The Slave Daycare – Part 03

By Taurus

Note: This is the third and final part of “The Slave Daycare” by Taurus, with Chapters 20 to 31. If you missed the earlier chapters, click for Part 1 (Chapters 1 to 11); and Part 2 (Chapters 12 to 19).

Chapter 20 – Parasite

“I’m tired of you maggots not doing it right!”

Though the words were that of a stern drill sergeant, the mood was as light as can be – Warren spent seemingly the whole day rolling slaves who lost matches back onto their hands and knees, and cursing his supposed “helpers” who spent their day sat to one side instead of teaching with him.

“You beat me fair and square, Warren,” the silver helper said.

“And you gave me the win after I cheated,” the golden one said.

The cursing was thankfully entirely devoid of sincerity – jolly laughs rang out among the grunts and moans of the dojo students.

Warren’s helpers were not entirely useless either; Grey and Magnus took care of the slaves who decided they had wrestled enough, providing water and towels and hugs where requested.

“I haven’t seen you like this before.”

So viciously a monster ate away inside Magnus that his smile twisted and tortured itself into many different forms; one moment he grinned in bliss, the next he furrowed his brow.

His eyes were glued to the slave he was tending to, who was more than happy to get gently patted down with his towel while he pretended to be a big doll, emulating squeaking sounds whenever Magnus rubbed him.

“You okay?”

They both knew the answer to this one.

“It’s about him, isn’t it?”

They also both knew the answer to this one.

Magnus laughed tiredly. All this cryptic nonsense must feel like a cheesy teaser for some upcoming amateur piece of media. Still, it was their unofficial rule that they would never talk about their private life in the playspace when other slaves were around.

It was the “playspace” for a reason – their burdens were theirs alone.

“Cute boy.”

Charmed by his very large servant, the slave made yet more squeaking sounds, and backed up into Magnus’ arms after he had been wiped down to doze off.

“If I were to guess, this is when you’ll say ‘if only’.”

As always, Grey was right.

“He has a cute face, but I’d like just a bit more size and hair.”

Magnus quickly followed up his comment with an apology directed at the slave in his arms, who accepted it along with the payment of a slightly tighter hug.

“You miss Wolfie?”

“How –”

Magnus was hastily stopped by Grey laying a finger on his lips, and was duly reminded of the slave in his arms.

“I found a sketch back home. I recognised the subject, and then I recognised your linework – fast and wild with lots of pressure variation but never too messy.

“I posted it on our site, by the way.”

Suddenly Magnus needed a hug too, having turned a peachy red.

“I miss Leif, he wanted a name.”

It took Grey a few moments to comprehend the gravity and ramifications of what Magnus said, but comprehend he eventually did.

“‘Leif, son of Magnus’, that’s a proper name.”


Chapter 21 – The Troublemaker

Frank was never one to micromanage his slaves. They had flaws, no doubt, but everyone is a professional – they could do their jobs in their own way. In part, that was the beauty of this daycare.

All of which only got Magnus more confused when he was suddenly notified – nay, commanded – to leave his post in the playspace for a holding cell without delay.


Thanks to a thigh strap which held his phone in place, Magnus was able to obey the first part of the order perfectly – “run fast” he did.

The second part was disobeyed. He could not help but go against the phrase that said to “not question this order”.

Deep in the daycare, away from the more publicly visible and more advertised parts, there was the holding cell he was told to go to. Where there was usually a guard, however, there was now none, and the door was left ajar.

Feeling that all of this was highly irregular, Magnus peeked in to find the two biggest anomalies thus far; that there was no giant pile of cushions, and there was a bald slave handling a collection of sex toys.

His curiosity possessed his legs, and before he knew it, he was standing over the slave.

“Wanna play?” The slave asked with a big grin on his face, holding a pair of nipple clamps with two small bells on the ends of the connecting chain like it was a dog treat.

Magnus could not resist the offer. He went and locked the door.

“Can I play with the slave?” Magnus texted. Frank’s response was a simple “yes” which nonetheless made Magnus jump in joy.

“Aha, I see you got permission. You must be Magnus, I’m Otto.”

Magnus halted his approach.

“You know more than you should. Were you invited?”

Otto nodded.

“I’m a present for you. Your owner told me you haven’t taken a break in months, and that you needed to be ordered to rest.

“I’m not complaining – I haven’t had a hottie like you in -“

“Stop,” Magnus said, as he gently unentangled Otto from his leg.

“I need to know more about you if I’m gonna get comfortable.”

That said, Magnus almost immediately found himself getting comfortable in the arms of Otto, a slave for slaves, a toy for toys, even as he revealed his true identity.

Otto had no immediately obvious ripped muscles like Warren despite having his size. No doubt he still trained and ate like Warren – no way he could hold Magnus otherwise – but now everything was wrapped in a thin layer of bouncy fat.

“I’m Number 3. I knew who you were the moment I saw you – Number 9 is still as hairy as ever.”

“You’ve changed your face completely,” Magnus chuckled.

Otto’s hair game was far weaker than Magnus’ – even with the new beard, none of his hair could be described as fluff. Nevertheless, Magnus, otherwise the apex predator of cuddling, had been dethroned and tamed. Seeing an old friend, Magnus fully lowered his guard.

“What’s going on out there?”

“Listen, you’re very dangerous.”

Magnus tried to sit up having misheard Otto say he was “in danger”, though Otto had a warmth about him that dissuaded that act.

“You’re just a curiosity to most people, but to some you’re a philosophical anomaly – if you’re a brainwashed slave and therefore not human you shouldn’t be able to make art – and some of those people think you’re a weapon that can destroy a billion dollar empire.”

Otto adjusted Magnus such that he sat with his head on Otto’ chest. A hand on Magnus’ head made sure things stayed this way.

“Your art has gone viral. There are hungry reporters outside ready to tear you apart, but your owner is keeping them at a distance – he called you back here when he saw too many curious people looking in.”

“How’d they know? I don’t sign my pictures…”

“You really think there aren’t more people like Grey?”

“Your owner got me and not some other slave, because I’m Number 3 – he knows I’ll have your best interests at heart.”

The cell was mercifully insulated from the outside world, though Magnus was no safer from having his heart wrung raw.

“Magnus, I’ve met the slave you draw the most. He tells me the name he’s never used is the one thing he loves more than anything.”

Despite his robust build, Otto was only barely able to weather Magnus – now a withered leaf in a tempest – clutching onto him.

“He hopes you won’t worry about him. He’s with a nice owner who cares about what he wants.”

Magnus sighed in relief, and loosened his python grip.

“So…you and…”

“Your owner knows, and he says sorry for not telling you earlier; he didn’t want you to get too obsessed. Still, things find a way.”


An hour had passed when Magnus came to, yet he was still nestled against Otto, who had somehow managed to pack up his bag of toys when he realised Magnus was too tired to even listen to stories.

“Feeling better?”

“I’m still scared,” Magnus said, shaking his head.

“This won’t help, but you’re a legend to many of us. I’ll keep you in my thoughts, and if I see anyone in our cohort, I’ll give them the good news.”


Chapter 22 – Motivation

To keep Magnus away from prying eyes regardless of whether those eyes knew what exactly they were looking for, Magnus had been confined to Frank’s office outside of meals. It kept him safe, and the clerks were only too happy to eat the eye candy.

Unfortunately, it also meant Magnus was bored out of his mind. He had been placed in a cage, which despite being unlocked, still greatly demotivated him.

For what felt like hours, Magnus stared at Frank’s desk – so ornate and imposing it was from his very low viewing angle.


“Number 9, get in. Last warning.”

He clenched his fists ever so slightly harder – his fist mitts meant he could only go so much further.

He absolutely did not want to get in the padded cell that, once closed up, would become pitch black and dead silent for a very long time.

Sensing this hesitation, the trainer deftly buckled on a blindfold while a guard held him down.

“You’re a disappointment, Number 9.”

The words of protest he intended to say were promptly whisked away as he was lifted up and thrown against a thankfully thickly padded wall.

The blindfold was becoming more and more distressing, even though there was no uncomfortable pressure, and he knew full well there would be no difference with or without the blindfold. The one exception was that if he did manage to take it off, he would be whipped.


Magnus awoke with a start – Frank was crouching by the cage, rubbing his slave’s chest to rouse him.

Magnus pressed his face between the bars as he was lured by the aroma of chicken, at which point Frank took the opportunity to feel his slave’s neck and forehead.

Although he was sweating, it was nothing alarming. His neck felt decently cool, there was no runny snot, and his eyes were clear, if not admittedly a little sleepy.

“Thank fuck it’s not a fever.”

Magnus looked to and from his truly eclectic tray of food – half a dozen pierogies, a handful of plum tomatoes, and a bowl of chicken soup – and his owner.

“I couldn’t wake you up for lunch, thought I’d try again an hour later.

“Tell me what’s happening.”

Magnus opened his mouth, perhaps expecting words to come out, but animalistic whimpers did instead.

Sighing, Frank pulled Magnus into a standing position, being careful to support his wobbly-legged slave who had been in the cage for hours.

“Thinking of your training again?”

Magnus nodded.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

There was a long pause before Magnus was able to speak, but speak he eventually did, and with remarkable clarity.

“I understand now.

“We all got regular sensory deprivation torture because it was the easiest way to make us need attention, so we’d be good pets.”

“You’re safe now,” Frank whispered, kissing Magnus on the scalp, “whatever you don’t want to tell me with words, tell me with a picture.”


Chapter 23 – The Pig

Despite the overwhelming majority of the daycare clientele being kinky, bondage at the daycare was a surprisingly rare occurrence. It took there being an investor visit, a press event, or a workshop for bondage to happen, which made Magnus very curious when he was to attend to a cell with none other than a hogtied slave.

The leather cuffs and chains did their job of immobilising the hairless slave, but the hogtie was by no means strict. The slack in the chains was not a mercy but a source of fun – the slave pulled the chains in a rhythmic fashion, as if playing a shaker to a tune in his head.

From the composure, Magnus estimated that this slave was probably very well trained, and that he had at least two hours left in him.

Nevertheless, it was not his job to find that limit. He unclipped the chains between the cuffs, and the slave quickly knelt in front of him.

“Tell me, what’s your name and why’d you get tied up?”

“I’m Pig, I like getting tied up.”

Magnus disguised a sigh as a laugh, lamenting that even slaves should not be given a name so devoid of thought.

“Hey, you alright?” Pig asked, tapping Magnus’ shoulder. He had a cautious look in his eye.

“I was just thinking about your name.”

“Oh, don’t worry.”

Magnus’ complexion lightened when he saw Pig’s do the same as he recalled memories of him and his owner.

“You ever got trained in one of those punishment cells?”

“Were you imprinted?”

Magnus let out a hearty guffaw when Pig replied in the affirmative.

“Oh, I’ve been beaten up in every kind of punishment cell! You gotta narrow it down for me.”

Anything in this day and age that could be called a “punishment cell” are all designed to cause suffering, not to give pleasure. Magnus’ eyes lit up as he realised he could tell Pig all about the pain he’s suffered in his conventional training, knowing Pig would derive only joy from it all.

“Uh…you remember the kind that’s really tight, you kneel in rigid stocks that screw into the wall, then the guards put a big stick up your hole you can’t move?”


“Number 9, that gag is in your mouth for a reason. Stay quiet.”

Everything hurt. The dildo in his ass hurt. His chastity hurt. The blindfold hurt. Itches started crawling around his trembling body that had seemingly been welded in place by the stocks.

He chomped down on his chewy ball gag – it was fhe one comfort that he could focus on to escape the pain.

The blindfold did its best, but it had no seal that could stop tears, and once every few minutes, a tear made it past the blindfold and, agonisingly slowly, crawled its way down his face, sadistically triggering every nerve it could.

Questions of why and when and what stirred in his mind, a foamy mess of “please let the day be over after this”, “just breathe, just breathe”, and “I wonder how long I haven’t touched my body with my hands”.


“I do remember.”

“Well, my master can’t just build a concrete cell, but he did get a cage and he used chains to try and get the feeling, just because I told him I liked it.

“Pig is a good name. I am a pig anyway.”

Relieved that Pig was happy with his life, Magnus turned his attention to converting his pain into another’s joy, regaling Pig with his other stories of suffering in punishment cells.

If only he knew where to begin…


Chapter 24 – In Nocte Veritas

Grey tried his best for two evenings, but he could resist no more. He had watched Magnus from afar, who was again knelt at the coffee table, slaving away under lamplight.

“Why’s there so much blank space?”

Magnus was no greenhorn – he knows how to exploit all of the canvas. Yet here he was, leaving a fairly sizable space in the bottom right corner. Meanwhile, his subject – Otto cradling Leif – occupied just three quarters of the canvas to the top left.

“Was thinking of writing something down there, don’t know what though…”

Seeing that Magnus had been sucked into deep thinking again, Grey just had to drop the bombshell.

“It’s midnight – you’ve been drawing for hours.”

Grey’s reminder was the needle that finally popped the bubble. As Magnus put down his pencil, he winced as aches spread all across his upper back.

Heaving (semi-comically) heavy and audible breaths, Magnus turned to Grey.

His intentions were obvious – Grey was the only one in Frank’s household who knew anything about massage.


In response, Magnus faked a frown and made a noise similar to a meow.


The pair continued to play-argue – in hushed tones, simple words, and exaggerated gestures, all to the tune of Warren gently snoring – for a minute before Grey “caved”, at which point he led Magnus into the backyard, switching on a light just above the door.

Clearly, the bulb was old – its sepia light could barely illuminate five feet around it. Perfect for a late night chat.


“I’ve been here so long…still can’t believe we can come out he-ahh…”

Like any other slave from his cohort, Magnus could brush off a whipping, but having knots oiled and kneaded? Now that was something he could not defend against.

“it’s nice. I’d love to stay here forever.”


Magnus was cautious – Grey had all the usual incisiveness but none of the humour.

Grey sighed.

“I’m an old slave, and old slaves have no novelty or ease of ownership – I’m going to the incinerator.”

“No you’re not,” Magnus was quick to halt that train of thought, “Frank is different.”

“Everyone ‘feels different’.

“Remember my last owner? He burnt one for trying to steal money and eventually run away.”

“Grey, we work for a man who believes we aren’t just toys to throw away for trivial reasons.”

“Is crime a trivial reason?”

“Yes,” Magnus said firmly, spinning round and holding Grey by the shoulders, “because it has to be now – you’re thinking too much.

“You can do massage, you tell damn good stories, you made our art archive and captioned everything.

“You’re not dead weight.”

The pair shared a hug before Magnus escorted Grey back to the huddle where they would sleep.


Frank hunted for his apparently misplaced car keys, Magnus struggled to tame his bed hair, and Warren was busy tidying the slave sleeping corner.

Despite the morning chaos, however, Grey was still able to steal a glimpse at Magnus’ picture.

“You saved me, I will remember and thank you.”


Chapter 25 – The Cyclone

Slaves always need something to focus on, whatever that thing may be – bondage, sex, punishment, a picture, or even simply a sound.

There is hence only one way having a single visiting slave – fresh out the cloning labs – would end.

Abel had some decent weight, and if he were human he could even be conceivably deemed muscular and masculine, thanks to a bit of stubble. However, he shared the playspace as a slave with three other slaves who positively dwarfed him and had enough fur to quilt blankets.

He was allowed no breaks; the hairiest slave he had ever seen tossed him to the most muscular he had ever seen, who then tossed him back. As “the gold one” and “the brown one” came into his view, they made funny faces and noises, which really were funny to Abel, evident from the fact that he was tiring from giggling so much.

Not once did he have to speak up – like magic, “the white one” always knew just the moment to get his tormentors to pause.


“How’s life?” Grey asked the slave, who paid for using Warren as a chair by letting Warren lightly manipulate his arms like a doll. The chair was usually Magnus’ job to take, but the change of scenery was welcome for both parties.

Abel felt no need to answer in words – he moaned in a tone that could only ever mean great satisfaction.

“I wonder what you’ll become,” Magnus said, playing with Abel’s hair.

“He’ll become a cute lil’ boy,” Warren chuckled, “he just needs to eat healthy, work out, and stay out of trouble.”

Warren then looked down at Abel, turning his head up with his hand such that their eyes would meet, asking silently, “Do you promise to do that?”

“I’ll do it” were Abel’s first words since losing himself so thoroughly in this flood of pleasure. Almost immediately though, he was plunged back in as the slaves around him oohed and ahhed and rubbed him every which way.

“Don’t worry,” Magnus laughed, “he tells everyone to eat well and work out. You look cute.”

Magnus did not help matters – Abel blushed a peachy pink, which only caused more teasing. At least no one was complaining.


The slaves had good food in front of them – beef stroganoff over rice – but they were in no rush to eat it.

“Abel reminds me…” Warren muttered, staring blankly into his food.

Warren never finished his sentence, but all three slaves around the table knew what the omitted part was.

“We were all coping,” Grey said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

Two pairs of eyes looked expectantly at Magnus – surely the father would have an opinion.

“Well, we learnt from our mistakes with Leif, we should keep this up in case Abel turns out to be Warren’s son.”

A pregnant pause, as Warren slowly turned to Magnus.

“I fucking hate you.”

Some hearty laughter later, the trio began digging in, their usual banter returning.


Chapter 26 – No Question

Frank’s three slaves, mature and experienced as they were, huddled together in fear outside their owner’s bedroom door, like children afraid of a storm. But the sky above, with a beautiful setting sun, was as calm as ever, though none in Frank’s house had the heart to savour it.

After a protracted (presumably) back-and-forth verbal slugfest, the door opened to reveal Frank, dejected and with sweat beading on his forehead. He regained a tired smile when he saw his three slaves knelt in front of him, poised and ready to give him all the affection he needed.

Grey was the first to break the ice.

“What happened, sir?”

“Come to the couch, it’s a long story.”


The story was not as long or as complex as Frank promised, just more disheartening than he liked, perhaps. The daycare published an annotated booklet of Magnus’ sketches, which an online magazine scanned and reuploaded without permission in an article. Since the booklet admitted that “a slave” drew the pictures, the magazine cited Naruto v Slater.

Without speaking a word, Frank called the lawyer again, this time putting him on speakerphone.

“Frank, I’m not gonna charge you this time, but please – it’s almost 9 pm.”

“I want you to sue Microcosmos.”

“Slaves aren’t considered human, no question – the pictures are made by non-humans and you can’t copyright it. I know it’s a matter of principle that you want Magnus to hold the copyright, but we really can’t do it.”

“‘No question’, huh? Let’s try that one. What if slaves were human?”



Chapter 27 – The Winter Shall Pass, Then the Spring Disappear, Then the Summer Vanish, Then Finally the Year

If there was anything on television to interrupt the workday for and to watch with one’s coworkers, it was the news on the “drug bust of the decade”, which necessitated the daycare to lock its doors.

Some recognised where the footage was captured – it was a compound barely twenty miles away from the daycare. Those who knew knew exactly which junctions to turn at to get there.

“Officials have made concerted arrests across the country. A large amount of contraband has been seized. This includes cocaine, stolen vehicles, cash, firearms, and more, currently valued at 1.2 million dollars.”

There was a cut to an interview with the local sheriff, interspersed with photos and footage of some of the contraband and the arrested…

…and of a slave lying on a stretcher, his body covered with lots of blankets, being wheeled onto an ambulance.

The daycare staff were a tactful bunch; no one said anything when Warren got up and left.

Roughly three minutes later, Frank, Magnus, and Grey’s phones were updated with a notification: “Cell 2 is now being occupied by: Warren”.

Debates flared over whether they should check on Warren, and if so, how. Some said they should go to the cell just to make sure Warren was fine, but among the “check on Warren” camp, a few thought that they should leave him alone to process his feelings – the cameras would suffice. Meanwhile the opposite camp posited that they should not intrude at all.

Magnus and Grey, however, decided that the most practical solution was to simply cut the knot. Without anyone’s permission, they slipped out of the staff area and decided they would knock.


“They would knock” would not be literally accurate; the slaves went for the even more direct option and opened the door to survey the situation.

Warren had not done anything particularly stupid – he was just curled up in a corner, clutching a cushion while rocking from side to side.

Without a word, Magnus and Warren locked the cell door behind them. There was great relief when Warren, using eye contact, asked for their company.

From Warren’s body language, Grey deduced that Warren’s emotional situation was undeniably fragile, but not volatile. He looked upset, sure, but he was not trembling, and his face was composed.

“He’s not my son, but…”

Almost rambling, Warren recounted his time with Abel in the few days they were together – hugging, wrestling, showing him around the daycare, playing with other slaves, singing…

“You don’t sing often,” Magnus remarked.

“Abel likes Solveig’s Song the most. Too bad he’ll never learn the words.”

“He has nurses taking care of him,” Magnus said, “he’s in a hospital -“

“No,” Warren interrupted, “he looked like some others I knew – fighters fell the wrong way onto the floor. No bruising, but stuff gets broken in their head, then they try to sleep it off.

“Abel’s gone, Magnus.”

Magnus glanced at Grey for help, but there was none to be offered.

“You don’t have to say anything. Slaves come and go.”

Warren pulled out his phone and played a recording of Solveig’s Song.

There was no agility in the orchestra – every bow stroke, every strain was ponderous, almost without elegance. Every phrase was punctuated with silence as prominent as the lines the instruments played; they were stark, confrontational, decorated by neither filigree nor elaborate instrumentation.

Yet as the soprano entered, the music took on new life. “Ponderous” became “contemplative”, “without elegance” became “laconic without excess”.

“‘If you’re waiting in heaven for me, there we’ll meet again and never part.’ Roughly.”


Chapter 28 – Waiting

It had been two days since Warren saw Abel on the news for all the wrong reasons. Since that terrible incident, time seemed to speed up in the daycare while the world lost its colour.

Thr daycare would usually close by this time, but some staff stayed behind in the rare dim light of the playspace. The playspace was a place of joy, and during business hours it was always sunlit, always warm.

This evening, the playspace lost its brightness. The overhead lights – which ironically were on even in the day – were switched off. Instead, the staff made do with candles and the occasional phone flashlight.

In the centre of the playspace was a small table, on which there was a “hasty” sketch of Abel, framed and stood up, that nonetheless looked no more hasty than anything Magnus allowed in his booklet. The table was otherwise mostly bare; the picture was surrounded with candles and ribbons, and the table legs were surrounded with cushions from all corners of the daycare.

There was no formal proceeding. Warren knelt nearest the improvised altar, flanked by Magnus and Grey, while staff members could come and go as they wished to, and could approach Warren whenever to give a vote of comfort or just a hug. The only rule was “be reasonably quiet”.

Little remarkable happened in the hour the altar was set up, and yet fewer words were said.


Although Magnus and Grey had to pack up while Warren received a bear hug from Frank, they were not envious in the slightest.

“How was tonight?”

“It was the best idea, thank you sir.”


Chapter 29 – Thought

Magnus was pleasantly surprised to find nothing to worry about for once.

It had been many, many months since Magnus had been in bondage as strict as this.

It had also been many, many months since the last time he had time to contemplate and introspect.

Magnus was not gagged or blindfolded. Straps secured his hands to his thighs and his feet to the bed gurneys. He did not like the feeling of linen between his buttocks and the bed, but he thanked whoever decided to provide him an exomis – a loose fitting tunic that left his shoulders and legs comfortably exposed – to comply with the requirement of clothing. The ceiling was a dull yellowish white, fluorescent lights punctuating the blank space at regular intervals.

It was as good as it got for a bondage-craving slave to think.

Life was hell.

Magnus had no playtime – he worked at the daycare, and then he would go home, where he moonlit as a sketch artist. Any pictures he completed would be scanned in the early morning and uploaded during some lull in the day.

There was no more guarantee that there would be “some lull”. More and more media entities approached the daycare in search of “the slave who makes art”, or sometimes “the slave who wants to pull down Halcyon”.

Frank entertained none of those requests – he believed his slaves deserved peace and quiet as stress kept piling on, a welcome gesture for Magnus. Even as he tried his best to put on a cheerful facade, it has never been the same since Abel, and the visiting slaves could tell.

Regrettably, he knew it was the same for his brothers. They completely forgot about their chastity – there was no reason to have any sex or recreational bondage.


Magnus awoke as his restraints were undone by an officer, who also kicked a pair of rubber sandals near the bed.

“Time to go.”


Naturally, the sight of a massively hairy and muscular male with his crotch and practically nothing else just about covered up was a curiosity to a courtroom full of people in decidedly more conventional formal wear, whose mutterings were immediately halted.

A short pause later, the lawyer at the stand began to speak.

“This is Magnus, an example of a slave manufactured by Halcyon Genetic Augmentation Research Body and Distributor Limited, hereon ‘Halcyon’ for brevity.

“He will be a demonstration for our argument that Halcyon slaves post-conditioning are human, as they possess and/or retain human qualities.”

Though Magnus had never seen the daycare’s lawyer before, he recognised his voice.

Turning slightly more to the right, there Frank was, casting a calm look at his slave. Typical as his composure was, it drew Magnus’ attention away from the gawking lay-people.

An objection was made on the basis that a piece of non-human evidence should not be allowed to speak on the witness stand. Almost immediately, it was overruled by the judge; that was the very issue that this lawsuit aimed to examine.


Magnus took many calming breaths – all of them short and not calming at all – before he got over the fact that the entire world was watching him through the TV cameras in the back of the courtroom.

“I solemnly affirm that I will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”


“‘There’s nothing I can say that’ll give you an ‘aha’ moment. What I can say is that what your mind can do, a slave’s mind can too. We can make and understand art. We understand philosophy, we can think through difficult problems.

‘You don’t need the medical report to know that my body – and hence every slave’s body – has the same biology yours does. Just because we’re made to like servitude doesn’t make us any less human.

‘I have those I remember and cherish, and those that I wish I could forget about forever. Just like you do.

‘I still want to serve my owner, be a pet and a toy for him. I just don’t want to be killed for spilling food.’”

The guard put away his phone as the video ended.

“Still don’t understand why I’m nervous around you?”

Tired of waiting for a nervous guard to steel himself, Magnus grabbed the ball gag and buckled it in his mouth.

“Interfering with the bondage process is grounds for some serious punishment, slave.”

Magnus feigned regret in response to the equally fake and playful sternness.

“I’m going to hogtie you and you’re not going to do anything but suffer.”

Suddenly, there was a gentle slap on Magnus’ face.

“You’re supposed to be sorry. Take two.”


Chapter 30 – The Miracle

Locked up in a remote property, Magnus savoured the near endless buffet of restraints and humiliation and pain. That and also the fact that the guards practically fought to play with him.

He loved when the guards would ask – like a Michelin star chef for a very particular client – “what will it be today”, since it meant he could blurt out “gag” as childishly as he liked, and it would always make them laugh.

The main activity for each day was bondage. Today was no exception – Magnus had asked to be blindfolded and gagged. What was different was that he asked the guards do everything in their power to give him a sensory overload,

“Why would you want that?”

Despite the constant stream of fun, Magnus’ mind was still occupied with the outside world; how he caused many people to get arrested for brutality against slaves, how his sketches were now valued in the hundreds of thousands, how he apparently “redirected the future of humanity”…

He heard on the news that an investigation on Halcyon had borne fruit; those who mercilessly molested and modified his cohort into what they were today were arrested, along with those who hatched the plan of having a serial slave murderer silence those who began to remember.

Despite being a legend, having caused billions worth of economic upheaval, not once has he forgotten his identity, and not once has he had even the slightest distaste for it.

No, even when given the chance to be given papers and an eye-watering sum to restart a life as a human and be taken off the slave registry, he declined the papers and requested that the money be given to his owner instead.

“I’d like to forget about everything just for a moment.”

“You do understand that it’s like alcohol? You get drunk to forget your feelings, but after the hangover they just come back twice as hard.”

“Yes sir. Still, I’d like to be tied up.”


Magnus got some of what he wanted. What he wanted was strict bondage, coupled with as much sexual stimulation from as many sources as possible.

The first part of his request was approved without pushback. He was blindfolded and ballgagged as per usual. His hands were locked in padded mitts. Belts flanked each flexible joint on his body, securing him to a steel-framed bondage chair that was screwed into the floor. He tried to test if the chair was firm enough for a slave as muscular as he was, but the belts made thrashing around impossible anyway.

The second part of his request, however, was denied. He was given a pair of nipple clamps and nothing more.

“We won’t agree to hurting you long term, Magnus. You made the rules.”

Magnus let out a begrudging grunt.

Still, as seconds turned into minutes, Magnus realised the abundance of belts was exactly what he wanted all along – an extremely frustrating teasing, as though ten people were touching his body all at once.

The movement of the air from his exhalation – which could not be altered as his head was secured in place – tickled his hairs, and occasionally a nipple.

Involuntarily, Magnus began moaning as he tried his best to squirm in the belts, which only repeated the cycle.

A pain began to mount in his cock as it quickly filled its cage, having not been unlocked for any significant amount of time in over half a year.

“Are you okay?”

Magnus managed to suppress his inner feral beast, which was taking over more and more of his mind, for a few precious moments.

“I wanna cum I wanna cum I wanna cum I wanna cum!”

“Quiet,” the guard said as he tugged on the chain between the nipples, like yanking the reins on a horse. Magnus was only too glad to comply if it meant he was allowed to cum; his cock felt as if he was about to urinate lava.

After what seemed like hours, Magnus felt his cock cage fall away, and lube getting squirted onto his cock. Figurative electricity shot through his body, and like someone getting shocked with actual electricity, his body contorted and squirmed uncontrollably. Then moans turned to cries, and then cries turned to weeping.

“Well, this turned out to be sensory overload after all.”

Although the bondage was not completely removed, it had now become friendlier.

One of the four belts around Magnus’ torso and all four belts around the knees and elbows were removed to make milking an extremely responsive slave safer and more enjoyable. Despite that and the motivation that he could cum if he stopped crying, it took Magnus a few minutes to calm down.

It took very little for a pent up slave engineered to respond strongly to the lightest of stimulation to have a violent, roaring orgasm. The guard must have collected the cum in a cup or similar, since Magnus felt a stream of warm, viscous liquid drip onto his face, specifically onto his facial hair and gagged mouth. He must have shot a lot, since there was so much cum that not even a beard could stop it from dripping onto his chest below.

“I’ll leave you like this for a couple minutes.”


“Hard again? Got a second load?”

Magnus nodded – he knew this for a fact.

As uneventfully as a normal man would shoot their first load on a day, Magnus shot his second just four minutes after his first.

There was less cum this time, but there was enough to pour on his plume of chest hair and still have the liquid drip.

Then there was a lot of clicking. If there was any load to photograph and remember, this was it. Magnus was not at liberty to say whether he would have another cumshot in his life, and he was not complaining – he sure as hell would love to remember this one.


Chapter 31 – Reunion

Magnus was blindfolded, gagged, and led with a leash to a room. He had awoken not for long, and so he had to clamp his eyes shut almost as soon as the blindfold came off, but not before he stole a glance at the person who gave him eyesight back – Frank.

Magnus could not help but bark and rest his head on Frank’s shoulder, taking care to hang his mouth away from any fabric.

“I heard you came, boy.”

Magnus blushed furiously, but Frank simply laughed and thanked the guards for milking a slave who “deserved the orgasms more than anyone in the world”.

To say the least, it did not help Magnus lose the blush.

“Ready to see our new home? See Grey and Warren?”

Magnus nodded as fast as he could.


The ride home was much noisier than usual as the slaves excitedly chattered about their vacations.

Magnus was slightly embarrassed when he heard that Warren was rented out to a boxing club and Grey discovered his prodigious talent in painting, while he simply opted to be basically tied up for two months.

“So you just…chose to live life as normal?” Grey gasped.

Warren elbowed Grey – this was unbefitting especially given his usual tact, a sentiment that Grey would immediately concur with.

“Was it fun?”

The route was slightly unexpected. Frank did not turn down the side road they would usually.

“I got crazy amounts of money from all sorts of investors. Traded in the old house for something more comfortable for you.”

Half an hour later, Frank announced that they were home.

Magnus recognised the neighbourhood. This was a lot closer to the daycare. Like a beacon, the daycare seemed to exert a sphere of influence – naked slaves walked on leashes behind their owners with smiles on their faces.

The car turned into the parking garage of a high-rise. Without even stopping, the arm barrier rose to let the car through.

Magnus could only look in silent awe when Frank pressed the button for the top floor, as he (correctly) presumed that his fellow slaves were also doing.

“What? I only get the best for you slaves.”


“Welcome back, sir!”

The trio of slaves was too stunned to speak or even move from where they were standing as the blond slave inside the penthouse crawled to Magnus and held his legs, rubbing and kissing however and wherever he pleased.

“I promise this is the last slave I’m buying.”


“Papa, I saw you on the news –”

Magnus hushed and covered Leif’s mouth. It startled him, but being well trained as he was, he quickly settled down and sat, leaning his head back onto Magnus’ shoulder.

“It’s just so much to take in…”

With gentle but firm insistence, Leif removed his hand gag and spun himself 90 degrees anti-clockwise. Almost by instinct, Magnus cradled Leif and pulled him as close as he could.

“Tell me.”

“I drew pictures of you, I had dreams of you, I had a friend send me updates whenever he had the chance to see you.

“I thought I’d never see you again…”


It was a lot of hugs and kisses before Magnus led Leif to what seemed to be the “slave corner”, so obvious it was. It had a special low ceiling with lots of tie points and a winch for suspension. Large shelves offered ample storage for toys and lube.

“Thinking of getting a fucking machine for you lot – I can’t satisfy any of you with my dick.”

As if they were wet tissue paper, Magnus’ knees crumpled, and he pressed his forehead into the floor before Frank.

The End

Metal would like to thank the author, Taurus, for this story!

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