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!