Sam's Suffering

My Masters took the next couple of days trading me off back and forth. Training me for the party. When Friday came, my Masters pick me up from work and take me to the site where I would be enjoyed until the next morning.

It’s a warehouse of sorts. Large place, kind of sketchy, and an industrial part of town. My Masters lead me inside.

The place is mostly empty of guests, with a bartender setting up, fifty or so empty seats, and several stations, all in a row, set up with gear and equipment.

“Danny really outdid himself this time. You’re in for a treat, Slave.” Master Brad grips my ass.

“Thank you, Master. I’m looking forward to it.” I respond.

“Any questions?” Master Tom  pulls out a duffel bag and hands it to me.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Your uniform. There will be a few slaves here tonight, but you are the star attraction tonight So you need to look like it. The other doms have heard all about you and are looking forward to seeing if you live up to what we’ve said.” Master Tom unzips the bag.

“You see all these stations in the center? How many are there, boy?” Master Brad posits this question to me.

“Five, Master.” 

“These five stations are for you and you alone.” Master Tom unbuttons my shirt as he explains how tonight will go.  You are going to spend two hours at each one, suffering by the hands of anyone who wishes to hurt you by whatever that station is built for.”

Master Brad undoes my belt and continues. “ You will be gagged, however you can try to call Mercy. Not everyone lives as strict as we do so it makes everyone more comfortable to know that is an option. However, we have told everyone you have not called mercy since your starting days. If you need to do so, it will work, but we would look foolish if you did. Make us proud, Slave Sam.”

I open the bag to find my usual black ball gag, but also a black leather body harness with an attached leather jock, and black leather boots. They are new and perfectly shined. 

I slip my uniform on. It’s gorgeous, and it fits like a dream. 

“Beautiful.” Master Brad admires me. “Everything on this body of yours looks good, but my god.”

“Let’s set him up, Brad.” Master Tom and Master Brad gag me, slap restraints on me, and take me to the center of the room. 

Chains are attached to my wrists and my ankles. They stand at a pulley and yank me up, hoisting me six feet off the ground to keep me stretched vertically as patrons enter the room. I groan and drool.

More men than I can count enter, picking up drinks, chatting, and admiring my body. Some bring slave boys of their own, many collared and gagged, neal next to their Masters. Phones come out of pockets as the patrons take my photo, or video even. The process takes what must have been thirty minutes.’

Beads of sweat drip down my quickly tiring body. The stretch is intense, but I know it’s just beginning and I want more than anything to put on a good show. 

I tremble as I notice a professional camera pointed at me and a laptop next to it. I see myself on the screen, a chat window running beneath it. My torture is being livestreamed. My cock gets rock hard in my leather jockstrap.

“YEAH!” 

“WOO!”

“FUCKING HOT PAIN WHORE!”

“GONNA BE A LONG, HOT NIGHT!”

The patrons that will soon be torturing me shout many things of that sort. My Masters take the stage in front of me. Applause roars.”

Master Brad speaks first. “Welcome friends! We’re so pleased we finally get to host one of these parties again. It’s been many years since we found a capable slave for this kind of show.”

“Can’t believe we got Owen in the house tonight!” Master Tom laughs.

“The fucking machine video brought me. Hot slave boy!” An older getleman, I’d guess mid sixties, with graying hair and a fantastic, expensive looking suit talks to my Masters. 

“What’s the verdict, Owen?” Master Tom asks.

Owen gives a thumbs up.

“Glad to hear it.” Master Brad takes over. “Well we have all you could hope for along these walls here, but seeing as he’s at the suspension station, the slave’s entire body is exposed. Now we’ve started a little early. We have an hour to kill before eight, so I say we ask our audience at home what you want to see happen to Slave Sam. 

The chat moves quickly, and the text is too small for me to read.

A guy my age, with blonde hair and strong pecs through his tight white shirt reads, “I’m seeing a lot of whipping and nipple clamps, but I’m seeing violet wand most.”

“Thank you, Stephen. Electricity it is.” Master Tom assembles several violet wands, handing them to men that volunteer. 

They drag the wands along my thigh, chest and ass, having three hundred and sixty degree access to my body.

SIZZ. 

I groan as a very handsome guy, also my age, in full leather gear, drags his wands along my abs. My stomach contracts and I scream into my gag.

“YEAH!”

The crowd cheers and give this guy a clear shot of his work for the camera.  He and I lock eyes.

“Does that feel good, boy?”

“Mmmhmm. Yesh Shir.”

“Call me Sir Brandon.”

SIZZZ

My eyes widen. This guy has another wand in his other hand that he slides up my hole. He fucks me with it. Another guy attaches clamps to my nipples as Sir Brandon overwhelms me.

“Thank you, Sir Brandon!” I spit out threw my gag as best I can. 

My body feels hot, my wrists burn, and my nerves scream out for mercy, and we’re just in the previews.