Preface
Evan, 22 years old, a gym fit guy studying economics at university, taken while climbing a private mountain track in Wales. Evan was in debt and the new enslavement laws permitted a slave master to repay the debt and take the debtor into slavery, one year of slavery for each £1000 owed. Evan had to sign an agreement that he would accept slavery in return for his debt to be cleared. Evan was refusing to sign……………..
They had kept him in the small stone dungeon for days—maybe longer. The air was stale, heavy with the smell of damp. His wrists were bound behind the chair, his ankles taped together. Twenty-two years old, lean, wiry. His name was Evan, though in this place, names didn’t matter as much as your submission and obedience to a man who considered you to be no more than a slave.
The man standing in front of him had no malice in his voice but he was firm and to the point.
“You’ve had chances to submit. You didn’t take them; you can’t fight this Evan.”
Evan swallowed hard. “I’ve got nothing to say.”
The man sighed, crouched, and set a small metal case on the floor. He removed Evan’s shoes and socks and said “Evan, are you sure you want to do this? All you have to do is obey and submit, three years and it’s all over.” Evan looked into the eyes of the man standing over him and spat in his face. He looked down at his feet and waited for the pain. The man said nothing, he wiped his face, bent down and opened the small metal case, the tools inside caught the dim light—pliers, tweezers, blades.
Evan’s pulse quickened. His toes curled involuntarily.
The man took Evan’s right foot in one steady hand, pinching his big toe between thumb and forefinger. “Toenails can be very useful,” he said. “With the right care and attention, they can help to change attitudes and break the will of the stubborn.”
The pliers were cold. Evan jerked, but the chair was bolted to the floor. The first tug was sharp, shocking the nerves under the nail as was the second and third tug but the nail resisted moving, it was anchored deep. Then came the pull. Slow, deliberate, twisting the nail as it was ruthlessly, slowly pulled free from the nail bed. Pain bloomed like fire, racing up Evan’s leg, hitting nerves he didn’t know existed. The nail tore loose with a wet snap. Blood welled instantly. The air stung the raw flesh and Evan’s stomach turned. Blood was cleaned from the wound and silver nitrate applied to ease the bleeding but once again irritating the torn nerve endings. His jaw clamped down until his teeth hurt. He tried to make no sound, but a strangled scream broke free echoing around the dungeon.
Before the pain could fade, the man moved to the next toe. “Nine to go,” he murmured.
Evan’s world narrowed to pressure, tearing, white heat. The second nail came free faster, but the pain doubled—each empty bed throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat. By the fourth, his vision swam. By the sixth, sweat was dripping into his eyes, his chest heaving and his screams getting louder with each extraction.
The torturer worked methodically, without malice—just a task to be completed, just another poor boy in need of persuasion. Evan’s mind tried to escape, to imagine being somewhere else: sand underfoot, grass between his toes. But each rip dragged him back to reality with screams and the tearing of flesh.
When the tenth nail was gone, he slumped forward, shivering. His toes felt huge, alien, pulsing with agony. Blood dripped steadily onto the floor. Evan’s subdued sobs could clearly be heard in the old stone dungeon but the man was oblivious, his job was done.
The man cleaned the pliers, stood, and packed the case. “You’ll submit eventually, my job is done, for today at least. Tomorrow, I will give you another opportunity to fall in line he said, almost kindly, they always do. You won’t be needing your shoes and socks; I will take them with me. Get some rest Evan and take some time to rethink your decision to resist. Tomorrow we will be taking the rest of your clothes; you need to get used to being naked. I have nothing against you boy, today my job was to remove your toenails, tomorrow will bring a new task for me, a new challenge for you. You will break eventually. Evan; you will accept your fate.”
Evan was left in the dim cell shackles freed from the torture chair but shackled to the floor with a single ankle chain, alone with his thoughts and a throbbing unending pain in his blood-soaked toes.
The cell was cold and an insidious chill seeped into his very bones, a stark contrast to the burning agony that consumed his feet. He lay on the damp, unforgiving stone, his back pressed against its ancient, stone surface. The chain around his ankle, heavy and unyielding, dug into his skin, a constant reminder of his captivity.
His breath hitched, a shallow, ragged gasp caught in a throat parched with terror and the metallic tang of dried blood. His toes, he didn't need to look. He could feel the raw, exposed flesh, the dull, throbbing ache that pulsed in sync with his racing heart. Each beat was a tiny hammer blow against the mangled ends of his nerves, a relentless, agonizing rhythm. They had taken his toenails. Every single one. Slowly. Deliberately. Painfully and without any signs of malice or mercy.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but the darkness behind his lids offered no solace, only a canvas for the replay of the last few hours. The harsh light, the glint of the pliers, the sadistic smile, the tearing, ripping sensation, the scream that had been torn from his own lungs, echoing, desolate, in this very chamber. He tasted vomit, bile rising, but there was nothing to throw up.
The promise of tomorrow was the true monster lurking in the shadows of the dungeon, far more terrifying than the pain in his feet. The man’s parting words, delivered with a chilling nonchalance, echoed in the suffocating silence: " You will break eventually. Evan; you will accept your fate “
His mind, darted from one horror to another. What more could there be? He’d seen the tools, lying on a tray, gleaming dully in the torchlight before it was extinguished. Smaller, sharper instruments. He shivered uncontrollably, the cold having nothing to do with it.
Fingers. Would it be his fingers next? The thought made his stomach clench. He imagined the precise, methodical removal of a fingernail, the searing pain, the forced screams. Or perhaps something more… intimate. Something that would break his spirit, not just his body. They wanted submission, yes, but more than that, he knew, they wanted to break him down, to reduce him to a whimpering animal. He already knew that tomorrow he would strip naked, totally vulnerable, he shivered, what would come next?
His breath hitched again, a sob caught in his throat. He tried to think of anything else. His family. His small, comfortable life, so impossibly distant now. The smell of his mother’s cooking, the sound of his father’s laughter, the feel of grass beneath his feet as he played football with his friends. The stark contrast was a fresh wave of agony. Would they ever know what happened to him? Would he be just another disappeared person, swallowed whole by the cruelty of this place?
Maybe it would be better to submit? Three years of indentured servitude, all the sexual use, punishments, hard labour maybe, pleasuring the Masters clients and friends and with no legal way to stop it or refuse. The new enslavement act permits people to be enslaved who have been unemployed for more than six months, people who owe a debt and people who have caused criminal damage against the Masters property. Even though Evan owed money, he was slowly paying it back, clearly not fast enough. He knew that he would be forced to sign a debtors document and an enslavement agreement. Slaves are owned by the Master and his laws and rules apply to how they are treated. The law of the land permits enslavement but has no control over the treatment of slaves. Thise would also be no guarantee that freedom would be granted after three years. There are many ways to extend the time a slave serves. But what is pain anyway? It’s always temporary, but three years is a long time.
What would happen if he did not submit? Would he be killed? No-one knows he has been captured and it would be easy for him to just “vanish.”
A drip of water somewhere in the darkness echoed like a death knell. Each drop was a tick of the clock, counting down to dawn, to the renewed torment. Sleep was an impossible luxury. Every time his eyes fluttered, the image of the pliers returned, magnified, distorted. Every time he drifted close, the phantom pain in his feet flared, jolting him back to the agonising reality.
He tried to find a corner of his mind where he could hide, a place where the fear couldn’t reach. But there was nowhere. It permeated every thought. He felt his resolve, so strong when he was first captured, beginning to fade away. How much could a guy endure before his will was broken? Before he gave them what they wanted, just for the pain to stop? The very thought filled him with a crushing shame, yet it was a desperate whisper in the back of his mind, growing louder with each throbbing pulse of pure pain. This was the first time they had inflicted pain other than a few face slaps and general rough handling. He wondered if he would scream again tomorrow. He wondered if his voice would even hold out. He wondered if he would beg. The idea was a fresh humiliation, making him curl tighter into himself, attempting to make himself smaller, invisible.
The darkness of the dungeon solidified around him, not just a lack of light, but a palpable presence, heavy with despair. He was alone, utterly alone, chained to the floor with nothing but his pain and the terrifying certainty of what awaited him. The monster wasn't in the shadows; it was the dawn, creeping closer, bringing with it the promise of unimaginable horrors.
A voice suddenly filled the dungeon from a small speaker above the heavy old oak door. “Good morning, Evan, I hope you managed to get some sleep. I am switching on a light for you. In the corner of your cell, you will find a toilet and a working wash basin. The chain around your ankle will permit you to reach them. I will be seeing you sometime soon. If you are still resisting your destiny then I am sorry but today will not be such a good day for you.” A small bulb in the ceiling lit up the dungeon and Evan pulled himself against a wall and examined his toes. The blood had stopped flowing and the pain had settled to a more tolerable level. No doubt walking would still be painful but he knew that he had to get a drink and use the toilet.
It was a very long time before anyone appeared, Evan was left with his thoughts, left to reconsider his options. He knew that there was no way for him to win, eventually his tolerance to pain and suffering would let him down and he would find himself kissing the feet of his new slave Master. But he was adamant that he would not go willingly. He would not simply bow down and hand himself willingly into slavery. He needed to maintain his manhood in his mind, if he was going to be enslaved then he had to resist to the full, he had to be broken.
It was early afternoon when the door opened and the torturer entered the room. “Sit in the chair”, he said and Evan knowing that resistance would just be pointless, obeyed. A second guard entered the cell and strapped Evans’ arms to the arms of the chair, his hands hanging loose. His ankles were secured to the chair legs and the time had come for the persuasion to continue.
The torturer removed his pliers from the case he was carrying and said, “Evan, do we have to do this? Things will get really heavy today if you continue to resist. Think about the position you are in. Dude, it is better to submit than it is to be forced. Three years of servitude and sexual use may sound like hell, but trust me, consenting is way better than being forced. You are a good-looking guy Evan, the Master will want to preserve you, look after you. Down here in the dungeon we don’t give a shit about hurting you, marking you emotionally and scarring your body. How do you feel about being strung up and whipped Evan? How do you feel about being gang raped? Is it worth resisting? I am going to pull your fingernails out in a few moments and you can stop this right now. Yesterday I pulled your toenails without any malice, without anger, I am just doing my job and you know that I will do the same today. So please just sign the documents, take off your clothes and submit. Do you want to do that my friend? Just tell me you want to submit and you will be untied, stripped and taken into slavery. DO IT Evan, it is the best thing you can do right now.”
Evan thought for a while and said, “No man would submit to enslavement.” The torturer looked at him shook his head and said, “Evan, a real man knows when he is cornered, when he has no option but to surrender. Surrender is not failure, it is facing the facts and FACING THEM LIKE A MAN. So, what do we do today, Evan? Are you too cowardly to face enslavement?”
“Is facing your torture without submitting cowardly?” Evan asked.
“If at the end of the day, you are enslaved anyway, I see no point in resisting. I see no point in extra suffering. I would not think you a coward, maybe more stupid than a coward. Time to choose now Evan, suffer or submit?”, the torturer said as he took Evans left hand and readied the pliers.
“Get on with it” Evan said.
With a cruel twist of the wrist, the torturer clamped the pliers around Evan’s fingernail. The pain was searing; a replay of the day before. He felt the nail tear away from the flesh, leaving a raw, bleeding wound. Evan bit down on his lip, tasting the coppery tang of his own blood, but he could not hold back the scream.
The torturer moved on to the next nail, each removal a new wave of agony that threatened to consume Evan. Yet, with each nail that was torn away, Evan's resolve grew stronger. He clung to the thought not being taken without force, using his stubbornness as a shield against the pain.
As the torturer finished his grim work, Evan stood before him, his hands a mass of blood and raw flesh. The torturer stepped back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "You are a strong one," he said, his voice laced with a hint of respect. "But even the strongest can, and will, be broken."
Evan met his gaze, his eyes burning with an unyielding spirit. "Never," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I will never be broken." His fingernails were treated with a blood clotting agent and Evan was untied from the chair and his ankle chain was removed. He sat down on the chair his hands a bloody mess and the pain in his fingers throbbing and dominating all of his attention. Tears were running down his face, he looked into the eyes of the man who had just pulled his fingernails and asked “Why?” The man looked back and said “More to come today, Evan, always a chance for you to sign the documents and stop this. I will leave you now.” And the man left Evan alone with his pain.
Evan sat alone and in pain for hours before the “Persuasion” began again. His toes were still very sore, his fingers trembling and throbbing. Evan had no idea what was coming next but whatever it was, it could not be worse than he had already suffered. The door opened and his torturer entered the cell. “Evan, I am going to give you an instruction and it would be very wise if you obeyed it. If you don’t, it will be extremely unfortunate. Do you understand?”, the man asked.
“Yes” said snapped.
“Stand up and strip naked,” the man ordered. As he gave the order three men entered the cell.
He stared at them, uncomprehending, until the third man, who bore the marks of a whip across his own naked back, stepped closer, a wicked glint in his eye. "You heard him," he hissed, the stench of his breath hot against Evan's face. "Take your fucking clothes off, or we'll do it for you. And trust me, you don't want us to do it for you."
With trembling hands, he began to remove his garments, one piece at a time, each layer peeling away like a bandage from a festering wound, exposing his vulnerability to their hungry gazes. His hands trembling with both fear and pain, he struggled with obeying but he pressed on knowing that he had to take off his own clothes, no-one was going to strip him forcibly.
The fabric of his shirt stuck to his sweat-soaked skin, but he managed to tug it over his head. His jeans and underwear followed, leaving him stark naked before his captors. He felt the cool air kiss his bare flesh, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. The three men exchanged glances, their smiles widening as they took in the sight of his naked body. It was a humiliation that burned deeper than any physical pain they could inflict upon him, a stark reminder of the power they held. When Evan saw that the three men were drooling over the sight of his genitals, he covered them with his shaking hands. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life.
The smallest of the three produced a length of coarse rope. “Shy, are we young man?” he said. The man grabbed Evans hands and pulled them away from protecting his cock and balls. He took Evans ball sac into his hands and squeezed causing Evan to react to the pain. “Nice cock and balls boy,” he said. He pushed Evan down onto his knees, his kneecaps scraped against the unforgiving stone, sending jolts of pain up his legs. The man with the whip marks stepped behind him, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the chill of the dungeon. The anticipation was palpable. The ropes were wrapped around his wrists, pulled taut and his hands were secured behind his back, the knots biting into his flesh. It was then that he noticed that one of the men had a knife in his hand.
The blade was cold against his throat, a whisper of steel that promised a swift end to his suffering if he did not cooperate. "Open your mouth," the unspoken leader of the trio ordered, his tone low and menacing. Evan's jaw clenched, but fear and instinct overrode his pride. He parted his lips, feeling the tip of the knife trace a line along the inside of his cheek, the coppery taste of blood seeping into his mouth. The leader stepped closer, his breath hot and sour as he whispered into Evan's ear, "Good boy Evan. Should I slice off your tongue boy? No maybe not, not at this time anyway." The knife was drawn away, and Evan's eyes watered with relief, only to be replaced by a new, more primal fear as he watched the man unbuckle his belt.
The sound of leather slipping through metal loops was like a serpent's hiss in the stillness, a prelude to the horrors that were about to unfold. The leader's jeans fell to the floor, revealing a thick, engorged member that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of his malicious intent. "Take it," he growled, shoving the knife into the whip-scarred man's hand. "SUCK IT like the whore you are boy." The whip marks on the second man's back stood out starkly, a silent testament to the depravities they were all too willing to indulge in.
Evan felt the knife press against the soft flesh beneath his chin, urging his head forward. He closed his eyes, his body trembling with revulsion and fear. The leader's erection nudged against his lips, a blunt, foul intrusion that seemed to steal the very air from his lungs. He tried to hold his breath, to deny the men the satisfaction of his submission, but the stench of their unwashed flesh and the metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils, a noxious cocktail that threatened to make him retch. With a grunt of triumph, the whip-scarred man forced Evan's head down, the warm, salty flesh filling his mouth. The taste was a violation, a foul parody of intimacy that had his gag reflex working overtime.
The leader's hands grabbed Evan's hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. He felt the hot, wet mouth of the whip-scarred man on his ear, his breath hot and rancid as he whispered, "You're going to take it all, aren't you?" The question was rhetorical, a statement of ownership that Evan had no power to refute. The leader's grip tightened, and he could feel the pressure building, the inevitability of his fate like a crushing weight upon his chest. He knew what they wanted, what they were going to do, and the thought of it was almost more than he could bear. But he had to survive, had to endure, because in this place, in this moment, survival was the only currency that mattered. So, with a resigned whimper, he took the leader's cock into his mouth, the salty taste of precum coating his tongue as he succumbed to the first of what he knew would be countless degradations.
The motions were rough, the leader's hips pumping in time with his grunts of pleasure. The cock was thick and veined, the head of it hitting the back of Evan's throat with every thrust, making him gag and choke. The whip-scarred man held the knife steady, the blade a constant reminder of the consequences of disobedience. Evan's eyes watered, and his jaw ached, but he focused on the steady rhythm, the only semblance of control he had left in this hellish tableau. The second man's hand wandered to his own crotch, stroking himself leisurely as he watched the show, his eyes hooded with lust. The third man, silent and unmoving, simply observed, his gaze a chilling promise that his turn would come soon enough.
As the leader reached his climax, Evan felt the warm spurt of semen fill his mouth, the taste bitter and foul. He swallowed reflexively, the act of degradation complete. The leader stepped back, his chest heaving, a cruel smile etched on his face. "Now, you belong to us," he declared, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're our little plaything, to use and abuse as we see fit." The whip-scarred man stepped aside, allowing Evan to collapse onto the stone floor, his knees bruised and his throat raw. He curled into a ball, his nakedness a stark contrast to the armoured men that loomed over him, their erections a grotesque mockery of his own vulnerability. “BOY, lie on your back, arms above your head, feet apart so we can see those genitals.” Evan obeyed, what other option did he have? One of the men knelt at his feet and held them tightly against the stone floor while another man did the same with his wrists.
With a flourish, the third man produced the knife, its blade shimmering in the dim light. Evan's eyes widened with horror as the man approached his exposed, trembling form. The knife's tip was cold against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine. The jailer began to cut away the foreskin with the precision of a surgeon, his movements quick and efficient. The pain was unimaginable, a white-hot brand that seared through every part of him. He bit down on his own tongue to muffle the screams, his eyes squeezed shut tightly, tears streaming down his face.
The cutting stopped, and the man stepped back to survey his work, leaving Evan gasping and trembling. The agony was indescribable, a living, pulsing entity that consumed him entirely. The jailer wiped the blood from the blade and sheathed it with a metallic click that sounded like a sentence being passed. "Now, EAT IT”, he said, his voice a dark chuckle that sent a shiver down Evan's spine. His mouth was forced open and his foreskin fed to him. “Chew and swallow boy, perhaps tomorrow we'll find something else to peel away." Evan swallowed out of fear for what may happen if he refused. Shackles were locked around his ankles and handcuffs locked around his wrists. “Don’t want you to have too comfortable a night, do we?”
And with that, the three men left, leaving Evan alone in the cold, stark cell, his body a map of pain and his mind racing with the horror of what he had suffered.
A little later a nurse entered the cell. He examined his wounds, toes, fingers and cock. He cleaned the wounds and applied some kind of medication. Before he left, he looked at the naked young man and said, “Today the Masters slaves have fulfilled their work duties, a slave was chosen to pleasure the Master before bed and none of the slaves were whipped. Now look at you. Lying stark naked, orally raped and tortured. Don’t let your pride and your stubbornness send you to an unmarked grave in the Masters woodland. Try and get some rest. I am sorry but I am not allowed to give you painkillers.” “Why no painkillers?” Evan asked. “You have to suffer the pains of your punishments. Try and get some rest.” The nurse left the cell and Evan tried to find a place where he could get some semblance of comfort.
The night descended once more, a shroud of darkness that offered no solace, only the echoes of his own tortured breaths and the promise of more torment with the rise of the sun.
The third day dawned with a cruel indifference, the light revealing the crimson mess of Evan's mutilated hands, feet and cock and the stark reality of his fate. The jailer returned, his eyes gleaming with excitement at the prospect of the day's entertainment. He yanked Evan to his feet, the chains rattling a mournful tune as he was led out of the cell and into the cold, open air of the a fully enclosed courtyard. The stocks awaited him; a wooden contraption designed to hold and expose the most vulnerable parts of the human anatomy for public humiliation.
The guards, their faces a twisted mix of amusement and cruelty, secured Evan's head and hands in the wooden frame, leaving his naked body open and exposed. The cold wood bit into his skin, a stark reminder of his helplessness. He could feel the eyes of his jailors upon him, a mix of pity and perverse fascination. His face burned with shame as the first guard stepped forward, his erection jutting out like a weapon of war, a grotesque parody of manhood's power.
The guard's rough hands grabbed Evan's head, forcing it down until he was eye level with the man's crotch. The scent of sweat and lust was overwhelming, making him want to retch. But he knew resistance was futile, so he opened his mouth in submission. The guard thrust into his mouth, the salty tang of his cock filling Evan's throat as he choked back tears. Each thrust was a new wave of violation, a painful reminder that his body was no longer his own. Eventually Evans mouth filled with warm sticky semen, “SWALLOW,” the guard demanded. Evan obeyed and he took a few mouthfuls of the foul guard’s semen swallowing every drop. The guard demanded that Evan cleaned his cock and took every last drop of semen. He retracted his cock satisfied that Evan had given a good service, he held out his hand towards Evan and said to the other guards “All your boys, I am sure he would enjoy second and third helpings.”
The guards took turns, their laughter and grunts of pleasure a cacophony of degradation that pierced Evan's soul. His jaw ached and his throat burned, but he endured, his eyes never leaving the ground.
He could feel the cool air against his exposed anus as they positioned themselves behind him, their hands rough and eager. The first thrust was a searing pain that brought forth a muffled cry around the thick cock in his mouth. He could feel himself tearing, the agony unbearable, but he knew that to resist was to invite a fate worse than this.
As each guard had their fill, they stepped aside, their faces flushed with satisfaction. Evan felt the warm trickle of their semen slide down his ass crack, a sticky, foul reminder of his fate. When the last man had finished fucking him, Evan was left sobbing in the stocks, his body shaking with a mix of pain and revulsion. The lead guard stepped forward, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "You're a survivor," he said, almost admiringly. "But the day is still young."
The guards released him from the stocks, and Evan slumped to the ground, his legs giving out beneath him. He was dragged away back to his cell and thrown to the floor. “Hope you enjoyed your breakfast boy.” The main guard turned and gave an order to the other guards; “Fetch the hanging rope.” Evans heart began beating faster than he had ever known before. He was going to hang. They were actually going to hang him! Evan stood up and went to speak but the head guard backhanded him hard across the face, knocking him back to the floor, “SHUT THE FUCK UP,” he said. Evan cried out “Please Sir, please don’t hang me.” The guard looked at him and laughed “Don’t worry scum bag, you will hang today, but not from the neck. You won’t be dying today boy, not today. But before we have finished with you, you will beg to die. Unless of course you sign the documents and submit to enslavement.” Evan could not help but respond, “I will never submit to being a slave,” he said. The guard smiled and responded, “You have already called me sir.”
The other guards returned with a very long rough strong rope. The rope was thrown over the beam in the ceiling and Evan was ordered to stand by the rope hanging on the middle of the cell. His wrists were bound tightly above his head. Evan felt the rough ropes bite into his skin as he was hoisted into the air. They were careful how high they hung the boy; they were looking to make the next few hours extremely hard for Evan to handle. He was strung high enough until the very tips of his toes were allowed to just touch the cell floor. The rope was secured and Evan was left hanging by his wrists. The cell door clanked shut, leaving him in darkness as the guards switched off the light and closed the shutter over the one window and left Evan with his thoughts and struggles.
His breath came in ragged gasps, and he could feel the sweat pooling in the small of his back, trickling down his spine like a river of cold fire. The rope was cutting tightly into his wrists and Evan desperately tried to push his torn toes into the cell floor to try and relieve the pain. But the guards had hung him perfectly. His toes just touched the floor and could offer little help.
Evan hung by his wrists for four long hours before the guards returned to the cell.
Evan's body was a canvas of showing agony, suspended naked before them in the centre of his cell, his body covered in sweat and his groans of pain made it obvious that he the hanging had succeeded in achieving their aim, that of breaking him just that little bit more. The time had come for the guard to increase Evans suffering. He spent some time running his hands over Evans naked torso and asked “Are you ready to scream Evan?”
He wielded the leather whip with a masterful finesse. The air was thick with anticipation as he stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with a mix of lust and power. Each swing of the whip was a symphony of precision, the crack of leather echoing through the dimly lit room, a stark contrast to his muffled whimpers and gasps of pain.
The first lash landed with a sharp snap against his taut abdomen, leaving a crimson streak in its wake. He jerked in his bonds, his muscles tensing and releasing. The second and third followed swiftly, crisscrossing the first, creating an intricate tapestry of suffering. The guard paused for a moment, tracing the lines with his finger, admiring his handiwork before continuing.
With each subsequent lash, the intensity grew, the pain a crescendo that seemed to resonate within him. Evans body was a maelstrom of sensation, each stroke sending waves of agony through his nerves. The whip danced across his chest, leaving a trail of welts and bruises that grew darker with every strike. The fourth lash kissed the tender flesh of his ribs, the fifth and sixth found their marks on the firm planes of his back, and the seventh and eighth painted stripes upon his thighs. His body writhed in a silent plea for mercy, but the guard was relentless driven by the desire to break the boy hanging before him.
As he approached the twelfth lash, the guard took a moment to caress the fresh welts, feeling the heat of Evans skin beneath his fingertips. Evans breaths came in ragged gasps now, his body shaking from the onslaught, yet his cock remained rock-hard, a silent testament to the strange alchemy of pain and pleasure.
The thirteenth through the twentieth lashes fell upon his shoulders and upper back, the strokes growing more forceful, the sound of leather on flesh a symphony of power and submission. Evan bucked and twisted, his bound form a study in the art of restraint, his every muscle straining against the unforgiving ropes that held him.
When he reached the twentieth, the guard stepped back, allowing Evan a brief reprieve, watching as his victims body trembled and fought for composure. The guard admired his handiwork running his hands over the cuts and welts that were covering Evans body, it was clearly a sexual turn on for him, he was a true sadist. “Four more lashes for the road Evan, then you can hang some more,” the guard said. The final four lashes were brutal and when they been delivered, Evan was left hanging like a piece of meat in a butcher’s shop.
Two hours later Evan was visited by the original guard. “I told you Evan, I told you that submission would be better. Very few times have I seen a slave suffer like this. I will cut you down now.” Evan was lowered to the floor and untied. “Look at you Evan. Sodomised, whipped, tortured and lying naked on the floor unable to free yourself from the nightmare that is only part way through. You have suffered more than any of our slaves today. You must be starving; you have not eaten for days.”
Evan was in agony; his body covered in whip lash welts and cuts. Blood trickled down his back, his chest and his abdomen. His wrists were swollen and rope burned and on top of the pain was the emotional turmoil of the sexual punishments in the stocks.
“I will send in some food and then you will suffer more before you are locked up for the night,” the man said as he left the cell.
He returned a little later with a large bowl of hot broth and a bread roll. “Eat my friend and I hope it wakes you up, brings you back to your senses. More pain for you tonight I am afraid, unless you submit. Let me tell you what will happen if you surrender to slavery. You will spend about a week, maybe two weeks in the clinic where you will be bought back to full health. All your wounds treated. Then you would receive a few days of slave training. This will teach you how to behave to the slave officers and to your new Master. You will be allocated a slave cell. The slave cell is nothing like this cell. It has a comfortable bed, a washbasin and a television set. Sometimes you will share a two-slave cell. This would give you a roommate to get to know. Each day you would fulfil the chores and duties allocated to you. You would only be whipped or punished if you fail in your duties or you fail to please the Master while you are serving and pleasuring him. You get used to that quite quickly. Our slaves are given a rota of work and service. Every slave, unless he is being punished will enjoy at least three hours each day in his cell, resting, watching TV or if in a shared cell maybe some interaction of some kind with your cell mate. Your other option is to take today and do it again and again and again, every day, whipped, beaten, sexually dominated, used and tortured. Why do this to yourself boy? Now enjoy your broth.”
Evan was so thankful for some hot food in his stomach, he enjoyed the broth and sat in the corner of his cell awaiting whatever was coming next. He was still shaking. He could not find a part of his body that for some reason was not suffering in some way. He knew he could not go through much more of this treatment.
The door to his cell creaked open, and the guards returned, their faces a tableau of sadistic glee. Each of them carried a cane, the weapon of choice for meting out the most exquisite agony. Two of the canes were made of various thickness of what looked like silicone while the third cane was a normal ratan cane.
“Move to the middle of the room boy, NOW,” the leading guard ordered. Evan knew that hesitation would only make the next punishment so much worse and so he obeyed as quickly as he could.
Evans ankles were tied tightly together and his bare feet were suspended up in the air at waist height.
The first blow landed with a sickening thwack, and Evans entire body convulsed with pain. The guards took turns, alternating their strokes with a rhythmic precision that spoke of countless nights spent perfecting their craft. The canes rained down on the soles of his feet, each strike a symphony of agony that seemed to resonate through his very soul. The canes targeted every inch of Evans soles. The balls of his feet, the insteps and the heels were all targets for the canes. Evan screamed until his voice was hoarse, begging for them to stop, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. They were the instruments of pain, and he was their music.
The thinnest cane split the skin and blood began to seep from the cuts on his feet, and Evan could feel the sticky warmth of it running down his legs. The guards didn't pause, didn't waver. They continued their relentless assault, their eyes gleaming with a perverse joy as they watched the young man's suffering. The pain was so intense that it seemed to consume him, reducing him to a being of pure pain, a creature of burning nerve endings and emotional despair. He writhed and bucked, trying to escape, but the ropes held firm, digging deeper into his flesh with each desperate movement. The flogging went on and on a relentless assault on the soles of his feet. Evan screamed as relentlessly as the canes struck his soles, the pain was pure torture that was impacting every nerve ending in his feet. This was the pain that he could not handle at all and before he could stop himself, he began begging for mercy.
“Begging boy,” the guard said with a smile across his face. “Let’s warm up those soles of yours a little more.”
Evan's heart raced as he felt an unbearable heat searing through the soles of his bare feet. The cruel instrument of his torture was a hot metal rod, a tool not meant to be in such a personal, painful proximity to human flesh. Each touch of the metal rod sent shockwaves of agony up his legs, and he could feel the sizzling of his skin as the heated rod made contact. The smell of burning meat filled the room.
Sweat poured down his forehead and stung his eyes, blurring his vision as he fought the urge to scream. His teeth clenched so tightly, his jaw threatened to crack under the pressure of holding back the animalistic cries that clawed their way up his throat. The room swam around him, the edges of his consciousness fading in and out like a candle dancing in the wind. The only constant was the pain, a living, breathing entity that consumed him entirely.
He tried to focus on anything but the searing heat—his mother's gentle voice, the feel of cool grass underfoot, the smell of rain-soaked earth—but the pain was relentless, an unyielding master that demanded his full and undivided attention. His body contorted, trying to find a position that would offer even the slightest reprieve, but there was none to be found. The rod remained unyielding, a silent sentinel of his suffering.
The pain was not just physical; it was a psychological onslaught as well. His mind raced with thoughts of begging for mercy and of submission to slavery. Each breath was a battle, a struggle to keep his sanity from slipping away into the abyss of agony.
And yet, amidst the chaos of pain, there was a strange clarity. Evan understood in that moment the depths of human cruelty, the capacity for one person to inflict such suffering on another. But he also found within himself a strength he had never known before, a will to survive that burned as fiercely as the rod against his skin.
Evan held on, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, his eyes squeezed tight shut against the tears that continued to fall. His feet felt as though they were on fire, but he refused to give in. He was more than just a vessel for pain; he was a man with a spirit that could not be so easily crushed.
In the end, the rod was retired, and the room fell silent except for the sound of his sobbing and laboured breathing. His feet were a mess of burned flesh and blisters, but he had endured. He had screamed, but not broken, he had not asked to sign away his life. As the fog of pain began to lift, he realized that this act of endurance had changed him. He had faced the darkest part of humanity and had not been consumed by it.
The scent of burnt skin lingered in the air, a grim reminder of what he had just endured. But in that moment, Evan felt something akin to victory. He had survived the unthinkable, and in doing so, had discovered an inner strength he never knew he had. As he got to grips with the pain, he knew that he would carry the scars of this experience with him forever, both on his body and in his soul. But he also knew that he would never let those scars define him. Instead, they would serve as a testament to his resilience, a stark reminder of the fire he had walked through and emerged from, forever changed but not defeated.
Finally, when the guards had had their fill, they stepped back, panting and sweating from the exertion. They surveyed their handiwork with a sense of grim satisfaction. Evans feet hung battered and bleeding and blistered awaiting whatever came next. They knew that he would carry the marks of their cruelty with him for the rest of his life, a constant reminder of the power they held over him. With a final, vindictive laugh, they turned and left the cell, the door slamming shut behind them. The darkness closed in once more, and all that remained was the echo of their footsteps, the harsh sound of his own ragged breathing, and the ever-present throb of pain.
“We have had enough for today boy, we are off to the bar. But we will see you in the stocks in the morning to do today all over again. Good night boy”
They left the cell leaving Evan lying on the stone floor with his bare feet suspended in the air. It was maybe twenty minutes later when the nurse appeared and released him from his bondage and applied some basic medication to the wounds on his body and soles. “You can take maybe one or two more days of this Evan and then your body will begin to break down, you will get weaker and the guards will eventually submit to your resistance and then you will be killed. You will be put down as a boy who would not be enslaved. But you could swallow your pride and serve for three years and then live a life of your own. Your choice, do you really want to die at the age of 22?” he said before leaving the room.
Evan sat on the floor on his cell examining and rubbing his feet. They were bruised and cut with no toenails. His body ached and throbbed all over covered with whip welts and his cock was still recovering from losing the foreskin to a knife. He wondered what had his life come to? He sat in the corner of the cell and the day replayed over and over again in his mind. He did not know which part of his body hurt more and he knew that another day like this one would be so much more difficult to handle. He knew that he needed to bring this torture to an end because otherwise, he was going to die. Evan finally sobbed himself to sleep.
Morning came and bought with it a surprise visitor carrying a tray of breakfast food and a flask of hot tea. Evan looked at the naked guy who had entered his cell with food and a smile on his face. “Hi Evan, I am Matthew and I am a slave here. I have some breakfast for us.” Evan could see the shock on Matthew’s face and a tear in his eyes. Matthew asked, “What have they done to you? Oh my gosh you are a mess. I have been told to come and see you and invite you to join me in slavery here. You would be my cell mate and I would be your mentor while you settled in. It will be so nice to have a cell mate, someone to talk to and to share each other’s sadness, hopefully helping each other through another day” he said.
“How do I know you are a slave?” Even asked.
Matthew turned and showed Evan his whip scared back. “These are whip lash marks for my disobedience Evan. I have a brand above my left nipple and trust me, I would not be standing here naked of my own free will,” he said.
“Why were you whipped?” Evan asked.
“In nine months, I have been whipped twice. I have had the soles of my feet caned really hard three times and I have been on extra work duty once. Every time it was because of my own failings, they never use physical punishment for fun. We may take small punishments daily, but nothing like the two public whippings and foot beatings in front of all the other slaves, an example I suppose. They will use us sexually and we will have to serve the master in that way if he requests us. Since being here, I have seen my fair share of sexual use. But Evan, I don’t look like you. You look half dead mate. I know exactly how you feel. I was terrified. But I had a choice, serve or vanish, which basically means suffer like you are suffering and then die. No one wants that. You don’t want that mate, do you? Once you have settled in your mind that you are legally enslaved, you come to terms with it pretty quickly. Slave inspectors visit from the Department of Indentured Servitude; they check that the rules are being followed and all that bollocks. They inspect a slave too on some visits. Come on dude, see sense, you can end this now. You can come back with me to the slave clinic; get you sorted out and settled in. We would share a slave cell, be mates, support each other. It’s good to have a slave partner in your cell.”
“One of the guards who tortured me has a whipped back, but he is no slave?” Evan said.
Matthew nodded his head “One or two of the nutters who deal with stubborn slaves have a fetish for pain. That guy is a nut job a real fucking sadist. There are no levels he won’t sink to. I am a slave my friend and I hate to see you suffer like this. I was sentenced to three years for a minor offence. I have served about nine months, two and a quarter years before I can be released. I am here to show you that the three years you face is so much better than what you are facing here.”
Matthew held out his hand in friendship and “At least shake my hand.”
Evan shook Matthew’s hand and the two slave boys settled down and enjoyed breakfast together. Evan enjoyed good company after the last few days and Matthew even managed to get him to smile, almost laugh.
“Do you always get a breakfast like this Matthew?” Evan asked.
“No, we don’t, so this is a good morning for me. This breakfast is a bit better than usual, possibly to give you a bit more sustenance after what you have been through. But we are looked after with good food. They do sometimes deprive you of food for a few days if you have not worked to your best but generally if you do your work and please the officers and the Master, you are OK,” Matthew replied.
“How are you holding up?” Matthew asked.
Evan showed him his toes, fingers soles and back and said, “Not good Matt. Not good. It happens all over again today. I am not sure if I can take it.”
“You don’t have to,” said a new voice. Evan looked up and saw the first guard, the one who pulled his nails out. Matthew dropped to his knees, head bowed hands held out in submission, palms upwards and he said “Good morning, Sir.”
“You can get back to work now Matthew. Say a last word to Evan and maybe give him a hug,” the guard ordered. Matthew turned to face Evan and said, “Come and join me Evan, you don’t have to go through today, it won’t end well. Do the right thing mate. Matthew hugged Evan like he had known him for years. Come and join me my friend, it’s better than this.” Matthew stood and bowed to the guard then left the room and went back to his duties.
The guard addressed Evan, “Today Evan, three hours in the stocks, five guards will demand your attention and take their pleasure. Three hours suspended by the wrists and whipped as per yesterday. Soles of your feet beaten and burnt as per yesterday and your testicles will be removed from your ball sac and you will swallow them. You will then be asked one last time to comply with the enslavement order. If you refuse, we will complete the paperwork for your execution and this will come to an end.”
Evan remained silent and after a short while he got down on his knees and took up the position he saw Matthew use and begged, “Please Sir, please no more, I can’t take any more of this”. The guard looked down at the boy kneeling, head bowed, hands held out with palms upwards and tears streaming down his face.”
“Sign these papers,” the guard said and handed Evans two documents and a pen. Without hesitation Evan signed himself into consensual servitude for three years. The guard placed a chair in front of Evan and sat down. “Take my shoes and socks off and kiss my feet boy,” he said.
With trembling hands, Evan reached out and grasped the heel of the guards first boot. The leather was cold and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the warm flesh beneath it. Carefully, Evan slipped the boot off, revealing a well-formed foot encased in a thick, black sock.
The master's foot remained still as Evan moved to the second boot, his heart racing. He repeated the process, taking care not to falter. Once both boots were removed, Evan placed them neatly beside each other, and then he paused. His hands hovered over the socks, clearly struggling to obey.
The guards voice, low and resonant, broke the silence. "Now, the socks."
Evan swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. He knew what was expected of him. He took the guards foot in his hands and unfurled the first sock, exposing the bare foot beneath.
Moving on to the second foot, he gently peeled the sock away, feeling the warmth radiating from the guard’s foot. His own feet felt cold in comparison, a stark reminder of his place.
Finally, with both socks removed, Evan was left kneeling before the guards’ bare feet. They were large and commanding, the soles slightly damp from a morning of walking. The toes, long and well-shaped, rested lightly in the palms of Evans hands.
The master leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "You may now kiss them."
Evan's breath hitched. This was the part of the guard’s order that brought humiliation and a sense of failure. Failure to resist, failure to handle the pain of torture and failure to face execution rather than enslavement. What kind of man was he? He leaned forward; his gaze fixed on the feet before him. He felt the warmth of the master's skin as he pressed his lips to the arch of the first foot. The taste of leather lingered, mingling with the faint scent of sweat. He kissed each toe, one by one, feeling their firmness against his lips. The act was tender yet degrading, a powerful display of submission that bound them both in a complex dance of power and dominance.
Moving to the second foot, Evan continued his tribute. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath hot against the skin. He felt the master's foot twitch slightly. Was that a sign of approval? Or perhaps displeasure?
With each kiss, Evan's world grew smaller, centring around the worship of his guard’s feet. He kissed the soles, the heels, and the toes once more, humiliated by the feel of the guard’s flesh beneath his lips. He knew that he was now but a mere slave, that his role was to serve and obey, and in this moment, he felt a profound sense of humiliation.
As he finished, Evan sat back on his heels, eyes downcast. The guard placed his hand on Evans head and quietly said “Welcome to slavery Evan, serve well and you will be fine.”
Evan was led away to the clinic and his three years of enslavement began.
