It accepts my domination and my rules, surrendering happily to fulfill the destiny of an inferior fagot.

He started coming here at home when we made contact through the cell phone app; he was a "masochistic pig" seeking a sadistic man. Since the first meeting, the rules were clear; as soon as he came into my house, he was on all fours and naked. I used to whip him violently, rape him, and he sucked my cock lovingly and sweetly. We never talked, and I never wanted to have a relationship with him or to know his life or ideas. I never knew even his age. I don't remember his voice, nor can I tell if he has an accent or speaks correctly. I imagined that he was penniless, his hands calloused, his clothes simple, old, and often dirty with paint and dust; his manners made me think he was really lower class, without studies and a miserable family. Indeed he was a spartan bricklayer, worker, porter, or janitor, one of those despicable workers, some common scum.

I love to whip him very hard; I get very excited when I make his back hurt and bleed. He is ugly, short, muscular, solid, and silent but bravely resists the most violent blows without complaint, almost without moving. My cock gets very hard during the whole spanking; when my arms get tired, I brutally stuff it in his ass and throat, but I only come when he licks and sucks sweetly until he swallows every drop of my cum.

I never let him come. If he got excited, I would squeeze and twist his balls until the dick softened.

At first, he used to come once a week, then three or four times a week, until I proposed - "pig" I want you to live here in my house! I want you to abandon your life and become my fixed slave; I support you. Bring all your things and start living here with me permanently.

He simply, without question, obeyed. The next day, he brought an old, dirty, small suitcase with clothes, documents, and a cell phone. He must have been really poor. I threw all his clothes, glasses, cell phone, papers, and photographs in the trash bag. I kept only the most essential documents and nothing more. I didn't want him to bring his history, identity, affections, or memories; I just wanted the body, its flesh, its holes, and obedience.

I saw his eyes filling with tears when I broke his glasses and his cell phone and tore up the pictures before throwing them in the trash.

He was still crying as I put the gag and collar around his neck.

Now, he's been mine for almost ten years. My friends and cleaner are already used to this pig walking around the house on all fours.

The routine is simple, it sleeps on the hard floor and eats the leftover food from the house mixed with dog food. Only I can remove its gag; I only remove it for him to eat and suck me; the rest of the time, it is always gagged. That is, it hasn't spoken in years.

Virtually every day, I whip him hard. This excites me, amuses me, and reiterates that it belongs to me as a slave or as an object or a toy. Its body is permanently injured, scarred, and bleeding.

Once a week, on Saturdays, I wash him as if anyone washes his animal in the house's backyard, using the water hose, hard brushes, and soap. I make bathing a painful and violent experience. I dig deep the brushes and soap through the holes I regularly penetrate, mouth and ass. I rub with sadism and force the healing wounds to reopen all injuries.

I believe that my asshole fag likes to be mine, that somehow, in its own way, it is happy and fulfilled in becoming my animal. Often it gets excited when it is whipped; its cock gets hard to denounce its excitement. It cannot masturbate, let alone come without my permission.

So, once a month, I masturbate to him personally. After one of the beatings with whips, I use the pliers to crush and twist its nipples and balls. The whole process is long and time-consuming, cruel, and must be very painful. It cries a lot and groans, feeling each part of the body crushed with force and twisted by the pliers.

I just stop torturing him when it comes and spills all his cum on the floor. At no time does the fag run away or try to protect himself from my pliers. The stupid worm just moans, cries, and squirms from the brutal pain and looks me in the eye with his look of suffering and pain, sweetly and lovingly.

I know that it adores me, that it accepts my domination, my rules, surrendering happily to fulfill the destiny of an inferior fagot like him.

It indeed pleases me, but I have no affection for him.

I have already talked to my friends, lawyers, police, and judges.

One day, for pleasure or boredom, I can kill it by beating, suffocating, or poisoning it. I'll put it in the car's trunk and throw the garbage in some river.

One evening I was talking to a friend about how I intended to get rid of my toy while it sucked the visitor's cock sitting on the sofa. My friend looked at the pig, laughing, and asked - fag do you know that? That one day, you will be slaughtered and thrown in the trash?

Without taking the visitor's dick out of his mouth, it looked up, eye to eye, and nodded. And it went back to sucking my friend's cock carefully and lovingly.

Like me, my friends and neighbors, we visit the police station every afternoon to de-stress and have fun whipping one of the prisoners.

With the budget cuts, the neighborhood police station started to count on our financial support, from the merchants and property owners of the neighborhood. The chief of police ordered his men to do private security, escort and all kinds of favors for us, the good men of the local elite.

One of the services we most appreciate is the police station's torture and punishment room. Me and many of my friends and neighbors started visiting the police station every evening to de-stress and have fun whipping one of the prisoners. Police officers separate the poorest prisoners without institutional or family support in a cell so that we can choose which one we want to use. They are usually homeless, unemployed, alcoholics or drug addicts with no use or social ties. They are just society's trash.

The prisoner we choose is taken to the punishment room, stripped and tied to the post. We, good family men, can spend hours having fun and mocking of the suffering and despair of the miserable. I prefer to  whip those who scream and cry all the time. I like to see those who are so terrified, urinate and defecate during the beatings.

The punishment room is a large and simple room, without windows, with smooth walls, with taps, hoses and a drain to facilitate cleaning. The walls and ceiling are smeared with lashes and blood that splashes in all directions. The sound of the whips crackling, the screams and moans of the tortured reverberated making the room very lively, almost musical.

We always had one of the prisoners naked in the room to clean the blood, urine, vomit and sperm that we spilled on the floor. The imbecile regularly washed the body of the disgusting son of a bitch attached to the pole, removing the excess blood that dripped, so as not to dirty our clothes, walls and ceiling so much.

The enthusiasm, the pleasure and the joy of whipping with a lot of violence, without haste, without limits and without any worries these human shit are so great that I often spend daily three or four hours whipping without rest. I barely see the time go by.

The excitement is so great that I, my friends and the police often jerk off during beatings. Often, the police wash the prisoner's ass, so we can fuck them. Some inmates suck on our dicks when they beg for lighter beatings.

It's more fun to whip together, in a group of friends. I have many friends and neighbors who enjoy whipping like me. We like to test new types of lash, with different materials, weights and lengths. 

We usually go directly from work to the police station, between 5 pm and 6 pm, and stay there until 8 pm or 9 pm. After our "daily sport", after our fun, we returned to our homes to have dinner with the family and kids. Our wives don't even complain that our suits and shirts arrive dirty, with lots of blood stains every day. Because, they recognize that we arrived lighter, humorous and happy after the fun at the police station.

I see every fucking idiot I whip as a challenge. One of those shitty bastards, one more stout and quiet, gave me more than a week to destroy. It endured quietly and steadily beatings for several days. Only after a week did I get him to cry in despair, begging for mercy. I made him kneel and suck my dick in front of everyone, drink my cum, my urine and lick the floor sobbing and begging me to spare him.

Making him cry like a child gave me great pleasure, it was a beautiful achievement! But, his tears did not move my heart. After the scene, I had him tied in the pole again and I whipped him with redoubled cruelty and pleasure until he passed out!

I knew later that he died in the following days. I thought it was a shame, I loved to whip that shit fag.

What is the difference between humans, animals and slaves?

My tribute to my friend Chris, author of the blog https://slavesthroughtheages.bdsmlr.com/

What is the difference between humans, animals, and slaves? 

It is not intelligence; there are intelligent animals and stupid humans, nor form; there are beautiful and hideous beings in both universes. Therefore, it is not a question of nature or philosophy but law. Roman laws established that citizens were only free men; below them came women and children, considered incapable; below these animals (horses, oxen, and dogs); below animals, slaves, compared to objects, and as such, they were classified as functional and useless.

The law established that slaves, as objects, had no rights and could be used, destroyed, or disposed of like anything else that belonged to someone.

These creatures were used, tortured, and discarded without any restrictions or concerns. The drawing shows two people, a Roman citizen crossing the street with his litter and a woman walking calmly. The citizen must be thinking about his social commitments and the woman in her tasks.

The beasts that carry the litter ensure that their owner's walk is comfortable and without many shakes. The leather of the beasts, tanned in the sun, exposes the marks and scars of countless whipping beats for each failure in the fulfillment of its functions. Upon arriving at his home, the citizen will inform the butler if the beasts should be whipped again and how many lashes each one will receive for the trip stumbling.

Like animals, these beasts defecate and urinate while carrying their burden. Like despised beasts, they cry in pain and fear and bleed for the failures they make.

The paving of the streets was irregular; it was not uncommon for the beast to be flogged to death for dropping the literature on the way.

These awful, lazy, disgusting and treacherous beasts of burden are motivated only by pain and fear!

It is truly fun to see the muscles and bones of pack animals contract and work to accomplish its tasks. These lazy and treacherous creatures are only motivated by pain and fear. The whip is its motivation. Only the lashes with precision cutting and brutally bruising the leather can make the animals work with real commitment and diligence, whipping with violence, cruelty and technique is essential for the beasts to work in a continuous and systematic way. The cracking of whips and the groans of animals is the music that gives cadence and rhythm to the choreography of the work. It's beautiful, lyric and poetic too!