Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 09

By PredicamentBondage

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.

The blond bombshell that is piss-slit is breathing heavily, its chest raising and dropping with cute bullet-nips perched seductively atop its perfect pecs, begging to be played with. I brush the tip of the middle finger of my right hand across the right nipple, the merest of contacts. Its cock stirs and within seconds is semi-hard. Nice. I love it when a slaves nips are directly wired to its cock.

I choose a thick cane from the wall-rack and approach the blond-haired cutie. I rest the cane on its stomach, six-pack clearly visible under taut skin.

I crouch next to the hanging head “Kiss me slave.”

The head comes up and the mouth connects with mine. The kiss is passionate, almost needy, and I nibble the lower lip as the slave submits. It always amazes me that testosterone packed straight males can be made, so easily, to mindlessly submit to a gay Master. Fear and pain are great motivators.

After playfully flicking the tip of each other’s tongues for a minute, I pull back. Quietly and deliberately I intone: “Speech Law number three today, piss-slit. I advise you to get through this swiftly. Do NOT disappoint me! I’m not in a good mood this morning.”

I few clicks of the laptop keys brings the monitor to life:

“The slave will always respond in full such that the response contains complete detail of the originators communiqué.”

Piss-slit reads the screen perfectly, five times.

“Good slave. Now I’m going to explain the implications of the law. Listen carefully.”

I position my hand in front of the screen so the slave has a good view of it, and hold up four fingers. “If I ask: ‘How many fingers is your Master holding up?’, the answer will NOT be ‘Four’. The basis of the response should be ‘My Master is holding up four fingers.’

“Now read the law again.” The slave does so five times.

Another example: “If I ask: ‘Under what circumstances should a slave address its Master?’, a correct response would be ‘The circumstances under which a slave should address its Master, is after the Master has addressed the slave.’”

I look into the slaves eyes, but it’s hard to see passed the beauty to the thoughts behind those stunning, captivating windows to the soul. “Do you understand the third law of speech as I’ve just explained it to you?”

“Yes, Master.”

Fuck! This slave is thick as shit. I retrieve the cane off its stomach and bring it hard down across its six-pack. The slave cries out and the body tenses in response but I’m frustrated so administer four more severe strokes. Five parallel diagonal welts appear across the slave’s torso. With each stroke, the slave involuntarily yanks on its nuts as it recoils from each impact.

I hang my head in despair. “Try again. Do you understand the third law of speech as I’ve just explained it to you?”

Silence.

“Ok, read the law again.” Through misted vision, the slave reads the law five times.

I have to be patient. Some slaves find this process challenging, especially in the early stages of training. It would seem that piss-slit is one of those that struggle, but with a firm hand and persistence, I know we’ll win through.

“If I ask: ‘Under what circumstances should a slave address its Master?’, a correct response would be ‘The circumstances under which a slave should address its Master, is after the Master has addressed the slave.’”

Again, “Do you understand the third law of speech as I’ve just explained it to you?”

The slave’s neurons slowly fire, this time in the correct order, and it says “I understand the third law of speech as you’ve just explained it to me.”

Eureka!

Piss-slits legs are trembling under the pressure of supporting its torso off the bench. I lay my hand on the stomach and feel the heat radiating from it. The ridged silken skin tremors under my touch.

“Well done piss-slit, but not perfect. Recite Speech Law Number Two for me.”

It’s been a whole 24 hours since piss-slit graduated the class for the second law. Will it remember?

Haltingly, with little confidence: “The slaves response to its Master will always be prefixed with the word ‘Sir,’ and end with ‘, sir. Thank you Master’.”

I bring the cane down rapidly five more times across the slave’s six-pack.

“If I have to go back and teach you the second law again, I’m going to cut your fucking nuts off. I walk to the wall rack, select an evil looking knife and hold it menacingly in front of the slaves face.

“I’m going for a coffee. I’ll be about 30 minutes, plenty of time for you to consider your position. When I come back, I want Speech Law Number Two delivered word perfect. One, tiny fuck-up and it’s bye-bye balls.”

I put the handle of the knife in the slave’s mouth. “Nod your head if you understand me.” This resulted in a quick nod from the slave. “Hold that until I get back.” And I storm from the room.

Thirty minutes later, I’ve calmed down. Walking back to the slave, the knife is still in place, the handle now covered in drool. The lower jaw, chin and neck are wet from the slaves dribble. The rest of its face is soaked in tears.

“Now…. One chance. I do NOT want to cut those pretty testicles off, but it will only take a single mistake, and I’ll slice them clean away and feed them to you for lunch.” I take the knife from its mouth and wipe the spittle onto the material of my blue-jeans. The handle now dry, I positioned the blade against the slaves stretched scrotum, just under the balls. The focus showing on the slaves face is intense.

“Well?”

With deliberate precision piss-slit announces: “The slaves response to its Master, or other superior, will always be prefixed with the word ‘Sir,’ and post-fixed with the words ‘, sir. Thank you Master’.”

I remove the knife, walk to the head of the bench and kiss the slave fervently. “Good” is all I say.

“So, think about Law Three and Law Two together. If I ask: ‘Under what circumstances should a slave address its Master?’ a correct response would be ‘Sir, the circumstances under which a slave should address its Master, is after the Master has addressed the slave, sir. Thank you Master.’ Do you understand the third law of speech as I’ve just explained it to you?”

To reinforce my determination that piss-slit get this right, I move back to the defenceless ball-sack and position the sharp blade against the tightly stretched scrotum skin. The cock has shrunken through fear to about an inch in length. The balls are a dark blue and distended well away from the slaves body, as its legs begin failing in their task to support the torso off the bench.

“Sir, I understand the third law of speech as you’ve just explained it to me, sir. Thank you Master.”

It’s taken two and a half hours, but we are almost there. “Ok – back to the actual text of Law Three. Read it again off the screen.” I let piss-slit read out loud five times. I want to short-cut to the end so, rather than slowly dropping out selective words off the screen, I simply switch the monitor off.

“Again!” I say, repositioning the blade.

It would seem that piss-slit has learned how to concentrate, as the law is recited perfectly without prompts. After the fifth recitation, I congratulate piss-slit. “Well done, slave. You’re learning and I want to reward your efforts. I have a gift for you.”

I leave the room and return just moments later. I hold up what appears to be a chunky black-metallic anodised hexagonal ball weight. I insert a special key and the device hinges open. I close the clamp around three celery stalks collected from the kitchen. I often use vegetables to demonstrate this device to recalcitrant slaves – it focuses the mind.

Holding up the assembly so piss-slit has a good view, I also lift a matching black remote control from my jeans pocket. The control has a single red button. I don’t need to say anything, I just push the button. Immediately, a red light flashes and a gentle beep comes from the ball-weight. This is followed by a shudder and swish from the device and each half of the celery sticks drop cleanly from the hexagonal ring, having been efficiently severed by titanium blades buried within the body of the fist-sized guillotine.

The slave’s eyebrows drop in confusion as its slow brain tries to comprehend the implication of what just happened. Without hesitation, I reopen the two halves of the device and close them around the stretched membrane of the slave’s helpless scrotum. The horrific appliance locks with a satisfying click.

The slave suddenly understands and starts gibbering, pleading with me to take it off, entreating me to save its manhood. I pick up the cane and again bring it slamming down across its stomach muscles. Again and again the pounding continues until, eventually, piss-slit stops its blathering.

“Piss-slit – you’ve really got to learn to shut the fuck up!”

I take a deep breath and wait for the slave to compose itself.

“Ok piss-slit. You have no other duties today.

“I want you to spend this afternoon and evening thinking about the value you place on those worthless slave balls. In twenty-four hours we’ll have an in-depth review of the three laws of speech. I don’t have to tell you what will happen if you screw-up. I suggest you spend the time until then going over and over and over the laws in your mind. Do you completely understand what I am saying to you?”

I thoughtful pause. The slave, staring intently at the guillotine, tears overflowing from its dewy eyes, responds “Sir, I completely understand what you are saying to me, sir. Thank you Master.”

“A complete and very satisfactory response. I’ll now take you back to your pod for some exercise and contemplation. Let’s hope I don’t absentmindedly click the remote until you get a chance to prove yourself tomorrow.”

My slaves quickly learn – I don’t make idle threats.

 

To be continued …

Metal would like to thank PredicamentBondage for this story!

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