Monday, June 4, 2018

It was very elegant to whip their servants at social events.

In the sixteenth century the nobles established that it was elegant to whip their servants at social events. They valued knowing how to handle the whip with skill and flogging with cruelty and without showing mercy, proof of nobility and superiority.

The wealthier noble families used to keep some naked servants tied up in their finest halls, available to their younger members, whipping was a way of entertaining, training, or breaking the boredom.
Keeping naked and tied servants was proof of wealth and superiority. To be insensible to the suffering of the inferiors and to be able to keep dozens of them without working, useless, being able to even destroy them or to kill them without worrying was proof of power and wealth.

Some of the young noblemen were vain of the skill they developed, they proved capable of torturing with elegant and precise whips. Playing piano skillfully, singing, dancing, or even speaking fluently many languages ​​was less valued than knowing how to handle the whips and demonstrate carefree sadism by punishing servants. The biggest challenge was to provoke the worst pain without killing the servant.

Sometimes, out of simple vanity, the amusement was to whip the servant at length without haste, without mercy to death. Killing a servant was not a crime, not even frowned upon, could even give the noble family an excellent reputation.

The more young, handsome and well-trained the servant, the more appreciated was his martyrdom. An award-winning coachman, a jockey who had won many races, a talented court musician, the more well known the servant, the more his torture and execution was disputed.
Some ladies were famous for being so sophisticated and demanding with the servants that they were capable of flogging to death a servant who simply made a mistake in serving afternoon tea..

Monday, May 28, 2018

The damage used to be so brutal that most slaves could never get an erection again.

When the new animal arrived the foreman was tying it with its arms behind, gagging him and holding its penis and scrotum tightly. He manipulated the slave's cock until it was erect and hard. Then he tied a rope tightly to the base so that the blood could not escape so that it could not wither.

Then, holding tightly, firmly, he began to brutally beat the organs with a hard rubber hose. He beat for a long time, often, especially on the head of the penis and with such force that it practically destroyed the dick. Pieces of skin flew from the blows, blood sloshing in all directions.
Surprised, frightened, gagged and tied up in this way the animal groaned and writhed without being able to prevent brutality. It cried and sweated much in despair. The beatings followed in the same rhythm, with cruelty, even when it fainted.
It only ended when the penis and scrotum looked like pieces of misshapen flesh, swollen and bloody.

The wounds and bleeding would take months to heal. Swollen limbs would make the animal walk with its legs wide open and would prevent it from walking normally for many, many months.
The foreman knew how to measure the spanking so it would not be so strong as to kill the animal. Only a few died from the infections.
The damage used to be so brutal that most slaves could never get an erection again.

This brutal initial beating made them submissive and obedient. It showed the poor animals that the beatings and pains would have no limits, that they were worthless, that they could die being beaten to death if they were not obedient and submissive.

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

Hanging the fagot without taking advantage to unload all the violence, sadism and the sexual tension of the team, would be a waste of opportunity.

When the sentence of death by hanging for a poor prisoner and without family arrived the employees of the penitentiary already knew what would be the procedure. 
The unfortunate would be buried soon after he died, so why not make a farewell more fun for the staf? In the week before the execution, the prisoner was beaten, humiliated, and raped by all prison officers several times. For the whole week he was forced to feed himself with shit and pee.
The penitentiary director said that this was the best way to prepare the prisoner to accept his fate. Make him understand that life was no longer worth it. He was beaten and cruelly treated to make resign himself.
On the day set for execution he was placed on the bench of the hanged men, with arms, legs and feet tied tightly, as usual. The rope was wrapped around his neck and he was hoisted to the limit of choking.
When the director came to direct the execution, he ordered to lowered his trousers  and his shirt pulled back to the ropes. The prisoner was kept in this way, exposed practically naked to the audience, having to balance himself in order not to die fighting with the lack of air.
As everyone hoped would happen when the convict was almost breathless he had one last beautiful erection. At that moment one of the guards tied the base of his scrotum tight enough so that the erection lasted even longer.
The director then ordered that instead of simply overthrowing the man and ending his torment, one of the guards would begin to whip him brutally.
Everyone was amused watching the condemned effort to maintain the balance. Even though he knew that death was certain, inevitable, and imminent, he struggled to prolong his life as long as he could.
Some of the audience would bet on how many lashes would be needed to knock the animal off the bench.

Eventually, when he, by carelessness or tiredness, lost his balance and fell, his body swayed in the air hanging from the gallows, in agony till death.
Few condemned people accepted without fighting their end. Even after so much suffering and humiliation, the attachment to life still resisted.

To all those workers in the prison these unknown and unimportant prisoners were pure fun.

Bury them without taking advantage of the last days to unload all the violence, the sadism and the sexual tension of the team, would be a waste of opportunity. The entire prison administration agreed that it was better to choose an inmate to channel the physical, sexual, and psychological violence of the team.

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.