The brutal and lascivious life of road slaves.

This is my first post using Grok, X's AI program. The images were produced there and I ended up editing some of them manually. Please, give your opinion and leave comments about the story and the images.

Some young men kicked out of their homes for being gay end up migrating to the US in search of work. There, as illegal immigrants, they end up working on the roads, being exploited as prostitutes or manual workers for truck drivers. Undocumented and illegals, they end up being accused of all kinds of crimes, including drug trafficking and robberies. In some American states, prostitution and sodomy are crimes. Pursued by the police, they end up cornered, in debt, enslaved, exploited, and prostituted by a perverse scheme organized by truck drivers, becoming slaves of the roads.

Transport companies, truck drivers, gas stations, and highway patrol officers form a structured alliance to exploit and maintain these invisible slaves.

At specific gas stations, they are traded and sold like cattle, to serve as sex bitches, helpers, cooks, or beasts of burden in loading and unloading cargo. They are kept chained and practically naked, with their bodies covered in bruises and wounds at all times, to prevent them from escaping. Part of the scheme's success depends on them being regularly humiliated, beaten, tortured, and raped without mercy, keeping them submissive and frightened.

Rape and sexual violence are a fundamental part of this scheme. Gay slaves have their stigma reinforced: "You are in this life because you are gay", "You deserve this brutal treatment", and "You are truly slutty bitches". Those who are not gay end up being raped so many times, given so many blowjobs, and having to fuck so many men that they no longer know how to say whether they do it for pleasure or out of obligation. They lose their own identity and natural sexual orientation. Brutal, promiscuous, collective, and humiliating sex makes them feel dirty and inferior and facilitates their subjugation.

Any man captured by the police, near the roads without clothes, without documents, and with his body bruised from beatings, is taken to the police stations to be brutally beaten, tortured, and raped so that they know that they cannot go to the police or try to report their inhumane condition. Some cruel police officers, to punish and scare those captured, cut off the little toe of their left foot to mark them forever as fugitives. Then, they are returned to their owners or sold to other truck drivers.

It's not just illegal immigrants who are put in this position and role. Faggots are a problem for many American families, even non-Latino families. Some of them are taken to the roads to work by uncles, relatives, or "friends" while they are still young, under the illusion that working on trucks that cross the country will earn them some money and opportunities to go to bigger cities. But they end up being deceived, exploited, in debt, and subjected to this condition of slavery over time. 

Some religious families feel relieved to lose contact with the perverted young people. There are reports of families and pastors who hand over these young men to transportation companies that belong to the church members. These "deliveries" are especially perverse because the pastors explain to the young men that they must help their families so, they start working already with large debts from the money they "would earn" that is advanced to the churches and their families. These debts quickly grow and the young faggots will never be able to pay them off or receive any money throughout their lives.

Some of them end up getting used to and accepting this life and even being happy as slaves of truck drivers. They live hidden as illegal cargo of the box trucks, or in containers. At the stops, they wash the trucks and the drivers' clothes, cook, and are used sexually by their owners. Some drivers are "straight" so at the bigger stops, they pimp their slaves to serve other truck drivers. 

They work their entire lives without documents, without receiving any pay, without being able to wear more than old shorts, and without being able to have their bodies free of wounds and welts, because these are the signs that keep them in the condition of slaves. The marked bodies are important signs that they cannot escape exploitation, so all truck drivers contribute to maintaining the wounds. It is common for those who, after fucking one of the slaves, make a mark by burning a cigarette or cigar on the animal's butt, back, or neck. Pliers, hot irons, cigarettes, whips, pocket knives, and all kinds of instruments are used to mark the body temporarily or permanently, reinforcing, recording, and perpetuating their condition as slaves of the roads.

Some of these roads`s slaves remain in this condition, passing from hand to hand, from one truck to another for many years, without receiving any payment or escaping this situation. Many suffer their entire lives, but some perverts even admit to their owners that this is the life they dreamed of.

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.

 

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.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

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.

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 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 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.

It is tense and scared.

Standing still and observing, he waits for his Owner to finish the negotiation. He can't imagine what will happen; that's why he's so tense. He had been working in the fields for months, pulling carts and plows all day. He did the work diligently and obediently, and the supervisors constantly whipped him to keep up the pace. But, they complained that he is getting old and can no longer work at the same pace.

He always strives to please, he sucks dicks smoothly and skillfully, and he knows how to squeeze his anus to give more pleasure to the men who fuck him, but over time and constant rape, his ass has been torn apart and doesn't have the same appeal for young people.

He fears his life as a pack animal is coming to an end.

If he's lucky, he might end up on another farm working for a few more years; if it goes bad, he might be slaughtered and fed to dogs that very day.

He is tense and scared.

Three years of slavery: physical transformations. Part four.

Since I surrendered myself as a slave to my Owner, we agreed that I would no longer have any decision about myself and that I accepted being his without limits or expectations.

He doesn't know me, nor is he interested in getting to know me; I'm not his friend; I'm not even a person; I'm just his slut fag. So when I arrived at the house and undressed for the last time, he examined me with some disappointment.

I was never pretty, firm, or sporty; I was just a dull body over thirty years old.

When he fucked me a few times, I remember him complaining about the opening of my ass. He started inserting plugs and dildos bigger and broader. He stuck big dildos in my anus and ordered me to keep them inside me all day. He doesn't care if it hurts or bothers me a lot; I have to bear it in silence. He knows my ass better than I do. Sometimes, he starts to insert an extra large dildo, and I despair, afraid that I will be split in half or that the monster will destroy me from the inside. The pain is terrible, and I sweat a lot as he tries to push it deeper until it no longer comes out. Sometimes I can't breathe, sometimes my ass bleeds, but he always manages to get what he wants into me.

I remain still, silent, and bear it without complaining. I am his sex toy.

What scares me sometimes is him talking to someone about me as if I weren't there, listening to the conversation. He asks his friends, who are veterinarians or doctors, what he should inject into me, the doses, and the places for the injections, and he injects without me knowing what he intends or the effect it will have. One day, he told someone that he wanted to break my nose so that it would look like a pig's; the guy took my nose and showed him where they could break the cartilage and how to force the nose up. The guy offered to do a surgical stitch so that my broken nose would be in the position he wanted.

Once, when he was shoving a dildo down my throat, I couldn't breathe as the toy went down my throat. I despaired, thinking I was going to die right there; I passed out while he calmly looked at me in agony as if he didn't care. When I woke up, I felt blood in my throat, which was very sore and raw. In the following days, he inserted even thicker dildos, deeper, widening my throat mercilessly. I fainted several times, but he didn't give up on making me a professional cock swallower.

As he loved to torture nipples, he placed suckers on my tits, sucking them hard so that they became increasingly pointier and bigger. As he wanted to torture my dick and balls, he started putting suckers that made my genitals huge.

He would go to work and leave me there, on the laundry room floor, with the suckers, with the hooks pulling my nose and cheeks in complete suffering, all day.

When he arrived at night, he would let me go so I could serve him dinner, and then, even before I ate anything, he would inject several syringes into my dick and my nipples. He would give some injections in my butt and arms. He never bothered to tell me what he did or what would happen, and I just accepted it because I'm his slut, right?

In a short time, my body was already very different from what it was before, and my libido was also other.

Three years of slavery: getting used to the pain. Part three.

My Owner is sadistic; he takes pleasure in causing pain and suffering. My entire body is completely his; my skin is his space for fun and cruelty.

Part of my suffering he inflicts not as punishment but for simple pleasure. When he is settled in his armchair and calls me, I should stop whatever I am doing and kneel next to him so that he can easily reach me and have fun with me.

He usually hugs me with his left arm, almost affectionately, and starts crushing my nipples. He does it as a habit, without looking at me, without paying attention to what he's doing, like someone knitting or playing with a keychain, except he plays with my nipples. He spends hours pinching, twisting, and crushing calmly and with great force. The pain is almost unbearable. I writhe, moan, and cry from so much pain, but I believe he has no idea how much my breasts hurt as he continues crushing them without mercy or haste, just because he likes to feel them between his strong fingers.

I try to avoid moaning; I try not to move; I try not to disturb his pleasure, even though he hurts me so immensely.

When he watches TV or talks to a friend, he spends hours playing with my tits.

Sometimes, he smokes cigars; he likes big, thick Cuban cigars, which he smokes with significant, long drags. At first, I liked the smell; with time, I just smelled it and started to sweat with fear, as it has a habit of putting cigars on me. From the first time he placed the lit cigar against my back, he lovingly covered my mouth with his hand, stopping me from screaming in pain. He got into the habit of hugging me affectionately, covering my mouth as he slowly touched the lit cigar to my body until he put it out.

In this tender gesture, he sees me and carefully chooses where to place the cigar flame. Sometimes, he decides to burn over burns from other cigars, reinforcing the wounds and their scars. Sometimes, he decides on nipples that are already injured and sore from so much squeezing that even after being burned, he continues to pinch and crush mercilessly.

My Owner sometimes receives friends who, like him, are sadists and like to cause pain. They want to talk animatedly about ways to cause pain and torture, and sometimes, they talk using my body to play with.

One of them uses me as if I were his, violently and mercilessly. My Owner doesn't seem to care; he talks to him distractedly, as if he were talking about a football match. They spoke as if I wasn't there, on all fours, naked and receiving racket blows so hard that my butt was covered in wounds and blood.

The guest raised his arm high and delivered violent blows that painfully destroyed my butt. Then he grabbed my balls as if they were tennis balls and hit them with his racket as if I wasn't going to faint from so much pain without any mercy.

With time and daily pain, I ended up getting used to the suffering and learning to endure it in silence, firm, resigned, even crying and moaning softly so as not to disturb my Owner's fun.

To see the previous part click: https://bdsmmaledrawings.blogspot.com/2023/11/three-years-of-slavery-part-two.html

Three years of slavery: humiliation. Part two.

Being a submissive slave has a series of challenges. I know that I am nothing more than a shitty faggot to my Owner, that he despises me. He takes pleasure in humiliating and treating me poorly, and I realize that the humiliation helps me understand what a shit I am.

I feel so despicable and miserable how he treats me; I feel like I deserve to be treated this way, that a stupid submissive faggot is a piece of shit like he says and makes me think.

When I entered the house, he showed me that I should sleep under a table, in a corner of the laundry area, directly on the cold ceramic floor. He didn't even give me an old cloth to cover or lay on.

At first, I thought sleeping there like this, on the hard, cold floor, would be a big challenge, but I got used to it. When my owner enters the kitchen in the middle of the night, he checks if I'm there, just as he told me.

One cold winter night, he noticed that I was shaking from the cold and asked if I was freezing. I answered yes, imagining he would give me a cloth to cover me and keep me warm. He just pissed profusely all over me, from head to toe. I've never felt your piss ever so warm and comforting.

Beside me are the water and food bowls. He forbade me to drink or eat anything that wasn't in the bowls. I had to learn to drink and eat without using my hands, on all fours, directly from the pots, like a dog. He controls the amount of food and water I consume and frequently pisses in the bowls. I only have to eat as much as he puts in the bowl, everything he puts in. Sometimes, he makes me suffer from hunger, giving me just one measly meal a day. I feel my stomach growling with hunger all day. Sometimes he makes me suffer from thirst and only lets me drink his piss directly from the source.

Another way to humiliate me is to lend me to your friends. I don't know if he rents it to me or lends it for free. I know that sometimes, one of his friends blindfolds me and, ties my wrists behind my back, puts me in the trunk of the car, and takes me somewhere. There, blindfolded and gagged, I can't tell how many guys raped me; I lose track of time; I believe I stayed there for many hours without rest, and I can't count how many times I'm fucked. They don't see my face; to them, I'm just an open ass to be fucked.

I feel like an object, a hole without value or name.

I love being reduced to shit in every way.

To see the previous part click: https://bdsmmaledrawings.blogspot.com/2023/11/three-years-of-slavery.html

Three years of slavery: the tasks. Part One.

It's been three years since I've been outside the house. Three years ago, I agreed to be my Master's slave.

From the beginning, he made it clear that it would not be an emotional relationship, that he would have neither affection, nor respect, nor even consideration for me, that I would just be his slave.

I agreed and accepted.

He said that I would never wear any clothes again, that from that moment on I would live naked all the time, winter or summer. In the beginning, I still suffered a little, whether due to the shame or the cold. Today, I am used to nudity, feel comfortable, and no longer suffer from the cold.

I only wear the collars and handcuffs he put on me so he could tie me up either at home or put leashes on my collar. I thought it was fair and necessary.

He said that only he should feel orgasms in the house, that I should feel pleasure just serving him. He put a cage on my dick and didn't take it off for months.

I accepted, my dick is his, not mine.

He said I should do all the chores around the house.

I agreed and obeyed.

Today, from when I wake up until he puts me in the cell, I work incessantly washing his clothes, preparing all his meals, tidying the kitchen and the entire house, taking care of the garden, and cleaning his car.

When he gets home, I welcome him on my knees; he arrives tired and usually takes his first piss in my mouth. I manage to swallow everything so competently that not a drop is spilled on the carpet in the house.

Today, I realize that I have never been so full and happy in my life.

As a fagot, masochist, and submissive, this is my role and place.

Our shared sex toy.

We met years ago through gay BDSM apps. He sought some sadistic dominator and dreamed of being kept in permanent and irreversible captivity. A friend of mine, a sadist, is a partner in a transport company with garages and warehouses in various parts of the city's outskirts. He said he had a small, unused mechanic shop that no one had been to for many years.

I organized with this friend and three other sadistic colleagues to keep the shit fagot chained in this place for shared use. We have the keys to the site; we can go there and do whatever we want with the opportunities we get. We are all married, heterosexual men with families, good incomes, and friends. The fag appears to be a guy of Arab origin with a big nose, very hairy and ugly. He must be around 30 years old, not tall, fat, and bald, with a beautiful, thick, and big dick and beautiful, soft balls hanging from a big scrotum.

This arrangement has been working very well for over seven years!

I picked him up when he arrived at the bus station in our city; I took him straight to the garage. I undressed him, chained him, and burned his clothes and documents. I didn't want to know his name, story, or voice. We agree that he must always remain silent and learn not to say anything anymore. His mouth is just for sucking our dicks and swallowing whatever we tell him to swallow, be it dog food, piss, or shit. He sucks very well; with affection, passion, and competence, he swallows all the cum without spilling a single drop. Our cum seems to be his favorite food.

I learned that he can bare different types of torture very well; he moans, cries, sweats and writhes, and even faints, but he has horny, has many erections, and cums while I crush his nipples or balls. He has excellent healing; the wounds we open on his back with the whips bleed extensively but heal quickly.

The slut is our perfect sex toy; he obeys meekly and accepts everything to please us. My toy partners and I have taken many other colleagues, friends, and curious people to abuse and play with it. For me, it's easier to use it in the middle of the afternoon on workdays; I can stay there for two or three hours fucking, being sucked, and crushing its nipples in between visiting a client or supplier. One of my partners gets his friends together to "play cards," they all tell their wives that they are at the other's house and spend the night testing whips and practicing whipping the fagot until the walls of the workshop are covered in stains from the blood that splashes.

A friend of mine went with me on a "visit" while I cruelly crushed the pervert's nipples; my friend had fun burning the faggot's penis with cigarettes and cigars. Some of the burns were so severe that they left a permanent mark, but while he held his penis to burn it, the fagot came and ejaculated a lot! I don't know if he was moaning with desperation or with lust.

One day, this friend, who enjoys CBT, found a big industrial battery in the corner of the garage that automotive workshops have for charging truck or bus batteries. And it still worked! We spent hours attaching the electrical clips to the faggot's tits, dick, balls, and tongue, testing different voltages and ways of making him suffer. He had convulsions, shook a lot, and then stiffened, becoming stiff and tense with his eyes wide open. The bitch pissed and shit without control; we had a lot of fun with the new torture instrument.

Sometimes, a perv toy goes days or weeks without any visit or use. That's why we leave pots of food and water within his reach. We agreed that when we left the warehouse, we would always leave it chained with its hands behind him so he couldn't touch himself. He is chained so that he can only crawl; he has learned to eat like a pig without using his hands.

His ass was still narrow when we started using it. One of the partners began to insert increasingly wider dildos, stretching his anus. The garage owner pays one of his employees to clean the place, wash his clothes, and shave his hair once a month. It seems that the guy who does the service also uses our toy, but okay, we don't see a problem with that.

I don't know how this situation will end. I know it will end one day, but I will miss having a toy to use freely, without worries or fears. Even though I can only use it once or twice a week, even when I'm at home on the couch with the family watching TV at night, I get a hard-on remembering that that piece of shit is there, naked and chained to the dirty, hard, cold, dirty garage floor waiting for me.

Poor slaves, they have no idea what can happen to them.

Piracy was frequent in the 17th and 18th centuries, stealing all valuable cargo while the crew and passengers of looted ships were taken prisoner and sold. This image represents the crew members of the attacked vessels being sold as slaves by the pirates in the ports where they could dock and trade their booty.

All the boats had young apprentices in their crew, poor boys sold by their families to work and learn trades on board. The crew used many of them for various purposes and was brutally treated and punished. Other boys of the same age from more affluent families were incorporated into the crew to be trained as officers. These two groups of boys had very different roles, lives, and treatments.

When the pirates sold the captured crew, the two groups had the same fate, slavery. Some of the strongest could be sold to work in the cane fields of the Caribbean islands.

In the ports that received the pirates, there were many huge and famous whorehouses. Some pirates who frequented these brothels secretly preferred to amuse themselves with other men without their crews knowing.

The whorehouse managers knew how to please all their customers, fulfilling their every wish without anyone being found out or damaging their reputation.

So if some manly pirate, wealthy, famous, and feared, wanted to have fun with a boy for several days, he could enter the whorehouse, drink and be part of the party with his crewmates, and find what he really wanted when he retired to his room, discreetly prepared just for him.

This harlot went to the slave market to choose slaves for her whorehouse. The seller has already separated a batch of well-endowed young men, tied their penises and balls, and manipulated them to make them hard. Some are still sticky with semen and precum. One of them, the youngest on the left, was gagged as he kept screaming for help and crying.

The experienced woman and the seller know what the customers like to do and the type of men they want, while the slaves have no idea what can happen to them.

Some pirates do so much wickedness to their sex slaves that they only last a few days being violently raped and used. Others may treat their slaves romantically and affectionately, having sex, sucking, and being penetrated by the slaves. However, to protect their virile reputations, they kill slaves when they're done using them. Others, more cruel, prefer to blind them and cut out their tongues so that they can never tell what they did or with whom.

Poor slaves, they have no idea what can happen to them.

My little brother, my pet! Eighth and final part.

When we got married, I practically handed my pet over to Daisy; after all, it took over all the tasks in the house, and she was the one who commanded and supervised it.

In the first month, she put heavy iron rings on all his extremities, on the ears, nipples, and on the head of the cock. She drilled the holes and welded the irons without anesthetizing; she showed how to deal with the animal without pity or mercy. It was also a way to facilitate the control of the dog. She pulled it by the rings, hooked one call to another to immobilize it, or padlocked the rings to leave it trapped in some place or railing.

She didn't mind that I fucked him occasionally or that my fag gave me blowjobs before bed.

After Luis, our first child, was born, she was irritable, and one day she decided to cut a finger off his hand to punish him for burning our dinner. He cried a lot and seemed very sad, looking in dismay at where his finger had been torn off. The following year, Thelma, our second daughter, was born.

During those years, Daisy and I worked so much at the veterinary clinic that Charlie practically raised my children; fed them, bathed them, gave them their medicine, and put them to sleep. Daisy was the one who set the tasks; she was the one who punished him for every failure. Before Luis was five years old, my little brother only had his thumbs whole; the other fingers had already been cut off in full or in part. I was happy and excited to see how she punished him and her sadism and pleasure. She was a skilled and experienced veterinary surgeon; she would call Charlie to the table, and he would obey, crying and trembling with fear; she would take the enslaved faggot's hand and cut off a phalanx of the finger using chicken boning shears, then deftly and quickly sew up the end and seared with a hot knife. Then, to humiliate it, she would feed the cut part to Buddy, our dog.

On a typical day, with the children at school, while we had lunch, she said:

- My beloved, I decided to cut off the dog's dick; I don't like to see it hard and ejaculating with the kids at home.

I nodded in agreement with my wife and continued eating.

Charlie stopped serving us our meal and knelt at my feet, crying with his hands protecting his dick. I held him by the collar ring and spoke calmly.

- You shit fagot, stop making a scene, get the scissors, and I'll cut your dick off right now.

He dropped to the floor at my feet, shaking and crying in the fetal position. He hadn't said anything in years; I didn't even remember it could speak or its voice.

- For God's sake, my brother doesn't cut my dick off. I beg you!

Daisy and I were so irritated by that reaction that we ditched our lunch, carried the fagot to the car, put it in the trunk, and drove to our clinic. There, we anesthetized and tied the fagot to the surgical table and performed two more complex surgeries, the penectomy and the extraction of the vocal cords. After two days, when he was finally fully awake, we fed the severed penis to Buddy in front of him.

Weeks later, I called him to be punished, and while I was cruelly crushing its nipples with pliers, I saw the sperm flow from the hole where there used to be a dick. I whispered in its ear:

- Bitch, the pain was never a punishment for shit like you, and the only punishment is to cut your pieces and feed them to Buddy. I still haven't cut your balls off just to show your cum and pleasure in being treated like a pervert shitty bitch.

Over the years, as the children grew up, Daisy cut off the faggot's last fingers and thumbs, putting him back as a backyard animal. Without his thumbs, he could no longer hold even a broom.

Finally, one day while watching a football game with my old college friends at home, we cut his balls off just for fun.

In the photo above, you can see our family together, Thelma, twenty; Luis, twenty-one; Daisy, myself; Terry, my great-nephew, Jack's grandson, my older brother. Buddy had died a few years earlier.

As you can see, the shitty fagot was in deplorable condition. It had his ass so raped and enlarged that I couldn't hold the shit any longer. His ears were hideous, plucked off years ago, his nipples were misshapen, and the heavy hoops dangled like ridiculous earrings. There were few teeth left in his mouth, and it drooled all the time because blowjobs and harnesses had displaced his jaw; it couldn't chew his food without making a mess.

Beating and whipping were entertainment that occupied all members of the family. I remember when Luís, when he was five, asked for a cattle prod to torture our creepy pet. When Terry came to visit, it was he who spent whole afternoons perfecting his mastery of the long and short whips on the slut faggot tied to the backyard tree.

Terry enjoyed whipping and was a master of long and heavy bullwhips. Two weeks after this photo, he invited some friends from high school to have fun with him and show off his skills. The kids were so excited that when they left, they forgot the shit beast on the tree unconscious, not realizing it was bleeding from all his wounds.

When we got home at night, seeing the animal's state, Daisy and I thought it best to shoot down and bury it in the backyard next to Buddy. I can say that the family knew how to respect nature and the wishes of this fagot; he had a happy life, and he lived the way he wanted to live his whole life!

They made him the happiest fagot in town.

These five guys had been neighbors since childhood; they grew up together in a country town in the interior of São Paulo surrounded by cane fields. Their families knew each other, went to the same school, the same church, and were the same age. Ever since their sexuality emerged during adolescence, they bullied the biggest, realizing he was submissive and faggot. Friends noticed before him his gay nature. His family was the poorest; he was bigger, stronger, and hairier, and he had a vast and beautiful dick, but he soon found out he was gay.

Instead of bothering or moving away from them, he did the opposite; he encouraged the humiliation and violence of his friends. They treated him like a bitch, took him to the cane fields and fucked him, made him suck their dicks, and spanked him. He was the first fuck for each of them, the first blowjob, and the one who knew how to jerk them off better than themselves. He obeyed, sucked, and endured everything willingly and with his hard cock, happy and horny.

They soon became his only friends as his family threw him out of his home; he had to drop out of school, work as a gas station attendant and live at the back of a gas station.

His four friends grew up, attended college and prospered, dated and married, had families, and started businesses.

The poor and queer friend could not go to his friends' houses nor be seen with them. They kept their friendship with him a secret from the group, and he willingly became the secret whore of the group of "straight" friends.

He did everything they ordered or asked, always available and willing. Almost every weekend, the four friends would pick him up at the gas and take him to the cane field to fuck, humiliate and beat him. 

They left town in one of their trucks when they stopped at bars and made him get off with a leash, barefoot, and pay for everyone's drink. They took from him all the money he earned; they always kept him without any savings.

"You don't need any money, right bitch? The only thing you need to be happy about is to keep your ass full of our cum! That's not it, you piece of shit!"

He agreed and handed over to his friends whatever little he earned weekly without complaint. He only had the money to pay for what he ate and old uniforms, and it was a miserable and empty life.

He would let his friends tie him to the same electricity poles to whip him violently for hours until he almost passed out.

Still tied to the posts, he resignedly accepted; when they squeezed and twisted his nipples and hard dick with pliers. He came during even the most violent tortures, even when he moaned in pain and lust. His cum jet confirmed his bitchy nature and submission to his friends.

At the end of the afternoon, they left him naked and covered in piss, spit, and semen in the cane field so that he could return alone and walk naked to the gas station.

He loved his friends profoundly and was grateful for everything they did for him. He would do anything for their happiness and dream of being theirs forever. They made him the happiest fagot in town.

I planned everything to get here; I wanted to fulfill my deepest dream.

 I planned everything to get here.

I advertised on the web and looked for sadistic tough guys who would beat and rape someone up for money. I checked the experience that each one had, and I selected the most experienced and cruel ones. 

I negotiated the prices, the schedules, and the availability of each. I chose a very isolated place, a vacant lot that I knew well, on the city's outskirts. I scheduled the Uber rides to pick up each of them and take them to the place on time.

I also took an Uber; I arrived twenty minutes earlier with no money, no cellphone, and no documents, wearing only my T-shirt, pants, and very old sneakers. I entered the lot, undressed completely, put on the dog collar with the chain, and waited for the guests.

I paid them to beat, humiliate and fuck me all they wanted. I agreed they could do all the perversities they wanted to me without limits, mercy, or regrets—no safe word. I scheduled the instant transfer by bank, paying each of them the agreed amounts at midnight that same day.

Everything was previously agreed with me in detail, the instruments of torture each one would take and what and how each would torture me. But I clarified that they could do whatever they wanted at the time, with freedom, creativity, and lust.

I masturbated dozens of times as I treated each of them that night of abuse and torture. That was my biggest, oldest, most intense desire, my biggest sexual fantasy.

Now, here naked, on all fours, while I hear each one of them coming, my cock pulsates and spills a little more cum; I feel terrible butterflies in my stomach, an immense fear for all the pain I will have to face and endure.

Some excitedly show the others the whips, ropes, and pliers they brought. I imagine all the tortures I will suffer; I know I will be desperate, panicked, and hurt through the long night. But, I don't have the slightest regret or doubt that I really wanted to be here now in this place.

After they had fun and were fully satisfied, they could walk away and leave me there, naked and tied up. A friend of mine would call an ambulance to pick me up the following day.