Note: the change between pronouns (he/it/his/its) reflects the state of mind of the master and/or slave at that moment in the account.
The first slave was taken to a mine. His irons and collar were removed, but a ten-pound collar was locked around his neck. He would be fitted with the equivalent of an Organ boot: a weight around his ankle that would prevent him from running. In the mines, the collar would be chained to a ring near the slave’s work spot and his leg iron removed. The iron would go on again when the slaves were rotated out to be fed and watered and rested. At night, lucky slaves could have their heavy collars removed if they offered the guards their bodies.
The slave dealer herded the two remaining slaves into the back of the van. Leg irons, run through rings welded to the floor of the van, were attached quickly and the doors slammed on the cargo.
Hours later, the van arrived at a rural location. The driver was met by a tall man in a sheriff’s uniform. The two men talked briefly, exchanged envelopes, and then the dealer opened the door. He unshackled one slave’s feet, neck, and wrists. The slave gave no thought to escape, particularly since the sheriff held a taser.
When the slave stepped down from the van, the sheriff grabbed his arm, and brought it around the slave’s back. He quickly and professionally cuffed the slave, grabbed his arm, and walked him to the house.
Approaching the door to the house, the sheriff guided the slave to its knees and then to lying face-down on the ground. The sheriff put one booted foot under the slave’s head—and essentially in the slave’s face—and gently rested his other between the slave’s shoulders.
“Let me explain how this will work, boy . . . .”
“I will train you to be my pet, boy. You will learn to please me in all ways, providing entertainment. I hope you can adapt.”
The sheriff hauled the slave to its feet, grabbed a capture hood lying on the porch, and dropped it on the slave. The pair entered the house and the slave soon found himself led down a set of stairs. He was marched several step,s stumbled over something on the floor and then brought to a halt. He then heard the slam of something, metal hitting metal.
The slave obeyed, stepping back until he met a pole–or something–that stopped his progress. At that point, the sheriff pulled off the hood. The slave found himself in what was essentially a jail cell. The two walls in the corner of the basement and two panels of steel bars made a box that held him. He started to focus on the details of the cell but felt a hand grab his cuffs.
“Put your hands through the slot, boy.” The slave found the rectangular opening, spanning two of the vertical bars, and bend over a bit to get his hands up high enough to slip them through the box. The sheriff removed the cuffs quickly.
“Turn around. Step to your left. Kneel.”
The slave saw the padded vinyl mat positioned next to the bars and did as he was told. The LEO unzipped his pants, then pulled out his semi-erect cock. He moved close to the bars and held it in his hand.
The slave took the cock in his mouth, pressing his face between the bars, grabbing one in each hand to steady himself. The slave began the slow exploration of the glans with his tongue, making sure to spend time on the underside of it. He gradually took more and more of the cock in his mouth. It was average in size, but the slave feared that his gag reflex would kick in and displease his owner. However, his current service seemed to please the uniformed man, who seem to relax a bit as the slave’s mouth took in over half of his cock.
Then the sheriff pulled out and zipped up his pants. He stepped back and fixed his eyes on the kneeling slave.
“That assessment will help me begin your training. You’ve had a long, challenging day. Get some sleep. Do know that tonight is the last time you will wear traditional clothing and the last time you will touch your cock.
“We’ll begin your training tomorrow.”
The sheriff turned a headed up the steps. In shock from the man’s statement, the slave was unable to appeal to the man before he was gone. The slave heard the closing of the door and the turning of locks.
The slave looked around his cell. By his estimate, it was about seven by twelve feet. It appeared to be outfitted like an actual prison cell. The toilet/sink unit was stainless steel, as was the wall-mounted bunk. The cell was not perfectly rectangular; concrete brick had been used to hide the plumbing. There was a metal chair, which he sat in and surveyed the area outside the cell.
A single light in a far corner illuminated the basement. Clearly rear section of the basement, furthest from the door, was an exercise area, with weights, mats, and a treadmill. On the far wall, he saw a shower. The rest of the basement was a dungeon space. He saw a sling and a free-standing section of chain-link fence. The slave speculated that the closed cabinets under the stairs contained BDSM gear.
The slave noted ceiling-mounted cameras throughout the basement. There were several mounted just outside the cell. He tried to rattle the bars, but they were immovable. The bar, the door, the opening for handcuffing a prisoner—the fixtures looked very real.
The slave climbed into the bunk. The mattress was relatively comfortable, as were the pillow and the blanket he pulled over himself. He unzipped his pants and started to play with himself, but his junk was unresponsive. The slave was scared. Really scared.
There were no windows into the basement, so the slave was unaware when morning came. He woke to the sound of boots on wooden stairs. Groggy from sleep, he looked at his owner. Dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, and boots, he advanced and stood in front of the cage, in front of the vinyl mat.
The slave looked at him briefly and closed his eyes. He wished he was anywhere else. Free. Uncaged.
A moment passed.
“Not a good start to the day, boy. Figure it out.”
The slave considered for a moment and could not see that defiance would gain him anything. He got up, went and knelt on the mat. One hand grasped another behind his back and his eyes were down.
The slave heard the sound of a zipper being pulled. He looked up and saw his owner’s—no, this man’s, he corrected—cock in front of him. It was more erect than it had been last night.
Hearing no instructions, the slave weighed his options and took the cock in his mouth. He had limited experience as a cocksucker and was nervous about his skills. He had rarely sought the opportunity to perform oral, except on one man. One man, long ago. He thought of that man and hoped that image would prompt him to suck more eagerly. Once, when he paused briefly, he saw the taser hanging from the man’s belt. The slave redoubled his efforts. Pleasing this man might help him in some fashion.
“Enough. Stand up, turn around, and put your wrists out for cuffs.”
The slave obeyed and felt the cold steel and heard their distinct sound as the handcuffs tightened around his wrists. The sheriff quickly double-locked them.
The sheriff opened the door. The slave noted that it was an electronic lock and the sheriff controlled it with his phone or some other device. That detail had escaped his notice the previous night.
“Come out here and let’s get you outfitted.”
The sheriff led him to a chair and had him sit down, his cuffed hands behind the back of the chair. it wasn’t uncomfortable, but it offered no opportunity for resistance or escape.
Why was his cock stirring?
“First and foremost, your collar.”
The sheriff pulled a collar out of a bag and showed it to the slave. The slave’s eye grew big. He knew that collar. He’d looked at it online after someone sent him a link. Fantasized about it. Talked to other guys online about it. Made in Germany, it was a dual shock-collar, constructed from rubber and locked with a Segufix magnetic lock. He knew it was 2.75″ wide. Too wide for him to wear.
Seemingly reading his mind, the sheriff said, “You’ll get used to how wide it is. As you progress, we may be able to exchange it for something more comfortable. However, in the training of slaves, reward and punishment are necessities. This collar will take care of the latter.”
The sheriff put down the collar, approached the slave, and unbuttoned its shirt. He pulled the top of the shirt down, revealing the slave’s neck, shoulders, and chest. Going behind the slave, he opened a drawer and brought out something. Shortly, the slave heard a hum as the sheriff used clippers to shave his head.
“We have to get the hair out of the way so the collar has good contact with your neck. We want a tight fit, don’t we, boy?”
The slave said nothing, but felt his cock stir again. The thought of a tight collar had always been a weakness. The touch of the man’s hands on his head and shoulders as he swept away hair was also stimulating. He started to breathe more rapidly . . . .
%$&!, he wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. He should be resisting and finding a means of escape.
Suddenly, the collar came down in front of his eyes as the sheriff, standing behind him, placed the collar on his neck and shoulders and started to adjust it. He had to move his head up to allow the collar to go under his chin. Slowly, the collar tightened and then fit into place as the sheriff pulled the collar over the locking post. A brief pressure and click and the magnetic lock was in place.
“How does it feel, slave?”
The slave did not respond, not wanting to express his true feelings. The damn collar was erotic. It felt good.
Suddenly he jerked his head and squirmed as he received the first shock.
“That’s the lowest setting. It’s a warning. Or a prompt. It gets your attention. Now answer my question, slave.”
The slave blurted out, “It feels like a rubber collar.”
Another jolt, this one more painful. He inadvertently pulled against the cuffs, the metal digging into his wrists.
“The controls on my phone are programmed to increase the setting for each successive burst unless a significant amount of time passes between activation. Now answer the question and use your manners.”
The slave only hesitated a moment and then said, quietly, “It feels good, sir.”
The sheriff put his hand on the slave’s cheek, and said, “Good boy.”
The boy pressed his face into the hand while silently cursing himself for doing it.
The sheriff uncuffed the slave. As he did, he explained, “The collar is currently voice-activated. Allow me to demonstrate. One.”
The slave felt a jolt from the collar as the cuffs came off. It continued briefly until the sheriff said, “End.”
The slave fell back in the chair, closing his eyes and trying to recover from the jolt. As he did, the sheriff opened a drawer behind him and pulled out an item. The slave opened his eyes and saw a bit gag in front of him. The slave looked from the gag to the sheriff. When the sheriff opened his mouth to say something, the slave quickly opened his mouth to receive the gag.
“Smart boy. I like smart boys.”
After the gag was buckled and locked, the sheriff drew up a chair and sat opposite the slave. He looked thoughtful, adjusted something on his phone screen, and when he spoke, he almost sounded apologetic.
“The collar is to train you, not torture you. I have tested it on myself and on others and determined the highest setting that I wish to use. You’re going to experience it so you know what to expect if you flagrantly disobey. The setting will be a six. Note that ten is the max.”
He added, “The gag is for your protection—so you don’t bite your tongue.”
“Are you ready, slave?”
The slave nodded and closed his eyes and gripped the sides of the chair. The wave of pain hit him and he screamed and thrashed, trying not to fall off the chair. When the wave passed, he collapsed, panting.
“Would you like me to repeat that, slave?”
The slave furiously shook his head, mouthing “No, sir, please, sir” as best he could.
“You’ll have to be more convincing than that, slave.”
The slave fell to its knees, grabbed his master’s—a proper term of address now in the slave’s vocabulary—boots and begged feverishly, “No, master, please, no more. Anything but that. Please, sir.” The words were barely comprehensible, but the surrender and plaintiveness in them was clear.
The Master bent down, unlocked and unbuckled the gag, and removed it.
“Lick the drool from my boots, slave.”
The slave did so immediately and then waited silently for his Master’s next command.
The sheriff gently pulled the slave’s head up until it rested on his thigh. He patted the slave’s cheek gently and inserted a thumb into the slave’s mouth. The slave eagerly sucked and licked, closing his eyes and falling into his role naturally.
The sheriff smiled, patted the slave on the head with his free hand, and said, “There’s more, boy.”
The sheriff helped the slave up and led him towards the shower. The sheriff pointed to a chair nearby and said, “Strip down. Fold your clothes and put them there.”
The slave stripped, noting ruefully that his wallet and keys were gone. He’d already noticed the absence of his watch; he’d assumed it had been removed after his abduction so his captors could shackle his wrists.
“Shower and clean out your hole.”
As he stepped into the shower area, he noted that the shower was fitted with a hand-held shower head, a hose and attachment for anal use, and a fixture fitted with a nozzle with a handle at the end that resembled what you saw on a garden hose. A small shelf amidst the upright plumbing holding the fixtures held shower gel, shampoo, and lube. He stepped towards the grating in the middle and turned on the water. Fortunately, he could get hot water, and he began to shower and see to the other detail. He turned away from the sheriff as he cleaned himself out, embarrassed at doing this in full view. After he hosed down the area and turned off the water, the sheriff handed him a large towel. The slave dried himself and hung the towel on the plumbing to dry.
“Sit down and put this on.”
The sheriff handed him a black plastic ring that was contoured. The slave recognized that it was part of a chastity device. The slave sat and wrestled his testicles through the ring, then his flaccid penis. When he was done, the sheriff tossed a bundle of rubber at the slave’s feet. The slave picked up a portion of the pile and found it was a set of wrist and ankle restraints that matched the collar around his neck. He looked up at the sheriff, who nodded, and he began to put on the wrist restraints. After each one was fitted snugly, the sheriff stepped in and put the lock in place. The process was repeated for the ankle restraints.
The sheriff reached down, pulled the slave up by the ring on his collar, and led him to the sling. It was a new design, with a padded board and back to hold the subject. The sheriff gently pushed the slave toward the sling, and the slave gingerly raised himself onto the board and then turned to put himself in position.
The sheriff lifted a leg and attached the restraint to the supporting chain with a clip; he repeated the process for the pother leg and for the slave’s wrists.
“Are you comfortable?”
A short pause.
The sheriff left momentarily and returned with a penis gag in his hand. He approached the slave, who dutifully opened his mouth, and buckled he gag in place.
The sheriff stepped back and regarded the slave. He noticed the slave’s cock was less flaccid than before. He smiled, and began to run his hand over the slave’s body. He played with the sensitive nipples, gently played with its balls and taint, and felt each immobilized limb. From the way the slave kept his eyes fixed on him and wrinkled his brow, the sheriff doubted that he would induce an erection. The slave was scared, confused and anxious. However, that was as it should be.
The sheriff turned and picked up the second part of the chastity device. He held it up for the slave to see. The slave gave a bit of a start and leaned forward. He recognized the device. It was the same design he had recently purchased and tried out. He knew it was effective. He knew he could wear for long periods of time with no issues.
The slave’s head dropped back as the sheriff approached. He placed the lock on the slave’s belly and began to apply the device. The slave wasn’t full hard, but it took some effort to wrestle his cock into the device. The sheriff smiled again, and his smile widened as he slipped the lock in place and turned the key. He removed the key, dropped it in his pocket, and looked at the slave with a grin. He moved the slave’s side, hooked the finger of one hand in the ring on the slave’s collar, fondled the chastity device and its contents with the other, and shared one word.
The sheriff continued to be a man of few words as he moved away from the sling. He stood near a chair, in view of the slave, as he stripped his clothes and then put his socks and boots back on. His appearance and physique didn’t make an impression on the slave as the slave was focused on anticipating what would happen next. The slave’s turmoil arose from the conflicting desires to escape and to submit.
The sheriff ignored the slave’s physical struggles, but seemed wholly aware of the mental conflict in the slave’s mind—and relished it. With a smile on his face, the sheriff strode to the shower stall and grabbed the lube. He pulled a condom from somewhere and put it between his teeth.
The sheriff stood in front of the sling, stroking his cock as he eyed the slave. The struggle before him clearly aroused him, and shortly he ripped the wrapper open and rolled the condom onto his cock. He applied lube in the appropriate places, smiling as the slave jerked when a lubed finger entered his ass, followed by another. After patiently fingering and stretching the hole, he booted LEO stepped forward and slowly slid his cock into his slave’s ass.
The sheriff started slowly and rhythmically, holding the slave’s legs as he pumped in and out. The sheriff closed his eyes for a few moments, and the slave thought he felt the cock grow larger in his hole. The sheriff continued to fuck the slave rhythmically, staring intently at the slave’s face as he did so.
The slave was mesmerized. His initial panic gave way to acceptance and then pleasure. He began to roll his head and moan, senseless noises escaping from behind the gag.
“Look at me.”
The slave opened his eyes and turned his head to look at the sheriff.
The sheriff’s eyes fixed on the slave as he continued to use the slave’s ass. Not roughly, but with a certainty of purpose.
“This is what you are. A slave. My slave.”
The sheriff continued his use of the slave’s ass.
“This is, actually, what you want. What you’ve dreamed of.”
The sheriff smiled as he increased the pace of the rhythm and the force he used to draw the slave onto his cock.
The slave hesitated, pulling on the restraints, moving his neck to feel the collar locked there, and glancing quickly at the cage holding his cock. Finally, he looked at the sheriff and nodded.
The sheriff smiled.
Then tilted his head back a bit as he gave the slave the roughest and most merciless fuck it had experienced.
The sheriff took his time, but eventually he hissed through his teeth as he came to orgasm. He continued to pump for a short time, and then withdrew. He slapped the slave’s ass and moved to remove the slave’s gag.
After he did so, he leaned over and gently kissed the slave on the mouth. The slave responded, leaning into the kiss and allowing the sheriff to explore his mouth with his tongue.
When the sheriff stood up, he looked at the slave thoughtfully and ask, “Anything you want to say, slave?”
The slave’s mind continued to be pummeled by contradictory thoughts. “This is what you want. Stay. You’re a free man with a life. Escape. He’s what you want. You’re a victim here. Submit. Resist. Accept this. Resist.”
All the slave could do was shake his head. He noted a brief look of disappointment cross the sheriff’s face. The sheriff then quickly released the slave from the sling, leaving the locked restraints in place.
The slave did so, and the sheriff led him back to the cell. They both entered the cell, and the sheriff briefly pointed out the amenities of the cell. These included a shelf with a toothbrush and tooth pasted, toilet paper, and a small lamp mounted on one of the walls, suitable for use as a reading lamp. He commented on the use of the toilet and sink, “The water to the sink will be turned off tomorrow. After that, you’ll have to use the toilet water to wash your hands.”
The slave sat in the chair in the cell and watched as the sheriff left the cell. He grabbed a stack of items he had apparently left one of the steps and brought them into the cell. He pulled the bottom, something very orange, and handed it to the slave.
“Put this on. It gets cold down here.”
The slave took the orange jumpsuit, noted the word “INMATE” stenciled in large letters on the back, and put it on. When he was finished, the sheriff handed him a pair of white socks.
“Just the socks. The ankle restraints stay on tonight.”
The slave sat and put on the socks. When he finished, the sheriff handed him a book.
“Some light reading to help you pass the time.”
The sheriff reached down and unlocked one of the shock devices from the slave’s collar.
“There are two so one can be charged and replace the other when its charge is exhausted. Note that you only felt one of the units tonight. it is possible to trigger both at once.”
The sheriff glanced at his phone.
“It’s almost noon. I need to get lunch.”
He stepped back and looked at the slave intently.
“Boy, you will pay your respects when I arrive and when I leave. I’m preparing to leave.”
The sheriff and the slave were silent. The slave was unsure of what he should do.
“Uh, enjoy your lunch, Sir?” he asked hesitantly.
Immediately the slave felt the collar shock him. He looked at the sheriff, who said nothing. Clearly, the sheriff expected him to figure it out.
Another shock, this one longer, came before the slave rushed to his feet, went to the bars of the cell, and grabbed the mat on the floor. He dropped it on the floor in front of the sheriff and fell to his knees. He breathed heavily, although the impulse from the collar had stopped. He hesitated a moment, and another pulse replaced it.
He bent over and began to lick the sheriff’s boots. No shock. He made sure his tongue covered a large surface of each boot. He bent back up and looked up at the sheriff.
The sheriff was smiling, but the slave a noticed a motion in the hand that the sheriff had in his pocket. The electricity began again. He looked at the sheriff for clues, directions, anything but found nothing. The pain from the collar increased and the slave desperately plunged his face into the sheriff’s crotch and furtively began to massage the cock beneath with his mouth. The pain stopped, and the slave gratefully pressed the side of his face against the sheriff thigh and continued to take the cloth of his jeans in his mouth.
The sheriff took his hand out of his pocked and gently pushed the slave’s head away. He unzipped his pants and took out his cock.
The slave looked up at the sheriff. The slave’s eyes moved from the cock and the sheriff’s face, communicating his uncertainty. The sheriff nodded and the slave took the cock in its mouth. It repeated its performance from earlier, noting the difference in the taste of the cock. Its mind touched briefly on the fact that the cock had been up its ass and the sheriff had shot his load. It wasn’t sure if it redoubled his efforts to help get rid of this image, or if the image spurred it on.
The sheriff clearly enjoyed the service he was receiving, but after a few minutes, gently stopped the slave and stepped back. He adjusted his pants and looked at his phone again.
“See you shortly, boy.”
The sheriff turned and walked out of the cell. He closed the door and pressed something in his pocket—a fob? his phone? The slave wasn’t certain. The sheriff mounted the stairs, hit a switch that left only the corner light burning, and unlocked and relocked the heavy door as he exited.
The slave stood up slowly. He pushed the door to the cell half-heartedly, unsurprised to find it locked. He turned around and went and sat on the bunk. He allowed his thoughts to settle a bit and then stood up again.
He picked up the book that the sheriff had left. Carried Away by David Stein. He smiled. He’d read it twice. It wouldn’t do him much good here, though, with his cock locked up.
He furrowed his brow and unzipped the jumpsuit and pulled out his cock. The chastity device was a Cobra, identical to the one he had at home. He checked and determined that was truly identical: the size of each piece matched the pieces he’d found that worked best on his anatomy.
How had the sheriff known his size?
His thoughts turned to the jumpsuit. It fit perfectly, too. It also matched one he had worn in a prison transport scene about a year ago.
Again, how did the sheriff know his size?
The slave sighed and pushed his junk back into the jumpsuit and zipped it up. He grabbed his junk in frustration and shook his head. He fingered the collar and the locked wrist restraints.
Simultaneously erotic, scary, and frustrating.
The slave lied down on the bunk, closed his eyes, and tried to think of anything except his predicament and the gear locked on his body.
He was startled by the opening and shutting of the door. Recalling his recent experience, he hustled to the mat and knelt, head down. When he saw boots near the bars of the cell, he bent down and licked them as best he could. He then moved his head to the sheriff’s crotch and tried to reach it though the bars.
“Good boy. Look at me.”
The slave looked up and saw the sheriff holding a dog bowl in one hand and a plastic bag in the other.
“This is your lunch. I doubt you will find it to your taste. Just remember there are rewards for good behavior. That can include the quality of food.”
The sheriff motioned for the slave to stand. After placing the bowl on the floor, setting the bag down, and making a motion in his pocket, the door made a slight sound and the sheriff opened it. He motioned the slave out.
The slave knelt in front of the bowl. The sheriff stepped aside and returned with a chain, locked one end to the slave’s collar and the other to a bar of the cell. Then he stood beside the bowl.
The slave started to bend to eat when a searing pain ripped through his neck. He looked up at the sheriff. Silence.
“Sir, may I eat?”
Another jolt of pain, although not as severe as the first.
The slave thought, and then knelt again on all fours and began licking the sheriff’s boot. After a short time, he felt a boot toe under his chin, nudging him up. He got on his knees and plunged his face into the sheriff’s crotch. The sheriff obligingly unzipped his pants and produced his cock. The slave went to work eagerly. He was hungry–perhaps in more ways than one.
The sheriff waited while the slave serviced him. He waited to be certain that this was not a superficial act to pacify him. Then he stepped back and said, “You may eat.”
The sheriff picked up the bag and walked into the cell. The slave heard some activity behind him as he plunged his face into the bowl to eat. He found the bowl contained oatmeal—cold oatmeal—with fruit and nuts added. He ate it, slowing down a bit as it became more and more difficult to get bites from the bowl. He considered using his fingers to scoop out oatmeal, but when he brought a hand towards the bowl, the collar jolted hm once more. Sighing, he resigned himself to getting as much of the food out of the bowl as he could. He suspected leaving any behind would be frowned upon. When he’d finished, he sat up on his knees.
The sheriff was there with a wet towel to clean his face. The slave looked up with appreciation as the sheriff finished wiping the bits of oatmeal off his face.
“Let me show you your new water fountain. Stand up.”
The slave stood up and walked into the cell, still tethered by the length of chain. The sheriff, with a smile, showed it a fixture mounted on one of the cell bars, opposite the toilet. It was a large bottle used to feed animals, one that was inverted and had a tube with a ball at the end.
The animal would use his tongue to push back the ball and water would flow.
But this one was different: The tube entered a six-inch dildo. The dildo had an unusual opening at the tip of the penis.
“Try it. Push with your tongue and suck.”
The slave approached the contraption cautiously and put his mouth over the head of the penis. Sure enough, the only way he could get water was to close his mouth around the head of the penis, stick his tongue into the slit to push back a bearing or something similar, and suck. Water flowed out as bubbles of air rose through the bottle, displacing the water.
The sheriff smiled and said, “Perfect.”
The slave moved away from the “water fountain,” humiliated. Taking a penis in his mouth before he can eat? To get a drink of water? Really?
He turned to the grinning sheriff, who had another pile of items in his hands, extended to the slave.
“Here. This will keep you occupied for the rest of the day.”
The sheriff leaned over, unlocked the chain attached to the slave’s collar, and turned to leave.
Puzzled, the slave looked at the items in his hands. Cross-trainers sat atop a clipboard, and under the clipboard were a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. The slave read the sheet on the clipboard and groaned: a workout. A program of exercises and weight training, described in detailed, was printed on the sheet. A pencil was thoughtfully provided for him to check off each exercise or routine and to write comments.
After hearing the door at the top of the stairs slam shut, the slave dropped the pile on the chair and went and laid on the bunk. He’d had enough of being a slave for the day. His captor could go—
The collar started up. It was at the lowest level but was clearly ramping up.
The slave jumped to his feet, got out of the jumpsuit, and put on the gym clothes and shoes. He grabbed the clipboard and headed out of the cell and towards the exercise equipment. As he did, the collar died down.
The slave began the long series of tasks before him. if he stopped for too long, the collar kicked in, prodding him on. There appeared to be no penalty for stopping to get water from the abominable water fountain, but that was the only interruption he was allowed. He became hot and sweaty from the workout, and his limbs swelled. The wrist restraints became tight, and he tried to move them down his arms a bit to relieve the tightness. The restraints were unforgiving, though, and the slave felt a warmth in his crotch as he realized this.
The slave was exhausted as he got to the end of the regime. The final instructions were brief: shower, clean out, plug, jock, boots.
Sighing again, the slave approached the shower. Sure enough, a towel, a black jockstrap, a pair of boots and clean socks, and a butt plug were on the floor by the shower. The slave put down the clipboard, stripped, turned the faucets, and stepped into the spray of hot water. The water, soap and shampoo provided welcome relief from his sweat and fatigue. However, the collar, restraints, and chastity cage were reminders that this freedom was illusory. He couldn’t get to critical areas with the soap and somehow felt less than clean when he finished.
He toweled off and put on the jockstrap, socks and boots. He couldn’t lace the boots up completely, though, as they overlapped the ankle restraints.
He then considered the plug. It disturbed him. It wasn’t huge, but its design–a large plug with a long, narrow neck between the plug and handle–indicated that it was for long-term wear. How long would he have to have this inside him? Shaking his head, he lubed it up and worked it into his hole. With minimal effort, it slid in and nested itself in his ass.
It did feel good.
The slave stood in front of the mirror tucked in one corner of the exercise area. His head shorn, a wide, heavy collar on his neck, and locked restraints around his wrists and ankles. His genitals locked in a cage and hidden within the jockstrap. A plug in his ass. Trapped in a basement at the mercy of a law enforcement officer who exacted sexual service and obedience. The slave rubbed his crotch and felt his cock try to expand.
He had to ask himself the question:
“Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”
The slave shook his head and returned to his cell. He waited anxiously, but there was no jolt from the collar. He laid on his bunk and closed his eyes. Tired as he was, his brain would not let him rest. He sat up, grabbed the book, and started to read about Matt’s descent into servitude.
The slave was startled when he heard the door slammed once again. He put the book down and quickly moved to kneel on the mat. His eyes down, he heard the sheriff enter the cell. A pair of highly shined black boots came into view.
Without hesitation, the slave bent down to the boots. He grasped one with both hands and buried his tongue in the smooth leather, providing enough pressure that the wearer would know that a tongue was on his boots. He licked the available boot until a slight movement of the foot indicated he should move to the other boot. He did so quickly and eagerly.
His resistance to this man was ebbing and his pleasure in being His slave was taking control. So soon?
The slave pushed these thoughts form his mind and clung more tightly to the boot and pushed harder with its tongue. The sigh of pleasure from the sheriff urged it on, moving up the shaft of the boot and licking the sides and then squirming to lick the back of the boot.
The slave sat back on his heels. He sighed as he felt a hand rub his head and then stroke his face. He looked up. The slave looked up to the see the sheriff in full uniform. A black, basketweave duty belt around his waist. A campaign hat on his head. A large Casio G-shock on the wrist that brought fingers to his mouth.
The slave sucked fervently as he looked at the Man. The two pairs of handcuffs, each in its case, hung from the duty belt. The G-shock—he recognized it as a Mudmaster model he had at home—on the wrist near his face. The tie and whistle chain. The look of ownership on the Man’s face.
The slave felt a stirring in its groin unlike it had ever felt.
“I’m leaving for patrol shortly. Time to get some use from you.”
He tossed the slave a circular object. The slave caught it and recognized it as the key to his restraints and collar.
“Take off the ankle restraints, tie up your boots, and replace the restraints.”
The slave did so and returned the key.
“Get in the sling.”
The slave positioned himself as ordered. He put up his wrists and ankles so the sheriff could clip the restraints to the chains. The sheriff did so with a smile, recognizing the slave’s eagerness to please.
The sheriff put on a pair of rubber gloves and began playing with the plug in the slave’s ass. He toyed with it, bringing it part way out and reinserting it. Pressing in on it. Rotating it.
The slave broke the silence with cries and moans. A litany of “Thank you, Sir,” “Please, Sir,” and “Yes, Sir!” poured from the slave as he pulled on the restraints. The sheriff noticed with pleasure the involuntary movement of the untouched chastity device.
“Ask for it, slave.”
The slave, breathing hard, looked at the sheriff and whimpered.
“I said, ask for it.”
“Please, sir. Please pull out the plug! Use my hole! Fuck me, sir! Please!”
The slave repeated its plea at the top of its lungs. The sheriff smiled and his cock hardened.
“What are you?”
“I’m your slave, sir. Your toy.”
The slave paused.
“Your pet,” he said softly.
The sheriff smile yet again, and pulled the plug out in one motion. The slave jerked, but uttered no complaint. The sheriff put on a condom, lubed the hole and his cock, and plunged in. The same merciless use of the slave’s hole, but this time the slave was desperate for the ride. The chastity device became slimy from leaking pre-cum. The sight of a desperate slave begging for a cock in its ass spurred the sheriff on. More quickly than before, the sheriff shot his load with a loud groan.
After a moment, the sheriff pulled out. He picked up the plug and reinserted it. From somewhere he pulled a harness, and in short order the plug was locked in place. The sheriff patted it and moved to the slave’s face, as before, kissed him gently. The slave was an eager recipient and held the kiss as long as it could until its restraints pulled it back into the sling as the sheriff backed away and the slave tried to follow.
“Thank you, sir.”
That earned the slave another smile from its master.
The sheriff released the slave from the sling, guided him back to his cell, and shut the door. The slave heard the lock engage as he fell onto the bunk, exhausted.
“Sleep well, boy. Be ready to greet me at 6:00 a.m.”
The slave woke up abruptly. He noticed that (a) he was cold and (b) his cock was painfully swollen inside the chastity device. He moved slightly to get up and groaned as he realized he still had a plug locked in his hole. The realization made his cock throb more.
He sat up, shivering, and noticed that the sheriff had removed the ankle restraints when freeing him from the sling. He unlaced the boots and then put on the orange jumpsuit. He unfolded the blanket he’d been lying on and spread it over himself and laid back down to sleep.
His eyes popped open as he recalled the sheriffs last words.
“Be ready to greet me at 6 a.m.”
He looked at his left wrist, but quickly remembered that he didn’t wear a watch any more, only tight rubber restraints on his wrists. He glanced around for a clock, not recalling having seen one, and confirmed that there was none visible.
He touched the collar on his neck, uselessly tugging on it in hopes that it would come off and not serve as an alarm clock.
But it did.
The slave jerked awake and grabbed the collar that was inflicting pain yet again. He turned and saw the sheriff, now in casual clothes, waiting for him at the door of the cell. The slave quickly crawled on all fours to the sheriff’s feet and began the ritual of servicing his boots and cock. The pain from the collar stopped and the slave used his tongue more assertively to show his appreciation.
As it took took the sheriff’s cock in its mouth, it looked up at the Man. The sheriff’s hand caressed his cheek, and the slave caught a glimpse of. a large, stainless steel diver’s watch on the sheriff’s wrist. The slave’s brow furrowed for a moment but it quickly returned to the job at hand.
The day was a repeat of the one before. The sheriff fed him, left him clean gym clothes and a list of a program of exercise, one that addressed different muscle groups than that of the previous day. Fortunately, the sheriff released him from the butt plug harness and instructed him to clean the plug and his hole before starting his program.
The sheriff returned in the afternoon and once again used the slave in the sling. Again in uniform, the sheriff wore a different watch: a massive grey-faced diver on a steel bracelet. The slave looked at it several times while he was helpless in the sling. Most of his attention, however, was focused on the pleasure on the sheriff’s face and his own pleasure, indicated by the dripping of his own cock in its cage.
As he dressed for bed, the slave was troubled. Not by his restraints, not by his captivity, not by his inaccessible cock, but by what he’d seen.
The slave picked up the boots he’d just taken off. They’d fit perfectly. He looked at them more closely, and realized they were Carolina boots.
His boots. Ones he’d worn hundreds of times.
He sat back with the boot in his hand and thought. The Casio Mudmaster that the sheriff had worn: he had one like that back home. The Seiko diver watch: he had one like that, and on the identical after-market bracelet. And just now: the Android dive watch on the sheriff’s wrist.
The sheriff had been wearing the slave’s watches.
The slave looked down at the boot in his hands.
The sheriff, watching the video feed from the basement, smiled once more.
The next morning, the slave woke up at some unknown time, but he somehow felt it was the right time. He stripped out of his jumpsuit and got in position on his knees. He waited a short period, maybe ten minutes, and the door to the basement opened. He heard the lock on the cell release, and he knelt with his hands behind his back and his eyes down.
He heard the sheriff set the bowl of breakfast on the floor and walked into the cell. The boy noticed a change in the boots the sheriff was wearing. He glanced up and was flabbergasted.
The sheriff was in knee-high, laced Wesco boots. He wore a leather jockstrap, a leather harness framing his hairy chest, and a Muir cap. On his left wrist, he wore a Seiko on a three-inch-wide leather watchband and a leather wristband on his other wrist.
He was a dream. A fantasy become flesh.
The slave looked at him, speechless. His hand wandered to his aching cock.
The sheriff must have had the remote in one hand or the other, as the collar began to send pain through his neck. The slave dropped down and worshipped the Wescos. The slave lost itself, trying to cover every inch of leather with its tongue.
The sheriff chuckled and said, “Get up, boy.”
The slave stood and the sheriff led him out of the cell. He stood him in front of St. Andrew’s cross, attached restraints to the slave’s ankles, and then restrained the slave, face forward, arms extended upward and legs spread apart. Keys appeared from somewhere and the sheriff unlocked and removed the chastity device. He placed it aside and grabbed a penis gag, inserted it in the slave’s open mouth, and buckled it tightly.
“We need to talk, slaveboy. Well, I need to talk and you need to listen.”
The sheriff pulled up a chair, sat down and relaxed. He looked at the control to the slave’s shock collar, seemingly contemplating if its use would be necessary.
“You may think your abduction was an accident, as misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or someone tipped off your abductors to your interests in kink and slavery and they viewed you as a ripe target. You may think you ended here with me by chance.”
The sheriff stood up, walked to the slave, and began to play with the slave’s nipples. The effect on the slave’s cock was immediate.
“That is not the case. I have been observing you for over a. year. You’ve talked to me and to my friends online. Extensively. You shared your experiences and your fantasies. I compiled the information. I checked with those you’ve played with to confirm what I learned.”
The sheriff grabbed the slave’s cock, stroked it gently, and bent over to take a nipple gently in his teeth. After a moment, he stepped back a bit, still stroking the slave’s cock.
“I know what makes you tick. I know what you want. And I will use that to get what I want.”
The sheriff continued to stroke the slave’s cock, enjoying the whimpering sounds issues from the gagged mouth.
“The group that abducted you works hard to cater to its clients wishes. They not only delivered you to me, they provided me with essentially all I wanted from your home. I have your watch collection and your gear collection. Eventually, you will sign over financial control of your assets and then we will make you disappear. Just like in those stories you read over and over.”
The sheriff increased the pressure on the slave’s cock and the speed of his strokes.
“You will never be without a collar. You may never wear a watch again, but will always see one of yours on my wrist. You will, however, wear wrist restraints most of the time.”
The sheriff slowed down his stimulation of the slave’s cock, and his own cock twitched as the slave whimpered and mewed.
“Your exercise and diet will get you to a healthier weight and make you a good slave specimen. We will each get tested and, in time, I will bareback you when I use your hole. You will always be in chastity, except for cleaning and for when I choose to milk you. You will only come by my hand or with my cock in you.”
The slave looked at the sheriff with pleading eyes, leaning into each slow stroke of the sheriff’s hand along his cock. Muffled words came from the gag. The sheriff interpreted these as a supplication for release and, more importantly, the slave’s consent to his new life.
It’s new life, he corrected himself.
The sheriff stopped stroking and looked at the hard, quivering cock extending from the slave’s groin. He reached up to remove the gag.
“Bear in mind you may only speak when spoken to, or when given permission.”
The slave breathed hard, panting, after the gag was removed and looked at the sheriff.
The sheriff smiled and started stroking the slave’s cock once more. He then posed a series of questions:
“Do you understand your situation, slave?”
“What are you?”
“What is your purpose?”
With each answer, the stroking intensified.
“Yes, Master. I’m your slave, Master. Your slave’s purpose is to please you.”
The sheriff (indeed, Master) quickly grabbed a bottle of lube, warmed a quantity in his hand, and then stroked the slave to climax.
The slave screamed effusive thanks and then collapsed, exhausted and breathless.
The Master turned, cleaned his hands, and regarded his slave. He approached the bound slave, took its chin in his hand, and kissed it gently, then roughly as the slave responded to its master’s display of affection.
The Master broke off the kiss, turned, and left the basement. The slave would take care of its Maser’s erection later. For now, the slave needed time bound and helpless and to recognize its new status.
Metal would like to thank Practicerestraint for this story!
You can find the author on Recon under his screen name, Manacled