Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 14

By PredicamentBondage

The slave is kneeling at what we call “a kneeling-rest”. Its hands are behind its back, each grasping its opposite elbow, with the forearms aligned and parallel to the floor. The head is bowed, eyes open, focused on an imaginary point on the floor several feet ahead. Its knees are spread wide, its ankles less so, toes bent and planted firmly on the floor behind its buttocks. It rests half way between an “upright kneel” and “sitting on its heels”. The strong thigh muscles draw the eyes in, and frame a glorious set of genitals, hanging invitingly as if being offered to their owner – me.

Its cut cock is impressive at about 7 inches soft, 10.5 inches when hard, with a slight downwards turn and a striking mushroom crown. The rod has excellent girth and arcs over two hairless golf-ball size globes, gorgeous to behold. The penis is rock-hard and dripping pre-cum, as it always is when in the presence of its Master. It’s a Pavlovian response. The mere thought of its Master will result in an instant erection. Training is a wonderful thing.

I am on the cusp of a dilemma. An hour ago, I received a call from the client who ordered this wonderful piece of beef. The customer has had a change of mind and asked if we could negotiate a deal that will allow him to take delivery of only two of the three slaves he ordered. He’s a good patron, having purchased a lot of product in the past, so I don’t want to upset him with a refusal.

The slave he’s rejected kneels before me, a superb example of a red-headed muscle jock. Its skin is pearlescent, stretched over a gym toned body, honed out of pure alabaster. The muscled Adonis is a perfectly proportioned, six foot, 200 pound bull. I’d guess its age to be around 22 years old. Its musculature is impressive and would fit easily into any sporting fraternity. Magnificent biceps, triceps and glutes – the whole package is stunning. Every muscle perfectly refined and handsomely presented.

It has piercingly beautiful emerald eyes, charming facial features with a smallish pug-like nose and luscious full lips that beg to be kissed. It has cute boyish dimples and a manly square jaw with chin cleft. Perfect white, even, well-proportioned teeth complement the angelic face.

It has superb, slightly curly, mop-like, deep red hair. Its cock is adorned with a wiry bush of intense rust coloured pubes. The same colour adorns each cavernous armpit. Its eyebrows are also red and its lashes are pale, almost white.

The two large slabs of pec muscle are surmounted by the most chewable pair of pale pink nipples, about an inch in diameter. Its fuck hole is a tight band of silky smooth muscle, hidden in a deep cleft-valley between two mountainous orbs of milky-hard granite.

Built like the proverbial brick shit house, its legs are strong with large sturdy feet, its arms solid with masculine square hands, its back is straight with heavily defined musculature and cute lower back dimples, and its heavy-duty neck is noticeably sturdy.

Its sexuality is undetermined, background unknown, name a mystery. The Snatcher noticed it getting out of its car at a local supermarket three months ago and couldn’t resist. It had no identifying paperwork.

The moment The Snatcher laid eyes on it, its fate was sealed. My appraisal, like his, was that the overall package was gorgeous, generous and extremely desirable. I knew upon my initial inspection that I’d name it Blush.

The now ownerless, rejected slave is three months into its training. The results are very promising and it would be a crime to dispose of such an exceptional specimen.

So my dilemma? What to do with it. I could complete the training and try to dispose of it on the open market, but it would be a tough sell. My clients are used to specifying what they want. I could sell it on through the trade to another dealer but few handle such high priced merchandise, and I may have to sell at a loss. I could cycle it through as a bio-filter, but then all that hard training would go to waste.

I stand before it, with my chin in the palm of my hand, huffing my dissatisfaction at the situation, completely unsure what to do.

A question keeps nudging my cerebral-cortex: “Do I need a house slave?”

I have to admit that every time I see this slave, I get a raging boner. I’ve leaked more pre-cum over this beast than all the slaves I’ve trained in the last two years. Sexual appeal radiates off its body like light off a star.

As it submissively kneels, respectfully awaiting instruction, unbound except by its training, I realise that I really desire this creature. Its mix of obedient subservience and overwhelming physique tick all my boxes.

I can’t help myself. I walk up to the slave, undo my belt, unbutton my fly and gently ease my hard-on from the tight confines of my jeans. As my cock bounces free it pulses triumphantly and extrudes a honeyed string of pre-cum that clings to my slit like a four inch stalactite. I offer the tip to the slave but, being well trained, it won’t do anything until instructed.

“Slave, take my cock” and the face is raised, the tongue comes out to catch the sweet nectar hanging from my needy appendage. The slave sucks lightly at the slit with its now moist lips before opening wide, sticking its tongue out and descending slowly onto my rigid-rod, swallowing it whole, holding it firmly in its throat and pausing to let the wave of pleasure wash away the concerns of my day.

The slave doesn’t move from its “kneeling-rest”, with arms clamped tightly behind its back, and posture maintained. It knows that the only body part it must use is its face-pussy.

The expert throat goes to work on my shaft. A low frequency vibration is set up in the slave’s vocal cords and it swallows repeatedly like some sort of mechanical milking machine. The tongue licks sensuously at my balls and it takes less than two minutes before I shoot my hot spunk straight into its stomach.

My legs go weak and my knees almost fail me, but I manage to stay upright and keep my penis deep in that magnificent throat. After about six or seven gut wrenching spurts, my ejaculation subsides and I regain my senses.

I stay buried in the moist cave until I start to soften, then I open my bladder and let rip a high pressure stream if golden goodness. The slaves tongue has now retracted and a leak proof seal is formed between its lips and the base of my shaft. Its throat is completely open and the piss flows freely into the slave’s guts without it having to swallow.

Completely satisfied, I slowly pull my dick from the slaves mouth and, as I do so, I feel its throat muscles contracting around the pole, squeezing all remnants of cum and piss from my urethra so, by the time my cock is free, it’s completely dry, inside and out.

The slave lowers its face once more as if nothing had happened. God, I’ve trained this one well. Why am I even debating with myself? Of course I want it as my house slave!

“Blush, listen to me.” Knowing that I need not give it that instruction. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer honestly. Do you understand?”

The slave twitches slightly, sensing a trap. It regains its composure and answers “Sir, I understand you’re going to ask me a question, and I will answer you honestly, sir. Thank you Master.”

“Ok – I’m thinking about keeping you as my personal house slave, and not selling you on to my customer. Would you like that?”

There is a long pause and the whole demeanour of the slave changes. I can see it’s excited. It wants to look at me, its eyes darting up towards mine but then correcting themselves before our eyes meet, dropping them again to a respectful level. This happens repeatedly. The slave finds it difficult to maintain its position as if it is suddenly hyper-active, dosed up on sugar.

Eventually, it calms down and focuses on its response. “Sir, I would very much like it if Master choose me as his personal house slave and did not sell me to another Master, sir. Please, please sir, let me be your slave, let me serve you and care for you, sir. Please allow me to do everything I can for you, sir. I will do anything you ask for as long as you ask it, sir. Thank you Master.”

Well… A little over the top, perhaps, but it seems genuine.

“Slave, you realise that you’ll have to serve me in whatever capacity I desire. I will not only punish you for mistakes you make, I will intentionally hurt you to satisfy my sadistic inclinations. You will often endure enormous pain for no other reason that I like inflicting it. You will be beaten and tortured both mentally and physically. There will be no end to your suffering.

“If you really want to be my personal house slave, just say ‘Yes, Master’”.

Without hesitation Blush looks me in the eye and answers in the affirmative. There are tears of joy running down its cheeks. I bring my arm back and slam the palm of my hand squarely across the side of its face. The slave is caught off-balance and is sent sprawling to the floor. The whole side of its face turns red from the stinging blow. “Never look me in the eye unless told to do so, slave. Return to ‘Keeling-rest’ and wait here whilst I consider your punishment.

I leave Blush crying tears of grief, knowing it has failed me.

That was at 2pm, and I don’t return until 8:30 in the evening. Blush is still holding its position, but the strain is really showing. I appreciate its dedication, and have made up my mind to keep it.

“Blush… Go and get cleaned up and report to my bedroom in one hour. You will be staying with me in my room tonight.” The slave knows this is an enormous privilege and it quickly retreats to its designated shower room.

Two hours later and Blush is in my room, wrists bound together, connected to a steel cable that drops from an industrial hoist located in the ceiling. Hanging from the slaves bound wrists is a six inch spiked ball. The slave is forced to hold its elbows as far apart as possible, so that the arms don’t come into contact with the extremely sharp spikes. Any contact results in intense pain, and the slave quickly learns to stay stock-still, with arms bent.

Hanging from the slaves testicles is a larger spiked ball that forces it to keep its thighs open wide, knees bent, and feet about three feet apart. Although this is uncomfortable, the slaves well developed leg muscles easily allow it to maintain the position; feet firmly planted on the floor

Wrapped around the base of the slaves dick is a conductive band, and pushed into the knobs slit is a two inch urethral plug. Both are connected to an e-stim unit, loosely hanging around the slave’s neck. The mammoth 10.5 inch hard-on points unswervingly towards the foot of my bed.

Also around the slaves neck is a wide leather collar, specially constructed with twenty D-rings around the circumference. Dangling from each D-ring is a four foot chain, and from each chain, a large selection of metallic bells and rods. The result of this arrangement is that, should the slave move even slightly, it turns into a clamorous percussion instrument that can easily wake the dead.

I turn on the e-stim unit and Blush shivers. “This is your punishment for looking me in the eye earlier. If I were you, I would keep absolutely still tonight. Wake me up, and you’ll wish you were never born.”

I walk to the bedside table, pick up a remote and thumb a button closed. Promptly, the hoist activates and raises the cable just two inches. Instantly, there’s a gasp from the slave and its body is under severe stress. It’s forced to stand on the balls of its feet. Lowering its heels would bring its thighs into contact with the painful barbs. Biceps strain to hold the slaves weight high enough such that the arms remain bent. If they weaken, prongs will doubtless pierce through the sensitive skin, again resulting in agonising pain. A cacophony of metallic ringing echoes through the bedroom and it takes Blush two or three minutes to bring the racket under control.

A bead of perspiration runs down the slave’s temple, and I can already see the muscles starting to shimmer. I look into those dazzling green eyes, beseeching me not to go through with this. The eyes can communicate so expressively; no need for verbal language. I ignore them, of course.

“The e-stim box is set to keep your boner rigid throughout the night. At random intervals, it will shock you hard, giving your cock a good kick. I suspect you’ll cum a few times, and I won’t chastise you for it, if you do.

“What I will punish you for, is waking me up. Do you understand?”

The slaves face is flushed red with the effort of holding its position, and it’s only been five minutes. Through clenched teeth the slave manages to say “Sir, I understand that if I wake you up, I will be severely punished, Sir. Thank you Master.”

I smile at the slave, and I notice a string of perspiration beads strung just above its top lip.

I strip off my gear, get into bed and turn off the lights. The slave is plunged into darkness. I hear the occasional stifled moan as I drift into a restful sleep. I wonder what dreams will come tonight. All my best ideas come at night.


To be continued …

Metal would like to thank PredicamentBondage for this story!

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2 thoughts on “Chronicles of a Slave Trader – Chapter 14”

  1. And he’s proposing to go to sleep?? Yeah right. Some people make do with a 42 inch screen at the bottom of the bed, this seems a leg up from that sort of entertainment.

  2. “Kneeling rest” (first paragraph) sounds anything but!
    l wonder if my master will make me adopt this position when he makes me fellate him?

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