Friday, May 18, 2018

She loved the scenery, the speed, seeing the animal running desperately.

I spent much of my youth on family farms, especially in the summers.

My cousin Phillip was very kind and excellent company, we loved riding in the carriages in the stuffy and hot afternoons. I especially liked to feel the breeze on my face when Phillip made those animals run faster as we came down the hills. Phillip knew how to make the animals run; he handled his whips very skillfully. He made his bullwhips snap in the air before hitting the back, butt, and thighs of the beasts. The farm had many of them, many beautiful young and strong, very accustomed to pulling the carriages.

About two hours after lunch, after digestion in the middle of the afternoon, Phillip picked out an animal, tied it to my favorite carriage. He invited me to the ride, he knew the roads, the paths, the topography, and he knew how to make the tour fun and enjoyable. We chatted excitedly, cheerfully. He told stories, jokes, and did everything to make me happier.

I loved the scenery, the speed, seeing the animal running desperately. When I asked for more speed, Phillip gave the animal more painful reasons to run. We used to go on rides practically every afternoon, I knew the tips, I wore a cloak over my dress, I knew that the dust, sweat and blood of the animal would sneeze and stain all our clothes.

Phillip used to explain how to choose the best racing animals. He said that he did not like slaves who were small, thin or light, unable to pull carriages or take longer walks. He said that the castrated were not the best either, because they lacked courage, and were too fat. I also agreed cause I enjoy watching it`s scrotum and penis sway as they ran, it was funny.
We both prefer the servants whose tongues were cut, it moaned lower, made less noise and gossip.

Our favorite animal was about thirty, hairy, strong and fat, with large, heavy genitals. It`s leather was bright and well marked and wounded by the countless lashes. My uncle had blinded it when the animal was young when he realized that it was running too fast to avoid escape attempts. I loved to notice that even without having its eyes the animal cried a lot when was whipped or tortured. In spite of everything I thought he was very beautiful, muscular, strong, virile, and he was even more handsome running and pulling our carriage.

Those were good times!

Sunday, May 13, 2018

The new collaboration with Gen, a great Eastern BDSM artist.

When we draw gay BDSM scenes, it is common for us to picture ourselves in the characters. I am a masochist, I always imagine myself to be the one who is humiliated, beaten and tortured. Sometimes I also imagine myself as the viewer watching or the one who tortures. That's why most of my characters are somewhat fat, bearded and mature like myself.
I have maintained a respectful and entertaining collaboration with Gen, a Japanese artist who produces very exciting images. He enjoys more realistic, almost photographic, and more bloodthirsty images, with the victims shedding viscera and blood in agony.
Here he worked on a drawing of mine, making the victim younger, more muscular and oriental. The result is fantastic.
I really enjoy his work and I am very proud of our friendship and cooperation.

Here is the link for anyone who wants to know about his work.

Sunday, May 6, 2018

So how does it feel now that all of its fantasies have come true? Is it everything it had hoped for?

Where am i?
Who am i?
What am i?
How long have i been here?
Who is He? 
Why is He doing this?
Will i survive?
Have i died and gone to Hell?
i have no answers.
i remember nothing of before. i know nothing of the future. 
i am in a pit, i am alone, i hurt, i am frightened, i am filthy, i stink…this is all i know.
it gets dark, it gets light. 
Sometimes He comes, sometimes He doesn’t.
Occasionally He takes me out to torture me, usually He doesn’t.
Some things are always the same. 
i am always bound in this position, ankles and thighs tied together, i long ago stopped feeling them…numb. Balls battered and then pulled behind, fixed tightly. Cock tortured and fastened at the front, strangled. Hands stretched up and tied off.
i am always thirsty. He enjoys standing above at the side of the pit, pulling out his cock and pissing down on me. At first i tried to hide, now i open my mouth wide and try and catch as much of the life giving urine as possible. Sometimes He aims for my mouth, sometimes He deliberately misses, soaks my body, leaves me sitting in a pool of piss, unable to reach it…stinking.
i am always hungry. Sometimes He brings a bowl, wears thick rubber gloves, drops His shit on me..well i assume its His shit.. At first i tried to hide, now i open my mouth and stretch as far a possible to try and catch it, starving. 
This is fun for Him, He chuckles, grins, laughs, mocks. This is a nightmare for me, i sob, whine, pant, cry.
Then today He told me something devastating, something which tore into my soul and now inhabits it. After He had fed me, He stood and stared as i grunted, grovelled, gagged…pathetic. Then He dropped the bombshell…’So how does it feel now that all of its fantasies have come true? Is it everything it had hoped for?’ He laughed at my confused expression. ‘Yes cunt, this is what it begged Me for during those online conversations, when it told Me how it wanted to be nothing more than an owned object, wanted its humanity erased. This is what we planned together. it doesn’t remember the instructions I gave it which it followed exactly. How it willingly gave up everything, left a note to ensure no one came looking for it. Came to me willingly, knelt and begged to be broken. It remembers none of that?
I stared blankly up, His words hitting like punches. Somewhere….somewhere deep inside I knew it was true. This is what I am. This is why. This is who He is. With that knowledge came a degree of acceptance. This was my fantasy and now I had to pay the price. I didn’t remember but I understood.

I made this drawing and sent it to my friend TWISTED SUB asking him to write the story.
We have many fantasies in common, I love his texts.
I loved the way he handled the theme. 
Devastated by the brutal treatment, by utter degradation the ruined animal has already forgotten how it ended up in those conditions. He is no longer a human being, he has no past or future. Your filthy, sore body already has the same thing as the shit and the piss that covers it.
His Owner, out of sheer sadism, takes pleasure in reminding the fagot why he is there, in those conditions.

Get to know his marvelous work at the following address:

Friday, April 20, 2018

The Hatch - another collaboration with Twisted sub

See the text on the original tumblr at:

The Hatch

My world is reduced to 4 bare concrete walls, bare concrete floor, 8 feet by 6 feet. If I stand on the tips of my toes i can touch the ceiling with my head.  A plastic bucket is the only furniture. It can be dark, pitch black or it can be blindingly light, nothing in-between. Stiflingly warm or freezing control. Absolute silence or deafening sounds of any description, screams, rock music, white noise or the Voice. And then there is the Hatch…

The Hatch is all that matters in my world. It is the only constant, it is always there, watching, waiting. I fear it but i also worship it. It can give me treats, food and drink but it can equally punish me. That happens less often now, I’ve learned how to please the hatch, how not to make it angry. I’ve learned not to make a sound, even when the hatch is closed. I’ve learned to piss and shit in the bucket until it is completely full. I’ve learned to eat everything given to me, however disgusting. The hatch is creative with its punishment, a fireman’s hose stuck through and blasting me with icy water, left shivering and shaking to drip dry. Tasers applied before I can realize what is about to happen. Gas piped through which makes me want to rip my eyes out from the pain. Hot air pumped through until I feel I’m going to boil alive. And the worst thing? It can just remain closed for days on end, depriving me, starving me, dehydrating me, the contents of the bucket the only thing sustaining me. Totally alone, isolated, in darkness, nothing. Sometimes then I just kneel before it, begging it to open, promising to do anything if it will just acknowledge my presence. 

I’ve also learned to obey the Voice, the Voice that comes from nowhere, that seems to know every move i make, that comes and goes, that i sometimes think might just be in my head.  The Voice teaches me what I’ve done wrong, tells me what i must do when i get confused, tells me what i am…tells me i am forgotten outside, i don’t exist, i am nothing, i am an object. The Hatch and the Voice my only connection to anything outside my world. 

When the bucket is completely full, the Hatch gives me pills. i like them, they make me sleep really deep, who knows for how long, time has no meaning in my world. When i wake up the bucket is empty. Sometimes I’ve been shaved, or had a piece of equipment added or removed. Piercings, tattoos, suddenly appear. The last time tight rubber mittens were locked onto my hands tightly secured around my wrists with wire meaning i couldn’t use my fingers. i have no idea why, I long ago stopped questioning why. But now i can’t feel them anymore, my hands are numb, I fear they are dying, in my nightmares i imagine them rotting away. i want to say something to the Hatch but i daren’t, the Voice has told me i don’t need hands, that they are unnecessary…for the first time in however long i get scared, realize how much I am controlled, how my life is controlled in every detail and how it could end at any moment. i start crying and right on cue the Hatch opens…I see the pills…this time i don’t want to take them…don’t want to know what will have happened when I wake up. But the Hatch is supreme, i am nothing, i have no resistance to the will of the Hatch, the Voice. I take the pills and as taught open my mouth to show they have been swallowed, it doesn’t matter, the Voice is right, the Voice and the hatch know what i need, They can give and take away, that is Their right, i am nothing, i need nothing except the Hatch and the Voice, i love Them. I realize with a flash that the walls, floor and ceiling don’t matter, i don’t matter, the Hatch and the Voice They are my Masters, they are my world and that world is limitless. 

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

The trainee learned that his vocation was for the fagot of the company.

The transport company was not large, about 40 employees, mostly women, she was the owner.
The new trainee had come of age, eighteen, from a large, poor, very poor family. 
He was not very smart or good at school. He looked a little stupid and ignorant, but he was quiet and very polite.
At first the mistress seemed to be sensitive to his condition. She listened to his stories, knew about the financial problems and the human and health dramas his family suffered. She loaned him money, put up wages, and made his debt grow.

Gradually she changed behavior, began to be intolerant of his failures or delays, she cried out at him, harsh and humiliating. He had no alternatives, he carried himself slavishly and submissively.
One day she brutaly slapped his face, and he simply accepted resignedly. That was the beginning.
She began to beat him, whip him, and humiliate him more and more cruelly.
He never reacted, defended or protested. He moaned, obeyed, and made himself available for beatings.
She ordered him to suck her, masturbate her, lick her feet, crawl at her feet. He obeyed without question, did his best.
Little by little the mistress lost the shame of beating and humiliating him in front of the other employees. The best thing is that when she forced him to lower his pants to slap his ass with his belt, his beautiful, well-sized dick was immediately hard.
The whole company concluded, by monumental erection, that he liked that treatment.
For years he was beaten and abused by some employees and his owner everywhere, any time, in front of the whole team.

Over the years he has left all trainee roles and has just become the company's pet. He served the coffee, tended the cleaning and tidying up of the tables, swept the floor, but after these tasks he sat for hours waiting for someone to call him to torture and abuse him sexually.
One of the managers became accustomed to tearing off his entire clothing and dragging the fagot by the ears to the bathroom to rape him. He would get excited by shaking and walking with the naked boy between the tables of other employees.
With the daily repetition of the scene, many were no longer paying attention to the spectacle.
Still others were trying to see if the peeled fagot was excited to be displayed this way on the way to the bathroom.

At company parties the employees would take him to the bathroom and make him suck all the dicks. They poked in his mouth and raped him.
Sometimes they told him to wipe the filthy soles of their shoes with his tongue.
They made fun of keeping him hungry and thirsty all day and then serving in a pot of dog food shit and piss, making him eat everything.

He never disobeyed, complained, never missed his job or made any gesture to prevent or defend himself from the blows.
He obeyed the cruelest of orders, accepted the most brutal beating in silence.

Certainly he knew that he was an inferior animal, that this was his function, that they should treat him this way.
One day, faced with some financial difficulties, the company had to dismiss part of the team. 
The owner of the company had to sell the faggot to a competing company.

He was never seen again, neither in the company nor in the family.

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

The constant brain washing was working.

I recently met the blog posts: Twisted sub. I loved the perversities and cruelties he describes. Many of the fantasies and situations he describes are very close to my predicament. I was very excited about many of them.

I offered to collaborate and contribute to your work.

The author asked me to illustrate one of his shorter texts.

Here follows the link of your work and the text that I have illustrated.

The constant brain washing was working.

Having lived in the sty for 6 months, vocal chords cut, covering itself in filth,  eating any leftover swill and curling up with its adopted pig family at night to keep warm whilst listening to its reconditioning tapes…this is what it now saw when the mirror was held in front of its snout. Its owner enjoyed the grunts and squeals of shock and horror as it saw what it had become.

Monday, March 12, 2018

A demonstration how a relapsed and stupid servant should be treated.

The bosses used to be very annoyed by the mistakes made by the servants. All servants in general, but especially the coachman, irritated them. 
He was poor and ignorant Polish, who could not learn their tasks quickly. Most of the employees were illiterate, nor did they understand French. So the Baron invited a specialist to teach how to discipline, command and punish the servants. 
The specialist used the same training techniques that were used with trained animals, such as dogs and horses, to command the employees, short instructions, clearly shouted, punishments for errors, rewards for correctness.
He wielded the whip with art, he knew how to make it crack in the air, and how to strike the animals 'or employees' flesh with accuracy and efficiency. For many weeks, after breakfast, he would come to the dining room, teach the family how to use the whip properly.
As they did not really support the coachman he was used for the didactic morning demonstrations.
He was tied up and naked before the family and beaten to demonstrate how a relapsed and stupid servant should be treated.