By Practicerestraint
The slave woke slowly. It took him a while to get a grasp on his surroundings and circumstances. As his eyes came into focus and his hearing because more acute, he realized he couldn’t talk. His mouth was filled with a penis gag.
“Welcome back, number 502.”
Number 502 recognized the voice of the “doc.” He tried to turn his head in the direction of the voice, but found his head was strapped down. He let out a small cry that came out as a gurgle.
“Try to relax as I explain. Note that this is not a conversation. You’ll learn more about your situation shortly, but for right now you need to know that you are here to play the roles we assign you. Think of yourself as a member of Mr. Crummles’s troupe.”
Number 502’s eyes widened slightly, either from the reference or from the “doc” coming into view.
“Yes, 502, we know about your fondness for Dickens. We know a lot about you. Mostly, we know you like to be controlled and you will fit well into your new occupation.”
The “doc” looked 502 up and down, smiled and looked him in the eyes.
“You have been fitted with a permanent slave collar. If your neck size changes dramatically, we may revisit it, but plan on wearing that collar 24/7. Your nipples have been pierced. Your cock has been pierced and fitted with the largest size ring that’s feasible for a new piercing. In time, that piercing will hold larger rings until the PA is suitable for a chastity device.”
The “doc” moved out of sight and returned with a hypodermic needle.
“You are strapped securely to a gurney that a guard will use to transport you to your cell. You are only awake now so you will have some information on hand when you next awake. Experience shows that this minimizes anxiety. To a degree.”
The “doc” checked the syringe to assure he had the correct quantity. As he pressed the needle into 502’s arm, he smiled again.
“Have no fear. You will adapt to your new life. We are good at what we do. Recall that when you are with us again.”
Number 502 felt the jab of the needle and waited for sleep to overtake him. That seemed his only avenue of escape.
***
Number 502 woke slowly. He gradually recognized that he was no longer restrained and the gag was gone. He kept his eyes closed and listened carefully, anxious to discover if anyone was nearby.
Nearly complete silence led him to open his eyes and sit up. He found himself in an area slightly larger than a single-car garage. His cell, he assumed. Curiously, it had no door: one side was open, with no wall, and showed a corridor that ran in front of the cell. As he looked around, he saw that the cell featured a sink, shower, and toilet towards the rear. Opposite him and bed he was on were a desk built into the wall and a small refrigerator. The remaining wall space had shelves and drawers for storage. Atop the set of drawers opposite the bed was TV screen. The space gave the impression of a sterile hotel room or dorm room.
While turning his head to scan the room, he noticed something irritating his neck slightly. He reached up to rub the spot and was startled when he touched metal. He quickly went to the mirror over the sink and saw the collar and then noticed the small barbell in each nipple. He looked down at his chest to examine the barbells and then examined the head of his penis to confirm his fears: a curved barbell entered a new hole beneath the glans and exited through his urethra.
Number 502 struggled with a turmoil of thoughts and emotions. He had been violated, essentially operated on without his consent, but the acts fulfilled a fantasy he’d long entertained and the results were undeniably erotic. Despite his knowledge that the areas were tender and should be treated gingerly, 502 desperately wanted to play with the new piercings.
The slave forced himself to focus on the collar instead. It appeared massive but was comfortable; he barely felt its weight. He concluded it must be made of nonferrous metal. It was, well, both elegant and imposing. A cross-section of the collar would not have been rectangular, but rather kidney-shaped or like a half-circle. The exterior was smooth, with no angles. There was no visible lock. He could see that it was two sections, with a hidden hinge at one juncture and a lock at the other. The junctures were on the side of his neck, at three o’clock and nine o’clock. At six and twelve were two rings that hung from the collar. The front ring held a tag. In the mirror, he could see “502” was printed in black on the metal tag.
Again, 502 was conflicted. The collar was an engineering marvel, almost a piece of art, superior to any he had seen or worn. HIs knowledge of and fascination with collars made this one iconic. He wanted to wear it. He didn’t want it to come off. He visualized chain attached to each ring.
Shaking his head and turning from the mirror, 502 tried to put those thoughts in check and to be rational. He had been abducted and held against his will. He needed to get out of here despite any fantasy fulfillment his captors offered. He had a life and these people had no right to take it from him. He turned to the open wall and headed to the corridor.
To be continued …
© Copyright 2022 by S. Milton, practicerestraint@yahoo.com, Manacled on Recon
Please do not distribute, copy or post this content without the author’s permission.
Encourage the author to continue his work: Send him a photo of your slave collar!
