pete decided to deflate it. "He's definitely gonna feel that when he comes to" Clint said with an air of satisfaction. While he had been busy filling Darren's rear entry hole, Pete had been working on the other end. A thick rubber hood had been zipped over Darren's head, making his true identity a total mystery. Before them now on the table lay an abused, cleaned out, ass-filled rubber slave. The hood had a gag attachment much like the one used down below – and Pete pumped it up until Darren's oral cavity was just as packed and stretched as his rectal cavity. The hood was secured with a locking collar that was tightly fastened around the neck, complete with a shiny brass padlock to which Clint had the only key. Darren's hands were drawn behind him, and both arms were fed into a heavy rubber arm binder. Buckles and straps immobilized the slave's arms behind his body so tightly that the muscles across his chest were stretched tight. Pete then scooped the captive, silenced, plugged and hobbled slave up in his massive arms, and carried him to where he would be secured until his next training session. The giant simpleton deposited Darren's body into a steel container that had a one-inch square hole on each of its four sides. Once he had put Darren's limp body inside of the container, he grunted and groaned as he lifted the solid steel lid for the prison from the floor and dropped it with an ear splitting crash on top of the crate. The lid also had a series of one-inch square holes in it, as well as two hasps and locks on each of its four sides. Once secured by Clint, the slave was neatly locked away in a dark, cold, solid steel prison. His vision was totally cut off by the rubber hood, and his hearing was muffled by it as well as the walls of steel that now prevented his escape. The crate was not big enough for the slave to stand upright in, nor for him to fully stretch out and lie down. It was designed to inflict maximum discomfort, which is exactly what it would do all night until his captors returned for him in the morning.
As Clint and Pete locked the dungeon door and shut off the lights from the outside of the building, Darren was just starting to stir inside of his rubber and metal prison. For a brief instant he wondered if it had all been a dream...but then he felt the stretching searing pain coming from his rubber-invaded asshole, and he knew that it had all been too real. What on earth would he have to endure next?
As Darren spent an agonizing night cramped, stuffed, gagged and hooded in his metal prison, Clint and Pete slept comfortably in the main farmhouse that their erstwhile slave had paid for and stocked with food and provisions for weeks to come. They enjoyed the beer that Darren had bought, the food and snacks, and spent a leisurely night watching television – oblivious to the suffering that they had inflicted or would inflict on the pathetic young man that they had restrained in one of the farm's outbuildings. After sending off an email to Darren's soon to be owner with a progress report, Clint logged off of the computer, and headed off to sleep. In the dungeon, Darren tried to wriggle his body as best he could to find some small degree of comfort, and moaned softly into his gag as he cried himself to sleep out of sheer exhaustion.
It was 8am when Pete and Clint powered up the lights in the dungeon from the main power switch outside of the building. If Darren had been able to see anything from behind the heavy rubber hood in which his head was encased he would have known that the second day of his enslavement was about to start. As it was, the muffled sound of father and son laughing and chatting as they approached the metal prison that held their captive was the first and only warning that the author received.
Darren could hear all of the locks being undone and the hasps being folded back even before he heard Pete grunt and groan as he maneuvered the heavy steel lid of the confinement box off of the top of the cell. The first actual contact that he felt was Clint reaching under his shoulders and yanking him up into a standing position. Darren screamed in agony through the inflatable gag in his mouth as his cramped and locked joints were immediately forced to straighten after so many hours of imprisonment. Shaky on his feet, his upright posture did not last long as the giant brute delivered a clubbing punch to the slave's midsection. Doubled over the edge of the steel box, Pete then grabbed hold of the slave's bound arms and used them to flip him right out of the crate. As Darren landed heavily on the cement floor, he thought that one of his shoulders would surely dislocate. Matters were not helped any by Clint yanking and tugging on Darren's injured wings as he unfastened the arm binder that had held them fast all night long. Next the gag was deflated, and the rubber hood removed – the light was a blinding but welcomed sight for the abused author – he had never been a fan of the dark and being kept that way for so many hours had induced another level of fear in him that added to his submission to his two captors. There was still the matter of the inflated sphere in the slave's ass – something that Clint would ensure he would not escape quite so easily.
"Let's see here...I guess we need to empty the slut's cunt as our next order of business Pete. Whaddya say we have ourselves a little fun at the same time?" This was not what Darren wanted to hear. He was dragged over to the same bondage frame that had held him tight while receiving his multiple and severely punishing enemas the day before, and fastened just as tightly within its grip. From behind, Clint deflated and then re-inflated the invader several times - to give the walls of Darren's pussy a "fresh stretching" as he put it. Once this had been done several times, the sadist left it inflated about half way, still a sizable object on the internal side of the slave's battered sphincter. "Now look here bitch, if you want that plug out of yer snatch, yer gonna have to do the rest of the work. I wanna see and hear you straining to shit out that plug, and it ain't comin out until you pass it on yer own like a gigantic turd you hear?" Darren could not believe what he was hearing! There was no way that he could pass this huge lump of rubber that his abusers had left inside of him – no matter how hard he tried. Clint must have been reading Darren's thoughts, because he then supplied what he deemed to be motivation. "Here's the deal slag...either you pass that plug on yer own within the next five minutes, or we're gonna use this here speculum to open ya up so Pete here can go in and get it." Clint held up a veterinary speculum used to dilate large livestock – it's three metal projections looking like instruments of extreme pain from Darren's point of view. Immediately the bound author began straining and pushing – desperate to expel the semi-inflated rubber plug from his ass. From behind, Clint could see his slut's hole open and dilate, exposing the black shiny surface of the rubber sphere within, only to have it disappear and be sucked back in to the depths of Darren's rectum after each attempt. After a few minutes passed, Darren was gasping for air and covered in sweat...and Pete began coating the arms of the speculum with a thick layer of grease.
At first the intrusion of the speculum caused no pain or discomfort whatsoever as Darren felt Pete begin to slide it home into his ass from his perch on a low stool right behind the slave's ass. But as the instrument became wider, and continued it's journey inward it produced a painful stretch to the lips of the slave's hole, and drove the rubber plug further along his interior passage. Once several inches of metal were seated deep in Darren's cunt, the true stretching began. Pete started to slowly turn the screw on the speculum, opening its metal wings inside of the captive author's hole. Slowly but unrelentingly the muscle of Darren's sphincter was pushed to its limits and beyond – opening and stretching to an alarming girth. At it's maximum, the device held Darren's hole open to a diameter of 4 inches, and the slave was letting fly with blood curdling screams of agony that only served to amuse and encourage his sadistic captors. Once fully dilated, only then did Pete begin to leisurely lube up his massive hand so that he could enter his slave's back passage and retrieve the semi-inflated plug. Darren felt every wrinkle on Pete's big bear paw as it burrowed down the inside of the speculum and stretched him even further as it violated his innards. Once inside, Pete opened his hand wide, stretching the very walls of the slave's rectum before clamping down around the sphere of rubber and slowly pulling it out of Darren's ass. As the largest part of the whole arrangement backed out of his body, Darren shook with agony and had he been able to see his abused hole, he would have seen the very ring of his anus blanche and nearly tear as the hillbilly idiot and his prize finally exited taking the speculum along at the same time.
"Well I do reckon we are off to a great start for the day don't you agree slag?" Clint asked as he slapped Darren on the back the way one might do to a buddy or a friend. "Now whaddya say we get started on some lessons in how to properly worship yer superiors huh?"
Clint went on to explain that as a slave, one of Darren's main duties was going to be worshiping and attending to his Master's dick, and that he had it on good authority that Darren's new owner required a champion cocksucker. To that end, Clint figured that there was no time like the present for him to embark on what was sure to be a long and illustrious career as a personalized cocksucker. The bondage frame to which he remained secured, as Darren was already aware, could be raised or lowered to any desired height, and he now found out that with the releasing of one lever, the main body of the frame could also be swiveled so that instead of lying face down towards the floor, the slave was now facing up towards the ceiling. Unfortunately for Darren, the sight he was now looking up at was Master Clint's denim covered crotch, which the sadistic old fag was now rubbing lasciviously as he looked down at his bound and helpless bitch. Again it was like Clint was reading Darren's mind as he unbuttoned his pants and then lowered the zipper restraining his ample meat. "Now slut – if you think I am gonna risk putting my precious cock anywhere hear those teeth of yers, you gotta another thing comin." Darren had already decided that even if it ended up in his demise, that he was going to bite off this pervert's prick if he even put it anywhere near his mouth. That plan was clearly going to be foiled from the beginning. Clint continued to explain as he hauled out his schlong that until Darren had been fully trained as a human cum dump, that a series of gags would be used to ensure his compliance with taking whatever he and Pete decided needed to be put into his mouth and throat.
Darren was sure he had seen a similar contraption at his last and unfortunate visit to the dentist. It was a metal frame that seated itself behind the teeth, and could be ratcheted open to pry apart the jaws. Whereas dentists used it to prevent exhaustion on the part of their patients during long appointments, Pete and Clint were using it as yet another instrument of torture to inflict maximum suffering as they trained Darren as a complete sexual slave.
Once Pete had positioned and secured the gag in place, it was cranked open until Darren was sure his jaws would dislocate. The skin at the corners of his mouth was pulled taut, and blanched with a lack of blood flow from the severity of the position. The straining and struggling Darren tried to mount while Pete was preparing him for his father's meat served only to make the soon to be rapist rock hard, and through teary eyes Darren was now staring at a thick 8 inch mancock making its way towards his defenseless mouth. "Raise the bitch up another few inches son" Clint instructed, "I want her mouth at just the right height for me to rape her virgin throat." Once the slave had been positioned to Clint's satisfaction, he eased his prick home in one smooth movement – right to the back of Darren's. Just as the slave was starting to gag on the invader Clint set up a rhythm of thrusting in and out of his slut's "mouth-pussy" to the point where every inward plunge rammed a little bit harder into Darren's gag reflex, bringing up with it a thick coating of saliva from deep within the author's throat. "That's it bitch...get yer man's meat all slicked up with yer juices. Show me how badly you want me to shoot my thick load of cum right down yer gullet." Clint was now holding on to both of Darren's shoulders, and had his head slung back as he enjoyed the warmth of the captive cocksucker's mouth. As the strength of Darren's gag reflex began to wane, he could feel his rapist's cockhead make its way past the entrance to his throat, and deep into his throat itself! Clint groaned in satisfaction as he powered his hips forward and buried the entire 8 inches of rock hard manflesh into his slave's throat. He looked down and admired the stretched outline of his cock as is made it's way down Darren's neck – being turned on at the same time by the terrified and bugged out look in Darren's eyes as he struggled to breathe with Clint's cock cutting off his airway. "Mmmmmmm you like that don't you slut – the feel of yer man's prick all the way down yer mouth pussy. Just you remember that if you don't behave – I may just decide to suffocate ya this way y'hear?" Clint looked deep into Darren's eyes for an acknowledgement of what he had just said, and after a few more seconds without oxygen Darren nodded his head as vigorously in the affirmative as he could while being skewered with 8 inches of solid mancock. "Good girl" Clint cooed as he allowed his boner to recede out of the slave's throat affording him a chance to gulp in some much needed air as he coughed and choked and nearly threw up. "Now see that honey pie" Clint admonished, "that there is exactly why you need lots more practice". With that pronouncement Clint shoved his cock right back into Darren's throat, repeating the whole oxygen depriving scene all over again. For 30 minutes this continued, with Clint's cock being coated in copious amounts of thick white frothy saliva from the depths of Darren's esophagus – and Darren gagging and choking while trying to keep up with his assailants pelvic thrusts forward and backward. Finally, with a guttural roar and a violent deep penetrating stab, Clint's meat was buried to the hilt in Darren's throat as it delivered its climax directly into the captive author's gut. Darren could feel the shaft of his Master's cock throb and spasm as it expelled a huge payload of thick creamy cum, and he had nearly passed out from a lack of air by the time that Clint had come down off of his sexual high and pulled his penis clear of the slave's lips. "Whew" Clint exclaimed, "that is some snatch you have got in yer face there bitch. I am gonna enjoy feeding you some nice thick loads of man cum every single day that we're together darlin. I guess I better back on up now though – since yer only half way through yer training session in cocksuckin 101." With that Darren could see Clint slowly move out of view with his deflating cock being tucked back into his jeans – only to be replaced by the fearsome sight of Pete taking his father's place straddling the slave's restrained head and neck.
"I reckon we better raise the slut up a damn sight more for you son" Clint said as he finished doing up his pants. "Let me know when she's at a good level for ya boy." Darren was terrified. He had never so much as sucked another man's cock before today, and he had already been orally raped by the elder Master's substantial cock for the last half an hour. Clint was a well endowed man at a full 8 inches of meat that got as hard as a steel rod...but his beast of a son was something else altogether. Darren was now looking directly up at the biggest, ugliest cock he had ever seen. Pete was fisting and jacking his cock as he prepared to take his turn with the slutmouth laid out in front of him. Pete's cock was a true 11 inches long, and consisted of a large plum sized head bobbing on the end of a thick, veiny, lumpy shaft of pure masculine fuckmuscle. Tapering as it protruded out from the simpleton's abdomen, the base of the weapon looked as thick as a rolling pin. It arched forth and bobbed around like it had a life of its own completely separate from its owner. Blotchy and mottled it looked like it was actually continuing to thicken as blood flowed into occupy every bit of space within the cavernous column of flesh. Grinning, Pete reached down and placed his fingers on the controls of the dental gag still propping open his quarry's mouth. Darren pleaded with his eyes and tried to shake his head, but his attacker had no sympathy for the suffering he was about to inflict. In fact, it turned him on and drove his sadistic lust to new heights. Darren's jaws had accommodated slightly to the stretching of the gag until he heard the telltale clicks of his behemoth assailant ratcheting it open even further. Slowly Pete opened Darren up to create a gaping maw where the slave's mouth had once been. Such was the opening required to allow entry of the impressive tool that the giant rapist possessed. Tolerance of Darren's skin was reached and exceeded as the corners of his mouth began to tear ever so slightly. Small droplets of blood welled up on either side of the slave's expanded mouth, which Pete smeared around with his meaty index fingers just prior to shoving his enormous dong into Darren's mouth and throat. Where Clint had been slow and deliberate, Pete fucked with reckless abandon. He drove in and out of the slave's mouth like a jackhammer – prying open the author's throat and plumbing it to depths that had never before been reached. It took merely a couple of minutes of vigorous fucking before he roared like a wounded lion and began to pump out thick spurts of cum like a firehose. Only the first shot stayed inside of Darren's throat as Pete liked to see his whores covered in his seed. He pulled all the way out of Darren's mouth and placed his hands on his hips as his throbbing monster of a cock continued to pump out hot white lava onto Darren's helpless face. Fully 10 shots of cum were fired onto the captive slave, plugging up his nose and stinging his eyes. When all was said and done it was like Darren's face had been smeared with warm thick lotion – dripping down and pooling in every crevice and opening. Pete then grabbed hold of his tumescent member and proceeded to milk out several more streams of thick stringy cum directly into Darren's mouth. After taking a few deep cleansing breaths, the rapist released and then removed Darren's torturous gag, and completed the author's humiliation by smearing the congealing spunk around on his face - using his stubby fingers to shove what seemed like mouthfuls of it beyond Darren's lips for the slave to gulp down and swallow.
"Eat up bitch" he heard Clint say from off to the side – "you need to learn how to enjoy the taste of a Master's seed. Luckily we're gonna keep ya well fed in that regard while we're getting ya all trained up. Heck, I expect yer even gonna come to crave the taste of me and my boy's spunk by the time we're through." With that Clint leaned in and delivered the final punctuating point of the conversation – "I know for certain that yer gonna be begging to be fed by the time we're done with ya you good fer nothing fuckin slutwhore."
The sadistic duo left Darren bound to the bondage frame while they retreated to one end of the dungeon to have a cold beer and something to eat. The abused slave remained motionless, cum slowly drying and caking on his face as his last vestiges of resistance and individuality began to slowly slip away. He felt the inevitability of it all – a lack of any means of escape from this hell that he had been thrust into. He could feel himself giving in to what he had been told would be his fate – becoming a slave for a yet to be seen owner to use and abuse to his heart's content. While these thoughts danced around inside the once keen mind of the distraught writer, he was vaguely aware of the fact that his assailants were already half drunk even at this early hour in the morning. They had each had several beer and had unleashed deafening belches and farts as they recuperated from the first of several climaxes that they expected their bitchboy to provide for them that day. It was Pete who seemed to fully recover his horny disposition before his father, and suggested that the bitch had had enough time to rest. "I got an idea boy" the father said to his oversized lout of a son, "why don't ya show our little slave boy how to wrestle while yer old man continues to recover from that first breedin session we done just had? Ya know how excited it gets me to see ya grappling with and punishing a whelp like this little bitch we got all trussed up over yonder." Pete was only too happy to oblige as there was little else that he enjoyed more than inflicting pain on a smaller weaker man while he forced him to beg for mercy that never, ever, was forthcoming.
"I'll get the bitch ready – you get yerself all warmed up and ready to do what ya do best my boy" Clint announced as he ambled over to where Darren remained secured by thick leather straps to the wooden bondage frame. Undoing all of the buckles, the Master dumped the slave onto the floor and nudged him with the toe of his boot to rouse Darren out of his post-rape stupor. "Get yer ass up slut – you got more entertainin to do fer me."
Darren slowly dragged himself to an upright position, and with a burst of adrenaline became immediately alert as he saw the now shirtless vision of Pete advancing menacingly on his position. "I'm gonna make you suffer like you ain't never suffered before bitch" Pete announced as he made a lunge and a grab for Darren's naked form. The smaller and more agile of the two, Darren ducked Pete's massive arm and hand and backed away several feet from the angry giant. Clint laughed as he watched – happy that the slave was going to try to fight off the inevitable beating that he was destined to receive at the hands of his only son. Slowly but surely Pete crowded and herded his prey into one corner of the dungeon, leaving Darren with no means of escape except right past his enormous attacker. The slave tried to dive between Pete's legs to evade capture, but with surprising quickness the oaf kicked one of his legs forward and caught Darren squarely on the torso as he tried to make his move. It was like a child kicking a soccer ball as the force of the blow sent Darren slamming into the wall to the giant's right. Before the slave could react his assailant was on him, gabbing a fist full of his hair and dragging him to an upright position. Wrapping one meaty hand around Darren's throat, Pete proceeded to lift the slave into the air before delivering a vicious choke slam, driving Darren's body down on to the hard surface of the floor. "Don't kill him boy" Clint admonished, "we need to make sure he's in good condition when his owner shows up to take possession." Pete apologized to his father and promised to be a bit more careful. With that he planted a size 16 boot on the centre of the dazed slave's chest, and waited for Darren to return to his senses before continuing with the punishment.
Seeing stars, Darren slowly became aware of a crushing feeling on his chest, like he was having a heart attack. As his vision cleared, he grabbed with his hands around the ankle of Pete's size 16 workboot which was now pressed down right on the slave's sternum. The pressure increased as the behemoth bore down on his puny adversary's chest, bringing more and more of his 300+ pounds to bear on the thorax of his helpless prey. The breath was literally being crushed from Darren's lungs, and he gasped for air and begged for mercy as Pete continued to increase the level of pressure. By the time he was through, the tread pattern of Pete's boot was imprinted on Darren's chest, and Clint now had a raging hard on once again. "Keep it up boy" Clint encouraged – "yer old Dad is enjoying the show."
Pete removed his boot from Darren's chest and as the slave gulped in some much needed air, the giant reached down and flipped him over on to his stomach. "Pass me that stool would ya Pa?" Pete asked, and Clint brought over the small stool that his son had sat on yesterday while fisting Darren's virgin ass with his enormous hand. Pete grabbed hold of both of Darren's wrists and pulled them up behind the slave's limp body. The giant then sat down on the stool, which subsequently levered the slave up into a position on both of his knees with his arms stretched backwards. Once again Darren felt the pressure of the big size 16 – but this time in the middle of his back. Pete had one of Darren's wrists in each hand, and his foot planted right in the middle of the slave's back, and began to simultaneously press forward with his massively strong left leg while pulling backward with each of his hands. The effect was that Darren's trunk was thrust forward, and he felt like his arms would be torn loose from his body at the shoulder sockets. He began to scream and cry for mercy as Pete steered the slave to face towards where his father was standing watching the action unfold...getting harder and more horny with each iota of pain that his son was inflicting on their slave. "If you want Pete to let ya go bitch, all ya have to do is beg us to fuck you up the ass like the sissy slut that you really are – and then he'll let ya go I promise." It took a few seconds and another increase in the pressure being brought to bear on his body before Darren fully comprehended what had been asked of him by his older captor. Clint repeated what he had said, letting Darren know that all he had to do to be released from the submission hold he was in was to beg to be fucked in the ass by both father and son...that simple. Every man has his breaking point – and Darren's had been reached and exceeded. He began to cry out, screaming, beggin for both Clint and Pete to fuck and use him any way that they wanted. With a nod from Clint, Pete let go of both of Darren's wrists, and his limp body landed in a heap by Clint's dusty booted feet.
With some nudging and kicking from his Master's boots, Darren was directed to crawl over towards a leather covered pommel horse-type of contraption at the far end of the dungeon. Once there he was ordered to drape himself over the horse so that he could receive the anal raping of his ass that he was so eager to get from his two studly Masters. Once again Clint would take first crack at him, and he rather liked the idea of Darren not being restrained at all, and having to beg for his thick 8 incher to be shoved up his pussyhole. "Alright now slut, you reach back and pull those nice fleshy asscheeks apart – show me that cunt of yers that you want opened up so bad." Darren complied and reached back with both hands, took hold of the globes of his ass as directed, and pulled them apart exposing the still stretched out hole that had been loosened over the last 24 hours by a brutal fisting, repeated enemas, and a night spent being stretched by a vicious inflatable plug. "Mmmmmmmm – niiicceeee. That sure is one inviting looking snatch now ain't it son" Clint said to Pete as they both looked on while their slave repeatedly asked to be fucked in the ass. "I think our slut wants to be fucked without any lube what do you think Son?" Pete's demonic laugh once again rang out and he wholeheartedly agreed with his father's assessment. "Go on then slut...beg me to fuck ya dry right here, right now, while you offer up that sweet hole of yers for a good pounding." Darren began to cry as he continued to do as he was bade – asking for Master Clint to do him the honor of taking his cherry ass without any lube whatsoever. Not needing any undo encouragement, Clint stepped forward and placed the head of his cock right against the lips of his slut's asshole. Moaning as he leaned forward, the head of his rampant cock slid past the slave's outer defenses and plunged balls deep into the depths of Darren's rectum. The air was forced from the salve's lungs as he felt Clint's weight on top of his back. Very quickly he found himself exhaling in short staccato bursts as Clint violently thrusted in and out of him – raping him for the first of many times over the days and weeks to come. By the time Clint was ready to cum both Master and slave were dripping with sweat, and Clint slowed his pace to allow himself to lie fully across Darren's glistening back and whisper in his ear. "I'm gonna breed yer pussy hole now slut – fill you up with a nice big load of cum right from yer Master's loins. Before I knock you up why don't you tell me how badly you want me to plant my seed deep inside of yer cunt you little whore." Fully and completely broken now, Darren would have said anything that Clint told him to say. This barebacking session had eradicated the last of his conscious will just as surely as a cowboy breaks in a new steed making him a pleasure to ride for years to come. Clint had used his big throbbing manly tool to turn Darren into a willing slut who was merely to be used as a receptacle to receive deposits of a dominant man's pulsing cumshots. Begging for exactly that – Clint smiled a smile of deep satisfaction as he climbed the heights of sexual release and gave one final powerful forward thrust into his bitches pussy as he pumped out an impressive load of sperm into the tight warm depths of Darren's cunt. Clint could feel his slave's anal ring milking the remaining cum from his prick, and he remained lodged inside of Darren's depths as the every last drop of semen was injected into his slave's hole. When he finally pulled out, he staggered round to the front of the leather covered horse to where Darren's open and drooling mouth was located. "Next lesson slag" Clint announced, "learning how to clean off yer Master's tool once he's been kind enough to use it to seed yer useless twat."
As Darren opened his mouth further to receive Clint's dripping cock, he was aware of a pressure building at the entrance to his well used pussyhole. Darren sucked and slurped on Clint's 8 inch prong while his rapist used handfuls of his hair to guide the slut's mouth up and down along his softening cock...aware that what he had just received was the warm up...the main event was about to begin as he felt Peter's mammoth dick stretching and plowing its way into the cum filled cavern that had been his ass, and was now his pussy.
With Clint's softening but thick cock filling his mouth Darren could only grunt in pain as the plum sized head of Pete's tool popped through his abused pussylips to the inside of his love canal. The oversized sadistic moron was using his Dad's freshly expressed cum as lube to further open and stretch their slave's hole with a second and even more brutal raping of his ass. The shaft of Pete's cock was like an enormous tubesteak, much bigger in girth than the heavy purple head of his cock that was already buried inside. Even with the warm creamy lube and considerable force behind each of his initial thrusts, his progress into Darren's chute was a slow and agonizing process for the captive author. He felt like he was being torn in two as the heat from his abuser's crotch got closer and closer to his asscheeks. His buttocks were being forced apart both by the thickness of Pete's dick as well as the fact that the hillbilly was using his dinner plate sized hands to maul and spread his whores behind until he could get a perfect view of his quarry's anal ring snapped tightly around the shaft of his cock. Once Pete had seated himself 11 inches deep into his bitch's cunt, Darren could feel the brute flexing and throbbing his cock, taking possession of his entire body. The giant rapist then leaned forward draping the entire weight of his upper body across Darren's back. The author was barely visible under Pete's bulk, being crushed as he was repeatedly stabbed and penetrated by the 11 inch truncheon lodged in his ass. All Darren could do was try to take sips of air in between thrusts since every time Pete's body weight moved forward the slave's body was pinned between the unforgiving leather of the gymnastics horse, and the equally unforgiving torso of his 6'5" rapist. Darren then felt Pete's massive arms encircle his tiny body, and the next thing he knew he had been lifted clear off of the fuckbench as Pete had stood up straight with the author still mounted on his impressive manhood. Pete loved breathplay, and enjoyed using his considerable upper body strength to squeeze and crush the air from his slag's lungs with a devastating bear hug as he essentially jacked himself off using Darren's body. Up and down he thrust the author on his rigid member, each time allowing his slave's body weight to drive his human fuck toy balls deep on his dick. It only took a minute or so of this treatment before Pete was driven over the edge and with a roar of satisfaction unleashed and absolute torrent of molten lava-like cum deep into Darren's bowels. The author was pinned onto Pete's rampant cock as he was pumped full of cum like a living breathing water balloon. He was sure that spunk was going to start shooting out of his mouth and nose as it felt like he was being given another high pressure enema...this time with steaming mancream instead of water. Pete's body shook and trembled as he came down off of his sexual high, and his grip around Darren's tiny body eased enough for the slave to take in some much needed deep breaths. Slowly the giant replaced his fucktoy back onto the leather horse in front of him, but once again leaned in close to completely blanket his cunt's frame under his own. Darren could still feel the size of the behemoth's cock propping him open, and sweat dripped off of Pete's head, face, and chest making their two bodies slip and squelch against each other. The giant's breathing was slow and labored, grunting and groaning in exhaustion and satisfaction at having bred another bitch. Darren could not help but think of videos he had seen of male animals taking their female sexually and then rolling off of them only to drop into a deep sleep after having mated wit hand impregnating their bitch...marking their territory as the dominant male. The image revolted him as it was painfully clear that he was the bitch, the female, the possession of his two male Masters to rut and breed whenever they felt the urge to dump their loads in one or both of his available holes.
It was during this moment of contemplation that Darren became aware of a new sensation – a warmth spreading through his bowels that took him a few seconds to suss out. This animal was pissing inside of his ass! Pete had relaxed his bladder, and as his cock softened just slightly he let loose with a huge load of piss, right up his impaled slave's ass. It was however, no ordinary load of piss. Pete had had at least five or six beer already that day, and had been busting for a slash before his erection at the sight of his father taking the anal cherry of their captive bitch had taken over. Now that his carnal lust had been satisfied, the need to relieve himself had been irresistible, and he saw no reason to pull out and use the toilet when he had his human toiet already mounted on his spigot waiting to be filled up. Unbeknownst to Darren, this was soon to become one of his primary functions anyway so why not start the training now? As Pete's enormous bladder continued to drain, his cock was like an 11 inch enema nozzle hosing down the walls of Darren's rectum. What seemed to the slave like gallons of piss, a never-ending stream continued to empty into him, filling his depths and distending his belly under the weight of the giant bearing down on top of him. The pain became intense and Darren tried to struggle away, resulting in Pete pinning him down to the leather covered horse with massive paws on each of the author's shoulders as he finished up filling the bitch's pussy with his load of beer piss. "Get the funnel plug Dad" Darren heard Pete say to Clint, "I'm nearly done." As the last few spurts and trickles drained out of Pete's prick, Clint stood at the ready, waiting to shove a large rubber ball right into Darren's snatch as soon as his son's prodigious cock made its exit. Barely a second passed from the time that the bulbous head of the giant's penis cleared Darren's pussylips and the forced insertion of a tennis ball sized solid rubber ball right into his straining piss-filled cunt. The entire load of man-piss was now trapped inside of Darren's straining ass-pussy, and the painful cramps were starting to take their effect on the captive author. "Take em to the rack boy" Clint ordered his son, and Pete responded by scooping up Darren's writhing frame, slinging him over his shoulder as he carried him over to a large rubber covered table with 4-point restraints mounted at each corned.
Pete flung Darren down on his back on the rubber slab, and quickly set about grabbing each of his captive's 4 extremities in turn, securing then with thick rubber cuffs and spread-eagling him facing up towards the ceiling. Darren's belly was bloated and full from the two loads of cum and the immense amount of hot piss that it now contained – but Cling and Pete were not done torturing the immobilized author yet – not by a longshot. Clint grinned from ear to ear as he manned the two sets of hand crank controls at the side of the table. Instead of explaining to his slag what was going to happen, he felt a more practical demonstration was required. "Better gag the bitch son" he suggested, and Pete disappeared to retrieve yet another of what seemed like a never-ending supply of pain-inflicting head gear to mute the constant moans that were now escaping Darren's lips. This was a simple ring gag, consisting of a 4 inch long tube that was about 2 inches in diameter. Once strapped around Darren's head, it effectively propped open the slave's mouth, and significantly hampered his abilities to verbalize anything recognizable as words.
As Clint turned and turned the first hand crank mechanism, the portion of the rubber-covered table under Darren's legs began to split open down the middle. The wider the gap became, the more the slave's legs were forced into a widening splits position. Further and further Clint mobilized the table, until Darren's ankles secured tightly to the corners of the table became the anchor points of a vicious stretch to the soft tissues on the author's inner thighs. It also left a gap large enough for Clint to enter, having left the controls and standing now between his bitch's outstretched legs. Dangling between Darren's legs, was the free end of the ball plug that had been shoved inside of his ass after Pete finished filling it with urine. As soon as Darren caught a glimpse of it in his elder captors hand through his bleary eyes, he instantly became aware of what was about to happen. Dangling from Darren's ass was a three-foot rubber hose, culminating in a large funnel that now rested in Clint's left hand. The Master glared right into the slave's eyes and a wicked smile spread across his face as he positioned the funnel right under the head of his dangling dick. Within seconds, a second load of frothing beer piss was making its way through the rubber tubing and into Darren's sealed cunthole. The effect was immediate – increasing pressure and even more pain as Darren's belly began to distend even further. Pete looked on in amazement as the human piss-balloon in front of him continuously grew and grew to the point that it looked like Darren had a basketball beneath the skin of his abdomen. Clint shook the last few drops of piss from his cock, and dropped the funnel so that it dangled and danced between his slave's legs. All Darren could see from his vantage point when he looked downward was his painfully distended belly. Pete placed his hand on the slave's gut and marveled at how warm and taut it was – filled to the point of serious tension with steaming hot piss...his 11 inch beast began to thicken once more.
"Not a bad start" Clint pronounced, "but you'd be amazed son at how much the tissue and skin of the gut can stretch when you have enough patience to see it through to the end. Isn't that right cunt?" he asked Darren. Of course, the question was rhetorical. "Bring over one of the bottles from the fridge Pete" was the next command issued by the older Master. What the hulking frame of Pete returned with from the fridge was a two liter bottle of piss that he and his sadistic father had stored in preparation of the training that Darren was to receive over the coming weeks. Once uncapped, Clint turned the bottle over and began screwing it into the threaded end of the tube protruding out of Darren's gaping mouth. Once fully tightened, the bottle stood straight out from the slave's face, and Pete moved in to hold Darren's head preventing him from turning and dropping the bottle to the rubber surface of the table. "Alright now slut – time to drink up" Clint ordered. Unable to fathom taking any further amount of liquid on board, Darren used his tongue as best he could to block the inner opening of the tube gag to prevent the bottle of chilled piss from entering his body. Not to be deterred, and savvy to what their slave was trying to do, Pete used his meaty thumb and index finger to pinch closed Darren's nose, forcing him to move his tongue and begin to swallow. Darren looked like a perverted humanized version of an office water cooler as the pale yellow liquid in the bottle bubbled and gurgled as it was slowly drained into the slave's already hideously stretched belly. Darren was forced to drink the entire two liters before the bottle was unscrewed from his face. He was threatened with having to drink a second bottle if he didn't shut up and take his stretching and punishment like a good slave should for the entertainment of its Masters.
Clint then returned to where the hand crank mechanisms were located, and began to turn the second of the two wheels. At each corner of the rubber table, the tethering points to which the wrists and ankles of the tortured slave were secured began to telescope outwards from the table – dragging Darren's pain wracked frame with them. Turn after turn Clint stretched his slave's body like he was in some medieval torture chamber. When the slave was sufficiently stretched into a full body spread eagle for Clint's liking, he locked the hand crank in place and moved to the next phase of the punishment session.
"Mmmmmmm, feel that" Clint cooed as he ran his calloused hand over the distended and extremely taut belly of his pregnant looking slave. The skin of Darren's abdomen had become shiny and smooth as it had been stretched to its limits. Darren could not imagine being in any more pain than he was currently experiencing – but he would come to learn over the coming weeks that the depths of Clint's depravity were far beyond the easily imaginable. The grizzly old sadist snapped on a rubber glove and began smearing a thick greasy cream onto Darren's pregnant belly. As the Master rubbed, an intensifying heat began to radiate though the author's midsection. What Clint was applying was a deep heating cream, rubbing his bitch's belly into a glowing red shiny orb that to Clint's eyes was just as inviting of a target as he could possibly imagine.
Darren thought he would lose his mind as he heard the next order out of Clint's mouth to his simpleton of a son. "I think we're just about there now Pete – why don't you bring me a paddle...the nice thick rubber one should do nicely."
Next: More torture, and Darren is modified into a freak-show sex slave for life.
Clint walked around the rubber-covered bondage table several times as he waited for Pete to return with his next instrument of torture to use on Darren's immobilized and inflated body. He wanted to admire the sight of his bitch stretched out before him like a human sacrifice – his belly so bloated and tight from the fillings of piss in his stomach and cunt that the skin took on a smooth and shiny appearance. That coupled with the crimson color that the slag's belly had become from being smeared with deep heating gel was getting the sadistic Master extremely turned on. There was almost nothing that Clint enjoyed more than the sound of a slave screaming in pain and begging for mercy while he inflicted increasing amounts of agonizing pain on its helpless body...so he had plans to enjoy the next little while a great deal indeed.
Pete re-appeared holding an implement that was a little bit shorter than a baseball bat. It had a 10 inch leather wrapped handle on it, but consisted mainly of a semi-flexible thick rubber paddle that was 8 inches wide, and two feet long. Clint took it from his boy, and rested it gently on top of Darren's bloated and abused belly. "Here's how this is gonna work slut" the Master addressed the slave. "We're gonna have us some fun whuppin that pregnant gut of yers and watchin you suffer and scream for some relief. The only thing is, there ain't gonna be no relief fer you I'm afraid. I am gonna enjoy flaying your belly until it's nuthin but one giant welt from yer tiny little salve-cock there right up ta yer delicious little tits. When I'm through havin my fun, we'll have Pete here unhook ya from the rack, and let ya empty yerself out over by the drain. You'll have ta be quick about it though, cause we ain't through with you by a damn sight you hear?" Darren was trembling with the thought of what he was about to experience. His midsection was already in more pain that he could imagine, and now this pervert wanted to up the ante even more!
With no ceremony whatsoever, Clint raised his arm lifting the rubber paddle over his head, and delivered a devastating slash with the implement to the crown of his slave's inflated gut. The sound it produced was incredible. The semi-flexible rubber portion of the implement formed itself to the shape of Darren's bulbous belly, and produced a sharp, intense, earsplitting slap that immediately provoked a blood- curdling scream of agony from the very depths of the bound author's body. The force of the impact fired every single pain receptor in the skin covering Darren's stomach, and sent ripples of shockwaves through the punishing amount of liquid contained within. Clint admired how the slave's stomach jiggled slightly but quickly recoiled to stand out proudly from the rest of the body. Like the development of an old Polaroid picture, a bright read wheal slowly became visible across the belly – perfectly outlining the instrument of torture that had been used. Clint continued to rain down blow after blow on Darren's exposed and tortured abdomen until a thick sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead. Deep red welts criss-crossed the slave's pregnant belly, some already turning to a purplish color and beginning to bruise. Once he was satisfied with the fruits of his labor, Clint dropped the rubber paddle and sauntered away to refresh himself with a beer. "Git her down and emptied out boy" he ordered his son, "and have some fun fer yerself while yer at it if ya like".
Pete released the tension on the four point restraints that held Darren's exhausted and pain racked body in place, the result of which brought a nearly imperceptible effect on the amount of pain that the writer was in. Even with his limbs untied, Darren's belly was in agony from being savagely beaten as well as from the extreme bloating that his masters had forced upon him first by Pete filling his anus with a huge load of beer piss, and then being force-fed an entire 2 liter bottle to expand and torture his stomach...he was about to find out that a bit more suffering was required in order to earn some relief.
Darren was unceremoniously dropped to the floor, and ordered to get on all fours and crawl over to the drain in the floor by the enema spigot. Weak and tired, Darren slowly complied with Pete's order – sinking ever deeper in to the role of a slave as his free will became increasingly suppressed on the way to being eradicated. "Move!" the giant ordered as he delivered a hard kick to Darren's ass with his size 16 boot. Slowly Darren began to shuffle and crawl towards the far end of the room – anticipating finally being allowed to drain off all of this agonizing fluid that had been pumped into his abused body. The funnel hose dragged behind his ass as he progressed towards his goal, with the rubber ball portion of the device still firmly lodged inside of his ass. With good reason, he feared exactly how the sadistic giant simpleton would go about removing it from his body – Pete had already clear how much he enjoyed inflicting pain on Darren's tiny body...and this would prove to be yet another opportunity to do just that. Once he had made it to the drain in the floor, his sagging belly swaying slightly from side to side as he had crawled, Pete ordered him to turn around. "Guess we gots ta get the plug of of yer ass if yer gonna empty out all of my piss bitch".
Darren barely had time to contemplate Pete's pronouncement before he felt something placed squarely in the middle of his lower back. He could tell right away from the feel of the treads, and the weight of it, that it was one of his captor's booted feet. With force Pete shoved downwards, driving Darren's body straight down to the floor as his arms and legs were no match for the muscles in the huge hillbilly's powerful legs. Now spread eagled on the floor and pinned there by a size 16 workboot, Darren felt the pressure on his back, and therefore on his bloated gut which was now against the floor, begin to steadily increase. "If I were you slut I'd start pushin and trying ta help me git that ball out yer cunt unless ya want me ta do all the work." Darren realized that Pete planned to force the ball out by stepping and stomping on him until the ball was ejected from his assring like a cork from a champagne bottle. Frantically Darren began to bear down like he was taking a shit, desperately wanting to minimize the amount of pressure that the massive man pinning him to the floor with his boot would have to apply to remove the plug lodged inside of his ass. Darren was sure that his stomach was going to burst, that he would pop like a water balloon with the amount of pressure that Pete was now applying. The slave's mouth was wide open in a silent scream as he barely had enough air to breathe never mind let fly with vocal expression. Pete began to apply and release the force of compression with his foot as he pumped up and down, each downward thrust more violent than the last and audibly forcing the air from his slave's lungs. Exhaustion had set in and Darren was no longer able to push with his own ass muscles to assist in the expulsion of his enema plug. "Nearly there slut" he heard Pete announce, before feeling the giant alter his pump action rhythm to one of slow, relentless, increasing pressure. Harder and harder Pete began to press on the small of his slut's lower back, his 11 inch cock as hard as an iron bar in his pants as he watched the red rubber plug begin to crown at the opening to Darren's snatch. "Just a little more" he grunted as he found yet another gear to further increase the amount of force with which he was driving his slave into the floor with his boot. With that much pressure having been built up, the final result of the exercise took place with blinding speed. All at the same time the rubber ball exploded from Darren's ass like it had been fired from a canon, taking flight and trailing the enema hose and funnel behind it like the tail of a comet. It hit the wall behind the slave and dropped to the floor. It had been quickly followed by a wave of hot yellow piss. At the same time a wave of nausea began to overtake Darren's consciousness as he felt Pete continue to pump up and down with his massive boot, each time he pressed downward expelling more fluid from his asshole. Unable to hold back the inevitable, the piss that had been forced into his stomach began to stream forth as Darren projectile vomited the entire 2 liters of piss in nauseating and agonizing waves timed perfectly with each sadistic downward thrust of Pete's size 16's. Once the giant was content that the slave had been sufficiently emptied, he turned on the enema spigot, dropped a bar of soap on the floor, and told Darren that if he knew what was good for him he'd be all washed and cleaned up in 5 minutes. It was like a boost of adrenaline for Darren to hear those words...as exhausted as he was, the motivation to avoid incurring the wrath of either of his captors was extremely strong.
Clint had watched with casual interest and amusement as his son had stomped on and emptied the slut's bloated body, sipping on his beer and readying the next phase of the plan to turn this once wealthy and successful young writer into a mindless sex and pain slave for its Master's amusement and pleasure. He had been preparing what looked like a sadistic version of a medical exam table to hold Darren's body fast while it was being worked on, or worked over, to achieve the next level of degradation in the slave's ability to think or act for itself. By the end of Darren's time strapped into the chair that Clint was preparing, he would never again be able to enter civilized society – for he was about to be physically modified and molded to the specifications of the true sadist in the operation – the Master who had hired Clint and Pete to do his bidding and transform Darren into his property, his plaything, his permanent slut.
The chair, or table as one might describe it, was a truly diabolical contraption. The main plank was wide and covered in thick rubber, and reclined at an angle of 60 degrees. At it's base, was a small seat that would prevent Darren from sliding off on to the floor. The seat had a threaded hole at its center, by no accident positioned right below where Darren's cunt would be once he was strapped in and secured. On either side of the base of the bench an articulated metal arm culminated in a heavy rubber covered stirrup with broad leather straps to completely immobilize the occupant of the chair's legs. Once in the stirrups, the articulated metal arms that held them fast could be cranked into a variety of positions. At the sides of the main plank, at 6-inch intervals, were small rectangular cutouts, 6 of them in all running down each of the two sides. The top of the rubber-covered plank culminated in a small headboard, with a thick rubber strap that would go across the occupant's forehead. Telescoping outward from the top of the headboard was a narrow rod, with a bungee cord secured to the end of it. At the end of the elastic cord, a small metal two-pronged hook.
"Bring her" Clint ordered, and like a mindless automaton Pete shuffled over to where Darren had followed instructions and cleaned himself as best he could with the cold water from the enema spigot and the bar of soap. Pete grabbed a handful of Darren's hair, and started to drag him over towards the bondage chair. The writer used his arms and legs as best he could to scramble along with the sadistic giant in order to prevent the hair from being ripped from his scalp by the roots. Darren's abdomen was welted and blotchy with bruises from the previous beating, and could not fathom the fate that was about to befall him in the next round of his training.
Darren was thrown into the chair, and immediately his ankles were secured into the stirrups at the ends of the articulated metal arms. His head was forced down, and the rubber strap adjusted tightly around his forehead. Similar treatment was applied to his wrists, and effectively the slave was now bound to the bondage chair – but not tightly or painfully enough for Clint's liking. A blanket of heavy rubber webbing was thrown over the slave's torso, almost like a cargo net from an aircraft, but made of heavy-duty rubber instead of canvas. It extended from the level of Darren's collarbones down to his pelvis, and had six long straps running down either side. Each of the straps was threaded through the corresponding rectangular holes in the rubber-covered plank upon which the slave had been secured. The rubber webbing was heavy, and would be quite restrictive and immobilizing once fully fastened. Each long strap was wound around a long metal spindle on the back-side of the plank – a metal spindle with a hand crank mechanism at its top end. With Clint manning one of the hand cranks, and Pete the other, they slowly began to turn the respective mechanisms in order to fully tighten the rubber webbing. Once the initial slack had been taken up, with each successive turn more of the long straps was wound around the metal spindles, and the rubber webbing over Darren's torso became tighter and tighter, compressing him against the plank on which he lay. So tight did his captors wind the mechanisms that the webbing was cutting into Darren's flesh. With the mechanisms locked, the slave was fully and completely immobile against the rubber covered plank – he could not move even an inch in any direction. With only the rubber strap holding his head down against the board, slight movement to the left and right was difficult, but not impossible. That was until the final piece of head bondage was employed. The bungee cord. Clint stretched it downward overtop of Darren's face, and positioned the two pronged hook such that each metal arm inhabited one of the slave's nostrils. Letting go of the elastic, the cord snapped back and essentially forced Darren's head flat back against the hard rubber surface. Darren was sure that the skin on his nose would rip right through with the extreme tension, but every precaution had been taken by Clint and Pete's boss to make sure that this did not occur. Sitting in the chair Darren would be in horrible discomfort, but left undamaged. Unless one were to consider the modifications that were about to come to be damage.
The last detail to attend to before getting down to business was positioning the slave's legs, and filling up its ass. The articulated metal stirrup arms were operated by a hydraulic system with a remote control device that Clint now controlled. There were several pre-set positional combinations, and Clint decided that he would try several of them over the duration of this next session. Once the first position was selected, the humming of the hydraulics became like music to the sadist's ears, and a nightmare to the bound and immobilized slave. By the time that the first position had been achieved, Darren's ankles had been forced upward and backward towards his shoulders, jack-knifing him into a heavily piked position with his torso inextricably secured to the plank by the heavy rubber webbing. He cried out in agony as he thought the muscles and tendons on the backs of his legs would surely rip in half. The stretching of Darren's body into this position opened up his pussyhole, which was located directly over the threaded opening in the small seat at the bottom of the chair. Pete screwed a large inflatable dildo through the opening in the underside of the chair right up into Darren's exposed and sloppy cunt. Once secured, he began to pump it up. It expanded in both girth and length, to completely fill the slave's anal cavity, and further secure him to the rubber plank. Daren was now bound, hooked, and impaled into place...he was going nowhere until Pete and Clint were done with him. An inflatable butterfly gag was then shoved into his mouth seated partially behind, and partially in front of his teeth. As it was pumped up Darren's mouth became filled and plugged shut, silencing him except for small amounts of whimpering moans, and his lips protruded out from his gums, as if being presented for punishment to the pair of tortures on either side of the slave's body. It was only then that Clint began to divulge what was about to happen...
"Yer new owner has some pretty specific requirements in terms of yer appearance there bitch, so it's our job to make sure ya look exactly as he wants ya to so's we can get paid in full once he arrives to take possession of ya. Now I'm not gonna lie to ya slut, all of what we need to do to ya is gonna hurt like hell. The first thing we need ta do is plump up this skinny little white-boy lips of yers. Yer new Master wants some nice big nigger style cocksucking lips on his faggot boy. Nice firm ones that will feel good on his big thick cock boy." It was at that point that Darren caught a glimpse of the hypodermic needle headed straight for his lower lip. Sharp stinging pain followed, as the needle plunged into his flesh. Clint sawed the needle inward and outward as he depressed the plunger, filling the bound slave's lip with medical grade silicone. The effect was immediate – Darren's thin pink lip became plump and engorged, inflating to two or three times its original size. By the time 5 such injections had been completed, the writer's lower lip was fat and firm, and glowing red from inflammation. Five more injections followed to Darren's upper lip to complete the first procedure of the afternoon. It was now impossible for the slave to fully close his mouth – his lips so full that they remained in a permanent pout, glistening with saliva that would forever coat them and drip from his mouth ensuring that there was always a lubricated target for his Master's rock hard cock. The butterfly gag was then deflated and removed, and tears of agony and sdaness dripped freely down Darren's face. He knew now that even if Kent or anyone else were to miraculously come to his aid, that he would have to hide his face away in shame from the rest of society forever. Some of the delicate work now having been completed, it was time for something that required more brute force to be done – which meant that it was Pete's turn to try his hand at altering the slave's appearance. Clint marked the locations on Darren's face with a black marker, and then ordered Pete to proceed. The specialized gun was loaded with a piercing mechanism and a small stainless steel grommet. Pete placed the jaws of the gun around the left side of the slave's upper lip, and forcefully squeezed them together. Blinding pain seared through Darren's face as the two arms of the gun came together, were held for a few seconds, and then released. What was left was a small hole in the upper lip back near the gum line of the captive slut's mouth. The shiny grommet outlined the hole, a permanent piercing which was to become the first of many that afternoon. By the time Pete had finished reloading and discharging his diabolical weapon, a row of six shiny grommets existed at the bases of both the upper and lower lips of the slave's mouth. Much could be done with this arrangement of piercings – everything from hanging weights from either lip to more fully stretch and abuse them, to lacing the slave's mouth shut like the back side of a football. Similar grommets were also placed in the septum of Darren's nose, his ear lobes, and in the skin of his scrotum. Stainless steel ring piercings were used to decorate Darren's guiche as well as a pair of rings on either side of his pussylips. The head of his penis was also given a substantial gage Prince Albert piercing which was permanently soldered shut.
With the slave now limp with pain and exhaustion, the nose hook was released as was the forehead strap. Clippers were used to shave off all of the hair on Darren's head until it was down to nothing but stubble. A thick depilatory gel was then smeared all over his scalp and face, which burned terribly as it performed its function...leaving the slave forever without the ability to grow hair on his head or face ever again. The same treatment was carried out on the exposed buttocks and around the stretched hole of Darren's anus – and would eventually be carried out on his entire body. Darren's new Master required a totally smooth and hairless slave, which is exactly what he would receive. Even the slave's eyelashes, eyebrows, and hair inside of his nostrils had been denuded. The final modification for the day brought Clint and Pete back to where they began...turning Darren into a human cocksucking machine. Not only did their employer require nice firm rubbery lips to press on and stimulate his shaft, he also loathed the thought of any inadvertent contact between his slave's teeth and his precious meat. To this end, while still being a realist and knowing that his slave had to be able to eat, he had ordered Pete to remove all but the rear molars from both the top and bottom rows of Darren's teeth. By the time the giant had finished with the dental pliers, Darren was a blubbering and bloody mess – left with a gap toothed pouting visage of silicone inflated lips that could be threaded and laced shut, or used to being his Master to climax after climax and keeping his permanent cocksucker well fed on a steady diet of thick creamy mancum.
These were not however the only modifications that were required, but further work would require changing the slave's current position, so Clint and Pete decided to take a rest. They stuffed Darren's mewling mouth with wads of cotton batten to absorb the blood from his recent extractions, and set about preparing for phase two of the day's modification plans.
Next: the slave is marked for life as its Master's property, and the new owner arrives.
About 30 minutes had passed while the sadistic captors enjoyed a bite to eat, and a couple of cold beers each. Their slave on the other hand, had been given nothing all day...a problem that would soon be rectified.
Clint began pulling the wads of cotton batten out of Darren's mouth – clotted and stained with the slave's blood from his multiple tooth extractions, the active bleeding seemed to have stopped. "Now we can't risk you gettin an infection in that sweet little mouth of yers bitch – after all – we done a lot of work ta get it all trained up nice fer yer new owner. I heard that when fellers are in the bush like, lost you know?...that they sometimes use their own piss ta disinfect a wound. Well lucky fer you nurse Clint here and nurse Pete have got yer sorry ass covered on that front slut."
With the press of a button the hydraulics in the bondage chair hummed to life. The plank under Darren's body began to lower until it was horizontal and parallel with the floor. It carried on past that point until the slave's upturned and impaled ass was well above the level of his head. The writer's feet which had been pushed back to his shoulders in a painful jackknife position were the next part of his anatomy to be dealt with. Having been told that his new owner needed a flexible bitch who could be fucked and tortured in a variety of positions, Darren now felt both of his legs being drawn outwards towards the sides of the bondage chair and then beyond. Clint then told the bound and helpless writer that the chair was pre-programmed to take the occupant's legs all the way into a full splits position. Progress would be slow so as to avoid tearing muscle, but this would also maximize the pain as Darren's legs made the slow inevitable journey towards a full sideways split.
The tortured writer was in agony. He was sure the muscles on the insides of his thighs would rip in half as they were screaming at him with intense burning pain from being stretched beyond their limits. In addition, his cunt was still stuffed with the huge inflatable plug, which was one of the elements holding him fast to the bondage chair. Until it was deflated and removed from his hole he would not be able to get up. As he looked up he saw Clint coming towards his face with a curved piece of plastic in his hands. Unable to fully close his mouth with his new silicone injected lips and the bulk of his teeth removed, he was defenseless to stop the sadist from shoving the end of the plastic object into his mouth. It rammed into the back of his throat nearly causing him to retch, and he heard Clint ordering him to begin trying to swallow. The object itself was a variation on an intubation device used in medical emergencies. Ambulance staff use them to maintain an open airway in an unconscious victim, while Clint and Pete were using it to bypass Darren's throat and provide them with a direct route to filling up the slave's stomach with whatever liquid they desired. As it slid home, the outline of the hideous device was clearly visible going down Darren's throat...he was now merely an empty vessel just waiting to be filled. The flange of the plastic tube sat outside of the slave's distended rubbery lips, but Clint had more up his sleeve yet before using the implanted device for its intended purpose. "Can't have out slut swallowing and choking on her straw while she's tryin ta drink now Pete can we?" The question being rhetorical, Clint did not wait for a response from his simpleton son. He simply began to thread a thick white shoelace through the grommets in Darren's upper and lower lips like he was doing up a sneaker. Once fully threaded, Clint pulled the entire arrangement taut causing the slave's plumped up lips to purse shut around the shaft of the plastic tube, effectively preventing the whole thing from sliding down Darren's throat and seriously elevating the tortured writer's pain level to new heights. Clint tied the lace into a bow, and stood up to admire his handiwork. Between the plastic tube invading his throat and the fact that his mouth was tightly laced shut, Darren was not only in agony, but rendered completely mute as well.
With another press of the button on the bondage chair's hydraulics the slave was once again brought fully upright. What the two onlooking perverts saw made them both instantly hard and horny to use and abuse Darren's already mutilated body even further. Bound tightly to the chair with the heavy rubber webbing cutting into his flesh, and impaled on an enormously inflated rubber plug, Darren was now in a full side-split position with the business end of a modified intubation tube protruding from his silicone enhanced tightly laced lips. Another input to the chair's control device lowered the slave all the way down to the floor in this position. With his heels and calves on the floor out to either side of him, Darren nearly passed out from the pain. When he became aware of what would happen next he wished that blissful unconsciousness would overtake him.
Pete rolled a hospital-like IV pole into the slave's line of sight, with two large red rubber bags hanging from it. Clint went on to explain that each of the bags held different contents. One of them held a week's worth of their piss. It had been stored in the fridge, but heated up nice and piping hot in a microwave oven for his drinking pleasure. The second, was filled with beer...which sounded like a blessing to Darren's ears until he also heard that the beer had been laced with a highly addictive narcotic agent. It seemed that Darren's new master wanted not only a highly obedient slave to torture and enjoy, but also one who was drug addicted to the point of being willing to do anything his master demanded in order to obtain his next fix. As a final indignity a catheter tube was lubed and then fed through into the slave's cock. Once fully inserted it was closed off to prevent Darren from being able to piss out ANY of the liquid that was about to be fed into him. The two rubber bags had a Y-shaped connector, which joined them both to a length of rubber tubing that was then connected to the end of the intubation tube in the slave's mouth. Once the valves were opened, a mixture of man-piss, beer, and addictive drugs were free to fill up Darren's belly to the point of agonizing distention. This however, was not the end of the day's session.
"We gots ta have ya looking pretty fer yer new Master now don't we slut" Clint announced. With that he rolled up a cart with a machine on it that Darren had never seen before, as well as a short stool which he positioned right infront of the author's bound, impaled, and severely stretched body. As he busied himself with preparing the equipment and pulling on a tight pair of black nitrile gloves, Clint explained that he was in fact quite an experienced tattoo artist, and that the Master had left explicit instructions as to how those skills were to be put to use.
Darren felt the bite of the tattoo gun's needle pierce his flesh over and over like a thousand bee stings. His denuded forehead and scalp were the targets of his captor's ministrations. For hours Clint worked away, detailing the human canvass in front of him with image after image...turning Darren into even more of a freak unfit for civilized society. By the time he was done, the slave sported a written tattoo in big block letters right across his forehead that said "SLUT". All across his scalp were words like cocksucker, fagboy, cumdump, and fuckhole. Erect rampant and dripping cocks of all shapes and sizes were depicted on his head like some kind of fetishized erotic mural. When Darren would finally get a look at himself in a mirror to see what he had become he would weep openly with the realization that he was now more of a slave than a man...a freak more than a human. That realization would have to wait...as they all heard the door to the dungeon open and then slam shut.
"So is my slut ready to meet her Lord and Master yet?" was the phrase that rang out across the dungeon, and as heavily abused and tortured as his pathetic body was, the blood in Darren's veins turned to ice when he heard it. He had thought that this hell he was in could not get any worse...until now. With that realization, he new owner slowly strode into view...a face that Darren not only recognized, but one that he had hoped for the last few days to have seen...Kent Davis – his agent.
"Awwwww....why so surprised you spoiled little shit" Kent spat at the heavily bound and now drugged out slut impaled and splayed out before him like a piece of meat. "Why am I not surprised that you had absolutely no idea whatsoever that I was behind the transition from your old life to your new one. You always were a great writer Darren, but my god when it came to anything other than your damn books you are as dumb as dog shit." Darren's mind was locked in a terrible struggle – trying to come to terms with what he was being told...while being almost completely unable to deal with who was telling it. This man was someone he would have trusted with his life – he had already trusted him with managing his career and his finances. The sense of betrayal was overwhelming. He was about to learn the full extent of his one-time friend's treachery.
"God you have no idea how much I loathed and resented you from the very beginning Darren. Right out of school, no writing experience whatsoever, cocky as all hell walking in to the publishing house with that first manuscript of yours. I was sure that you would get laughed out of the building. But nooooooo...not you...you actually manage to get a three book deal that very day! I had been trying for years to get noticed – to get my writing career off the ground. Journalism school, apprenticing, studying with the greatest writers of the time...and what do I have to show for it? Well?! Not a fucking thing that's what. So the publisher offers me a different sort of a deal. I can stay on in a salaried position – as an agent. No writing or publishing allowed, but at least I'll have a job – all it cost me was my dream. And to add insult to injury...who do they give me to manage? Huh?! You, you little fuck. I wasn't good enough to be backed and promoted in my own writing career, but the fuckers poured nothing but money into that first novel of yours. And look what happened. I have made you a millionaire many times over – doing all of the hard work while you have enjoyed all the spoils. Well not anymore. I began planning your demise almost as soon as they made me take over administrating your career. I can hardly wait to take out my full revenge on the little shithead who stole my career from me."
Darren could not believe what he was hearing, and if he'd been able to speak he would have tried to set the record straight even after everything that had already happened to him. The publishers had told him that they were putting Kent in charge of his career because he was a phenomenal writer himself who had just never caught the right break. They had gone on and on about how lucky they were to have him working as an agent and guiding the careers of promising new talent. This was all horribly wrong and he had to stop it. With all of this swirling around in his brain he almost didn't notice the gradual bloating of his guts that was taking place...the filling with two full bags of piss and beer. And then there were the drugs. What the fuck had they laced the foul cocktail with anyway?
Kent went on. "I've been skimming money off of your accounts for ages – getting enough money to buy this place, and having all of the necessary modifications made to suit my purposes...kind of like I've done to you slut! You see, you were so stupid that you didn't realize that trusting someone enough to give them access to, and authority over all of your money, and all of your personal details, is a bad fucking idea. I created your little pseudonym that you like to travel under to become totally anonymous. Nobody knows that he isn't a real person other than those of us here in this room. I'm sure as hell not going to tell anyone who my little slave bitch really is...and your teachers here are being way too well paid to ever consider telling anyone...and you...well you're just plain not gonna be able to tell anyone. Mostly because you're not ever gonna have the chance. You're now my personal slave slut you got that?! Do ya?! Forever Darren...for the rest of your life you are going to do nothing but be used for my pleasure. Now...I have a couple of things to show you slut". Kent popped open his brief case and pulled out his laptop, and a brown file folder. He booted up the computer, and placed it on the floor in front of the slowly inflating slave so that he would have a close up view of the video file that began to play. It was a newsreel from the national news service from a number of days ago. Darren began to weep as he heard the newscaster report on the tragic death of one of America's most promising young writers...him! The reporter went on to say that Darren Somer, who had been known for his reclusive tendencies when working on a deadline had been camping in the woods, when he must have been attacked and killed by a bear. No body had been found, but Mr. Somer's personal effects as well as a partial manuscript of his next been had been located at the scene.
The next nail in the coffin as it were was the first of two documents that the devious agent slid from the brown card-stock folder. Holding it right in front of Darren's face the writer could see that it was a death certificate – his – signed by the county coroner. Darren had been officially declared dead. The second document, was a will, Darren's will, which he never remembered making. Another of Kent's brilliant fabrications, it left Darren's entire estate to his most trusted friend and agent – Kent Davis. All in all, Kent was inheriting a little over 35 million dollars from the man whom he had turned into a plumped up drugged out tattooed and modified sex slave. Darren wanted to spit in Kent's face, but the fact that his lips had been tightly laced around the feeding tube made such an action completely impossible. His intent being clear however, Kent issued a stern warning. " I know you'd love to spit and swear at me right now slut – but you listen to me very, very carefully. I am going to make sure that you live the rest of your life in agonizing pain, humiliation, and servitude...and that's if I am in a good mood. You do anything, anything at all to piss me off...and I'll make sure that you experience a hell that you never dreamed existed, and you can mark my words on that slut."
Darren was terrified...but the fear was mitigated by the pain from the bloating in his belly, and the clouded and foggy feeling in his head from whatever drug they were pumping into him.
"Finish filling the bitch boys...he can finish hearing about his future after he experiences a little bit more of his present."
With that, Clint unhooked the rubber enema bags which were now empty, and unlaced the slave's lips from around the intubation tube. With the shoelace removed, the plastic invader was unceremoniously yanked from Darren's throat almost making him puke. The heavy rubber webbing was loosened and then removed, and the short plank portion of the bondage chair to which the slave had been secured was separated from the main body of the chair. This left Darren limp on the floor, belly bloated from being filled with beer and piss – aching to have an enormous piss – with a rubber-covered wooden seat firmly secured to his ass by the inflatable plug that still went through it, and into the depths of the slave's cunt. The drugs had taken serious effect by this point and Darren was softly moaning on the floor and gently writhing around from the pain that came with the abdominal distention. "For good measure" Keith pronounced, as he gave the inflation bulb of the massive plug another 5 or 6 pumps. This prompted moans of agony from the slut's mouth.
Kent retreated to the far side of the room and began intently tapping away at his laptop keyboard. He became engrossed in his work, and took no notice of the ongoing plight of his newly claimed slave which was playing out merely a few feet away. Once the Master had given the order, the two trainers had been only too happy to obey – "finish filling the bitch". One thing that Kent enjoyed almost more than anything else was the use of extreme enemas and distention play to inflict pain on his slut. It turned out to be one of a myriad of ways as well that he would continue to deliver the narcotic agent to Darren's abused body – deepening his submission and slave-hood status through intense chemical addiction.
Pete took hold of the inflatable butt plug's rubber bulb and slowly turned the chrome locking mechanism to allow air to be released. As he did so, even in his intoxicated state Darren became aware of the glorious release of pressure from within his now fully stretched out rectum. As the behemoth took hold of the rest plank and pulled it away from Darren's ass, the remainder of the now deflated plug popped out of the soon to be re-filled pussyhole. The slave had been empty for no more than a few seconds when Clint arrived with the means to carry out Kent's last instruction. Darren was so affected by the drugs he had been given that he barely noticed Pete grabbing him around his bloated belly and hauling him up in an inverted bear hug. With his head hanging down towards the floor, and the recent stretching to the muscles on the insides of his legs, both lower extremities simply fell like wet noodles to the side, fully exposing his stretched out cunt for Clint to stuff and abuse. What Clint had was an extremely large over sized chunk of very dense memory foam. It had been soaking in a viscous liquid contained within a bright shiny stainless steel pail. The liquid was an industrial grade lubricant, and it had been laced with even more of the potent drug preparation that was in the process of making Darren a serious drug addict within just a few exposures. As Clint drew the sponge, which was shaped rather like a football, out of the pail, he squelched a bit of the lubricating jelly liquid out of the structure of the sponge. He then began to stuff the immense piece of dense foam into Darren's recently emptied asshole. With relatively little effort, the sadistic hillbilly managed to insert the entire sponge into Darren's body. Once inside, it sprang back out to size, entirely filling the sluts lower intestines, and pressing relentlessly on the inner walls of the sensitive tissue. Slowly, the drug laced lubricant leeched out of the sponge, being absorbed into the slave's system while at the same time deeply lubing him up for more intense and deeper insertions, which were yet to come. Because the lips of Darren's cunt remained partially open, enough to see the very end of the sponge football, Clint decided to slowly tip the contents of the pail into the opening. The sponge slowly re-saturated with the thick liquid, increasing the dose of drug that was being delivered, and slicking up Darren's gut with grotesque amounts of lube. It was a very long lasting lubricant that had not yet been approved for use with human tissue. Kent's new found wealth had allowed him to acquire copious amounts of it for his most devious purposes. What set it aside from other lubes was that it did not break down or easily separate itself from bodily tissues. Once fully lined with it, Darren's snatch would remain nicely slicked for his Master's use for approximately two weeks. Twice per month then, Darren would have to "go for a lube job"...which Kent would be only too happy to perform on him.
With the slave's belly bloated with piss, beer, and drugs, and his gut inhabited by a dense piece of foam that was leeching even more drug into his system while it greased him up for long term violation by Kent and his sick minded games, Pete and Clint casually informed Kent that the deed was done, and the bitch was fully loaded.
Looking up from his computer, Kent Davis voiced his approval, and suggested that Darren be stored for the night so that he could fully absorb the drug treatment, have time for the greasy lube to bind to his intestinal lining and set up properly, as well a to maximize the pain from being hideously bloated with liquid and not free to piss any of it out. "Any preferences for storage Boss?" Clint inquired. "Yeah" Kent replied, "that heavy rubber compression sack-thing I ordered on line".
Having all of Darren's bodily measurements for the purposes of having suits made...or so Kent had told him...it was a simple process for the Master to purchase a full wardrobe of custom fit fetish gear to dress his little sluthole in now that he had taken possession of him and it was all in the open. From a small manufacturer in Berlin Kent had ordered a special kind of sleep sack to use to torture Darren's already terribly abused body. It was basically a heavy rubber sarcophagus – a full body thick rubber human form container that essentially formed an outline of Darren's body...like he had been dipped in liquid latex, only much thicker. It had zippers opening it all the way down the back, and the backs of the legs, and it took the effort of both trainers to stuff the writer's essentially limp frame into the diabolical garment. It had small breathing tubes, which were fed into the slave's nostrils, but no other openings whatsoever. A thick rubber flange protected the skin on Darren's back from being injured by the heavy zipper, but also served to make certain that all that touched Darren's body was heavily scented thick black rubber. Both Pete and Clint were sweating by the time they fully sealed in the slut, bit the fruits of their labor they decided, were worth the effort. So rigid was the rubber forming the garment that they could stand the writer up like a dummy, and lean him back against the wall. A small bulge was visible at his abdomen were the bloating from the liquid gut filling was present, and on the inside of the sleepsack Darren was now in extreme agony. He could not move a muscle, and had to concentrate very deeply on his breathing through the small nostril tubes simply so that he would not suffocate. With his belly and his ass stuffed and laced with drugs, and his body immobilized in heavy-duty bondage rubber, Darren became lost that night. When he would be removed in the morning for his first full day of use by his Master, all that would remain would be a drug addicted living sex toy to be experimented on and tortured by one of the most depraved minds on the planet...possessed by a man who had a burning hatred for the man who had now become his slave. Things did not bode well for Darren...
It had been a sleepless night for Darren, locked inside his thick latex prison...slowly absorbing highly addictive narcotic agents, and being coated on the inside with an experimental industrial lubricant that would leave his insides slicked and ready for whatever his new Master wished to insert inside of him.
This sadist truly was his Master – and Darren no longer thought of him as Kent Davis, his one time agent. This bastard who had taken over his life was someone he had never known...someone who had plotted and planned for a great many months to achieve the results of the last few days...enslaving another human being.
As opposed to the experience of the slave, for the Master it had been an incredibly restful night. Sleeping in a luxuriously comfortable king sized bed in the main house, Kent smiled every time he thought about Darren out there in the dungeon...all alone...covered in restrictive rubber...leaned against the wall...with his asshole packed with a drug-laden memory foam football shaped plug.
The mummified writer was completely unaware that the lights to the dungeon had even been turned on. His first clue was when he felt himself being hoisted up in to the air, and the now familiar sound of Pete grunting as he slung the slave's rubber-covered carcass over his broad shoulders. He was then unzipped, yanked and pried out of his rubber coffin, most of the liquid from his abdomen had been absorbed into his body, but he still need to piss something fierce. Pete unceremoniously flung him towards the shower stall area of the dungeon, with terse instructions to get himself cleaned up and cleaned out for his Master's use. The outside of his body would be the easy part...but getting the sponge out of his ass was going to be another matter. As he struggled to expel the invader enough with his ass muscles that he could grab a hold of it with his hand, he heard Pete laughing louder and louder with every passing minute. Finally Pete barked an order to the slave to come to the edge of the shower area, turn around, bend over, and grab his ankles. With a toothed hemostat in his hands, Pete reached into the anus of the doubled over slave and clamped down on the visible edge of the sponge. The behemoth then began to draw the invader outwards, stretching and torturing Darren's already stretched asshole as he did so. When enough of the foam was removed for the brute to grab a hold of it with his beefy fingers, it was viciously yanked from Darren's pussyhole, prompting a shriek of pain from the abused writer. Pete examined the sponge briefly, marveling at how the immense volume of lubricating gel had been completely absorbed out of it in to the slave's body. The Master would have a great deal of fun testing out its effectiveness.
Pete then strapped Darren's submissive frame into a gyne chair, straps securing the slave fast across the chest, the neck, and each arm...the ankles buckled firmly in to stirrups extending from the chair like tentacles. Pa and me are going away fer a few day slut, yer Master wants some time to spend with ya on his own...ta further yer trainin. Laughin as he walked, the huge hillbilly lumbered away, closing and locking the door behind him as he left Darren alone – bound and awaiting his first session at the hands of his new Master.
It seemed like ages passed with absolutely no activity in the dungeon at all. Surely Pete had left over 3 hours earlier, and Darren's body was beginning to cramp and stiffen in the unnatural position in which he was restrained. Not only that, but he was getting a splitting headache and was beginning to tremble and sweat. These symptoms were soon followed by the onset of extreme anxiety...he was feeling intense desperation, but could not fathom any reason for it, and the desperation was beginning to turn to panic. In the comfort of the big house on the property, Kent knew what is slave must be feeling...and what's more is he knew WHY. By now Kent was sure that Darren would be going through the early stages of withdrawal having not had a dose of the drug in several hours. So potent was the addiction that once fully under the drug's influence, it would be impossible for the slave to go more than 8 hours without a hit, being forever dependent upon Kent and his sadistic methods of delivering the needed narcotic. He decided it was time for the slave to have its next dose.
By the time Kent had made his way to the dungeon, he found Darren dripping with sweat, almost delirious with detox pain and anxiety. Nearly delirious, Darren begged Kent to help him....to let him go and take him to a hospital despite his freakish appearance. "SShhhhh" Kent soothed, as he wiped his slut's brow. "No more talking now cunt, Master is here to look after you." With that Kent placed a funnel into Darren's mouth, and ordered the slave to brace it between his tongue and the roof of his nearly toothless mouth. The Master then used wire twist ties to connect the grommets in his slut's plumped up silicone injected rubbery lips, and with each twist of the wires further sealed shut the bitch's mouth around the funnel, which now stood proudly upward and was sealed inside the slave's mouth. With Darren now effectively silenced, Kent turned his attention towards his slut's pussyhole, which was nicely on display in the gyne chair. As he pulled up a stool to sit on, and rolled over a covered cart, Kent began to fill Darren in on the beginning of the day's events. "You see slut, I already have you so addicted to the drug I have been dosing you with that you are in the early stages of detox. One day I will purposely let you suffer the agony of this process for an extended amount of time – all for the viewing pleasure of myself and whomever else I decide enjoy watching you suffer. And you will suffer slut. If you think you are in pain now, just wait until the full effect of withdrawal from my drug hits you. For now though, I think the day will move along more to my liking if we give you what it is that you are craving so very badly my pet. Before you get your candy though, your Master must have a look and see how your lubricant lining is coming along."
Kent took a large speculum off of the cart, and inserted it into Darren's asshole. He was pleased that no lube seemed to be needed for it to slide fully seated into the bitch's hole. As he turned the screw-like mechanism and the wings of the speculum began to spread, a look of childlike glee came over the sadist's face. With Darren writhing and moaning, and the medical device on full stretch pulling open the slave's hole, Kent could see inside with the aid of a flashlight that the walls of the writer's rectum were shiny and slick, coated in a thick layer of the industrial lubricating gel. The speculum was replaced with a bullet shaped butt plug, and Kent once again turned his attention to the funnel in his slave's mouth.
Darren was beyond desperate. He needed the drug. He would die with out the drug. He would do anything for the drug. Anything. And Kent knew it.
"Here you go slut, the first step towards getting what you desperately want and need." Kent began to pour from a jug into the funnel protruding from the slave's mouth. The same drug-laden gel that had been packed into his ass the night before. "Start sucking slut – suck down your candy" Kent laughed. Choking and gurgling noises emanated from Darren's throat as he struggled to keep up with the volume of viscous liquid being poured into his mouth. The more he sucked and swallowed the more Kent continued to pour into the funnel...two liters of the elixir as it turned out. As Darren swallowed it, his mouth and throat became coated all the way into his gut in the same way that his rectum had from the sponge insertion. By the time the operation was finished, Kent had a slave pre-lubed at either end, just waiting to be penetrated and stretched...all for his sadistic pleasure. He also had his slut filled to capacity with the viscous lubricating gel, with Darren's stomach beginning to bloat once again from the sheer volume of material that he had been forced to ingest.
"I think you will find slut that now that I am your Lord and Master, that I get my greatest pleasure from modifying and manipulating your worthless body. You see slut, you are now something of a canvass...a blank slate that will become my masterpiece. By the time I am finished with you slut you will be nearly unrecognizable as a normal human male. You truly will become my slut, a living, breathing sex toy and subhuman abuse doll for superior men like myself to use for their pleasure. Nothing about you, what you want, what you desire, or what you need will matter whatsoever. I own you – and will do with you as I please and see fit. And for now, what I want is to begin the process of more serious gut stretching on my slut. You see my little bitch, I intend to see just how much the human body can be made to contain within it...and I have oh so many ideas about how to accomplish that task...why don't we get started hmmm?"
Darren of course could not answer as his lips were mashed up against the funnel in his mouth by the wire twist ties. He could only look on in horror and despair as his Master made the necessary preparations to make good on his threat.
The first thing Kent did was lube up a catheter tube and slide it deep into the slave's penis, all the way into his bladder. He took care to note that after the slave had been allowed to pass a few loads of the ingested lubricant gel via his piss, that the inner lining of his urethra would also be nicely coated and slicked. No lube would be required for any insertion that Kent deemed enjoyable into the former author's body.
With the catheter tube firmly seated beyond the breach of Darren's bladder, the Master inflated the retention bulb so that it could not be removed. To the free end of the tube, he attached a small bicycle pump. Leaving his slave's penis and bladder to be dealt with later, Kent now turned his attention to the slave's well-displayed fuckhole. Nicely dilated from the hours that it had been stuffed with the foam plug, and now the bullet shaped steel plug, Kent contemplated his next move. Finding just the ticket, he removed the metal invader, and slipped in a deflated rubber bladder in its place. This was the most empty Darren's ass had felt in days, although he knew this was a feeling that would not last. The nozzle of the bladder protruded out from the slave's stretched asslips, and dangled lifelessly as the Master attached a second bicycle pump.
The final step was to deal with the slave's mouthpussy. Another diabolical tube, much thicker than the one inserted into his cock, was unceremoniously shoved up one of his nostrils. "I suggest you start trying to swallow cunt" Kent admonished, and as Darren did so he could feel the plastic tubing burning the back of his throat as it made its way all the way down to his stomach. Darren had never had an NG tube inserted before, and found the experience to be one of the most excruciating that he had endured to date. Kent then used some silicone caulking compound to ensure that his cunt would not be able to expel his feeding tube until he had decided it was time for its removal. He shoved the nose of the injector gun first up one nostril and then the other, filling each deeply with silicone caulk that would set, and then seal his slave's nose, making breathing impossible and securing the feeding tube firmly in place. He then unfastened and removed the funnel from the slut's mouth, taking care to ask if his bitch was feeling better for having had the next dose of his drug.
Darren did not have time to answer as Kent shoved a plastic tube gag into the slave's mouth so deeply that it rammed against the back of his throat and nearly made Darren begin to retch. The diameter of the tube was large, and it propped open the slut's mouth to the point that the skin and the corners of his mouth began to blanche. The gag was secured with a thick rubber strap around the slave's head, and with it firmly seated in place Darren had to take very loud deliberate mouth breaths in order to deliver oxygen to his lungs. Not yet quite finished, the slave heard his Master say that this gag in particular had one other function in addition to silencing the wearer rather effectively. At the very edge of his vision Darren could see dangling from the portion of the hard plastic tubing protruding from his mouth, a series of very small hooks attached to thick black elastic bands. Kent then proceeded to take each hook in turn, and thread it through each of the grommets riveted into his slut's lips. The final result was that the relentless thick rubber bands were mercilessly stretching Darren's lips upwards and away from his mouth, towards the end of the plastic tube gag. The pressure of the rubber bands also served to keep the gag rammed in to the back of the slave's throat – making it impossible to remove until the elastics were unhooked from his plumped up riveted lips. The pain was unbelievable and tears began to roll down Darren's cheek. This brought a wide smile of accomplishment to Kent's face. Stroking the side of the slave's face, he sarcastically said "there there slut...don't cry yet...there is so much agony yet to come for you today." With a maniacal laugh Kent turned his attention once again to the two bicycle pumps.
Starting with the bladder pump, Kent casually began filling his slut's piss bag with air...lots of it. Darren wasn't sure what was happening at first, but the feeling of needing to piss quickly turned to an agonizing bloating and sensation of urgently needing to void his bladder. Kent kept filling, until he noticed the body of his bitch break out in a thick sheen of sweat all over. He locked the pump, sealing in all of the air he had pumped into Darren's body.
The second pump. The thin rubber bladder that had been innocuously sitting inside of Darren's pussy slowly began to fill. It was spherical in shape, which would serve to seal the fully inflated state of it firmly on the inner side of the slut's lips. The agony was intense as Kent pushed the size of the invader past that of a pool ball, to a large orange, finally topping out with the inflated sphere roughly the size of a melon inside of his slave's abdomen.
"Now" Kent announced, "the real filling and stretching may begin." Darren could only watch as his Master rolled over an IV pole, and picked up the free end of his NG tubing, now fully sealed with hardening caulking compound into his left nostril. On the pole Kent hung a huge heavy rubber bag filled with 5 liters of fluid. The same viscous gelatinous ooze that was coating the entire inner lining of Darren's system. This dose however, had only a small amount of the narcotic mixed into it – Kent wanted his slut addicted, not overdosed. As Kent released the valve on the tubing, the heavy thick fluid slowly made its way along the tubing, and into Darren's helpless awaiting body. "The great part about this set up slut, is that the fluid is so thick and rich, that I reckon it will take three or four hours to fully empty into you. Since it's going so slowly, that will give you plenty of time to stretch and accommodate to the volume of it. By the time I'm done with you bitch you'll have a belly that can hold a party's full of piss or whatever else needs to be stuffed inside of you."
With his set up complete, Kent left his slave to suffer for a few hours.
When the Master returned three and a half hours later, he entered to hear his slave moaning in agony. The sight of Darren's body was rapturous to a sadistic Dom like Kent. Completely slicked with sweat to the point that puddles of it were dripping from his body, the former writer looked fully 9 months pregnant strapped into the gyne chair. The NG tube was solidly sealed in place, and not a hint of air had escaped from the rubber bladder invading the slave's ass, nor the internal balloon which his biological bladder had become. For Darren's part, he was completely delirious. In so much agony that he was not even aware of Kent's presence. Kent looked at the glazed over stare in Darren's eyes, and placed his hand on his slut's bloated abdomen. It was tense. Taut. Firm. It felt like an over-inflated beachball, and Kent was demonically possessed to go further. He mauled and massaged the bulbous belly, prompting more moaning and shrieking from behind the plastic tube gag. Darren's lips were under constant pressure, being stretched and loosed to the point that Kent truly hoped one day to have them floppy and flabby unable to keep his slave from drooling like an animal.
"I think we are off to a good start slut, but I know you can take more." Kent wheeled over an infrared heat lamp, and trained it on Darren's bloated belly. "If we heat up your skin, it should stretch a bit easier and allow you to take on a bit more fluid I think." With the heat lamp beginning to take its toll, Kent disconnected the empty rubber feed bag, and replaced it with a smaller version holding two more liters of the gelatinous mixture. By the time he was done stretching Darren's gut today, fully seven liters will have been force fed into the slut's body. Kent was very happy indeed.
"See you in another couple of hours slut" he called as he waved in Darren's direction. As Kent looked back, he noticed that the slave's belly was beginning to redden and glow...like a nicely basted turkey roasting for Thanksgiving dinner. Which gave him an idea...perhaps next time instead of a heat lamp, he should just use nicely heated liquid to fill up and expand his worthless cunt. Thoughts for another day. The business at hand would be to think about how he could make the most mileage out of abusing the slut's bloated body as it slowly returned to normal size after he was disconnected.
Darren had fully lost consciousness as the remaining fluid had been drained into his helpless body. His abdomen had become grotesquely bloated, and glowed red from the heat lamp, which had made his flesh more pliable for Kent to stretch and ruin even further. The slave was so out of it that he did not waken even as his Master had removed the pump tubes from his ass and bladder. Kent unlocked the wheels on the gyne chair, and rolled Darren's bound and bloated body over to the drain area of the floor. It did not take long for the slave's normal anatomy to begin to assert itself, and for the massive amount of liquid that had been driven into the submissive's poor abused body to begin to find an exit point. Almost at same time, a forceful explosion of clear lubricant laden piss began to erupt from Darren's cockhead, while a slow but steady flow of the same substance oozed from the abused and severely stretched asshole of the unconscious author. Kent simply stood back in amazement as his human container emptied its contents completely without any kind of control whatsoever. It was at this point that Darren woke with a start – feeling helpless as his body, with a mind of its own, was in the process of trying to restore normal levels of fluid balance. Videotaping the entire event, Kent would watch again and again over the coming months his slave's body slowly but steadily deflating like a balloon as the 7 liters of liquid it had been forced to accommodate was excreted via any available route.
Once empty, and exhausted, Darren knew that his abuse and torment for the day was far from over. The NG tube going into his stomach had been left caulked into place, and the vicious gag which was stretching out his lips was still ramming itself into the tender flesh at the back of his throat.
Content that the flow of liquid had ended, Kent wheeled the slave's gyne chair prison away from the drain, and over to the wall at the far end of the dungeon. Moving out of Darren's peripheral vision, the slave could not see Kent bend down to actually plug the chair into the wall socket...the gyne chair was motorized...and electrified.
As the Master slowly unhooked each elastic band from the grommets embedded in the slave's lips, he admonished Darren from saying a word once the gag was removed. The slavemeat's mouth had long since become numb from the stretching it had been subjected to, so it wasn't so much a matter of Darren choosing not to speak, as it was him being unable to speak given the lack of motor control over his mouth. "I told you that I wanted to see you modified did I not slut?" his Master asked. "And although I do like a slave with nice plump and floppy lip tissue, I also require that you have the type of tongue that I find most pleasing. The first modification we need to make to it concerns its length. That pathetic little slave tongue will never be able to get all the way up my ass to perform the necessary amount of cleaning and servicing that I will demand of it." Darren was horrified – the thought of having his tongue up Kent's ass was almost enough to make him violently ill. As he contemplated this eventuality, his Master swiftly grasped the authors exposed tongue with the business end of the piercing tool that had already been used on his lips. With an excruciating crunch, and the taste of blood rolling down the back of his throat, Darren remained helplessly bound and immobilized while Kent seated a slightly larger version of the lip grommets into his slave's tongue. Satisfied with the piercing, the Master proceeded to install tiny little carabiners into each lip grommet, and a larger version into his cunt's new tongue-piercing. Metal dangled and jingled from Darren's flaccid mouth as Kent began to program the chair's control panel. With an electrical hum, the chair responded, and began to shift and move until the bound slave's position was that of standing upright before its Master...but inescapably bound and ready for the next level of abuse.
Kent cupped the slave's ballsack with his left hand, and began to explain why Darren's cock, as it was, would simply not do. "What you have here is a human male cock, slave", he stated. "Considering you are now just property – a freak to be modified and tortured for my pleasure, this type of cock, frankly, is all wrong. What you need is a freak's cock. A cock that will be an inviting target for me to use and abuse, as well as being a source of agony and embarrassment for you. That is the type of cock that you need slut." Kent went on to say that he had considered some very extreme measures, like removing Darren's balls, and filling the scrotal sack with masses of firm silicone compound...or cutting off the cock altogether and simply leaving the slave with a tiny hole flush with his lower abdomen to piss through...but in the end that those more permanent measures might be a bit hasty, and in the end limit the enjoyment that he as the Master should be able to derive from abusing one of his slave's most sensitive areas. After all, the option to remove Darren's balls and dick would always be there in the future, and in the meantime what fun he could have dreaming up ways to torture it!
He went on to explain that his final decision had been to keep with his theme...stretching.
"This high and tight sack for my slave's balls will never do" Kent chided. And with that he gripped both of Darren's testicles, and yanked them forcefully downward, nearly taking the captive author's breath away in the process. Around the ballsac which he was now gripping mercilessly in his fist, Kent fitted a metallic device that consisted of two steel rings, connected at four equidistant points by solid steel struts. The struts themselves consisted of one slightly more slender steel tube inserted into a larger diameter version. Once opened and wrapped around Darren's ballsac, the metal ring mechanism was closed, and the slave – although he could not see the device – could hear it click and lock shut...constricting his testicles within its grasp. The overall length of the device was 4 inches, but it was at this point that Kent decided to fill his slut in on the details of how it would enhance his value as a piece of slutmeat for the sadist's pleasure. "What I'm doing now bitch is using the screw mechanism to put this little badboy to its intended use." As Kent turned the screw Darren was sure that he could feel a stretching type of a pressure building on his balls. As his Master continued to turn the screw, the feeling intensified and gave the slave the same feeling he had had when he had been kicked in the nuts at school as a child...only worse...and unrelenting. "You getting the point of this little exercise yet slut? This contraption here is going to stretch out and lengthen your scrotum for me...get it nice and long and floppy so that it's easier for me to get hold of, to abuse, to torture, and to humiliate you with. We're going to see my dear boy just how elongated a human male's ballsac can be made to stretch." Kent chuckled to himself as he gave the screw a final adjustment. It would take time, with periodic lengthening being achieved by giving the ratchet serial adjustments...but the device that was now strapped around Darren's balls had the capacity to lengthen out to a full 8 inches. What the captive slave did not yet know, was that this was the junior version of the device...its big brother was yet to come.
With another programming of the control panel, the gyne chair once again sprung to life, humming and whirring as it once again altered the slave's position for its Master's next task.
Darren was now stretched out horizontally, and face down towards the floor...completely prone. His arms were by his sides, but his legs had been spread out into a wide "V", nearly to a full splits position. This was the second time he had been stretched into this position, and it was getting clearer and clearer to him that Kent really got off on seeing his captive slave body yanked and stretched and extended to the very tolerance of all of his tissues.
Kent got down on the floor, and laid down directly underneath his slutpuppy, grinning up at him as he did so. The small metal carabiners now dangled like ornaments from Darren's heavily abused lips. Darren could see his Master's demonic smile as he reached up, and hung a small but very dense metal weight from one of the metal loops. The process was repeated until from each grommet hole in Darren's freakishly altered mouth, a one-pound weight of lead dangled and spun randomly to the tune of the slave's writhing and wriggling within his bondage. Over 10 pounds of lead now slowly, relentlessly, with the assistance of gravity, stretched and pulled the one-time author's now helpless gums away from his teeth. His lips blanched from the strain, and Darren was in agony. Kent however, was not finished. The piece de resistance was the 5 pound weight now being clipped into the freshly installed grommet in the slut's tongue. So heavy was the weight that it yanked the slave's tongue right out of its mouth, and rendered Darren absolutely mute and incapable of forming a single word. The last thing he heard was Kent say, as he shimmied out from underneath his bitch, that three or four hours of mouth pussy stretching should be a good start before increasing the weights to double their current levels. Tears began to roll down Darren's cheeks, and fall to the floor below him...mingling with the enlarging puddle of drool and spittle that was also flowing unrestricted from his mouth.
Kent decided that perhaps some garden variety fisting of his cuntslave would help pass the time while allowing gravity to take its toll on the mouthpussy and tongue, and while the ring stretcher on the slut's ballsac was in between length adjustments. It was also a good way to test out the lubricant lining that his slavebitch now sported in all of its orifices. He donned a long pair of veterinary rubber gloves, and began to tease and open Darren's asshole. The slave could only moan as he felt his Master's entire hand invade his bowels, and begin the trek inwards towards his deepest regions. Kent decided that he would go easy on the slave today...fisting up to his elbow, and a simple insertion of both of his hands into its snatch to both widen and deepen its hole. The serious stretching would come later. Darren had no way of knowing, but even he would end up being amazed at just how much, and how far, human flesh could be made to stretch.