Shit-head is led from its pod to the area of the factory I call “Shaving Corner”. It’s time to get this slave completely stripped.
Shaving a slave from top to bottom has several benefits, the most important being psychological. When slaves see themselves in a mirror with no body hair, no pubes, no pit-hair they see their masculinity stripped away in line with their body-hair. They see non-masculine, non-macho, boyish, emasculated, weak objects reflected back at them. Most don’t even recognise themselves. The psychological effects are immeasurable in helping to make the slave compliant and cementing its status as an owned object.
But… And it’s a big BUT… shaving is very time consuming. Shearing a slave properly can take several hours and needs to be done at least once every four weeks or so. If you consider that we might have up to ten slaves in residence, it adds up to almost 4 working days every month; not practical.
Continue reading Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 10
Piss-slit is lying on its back on a padded bench. Its wrists are padlocked together under the bench. The back of its collar is clipped to the end of the bench so its head hangs loose, unsupported. Its legs are bound with a 12 inch connecting chain between its ankles, under the bench. Its balls are roped to a ceiling hook forcing the slave to lift its buttocks off the bench and support itself on the balls of its feet.
The 17” monitor is now positioned 24 inches above the slave’s stomach such that it must raise its head and look down over its pecs to read the screen.
I’ve been dreading this. SPEECH LAW NUMBER 3 is more complex than the first two, and piss-slit is a slow learner. I need to be careful not to damage the slave in the process of improving it. I take a deep breath and begin. I need to get this done quickly, as I had a call from The Snatcher this morning. He’s on his way with three new trainees. Things are about to get busy again.
Continue reading Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 09
If Marco could see a clock, he’d know it was not yet quite 11pm, and his debasement is only just beginning. This once proud example of male heterosexuality has been serving as a bio-filter below a popular gay bar for less than an hour and already he’s taken piss from twenty different guys, emptied his bladder once, swallowed about a half-a-pint of spit, been force fed two loads of slimy man-cum and been milked of his own load twice. It’s not looking good for Marco as he still has four, maybe five, hours to go.
Over the next thirty minutes the visitors to the Gents increase in number until at least one urinal is occupied at all times. The club is now about half full and Marco can hear music reverberating through the walls and floor of his basement, adding extra stimulation through the anal-invader to his already highly sensitised prostrate.
He is now consuming piss without thinking about it, and his mind wanders back in time to his life of partying, fucking and playing sports – snatched from him just hours ago. He tries to hold onto the memories but his concentration keeps coming back to his need to piss and his desire to cum yet again.
Continue reading Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 08
Marco has no way to judge the passage of time, but the screens stay blank for what seems like at least an hour or more. The anticipation of someone entering the toilets to relieve himself, coupled with the slow passing of time, is agony. Marco finds himself holding his breath for several seconds at a time, and festoons of sweat now decorate his forehead.
Suddenly, the two centre screens light up and Marco comes face to face with a cocky looking wide-boy of about 24 or 25 years old. As he fumbles with his fly-zip, the cheeky punter snorts and spits green sputum into the porcelain urinal where it sticks to the surface. After a deal of rummaging in his pants, the guy pulls out a fucking enormous horse cock. He is so big the bulbous head would easily come into contact with the shiny white ceramic if not supported. The dude starts to drain his bladder and manhandles his appendage, directing the stream around the inside of the bowl like a fireman’s hose. The dark golden buttery liquid washes down the drain taking the slime of mucus with it.
Marco closes his eyes and waits.
Continue reading Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 07
Don’t let anyone tell you that life as a slave trader is easy. As with any other business there are challenges and I discovered one of many, very early in my slave trading career.
My clients, as I’ve said, spend a great deal of money with me and expect perfection. Unfortunately, “perfection” is often in the eyes of the beholder and although I always do my best to interpret my client’s briefs, it’s a sad fact that many of the slaves we procure just don’t appeal to the customers. Think about it this way, you can have a pair of twins standing in front of you and, although they are near enough identical, one will always appeal to you more than the other. Every new intake requires client approval before training begins. This way we don’t waste money on training if the client rejects them.
Marco is one such reject. The client ordered an Italian (with accent), early twenties, gym bunny, low BMI, cocky, ladies’ man, the type to play soccer with the lads on the weekend and bang his girlfriend at least twice a day. The cock was specified to be thick and at least 10 inches long when hard. The testes had to be tough and low hanging as the client enjoys ball busting.
Continue reading Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 06
Things are quite leisurely at the training facility with only two slaves in stock. It was wild a few weeks ago because we had eight on the go but, as it is, I feel like I’m on holiday.
Shit-head has been with us a few days now. So far, it’s spent 24 hours isolated in its pod, exercising and learning how to drink from the water dispenser. Following that, it spent the best part of a day hanging in the factory area being broken. Like its peer resident in the next pod (piss-slit), shit-head has also been through its very first training session, lesson one – SPEECH LAW NUMBER 1.
Today, it’s SPEECH LAW NUMBER 2 and shit-head is already in place, eager to begin (I’m sure).
My little brunette fire-plug is standing in one of the classrooms, one foot on each of two large blocks. The blocks are 3 feet apart so its legs are spread wide. Wrists are in 18th century iron shackles and pulled straight up, forcing the slave onto its toes. It still wears the heavy ball stretcher that it’s involuntarily had to endure for several days, making its balls ultra-sensitive and very tender. Around its neck is a shock collar, the remote control handily in my jeans back pocket.
“Good morning shit-head” I say in greeting.
Continue reading Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 05
Stevie (from Chapter 1), now renamed “piss-slit,” is hanging from his wrists, as had shit-head before him.
Shit-head is back in its pod, now programmed on a 50-minute rest, 10-minute sprint cycle. This ensures the slave’s slumber is continually interrupted, keeping it sleep deprived and on edge at all times.
Piss-slit has just endured the same treatment as shit-head before him. There were several significant differences between piss-slit’s performance and that of shit-head. Firstly, piss-slit didn’t pass out when it orgasmed. It also took longer to break and now has a total of 21 pounds weighing its balls down. It was a low-hanger to start with, but the stretch is now an impressive 10 inches. It managed to piss itself three times and shit itself once during the ordeal, whereas shit-head stayed dry. No problem, because the factory area is designed for easy clean up.
Continue reading Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 04
Thirty minutes later, I walk back into the factory area where shit-head is still hanging, periodical swaying in time with twitching muscles. Its arms seem longer somehow. Its head hangs forward with its chin on its chest as if sleeping, but I know that sleep will not have come yet. It’s probably trying to cope with the pain.
There’s a damp pool forming on the bare concrete under the slave where it’s been perspiring over the last few hours. A seductive sheen covers every inch of its body, begging to be caressed.
Its cock is still rigidly pointing to its bellybutton. That must be painful in itself after being hard as iron for so long. Once again I place my stool between its painfully outstretched legs, sit down and touch my tongue to the tip of the cock. The sweet taste of pre-cum seeps over my taste buds. The cock instantly reacts by twitching violently and oozing pre-cum that bubbles up from the depths of the slave’s cock to lather the shiny helmet skin.
Continue reading Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 03