City Analyst to Naked Property

Months have passed now and I am resigned to my fate. I am now fully trained to a life of slavery. I know that I can never return to my former life as successful jock boy, athlete and businessman. My destiny is now to spend my life as a naked slave. I waste my life away in constant naked menial work for Master Dennis, and in serving Master Lewis as his body and house slave. Nothing that I do is vital or worthwhile: I am under no illusion. They keep me enslaved because they enjoy degrading and humiliating me. My life is destined to be the naked puppet of my Masters, wasting away in slavery.

I have forgotten what it is like to be free, to laugh and chat and dream of the future, to have leisure time and friends. I have forgotten the pleasure of free man's food and alcohol, of sport and watching TV, of sexual release. All of these are beyond my world as a humble slave boy. As I kneel here naked on the floor, sucking Master Lewis's toes as he watches TV, I have come to accept that my place in life is as a slave object to give him pleasure. I am accustomed to his cock breeding my arse as his bitch, accustomed to eating his sperm and drinking his piss. I know my place.

I think of my former friends, colleagues and football team members. They looked up to me, respected me. Now their lives continue, no doubt enjoying their youth and the niceties of life as a young 20-something. Whereas I have no future, no life, no humanity. Even my family have given me up to Lewis's control. They have seen me humbled under the plans of Lewis.

And yet despite my totally controlled life and my new place as the lowest slave imaginable, I cannot rid my thoughts of my former best friend Ben, and what has become of him. My Master informed me that he was alive and had experienced surgery, but I have seen no evidence of him and I long to know if my best friend is coping with whatever they have subjected him to. Ben is a great guy: he had come to look for me and tried to rescue me. Only he knew that all was not right. Only he believed in me. And his reward for that faith was to be himself enslaved. I hope and pray that he is still alive, and has accepted his fate. I have no doubt that he has become enslaved like me. But maybe he has received a kinder treatment.

I had hoped that Lewis would have tired of humiliating me by now. He has taken everything from me. My life is now his. He has sold anything of value that once belonged to me, and I own nothing at all. Some of my old belongings he retains, as if to taunt me of what I once had. I have no clothing, no belongings, nothing to mark me as a human being. Instead I am destined to live as his fuck hole, naked on the floor like this. I pause for a second, my tongue resting on the nail of Master's big toe as he watches football. It does not take Master long to realise I am being lazy, and I receive a kick to my side. I continue bathing Master's foot with my spit.

The football finishes. How I used to love "Match of the Day" at the start of this football season. Now the names of football clubs and footballers wash over my conscious thought. They are irrelevant to me now. I have no interest in the television. I am forbidden from interacting with the real world any more in any way.

My stomach rumbles with hunger but I know better than to beg for food. Master feeds me when he sees it as necessary. Some days I starve when he forgets to feed me. My food is not a priority to him. My body is now honed to perfection, not an ounce of fat on my exposed frame, as I am constantly working. The small amount of food that I am allowed means that my body craves food as I work and serve. My enforced hunger reminds me I am not even allowed food when I need it. The most basic of human rights lies in the hands of my owner.

I hear the click of the TV as Master switches it off and I hear him yawn and stretch above me on his settee. He pulls his foot from my mouth and pushes my face to the ground, standing on my face with his wet bare foot. He grinds the sole of his foot into my face and stretches again.

"You are fucking pathetic, cocksucker," he snarls. "What sort of man allows himself to be enslaved like you have done. I think you wanted this all along. You have always been a closet homo eh boy ? No one submits as easily as you did."

I feel my chest lurch in a sob. He always knows exactly what to say, to remind me I am nothing now. What I once was. And what I now am. "I h… h.. had no choice," I stammer. "You …. You g.. gave me no choice Master."

I stammer now. I used to be so confident and articulate. Now I am barely allowed to speak at all and when I do I have learnt that my opinion counts for nothing. I speak quietly and meekly, with a pronounced stammer impeding any dignity in my speech. I also lisp as a result of the heavy ring that Master has pierced through the centre of my tongue. A ring that makes normal speech impossible and means I am always silent in the presence of free people. A ring that is sometimes used to tether me to the wall if I forget my place at any time. A ring that is used to give him pleasure when I tongue his cock in my mouth.

He has taken my personality away from me and reduced me to a humble shell of my former self. My mind, my confidence, my former jock body preened to catch a girl's eye. All long gone.

In fact, I am sure that my former friends and team-mates in the football team would no longer recognise me. The confident, self assured athlete that I once was is no more. I now walk with my back stooped, ensuring that my head is always below that of my Master, bowing in deference. My body is beautiful, honed to perfection. When I am alone in my cell, I feel the contours of my abs, my perfectly formed chest and legs. My body is not for admiration though: I will never again feel the admiration of a woman's gaze. I am only property. Owned property.

My body may be starved and worked to perfection, but my body is also permanently scarred by whip marks across my back, and the welts of Master's cane across my arse. Never a day goes by without me being stretched naked over his knee for a spanking or a caning, my red arse exposed to his torture as the tears stream down my face. He doesn't need a reason: he does it simply to humiliate me. What have I done to deserve this treatment ? I had so much promise, and so much respect. Now I have no self respect at all: how can I see myself as a man when I spend hours nose to the wall in naked corner time, hands on head with my red arse displayed for the amusement of its tormentor. My life wasting away in total control and degradation.

In addition to my punished body, my enforced hairlessness makes me appear like an overgrown boy, my genitals starkly bare in my hairless crotch. Hairless except for the pink triangle of course. The triangle that is trimmed on a weekly basis by Pierre and his obscene gay team. They revel now in the fact that I am forced to visit them every Friday after work. I hate what they have done to my body, but I have no choice at all. No matter who is in their salon, I am under strict instructions from my Master to follow Pierre's orders to the letter. And Pierre thinks nothing of ringing Master if I stray slightly from his word. No doubt the queer loves his total power over a stud like me. And I am completely powerless to resist anything. Pierre now insists that I walk in through the door, walk up to him and kiss him full on the lips regardless of who is present. Then I am to ask for permission to strip. I strip my only item of clothing – my slave overall - off in front of him and whoever else is present. They fondle my body, they play with my abused genitals, they flip me over on a work surface and fondle my arse. They lube my arse and fuck it with dildos. And I can do nothing.

It knocks me sick, the constant smiling, the fawning and bowing to Pierre and jumping to his every command like some weird fag, my naked body on display enforcing my total submission. And I stand there naked, shaved, my head buzzed to a permanent skinhead, my pink triangle on display and the word OWNED tattooed down my cock. At least my barcode and Lewis's mobile number - tattooed on my neck – is hidden beneath the leather collar that is locked permanently around my neck. Who would ever recognise the former captain of the football team?

As I wallow in the misery of my existence, Master Lewis brings me back to reality, my face still pressed to the floor. He takes his foot away from my head and utters the word "PISS".

Obediently, I kneel up before him and gently pull down the front of his tracksuit bottoms to reveal his expensive white CKs. Again, my mind reminds me that once I wore CKs. Now any single piece of underwear - ever - would be heaven. Gently I take out Master's cock and wrap my lips around it. With a sigh, he unleashes his piss down my throat, and I silently gulp it down before washing his cock clean with the tip of my tongue and placing his cock away.

"Th.. th.. thank you Master for allow allow …ing me to d..drink," I stutter, head bowed before him. My face flush with embarrassment as I thank him for drinking his piss. Its acrid taste hitting the back of my throat. Even the water in my bowl is diluted with his piss. Its unmistakeable taste forever in my mouth.

"Stand at attention slut," he grins, sitting down on the settee again. The expensive Italian settee that was once mine, imported especially. The settee that I am now forbidden from touching, let alone sitting on. Like all furniture. My place is on the floor.

I stand before him and spread my legs, my own imprisoned cock still locked in place via a chain from under my shaved balls. I have not been allowed to cum since I was enslaved, and so my cock aches for release. I dare not think about release, the pain from an erection still unbearable in my cruel bondage. I clasp my hands behind my head and stare forwards into his eyes. The standard ATTENTION position that he likes. His eyes boring into mine, into my soul, as my owner and captor.

"You are one pathetic loser, slaveboy. Do you know that?" Lewis stated, after a pause.

Blinking away my humiliation, I whisper. "Yes Master".

"I need to cum slaveboy, so it's a good job your mouth is warmed up with my feet and my piss. Go and kneel at the bottom of my bed and get ready to suck me dry."

I scurried from the room and knelt in position at the bottom of Master's bed. Ready to once more see him empty the spunk from his balls into my mouth. Ready to accept it, my own balls blue from their enforced bondage. I sobbed inwardly, a bitch waiting for his Master to fuck his face.

And my reward for eating his cum ? A night locked in chains, naked in my tiny cell, before the humiliating prospect of my ballet class tomorrow.

<><><><><>

Ben lived in the wealthier suburbs now.  Down country lanes in the countryside.  He saw and heard the world pass by his window.  But it may as well have been on Mars.  He’d never interact with it.  Away from the city and away from the bustle of life.  He no longer needed to concern himself with office blocks, city life, football, girls, fashion, the latest iPhone or video game.  He lived a simple life now and - whilst he wouldn’t have chosen this lifestyle had he been given a choice - he no longer had any worries.  His life had been set out for him fully, and the years of solitude had allowed him to reconcile his mind.  He couldn’t go back to what he had before.  Ever.  He was certain that he was a fading memory to his girlfriend, friends and family.  Better that they didn’t see what he had become.

It was so very unfair that he’d never been allowed to state his case. He’d never done anyone any harm. All he had done was tried to help his mate. Ben realised something was terribly wrong with the way Gary was behaving. He was bound to realise that, they were like brothers. Ben could still remember when he first started school in year 3 and had no friends. Gary was the only one who let him borrow a pencil. They had been best mates ever since. Ben was going to become Gary's best man. They had their whole life planned ahead of them. All Ben wanted to do was to help his best mate out of the impossible situation and the finality of what happened next was hard to believe. He couldn’t get his head around it. After the world of pain, he’d been sedated. Altered. Irrevocably. And now his former life was over forever. No explanation. No humanity. No chance to ever be a human being again. Even if he could escape - which he couldn't - what would be the good now with the changes that made him so much less than a normal man.

Ben’s owner - he can think of no other word to describe him - is older than Ben. In his mid 30s. The house is exquisitely decorated with expensive furniture and he dresses in expensive clothing. His conversations concern business transactions and he eats fine food. He speaks calmly and with authority. And Ben has absolutely no doubt that he sees the former jock boy as his toy. His plaything. His furniture. He never acknowledges Ben’s existence. Never tries to speak to him. In the early days Ben learnt how to please his owner through harsh training. His whole body hurt from the pain when he dared to displease his owner. But now he understands and has learnt to accept his role in life unquestioningly. There has to be some sort of other future in his dreams but he dares not ever think too much of it. He can see no escape from this living hell.

Ben has no minute of the day that is not under the complete control of his owner. His surgery allows no contemplation of escape from his bonds.

Ben tries not to look in the full length mirror opposite his podium. When he catches a glimpse of himself he finds it difficult to believe it can be true. His owner likes to place his podium opposite the mirror so that Ben is reminded of his utter degradation.

Ben’s podium is a stone column plinth. Four feet tall, it is positioned in the corner of the living room. On top of the plinth is a silver metal frame, upright and rectangular with its base embedded in the stone and four short chains in each internal corner of the rectangle.

Ben’s surgery was designed to devastate his athlete jock male physique. To take away any hope that he’d ever be free. But equally to conform to the requirements of the man who now owned him. The man who wanted to own a virile younger man completely and take away every aspect of his freedom and dignity. Just because he could. A sadist and an evil man. A man who had ordered this and just so happened to fit the needs of Dennis in making sure that Ben disappeared without trace. From the very first moment the man saw the picture of Ben - sedated, weak and powerless, hand cuffed behind his back - he knew right then and there he had to own Ben. The man was very taken by his handsome but innocent face and the muscular physique of a demigod, lain there almost naked and vulnerable. The image showed Ben wore nothing but the sexy grey cotton brief that his girlfriend bought for him, further accentuating the lovely bulge and large manhood. The man can already imagine the things he's going to do to a nice young man like Ben.

Ben had been sedated for weeks to enable his body to recover. So that when it was ready, he could be used instantly. On seeing him now, it was hard to imagine how any man could live such a harsh existence.

His body was now healed and he was accustomed to his new devastatingly degrading lifestyle.

Ben’s hair had been removed. Every hair on his body and head. No eyebrows. A bald beacon on his head. His once tanned skin had been bleached a harsh, industrial white colour. And his body was tattooed heavily all over with an effect that mirrored the stand below. An effect that made his body look like stone. An accessory to his column, to make him look ornamental in the wealthy confines of the room. He had the look of a Greek statue on display. Motionless and imprisoned. Fully stretched and naked on display.

Ben’s diet was minimal. His owner wanted him to retain the chiselled effect of youth and so he learnt that his food was at semi starvation level so that his torso retained the look that pleased his owner.

All those hours spent at the gym building those muscles, all that time he worked so hard in football to become assistant captain of the football team. The awards - Player of the Year and Player's Player - had all been for nothing. His limbs were gone. All of them. Amputated at shoulder and top of thigh. Ben was nickname the fastest man on the team and look at him now... The torso was all he had now and the four corners were adorned with a metal ring embedded into his bones. The same rings that were attached daily to the four corners of his metal frame and holding him in an upright position. His body was stretched taut and naked on silent display every day for hours. A naked ornament imprisoned under a glass dome. For no reason other than to waste away his days in silent abject misery.
To complete his transformation, Ben’s vocal chords had been clipped to take away his beautiful husky voice. And - equally devastatingly - to complete the statue look, his well endowed cock shaft of 9 inches had been removed. The button head of his cock sewn back on to give him a tiny, completely useless ornamental button cock. Compared to his stretched balls, it gave his cock a ridiculous look.

<><><><><>

And so as a ridiculous subhuman object, Ben exists every day. Alone. Naked. On display.

First thing in the morning, Ben is allowed to relieve himself. His pissing hole has been redirected into the same hole in his arse. He pisses and shits from the same hole, burning his intestine every time. Ben relieves himself into a tray in the knowledge it will be his only opportunity to do so until tomorrow at the same time. He then eats his only meal of the day - a bland mushed meal - accompanied by water. He watches silently as his owner tops up his glass with a taste of his owners piss for him to drink down in full. He accepts it humbly and submissively. He is never permitted to look at his owners face.

After his meal Ben is attached to his plinth and the glass dome imprisons him on display at 8am. He is left in silent contemplation on full display for the day. Torso stretched to its limits and unable to move in his glass prison. A meaningless waste of every day. And the only time he will be allowed some sleep. Whilst his owner gets hard at work thinking of the total control over him.

If he is lucky, his owner will return early evening to eat his meal and watch Ben through the glass as he does so. Some reason to exist.

And then the evening. Ben’s torso is allowed to relax from stretching. He is placed on the floor at his owners feet as his owner relaxes. Used either as a cushion for his owners feet, his face a footrest or his tongue a foot massager. Occasionally his owner will sit on his face to watch tv or play a game, grabbing his stretched balls if his pleasure is not constant. This complete humiliation is the best part of Ben’s day because of the human contact and sense of purpose. Ben recoils in horror whenever he realises this but it's true.

At bedtime, Ben’s emaciated body is carried up to his owners bedroom slung over his shoulder. Carefully Ben is laid on the bed so that he can spend the night lain with his owner in bed. His owner lays him down face up and sighs with contentment as he himself lies down. Snuggling into the warm sheets he feels his object beneath his head. And slowly drifts sleep on his male flesh pillow. Ben has learnt that his stomach is to be kept soft and comfortable for his owners head and so he must remain awake for the 7 hours sleep per day that his owner enjoys.

As the night hours pass, Ben looked over to the digital clock in the room, which tells time and date. A tear escapes Ben's eyes when he realised today was supposed to be his 25th birthday.