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.