We reached Master Quentin's ranch in the late afternoon with Eddie driving. Eddie was wearing a pair of someone's shorts he had found near the Frat door, but I was still naked.
We were expected at the ranch. As we drove up, a younger version of Master Quentin wearing shorts and sandals and with a smooth bare chest, came to greet us. He was slimmer than Master Quentin.
“I’m Quent’s brother.”
"I'm Eddie. This is the criminal slave."
"I know. I've got a cattle trough in the yard ready for the slave. It's got to submerse itself in an antiseptic mixture – it'll probably scream from all its whip wounds but no one can hear it round here. Hey, it's not even tied up!"
Eddie explained how we'd escaped from Frat-boys who would have killed me and castrated him if we'd stayed.
"Yeah, I know a bit about them from Quent – he's a big sadist – so am I – worse – but those guys sound crazy. You were their sub, right? Guess I'll fuck you later – I'm Miley but you'll call me 'Sir'"
Eddie nodded. He got out of the car.
"Drop your shorts, Eddie!"
He dropped them.
"Nice."
"Thank you, Sir."
I had been happy to be ignored during this exchange. Then an instruction from Master Miley "Get out of the car, slave." As soon as I was out, Master Miley nodded to Eddie and they each grabbed an arm and escorted me to a rusty and well-used cattle trough. It was full of a milky liquid and there was a faint sizzling sound. The smell was strongly antiseptic.
"In, slave", Master Miley ordered with a smirk, as he looked at my body, still oozing blood or at least blood-raw in a hundred places.
I stepped over the rim. I knew it would be sore. But I wasn't prepared for the sudden shock of extreme in my foot and in my toes which had been torn up with Master Chris's whip. I yelped loudly, slipped and fell right in. Right into the antiseptic tank which sloshed everywhere including over Eddie and Master Miley. I think Master Miley told me I would suffer for that, but honestly I was just overwhelmed with agony. Strong antiseptics, which I discovered later were designed for use on cattle, entered every whip-cut on my body, entered my torn anus and washed over the raw skinless sections of my penis and my ball-sack. I screamed and begged, and I tried to climb out, but they just pushed me back in, even holding my head under for a while. Torrents of the animal medicine they were using to wash me then went up my nose and attacked my throat. It went in my eyes and made them sting horribly.
"We'll leave it there for another five minutes and then we'll lock it in the outside toilet – it's pretty disgusting in there because it’s been blocked for ages and the boys still use it, but it's secure. We'll gag it and handcuff it anyway ... Hey, look at that ..." Miley had just seen that Eddie was getting erect, enjoying my agony and probably especially enjoying the idea of me being locked in a filthy toilet for the night.
"Sorry, Sir".
"As soon as we've got rid of this heap of filth" – Master Miley pointed at me – "my dick is going right up your sub-boy ass. No fucking argument ..."
"Sure – ah – yes – Sir ".
Eddie and Master Miley didn't wait around. After my five minutes in that horrible trough, they pulled me out and handcuffed me.
"I forgot its gag", said Master Miley. "I don’t mind it screaming in a cattle trough full of antiseptic, but we don’t want it screaming all night. I'll get a horse-bit". What he fetched was a real bit used by a real horse and still with warm with horse saliva on it. "I took it right out of the sweaty horse's mouth", Master Miley explained, as he casually shoved into my mouth. He made no attempt to wipe it, of course, but enjoyed my humiliation. He simply shoved the horse-bit into my mouth and tied the short straps around my neck tightly (and painfully) enough that there was no way for me to spit out the wet and foul-tasting thing.
Then they walked me down a rough path to an outhouse with an ante-room full of farm equipment and pushed me into a stinking little toilet-room in the corner. There was no toilet seat, and the bowl was full of piss and shit that couldn't be flushed away. Clearly whoever used it wasn't bothered - there were puddles of piss and even some turds on the floor.
Fortunately, Master Miley and Eddie were getting too much into each other to bother to push my head into the filth or to make me eat or drink from it, as the Frat would definitely have done. Instead, they just threw me on to the dirty floor, bolted the door on the outside, and left me.
I lay in the spilt piss – there was no way not to – but I managed to avoid the turds. I was so exhausted that, even in those disgusting conditions, I must have slept, because the next thing I remember was the morning. I heard Master Miley, Eddie, and a dog enter the outhouse and someone unbolted my toilet.
Master Miley threw down a dirty metal tray. He dropped it hard enough that some of the slop on it spilt over into the piss on the floor – the piss had mostly dried up but I noticed that something that looked like a chewed bit of sausage had landed in one of the remaining small puddles. The tray apparently contained leftovers from Master Miley's and Eddie's breakfast, along with an open can of cheap dog-food. Master Miley undid my gag. "Eat, slave. Quent said to use up this old dog-food on you - there are lots of cans – no good for dogs, going mouldy, but okay for slaves like you who haven't got any fucking choice." He then lent over and spat twice into the can. Eddie followed suit and then, laughing, took out his dick and pissed on everything, on leftover congealed fried egg, on gristly bits of spat-out bacon, on a mess of lukewarm porridge, on the chewed sausage which was now drowning in mixed piss, and on the dog-food. Eddie's piss overflowed the rim of the dog-food can, spilling bits of it on to some unidentifiable mush – possible some leftover potato but now just mush. "Eat it all or you'll get dog-shit for breakfast instead ", said Master Miley. “From him”, added Eddie, pointing at the large brown mongrel. “It stinks, but you’ll probably enjoy it – you'll be eating it some time anyway”, he said. Master Miley laughed that he knew a bit about that Frat: "From what I hear, the Frat would probably have just given you dog-shit straight off and made Eddie eat these pissed-on breakfast leftovers. But we're kind here – haha".
They left me with my ‘breakfast’, still handcuffed, and bolted my toilet closed again. and the two boys and the dog left the outhouse. I could hear Eddie and Master Miley making out as they went back to the main house.
I looked around for hiding some of the most inedible scraps, but there was nowhere unless I was prepared to lift piles of shit from the toilet itself. Then there were the consequences if I was found out, and I knew there was a good chance I’d have to clean out the toilet at some point – I knew by now the way these things went. With my hands trapped firmly behind my back, naked and humiliated, I knelt down and pushed my face into the piss-soaked leftovers. Slimy pieces of egg, unchewable gristle (some of it with mucus still attached where it had been spat out), potatoes or some kind of mush that tasted only of Eddie’s piss. I ate all of it, occasionally lapping from a small bowl of water that both boys had spat in but was otherwise unpolluted.
I lay back down and waited. Then came quite young-sounding male voices outside, not Master Miley and Eddie. The door of the outhouse opened but my toilet was bolted – maybe two teenage farm-workers:
“Can we still piss and shit here if this slave – or whatever it is ...?”
“It’s a fucking criminal slave, not even an ordinary slave, we can fucking drag it out and hang it by its bollocks from the ceiling if we want. We can shit right on its face and make it eat it if we want .. ”
“Haha - who does it belong to?”
“Quent - Miley’s looking after it. There’s a sub too. Miley’s got him at the moment but we’ll all get to use him.”
“Fucking hell – let's take a look at this criminal slave ... “
“Quent’s coming down later to decide what to do with it – we can’t torture it till he says ... It doesn’t mean we have to be fucking nice to it though. Miley reckons that it’ll do the bits of our work that we hate – digging, clearing thorns, cleaning the shit from the fucking stables, and so on. That’s during the day. Then we get to punish it and torture it in the evenings. Quent’s lot were going to chop it into fucking pieces and kill it today, Miley says, and Quent made out he was rescuing it – but you know what Quent’s like ...”
“He’s a fucking sadist ...”
My door was unbolted and two boys of around 18 in dirty work-clothes stood there grinning as I lay naked on the piss-covered floor in their stinking toilet. I looked up at them with the remains of my ‘breakfast’ on my face along with a bit of old shit which Master Miley had deliberately kicked into my bowl before he left – it had softened in the piss and some of it had smeared on the side of my nose.
“Fucking look at this, Matt boy”, said the taller of the two. He had dirty brown hair flopping over his face and a broad grin. “We’re going to have a lot of fun with you, boy”, he said. Then he took his dick out to piss: “This is probably the last time you’ll see either of us two pissing in the toilet, boy. It’ll be on you, in you, or on your food and in your mouth. Same with shit.” The other boy with lighter hair and a dimpled smile which belied his words: “and the same with dog-shit and horse-shit – and puke”, he added. “Also, you’ll be doing the worst bits of our work”, said the taller one again, “but we’ll wait and see what Quent says this evening.” Then they both left, and slammed and bolted my door. “It fucking stinks in there”, said the taller boy.
I heard nothing more till they came back hours later with another ‘meal’ which they emptied from a plastic bag on to my filthy toilet floor. Some muddy uncooked cabbage leaves and a lump of stale bread, and a bowl with some water which they both spat in again and the taller boy pissed in it and on the floor.
Then nothing until the evening when I heard a car and some voices. Master Quentin, my new owner, had arrived. After he’d apparently had a good supper, shared with Master Miley, and served by Eddie (who, I discovered later, had been furious about having to strip naked to serve it), Master Quentin was about to lay down the law.
The first laying down of the law was with Eddie for not wanting to be naked at supper. With the help of the two boys who had visited me, Eddie was tied over a bench and given twenty – I heard the count and Eddie’s screams – with one of the boys’ belts on his ass and thighs. He was not to be allowed clothes for the next seven days. He begged and apologised desperately to Masters Quentin and Miley and they finally conceded that he could use flip-flops – and only flip-flops – when he had to go outside. The condition was that he could be ordered by anyone to remove a flip-flop so they could beat him with it.
The second laying down of the law was with me. The two boys dragged me out of my toilet and out of the outhouse, into the open. They tied me to a convenient concrete post – convenient only for them because it had a few strands of barbed wire from an old fence still attached to it, which caught me if I moved.
I stood surrounded by the two boys, my two young masters, and Eddie with a red and welted ass naked apart from flip-flops. Eddie in fact looked utterly miserable, especially when the two boys laughed at him openly “How about sending this naked Eddie-cunt back to get his balls cut off, eh Quent?”, said the taller boy “He doesn’t seem to like it here with us!”
Master Quentin chuckled. Then he turned to me.
“OK, criminal slave. I’ve negotiated with the Frat and you’re my property now. I’m not going to go easy on you. I’m just not going to kill you, at least not yet. Remember, the smallest disobedience or resistance brings severe punishment – beatings, tortures, especially of your disgusting sexual organs will be your life here, along with fucking hard work, 7 days a week. The boys will supervise your work and Eddie and Miley will decide on your punishments. Eddie enjoys thinking up dick and ball punishments and administering those, so he’ll play his part even though he’s a fucking whore, slut and sub. As for me, like the Frat, I’m not afraid of removing a finger or toe, or worse, if I want ...
“Your life here will be fucking unbearable, criminal slave. You’ll live in that toilet and we’ll turn the outhouse into a torture chamber specially for you. The boys will use the toilet and use you if they want, to fuck or as a toilet. You’ll be given enough food, including vitamins and antibiotics, to live, but it’ll always be disgusting and include human and animal shit, puke and who-the-fuck knows what else.
“You’ll do heavy work on the ranch. We’ll shackle you and someone will always oversee you, usually one of the boys armed with a cane which they’ll use to punish you or just to encourage you to work harder – it'll be up to them. Each weekend, we’ll assess your week’s work and punish you accordingly and get you ready for a visitor from the Frat. I agreed that a member of the Frat can use you for a full day each Sunday, unsupervised and without limits apart from killing you.”
There was a short silence and I realised I had to thank him. “Thank you, Master Quentin”, I said.
“Prepare the barrel, boys”, ordered Master Quentin. The two boys knew exactly what he meant. They had suffered on that barrel all too often when Masters Miley or Quentin punished them. Now they had me. They went over to a small outhouse and rolled out a heavy metal barrel. They drove stakes into the ground for what I quickly realised were my wrists and ankles.
“Choose some instruments”, said Master Quentin and then he turned to me: “This is just to show you that we’re going to make you hate it here. You deserve every punishment we can devise and you’ll be humiliated and degraded worse that you ever could have imagined, but you’ll live so long as we still find it fun ... This time it’s ten strokes from each of us.”
“I want it screaming from the first stroke, boys”, said Master Quentin.
“Any extras this time, Quent?” asked the tall boy. “What about nailing its sack to the wood at the edge of the barrel like you did to us that time – he rubbed his ball-sack as he remembered? It’ll keep it still. What about tying it with the straps with pins you used on us that time?” Master Quentin shook his head. “Nah, we’ve got plenty of time ahead – just beat it hard – but I know – you can kick it in the balls a few times when it’s strapped down, just to warm it up – do it hard – no need to hold back ... “
The two boys led me over to the barrel and made me lie across it, stretching my arms and legs until my ass was perfectly placed for beating. They moved the stakes behind me to stretch my legs wider apart - “We’re going to kick the fuck out of those balls”, said the shorter boy - “Quent said not to hold back so you’re getting it full-force", he said to me as he banged in the final stake. I was painfully stretched – my midriff and pubes were jammed on top of the unyielding metal. The tiny ridges in the metal bit into me.
Without warning, one of the boys’ workboots slammed into my exposed and hanging balls. Immediately followed by another and another. The boys violently attacked my balls with their hard leather boots from all angles. Around half the kicks had come from directly underneath, smashing my poor soft balls into my hard pelvic bone – some of those kicks had followed through adding painful crushing to the terrible unstoppable ache going through into my stomach and out into my whole unmoveable body. Other kicks had come more from the sides making the balls crunch into each other. Some had gone further between my stretched legs and hit my dick with force – after a dozen or so kicks, the shorter boy reached in and pulled my dick out from under my body where it had been trapped over the barrel, so it hung free and available as a new target for a well-angled boot-end – when this happened, like on the very next kick, both my balls and my dick were simply slammed into the side of the metal barrel – it was unbelievably painful,
I must have had about twenty kicks before Master Quentin said “OK, boys – nice kicks”. I couldn’t scream. I could scarcely breathe.
“Time to cane its ass now”, said Master Quentin.
Eddie had predictably selected a heavy cane likely to cut into my flesh on the first or second blow – and, predictably, he was pulling on his dick and was now hard, after watching the boys’ ball-kicking me and at the prospect of him caning me. The boys both selected strange-looking paddles. The taller boy showed me one of them with a grin and I saw it had nasty little sharp metal rivets, like little pyramids, on the side he plainly intended to use on my ass. Master Miley chose a heavy martinet, similar to the one Eddie had used to torture my sexual organs while the Frat watched, but this one was going to be used on my tender ass. Master Quentin chose a long thin plastic cane.
“You go first, Miley”, Master Quentin said – “sensitise the fucker’s ass for Eddie to go second with his big cane”. The ten with the martinet had me yelping as its nasty strands reached into my crack and slammed on to my hole. They also, of course, sliced viciously across my buttocks opening up some of the welts from my terrible whipping at the Frat on my last night there.
Then it was Eddie’s turn with his cane, and he lent down and spoke quietly to me. “This is what they call a ‘prison cane’, criminal slave – it’s thick and it’s heavy and it’s designed to punish the worst criminals, like you. You’ll get to know this cane here, cunt-filth, and you’ll learn to hate it and dread it. It’ll thud into your nasty ass, making a white line. That whole fucking line will feel like a piece of red-hot wire across your ass. Then the white will turn red and then purple. Each phase will be agony. Here come ten ...”
Eddie was right about the feeling of red-hot wire. During Eddie’s ten, I felt like my ass was on a barbecue. Each stripe on my ass, already red and sensitive from the martinet, felt like red-hot metal. I made a big noise, screaming and begging. Then, on the tenth stroke from Eddie, I farted loudly. I couldn’t help it, but I knew there’d be retribution. “You just earned Icy Hot on your ass, balls and dick, filthy criminal slave – and an extra two from Eddie right now.” Eddie laughed as he laid two extra hard strokes near the top of my thighs, on top of each other – I saw flashes as I sunk into a new level of pain.
“Plus I’m going to make those ten welts extra-agonising", said Master Quentin, lifting his cane high over his shoulders, and as near as possible tracing Eddie’s dozen. I became incoherent. Then I begged them to take me back to the Frat so they could kill me.” Master Quentin laughed loudly at that. “Maybe - in good time, criminal slave”, he said.
One of the boys now produced a big pot of Icy Hot and put on some gloves - “everywhere”, said Master Quentin, including up its disgusting asshole. The horrible Icy Hot gave out a new sharp agony to add to the terrible aches from the ball-kicking and the brutal welts from my caning. The boy manhandled my balls, already sensitised and swollen from their kicking, as he applied a good layer of Icy Hot on my ball-sack. I then shrieked as that horrible burning cream was rubbed vigorously all over my dick with special attention paid to my pisshole. Just when I thought he’d finished, I felt his creamy glove slip into my asshole – the boy made sure the burning torture was everywhere inside my hole from my ass-lips to my prostate. The boy – I now saw it was the shorter one – pushed his gloved finger in and out of asshole, scratching it everywhere, maximising the pressure and covering everywhere inside my sensitive hole with the Icy Hot.
Master Quentin now turned his attention to Eddie. It wasn’t the look of a predator, a predator with a soft handsome face and light curly hair, but definitely a predator. “Hey, naked sub, that hard-on's pretty impressive – you're having fun here now, right? Having fun punishing the slave? Having fun with my brother?” Eddie looked alarmed, even frightened, but he said nothing. Master Quentin’s shorts were tented so much that I thought they’d burst open. “Get over the barrel next to the sub. I’m going to fuck your ass. Make it good for me or that tub of Icy Hot’s going on you too.”
The barrel wasn’t long and I was tied over the middle of it. Eddie looked at the ground and looked miserable. He said “Yes, Sir, Quentin” and he laid himself over the barrel.
The barrel wasn’t that big and Eddie’s legs got caught up with mine which had been stretched out for the ball-kicking.
“The fucking cunt-slave's feet are in the way”, said Master Quentin – “just drape yourself over the slave, Eddie.”
“Please, Quentin, Sir, the criminal slave’s filthy and bloody – and covered in Icy Hot.”
“Just fucking do it.”, said Master Quentin. Then he turned to the others: “Boys, hold Eddie down – this is going to be fun”.
I felt Eddie’s whole weight as he was basically thrown on top of me. He didn’t resist but he was sobbing. He was the same way round as me, so his face was pushed into the back of my neck. I felt his dick and balls on my ass, and I heard his screams as the Icy Hot, lathered on me, started to ooze over him. The two boys and Master Miley held him down and Master Quentin fucked his ass.
In fact, Master Quentin, first brought his huge erection round to Eddie’s front “Your spit is all the lube you’re getting, sub – you've got about thirty seconds – get going.” Eddie sucked loudly, even frantically – trying to reduce the torture of his inevitable dry fuck. Master Quentin then moved quickly behind Eddie and fucked him ruthlessly. He came inside him in a few minutes. It was a powerful and relentless fuck. Master Quentin plainly enjoyed every second of it but there was no pleasure for Eddie. It was just painful and humiliating for Eddie.
They released Eddie who lifted himself off me stiffly. “Can I please go in now, Quentin, Sir? I’m covered in blood and shit from the fucking criminal slave. Please can I wash, Sir?”, Eddie sobbed.
Master Quentin punched Eddie so hard in his stomach that he sank to his knees. “Thank me, you ungrateful slut.”
At first, Eddie was too winded to speak. Then one of the boys stomped on his hand which he’d stretched out on to the ground to steady himself.
“Thank you, Quentin, Sir, for fucking me and for reminding me to thank you, Sir. I’m a slut and you, and everyone, can use me any time and in any way.”
“You can’t go in, sub-boy. Stay here for the rest of the criminal slave’s punishment. But stand over there – you stink! Watch the boys and learn how they inflict pain ...”
They all looked at me again. My balls had been kicked and were swelling and were also covered with burning cream. My ass was a mess from the martinet and two canes. I was in pain everywhere.
“Twenty to come – from the boys”, said Master Quentin. “What have you got for our slave, boys?”
“We chose the electric paddles. The batteries are fully charged and we’ve set them to maximum. The dampness caused by the Icy Hot and the criminal slave’s sweat will make this filth scream in fucking agony.”
The taller boy showed me the electric paddle. It was basically a small leather paddle with dozens of metal rivets sticking out of it on one side, the side they were going to use on me. “Each one of those spiky little rivets will slam into your flesh and then give you an electric shock, slave. You’ll fucking learn to respect us boys. We’re going to use it on your chest, your dick, your balls, your shins and your ass. We’re going to hold it on your skin so you’re shocked again and again.”
They stood back, lifted the spiked paddles and they each hit a nipple and the surrounding area – at the same time. The pain from dozens of sharp rivets smacking into my chest took my breath away, but then severe waves of electric shocks, accompanied by a kind of hissing noise, went backwards and forwards between the paddles the boys held them in place. This is what they meant by “again and again”. Then they slammed their paddles into my ass, one on each side – the dampness and the injuries from the cane down there doubled the pain they’d inflicted on my nipples and chest. The pain from my shins was more from the metal rivets tearing my skin than from the electricity, but that was definitely not the case when they got to my balls. They couldn’t both get my balls at the same time, so they took it in turns, each holding their electric paddles in place for a good quarter of a minute after a solid hit – the pain from the electric shocks was worse than being kicked – it seemed to go deeper and last longer – I couldn’t even scream and beg. Finally, they sandwiched my dick between their electric paddles – I became hysterical as the rivets smacked into the top and bottom of my dick and then electrocuted it – I think every couple of seconds for a full minute and with the electrocution switched – as Master Quentin confirmed – to “severe”.
They all laughed at me. Even Eddie, naked, fucked and humiliated, standing in the distance because he stank, smiled at me. As usual, he was also hard from seeing me punished severely.
The boys untied me, attached a rope around my dick and balls, so the tall one could drag me. The shorter boy threatened me with his electric paddle, to keep me walking back to my toilet prison.
When we arrived, it stank worse than ever. I realised that the boys had forced a window closed which had previously been wedged open an inch or so and had let in a tiny amount of fresh air. They had also – probably both of them judging from the amount and the stench – taken a shit in the blocked toilet.
They threw me on to the floor. I was only half conscious by then. One of them pissed on my face. Then they both left.
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