The Alex Chronicles

We’ve just arrived at the studio, right on time. Before Billy gets out of the car He turns to me and reminds me, “You know the drill, slave. As soon as we get inside, strip and get down. Ass high and keep it there or I’ll take one of His paddles to your nipples so He can hear how you cry for Me. In fact, I might find a way to make you cry just for the fun of it.”

We enter, and I am quickly nude and humbled the way Master wants me to be. Spike ignores me as usual and brings Master into the other room while leaving this slave alone on the ground straining to keep its ass high in the air the way Master has ordered. Again I can hear them talking but have no idea what they are saying to each other. I reproach myself, “Who the fuck do you think you are? What fucking right do you have to hear what these Superiors are saying to one another? You have only one purpose right now, and that is to keep yourself humbled and on display the way your Master has ordered. Empty your brain, bitch. Be what you are, especially when in Spike’s presence: property. Nothing more than that.” This pep talk does me a lot of good and renews my understanding of what I am despite those special moments when Master treats me like someone precious to Him. Here in Spike’s studio, my slave identity comes to the surface and I am the least of the least and happy that Master takes pleasure from seeing me so reduced to such a lowly state of being. Dogs get more affectionate attention than I deserve on any given day. Interestingly enough, I find myself wondering what it would be like to be a slave, or rather, a piece of property, during one of Spike’s group gatherings, and hope to find out sometime in the future.

It's a good thing I started thinking that way. Never would I have imagined what would be happening to me in the next half hour or so.

Master and Spike come back to the anteroom where I am groveling on the floor with my ass presented for their enjoyment. I hear Spike speak: “This is a special lube,” He says, “which has ginger as one of its ingredients. Not too much, just enough to make a pig like yours very much aware that its anal channel itself is worthy of humiliating pain. Here, take this plug and lube it up and spread some lube at its opening before inserting the plug.”

Next thing I know, Master is greasing up the rim and entrance to my hole, and almost immediately I feel a slight burning sensation. Master quickly inserts the plug, and sensation fills my whole channel. Not only am I plugged, but I am also glowing with heat that bites into me. I am being fucked with a touch of fire and my moans cause both Superiors to chuckle with amusement. “Mind you,” says Spike to Master, “it is not advisable to use this too often, but of course there are times when a slave needs a special reminder that its body is meant to bear pain for its Master’s enjoyment. It is also important to douche the slave with a soapy mixture before fucking it Yourself unless You wish to add a burn to Your own experience of claiming its ass. Some Masters find that to be highly erotic while others don’t care much for the sensation and prefer the property to be properly cleansed before taking it with their own hard cocks.”

“How long does the burn last?”

“I’ve never timed it myself, but I would suspect that unless You decide to douche the slave before leaving here, it will still be quite warm and ripe by the time you get it home. Trial and error will let You know how long it will last. If nothing else, it will keep the slave relatively subdued as it enters that type of trance common to well-disciplined slaves.” Now, if you will, let us sample the collars you have selected.”

“I’ve heard that some slaves actually are fucked with spikes of ginger root itself,” says Master. “Yes indeed,” answers Spike, “but it can be incredibly painful if left in for too long, painful enough to cause a slave to safeword. Nonetheless, if a slave is spanked on the ass while the root is inserted, it increases the intensity of the pain of the spanking two or three times as severe. Excellent practice if a Master isn’t really in the mood to do any hard spanking Himself. A few relatively light slaps will usually send even the most recalcitrant slave howling in no time. When you gather with my group, you will see this amply demonstrated since a few of the Doms enjoy making their properties aware of how much they deserve regular punishment.”

“I like the sound of that. I believe that every slave deserves to be punished at all times simply because of the fact that it is such a faggot. It always needs all sorts of discipline.”

“A good philosophy indeed. Let’s try out the collars and these special clamps I wanted to show you.”

“slave, stand. Head raised. Hands behind back. Eyes closed.” I get into position. Standing increases the burning bite of the plug and I am already close to tears.

I sense Master standing before me and hear Him making noises with His mouth when, all of a sudden, He spits three times into my face and then invites Spike to do the same. Spike spits even more than Master, and now the spit is running down my eyelids and cheeks and I stand motionless in utter humiliation. Up until now, Master has never really seemed to be interest in spitting at this slave. Perhaps Spike is introducing Him to this form of pleasure, which He obviously enjoys, since He follows Spike and spits some more and now I know I am in for this on a regular basis. I fight back the resistance which arises but Master notices what is happening and proceeds to slap my face back and forth until as last I utter the words, “Thank You, Master,” and sink back into submission. Master Billy is the only Man Who has ever slapped this slave’s face. It is a new form of degradation which this slave realizes it must accept as willingly as any other action Master wishes to perform to demonstrate His complete ownership of His property.

Then I feel clamps being put on my nipples (Well, actually, HIS nipples!). They’re firm, but not nearly as painful as clothespins, so this doesn’t seem like it’s going to be a problem. But then Spike tells Master, “What is especially good about these clamps is the screw-like handles on them. Each turn of the screw clicks, and each click increases the tension. The maximum is ten clicks, and most slaves will either safe word or pass out around the eighth click or even less. Give it a try.”

One click. I feel the tightness.  Two clicks. I grunt. Yes, now it feels like a clothespin. Three clicks. Ouch! Tighter still, as if Master is squeezing the clamp to make it more painful.  Four clicks. I quickly stand up on my toes, trying to somehow escape the pain, as if that would do any good. But Master sees my reaction and taps me on the head, encouraging my willingness to take the pain for Him just to make Him proud of me. Five clicks. Godamn, it bites! I begin whining and can hear Spike chuckling. His chuckling embarrasses me so much that yes, tears starts spilling from my eyes.  Six clicks. “Master, please!” and now I am crying fully like a spanked baby and He says, “at last! Let your tears wash away our spit from your cheeks, slave!” And indeed, moisture is flowing down my face and dripping onto my chest. I can barely endure this pain any more. Please, please, please don’t click any further, I beg inside. Master touches the clamps again and I am ready to safe word, but this next click reduces the pain level and I realize that He is backing it down for my relief and unending gratitude. But now He stops toying with the clamps and I have no option but to keep letting my tears flow, and the only good thing about this is that I know how much my tears please my Master. I’d bet anything He is hard as a rock. One more click, and the pain backs off more and I would like to shout out my gratitude but know that in Spike’s presence, a slave is never allow to speak unless it is ready to endure a severe whipping.

“Now for the collars,” says Master. “turn around, faggot!” He commands. I feel the leather wrapped around my neck and fastened behind me. This one is very wide and keeps my head held high. Master roughly grabs my shoulders and spins me back around and steps back. He sticks a finger between the bottom of my chin and the collar. “No, this won’t do,” He says. “I really want something it can wear all the time in My presence, but I don’t care for the position of hits head and I suspect the collar would eventually bite into the bottom of its chin. One of the other ones would probably be better.” He spins me around again and removes the collar and I must say that I am relieved because everything Master just said is true, and I was feeling it biting into my chin. Briefly, I forget the pain in my ass and on my nipples. He orders me to turn around again and puts on another collar. It feels so, um . . . substantial.

“I like this one,” Master says, “although there doesn’t seem to be much more length to the strap fasteners. I would like something that would make it possible for me to choke the slave and inhibit its ability to breathe feely. Do you have anything that could do the trick?” He asks Spike. “Just give me a second, Billy. I think I have exactly what You are looking for.” Master removes the collar and gives it to Spike, who goes into the back room again, bringing the two collars with him. Shortly He returns. “Give this one a try. Note that it is quite similar to the other one but a bit heavier, which has its advantages because it makes it impossible for a slave to forget what it is.” “Around!” Master orders, and I turn. He fastens the collar around my neck and yes, indeed, it is hefty and a bit weighted. Spike is correct, I could never even briefly forget that I am not free, that I am not a man, that I am not owned. Master fastens it behind me. It is snug but not too tight. Spike feels around the inside and says, “This would be appropriate for ordinary wear. The slave will bear the weight but its breath will never be constricted. Notice, if you will, Billy, that it can be tightened several degrees when You wish to control the slave’s breathing or even cut it off completely until the slave passes out.”

Master tightens it a bit more, and to be sure, now I have to work hard to inhale. It reminds me of when He has choked me a bit with the chain He likes to have around my neck. “You will also notice that there are d rings in front and back and on each side, which offers many opportunities for additional bondage positions.” “Yes, I like this very much. I think this is the one. Turn around, slave.”

I turn around, and while all this conversation is taking place, I am still struggling to keep inhaling. “Spike, help me out, if you will, please and get behind the slave and tighten another notch.” Spike does so and now I can breathe only lightly and am already becoming light-headed. “If you go any further, you will be at the point of asphyxiation, and there is a quick-release tab which can be activated if the slave begins to pass out or even gets to cum if you enjoy playing that type of scenario with it.”

“Good to know, but at least at the present time, I’m not allowing the slave to have any orgasms at all and that will continue for quite some time.” I groan inwardly, realizing that my natural male function is being taken away from me along with every other right and privilege I used to think was normal. Master spins me around again and resets the collar’s tightness to the point where He said would be the usual tightness. Yes it is heavy, but yes, it certainly does have an effect on my understanding of what I am. “This pleases Me, slave,” Master says, and I begin weeping again, this time from relief and joy, more than from any increased pain. Master turns me around again and removes the clamps which causes me to screech again. “Knees, bitch!” He commands. Speaking to Spike, he says, “I’ll take the collar, the clamps, the ginger oil and let me come into the back with you again. There’s a short whip that I had my eye on before.” “Would you like me to fetch it for you so you can try it out before making a decision?” “That would be great, Spike. Thank you.”

While Spike goes in the back Master orders me on all fours. When taking the position, I realize that the collar forces me to hang my head a bit lower. I wonder if Master notices that Himself, but then He taps me on the back of the neck and I know for sure that He is aware of what this collar is doing to me.

Spike comes back swinging something through the air which sounds a bit like the swish of a cane. “Try this out,” he says to Master. I hear the swish and then a sharp bite to my left shoulder and then quickly, one more to the back of my right thigh. I yelp and holler out, “thank You, Master, for whipping Your slave!” Smart move. He stops whipping me any more.

“Yes, Spike, I will take this as well. Let’s go settle up. Slave, stand up and get dressed but don’t go outside yet until I take off your new collar. Only to be worn in the presence of other Masters and slaves. You will most certainly be wearing it when young Mitchell comes by tomorrow.”

He goes in the back with Spike. I get to my feet and put on my clothing again. This started out as a sweet day of relative respite, but has turned to a time of creative torment in ways that I have not experienced before. And, lest I think my mentality is totally that of a slave, I catch myself wondering if Master will wipe my face clean before we leave.

They come back. Master takes off my new collar but does not wipe my face clean. “Go to the car and take these things with you,” He orders.

I leave and go to wait for Him. When He comes out, He’s carrying a small cloth which He uses to wipe my face clean. How I love Him! How I am grateful for how hard He is working to complete my training.