Master Peers Into Bull's Leaking Shame

Sunset bled the sky over the market blood-orange—like fresh welts across some rebel slave's back. By this hour the market turned hell for the livestock on sale: slaves bone-tired, bodies slick with sweat and hose-down water, eyes hollow or feral from exhaustion, poses slumping, muscles quivering, but overseers wouldn't let them slack—whips cracked less often but deadlier, barking the reminder: stand straight, meat, or rot here forgotten.

Roman thought: Evening's their weak spot. Masks slip, shame crawls out naked. Pups tremble, cocks shrivel—prime for judging. Tonight I unwind, no business bullshit. Grope some older bulls' balls, eye their flushing shivering meat, snag a couple young bucks for fun, then crash.

Roman parked his SUV—brand-new black beast, 48,000 drahm raw power—at the lot's edge. Engine growled low to silence. He slammed the door. Plain white Egyptian cotton shirt tucked into khaki slacks, sneakers, watch on his wrist—not flashy, but Swiss masterwork for 12,000 drahm. No entourage, no show-pony overseers. He knew who he was: at 30, owner of a 500-acre ranch, breeding stallions and mares, foal sales covering every dime. Wealth quiet, but he could coast worry-free forever. His body—6 foot 1 of carved muscle, 200 pounds honed in the gym: broad shoulders, ripped abs under the shirt, powerful arms. Gray eyes that pierced slave shame to the bone, square jaw, short dark hair. His big hands—thick fingers used to crushing heavy slave balls till they begged—hung easy in his pockets. Prime bulls loomed on platforms ahead—bodies bared, low-hanging sacks, cocks half-soft, ripe for inspection.

Roman rarely hit the market. Business slave buys were staff work: managers scanned lots, haggled blood for 10,000-drahm draft mules or 50,000-drahm breeding bulls. But tonight he craved play. Evening ruled: slaves wrecked, masks gone, shame and terror burning brighter on their faces than welts on their backs. Reading human livestock's emotions built his empire. Clawed out of dirt myself—20-year-old kid grinding dirt, sleepless, working, studying. Poor fringe-family where slaves were TV ghosts in chains. Scout license gnawed from textbooks at night. First pitied these bulls. Thought: they're me, from mud. Broke the first—got it: slaves are tools. Pups for pleasure, stallions for cash.

First Bull I Ever Broke / First Bull I Ever Owned

His first slave landed near-accidental—a cheap 30-year-old stud his own family sold for 9,000 drahm. Bought him off student stipend scraps—starvation, denial, zero fun. Bull was built solid, what Roman craved at 30: wide hairy chest, heavy balls, thick cock, but eyes blazing free-man hate. Pitied him at first. Roman gave hard but doable work, fed him right, thought: "Won't touch him, he'll labor, I'll cut him loose." Ha, naive fuckwit. The worm grew balls—snapped back, growled. Roman learned: slaves need force and submission, or they ride your neck. Like any beast, they crave strict rules, clear orders, boundaries, discipline.

Roman lashed him to a post—arms overhead, legs spread wide.

Squeezed the balls slow, feeling their weight under his fingers, warm yield, rolling in his palm, swelling from the press, sack hot, sweaty, reeking conquered male musk.

Slave howled, body shuddering fine tremors, muscles locking, sweat beading his hairy chest.

"Who owns these, meat?"

"You... Master."

Voice cracked hoarse, eyes pure hate. Roman crushed harder—sack squelched tight, balls mashing together.

"I hate you, you fuck! You're scum!"

Grown man's rage lit Roman's fire, unbroken but helpless, chained boar snarling futile like a leashed dog—it ignited him deep. Heart hammered, cock throbbed hard in his pants from the power: big male moaning under his grip, balls fist-trapped like ripe fruit begging to burst, fury just sharpening the taste.

Roman fucked him. Didn't untie the rope-hung carcass, just spun the hole toward him. Blasted quick. Left him dangling, finger-checked the leaking cum. Came fast, but thrill wasn't the nut: it was the dripping seed, owning the railed bear. That's when everything flipped inside.

Didn't forgive the slave's lip, rewarded his spit with the best slave gift—punishment and break. Roman swung the whip full-force across the balls—sharp, ringing, sack squealed under the strap, balls crunched tight, slave bellowed, body arching bow-taut. No breather, Roman grabbed a steel spike tipped sharp—pierced the nipples clean through, blood sprayed crimson, slave screamed, tears gushed, body thrashed chains. Whip again—on the cock, shaft bruised purple, buckled cracking, head dented crunch-deep. Slave shattered: rage died, just broken beast wail left, body sagged limp, cock wilted into his own blood-piss puddle.

Roman sold him for 15,000 drahm—first slave profit. Came in as cocky stud with hairy chest—left broken, head bowed, shuffling to the dealer's stinking pens. Hate didn't fade from his eyes, but the break stuck—by end he mounted cock grateful. Pity for slaves died then, never crawled back.

Now Roman stood before the mature stud platform—huge meaty hairy chests sweat-glossed, clipped pubes black-bristled, asses fur-matted, balls hanging low and loaded. Most broken—stood firm, spread legs shoulder-wide on command, arms locked overhead, muscles flexed, cocks half-hard but rising on order. Eyes down, but deep hate sweet as cum from their nuts. Two fresh meat among them—grown men newly enslaved, shoulders tense, eyes darting wild. Snag one to swap draft mules. Prime fresh studs. Hate it all, hate themselves—perfect obedience fuel. Roman eyed a funny bull edge-ways, sack dangling extra low, cock thick, about 7 inches. Blushing hard now under the owner's stare, body twitching against its will.

Roman lazy-nodded the overseer.

"Put these two fresh bucks through inspection."

Overseers yanked the two ripe newly-slaved mature bulls off the platform—big, meaty, sweat-drenched, still lost in market chaos. Both dropped right before Roman, whip-trained clear: legs spread, arms overhead, backs straight. Roman dragged his gaze lazy over the first, savoring the raw vuln: muscles quaking fatigue, hairy chest heaving thick, nipples stiffening under the stare, half-soft cock twitching, balls sagging heavy sack. Second fresh meat stood beside, eyes floor-glued, shifting foot-to-foot, scared shitless to look up. Roman stepped close, smacked the pumped hairy chest—palm sank into thick fur, nipples rock-hard instant, body jolted.

"So, stud? Stepping into your new life?"

Roman eyed the tag on the slave's neck:

"You're 12,000 drahm, same as my watch,"—bull flinched hard.

Slave crumpled under the verbal lash, chest burned, nipples beaded stiff, cheeks flamed crimson from Master's words. Why stand bared like merchandise, a grown man?

Roman kneaded the chest—fingers digging muscle, pinching nipples sharp, yanking down. Bull flushed deeper, cock stirring traitor. Balls later—best for last. Switched to ass: gripped firm cheeks, pried wide, fingered the hole—tight, hairy, stinking sweat and fear.

Finally Roman cupped the bull's balls—heavy, sweaty, rolling palm-soft. Other hand seized the jaw, yanked eyes to his. Silent crush hard—sack squelched, balls mashed, bull growled teeth-grit, body tensed, hate flared pupils, but moan choked back.

"Pity you're too old for breeding stud, but bet you've knocked up a couple kids already? No sweat, luck might smile—somebody'll start pounding you regular. Tough for a bull like you, huh? Already missing pussy?"

Slave's lips twitched spit-urge, but Roman ramped the crush, balls near-burst. Slave buckled under the hand: pain lanced spine-deep, body went slack submissive, tears scorched eyes. Why the fuck does it yield like that?

"Yes, Sir... I miss pussy, Sir!"

Grown man bawled—tears streamed cheeks, body shook, cock rock-hard from pain and shame.

"Don't fear, dummy," Roman turned to the second buffalo, left the first sobbing. This one quaked terror: knees buckled, sweat poured hairy chest, balls tucked tight, cock shriveled knot.

Roman cracked the second's cheek sharp.

"They'll make a mule outta you, life simple and clear."

Slave froze confusion under the palm-smack: body shook slut-shame, sack clenched pebble-tight from stranger's stare. Why react like this to the freak?

Roman walked off the platform.

Whip-whistle distracted nearby. Roman eyed the overseers. Those chem-wrecked dogs—elite 180,000–250,000 drahm stock, brains drug-scrubbed, 100% loyal, but dull: snap at lowers, cower owners, just whip and stiffen. Roman favored breaking via shame and humiliation—that's true Master's craft. Any punk kid could whip-break.

Right-side—calved heifers. Young, tits milk-swollen, nipples dark thick, udders swaying heavy. Roman paused, gaze slid tits-ward: one veined under skin, milk dripping slightest twitch, cunt stretched post-birth, fertile gleam wet slit shining sun. Prime udders. Water stallions from tits like these—one fave ritual. Two studs all fours, heifer atop—nipples in their mouths. "Suck milk from the udder, pups," I'd order. "You bred the bitch, now nurse her like calves." They'd blaze shame, cocks raging hard: inside screaming "Fuck, slurping milk from tits of bitch I seeded, Master watches, body leaks uncommanded..." Recall: stud suckling nipple, milk dribbling chin, cock colossus from shame, nuts off from humiliation...—I'd snap whip on balls: "Suck, calf, or rip the sack." Fake hope—"good boys, drink"—then force them chant the shame before crowds. Ritual goal: drop the stallion low, frame his dumb life, lock Master's rule. Slaves need rituals—shame repeats like whip-crack, scarless. Post-tit-feed, stallions mellow, fun to toy.

Roman rarely bedded bitches—craved tough boy meat. But groping tits thrilled, watching Head Stud plow them under orders, ignoring his own cock-throb—pure bliss. "Snag a heifer for home? Pierce udders rings, skirt the cunny—tease guests at dinner?" he thought. Roman strolled platform-edge, not closing. Slavegirls froze, legs splayed wider, arms overhead, cunts bared, sweat-slick bodies gleaming. One whimpered soft—fresh, eyes hate-full. "Shatters quick, boring," Roman noted.

Snatched a Pup from Momma's Tit / Bought a Puppy from a Bitch

Roman's true hunger—platforms of young ripped bucks. 18–25, peak beef, 42,000 drahm tags. Started as scout: prowled slums, scooped sons from busted families. "Son, for the family," ashamed parents whispered, eyes down. Lies—usually booze cash—but gripped him: boy-shame, kin-watched degrade.

Remembered his first scout-buy clear—from hands (8,500 drahm peanuts for ripped 19-year-old bull). Grimy fringe apartment, mom and dad not sent off—drunk likely—Roman ordered:

"Peel the tee, boy."

Ripped worker stud—shoulders broad, abs cut.

"Arms lock overhead."

Shame in eyes:

"I'm no slave!"

"Kid, I'm appraising you—family scores more if I see the goods live."

Tee dragged slow, boy snorted, flushed, hands shook baring boy chest firm, nipples poked nerves. Eyes flicked—mom eyes-down, dad corner-smoking, Roman in cheap suit stranger.

"Son, come on, for us," mom whispered, voice cracking.

Boy clenched teeth, popped jeans, shoved down—white threadbare briefs, cock-bulge clear. Shamed slow on undies, hands froze waistband, face blazed, begged parents eyes: "Mom, no..." But mom turned away, dad hacked: "Strip, son, for your brother." Briefs slid—cock flopped half-soft, balls tucked, boy stood scarlet, hands crotch-instinct, but Roman barked: "Arms overhead!" He obeyed, body quaked, cock jerked cold-shame.

Roman gloved up—thin latex—and started inspection.

Pinched nipples vicious, twisted to moans:

"Sensitive? You'll wail under whip or cock, pup."

Boy jolted, nipples beaded red, body scorched stranger fingers.

Roman spun him doggy:

"Spread legs, bloom the hole."

Boy glanced back, saw parents: mom averted, dad's cock clearly stiffening pants-bulge, eyes lust-glint, fiddling cig but glued to son's bare ass. Gloved finger—lubed rough—rammed the virgin pink pucker, stretched ring, twisted prostate-probe. Boy moaned, ass clenched finger, sweat streamed back: Fuck, dad watches them root my ass, his cock up for me, why me? Dad-freak leaking on son, asshole burn in hell? Shame torches me, body flames, hate you all, parents eye my stretched hole, groped like whore...

"Tight virgin hole, perfect for boy-meat! Loosen, boar, or tear it."

"Up, arms overhead!"

Slap—left cheek flared.

"Jack off? Fuck boys? Get fucked?"

"Fuck girls, Sir!"

Another smack—tears.

"Pain tolerance?"

"Don't know..."

Boy sobbed, cock half-hard shame. Roman groped: crushed balls, yanked slow down, stroked hairy shaft upright.

"Prime pole, pup, 7.5 inches, balls brimming, cum for a herd of bitches."

Comment nailed boy to floor.

Naked helpless boy stands flushing before mom: body sears from stranger hand on cock, parents see all, he knows it full. Roman always lowballed, haggled hard. Boy heard the deal, burned shame. Year later snag the dad—watch him bare before broken slave-son. Signed the rip-off contract with parents—pennies for prime boy. Ordered dress, led the kid to car, buckled passenger seat.

"So, boy, midnight's your last free hours. Spread legs, wanna feel that cock."

Boy bawled gut-deep, tears rolling cheeks, but splayed knees, jeans taut, cock twitched fabric. Roman snaked hand, gripped through pants—warm firm, boy whimpered, body bucked.

"No sweat, pup, burger feast last rite. You'll make killer slave, you'll hack it."

Silent drive to dive—boy slunk in head-down, Roman trailed eyeing ass hidden in jeans now but probed fondled hour back—prime boy bubble, firm virgin tight. Boy wolfed burger greedy, sauce dripping knees, Roman eyed hands—strong callused, nails grimed, cheeks shame-flushed, lips chewing, adam's apple gulping. Lust woke savage: this boy yields his cherry, pink smooth hole, prize for hunger, denial years, shitbox car. Price drops post-fuck, fuck it—more ahead, now reward, slice of joy. Roman decided: pound him tonight sure.

Hauled to motel—cheap fuckpad, all he could swing then.

"Last free night, pup. Strip."

"Won't hurt, I'll gentle you. Get it's new, slave life. Ease your drop, good boy, I'll care."

Boy paralyzed, obeyed strip. Roman pressed his head to chest, boy wailed—ragged sobs heaving, body melted against: flesh ached, hole not yet scorched, but Master's chest-warm burned inside—somebody guides the fall.

"I'll train you all, boy, let go, trust me."

Roman led to bath, soaped groping young meat, relishing tiny nipples, curved virgin ass, arms, shoulders—smooth skin, springy muscle. Then slow head-stroke, fed hose up ass, soothed: "Relaxes you." Boy quit crying, yielding control more.

Boy knew shit, Roman coached—tuck teeth sucking, but boy tried, Roman stroked, toyed body. Then Roman back-laid: "Mount up, boy." His cock flagged, Roman didn't care, slammed hips down—"Take it full fast." Boy yelped pain, but locked pup-role, obeyed blank, surrendered. Roman railed hour, poses shifted: doggy, side, ride—tension snapped, started slapping cheeks ass—wild: boy no tears, slaps forged iron focus, but cock stayed soft.

After Roman cradled, boy snuffled chest, Master's fingers toyed the slick cum-stuffed hole: "Prime hole, pup, you worked good." Hour to midnight boy quieted, slept. Last free hour.

Dawn Roman jarred him rough. Overslept, pissed, vented on boy. Boy crashed hard first slave dawn: body throbbed, hole blazed Master's cock, yesterday free, now full-surrendered, gulped cock, rode cock, took slaps—good pup, willed the break, obeyed no rebel, yielded deep, sank low, his path now, morning no-will life, pure submit, good boy.

"Briefs only, no other rags—you're slave now. March, boy, to new life."

Boy begged teeth-brush, Roman slapped: "Slave, you decide fuck-all now. Dealer scrubs and preps you, chill, obey." Boy near-bawl, 15 minutes car beside Roman in yesterday briefs, naked shivering, morning Master's boy-meat lust cooled, Roman dropped pup at dealer.

Sweet boy, where now? Who rails him? Too grown likely, hauls sacks. Roman craved fresh toy.

Roman passed next platform—ripped white black 25-year-old bucks, cocks 9+ inches—breeding stallions, core cash. 55,000–70,000 drahm heads, foals repaid body investments yearly. Roman lived for breeding: thick shafts plowing heifer cunts, stallions grunting, cum flooding. Gave life purpose, wallet fat.

Born-slaves bored him: rage lacked free-fresh bite, he thought. Free boys brimmed doubt, "I was human" scars, books, dreams—ripe for mindfuck. Roman spun illusions: "You're fuck-assets, world spins 'round your cock." Then wrecked: fisted holes loose, forced flash the gaped ass—"See, stud? Cum-dump."

Roman scorned overkill, scars trashed merch. Passed overseer—pitied the type. Ranch chem-bulls minimal—slaves cracked shame not lash. Every strike serves shatter, else waste.

Final lap—unbroken pup platform. Blond boy popped afar, about 20, ripped youth build, army poise, blond sweat-matted, big cock slung heavy slab, boy chest, nipples jutting. Roman slowed. Blond pup met Master's eyes—locked beat, then floor. Shame's brewing. Smell despair. Drag obedience: force spit hate, fake hope—"good pup." Beside skinny cum-tank horse-cock (9.5 inches, tape it) clings. Perfect summer play-pair.

Roman nodded overseer:

"Ripped bull down for inspection."

Cody felt the stare—gray owner eyes drilled him, clocked his flush instant. Roman groped with gaze: ex-soldier's cock twitched, nipples diamond-hard, boy body blushed fire. Master's look knotted slave gut cramp—he knew: meat now. Why stand bared, this ripped soldier, why melt under this lord's eyes?

"Please buy me, Sir..." Cody whispered through tears, to himself, heart pounding traitor fear of this Master.

Fuck, why whisper that? He sees through me, my shame, virgin hole, cock hardening from his eyes, hate the rich prick, but shaft jerks up, precum gleams head, what'll he do to me, Master?