The sergeant of the army had known me since high school when I was his sex toy.

The sergeant of the army had known me since high school when I was his sex toy. 

He was the leader of the worst gangs in the school, which caused terror among classmates, teachers, and staff. He was the one who helped me understand what I`m, I felt and desired. He would tell me to go to the bathroom and wait for him naked. I, trembling with fear and lust, obeyed. He would grab me roughly, slap me in the face, pinch and bite my nipples and fuck me so hard that I cried with pain and lust. He taught me to suck and endure his big, hard cock that hurt my throat until I almost choked. He widened all my holes and my mind, he taught me the thrill of being his!

He had dozens of girlfriends and friends, but he would fuck me and use me often in front of his classmates without any embarrassment or shame. Being fucked in public, behind the school, on the street, or in the bar turned him on, and it turned me on even more. 

When he joined the army to become an officer, all he had to do was send me a message telling me to go to the barracks and I would drop everything and obey! 

Several times he kept me naked and chained up for days, being tortured, sucking him, and being raped by him and his fellow soldiers. He and his colleagues were truly sadistic; it wasn't just fucking and being sucked that made them cum. They tortured me cruelly, with pleasure, they beat me a lot, to make it hurt and bruise, but I never asked for mercy. I cried, moaned and sometimes even fainted, but I didn't ask for mercy.

I did not understand the reasons or circumstances that allowed him to keep me chained for so long, nor how long my captivity would last. He never said, and I never asked when I arrived, how long I would be there. He tested my total obedience and willingness, and I never disobeyed or disappointed him. Sometimes it was just one night, more than a week.

When they told me to leave the barracks, I could barely walk. Sometimes they had to keep me in the infirmary for a few days until I could walk without help.

But when I got home, he almost always sent me a message:

- So, bitch? Did you like being used like this? I'll call you again, be available, ready, and recovered!

And I would answer: - I'm your shitty slave! I'll run as soon as my man tells me to! All my holes are yours!

He's the hottest thing in my life!

Finally, Tuesday arrived, and I heard them coming, my pimp is still negotiating prices with the clients.

Finally, Tuesday arrived, and I heard them coming, my pimp is still negotiating prices with the clients. 

I already know the routine, because I've been in this life for years, I know most of the clients, their needs, and ways of acting. Some bring their whips and batons, others will use the equipment that is here in the brothel. Some will also want to fuck me, in all my holes, others will wish to blowjobs. 

They can do the worst evils to me, breaking my back with dozens of violent lashes, fucking me, and then continuing the whipping. Some like to fuck me while my ass bleeds from the beatings, using the blood that runs down my back as a lubricant. 

After hours of pain, torture, brutality, and rape they leave, leaving me on the floor, covered in wounds and bruises, in a pool of blood, sweat, sperm, and piss. It takes me weeks to recover. Some wounds turn into permanent scars, others heal and disappear. During this time I work daily, without rest, cleaning and tidying the brothel. I find some of the clients who have destroyed me coming to the house to pick up some of the boys or girls who are prostituted here.

Precisely for this reason, and at the request of some of them, my pimp makes me work naked all the time so that they can see the gradual healing and recovery of my body. Some even tease me by showing me the wounds they have made and celebrating that they have not yet disappeared.

So, on the first Tuesday of every month, my pimp ties me up against the wall and the clients come to break me and fuck me.

 

He has no chance of escaping alive. I am too horny.

My servants and employees know what is going to happen now, they know me, they fear me and they have seen similar scenes happen before.

When I order one of my servants to be brought to this tree, he knows he will be brutally punished. One of the foremen accused this servant of stealing the missing sheep. I ordered the young man's clothes to be taken off, I like to see them naked, this one is still quite handsome and has a beautiful cock to make what is to come even more fun.

One of the foremen tied his wrists to a stick and put the gallows collar around his neck.

My cock is throbbing and erect under my coat, I am almost cumming from so much arousal.

The young man begs for my mercy, says he has nothing to do with the missing sheep, that he is innocent - as if that matters to me, as if this detail would stop my fun.

My favorite foreman is already impatiently holding the heaviest whip, with the hardest and roughest leather, anxious for me to tell him how many lashes the sentence will be.

I know that after 20 the boy will be so injured that he will be unable to walk for more than two weeks; after 50 he will probably faint and may die from the infections in the wounds.

But today I am very horny, I am going to sentence him to 100! I want the intervals between the lashes to be long, so that he can cry, moan and beg for my mercy, because I love to hear his screams and pleas, but he has no chance of escaping alive. I am too horny.

The long weekend with the four sadistic dominators was a dream.

I had finally found the dominator I had dreamed of. Paul was handsome, calm, mature, very sadistic, and experienced. He lived alone in a beautiful apartment, and we started with sporadic encounters lasting a few hours, scheduled through apps.

The routine was simple: I would undress as soon as I entered the apartment and obey all commands without question. He would test my submission and resistance. If he disapproved of me, each encounter could be the last. I would suck, get fucked, clean, cook, and be beaten without any hesitation.

So, sometimes, he would have friends over, and I would serve whoever he wanted. However, he wanted to prove my intentions and prove that I had no limits. 

On Friday, when I arrived, he had three friends over. He explained: We have a long weekend, and you will stay here with us until Wednesday, okay? I invited these friends over so we could abuse you together. You've already served one of them, and you know he's more cruel and sadistic. The other two brought whips and ropes; I believe they will also want to torture you brutally.

I didn't know the other two, but I had already noticed that Paul advertised me as his bitch on other gay BDSM sites. He was pimping me out, charging sadistic men who paid to fuck and torture me. I confess that I loved this idea and found it even more exciting.

I smiled and nodded. This man was indeed particularly sadistic; he loved to burn my nipples, cock, and balls with cigars and cigarettes. I loved his tortures, but I especially liked the way he fucked my throat, shoving his thick, hard cock inside until I was suffocating.

The weekend was brutal; the four of them used me, fucked me, and tortured me the whole time, taking turns without limits or rest.

The four of them were sadistic and domineering. I was whipped and tortured with brutality beyond any limits I had ever imagined. I could only endure it because I was tied up and gagged. 

I cried, moaned, fainted, and vomited several times. I fainted a few times. But I loved it all and came dozens of times. I did everything, obeyed all the orders, and endured it without complaining because I hope Paul calls me many more times.

The joy of selling our perverted and despicable youngest - the parents' view.

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Three years of slavery: deciding what to do with the ugly pig. Part nineteen.

 

My owners lost all interest in the ugly pig.

After all the days of being tortured with electric shocks and hanging by the ankles from the structure of the shed, the animal simply lost all cognition and coordination and became a worm.

It could no longer walk or even stand up on its own. It could not move its paws like a human; it looked like an old, clumsy monkey. It could barely balance some food to put in his mouth. Its feet were twisted and stiff, and it could not step on the ground like a human.

Its mouth was a little crooked; it could no longer speak or chew properly what it tried to eat. He grunted like a pig, moaned, and cried all the time.

It had a dazed look and did not seem to understand what was happening, where it was, or what it was. It lost control of his systems and pissed and shit without any control. His cock seemed semi-hard and throbbing all the time, ejaculating precum, sperm, and piss alternately at any given moment. I gave up on washing it or keeping it clean; it was always dirty with sweat, tears, drool, piss, feces, and sperm, stinking like a filthy pig.

When I whipped him, it didn't even react like before; it simply kept crying and moaning without any reaction. He didn't seem to care or fear any pain, nor did he feel any pleasure.

I showed my owners the pig's stupid, lethargic state and uselessness. They agreed that keeping him in the house no longer made sense and said they intended to eliminate him.

I had no idea what we would do with that dirty, useless, disgusting, and despicable animal.

Shopping day was the best day of the month!

I had recently retired and finally could no longer go to work, and, as I had agreed with my young Master, I became his full-time slave.

I moved permanently into his apartment, gave him all my bank codes and passwords so he could receive my pension, and gave him everything I had and my savings.

The young man was addicted to games, worked freelance from time to time, and spent all day at home playing games and smoking marijuana with friends. Having me as a slave solved several of his problems, including his financial problems with my pension and all my savings; I started to clean the apartment, wash clothes, cook, and work as a domestic servant; he and his colleagues fucked me and made me suck them all the time.

I didn't leave the house for anything; I stayed there naked and working all the time. I only went out once a month when we went shopping, and I looked forward to that day all month long.

When we had to go for monthly purchases, he would make me walk ten blocks always to the same crappy supermarket in the worst part of the poor neighborhood where we lived. Before I left, he would lock my cock in a chastity cage, stick a three-inch butt plug in my ass, and order me to go around wearing only an old jockstrap and worn-out shorts that kept falling.

Walking around the neighborhood barefoot and practically naked, with a collar and leash, was very humiliating and exciting. I could feel my cock throbbing and dripping inside the cage, very horny as if it were going to explode. My Master would take an UBER and meet me at the grocery store. I had to be there to pay for the monthly groceries because he used the retirement voucher I had to sign.

The manager of this grocery store had figured out our thing and let me walk around the joint practically naked like that.

When it was time to pay, he always took me to the office and made me suck him and two other employees at the establishment as part of the payment. They saw my body covered in welts and marks from the beatings that my Master gave me regularly. While I was sucking the guys, the security guard at the grocery store liked to beat me brutally with the rubber truncheon they used to beat up little thieves.

After paying for the groceries, I walked back to the apartment, where my owner took his UBER right after I signed the voucher.

Shopping day was the best day of the month!

Three Years a Slave: Starting to Destroy Him. Part Eighteen.

Little by little, my Owners lost interest in the Pig. Sometimes, they would go two or three weeks without going to the barn to see him.

I was the only one who went there every day, two or three times a day, to feed him and pick up feces and urine from the floor. Sometimes I would whip him or make him suck me off; he could give an excellent blowjob, very competent, which made me cum nicely even with the chastity cage.

One day, I talked to my older Owner and asked what they planned to do with the Pig and what I should do with him. Our Owner was brief: Destroy him, make that animal go completely crazy, and ruin it.

He instructed me to hang him by his ankles, upside down, and alternately place electrical wires in his sensitive parts, his ears, tongue, nipples, and cock. Then, I turned on the shock machine, with the timer set to deliver violent shocks for one or two long minutes every 15 or 20 minutes.

I followed the instructions, even though I realized the sadistic cruelty of the idea. He didn't ask me to whip the Pig nor to use clamps on his nipples because we had already seen the animal ejaculate with pleasure while feeling these kinds of pain. Many forms of torture gave the Pig as much pleasure as they did to his sadistic owners. So now, they told me to do something that would ruin the Pig without him enjoying the process.

However, what I saw surprised and shocked me.

I left the pig there, hanging for a week, receiving electric shocks that made him writhe and contort like a fat, grotesque worm, howling, screaming, and crying in despair and exhaustion.

Twice a day, I took him down and gave him food and water, leaving him on the floor chained near the food and water bowls. To my amazement, even in that state, he could still drink and eat on his own, directly from the pots, without using his hands.

After an hour, I would return to the shed and hang him up again, and the electric torture would begin again.

What surprised me was his resistance. Even hanging like that, he was so exhausted that he could sleep for minutes between shocks. During the shocks, he would writhe, drool, cry, groan, piss and shit himself. His wide eyes looked like they would pop out of their sockets. But, at various moments, I would still see his hard cock ejaculate, and he would cum with excitement from feeling so much pain and suffering.

The Pig still felt moments of pure excitement and pleasure even with this brutal torture!

This is my life as a thing; I don't complain.

I was the oldest child in the family, and I remember, as a child, still at school, when the government announced the restoration of slavery, which seemed like an excellent idea to all of us. The world had been facing an environmental crisis for years; we needed to reduce our environmental impact and fuel consumption, so all cars and airplanes were abolished. At the same time, ecological disasters, forced migrations, and unemployment generated huge contingents of migrants, and destitute people without any possibility of social inclusion. The solution was to allow them to be captured and sold as slaves. Prisons were abolished, and all prisoners were sold. Laws allowed anyone to be sold or bought as a slave, and slaves were accepted as animals without any rights.

New technologies, grafts, hormones, and drugs were quickly developed so that the new slaves would be more docile, obedient, and strong enough to work.

I remember when, at the age of 16, before I came of age, my father sold me and my brothers to pay part of his debts.

At first, I was shocked, scared, and surprised, but within a few years, I was fully adapted to my new life as a thing.

I have been working for a delivery company for years. I carry backpacks and bags weighing over 80 kilos around the city for 16 hours daily. The chips implanted in me monitor me. The company always knows where I am, how fast I walk, and my heart rate and blood pressure. A device implanted in my ears gives me orders and instructions.

In the mornings and evenings, I am fed with rations that give me strength and the will to work and have made my hair and muscles grow. I feel permanently excited and happy. When I leave for work, they put a butt plug in my ass, which gives me pleasant shocks in my prostate and keeps me excited all the time.

On the other hand, electric devices on my collar and in my ass punish me with electric shocks if I am late or for any mistake.

When I return to the company at the end of work, a report on my daily performance determines whether I will be rewarded or punished. I shit, piss, get washed and fed. 

If I deserve it, I receive drugs that make me immensely happy, and I sleep happily in my cage. If the performance is not perfect, I am whipped and brutally tortured before being caged.

This is my life and role; I can't complain. And I can even say I'm lucky to be who I am.

I haven't had a single day off for many years and I know that I'll work until the last day of my life, because when I can no longer handle this work rhythm we'll be slaughtered, and the health system will use our pieces.

My uncle realized, before I did, my true nature and calling.

When I was a teenager, my uncle recognized the masochistic faggot that I was and took me to his house. My parents and siblings were relieved, and I never had contact with them again. 

My super handsome uncle put me in a chastity cage and enslaved me, using me as his maid and slut. He put a collar on me, gave me some old, dirty bags to wear, and made me do all the housework. I cleaned, tidied, washed, and ironed clothes, cooked, and kept the kitchen in order.

Many times I would spend the whole day alone working like a slave, without a break, and when he came home, he would beat me, spit on me and slap me in the face and fuck me like a bitch.

I could run away and leave but never tried to escape; I couldn't understand why. The years passed, and I got used to it; I didn't even think about leaving.

I knew he had prostituted me for money many times.

He would often call me into the room and hand me over to other men for money. Some would come back many times, others I never saw again. When I entered the room, they continued talking as if I wasn't there, my uncle telling the guy that he could do whatever he wanted for me. The guys came to do sinful, brutal, and dirty things to my uncle's slut, me.

Some whipped me, others tortured me with pliers and lit cigars. Most of them fucked me or shoved their dicks deep down my throat until I was out of breath and almost passed out.

A cousin would sometimes help my uncle hold me in whatever position the client wanted to ensure his enjoyment. Not that I tried to escape or avoid the torture, but sometimes I couldn't bear the pain and panic, and they would hold me down or tie me up so the client could use me however he wanted.

This one brought a dildo so big and thick that I didn't believe it could fit in my ass without tearing it!

He took off my clothes, made me get on all fours, and shoved the huge thing up my ass while I whimpered and cried in pain. They shoved that monster up my ass many times until I came on the living room floor.

For a few days, my uncle made me work naked with that monster stuck in my anus. Working with that thing was very uncomfortable and painful. Sometimes, during the chores, I cried in pain, but cum dripped from my dick and smeared it on my thighs all day long.

With that monster in my ass, he couldn't fuck me when he got home at night, so he would beat me brutally with his leather belt until I came and make me suck him until he filled my mouth with cum every night. I think we both enjoyed this daily routine the most.

I was indeed the fucking bitch my uncle said I was.

Three Years a Slave: Making him suffer alone while he waits. Part Seventeen.

 

As the months went by, my Owners began to lose interest in the Pig, and I started experimenting with new ways of making him suffer.

Since I was the only one who went to the shed to feed him and check on him, I began to feel as if he was mine alone and to discover that I also felt the sadistic pleasure of watching him suffer.

The life of a shitty slave faggot is not only work, tasks, rape, and torture; it is, above all, waiting, suffering, bored and silent for the moment someone decides to use you. Being just a thing that waits to be used.

So I started to tie the Pig in positions where he could stay for many hours, even days, without me doing or having any work with him.

I hung him from the high beam of the structure by the gag, like a fish hanging by its mouth. I ensured he could reach the ground with the tips of his feet, with discomfort and difficulty.

He couldn't sleep in that position; hanging there without sleeping for many hours, whole days began to destroy him.

I only let him go when it was time to feed him, once a day, for a little over half an hour. During that time, he would fall to his knees on the floor and eat the food from the bucket and drink the water from the bowl, still with his hands tied behind his back and his ankles restrained by the irons. He ate desperately and greedily because he was exhausted, hungry, and trembling with pain and cramps. If the tortures had not managed to break the perverted masochist, the long hours of solitary immobilization in the closed shed were working very well! I loved to see him crying, moaning, and trembling in deep sadness and despair.

While he was still eating, I would grab the gag to cover his mouth, and he would start begging, in desperation, crying with his mouth buried in the bucket of food.

- For the love of God, I'm hungry and tired. Don't hang me up again; leave me on the floor for a while. I can't stand being hung up like this.

I wouldn't answer; I would finish his feeding, rest, and hang him up again.

Three Years of Slavery: Establishing a Routine. Part Sixteen.

From now on, I, Toy, will be the one narrating what happened to this masochistic and perverted pig. He can no longer talk about what he feels or goes through; he is in no condition to say anything.

Our Master has put me in charge of taking care of this piece of shit. In addition to taking care of the house, washing clothes, cooking, tidying up, and cleaning everything, I still have to take care of the Pig, who is chained and locked in the storage room at the back of the yard. I confess that what could be a burden for me is the most fun part of the day.

When our owners want to see how the Pig is doing, I set up chairs and bring them drinks so they can sit in the yard. During these visits, I tie the disgusting faggot up in various and painful ways to torture and whip him. Sometimes, they are the ones who whip him violently and brutally. But beating him hard and fast is tiring, even for my young Master. So most of the time, after they get tired and the Pig's body is already injured and bleeding a lot, they order me to take over the task and make me whip him for hours without rest for me or the animal.

When I get discouraged and tired, they protest and order me not to lose the rhythm or violence of the blows. Many times, I continue even after the Pig has passed out. What surprises me the most is that the animal moans, cries, and goes crazy with so much pain but often ejaculates with so much excitement and pleasure in being so brutally whipped.

To me, it seems that neither I nor my owners feel as much pleasure as this shitty faggot.

I finally arrived at the place I always dreamed of.

I finally arrived at the place I always dreamed of.

For as long as I can remember, I have always been a piece of shit born in a pigsty.

I was born into a family of poor, working-class people in the city's suburbs. A family where violence, alcohol and drug addiction and religion make a perverse mix of moralism and debauchery. I saw my father fuck my cousin, my mother gets fucked by a neighbor, and an aunt makes a living from prostitution. I tried very hard to be the worst of the worst.

I never wanted to be anything other than that; I was a shitty, lazy, and stupid student. At school, I sucked the dicks of all my classmates; I was fucked by them and by the cleaning staff and the janitors. When they beat me or humiliated me, I got a hard-on, and I came while moaning like a happy bitch.

I was the dumbest of my many brothers; no one ever thought I was worth the food I ate, nor did I see any quality in myself. I don't remember if it was me or them who first realized I was a faggot bitch, but the whole family knew I liked to suck and be fucked, and they liked to use my talents! My brothers fucked me, I sucked my cousins' and uncles' cocks, and more than once, my father pissed in my mouth while I masturbated. 

My religious and devoted mother took me to church and handed me over to the pastor to spend the weekends with him, with him fucking me and beating me all the time. Later, I found out that I was given over in place of the tithe she owed to the pastor. I couldn't complain; the pastor had the most enormous cock that fucked me and beat me so hard and skillfully that I came when my breasts were spanked.

I was the shame and the problem of the family. At school and home, I was treated with contempt and anger; everyone knew I was worthless.

In the jobs I've had, I've been fired for being stupid, for the mistakes I made, and for being caught sucking dick in the locker room.

I'm chubby, pot-bellied, and very hairy. I've never even been handsome.

A few months ago, a cousin found a website and suggested that the family sell me online—a great solution for everyone. My parents were thrilled, and so was I.

They quickly weighed me, measured me, photographed me, and did the required health exams. To my and everyone else's surprise, I didn't have any STDs, even after a life of irresponsible follies!

The sale was quick and successful. I don't even know how much they paid, but my uncles seemed surprised that someone would want to buy a piece of shit like me and that it could be worth so much.

A van came by my house to pick me up, and now I'm here, tied up and naked in a dark warehouse, waiting to be delivered to my Owner.

I am 22 years old today, and from now on, I will be just a body, a collection of furry flesh and bones, ready for them to do whatever they want with me. My stomach is spinning with excitement, anxiety, and lust. I don't care if I get fucked, tortured, or just plain slaughtered; this is where I have always dreamed of being, in this place and role!

Three years of slavery: the first months. Part Fifteen.

They didn't release me from the chains in the first few weeks, not even once. I would hear them talking to each other about how I should get used to being part of the warehouse's playthings.

Luckily, the sun would shine in that garage in the late afternoon.

Toy had to provide for my subsistence; it was one of his daily tasks. Sometimes, he would put water and food in the dog bowls, and I would eat on all fours, with my feet and collar still tied with chains. Sometimes, I was chained up so that he had to shove the food in my mouth.

I would piss and shit as I could, dirtying my legs and the floor like a filthy animal. Toy would wash the floor and my body with brooms and soap.

When my Owner and his boyfriend came to the garage, it was to whip and torture me. In this first stage, they came three or four times a week, sometimes for short, violent beatings, as if they were angry about something and wanted to release the tension in my back. They were nervous, violent, and very painful whippings. Sometimes, both came calmly and slowly and spent hours whipping me and talking about any subject, their work, sports, or travel plans. They whipped me while they smoked and drank, without rushing, varying the types of whips and having fun showing how they could hit the softest parts. 

Some Sundays, they stayed all afternoon, until sunset, whipping me. There were so many lashes that I passed out several times, and in the end, my entire body was covered in wounds and blood dripping. After these worse beatings, they immobilized me in very uncomfortable and stressful positions so that Toy could apply the medicines, disinfectants, and healing agents. And they left me like that for a day or two, suffering and healing my wounds. 

Sometimes, Toy had to clean the dried sperm off my legs.

My dear friends, visitors, and followers, thank you very much for following my blog! I am facing a creative crisis.

My dear friends, visitors, and followers, thank you for following my blog!

I am facing a creative crisis.

I reached over 300 followers on my blog and will soon reach 20 thousand followers on X.

Last year, the blog had more than 655 thousand hits, an average of almost 1,800 daily. I had over eleven million visits in one year on X, and I can't complain. But so few people comment or give any support, comment, or feedback that I feel frustrated and discouraged. Another problem is that when they comment, it is to make criticisms that I don't agree with or suggestions that I don't like.

I keep drawing; I've started many, but scanning and processing them is laborious and time-consuming.

I am also at a busy stage in my professional life. I have a lot of work to do to read, evaluate, and give my opinion. I have a lot of meetings, classes to prepare, and students to guide.

I will continue producing, drawing, writing, and posting at longer intervals.

Right now, it takes more time and energy.

Three years of slavery: starting the routine. Part fourteen.

After the structure was built and the rings were placed piercing my nipples, dick, and ears, I was firmly chained with my arms up and standing upright.

They didn't want to release my chains in any way; I understood that I was now part of the structure, and soon, I had to learn to sleep and eat while chained, which was not easy.

I was no longer the slave who cared for the house or them; for household chores, they had Toy. It was Toy who took care of them and me.

He came to the shed for two days to treat the ring wounds, applying sterilizing and anti-inflammatory ointments. My skin has always healed very well; the wounds were already healed within two days.

Toy fed me by putting large spoons of dog food in my mouth, he gave me water, and he washed me with the nozzle and the broom as a mop, cleaning the urine and shit that ran down my legs.

Being chained there was already a terrible torture for the arms, wrists, and legs. My whole body ached with fatigue and cramps from having to stand in chains for so many hours.

However, on the third day, locked there, sweaty and tired, the door opened early in the morning, and Toy held a long leather whip.

Without saying anything, he gave the first lash in my back and then another and another. He spent the whole day whipping slowly, calmly, and with long intervals between each lash. He was learning how to handle the whip, practicing how to make the whip cross the air, crack, and hit every part of my body.

I confess that I found it humiliating to be whipped by another slave. I imagined that only my Owners could do that, but I was less than a slave like him; I was now really a pig chained to serve as a toy, even for a young and beautiful slave like the Toy.

He only stopped for a brief time to eat, but throughout the day, he whipped me with accurate blows and other clumsy and erratic ones. It hurt a lot when he hit the lash accurately, but the pain was even worse when he missed the blow.

At the beginning of the night, he stopped; I stayed there for about an hour or two, thinking that I would spend another night alone in the shed when my Owners entered, each carrying a whip in their hands.

Three Years a Slave: Adjusting the Flesh to the Support. Part thirteen.

After my youngest Owner checked that the structure inside the shed was ready he began to adjust me to the new support.

I had fixed a whole series of iron rings in different positions on the wooden beams to allow for tying in different ways. I could have imagined they would do the same to me.

He tied me to one of the wooden pillars, gagged me so I wouldn't scream and started drilling me.

He used a very thick injection needle, the likes of which I had never seen before, and pierced my huge, grotesque nipples. Piercing the sensitive tits already hurt immensely, but it got even worse when he forced the needle to the sides to widen the hole.

After the tits, the boy pierced right in the middle of my ears; it wasn't in the lobe like they do with earrings; it was right in the middle of them. The holes painfully burst the ears' folds; I felt like they were being ripped apart.

I moaned in despair, I cried profusely, but he continued painfully opening the holes for a long time until he was able to pass through them the steel rings, four-inch rings, at least a quarter of an inch thick.

After he placed the rings, he used a blowtorch to weld them closed permanently.

I had already almost passed out from the painful process and still felt my nipples pulsing extremely painfully when he grabbed my dick.

I struggled in despair, and for the first time, I could test how solid the structure I had built was. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I tried to struggle, the structure didn't even shake. He was able to firmly and calmly hold my immense, thick cock, pierce it and make the same cruel and painful enlargement of the hole to install the steel ring on it.

I spent the night tied to the post and covered in sweat, tears, and blood that oozed abundantly from my open wounds. The steel rings seemed to weigh many kilos! My tits and dick hurt terribly and every hour, my Owner or Toy came to rotate the rings so that they wouldn't stick during the healing process. This process of turning the rings on the wounds hurt so much that I became desperate and shook in panic.

I was tied like that for two days, and I understood that that wooden structure and I were now definitively linked. Me and the wooden beams were now the same thing.

Three Years a Slave: Building a structure is as solid and definitive as my submission. Part twelve.

Building the structure gave me enormous joy. 

I fixed each piece and each ring knowing that I would be tied and chained to them, to be severely beaten and tortured, and this idea made me very horny.

I installed hooks with pulleys that lifted me without difficulty. I could be hung at any point on the structure easily. The structure was solid and sturdy; it would undoubtedly support my weight, even with me squirming and struggling. 

The idea of being so firmly trapped gave me two ideas that I liked. The first is that when firmly tied, a masochist like me can endure torture and pain beyond any of my limits; it is much easier to resist and endure when we are well tied. As if to say - ok, do what you want; I'm tied up here; there's no way to escape. Have as much fun as you want! Forget my limits, think about your fun, and destroy me without mercy!

The second idea that excited me was that the structure was so excellent and well-made that it revealed they intended to keep me there for a long time! I wanted a definitive submission that would last a long time, and that structure indicated that this was also the couple's intention.

It took me weeks, but it was delicious work. I worked excitedly and happily! 

Three Years a Slave: feeling horny building my dungeon. Part eleven.

The day after my arrival, my owner decided I would be kept in a material deposit at the bottom of the house's parcel. It was nothing more than a cramped, windowless, stuffy shed as it was kept away from the home they never wanted to keep me or their new slave there. Their slaves had to stay in the house to be able to serve them and be used whenever they wanted.

The idea of putting me in the shed reinforced the proposal that I would just be a slave for torture and abuse, kept in captivity, always chained.

That's why they bought thick wooden lintels, measuring twelve by twelve centimeters, and ordered me to assemble a structure inside the warehouse, with rings and straps to tie the ropes and chains that would bind me.

Toy helped me a little, but I was the one who sawed, drilled, screwed, and fixed each piece of my cell. In a few days, I carefully assembled the beams that would hang me to be tortured and whipped. My owner followed the work carefully, ensuring the measurements were respected and the structure was rigid and stable.

When Toy and I were working alone, he said - "Pig, you're crazy! You're making your gallows!"

I confess that I worked hard and passionately; I was in a hurry to feel chained to that structure.

I was so horny and happy to go back to work naked and feel like a fucking animal again.

Three Years a Slave: Returning to the Dungeon, meeting Toy. Part ten.

The wealthy couple took me back and ordered their new slave to help me get settled. When we were both alone, the new slave introduced himself.

─ Pig, I'm their Toy, you can call me Toy; that's what they call me, and my previous name doesn't matter anymore.

─ They called me Pig.

─ I know; I think I saw all the videos they filmed of you being tortured.

─ Did they show you?

─ No, but I had to suck their dicks the many times they watched it. They masturbated and got excited watching the videos in which you cried and howled in pain and despair. They really love to see you suffering a lot. I signed a contract with them for three years like you did. But in my agreement with them, I didn't allow them to do the same barbaric things they did to you.

─ Do they watch videos of my torture?

─ Pig, they love watching and re-watching these videos. They love seeing you suffering in despair, so they must be happy to have you back!

I didn't know whether to be happy or scared by this information. Toy added:

─ They were often frustrated with me for not being able to torture myself. My contract only allows them to lock my dick and use my holes mercilessly. Even so, they bite me hard and slap me on the butt and some very violent slaps on the face. I'm thrilled to have you back! I feel safer with them being able to exercise their sadism on you!

─ I'm going to be massacred! I'm fucked!

─ Surely! Sorry for the question, but why did you come back? Are you crazy?

─ I think I'm crazy; I can't deny it. I have always been gay, submissive, and masochistic. But what happened is that for three years, they made me feel like a shit worm; they tortured me as if I were worthless shit, and they despised and tortured me with such cruelty and violence as if I were worth absolutely nothing. They did this so many times that I agreed that this is who I am, what I am, that this is my place and role in the world. I can no longer present myself to someone as a human being; I no longer feel like a human being; I feel like an impostor, pretending to be something I'm not.

─ Dude, look, I'm the same age as you; at most, I'm as old as you were when you came here three years ago, but today you look much older than me. You look like a monster, with that pig nose and those grotesque, deformed tits and balls. You won't last much longer being tortured like you will be.

─ It's true, Toy; I know that even worse because they won't have to respect any limits this time. I know that it will be my end.

─ Well, anyway, welcome, Pig, I'm glad you're back! We won't be friends, but I'll try to make you last as long as possible! I don't want you to disappear or die. It will be better and safer for me if they have you around to torture.

Three years of slavery: begging for return. Part nine.

I asked to meet the man who was my Owner for three years to ask him to accept me again as his slave; the agent made an appointment for the following week. I waited anxiously and hopefully for the reunion.

When we met in the room that was my home for three years, I sat on the carpet and took off my shirt. I'm not too fond of it and feel embarrassed sitting on chairs or being dressed in front of them.

They did not seem happy to meet me again, and I soon saw that they had a new slave, young and handsome, with a similar type to what I was at the beginning of my slavery. He wore a cage, collars, and wrist restraints like the ones I wore when I was his.

I also didn't feel comfortable talking to them. For years, I just listened and obeyed, never saying anything, and wasn't allowed to speak.

The agent spoke for me - The submissive fagot doesn't get used to being free again. He wants to be your slave again. Will you take him back?

My Owner looked at me with disdain and replied - This slutty faggot has become very ugly with the changes we made to him; with these years of captivity, his skin has faded, his tits have become grotesque, his ass has gotten so vast that he can't even hold any shit, he shits without control, and his deformed and swollen cock is bizarre. We have no interest in having it here at home again.

His Boy added - Now we have a new and beautiful slave. We have no interest in keeping this creepy, ugly animal with us.

The agent insisted - But I also don't see what he could be out of here. He became a freak addicted to pain, humiliation, and sex. If we don't get him somewhere within a few months, he will live on the street and get involved in trouble with the police. Which could cause problems even for us. He's not a human being anymore, he's just a horrible, crazy faggot.

I closed my eyes and managed to speak, with shame and difficulty - I accept what you want, do with me what you want, just don't let me free, Please, I beg you! 

The agent added - This time, he comes without any restrictions or limits; you can do with him whatever you want, without mercy or limits.

The Owner's Boy smiled and said to him: - We agreed that we wouldn't do the same things to the new slave that we did to this old one, that we wouldn't spoil the new one as we did to this old pig. You asked me not to whip him to the point of ruining his skin like I did to this old fag. We could keep him just to torture him and end the damage we've already done. You know how much you and I enjoy seeing the faggot suffering and crying desperately. We could leave the new slave as our beautiful sex toy and as our maid and keep this disgusting pig just to torture and hurt. What do you think?

The Owner, thoughtfully, replied - But where would we keep this nasty animal? Here at home? Or on our farm?

The Boy replied – Our house is big. We have a lot of space. Let this bag of shit stay here, and I guarantee we will have a lot of fun making it moan desperately in pain.

The Owner smiled at his Boy - You are very sadistic, but I'm already horny imagining you having fun with this masochistic pig! He looked directly at me and said - Dumb pig, if you come, we won't accept any of the limits we had before; we can break, cut, burn, and do the greatest cruelties to you. Is this what you want?

I was shaking with fear, lust, and despair. I knew they were capable of making me pass out from the pain, but I wanted nothing more than to be their fucking faggot again.

I put my face on the ground, with my eyes full of tears, and begged - Do whatever you want with me, but take me back, chain me again! I beg!

The agent smiled and said - Don't worry, I can disappear with all his documents and things. This shit no longer exists neither for society nor the government. You can lock it wherever you want and do whatever you want with it. It simply doesn't exist anymore, nor has it ever existed.

I removed my clothes and knelt before them, my heart bursting with happiness.

The gift to the Duchess's Garden.

This post shows the delivery of the boy, who was tied to the totem at the Garden of Delights in the post   https://bdsmmaledrawings.blogspot.com/2023/11/one-day-he-realized-that-in-his-deep.html 

The boy was the youngest and most handsome son of a wealthy merchant family who was sent to court to see if any princesses would be interested in marrying him.

He frequented the Garden and got very horny seeing naked boys being whipped mercilessly. He found that he was jealous of their fate.

He suggested to his father that he give it to the Duchess's Garden. His parents soon realized the advantages of this and requested an audience with the Duchess.

The boy was one of the couple's eight children. He was the most lustful, intemperate, and lazy. He was sexually insatiable, and his reputation was the result of numerous affairs he had with women and men who worked in the family home and shops. Therefore, when he said he would be interested in being given as a gift to the Duchess, his parents were immediately enthusiastic about the idea – as they would eliminate a problem and have social advantages.

In the audience, in front of the Duchess and the others present in the hall, the father undressed his son to show his son's youth, beauty, strength, and dick size. He showed a beautiful and big dick, rigid with the lust to be shown like that to everyone.

The Duchess smiled and said to the merchant: If he is taken to the Garden, he will never return home, don't you?

The father replied respectfully: I know perfectly well, Duchess, that my wife and I are giving you our youngest son as a gift for Your Grace to do with him as you please!

The Duchess smiled and reiterated: this beautiful boy will be a toy for the garden princesses to have fun and study how his body works. His body will be whipped, tortured, and dissected painfully and cruelly. When he dies, pieces of him will be fed to our dogs. You and your lady are aware of this, aren't you?

Without looking away from the noble lady, the father replied: Your Grace, we know perfectly well that this is the fate of the men in your Garden, and we reiterate that we are happy and honored to hand over this son as our gift to Your Grace.

The Duchess handed a collar to the merchant, who solemnly took it and placed it around his son's neck.

She made a sign, and some of her servants approached the boy, took off all his clothes, leaving him completely naked, wearing only his collar, and quickly took him out of the room. He was led away by the servants without his parents or siblings present looking at him or noticing the semen he spilled on the beautiful lobby floor.

That same afternoon, the powerful Duchess received other gifts from other bourgeois families, such as beautiful horses, fruit trees, and exotic tropical birds.

Since I was sold as a beast of burden due to debt, my life is just painful and horny; I am much happier in this role than in the life I had.

 The new super-liberal laws abolished all labor and social legislation limiting the free market, allowing everything to be freely traded and sold. All public services were privatized. In a short time, society entered a cycle of unlimited prosperity and wealth.

Companies that manage prisons sell their prisoners. Indebted families sold their children, and animal breeding companies began raising humans for sale and work.

This is the perfect world in which I grew up and studied. I worked excitedly at an investment consultancy company, and within a few years, I already had shares in very innovative and profitable companies. However, when I was 22, one of these companies went bankrupt, leaving me no way to pay off my debts.

Privatized justice is much more agile and efficient; within a week, all my assets were taken, and I was sold to pay my debts.

Delivery apps use human animals to work as beasts of burden until exhaustion and slaughter. So that they work without problems, drugs were developed to make these beasts more stupid, docile, and obedient. For the working beasts to have more strength, they inject large doses of hormones into their muscles, testicles, and hair all over the body. Ever since they made me the beast of burden, I feel doped, stoned, horny, and my dick is dripping with cum all the time.

A guy who knew me from the bank bought me to ride around town on me. He put rings on my nose, nipples, and the head of my dick; he likes a riding saddle strapped to my hips connected to a huge dildo shoved up my ass. When he jumps over the tackle, I feel as if the dildo enters my throat, causing more pain and excitement.

He enjoys going to the bars I used to go to, on the streets where I walked, showing off naked and hairy, spilling cum on the asphalt. He uses a long carbon stick to spank me and seems to poke my dick and balls when we walk. The more he pounds me, the hornier I feel, and the more cum I spill.

The most surprising thing is that I feel so horny that I feel like I also like being seen by my friends and colleagues as this disgusting, perverted animal.

I believe that I am much happier in this job than in the life I once had.