Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 03

By PredicamentBondage

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.

This time I know I have to be ultra-careful. The cock will explode at the slightest provocation, so I take it leisurely and gently. Making a tight “O” with my lips, I ever so slowly take the beet-red cock into my mouth. As I sink lower on the shaft, there’s a deep guttural moan as the slave lifts its head to stare at the ceiling. With loving care, I start a steady rhythm – up, down, up, down – and the moaning continues as the slave sucks in more air and its stomach contracts ready for the inevitable detonation.

Only two minutes later and I can feel the slave’s penis ready to blast hot spunk down my throat. The slow piston motion of my mouth brings it to the brink of ecstasy. Its cock is so hard, you could hammer nails with it. I know that all the slave’s concentration is focused on one thing – ejaculation. I feel the girth of the penis increase. The heat radiating off the slaves abdomen is palpable. I can sense its heart racing.

I know it’s time. I lift my mouth off its cock. This rocks its universe and there’s a scream of anguish like it’s been hit across the back by a single tail bullwhip.

I stand and smile, satisfied of a job well done; an enjoyable job at that. Every muscle in the slave’s body is straining and its cock and balls look like they are ready to pop. Its mind is in meltdown. The only part of its body that can move, the head, is bouncing back and fore, and side to side. A stream of gibberish spews from its mouth, completely incomprehensible.

I place my little stool to the left of the suspended meat and step up so my eyes are level with the top of its head. I grab the mop of black hair with my left hand and pull back to lift its face so it looks at me. Tears have stained its face and saliva is pooling under its tongue and spilling from the side of its mouth.

Those gorgeous brown eyes turn and look pleadingly into mine.

“The only way you’re getting down from here is to cum. And the only way you’ll cum is if I make you cum.” I let this sink in for a minute.

“If you want to cum, you’ll have to convince me that you accept your new life as a slave.”

The babbling starts again, this time more coherent as it begins begging for release, promising to be good, swearing it will be a good slave, pleading that I let it cum. It thinks it sees a way out and will say anything if it stops the suffering. It has started negotiating.

“The only proof of your devotion I will accept is your kiss.” I say, and the gibbering abruptly stops.

A little exploited characteristic of straight males is that they see the kissing of another male as the ultimate taboo. It’s something that they avoid at all costs. Kissing me, of its own free will, putting real feeling and emotion into the kiss, will truly subjugate the slave. It will be overwhelmed in its defeat, only then can I take it to the next stage of training.

I see multiple emotions in its eyes: confusion, panic, fleeting hatred, defiance.

Reaching around to the back of my belt, my right hand picks up a heavy steel ball with a string attached. I hold it up in front of its face. “See this? One of these, every 15 minutes until you surrender with a kiss.”

I step down and tie the short string to the ball weight encircling its scrotum. I let it drop, yanking the balls and eliciting a sharp intake of breath and a croaky exclamation followed by a long hiss as it exhales.

I walk out of the room to collect another ball.

Fifteen minutes later, I return carrying a second ball. There’s no noise from shit-head, so I simply walk up to his distended ball-sack, tie the ball on and let it drop. There’s a loud clack as the second ball impacts the first and, a second later, a screech from shit-head that makes me think its balls have ruptured. A quick feel confirms they are, in fact, perfectly intact.

As I walk away, shit-head starts to beg. “Please, don’t go, please, it hurts. My balls, my balls.”

I ignore it and leave. Each ball weighs one pound, as does the encircling stretcher, so total weight is now three pounds.

As I walk toward shit-head with the third ball, my victim finally gets it. A barrage of verbal diarrhoea spews forth, begging for a kiss. I stop and allow the pleading to continue, amongst the sobs, for several minutes.

Stepping onto the stool, I position my mouth just short of the slave’s, and wait. Slowly, very slowly, it makes lip contact, a mere touch. It pulls back and the beseeching starts again.

“Not good enough.” I say. “I’m not your grandmother. I’m your Master, and I expect passion.”

Stepping down, I attach the third ball, let it drop, enjoy the accompanying yelp, and leave the slave to think it over some more.

Fifteen minutes later and I return with the fourth ball. Shit-head has obviously thought about it and instantly asks: “Please Master, let me kiss you. I promise to do whatever you say.”

Treading onto the stool, I place my lips as before and wait. Eyes closed, its head comes forward and its lips contact mine. Tentatively at first, the slave slowly starts to kiss. It is pleasant but somewhat clinical. After ten seconds or so it breaks contact, opens its eyes and says, “There, now let me down. You promised!”

“I don’t buy it. You need to do a lot better than that.” And I step back, tie on the new ball, let it drop from a height, ignore the protestations and leave.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, I’m back with the fifth ball. Again, it begs for a kiss but it needs to learn respect. I need to break it so it stays broken. I tie on the ball, let it drop and leave without a word.

The sixth, seventh and eighth balls follow the same pattern. The slave can’t believe I’ve stopped trying to kiss it. I can smell the fear and panic as I tie on each ball.

Finally, on the ninth ball, I take mercy and again step onto the stool. This time with nine pounds weighing its nuts down, the slave kisses me passionately, using its tongue to explore the inside of my mouth. I feel it running around my teeth, searching out my own tongue, tasting its Master for the very first time. I put my arms around it to secure the kiss and reciprocate with equal passion. Now I know it is broken and is mine to do with as I like.

After giving it about six minutes to prove its commitment, I’m the one to break off the kiss (as it should be) and I say simply, “Good slave.”

Stepping down, I inspect the slave’s cock. It’s just starting to lose its ramrod hardness, but it is still obviously needing attention. Its balls are now hanging so low they look like they don’t even belong to the body to which they’re attached.

Taking the pecker into my mouth, it soon returns to attention and almost instantly starts leaking. I recognise that to be this horny whilst in so much pain is a special talent and I know I have a very exceptional piece of merchandise here. Staying emotionally detached over the coming months is not going to be easy for me.

In short order, the moaning starts again and I realise the eruption is imminent. I manage to keep it on edge for a further twenty minutes by gently teasing the piss-slit with the very tip of my tongue until, finally, the mushroom head flares and here it comes. Pulse after pulse tremor through the cock but no sperm yet, held back by the massive weight on its ball-sack.

I briefly disengage with its cock and look at it flailing wildly in front of my face. The piss-slit is gulping like a fish out of water in anticipation of the first spurt of semen.

There are four fruitless contractions of the slave’s torso before the fifth body-wrecking shock rips a path from its balls to the tip of its penis, and the hot molten cum erupts at last. The seed is pushed home on the leading edge of a gigantic wave, as my mouth swallows the cock whole. Gush after painful gush is pushed from the yawning piss-slit. So much teenage juice is released that I can hardly keep up but, in the end after swallowing what must have been a quart, I don’t spill a drop. It’s the tastiest cum I’ve had in a very long time.

I stand up and realised that, at some point during the excruciating ejaculation, shit-head has lost consciousness. The poor thing has actually passed out, its body and soul overwhelmed by the first of many enforced cum extractions that it will experience in the coming weeks.

I take a moment to stare at its now peaceful face, chin resting on its chest.

… so cute.

 

To be continued …

Metal would like to thank PredicamentBondage for this story!

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