I became a penitent friar.

I knew I was different from all other men; I was born for sin and perdition. From as far back as I can remember, I felt an urge to masturbate and rub myself against other young men. My parents and the priest of my parish soon realized the nature of my curse and tried to help me. They would punish me with violent beatings to prevent sin from taking hold of my body, but the more they whipped me, the more aroused I became. Consequently, they decided I should go to live in a monastery, in hopes of sparing me from such a fate.

I prayed constantly, performed penances, fasted, remained naked, practiced self-flagellation, and was punished by other monks and priests.

It was there that we discovered my true vocation—my salvation. I became a penitent friar. The bishop and the priest consecrated me to this extraordinary role: I would be nourished by the semen of all men—saints and sinners alike—and, in doing so, I would absolve them of all their sins.

They secured my penis with a crucifix, ensuring I could never engage in sexual intercourse, as a sign of my total surrender to God. They placed a heavy wooden yoke around my neck, preventing me from ever seeing my own body and falling into the sin of vanity. My ankles and wrists were permanently shackled, signifying my submission and ensuring I could never escape or clothe myself again.

And so, I lived each day being whipped and punished for the sins of all men. Within the monastery, I was fucked regularly—every single day—and I would perform oral sex on all the monks, cleansing them of their sins. Their transgressions were atoned for as they lashed my back, my buttocks, and my thighs. Bishops, nobles, and soldiers used my body to pay for their sins.

On holy days, I would parade through the city streets carrying ropes and a whip, only to be tied to the doors of each house and lashed, so as to atone for the sins of every family.

God enlightened me, and through this vocation as a penitent friar, I was able to become the holiest and happiest man in all of Spain!

Tied up like a bitch hen, completely naked, for the beatings, humiliations, and rapes.

It's not the first time, and it won't be the last either; they've tied me up like this and put me here naked for hours. The sergeant in charge of this precinct is a sadistic and scoundrel pig. He had already warned me that if I passed by the police station street again, he would do this to me!

When he spots me in this neighborhood, he orders the cops to put me in the police car and brings the "slutty chicken" to the back of the police station. He calls the guards to take all my clothes off and ties me up like a "slut chicken," legs and arms completely immobilized.

I accept everything silently, I don't protest or say anything, but even so, they gagged me and then beat me with belts and clubs.

Then they tell me to stay in this highly uncomfortable position, almost impossible to keep myself balanced and bear.

Every time I fall, or when one of them kicks and knocks me down, they piss on me, kick my balls and dick, slap me in the face. All the cops enjoy beating and humiliating me.

All night, they often throw me face down on the floor and, without untying me, one policeman after another rapes me violently.

After all, at dawn, they throw me back into the trunk of the police car, travel to a road dozens of kilometres from here, and leave me there, injured, dirty, naked, and without documents.

It takes me weeks to recover from the beatings. I usually get some merciful stranger to give me old clothes, food, and work. I keep walking like a beggar, sleeping in the streets, begging for food and alms until I manage to cross rivers and neighborhoods until I return to the police station and earn another night of beatings, humiliation, and rapes.

Sometimes even before the first beating, just by being there naked, knowing what is about to happen, I already come and drop cum on the floor with horny.

I know my spilled cum pisses the troops off even more, but that's what I'm back there for, isn't it?

How to prepare the prisoner to be the bitch in jail.

 

The jailers could do what they liked with the most miserable prisoners and those without family members. They knew who did not receive visits or correspondence, and they identified those who would not have anyone to turn to or report abuse and rape.

This prisoner was already thirty years old and had other stints in jail for vagrancy, drug use, and prostitution. He was pretty virile, well-endowed, and handsome, so the other prisoners soon sought after him as an active partner. But the jailers and the prison warden preferred to have him like a whore on the team.

Every time guards raped him, he offered violent resistance, requiring large groups to hold him down and fuck him hard. The jailer put him in solitary confinement, handcuffed, permanently naked, suffering cold and hunger for weeks, but nothing made him submit like a whore.

Then one jailer strapped him to the cell's bars and put his balls and cock in a crusher with butterflies to screw on.

The inmate felt pain as the base of his genitals was crushed until completely flattened then. After a while, the pain went away, and he didn't feel anything anymore, just the discomfort of immobilization and a full bladder without being able to urinate.

The process bled little, and he couldn't see or feel where the wounds were.

Then the cops began beating him with punches, slaps, clubs, and leather belts. He couldn't move or protect; he received the blows in the face, chest, and belly, writhing and being thrown from one side to another by the violence of the blows until he passed out.

He was still handcuffed to bars and strapped to the crusher when he woke up. He looked down and saw in astonishment that his ball and cock had been cut off.

I felt delighted and fully understood by my cousins and uncles.

Since I entered puberty, and my father realized my vocation as a whore and a faggot, he began to send me annually to the family farm in the countryside. His older brothers lived there and asked their nephews to work with them in the harvest.
It was always the same routine; As soon as I arrived at the farm, my uncles took off my clothes and put on the collar and leash. I spent the next three weeks working with the other men in the family, but I was only kept naked and on a leash.
I always worked hard, with enthusiasm and commitment, but everyone else was free to whip, hit, punch and kick me. Those who smoked used to put their cigarettes out on my body, burning my nipples and cock especially viciously. 

Throughout the day on the plantation, I was often told to suck their dick, drinking all the cum or urine they made in my mouth. I got to know the taste and shape of all the penises in the family and learned to suck them until they come with competence and guaranteed satisfaction.

I loved being humiliated, used, and beaten throughout the day, which often turned me on. When my cousins noticed my hard cock during work, they used to beat him until he softened. The worst part is that many times, the harder they hit, the harder my dick got.
As much as I pleased them, as much as I worked, at the end of each day, they took me to the barn, they all fucked me violently, and then they gave me a violent beating.
They knew how to spank me without breaking a bone or injuring me with wounds so bad I couldn't work hard the next day. But they left me there naked and tied up until the following day.
For three weeks, I was the family slut bitch.

I obeyed and accepted the role of slut without complaining or questioning anything. I felt delighted and fully understood by my cousins and uncles.

When I returned to my parents' house, I never told how I was treated on the farm. My father knew everything, but neither he nor I wanted my mother to know because we were afraid she wouldn't let me go back there next year to work for the happiness of the family's men.

The owner expected a reasonable price for his robust and healthy animal.

When the owner put the muscular beast up for sale in the morning, he expected it to get a reasonable price. After all, even though it is over 30 years old, it is still relatively complete, solid, and healthy.

However, the hours passed, the offers did not come, and the owner lowered his expectations and values. A large, used brute animal ends up not being highly valued.

The seller showed it off to buyers masturbated a few times to show it was healthy and still potent but failed to make the sale.

By nightfall, with the fair almost over, the owner was ready to accept any offer for his animal. When a buyer of a slaughterhouse advised: castrate the animal and make it fat, then you can sell it by weight to slaughterhouses like mine.

The animal, which had endured silently and steadfastly all day, began to moan and cry like a frightened child, realizing that its end was near.

The next day the vet cut out its balls; in three weeks, already weighing another thirty kilos, it was taken to the slaughter.

I'm going through the initiation rite to become the bitch to all the prison guards.

On my first day as a prisoner, the guards beat me with clubs and whips, great cruelty, and violence as soon as I arrived at the prison. Then they raped me several times, taking turns on my ass! Several of them pissed inside my mouth.

After hours of brutal treatment, I ended up passing out.

When I woke up, I was here in this hole chained in this uncomfortable way. After a few days here, I realized that sewage passes through this chamber when they use the cops' restrooms. Even the water from the showers passes through here, and when it does, this place floods until it covers my face and makes all sorts of rubbish float around. I choke and swallow all kinds of dirt. The smell of this place is unbearable!

One of the older prisoners explains that I am undergoing the initiation rite. All this violence and humiliation is to break down all my resistance, turn me into a scared fag, and turn me into a submissive, obedient bitch.

I believe that soon they will take me out of here, wash me, and make me like the bitch who fucks herself daily and gives blowjobs to all the guards in prison. It's what I want most right now.

The will of the animal sings in the hands of the coachman!

 I fondly remember being 19 years old and a young homo sapiens beast jockey. The sport was very popular, and racing animals were not yet genetically selected and improved. Over time, bigger and stronger animals were created by genetic improvement and physical corrections. In those days, we just could choose from among the recently enslaved animals those that were of the physical size to withstand the races.

That's how the human beast 4T8B was delivered to me. He only lasted three seasons, raced for three years, and we even won several races. But soon, its joints began to deteriorate, and the animal started to have pain in its knees, hips, and spine from running around supporting a man with nearly 50 kilos on its back.

The more it was in pain, the more violently I had to whip him to keep the same performance. Before the race, we used morphine to reduce its pain; after the race, if his performance had been disappointing, we punished him with hot irons and whips.

After three seasons, the coach soon realized that we would no longer get the same performance from the animal. The animal was physically ruined; from the wear and tear of carrying me, it was useless for racing.

The race manager and the coach used to slaughter the ruined beasts in front of the others, to set an example and encourage the younger ones to do their best. I was the one who convinced them to sell the animal for other uses. I had grown fond of the animal, I liked to see it cry in pain, and I wanted to hear its groans of suffering.

Twenty years after its sale, I was crossing a street near the jockey club when I saw an old garbage cart pull by an old, ugly, stinking beast of burden.

When the filthy animal passed close to us, I looked into its eyes, and I could recognize my old beast! The animal must have been over fifty years old; it was all deformed from years of hard work, its hide was thick and full of wounds, scars, and ticks.

I could notice that youth's pains were immeasurably worse, and it nonstop cried and sweated and groaned as it struggled to pull the heavy cart. The coachman whipped with constant rhythm and violence to make the broked older beast keep up the slow, suffering step of the heavy wagon.

I'd been retired for five years, and this lazy slut wouldn't last a few more months before It dies under the lash or slaughtered for dismantling and use for flesh and bones.

In my heart, I was happy to see it like this, imagining a long life of hard work, whipping, and pain is all these stupid beings deserve.

On the way, I waved politely to the coachman and commented, "This old lazy beast only works with whips! Hit it with cruelty it deserves!"

The friendly and young coachman returned my sympathy, saying, "This lazy shit is already on his last legs; I work harder than it; my arm is tired from whipping him to pull! I already told the manager that it's not worth it anymore, this is just for slaughter, but the owner's a cheapskate; he'll keep this fag on until it drops dead in the streets!"

At the farewell, I repeated an old saying among the jockeys: "the will of the animal sings in the hands of the coachman!"