One Year – Part 11

By Taurus

Part 11 – “Listening”

The torturous regime of flogging, meal, workout, meal, and back into the cage continued another two days.

James begged for mercy, to be let out of the dungeon in order to work out or maybe even breathe some fresh air on the outdoor sand track.

He was heard, but not in the way he might have liked. His pleas fell on a pair of intently listening ears, ears of a person who responded earnestly with myriad lashes.

Well, like the old saying goes, the flogging must go on. (This may be wrong, I advise against quotation.)

The only difference between these two days and the first was the absence of getting cum on himself, something he really did not want to happen again. He may be hot, but the dungeon was hotter, and because he marinated in sweat and drool and cum, he stank.

Smelled real bad.

More cum just means more suffering.

I guess that was the mercy. Not what he wanted, but what he quite desperately needed.

Anything to lighten his suffering.

Day 103 rolled around, however, and James got the mercy he wanted as well.

He was awoken by rhythmic knocks on top of the cage he slept in, the turning of a key, and a familiar voice.

“Slave James, rise and shine.”

Russell!

The slave tried his best to clamber out of the cage, but Russell stopped him.

“Take it easy, you’ve been through a lot.”

Indeed he had.

Slowly, Russell helped the slave to his feet, but scrunched his face when he inhaled deeply to muster the strength to revert from crouching to standing.

“Ugh, that smell…”

“Sorry sir!” James abruptly added.

Without even one more word, Russell blindfolded and gagged James and walked him to where he would be cleaned after his morning workout…

…and past it.

Far, far past.

James was stopped suddenly. A button was pressed.

Ding!

Woah, an elevator?

He was walked forward a few steps, was turned around and doors whirred closed after two taps of buttons.

Yep, an elevator.

A series of twists and turns, and through a doorway later, James was left standing with his blindfold and fist mitts removed in a mysterious space.

He was in a cubicle, on a raised floor textured with lumps and bumps, which kept him from slipping. In the cubicle there were a few items; a heater, tap connected to a soft pipe, which connected to something else out of sight. A rack with a bar of soap, shampoo…

The tap was opened. A comforting stream of warm water ran over each inch of his body.

A shower!

“Head up, arms at your side.”

Russell took off the fist mitts, rinsed over the portions under the neck and used the soap to wash him, including his chastity cage.

“Kneel.”

Russell removed the ball gag from James’ mouth, and proceeded to wash the hair with the same attention.

For the first time in months, James had a towel dry him up instead of drip drying as he went about his business, and he had his hair combed.

When the use of your own fingers are an unattainable luxury reserved for people infinitely more important than you, towels and combs are not something to be expected.

With the shower detour cutting deeply into the morning routine, James received his transport protocol restraints and was led from the staff quarters back to his cell, at which point he was given sight and speech again.

He settled back on his mattress, feeling refreshed, and he assumed a kneeling position as Russell locked a clean pair of fist mitts back on. The soot and grime was all but gone.

“You must have a lot of questions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ask away.”

“Where’s Arnold, sir?”

“Fired,” Russell said, with a rising tone in the middle of the word, as if this was something casual and expected.

“Uh…”

“Remember my favour, boy?”

“Yes, sir, but I don’t understand, sir.”

A prideful smile adorned Russell’s face as he began to explain the state of affairs.

“I got him fired because I snitched and told Director Preston you were being abused and not trained.

“It’s not like he didn’t know though. My complaint was just the straw that broke his back.

“He had to leave because he liked beating you up, not training you. That’s why you never got pleasure sessions or had your schedule changed. Just more and more flogging.

“Damn shame he had to stay a few more days before he could go.”

Russell moved forward, closing the gap between him and the slave, and he straddled the mattress.

“I got worried – you were gonna get hurt.”

James fell silent, eyes boggling. This was quite the news to take in.

“So I gave Preston a suggestion, and he agreed.”

Laying his hands on James’ bare shoulders, Russell crept forward again.

“I’m your new handler,” he said with a smile.

James, breaking protocol, fell into his new handler’s embrace and wrapped his arms around him. A long lost emotion – sincerely relieved happiness – resurfaced from the depths of memory, and now seemed to revitalise his exhausted body and soul, and the horrible cell that locks him up.

Russell cradled his new slave, confident that he will be always loyal and obedient, and reciprocated his joy.

“Wanna hear a story, slave?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Before I got into prison, I was married. I wasn’t happy though. We married for money. Up until we got divorced when I was about to be in prison, we were doing horrible things to each other. I’d go home and beat my partner up. I saw other men going in and out of the house.

“I know best that you don’t get anywhere when you beat someone up for no reason and expect love in return.

“And as a reward for listening to me, I’ll let you talk about everything you went through.”

For once in this prison, James felt love.

And for once in his life, so did Russell.

To be continued …

male bdsm

3 thoughts on “One Year – Part 11”

  1. What a strange, tender moment!

    Got to admit, I kind of liked James marinated in sweat and drool and cum and smelling real bad. Maybe we can revisit the millionaire in this state of disintegration out on the streets?

  2. Seems the organisation which charged a small fortune for training rather broke the contract James signed. Let’s hope he claims a partial refund.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.