Leonard

Held to Please

An improvised story draft by Leonard. This is posted just for fun without much editing, so let's be honest: it's pure masturbation fodder. It has been described as 100% porn, and that's about what it is.

Chapter 1
Arrival

With a thunk, I opened the trunk of my car. The boy twitched at the sudden sound. He was blindfolded, tightly gagged, and tied hand and foot. He must've realized that we'd stopped moving a minute ago, and a moment after I opened the trunk he rolled to the back of it, trying to get as far from me as possible.

Not that he really knew who I was. He'd never actually seen me, nor had anyone else. He'd just felt my hands on his face as he started to lose consciousness, and then awoken in the dark car. I saw a stain of urine in the trunk – I'd have to clean that up later.

I reached forward, grabbing the little boy by the arm and dragging him across the rough fabric of the trunk back towards me. My hand sunk easily into his body, still wearing his thick winter coat and sweatshirt and sweatpants. Although he cried a muffled sound through his gag and pulled away at my touch, he had no leverage. In a moment, the little child was right at the front of the trunk and ready to be picked up.

Cold air bit into my hands as I reached under the kid, one hand firmly under his knees, the other under his shoulders, and lifted him up. He struggled and I shifted myself, wrapping my arms around him, holding the tender bundle tight. With no free hands or legs or feet, he could only wiggle, and it wasn't enough to get out. Not that it would've done him any good to just fall to the ground and roll around, but I suppose instincts are instincts.

Despite the struggling bundle of boy, I managed to hold out an elbow and use it to close the trunk. Then I crunched through the fresh snow into the cabin. The cabin I had prepared for this moment. The boy, of course, couldn't see anything. He could only feel my iron grip and the pace of my stride. He could feel the cold air. He could hear the sound of my footsteps against the snow.

A moment later, we were inside. Once inside, I let the boy fall to the ground, hearing him exhale sharply through his gag. He tried to speak then, but I couldn't make out the words. I stretched my arms, sore from carrying the roughly 55 pounds [25 kg] of boy.

He rolled around on the ground, but a moment later I placed my boot on his chest, forcing his back flat against the floor. He tried to roll against it but I pressed down and he grunted. The boy was held firm.

After my arms had rested, I reached down and grabbed under the boy's armpits, dragging him to a corner where I had the chair. He'd be spending a lot of time in this chair. It was a strong wooden chair, no armrests, with its feet bolted into the ground so that it couldn't move or fall down. Reaching under his armpits I lifted him up until he was seated, and he almost seemed to find it a relief. Better than being on the floor, he thought.

With the boy seated, I untied his hands. Still blind, still gagged, he tried to pull them away, but I easily grabbed his wrists and held them in place. With a tug, I forced his arms to bend awkwardly around the back of the chair. Even though the chair was especially narrow to hold a boy, I knew how much it would hurt. I pulled him tight, forcing him backwards and pushing his chest outwards, until I had his wrists together behind the chair. A moment later, he started to struggle when he felt the touch of fresh rope against his wrists, but it was too late; they were firmly tied behind the back of the chair.

Another loop of rope and his tied wrists were attached firmly to a hook on the back of the chair. Then, working quickly, his elbows too were tied firmly. I saw his fingers flex into a fist as he tried to pull against the bonds and failed, muscles going limp after the attempt.

The boy was rocking his head back and forth as if that might free him, or as if he might say something. Perhaps it felt like all he could move. No matter. I went back to the front of the chair and knelt on the ground, looping rope around one ankle and then the leg of the chair. With one foot tied, I cut the bonds around his ankles, grabbed the other foot, and forced it against the other leg of the chair, tying that ankle as well.

"Bmmppppph!" came his muffled cry. "Nuuuuumph! UMPHHHHHHH!" Pull as he might, though, he was firmly looped in.

With the basics done, I stood up, walking over to the fireplace. It was chilly, and I liked the feel of a natural fire. With the boy firmly restrained, I set in some kindling and a couple of fresh logs and started to light it. With a bit of attention, I soon had a nice blaze warming the room.

The boy, whatever his name was, had started to sweat underneath his warm coat. I'd caught him while he was skiing on a larger group trip. When they realized he was gone, they'd search the mountain. By the time they realized he wasn't still on it, we were safely on our way.

I stepped up to him and ran a finger along his sweaty little cheek. It was soft and hot underneath my touch. He flinched away, but I continued to stroke it, my finger running up just to the edge of the gag's strap. He still couldn't see me, he still couldn't talk, but he could feel my hungry finger. His cheek suddenly got even more wet as a tear started to roll down it.

Well, I didn't want my boy to be too wet. I walked off for a moment from the unseeing child and returned with a pair of scissors. "You won't be needing these again, ever," I said, as I started to cut along the fabric of his pants, revealing the boy beneath them.

Slowly, I started to get all his clothing off. His shoes were easy to remove. His socks and pants I cut off. His coat was too thick to cut, of course; I'd done it all in the wrong order, and I untied his wrists and elbows briefly to get it off, and his sweatshirt and shirt too, before retying him. It was important to me that he was free as little as possible.

I wanted a nice little boy-package to play with.

Finally, the boy was naked except for his underwear, still yellow where he'd stained it. Gently, I cut around it, not wanting to prick his skin. With snips along the sides and the base of the crotch, I removed the front of his underwear easily. Then I reached a hand up against his butt, pushing him up off the chair just slightly, and whisked away the very last of his clothing. The boy was naked now, but for the gag and blindfold. He'd still seen nothing of his surroundings, and I decided to keep that true for as long as possible.

Still, I wanted a bit of information. I reached up behind his head, undoing the gag and taking it off, at least for now. As soon as it came off, he yowled with a passion, his voice echoing throughout the small, secluded cabin.

"Shut up, slut!" I shouted, pulling back my hand and slapping him hard across the face. It was such a hard hit that a little fleck of snot arced off through the air, landing on a table a few feet away. I made a note to wipe it down later.

"Mmmmmuuuuh," he moaned, quieter now.

I grabbed his cheeks, holding them tight with my thumb and forefinger, causing his lips to open in a little O. "Now," I said, "what's your name, slut?" I wondered if he knew the word. I liked the sound of it on him.

"P-please," he said, "let me go, mister, please…"

Of course, the boy couldn't see, so his only warning of another slap was that my hand pulled off from his cheeks a moment before. "Yaaaah!" he cried at the impact.

"Name, slut!" I demanded.

"E-E-Eric," he mumbled. "Please…"

SLAP! The unexpected strike hit his tender red cheek once more.

"Listen, Eric. You're mine now, little slut. From now on you can't even move any part of your body unless I allow it, and you certainly don't talk unless you're asked a question. Talk out of turn, I hurt you. Nod if you understand."

A moment of silence. Then, he nodded.

"Good," I said. "How old are you, boy?"

"Eight, sir," he said, the 'sir' his own addition.

"Sounds about right," I answered. The boy had a sleek, slender, slightly athletic body. He had a flat chest and tummy, just the slightest curves accenting his tender skin. His thighs and calves were white as milk, smooth and soft. He had jet black hair, with dark, pronounced eyebrows and big eyelashes that made him look even more innocent than he already was. I smiled down at him, not that he could see the smile.

A moment later, I reached around the back of his head and attached a strap, this one connected to a ring gag. Bringing it to the front of his face, I started forcing it behind his teeth and pressing it into place. "No, stop!" he cried out, words slurred by the gag now occupying his mouth.

I reached back and sent another vicious slap against his already hurting cheek. "What did I tell you about talking? STAY QUIET!" I finished pushing in the gag, his mouth painfully stretched open, ready to receive me at any time. Not yet, though. Soon, but not yet.

For now, I had plenty more rope to use on my blind, confused boy. He was sobbing openly now, his whole body trembling in abject terror as I looped rope around his chest, forcing him back tightly against the chair, watching the rope press into his soft skin and down along his nipples. I looped rope around his right knee, pulling it to the side and tying it to the side of the chair, and then around his left knee, pulling it to the other side, leaving his crotch wonderfully exposed. And then, finally, I looped some rope around the base of his little ballsack, just a few loops around and then I pulled it tight, pulling out his cock and balls ever-so-slightly from the rest of his body, drawing them forward and accenting them. He yelped as I pulled, but I drew the rope forward until it reached a loop between his legs, forcing his tiny little ballsack to stick out, a little bundle of flesh pulled awkwardly out in front of him. Now I looped rope around his waist, tying it around the back of the chair, forcing him backwards; his balls were pulled forward by the string while his pelvis was forced backwards by the rope.

I stepped back to admire the immobilized child. He could see his muscles tensing to try to move, but he had nowhere to go. His skin was drenched in sweat; drops flowed down his smooth, glistening skin.

"Now, my little slut," I told the groaning boy, "now you're mine." He tensed as I ran a finger along his chest. I brought it up to my lips, tasting the salty fresh boy-sweat. "You're mine to do with as I please." I reached down and started to feel along his nipples, holding one between thumb and forefinger. "As I please." Squeezing, I twisted sharply. "Yaaaaaah!" he shouted.

I held his nipple for a few moments. Though he tried to twist his body, there was nothing he could move except his head, his toes, maybe his fingers. He just had to sit there, sweaty, naked, and blindfolded, while I held onto his sensitive body and hurt it.

Finally I was done. When I released him, his head drooped forward, listless. "Hease," gasped the boy through the ring gag, "o wore."

"No, my little boy," I replied. "As much more as I want." I strode over to the other side of the room where I picked up a nice little riding crop. I could see him relax as he heard my footsteps walking away from him, and tense when I walked back. For a moment, I stood there quietly, letting him anticipate what might happen next. Then, with a sudden CRACK, I brought the crop down on those perfect little thighs.

"Aaaaaaaaah!" he yelled. He twisted back and forth in his seat, but still he could only move his head. The chair, firmly bolted into the ground, didn't give a millimeter. I saw his toes flare out at the hit, leg muscles tensing but unable to kick forward through the binds.

"You don't talk, slut," I said. His legs were so nicely spread, I aimed another swat at his other thigh, this time aiming for the exposed, tender inside. He yowled again, straining futilely against the rope that held him.

"Not unless I ask you a question," I continued. I aimed a swat at his chest this time, landing it on his right nipple, the one I'd left alone before. His head shook back and forth in wild, confused pain.

The next hit landed on his belly. Then another on his chest, the left nipple. Then two more again on that soft belly. "Do you understand?" I asked him, when I'd finished.

He was a sobbing mess, crying, trails of snot flowing down his lips and chin. He was wailing in pain and confusion, and his whole body was trembling. Finally, he tried to speak through his gag. "Ehhhc."

"Yes, what?" I asked.

"Ehhhc, ir."

"Good slave," I said. I swatted him one more time, this shot on his upper arm, then put the crop down.

I wanted so much to shove my cock into that waiting mouth now, but I knew I'd cum in just a few seconds the way I was feeling. I forced myself to step back. To leave Eric tied up for a while as I tidied up. Put the riding crop back in its place. Pick up all the scraps of cut-up clothing, and his intact coat, and put them in a bag stuffed into the closet. (Why was I keeping them? Maybe I should throw them out.) Go upstairs, get a nice glass of cool water.

I don't know what was going through Eric's mind. He couldn't move or do anything. If he talked, he'd be punished. He just sat there, covered in all his fluids, waiting for whatever happened to him next. A helpless little boy who still didn't know where he was, or what I looked like, or really anything other than the pain I had inflicted on him.

After maybe half an hour of sitting blind like that, he heard my footsteps approaching him again. He was shivering, and I wasn't sure if that was the cold sweat or renewed fear at my approach. Certainly, the fire left him warm enough where he was sitting.

I stepped up to the child, straddling him, spreading my legs. Drawing my feet out like that, my cock was at the perfect height for what came next. Not that he had any idea what that was.

"Use your tongue," I instructed the bound and clueless boy. "I'm going to have fun with you either way. So use it, or I hurt you." Just saying those words got me a little bit more excited, and so I started to slide my eager cock into the boy's giant ring gag.

"Mmmmph!" cried the child, voice muffled by his gag and my cock. I felt the warm, wet fluids of the child's mouth start to surround my cock. His thick saliva coated it, oozing down the giant dick. I started to shove in and out a little bit, letting it slide through his tight little mouth.

"Duuuuuuugh," came his moan, as the now fully-erect cock slid in and out of him, pushing its way through the giant ring gag.

"Tongue, little slut," I called. "Use your tongue!"

"Gmph… gmph… gmph…" came his grunts with each shove of mine, each time I pushed my cock deeper in his mouth. I felt the gentlest lick of his tongue, just a tiny bit grazing against my cock.

"LICK IT!" I shouted. "LICK IT FOR REAL!" In, I slid, and out, in, and out, cock covered in the boy's saliva now starting to mix with my own precum.

The cock slid in and out of the little mouth, each time pushing a little deeper. I still hadn't punched in deep, to give the little slut a chance to use his tongue. Finally, I felt a more substantial lick, his soft, slightly sticky tongue running across the base of my cock.

"More, you little slut! Lick harder! Suck and give your master the pleasure he demands!"

He licked the cock again.

"More!" I called. "Lick! Press against it! Lick!"

"Nnnnn… nuuuuh… nnnn…" came the boy's moaning wail, but he licked, tongue running across my cock firmly.

"Now suck, little slut. Suck hard. Suck like a lollipop. Suck!"

I felt the boy's muscles start to pull on my cock as the slick rod slid in and out of him, in and out. His tongue pressed against the base of my cock, and I felt him suck, pulling on it.

Despite his sucking I pulled out slightly, and then, with the force of his sucking, I rammed my pelvis forward, pushing it deeper against the boy's face. The giant cock slid to the back of his throat, ripping through his gag reflex even as he started to try to cough through the dick. I felt the tip push into his tight throat and then slide in deeper, snug in that little hole, worming its way further and further into the boy.

He couldn't breath, so for a moment his wails quieted; instead, my cock was just embedded into the child's small throat, crammed into the too-tight space. I slid backwards a little bit and felt it slide against the pressure of the walls of his throat, the too-tight space pressing against it as it slid out, then again as it slid in. Finally, having stimulated myself in the tight hole, I pulled out until my tip was in his mouth again so that Eric could draw breath. He coughed desperately through my cock, and I was glad for the ring gag.

"Keep sucking and licking, little slut," I told him. "Do it or you know what happens."

As the coughing started to die down, I felt his tongue start to lap against my overstimulated cock. "Suck, too," I ordered, and he started to suck as best as he could. He still let out an occasional cough through my cock.

For a little while we stayed like that. I rocked my pelvis back and forth, sliding my cock further in and out of his mouth, feeling his warm tongue caress it and slide against it, feeling his efforts to suck. Just in and out, in and out, in and out.

Finally, I could feel myself getting close. His mouth was so soft, so warm; his tongue so tender as it ran along the tip of my cock; his efforts to suck so young and boyish in a strangely attractive way. I wouldn't hold it much longer.

I reached behind the boy and grabbed his hair. It was soaked with sweat and I felt the boy-fluid slick against my hands. My fingers tightened against the back of his head and pulled him in while I shoved forward with my pelvis, forcing my cock again into his throat in one massive push. I could feel the tip and then more and more of my cock get squeezed by that tight little tube, squeezed by the boy's warm, wet muscles, squeezed as I shoved in until my public hair was right in the boy's nose and my balls slapped against his little chin.

"Fuck yeah!" I shouted. "Serve your master, slut!" I held myself there for a moment, cock embedded down his throat, and then started to pull back and forth inside him, wet cock sliding in his throat, squeezing out and then squeezing back into the boy's throat. I felt myself start to pulse and I pulled it back, desperate to hold on to one more moment of bliss. Again I pulled back a little bit, feeling the press of his throat loosen on part of my cock, then I pushed in, feeling it tighten again. Once more out, once more in. His nose was pressed against my crotch as I forced my way as deep as I could. My grip tightened on the back of his head as I held him all the way in, cock pushed to the hilt, the long rod implanted in the little child.

There was only one thing left. This time, the pulse of energy I felt wasn't something I could put down. I felt warmth flow within my cock once, twice, and then it spilled out, cum pouring out into Eric's throat.

Again and again the cock pulsed, throbbing inside the child, load after load of cum oozing out of it, coating his throat, disappearing into his waiting body. Eric twitched each time my cock pulsed within him, expanding in that already too-tight throat, but I held his head firm and spewed more cum deep into the child. Wave after wave of cum passed through me, cum from hours of waiting for my moment to use my new boy, cum pouring into the throat of the child. Again and again the cock twitched in the boy. I finally felt the stream lessen, until it was a slow ooze, and then I was done. I let out a glorious gasp of pleasure and I finally pulled out.

The blindfolded, ring-gagged boy gasped for air as soon as I pulled out. Once he had a breath in him, he started to wail and cry. "Auuuuuuugh," he cried, sobs racking his tiny little chest as his shoulders heaved with each breath.

"How does it feel," I asked the eight-year-old, "to be so thoroughly used for my pleasure?"

The boy didn't answer. He just kept sobbing, head hunched over, as his blindfold got more and more wet with his tears. I stood there, watching his beautiful body tremble with each breath.

Finally, the boy spoke. "Waa waa aat?" he asked.

I walked up to the blindfolded child, and he winced as my fingers touched his cheeks. "I don't know what you said, little slut," I said, "and I should probably punish you for speaking." I ran my finger back and forth along the cheek as I tried to parse his exclamation. "Did you ask what that was?" I asked tenderly. "That was my cock, little boy. You're going to be very good friends with it."

"Heah, het hee go."

"No more talking," I said to him. "Are you thirsty? Nod yes or no."

He held his head steady for a moment, then nodded.

"Hungry too?"

He nodded again.

"All right, my little slut," I said. "Let's feed you." I walked out of the room, leaving the helpless, blind boy alone. When I came back, he heard my footsteps coming in and turned his head towards me, even though he couldn't see. The boy was terrified in a way that seemed to encompass his whole body. I saw his muscles tense when I entered, and he flinched as I got close. He was whimpering with every breath he took, a quiet sound, low and fearful.

"There's no need to be scared, little slut," I told the shivering boy. "You're mine now." I laid my hand on his forehead. It was hot and sweaty, but also soft as only a boy's skin can be. His whining increased as he felt my firm grip on his face. "All mine."

He gasped as I shoved his head back so that he was facing the ceiling. "Now," I said, "don't startle. Just drink." With one hand holding his head firm and steady, I brought up a water glass to his mouth and, aiming carefully, slowly poured a stream of water through the ring gag.

Eric hadn't listened, of course. "Guh," he started to grunt as the water landed in his mouth; he even started coughing and gagging on it. He tried to jerk away, and I had to grip him hard, pressure increasing on his temples to hold his head in place. His tongue sloshed around in the accumulating water in his mouth. Finally he seemed to settle and realize that it was just nice, cool water. He started to manage to swallow it down, bit-by-bit, still occasionally choking a little but mostly managing. The water level in his mouth started to decrease.

"See?" I said. "Master takes care of you, boy. I had to face you up or the water would just have spilled out of your mouth through your ring gag."

He'd finished his first mouthful of water, and again he tried to talk. "Hake it awwww!"

"Eric," I said, "I will only tell you this once more. If you talk again without permission, I will punish you. If I ask you a yes-or-no question, you may nod. Do you understand me?"

A pause. Then he nodded.

"Was what you said 'take it off?'"

He nodded enthusiastically.

"Then that is your second lesson. You are never allowed to tell me what to do with your body." I set the glass of water down. "It's mine now." With my now-free hand, I reached down to his little hanging cock and balls, tied as they were to the front of the chair. He grunted as he felt my hand around his privates. "All mine." I started to fondle him, rolling his balls between my fingers, enjoying the feel of the tiny organs. "I can do with it whatever I want." Suddenly, I squeezed and pain shot through his immobilized body; his muscles all tensed, his feet twisted in an attempt to protect himself, and he tried to jerk his head but I held it firm.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" he shouted.

I released his balls and the boy started to quiet, now down to just a persistent whimpering and gasping for breath. "Do you understand, slut?"

He nodded frantically. Presumably, he'd do anything to please me right now.

"Now," I said, suddenly kind, "do you want more water?"

A pause. And then he nodded.

I picked up the glass, and started pouring it into his mouth again.

"You're right," I said, as he had a second mouthful, and then a third. It was a slow process, while I poured water in and waited for him to slowly swallow it. There were gurgling noises as he tried to make sure it went down the right passage. "It would be easier without the gag." More water poured into his open mouth. "But y'know what, little slut? I like the gag on you. I like how you keep your mouth open for me. I like how both of your holes are just… ready to receive."

The boy whimpered. He probably didn't understand 'both of your holes' yet, either.

It took a long time of me pouring mouthful after mouthful and waiting for him to swallow it (always with difficulty, always with some choking.) Finally, he'd finished the entire class of water.

"All right, my little cum dump," I said. "Time for some food. Are you hungry?"

He nodded.

"Then let's eat." The other item I'd brought from my kitchen was a jar of applesauce. I opened it up, took a spoonful, and brought it up above his mouth. Slowly I tilted the spoon, letting the applesauce fall in drips and globs into his forced-open mouth.

At first, he looked surprised at it, but he soon started to taste the sweetness. His tongue moved around it, enjoying the fruity sugar. He couldn't swallow until the applesauce oozed its way down to the back of his mouth, so he had to sit there, waiting for it to settle. From my viewpoint, I could see little chunks of applesauce gently rolling down the inside of his cheeks and mixing with his saliva. I spooned more and more in, letting it enter his mouth and coast down his tongue to where he could swallow it, little by little, only a tiny bit each time.

"There we go," I said at last. "There we go. Now you're fed." I released his head and he gratefully started to hold it up straight again.

There was one more item of business. I left the room again, and then re-entered. Again he tensed as he heard my footsteps coming in. This time, I knelt in front of his spread thighs and grabbed his cock. He cried out in terror.

"Just a little something so you don't pee yourself." With a bit of lube, I started to work a catheter into his little penis.

The boy was beyond panic now. "O! O!"

"Slut!" I shouted. "Are you try to say 'no?'"

The boy looked down at me, frantically. After the slightest of pauses, he realized the right answer, and he shook his head back and forth frantically.

"I think you are," I said, half-placed catheter sticking out of his penis, forgotten. "I think you're lying to me."

The boy was sobbing and crying again, desperately shaking his head no, desperately hoping I would believe him.

"I don't believe you," I said. "You need to be punished."

He shook his head again, but I was already standing up. The trembling little child sat there. He could hear me moving around the room, but he couldn't see me. He couldn't move his body, or do anything but wait to receive whatever I was about to do to him. Suddenly, he heard a swish, and the riding crop slammed into his belly.

"You do not talk, slave," I told the boy, bringing the riding crop down again on his belly.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" he screamed.

"You do not tell me what to do with your body." Down it slammed again on his belly, and again he screamed.

"You do not lie to me!" Again it slammed into his belly. The boy was a sloppy, gibbering mess, whines and grunts and screams just pouring out of him. Saliva had pooled in his mouth and was starting to spill out of his ring gag, little streams of it flowing down his chin. But sweat and snot replaced the saliva in his mouth, pouring out of his nose and down his face and right into where the ring gag held his mouth open.

Again I slammed the riding crop into his belly, and he jerked in agony but couldn't move, couldn't protect himself, couldn't do anything. Each time the crop hit his tender little body, he couldn't help but twitch or try to move away, but moving just hurt him more as ropes slid along tender flesh. He couldn't help but pull on his pelvis, where his ballsack was tied to the front of the chair, and the result squeezed his little balls with every movement the boy tried to make.

A let the fifth strike come down, still on his belly but lower, to a fresh part of him. A new redness appeared there as pain bored through his body. He cried out, sobbing, head lolling back and forth.

I was done. His head drooped. He was still sobbing softly, and his whole body was shivering. I reached down and placed my finger underneath his chin. It was wet with saliva and sweat and snot. I turned his face up as if to look at me, although he still couldn't see.

"Now, my little slut," I said. "Will you obey me?"

A pause as he processed the words. He nodded.

"Will you speak again without permission?"

He started to nod, caught himself, then shook his head.

"Will you lie to me again?"

He shook his head.

"Good boy." I knelt back down and continued working the catheter into his tiny penis. "Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuh," he moaned softly as the catheter worked its way into him. "Euuuuuuuuuugh." Other than the moans, he just stayed silent as it seemed to endlessly creep into his body. Finally a bit of pee started to flow out showing that it was in, and I clamped it off. When that was done, I connected the tube to a jug off to the side. That should minimize any needed cleanup, and I would let him pee whenever I wanted.

I had meant to leave it open so he wouldn't mess up my floor by peeing on it. But after thinking about it, maybe it'd be fun to leave him for a little while. He'd just have to hold that water and applesauce inside him for a bit longer than would be comfortable. I left the clamp closed.

The final touch was the specially-sized posture collar. I didn't want him getting any permanent damage to his neck! The collar was a wide leather collar, taller in the front than in the back, with tall lips to hold his head in place. When attached, it pushed nicely into his chin so that he wouldn't be able to lower his head or look to the side. It would keep him facing forward, neck held firm and locked into place. He moaned softly as he felt my hands around his neck and then the cool leather wrap around him. It locked into place firmly, and now he had nowhere to turn.

"Well," I said, "I thought that was a good first day. You should get some rest. You never know when I'll need you next." I patted him on the shoulder and headed out to start getting ready for bed. My immobilized little eight-year-old was left sitting there, ankles and wrists and elbows and pelvis securely tied, legs spread to expose his little cock and balls which were themselves stretched by the string tying his ballsack to the front of the chair, catheter on and closed so he couldn't pee, posture collar keeping his neck straight and facing straight ahead, blindfold still on, and ring gag still holding his mouth painfully open. Every part of his little body was held exactly as I wanted it. Eric would stay where he was, ready to service me when I next desired. It was one of many waiting positions he would soon learn about.

***

I awoke at about 3am, tired and groggy. I really wasn't thinking very straight, which probably explains why I started to just stroke myself when I realized I had an erection. It took me a minute to remember that I had a new tool to solve this problem.

Little Eric had somehow managed to fall asleep. He was still tied in that chair, uncomfortable and perfectly exposed for my pleasure. His head was held straight up, a dried length of drool running down his chin from where it had leaked out of the ring gag.

I quietly stepped up to him. His breathing was still steady, and although I couldn't see his eyes, I was pretty sure he was still asleep. Straddling him, I lined myself up, took a deep breath, and slid my erect cock through the gag and into the sleeping boy's mouth. It was warm and soft in there, even if his mouth had dried out a bit during the night. There was a thick, sticky gooeyness to it that my cock slid through.

Of course the boy woke with a start and tried to jerk his head away from the intruder, but between my grip and the bondage collar, he was held firm. I felt his tongue flick across my cock as it started to explore whatever was inside it. With the ring gag on, the only thing the child could do was try to push it out with his tongue, and that really had the opposite effect of what he wanted! I started to slide myself deeper into the boy's mouth, moving back and forth within him to enjoy the steady pressure.

"Mmmm, mmmm!" cried the panicking boy.

"There, there," I told the slave. "I told you that you'd never know when I needed you next. Now suck me like a good little slut."

I don't know what the exhausted boy must have been thinking. I'm sure he hadn't gotten much sleep, and what he had gotten probably hadn't been very restful. He was blind, tied, and being face-fucked by some unknown man. The eight-year-old strained his tiny body against the bonds, but it didn't do any good.

Over and over I rocked my hips back and forth, feeling my cock slide in and out of his sticky mouth, each time a little bit deeper. Eventually he started to gag on the cock as it started to push into his throat. It must have looked completely obscene from the outside: my long, raging cock sliding into the boy, deeper and deeper, a length that clearly couldn't fit and yet in it went. Like a magic trick, like a clown car, except it was my cock shoving into and bending around a child's near-virgin throat.

"Gk… gk… gk…" came the sound from the boy, who would still cough or gag as my cock shoved into him. His cheeks and face had turned a bright red from the pressure of the cock, and the bound boy had gotten sweaty again from the exertion of taking my dick inside him.

"I wonder what it must feel like to be you," I mused, as I shoved my cock into him. His tongue twitched involuntarily, swishing along my cock. "Oh yes," I told the gagging boy. "Use your tongue, little slut. Use your tongue."

"Anyway," I continued, pulling out and shoving back in, "what must it be like? You can't move. You've been in the same position for, what, six hours now? You can't move your arms or your legs or your head or really any part of your body. You can't see anything…"

Suddenly his tongue slid against my cock and I got distracted. "Ohhh, fuck yes." I wanted more, and I sunk my cock deep into his throat, cramming it into the tight space until I was balls-deep, until my pubic hair tickled his nose and my balls slid against his chin. "Ohhhhhhh," I moaned, holding myself deep in his throat. "Ohhhhhh yessss…"

I held it in him, and held it, and held it, then finally I pulled out, sliding my engorged cock through his tight throat. He gasped for breath, desperately pulling air into his little lungs while I continued to face-fuck him, giving him some space to catch his breath while he continued to unwillingly pleasure me.

"You can't even pee," I continued as I slid my cock around in his mouth. "You're so fucking powerless. What do you think about that? Do you understand that you're going to be spending almost all of your time like this, my little pleasure toy?"

"Gmph!" be grunted, as my cock shoved into his mouth.

"Are your muscles cramping? Are you in pain? Do you keep tugging and straining against your bonds, totally unable to move even an inch? Is that frustrating, my little slut?" Again I pushed my cock into his mouth, settling into his throat, holding it there while he gagged against it. His trembling little mouth caressed my dick.

"I'm going to keep you like this forever, Eric," I told the impaled boy. "My little slut forever, always tied up, always ready to please his master." I really have no idea how much he understood of what I was saying. Did his eight-year-old mind appreciate the years-long subjugation and servitude that he was now doomed to suffer, or was he just trying his best to survive? What did he know of his fate under my tutelage?

My cock was still buried in his throat, and I was so close. I could feel myself barely containing the energy of an impedning orgasm. I pulled out for a moment until just my tip hung in his mouth, and again the boy drew in breath. Enough to sustain him for a little while longer.

"And now, little boy, your next lesson. Swallow everything that comes out. Always swallow." With that, I thrust my cock into his mouth, sliding the whole length in, through his mouth, down his throat. With my one shove I was all the way in, the base of my cock at his ring gag, the tip firmly down his throat. My whole cock was completely, tightly wrapped in boy. Waves of pleasure swept over me and I came, dumping my cum into his warm, tight throat, feeling it ooze out into my waiting little cum dump. Streams of cum burst out of me, flowing into him. He was red-faced again, straining and moaning as my cock expanded and contracted in his throat, as the strange liquid poured out of it. I held him there, held him tight on my cock, while I emptied out into him.

Finally I was done. I pulled myself out of the boy, a little strand of cum still running from the tip of my cock to his mouth. Eric was coughing again, his throat starting to contract back to its normal size. Between coughs, I could hear little sobs.

"You did good, little slut," I told the crying boy. "Let me give you a little reward. Do you need to pee?"

For a moment the way just sat there. Then I saw him nod his head, as best as he could with the posture collar. I reached down and opened the valve on his catheter, and immediately it filled up with yellow liquid flowing to the jug. The water and applesauce I'd fed him flowed out as urine, and Eric sighed, moaning an "ohhhhhhh" in relief at finally being allowed to empty himself.

When he was done, I closed the valve up again. "I'll be back when I want your services again," I told the boy. I playfully gave a little pull on the rope holding his ballsack, and he yelped. Then I left him there to spend the rest of his night tightly tied, awaiting the next pleasure I'd extract from his body.

Chapter 2
Routine

I woke up feeling more rested than I had in years. Years ago, I'd made some friends online who were pedophiles and we'd talked about how we all wanted a boy for ourselves. Of course it's not that easy. It had taken so long to save up the money for this cabin and the surrounding land. To get all the pieces together, all the toys I wanted to try out. To plan how to make my move. To work up the courage.

Now I had my boy, and already I could feel the pressure easing out of me, right along with my cum. I had a release, kind-of like a tightly-bound, blindfolded stress ball.

What was I waiting for? I leapt out of bed with an energy I hadn't felt in a long time. Slowly I crept towards the front of the cabin where Eric was waiting for me.

He was still there, of course. Legs spread, itty bitty cock hanging out, ballsack pulled by the string surrounding it. He'd been there all night. He was awake now, and I think he was lightly sobbing to himself. He must have woken up recently and remembered where he was.

I tiptoed up to him. I don't think he could hear me above his sobs.

His mouth was wide open, of course, held to the extreme of what his jaw could tolerate. I stepped up beside him and raised my leg over the chair so that I was straddling him. Even though I was right in front of him, I still don't think he realized I was there. A moment later, my cock just slid into that wide, wide open waiting mouth.

"Mmmmmmmph!" he cried out, suddenly very aware of my presence.

I thrust forward, deeper into that waiting mouth. "Yes, little slut," I said, "it's time to do your job." In, in, in I went.

"Gumph," grunted the boy.

As I face-fucked him, I instructed the boy in using his tongue, making clear that any failure to comply would lead to more time with the riding crop or worse. Even on this, his third blowjob, little Eric had never seen me. It didn't matter; at my insistence he still licked this unknown man's cock, he still wrapped his warm little tongue around it, he still lapped against it with his soft, soft mouth.

I deep-throated him once, and as he gagged he failed to keep licking me. Twice, and again he failed. But on the third try, even as my cock slid down the eight-year-old's esophagus, he managed to keep licking it. I warned him what would happen if he didn't.

So far, every time I had cum in the boy it had been down his throat; the kid had no choice but to swallow. This time, I wanted him to swallow of his own will. I removed his posture collar and swung his head back so that he faced the ceiling. Climbing above him, face straddled by my two thighs, my cock hung down into the boy's mouth. I lowered it into him and I raised it out of him, over and over, while his neck bent back painfully. My balls slapped down onto his chin each time I lowered myself down, and his face was practically smothered by my comparatively giant crotch. Finally, I raised myself out until just an inch and a half of cock was in his mouth.

"Now lick me, little slut. Lick me. Surround me in your tongue. Make your master feel amazing," I told him. "Do it really well and swallow everything that comes out, or I'll use that riding crop on your balls!"

His obedient tongue started to encircle my dick. I could feel it twitch and quiver as it slid across me.

Finally, with a fiery passion I thought would've been gone by the third time, I felt my cum build, hold for a moment, and then spew out into his mouth. "Swallow!" I called. "Swallow it!" My cock pulsed and pulsed and pulsed, pushing into that wide-open jaw, globs and globs of cum first shooting into his mouth, crawling down his teeth, his tongue, the roof of his mouth. The cum poured in and in and in to his mouth.

And then the boy, the boy with the ring gag, the boy whose face was pointed up at the ceiling so the cum wouldn't drip out, that boy started to swallow. I could see every motion of the muscles on his neck. As I pulled my wet cock out of him, I saw the small ponds of cum in his mouth, under his tongue, between his teeth, and on the inside of his cheeks. He had no choice but to wait for it to ooze down, to wait for it to reach the base of his throat where he could painfully swallow it. I could tell that a little bit went up his nose in the process.

I held his face back like that until all the cum had finally worked its way down and been swallowed. I made him lick my cock clean. Then, finally, I let his neck go free.

"Good work, slut," I said. "You serviced your master well."

As I finally paused and looked at him, I realized that it was a bit chilly in there. The cabin had a heating system, but it wasn't quite up to this winter weather. While the boy sat quietly bound, I lit the fire again, and it soon started to warm up.

Breakfast was the next step. Looping some rope under the boy's nose and around his head, I tied it so that he had to hold his neck bent backwards, facing up at the ceiling. His breakfast was mostly yogurt, dribbled into the little boy's always-open mouth. I watched as his tongue worked to move the viscous stuff down to the back of his mouth. I also brought some of my own scrambled eggs and sausage in, and occasionally I'd give him small bits of scrambled eggs as a treat. He had to work to swallow those, and I could see his grimace as he forced it down his stretched throat. Finally, I washed it all down with some water to keep him properly hydrated.

When he was fed, I released his head and he raised it back up to relieve the pressure in his neck. The vulnerable and blindfolded little boy was beyond crying; he just held his head up, breathing heavily. I stood up, and he flinched in fear; since he couldn't see me, he had no idea what was coming next. The floor creaked slightly as I stepped around him, and he turned his head abruptly after every sound, trying to follow my movement, trying to anticipate what I might do to him.

"Auhhh…" he exclaimed as I touched his arms, tied together behind the chair. He grunted again in relief as I untied his arms, and they fell limply at his side. His voice was muffled as he spoke hopefully: "Are yoo setting ee hree?"

I didn't respond. Instead, I quickly undid the rope around his chest, leaving him tied only at the ankles, knees, and pelvis. I pushed on his back, bending him forward until his chest was on his knees. Then I grabbed his arms and pulled them tightly behind him. He gave a satisfying yelp of pain at that. Gripping them with my hands, I maneuvered his forearms so that they were held against each other, elbow against elbow, wrist against wrist. The position pushed his shoulders back painfully.

I wrapped one big hand around his arms to hold them in place, and then I used my other hand to loop some rope around them to hold them in-place. Once his arms were partially secured, I could use both hands to loop more rope around and hold them really firmly together. The boy had started shivering at his manhandling again.

I grabbed the boy's shoulder and pulled him upright, and I loved what I saw. With his arms pulled back behind him, his shoulders were forced back, and that made his stretched-tight chest stick out invitingly. His forearms, tied together, pushed forward on the middle of his back, curving his stomach out and arching his back sensuously. For a moment, I just stared at the little boy's naked curved body displayed for me. A tear ran down his cheek.

I reached out and laid a finger on his soft and delicate little chin. He turned his face to look towards me, based on the direction he thought I was in. "Well, my little slut," I said, "do you know what you did wrong?" I ran my hand down to feel along his stretched chest. "You spoke. You know you're not supposed to do that unless I let you."

"Heeease…"

"Ah-ah," I chided the boy. "I counted five words before. With six, I think that makes six lashes."

"Nuo! Heeease!"

"Eight lashes now."

My poor slave started to breathe in and out, short, fast breaths, terror flowing through his little body as he started to anticipate the upcoming pain. Now that his chest was untied from the chair, he swung himself back and forth in small, repetitive motions, maybe trying to calm himself. I stepped over to take the riding crop from the side of the room and bring it over. I heard him start to sob as I stepped back up to him.

"Uhhh… uhhh…"

I reared back.

"Auhhhh…"

SLAM! It swung out, blasting into his chest. "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" he cried out, doubling over, trying to hide his chest from me.

"That was one," I called.

"Oh-oh-oh," he moaned.

SLAM! came the riding crop. It landed on his shoulder blades, a new, sensitive, untouched part of his body. "AAAAAAAH!" he cried again, twisting his body, curling it away from me.

SLAM! His own twisting exposed the side of his body, and the crop swept onto his side and even pressed into his tummy.

"That's three," I said to the openly-crying boy. "Maybe now you'll think more about talking out of turn."

"Uh-uh-uh," he moaned.

SLAM! "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" he keened as the next shot landed on his thigh.

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! Three shots in rapid succession curled on his arms, his shoulders, and his lower back. He thrashed in his bonds, resulting in a strong pull to his still-tied-up balls, and another strained cry from the child as new pain stabbed through him. "Augh! Augh! Augh!" he was crying out with each breath as his body rocked back and forth. Tears leaked out of his blindfold and flowed down his cheeks, mixing again with saliva that leaked out of his mouth and snot from his nose. His whole body was slick with sweat.

I reached down and put my hand on Eric's shoulder, pulling the boy up straight. He was trembling and breathing rapidly. "One more, little slut," I said, savoring each word. "One more in punishment for your disobedience."

He whined softly.

The boy's smooth, slender body shined in the light of the fire. As flames flickered up and down, I saw the bright reflection on his neck, his chest, his tummy. That tummy… it was so soft, pushed forward so beautifully by his arms behind his back, glistening so brightly in the light.

My left hand went to Eric's chest. I slid along that smooth chest and my hand got wet with his boy-sweat. Then I brought my hand up to his mouth. "Lick what's there," I told him. I felt Eric's ready tongue lap across my hand, wrap itself around my fingers, as he licked off his own sweat through his ring gag.

"Good little slut," I told him.

My hand went back down to his chest, sliding along it, across his chest and his little nipples. I gently grasped the nearly-flat mounds of his boy-breasts, sliding the flesh underneath me. Gently, I pushed his shoulders against the chair with my left hand.

And with my right hand, I reared back.

SLAM! came the riding crop, crashing down on his bright, glistening tummy, so beautifully pushed forward for me.

"AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGHHHHHHHHH-OW-OW-OW-AAAAAUGH!" he cried out, doubling over, reeling in pain.

"That was eight," I said, mildly.

"AUH-AUH-AUH," the boy heaved, still doubled-over in pain at the slap on his unprepared belly.

"Sit up straight," I ordered the boy.

"Auuuuuu…" he was moaning.

"Sit up straight, NOW!" I commanded him. "Or should I punish you more?"

The bound boy gasped again. Still sobbing, shaking his head back and forth in supplication, he raised himself up.

"Better," I said. I knelt in front of him, and I undid the point where the string around his balls was attached to the chair. He gasped in relief and some shock as blood flowed more easily through his ballsack again and as the pressure relieved itself. What he didn't see was that I attached a nice weight to the other end of that string, so that when he stood up, it would pull on his most vulerable and tender balls.

While I knelt there, I opened the valve on his catheter. Pee flowed out of him again, and he exhaled as still more of his troubles were relieved. Finally when his bladder was emptied, I closed the valve and removed the catheter for now. He gasped as it slid through his urethra, still not used to the strange feeling. I knew he'd get used to it eventually.

His penis and ballsack hung lightly between his pulled-open legs, and I reached out and gently fondled them for a minute, running my hands over his soft, tender flesh. "Ehhhhhhh…" he moaned at this new stimulation.

Finally I returned to my tasks on the boy. I untied his knees, so that he could close his legs again, and then I untied his ankles. The boy just sat there as I stood up.

"Now, little slut," I said, "stand up. It's time for your morning exercise."

The boy sat there on the chair. Blindfolded, mouth held open, arms tied behind his back.

"Stand up, NOW, slut!" My voice was menacing, and the price of disobedience was clear.

Eric tried to raise himself up on his quivering legs, but they were numb from being held in bondage and he fell right back down with an "oof."

"Up!" I called. "Ten," I started counting. "Nine."

The boy quickly tried to rise again, but he barely got his bare butt a couple of inches off the chair before he fell again with a groan.

"Eight," I called. "Seven. Six."

"Euuugh," he moaned. He swung his shoulders back, shifting his weight backwards, then swung himself forwards, using his momentum to lift him up. It almost worked, and he landed back down with a "hunh," but immediately swung himself backwards again, ready to propel himself upwards.

"Five. Four."

Forward swung the naked boy, and now he rose, now he was standing on shaky knees. The weight that had been sitting on the chair tumbled down, held now only by his ballsack, and the blindfolded boy cried out in pain and surprise. His body tilted awkwardly side-to-side, leaning and almost falling over several times, but the exhausted child managed to stay up. He gasped for air as he stood there, arms pressing into his back so that his stomach and chest were pushed forward, bare knees trembling, weight pulling down on his balls. It was amazing what an eight-year-old could manage with the right incentives.

"Good," I said. I placed hands on each of his shoulders and started guiding the naked child around the room. He still couldn't see anything, and so his feet touched down tentatively, feeling out the floor in front of him as he tried to stop around the room. The weight hung from his bare balls, and he groaned in mild pain as he walked and the weight swung back and forth. Finally I had him where I wanted.

"Now," I said, "do you feel the rug under one foot but not the other?"

Eric nodded.

"To start your exercise today, you're going to walk around the room. You will keep your left foot on the rug and your right foot on the bare floor. Do you understand?"

The boy stood there for a moment. Then he nodded.

"Good. Go."

I watched as the boy gently, tentatively reached out a foot. He couldn't see anything, so he had to go by touch, toes first, then lowering the rest of his weight onto it. Once one foot was down, he started to slide his other foot forward. The slender boy was beautiful and awkward; I loved watching how he tried to walk without seeing, how he had to awkwardly bend his torso to accommodate his arms as he walked. The weight on his balls kept swinging back and forth, slapping lightly against his bare thighs. Every so often, I heard the boy moan softly at this constant pain.

The carpet was an oval, and he'd started to shift off of it. "Stay on the carpet!" I warned. He started to turn more to his left, to keep one foot on, one foot off. Forward he went, blood finally pumping into his long-bound legs as he awkwardly advanced.

"Keep going," I called. "Faster."

Eric went faster. He didn't need to feel out the carpet quite as much after going around it a few times, circling and circling the chair in which he'd been bound for fifteen hours.

"Faster!" I called. "Get some exercise. Start running!"

The scared boy started to go a bit faster, but he couldn't see and it slowed him down.

"No," I called. "Run! I don't care if you're scared, you're mine now and you'll do what I tell you! Run!"

Still he went faster, but still it was only a slow jog. He started to yelp as the weight on his balls swung more violently, pulling at his sore testicles.

"Run for real or you'll get a beating like nothing you've felt yet, you worthless shit!"

"Nuuuuu" came his moan of fear as he tried to go faster, finally running as best as he could. Between his blindfold and the way his arms were tied behind his back, he still wasn't nearly at top speed and he looked kind-of funny, but he went. The soft thump of his left foot on the carpet was followed by the plop of his right foot on the bare floor. The hanging weight kept getting kicked by his thighs, swinging out further, pulling on his little balls each time. "Euh" he grunted each time the weight tugged on him.

"Yes," I called. "Go. Your instincts don't matter, because I told you what to do and you'll do it. Your pain doesn't matter, because I told you what to do. Go. Go. Go."

He kept going, slender little boy-legs rising up and down as they pumped him forward. He was red-faced with exertion, grunting with each step as it tugged on his balls, but he went. He went, circling and circling, until something happened - maybe his feet caught on the carpet, or tangled with each other, or maybe he just misstepped. Either way, the boy tumbled to the floor with a yell, arms and legs and ball-weight flying through the air. With his arms tied behind him, he had no way to regain balance, no way to block his fall, and he just fell, taking the hit in his torso.

"Get up," I called to the terrified, lonely child.

Did he shake his head? I'm not sure. He started to sob, and he pulled his knees up to his chin. It would've been a fetal position, except for his tied arms. He lay there, a pathetic little boy on the floor.

"Get up!" I called again.

He lay there. "Aaaaaaaaaa!" he wailed, crying openly now, his whole body wracked with sobs.

"Get up now, little slut!"

It was no good. The boy was lost in his own little world of helplessness and misery, laying there on the cold ground, crying to himself. His cries filled the whole room.

"Get up now or I will punish you!"

No change.

This was not acceptable. The boy needed to learn how to obey me properly. He had already overcome his fear and his instincts to obey me. Now it was sadness and despair that prevented his obedience. He had fallen on the ground, a final humiliation, and he felt so helpless, like nothing else mattered. His whole world had collapsed to this moment.

That couldn't stop him from obeying me. Not now. Not ever.

"Last chance," I called, as I picked up the riding crop and walked back. When he still hadn't moved, I pulled back and let loose a shot right across his back.

He threw his head back in surprise and pain. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he yelled through his ring gag. He tried to roll to the side, away from me, but it did no good. He was blindfolded, lying on the ground, and partially tied up. Another shot, now to his calves that were so nicely available because he'd curled up his legs. "YAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

"Get up!" I called. Still he lay there sobbing, rolling uselessly on the floor. I slammed the crop into him again, this time on his ass. Then again, on a thigh. Again, on his back. He cried and he squirmed and he yelled, but he couldn't get away.

"Do you want me to hit you again?"

The blind, helpless, crying boy shook his head.

"Then get up!"

Finally, still sobbing, the little slave started to move. It was difficult with his arms tied behind his back. He extended his legs out until he was laying on his side, and then he rolled on to his back. (I loved this view of my boy.) By swinging his torso he managed to get himself up to a sitting position, but he soon realized that without being able to push off the ground with his hands, there was no way to get higher up, no matter how the blindfolded child tried to get his feet underneath him.

"Hel ee," he cried out through his ring gag after his futile efforts.

I stepped up to the boy, readied the crop, and delivered two sharp strikes to his shoulder blades. "Your master gave you an order, slut," I said. "You don't talk. You obey."

"Uuuhhhhh," he moaned, but he started to move again. He laid himself down, as flat on his back as he could with his arms behind him, and then he rolled over until he was flat, face-down, and I had a nice little view of his ass. I watched as the slender, sweaty boy tried to pull his feet underneath him, but there was no way without his hands to pull his torso up.

He rolled around some more on the floor, bare legs extending every which way, trying and trying to find some kind of purchase, until he got himself to a sitting position again. Now he tried to pull his legs underneath him. He managed to get his feet underneath him, legs tilted sideways. Back and forth he rocked his body, each time trying to get more momentum until it would push him up and on to his knees. Finally, finally he swung fast enough that he was upright, legs underneath him, on his knees… but he'd swung fast enough that he kept going, falling forward, no hands to block him. With a slap he landed belly-first on the ground, and a moment later his head cracked into the floor. All his efforts had been for naught.

"Uhhhhhhh," he groaned.

"Get up!" I called. "Get up NOW!"

The naked, hurting, humiliated boy scrambled. Again he rolled onto his back. Again he got himself into a sitting position. Again he managed to get his legs underneath him. Again he swung back and forth, now more carefully, and after a few efforts he managed to get on his knees without falling forward. Again the weights hung from his balls, and I heard a small grunt of pain. Blindfolded or not, he managed to put one foot flat on the ground, then the other, and he raised himself up, slowly, protecting his balls from sudden acceleration. He teetered slightly, still finding it hard to balance with his arms behind him, but he managed.

"Good," I said. "Good." Again I grabbed his shoulders, and I maneuvered him back to where he was. "Now keep running."

The bruised and beaten, naked and blindfolded boy continued running around the rug, just as his master ordered him to do. Again and again the weight pulled on him, but he took the pain and kept running. He kept running, running humiliated and embarrassed, running with a constant pulling pain on his balls, until finally I told the little child to stop.

***

After that came exercising his upper body. I ran a wooden rod up along his legs, tying both ankles, both knees, and both thighs to the rod. Now he couldn't bend his legs, and I lay him down on his belly, untying his arms at last, but tying his wrists to some hooks on the floor.

"Push ups," I said, simply.

Eric whimpered as he lay on the floor.

"You want to feel the crop again, boy?" I asked him. "Or are you going to do what I tell you?"

With another sob, the boy pressed down on the floor and lifted his tiny body up. He was shaking with effort and pain, and as he pulled himself up, the weight on his balls left the floor and started to pull down again on his genitals. But he got himself up, and then he lowered himself down. When I didn't tell him to stop, he started to raise himself up again. And again. And again.

My eight-year-old was grunting and sobbing with each time he had to lift himself up. His smooth, slender, but beaten body was covered in sweat as he forced himself up again and again. Finally, after fourteen push-ups, he collapsed on the floor, hitting his chest against the ground with a thud.

"Are you done?" I asked him.

Face pressed against the floor, little Eric nodded.

"You can't do any more?"

He shook his head.

"Well that's too bad," I said to the helpless, sweating, and bound little slave. "Because unless you do three more for me right now, I'm going to use my crop again."

The boy's eyes widened in fear. I saw him take a deep breath. Then another. And then, with a gasp, he started to lift himself up. His elbows shook under the strain; his face was red with effort; sweat dripped from his brow. Yet he pushed himself up, and up, and up, until his arms were straight. He dropped himself down with a gasp, banging into the floor.

And then he lifted himself up a second time.

And a third.

"Well, my little slut," I said, "you made it. Next time, though, I'm expecting a lot more from you."

I wasn't going to let my little slut get flabby under my care!

***

When the push-ups were done, I tied Eric's wrists behind his back, then untied his legs and ankles. (Eventually, I would really have to find an easier way to do this.) The next stop was the bathroom. I walked my well-exercised slave over to the toilet, sat him down, and told him quite simply: if you need to poop, now's the time. His face reddened. Here he was, being told to shit in front of some man he still hadn't even seen. But he'd been naked in front of me this whole time, well beyond humiliation. I just stood there, and a moment later, he breathed in relief as he finally emptied his bowels. I cleaned him up when he was done, and then, tied up as he was, we went into the shower together to wash him off. I enjoyed running my hands over his soft wet body, running them through all its crevices, as I cleaned off the dirt and grime and sweat that had built up there. Soon our shower was done.

Grabbing the hanging weight, I led my now-docile boy out by his testicles. ("Uhn," he grunted as I pulled, "ehh.") I hadn't bothered to dry him, and he dripped all over the floor, although that didn't bother me. I was too excited about what came next.

Eric's home for the next day was going to be a table. A desk, actually. It was simple, just with some straps… there were all kinds of great things you could do with that. This one was going to hold my little slut-toy very nicely.

Grasping him under his warm armpits, I lifted the little eight-year-old up on the table. That's when I realized I had something of a chicken-and-egg problem for what I wanted to achieve: it would be hard to balance the boy while strapping him in the way that I wanted. I had also determined that this little boy would never again experience a single moment out of bondage. For the rest of his entire life, no matter what, he would always be somehow tied, somehow restrained. That meant that I had to get the boy into position without ever fully untying him.

The naked, docile boy, with blindfold on and arms tied behind him, sat quietly on the table. He didn't know what I was going to do to him, but I could sense his anticipation.

I started by placing a hand on his bare chest and pushing until he was lying back on the table, tied arms held underneath his back. Just his slender calves and little feet dangled off the edge. The boy's smooth body trembled with fear. He couldn't see anything and he had no idea what I wanted to do to him, but he must've known it wasn't good. He was in such a vulnerable position. Still, he didn't fight me; he'd learned that much.

Taking some rope (I was going through so much rope! Thank goodness for Amazon Prime!), I started to loop it around his ankles. He jerked his feet away when he first felt the rope touch him, but I grabbed his ankle firmly and kept tying the rope. He was shaking his head, mumbling through his ring gag, "nawwwwww… nawwwwww…" With rope tied around one ankle, I stood up to look at the boy.

"Slut," I said, "are you telling me what to do with your body?" My beefy hand reached down to encircle his tiny, sore ballsack.

The boy stopped moaning and shook his head frantically.

"That's what I thought," I said. Then I squeezed his balls roughly. He yowled, knees pulling up to his chest as I squeezed and held; the boy tried to roll away but couldn't, balls encased in my iron grip. The tiny eight-year-old just had to take it as I squeezed, and squeezed, and squeezed. He gasped, body twitching under the assault, arms tied behind him but feet frantically kicking the empty air, and still I squeezed. Finally I let him go.

"Just to make sure," I said to the gasping child. He'd drawn his feet up, and I simply grabbed his other ankle, looping another piece of rope around it. The broken little boy was breathing fast and whimpering loudly, but not resisting in any other way.

When his ankles both had lengths of rope tied around them, I grabbed his feet. He yelped softly, terror winning out and eliciting another reaction. His toes clenched as my grip closed around the soft boy-soles, and I felt those feet shake in my hands. His toes, his extremities, were cold in his mute terror. First I pulled his feet up until his legs were pointed at the ceiling, and then I kept pulling, folding him over until his feet hovered above his chest, knees slightly bent.

Now I took the lengths of rope tied to his ankles and tied them to the far corners of the table. There was still plenty of slack in the rope, but that was intentional. Now that his ankles were tied to something, I grabbed him by the pelvis and slid my 55 pounds of boy down the table. I slid him down the table, down until the rope around his ankles was taut, then down some more, until his legs were pulled back the rope and his ass hung off the table. The ropes around his ankles forced his legs back, pulling up on his pelvis, bending his back up until his lower back was entirely off the table and his little ass was suspended deliciously in the air.

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnn…" he moaned.

With some fumbling below his sweaty back, I untied the boy's arms and pulled them up above his head, tying his wrists to the top of the table. Then I brought up two straps: one around his tummy and another around his chest, holding the little slut firmly in place. I made sure the straps were tight, pressing into his soft boy's flesh, making sure he had no capacity for movement. Then I reached under his head and re-attached the posture collar, ensuring that he would always be facing straight up at the ceiling.

The result was this. Little eight-year-old Eric lay on his back on the hard table, held firm by straps at his chest and tummy. His arms were stretched, wrists tied to the top of the table. His legs were stretched into the air above him, ankles tied to opposite corners of the table, stretching his legs apart; his little cock and balls lay beautifully exposed for me on his tummy. The pull on his legs forced his ass up into the air, and that ass hung exposed off the edge of the table.

"Comfortable, little slut?" I asked the boy. "You must be so tired after spending a whole day in a chair! I bet it's a big relief to by `lying down,' isn't it?" I rubbed his suspended thighs a bit, knowing that would put extra pressure on his tied ankles. "Yes, I bet you'll enjoy this new position very much. It is so good for pleasing your master."

Oh, and did I mention that this table was actually one of those office standing desks? I could raise or lower him to whatever height I wanted, and I could even wheel him around if I so desired.

Loosening the table, I raised it up, aided by the pneumatic pressure until he was at the right height. The boy still had no idea what was happening to him, and he grunted in surprise as he felt himself going up. Soon the boy was at my level.

"Well," I said, "lookie what we have here." I reached out to his hanging ass and spread the cheeks, exposing his little hole. The boy gasped as I touched him, as my finger went across his puckered little fuckhole.

"Uwuh," he grunted.

"Oh," I said, "you didn't expect me to touch you there, did you?" Amazingly, the boy actually shook his head. "Well," I continued, "that's what you get for hanging your ass so seductively in front of me, you know." I ran my finger across the bright pink sphincter again and he shuddered. "I can't resist such a beautiful little ass, so you really shouldn't keep it out like that." I rolled my finger along that little virgin hole. "Yeah. I think I'm gonna get to know this part of your body real well, little slut. Real well."

"Guh," he grunted as I rubbed that delicate little hole, "guh, guh, guh."

"Yeah," I said, enjoying myself. "Oh, this is gonna be lots of fun." I let myself play a little bit longer with the bound boy before forcing myself to stop, even as my cock stretched against my underwear. "Well, before we get to that, we have to deal with a little bit of business."

I lowered the table with my well-tied boy back down, then I went to get supplies. Of course the eight-year-old could do nothing but lie there, tied up, legs uncomfortably stretched, butt in the air, mouth open, and blindfolded so he couldn't even see anything.

"Hi there, slut boy," I cooed at the well-tied boy as I came back in. "You're such a good slut boy. So focused on pleasing your master." I had poured water into a squeeze bottle, and now I took some and squeezed a stream of it into his mouth. "I bet that's all you think about. Can't move. Can't talk. Can't see. You just lay there, waiting for me to use you. Sometimes my cock just appears in your mouth. Fuck, you're a lot of fun!"

Eric had started to swallow the water, and soon his mouth was empty. I squeezed some more in. "I bet you have no idea what I'm about to do to you. You're such an innocent little slut!" I chuckled to myself. "Innocent slut, huh? Not really words that go together. Well, Eric, you won't be innocent much longer, but you will always be a slut!"

After filling the thirsty boy's mouth once again (I would have to keep him drinking if his mouth was kept open, or he'd get dehydrayed), I headed back to his ass for my other task. Water was about to go in both ends.

The enema bag was nicely filled, and I hung it at a good height so there'd be water pressure pushing into his bowels. I took the clamped-off tube and attached a nozzle, then ran water a bit until the tube had no air bubbles. The boy grunted while I put a bit of lube on his asshole; then I lubed up the nozzle, lined it up, and inserted it into the child's asshole.

"Ehuuuuuuuh," he moaned at the invasion. He must have been finished drinking if he could make sounds again.

"You better get used to the feeling," I said as I pushed the nozzle in, "of things in your asshole. This is just the warm-up act. The main event… well, it's going to fucking change your life." I snickered a bit at my own joke.

"Eeeeahh," he moaned again, as the nozzle slid into position. There was a little squeeze bulb at the end; squeezing it inflated a small balloon inside the nozzle, clamping it into the ring of his anus. It would stay firm inside him.

"Now," I said, "let's get you some lunch while we get you ready. I have some delicious baby food. Something you can swallow even while you stay ready for me. Like the good little slut you are." Walking up to his head, I took the cap off bottle and got a heaping spoon of the green baby food glop. (Not that he could tell the color.) I tilted the spoon over Eric's waiting mouth, waiting for the thick food to fall, and, with a shake of the spoon, in it went to his mouth. I saw it slide down his tongue and along the roof of his mouth. Another spoonful and his mouth was filled with it. I saw his tongue and throat working to try to swallow the nourishment.

While he swallowed it, little bit by little bit, I headed back to the enema setup. "Want to know what else I can do to your body, little slut?" I said to the swallowing boy. And with a flourish (not that he could see it), I unclamped the tube. Immediately, cold water started to flow into the boy's bowels. In shock, the boy choked on his food before coughing it up and regaining his composure. He shrieked and shook as the profound coldness was WITHIN him. I watched as his toes clenched while he filled up from the inside.

"Nnnnnnnn!" came his exclamation, muffled by food and the ring gag. He shivered as the warmth fled his body.

"Do you feel that? Do you feel that inside you?" I said, running my hand along the curve of his smooth tummy. "No part of you is sacred anymore, little boy."

His eyes were wide, whimpers coming fast, one after the other.

"But don't worry," I told him. "It's just water. I'm cleaning my plaything out for when I use it next." I smiled, wondering how much the tormented boy was even processing my words between the food, the cold enema, the bondage, and the blindfold. (Maybe the blindfold would help him focus, since he'd have less stimulation.) "Now keep eating. You'll want your strength for what happens next, because you're about to earn your title of little slut." I'm sure the agonizing boy was uncomprehending what that meant.

Eric couldn't move much, just a little bit of wiggling as the water flowed into his bowels. His tiny body flexed and twisted as the uncomfortable sensations spread, but the unyielding straps held him firm. I liked watching him struggle, watching the wrinkles come and go on his smooth skin, on his tummy and his chest and his armpits. It was no good. The eight-year-old just had to lie there. Lie there as the enema happened to him. Lie there and take it.

I walked around the struggling boy to put more food in his mouth, but some of the mashed peas from before were still sitting in there uneaten. I reached down and grabbed his stretched cheeks, squeezing them. "Eat!" I yelled into his ear. "I don't have time to clean you, feed you, and fuck you!" The squirming boy seemed to make some effort to swallow, but he was distracted by his enema. I reached down again. "Eat or you're going to feel my whip again, you little slut. I have whole new parts of your body to whip now that you're held in this position." That got through the haze. Even as his naked body kept twisting under the assault of the water, I saw the muscles of his neck start to work, slowly managing the baby food down. I began spooning more into his gaping mouth.

Soon he was filled with as much water as I wanted, a thorough, uncomfortable amount for a little boy's backside. I shut the valve. "Now hold it in until I let you relieve yourself," I warned him, "or I get to punish you again." I gently rapped my hand against his tummy, knowing that would send unpleasant vibrations through his little body, and the kid gasped. His whole body seemed engaged in the effort of trying not to poop out the water: he was breathing fast; his legs, suspended in the air, were shaking with the effort; the toes on his hanging feet were clenched tight.

I smiled and gave the tightly-wound boy two quick, hard slaps on his ass, one on each buttcheek. "Guh!" he grunted with the hits, shaking even more, but still managing to not expel any water.

I brought over a tall stool, and then raised Eric's table until the stool could fit underneath his hanging ass. A tub placed on the stool would be able to catch the water that would soon be flowing out.

The still-squirming child was sweaty and redfaced with the pressure of holding it in. "Enh, enh, enh," he kept crying out. I ran my hand along his hot, smooth, moist belly, and I squeezed just a little bit and he cried out again.

"Good little slut," I said, "good. Now eat some more." I spooned more of the food into my little bird's waiting mouth. The obedient boy started to swallow right away. He was getting good at this.

"Now," I told him, as I walked back around to his ass, "remember not to let it out until I tell you." I grabbed the nozzle and pulled it out. He gasped, and a tiny bit of dirty water leaked out of his puckered hole, a small drizzle of water going down the crack of his ass, but somehow he managed to hold the rest in.

"Listen carefully, little slut. You can let it out on the count of five, and no earlier." I smiled to myself. Then, I reared back and delivered a sharp SPANK to his right buttcheek. "One!" I called as he yelped out at the unexpected impact.

Another wind up and a sharp SPANK to his left buttcheek. "Two!" He'd started to cry a bit at the hits.

Another SPANK to his right buttcheek. "Three!" It was starting to redden, and the boy was sobbing at the hard spanking.

SPANK to his left buttcheek. "Four!" The boy shook a little bit at the pain.

I let him wait a moment for the fifth. Then, with both hands out, I brought them full-force down on both buttcheeks at once. "Five!"

"Eugh! Uh! Uh! Uh!" Eric was crying out. He had just enough freedom of movement that with some strain, he could shake his butt in the air, and that was what he was doing.

"You can let it out now," I told him. After another moment of sobbing, there was a rush and the dirty water poured out of his ass, flowing mostly into the tub. "Yessss," I called. "Good, my little slut. Clean yourself out for master. Good."

I got a wet paper towel and started to wipe off his ass and the splatter on the table, keeping things nice and clean. Unfortunately for Eric, that water was quite dirty.

"Well, my little slut," I said, "you know what they say. Rinse and repeat!"

***

A few more times and my boy had a thoroughly reddened but clean little butt. I lubed up his ass, but didn't fuck him right away. I wanted this to be a surprise, and I had just lubed him up. No, I was going to let him sit, forget about the lube, and then POP I'd stick my cock into him. So I left him there, carrying the stinky tub of enema water out of the room. I flushed its contents down the toilet and even washed it, so the boy had some time to wait, to think this was over.

Then, of course, I came back. The boy could hear my footsteps, but he didn't know what was happening.

First, I loosened the table he was on and lowered it so that his ass was perfectly aligned with my cock. It was going to be a very convenient fucking for me.

Getting an erection wasn't a problem; I'd been edging this whole time, leaking precum all the while. I lubed up my cock and grabbed his asscheeks, spreading them. Then I positioned myself behind him, my cock pointing straight out to his hole.

"This, sweetie," I said, "is called rape." And then I pushed in.

It was the boy's first rape, so he was instinctively trying to clench his hole, to keep me from going in. All the better for me. I shoved once against his insufficient barrier, then a second time, and on the third time my big, erect cock slid into his little, tight ass.

The boy was frantic, overwhelmed with the feelings coursing through his body. His feet were shaking in the air, toes splayed out in agony. His cries through his open mouth reverberated throughout the room. His tummy rose and fell with each desperate breath. Every part of his body that wasn't completely tied down, every part of his body that could show a reaction, was showing a reaction.

"Fuck yes," I called. "Do you feel me inside you, you little slut? Do you feel me raping you?" I pounded into the boy's ass, suspended there in the air just for me, and it shook with each impact as I stretched the child's insides out beyond all tolerance.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he yelled through his ring gag.

"This is what it feels like," I said, "to be an object. Not a person anymore. A man's plaything." My powerful thrusts ripped into the boy, cock tearing through his little ass, taking my pleasure from him. The helpless, bound boy had no choice but to let it happen to him, to endure, and endure, and endure, until I would let him rest. Until the next time.

"AH! AH! AH!" he was yelling with each of my thrusts.

"Do you feel it?" I asked as I continued to pound his ass. "Your humanity ripped away as I pound into you? While I make you my little bitch? Not a kid," I said with a thrust, "not a boy," another thrust, "not a child," another thrust, "not a person." Thrust, thrust, thrust. "Just my PLAYTHING." In, I shoved, and out, in, and out of the unprepared ass, in, and out of the tormented boy. "Just my little slut."

Back and forth, his ass had been loosened by my assault, still tight but now I could slide back and forth through the thick mucusy feeling of boy-ass, in and out, tearing into him as he cried, as the little boy felt his world collapse to just the fact of my fucking, the naked truth of it, the power of it and his total helplessness to resist.

"Do you understand now," I asked him, "how your body is mine? Every part of you. I can do whatever I want." I shoved into him as if to make my point, and I heard his satisfying yelp as my cock sunk into him again. "Oh, you little fucking slut."

The boy was moaning now, still crying, held tightly in position by his bonds. I don't know how much of my tirade he was listening to, but it didn't really matter. My words would eventually rip into him just like my cock, and I knew the message would get through.

"This," I said, "this helpless, weak, sniveling little plaything is what you are now, my slut." Again and again my cock tore into his asshole. "Always ready to serve your master. From now on, you're spending every day and every night tied up. Every day and every night ready, mouth open, ass open to me so that I can use you." In, slid my cock, and out, and in, now almost a glide through that abused asshole. I loved seeing my words and my fucking wash over the boy, making plain to him what his new future was. "Every day and every night, ready to be fucked whenever I want to stick my cock into your little boyholes." In, and out. In, and out. The boy whimpered with each thrust.

"One hour a day of exercise," I continued, as I fucked the helpless boy. "The rest of the day as furniture. As my toy." I ran my hands along the boy's suspended thighs as I fucked him. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, over and over, and you'll never know when." In shoved my cock. "You'll never know what's next." Out it moved, with a squelch. "You can't get ready for it. You can't stop it. You just have to sit there and take it, you fucking little slut." Little Eric was trembling, whether from the pain of the fucking or from fear or from my words, I didn't know. But whatever it was, telling this eight-year-old what his future was, what his life as a slave was going to be, had made me harder than I'd ever been before. I reared back and drilled my massive cock into the little boy's ass.

"AHHHHHH!" he shouted.

"Fuck yeah!" I exclaimed, holding myself in there, feeling his tight warmth settle around my engorged cock. In my excitement, my hands were tighly gripping his thighs, sinking into the trembling, warm boyflesh. "Fuck yeah, my fucking little plaything! I can just fucking fuck you! I can just do it!" Back again and I jammed it in, goring the little boy with my cock.

"AHHHHHH!" he shouted again. My hands moved down, off his thighs, onto his belly, rubbing it, feeling it give way underneath the press of my hands.

"All day, all night, fucked and fucked and fucked." My cock, sunk all the way into the little ass, twitched within him, and he yelped. Oh God, I loved the power I had over this little kid.

I was so close, I wasn't going to be able to contain myself much longer. Still, I fucked the boy, sliding in and out of that waiting ass, pressing into him with no mercy. My hands slipped down now to fondle his exposed little cock and balls. "Just think of it, little slut. Days like this. Weeks. Months. Years tied up to be my slave boy." Shove, shove, SHOVE into that tender, virginal ass. My hand almost involuntarily squeezed those tiny balls and he yelped, pain taking him from two ends now. "How long do you think I'm going to keep you, little slut? Make you mine? Break you?"

The boy's eight-year-old body heaved against his bonds, a mess of mindless instinct overwhelmed by the sensations flowing within it. Every bit of the child was quivering underneath my assault, shaking and pulling and twitching but unable to move in his bondage.

"Ohhhhhhh fuck," I said over the boy's yelps. "Get ready, little slut. I think you know this part. At least from the other end." My cock exploded, oceans of cum pouring straight into the little boy's ass, an audible squelch as his hole started to fill with my cum. His yelps resumed as my cock throbbed within him, pushing again against his tender, abused bowels, stimulating whatever parts of him hadn't already been torn apart by this epic fucking.

"Yeahhhhh," I said, "you're gonna be getting a lot of cum inside you, boy. I'm never gonna jack off again. From now on, it's all going inside you, you little slut." I felt the orgasm push more and more of my jizz into the boy's bowels. "Filling your little slutty body up with my cum." I felt it leaking out of my cock now, a slower push of the thick goop. "Making you mine," I said with a sigh, as I finished inside him, feeling that satisfying warmth of completion.

Eric had almost certainly just been through the most intense period of his young life. He was gasping, struggling with emotions that were trying to overwhelm him. He was crying, and shaking, and trying to take in as much breath as he could, just to hold on. I saw that his little hands had balled themselves into fists. Boys' hands are so cute.

I pulled my cock out, slick with lube and cum and whatever slime was present in a boy's ass. After a moment to collect myself, I brought over that table to place under his hanging ass again, and I placed a small cup on it directly under his ass. With a spoon, I started to take the ooze up off my cock and tap it into the cup.

Slowly, my cum started to ooze out of Eric's ass. Some of it dripped straight into the cup, but other drops just started to ooze down his asscrack. I spooned up that cum mixture and tapped it into the cup. Every time my spoon ran along the boy's backside, the sensitive boy wiggled his ass. He couldn't tell what it was. Couldn't tell what it was doing. I'm sure he could tell it was something he wouldn't like.

"So now you know what it means to be a thing," I was telling the recovering boy. "What it means to be my slave. My plaything." My spoon scraped again along his ass, picking up some cum and dropping it into the cup. "Used," I said. "Abused. Your only value is that I get to fuck you. This is what will laughingly be called your life now, little Eric. This. This is all you'll ever know, my little slave. This is what you are." My spoon scraped across his ass, and he shivered.

When my cum had finally leaked out as much as it was going to, I took the cup and stepped up to his head. You probably know what's coming, but he certainly didn't.

"Now, little slave, drink up. Drink up all of your master's juice." I spooned the cum mixture into his open mouth, watching it ooze down his teeth and tongue and the roof of his mouth. The white stuff pooled in his open mouth. He coughed as he tasted it, and started to try to push it out with his tongue, but I reached down and pinched his cheeks together. "Ah-ah, little slave," I said. "You never refuse your master's cum, or you'll get punished hard. Really hard. You don't want to get punished really hard, do you, little slave?"

The boy shook his head as best he could with the posture collar on.

"Then drink up."

Another tear went down the boy's cheek as he drank. I watched his little tongue as it pushed the cum down to his throat; I watched his young boy's muscles strain to swallow. Finally it was down.

There were a few bookkeeping things to do with my boy now. First, I took out his ring gag. It had been in for maybe 36 hours, and I was worried about his jaw muscles. He flexed his jaw appreciatively, until I stuffed a new gag in to take its place. This one had a flat piece of rubber that stuck into his mouth (and probably didn't taste very good, either), with a big muffling piece of leather that wrapped around his mouth and chin, strapping around to the back of his head. He had no reason to talk, after all, so why give him the temptation?

With the new gag in, I inserted the catheter again into his tiny dick. He groaned as it went in, but the little boy was so far past resistance that otherwise he just took it. I opened the valve to empty him off pee. The pee was a bit yellow; I needed to get him to drink more, so I went and I took the gag out for a while as I had him drink. I was sad to clear out the taste of cum and boy-ass, but he'd have plenty more chances to experience that.

Then, with the gag back in place, there was his ass. I had finally popped his cherry, and so now that I'd taken his virginity, I didn't have to worry about ruining that first experience anymore. Plus, I didn't want him pooping on my floor. I picked a nice dildo, one that was a bit smaller than my cock. I didn't want to desensitize him, after all.

Then I got an idea. Taking my lube, I went up to where his hands were tied above his head. "Now Eric," I said, "I'm going to put something on your hand. Hold your hand upright, and then you're going to rub it on the thing I'm going to hold up."

With those inscrutable instructions, I poured some lube onto his hand. He held it, and then I brought up the big dildo to his hand and started to rub it along, spreading the lube across it. "Good," I said. "Massage it. Spread that goop all along it. Yeah. All along each curve, good, good." Back and forth along the little boy's lube-y hand I ran the dildo, his tiny fingers running along every crevice and slathering lube on it until it was slick and ready. Then I walked back to his ass, leaving him to feel the slimyness on his hand as it hung there.

I positioned the dildo, and then I pushed. It speared the child's ass, sliding into that stretched, violently abused asshole. "Mmmm-mmmm-MMMM!" he exclaimed as it slid into his bowels, yet another assault when he thought maybe he'd been done for now. I pushed and maneuvered and slid until that big ol' dildo was deep in the kid's ass.

"Yes, you little slut boy," I said. "I think you're going to have a lot of things up your ass, don't you?"

I got another strap and ran it around behind his ass and around his pelvis, snapping it into place. Drawing it tight, I knew it would hold that dildo in nicely for as long as I wanted.

With both holes firmly plugged, I left the boy to stay there for a while.

***

He'd get fucked twice more that day, while he stayed in his new bondage position. Once in the evening, a nice after-dinner fucking. I'd set up Netflix behind him, and I watched it in the background as I raped my little slut-boy thoroughly. The other time was again around 3am. I was making a habit of waking up horny in the middle of the night, and surprising my sleeping boy with a special wake-up call.

I was going to really enjoy this.

Chapter 3
Awareness, first half

I'd had Eric for a week now.

A week in which the tightly-bound, blindfolded eight-year-old boy had to endure whatever torture I wanted to inflict on his naked body. Whatever I wanted to do to the kid, I did it; to his soft, smooth, young skin, to his vulnerable little ballsack, to his tender asshole and his ready mouth and his tiny, flat little nipples and his exposed, immature cock. And all the helpless little kid could do was endure, endure his punishments, endure his rapes, endure everything that came his way with no warning, nothing to make it better. He could yell but he couldn't talk. He could hear but he couldn't see. He could feel but he couldn't move. His body was beaten and used and twisted, and he just had to endure, endure, endure.

The little slut was everything I wanted. Everything I wanted. Each day I put him into a new bondage position, some new way to make him open and ready for me to take my pleasure. I fucked him, either in the ass or the mouth, at least three times a day. Maybe at some point I'd get tired of it, but that time had not come yet.

I'd pierced my boy's earlobes, nipples, and nose while I had him tied down. Oh, how he'd yelled and cried! Don't worry, everything was sanitary and the boy was fine. But now, I had new parts of the little boy that I could tie to things to hold him good and tight. There's nothing like a boy who has to hold his head perfectly still… because otherwise he'll pull on his nose ring!

I'd trained the boy to suck my cock, both with a ring gag and without. Now if I wanted to, I could feel his warm lips wrapped around my cock and feel the suction as his mouth closed down upon it. He knew how not to bite down, and he certainly wasn't going to. You see, he also knew just how much pain he'd get if he did.

He was even learning to deep-throat on his own, not just when I grabbed his head and impaled him onto my cock. He still wasn't there yet, and it still hurt, but he was making progress. A couple days ago, I'd tied him up on all fours, hands and knees and ankles all tied to the ground, splints on his elbows so he couldn't lower himself down. He just had to stand there on all fours, like a petrified dog. It was good for a nice ass-fucking, but I'd also put him facing the wall and I'd attached a dildo to the wall, so that about half of it was sticking into his mouth (that was his gag for the day). I'd attached a nose ring to his pierced nose and ran a string from his nose to the base of the dildo, ensuring that he couldn't lean back and had to hold at least half of it in his mouth at all times.

When I first fucked his ass in that position, my shoves pushed his head down onto the dildo, forcing it down his throat. It was a beautiful sight, each shove of mine producing a double-fucking in my little sex toy.

Later in the day, when I'd walk past the tied boy, I'd order him to "swallow." That meant he had 30 seconds to get the dildo far enough down his throat. If he failed, the punishment was a good whipping – and then I'd shove him forward to push the dildo down his throat anyway. Each time I called "swallow," my standard for how much of the dildo he had to get down was higher. I only had to punish him twice for not swallowing fast enough or far enough! (And let me tell you, getting whipped in that position is no fun. Jerk your head too much back, and your nose ring gets a painful pull. Jerk it too much forward and the dildo goes down your throat. That boy-slut was yelping and crying in no time.)

Sometimes I wanted more training, so I'd tell him to keep swallowing until I let him stop. Then he was required to go back and forth along the dildo, sucking it, swallowing it at least once a minute. He'd rock his body back and forth as he took it deep in his throat. He knew the punishment for stopping, and I could step out of the room (quietly, so he didn't know for sure!) and be confident he'd still be going when I returned.

Yes, I thought to myself, we'd be going back to that position soon to complete his deep-throat training.

He still had an hour of exercise a day in partial bondage. What he had to do depended on the day, and sometimes I'd make it more painful, sometimes just humiliating, sometimes just plain exercise. The best part was that now that he'd been fucked and I was willing to use dildos in my no-longer-a-virgin, I could have him do the exercise with a nice big dildo up his ass.

I'd gotten kind-of tired of hand-feeding him all the time. There were things I could do to automate the process, like a bag that dripped water regularly into his mouth, or applesauce, or whatever. But I kept being worried that he'd fall asleep and choke on it. I'd either have to watch him closely, or else ensure he was in enough pain that he wasn't going to fall asleep. Both were options, but sometimes it was easier just to feed him from a dog bowl or something and let him use his mouth normally. It depended.

There was now one time a day that he could talk. Before his morning exercise, I had him kneel naked before me and pledge his loyalty. Because he was about to exercise, he was in what counted as minimal bondage for him – usually just the blindfold, his hands tied behind his back, a dildo up his ass, and maybe weights hanging from his balls or his nipples. Sometimes another little fun gimmick, like maybe tying his balls by a string to his earlobes so he'd have to hunch over not to pull on them. Something like that. Like I said, minimal bondage.

Anyway, the loyalty pledge. "My name is Eric and I am a slave," he'd say in his beautiful soprano boy's voice, so innocent, so vulnerable. I just loved watching him kneeling there on the floor like this. "I am my master's plaything. My life is to make my master happy." I thought this was especially cute considering that he'd never even seen me. Just tasted me. Felt me. Swallowed me. "My body is not mine, it is my master's, and it always will be. What happens to me is up to him. I am an object to be used by my master. I am his little slut, and I will give him pleasure in all ways. Master," he'd finish, "do you want to fuck me?"

Of course this would usually turn me on a lot, but I knew we had to get to the exercise, so usually I wouldn't do anything right then, or maybe I'd have the kneeling boy suck me off. I loved his lips wrapped around my cock, dedicated mouth sucking me. Occasionally I couldn't help myself, I'd throw him forward, grab the dildo and pull it out, and rape him up the ass right then. I loved watching his little body scrape against the floor as I shoved my cock into his ass. Usually he was tied up, so he couldn't move much. But these rare times of minimal bondage, watching him squirm into the ground like that was just nice.

But I tried not to do that too much since we had to get to the exercise.

Oh, I should mention the first time we did the loyalty pledge. It was Eric's third day with me. You remember, I'd fucked him up the ass the first time the day before, and then a couple of times after that; he'd spent the night on that adjustable-height desk, body strapped down, feet held up above him, ass hanging in the air so I could keep using it? (Also the dildo, the catheter, the blindfold, the ball gag… you know, the usual.) I'd let him out of that at last, and I'd told him what was going to happen: he was going to kneel, I'd remove his gag, and he'd make the loyalty pledge. Well, as soon as I'd removed the gag, he started begging to be released. "Please!" he cried. "Please let me go! It hurts, it hurts, it always hurts! I'm sorry for whatever I did, just let me go back. Please, please, let me go back to my mommy!"

I stopped him with a slap, and started dragging his body to another part of the room. He started sobbing. "You've been a bad, bad slave, little slut, and bad slaves need to be punished. Isn't that right?"

"Please I'll be good!" he blurted out.

"Now now, you know you're not supposed to talk, isn't that right, little slave?" I started to bind the eight-year-old's wrists. "The more you talk, the more punishment you get. You know how this works." Lifting him up, he was soon hanging from the ceiling, tip-toes just barely able to touch the ground. The weight on his balls hung deliciously from him.

"Please," gasped the hanging boy.

"Oh, another word," I said. "I was going to say 25 strokes. Now I think it's 26. Why don't I leave your gag out? Then if you talk more, you can get more strokes!"

The boy was sobbing already, and I hadn't even hit him yet. I went and I got a new whip. I prepared to strike.

"Tell you what," I said. "If you want to talk, count. Count each stroke, you snivelling little slut. If you miss a count, or if you say something else, you get an extra!"

Of course the blindfolded boy didn't see it coming. The whip sailed through the air; CRACK it went, as it bit into his tender flesh. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he yelled. He flailed in the air, legs flying in all directions, and I watched as the weight on his balls bounced up and down.

"Count!" I called. "How many was that?"

"Ah-ah-ah," he was sobbing.

"Say it or you get another!"

"Yah…ah-ah… o-one," he managed.

"Good," I called. And CRACK.

Eventually, after some more crying, he managed a "two."

CRACK! I started circling around the boy, whip flying out, hitting different parts of his body each time. It was a good whip, one that wouldn't leave permanent marks if I used it right, but which would leave my crying, sobbing boy in absolute agony. He'd definitely obey me after this.

I circled and circled, whip striking out. One especially terrible shot nicked his ballsack, and he cried and cried after that at the torment. Still he counted. "Nine, ten, eleven," crack after crack after crack. His body shook violently, each shot of the whip throwing him forward, balls stretched by the gyrating weight. He twisted around in a circle, the rope that held him to the ceiling looping around as his body turned. The tips of his toes desperately sought purchase on the ground. Crack, crack, crack. "Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen." His normally milky-white body was splotched with red from the whip strikes. Once again the slave was crying. Tears and snot sweat and drool mixed, rolling down his innocent face. His body turned through the air almost gracefully as the whip lashed into him. His legs flew up to protect himself, then down to try to relieve the pressure on his arms. Crack, crack, crack! "Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five," he managed to sob out, barely.

"Now," I said. "You have one more lash remaining. Answer me. Are you my slave?"

He coughed and gasped. Finally, he answered in a raspy voice, "yes."

"If you are my slave, you will address me as master."

It took him a moment to process what I was saying. Then he spoke again, quietly. I think the beaten boy understood the weight of the words. "Yes, master."

"Will you obey me when I tell you to do something?"

"Y-yes, master," he gasped as he hung from the air.

"Will you speak out of turn again?"

"No, master," he managed. "I'm sorry, master."

"I didn't give you permission to apologize, slave!" I said. "I don't NEED your apology. You are my slave and you obey me. What you feel and what you think is irrelevant, because you are a THING. Do you understand, slave?"

"Y-yes, master," he said, clearly terrified.

"I'm going to be magnanimous," I said. "You said three more words, but I'm only going to whip you once more. I think your heart was in the right place. So, two more lashes."

"P--" he started to say, then stopped himself.

"Yes, good, you little slut. You'll speak only when I tell you to speak. You're learning." I strode around him, letting the tension rise in the room. Then I pulled my arm back and let the lash fly out. It curled around his body, spreading the pain around his tummy and side and back.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he yelled again.

"Count!" I called. "That was twenty-six! Count it!"

"TWENTY-SIX!" he yelled out.

I circled again, and then let loose one more time, a strike that curled around his chest and shoulder. "TWENTY-SEVEN!" he screamed.

"That's right, my little slut," I said. "Good." I walked calmly to the side of the room to replace the whip, then I stepped up to the boy and with a pull undid the knot holding his wrists. Suddenly he collapsed to the ground in a heap, yelping in pain as his welts scraped against the ground. I knelt down and again tied his hands behind his back.

"Now kneel," I told the profoundly beaten boy. With my help, he managed to get up on his knees.

"Repeat what I tell you, and nothing else. My name is Eric and I am a slave."

"M-my n-name is Eric, and I am a s-slave," he sobbed desperately.

"I am my master's plaything. My life is to make my master happy."

"I am my master's p-plaything. My life is to make my m-master happy."

"My body is not mine, it is my master's, and it always will be."

"My body is not mine, it is my master's, and it always will be," repeated the beaten boy, kneeling naked and tied.

"What happens to me is up to him. I am an object to be used by my master."

"What happens to me is up to him. I am an object to be used by my master." Eric's tears had intensified as he said these words.

"I am his little slut, and I will give him pleasure in all ways."

"I am his little slut, and I will give him pleasure in all ways."

"Now," I said, "the way you finish is by asking me if I want to fuck you. So say, `Master, do you want to fuck me?'"

"M-master," he said, "d-do you want to fuck me?"

"More than anything, you little bitch," I said. My cock was on fire with passion. I went over, threw the boy forward, pulled out his dildo, spread some really quick lube, and put myself into that waiting and well-used ass. I was full of animal energy after torturing and dominating my boy like that, and I thrust savagely into him. The ungagged boy cried out in terror and agony as his body was scraped back and forth against the floor as I fucked him, pulling him deeper on me and then out, deeper and then out, as I thrust my cock deep into his ass and back. Unbound legs flailed as I tore into his ass. When I was finally done and I'd cum into my little slut, I took advantage of his ungagged mouth to have him lick my cock clean.

Anyway. That's our daily routine.

* * *

After a week with Eric, he'd gotten much more well-behaved. Like I said, he'd been learning to deep-throat, and since that massive whipping he hadn't tried to talk out of turn once. In fact, my slave had not been allowed to talk at all except for the loyalty pledge, said once every day. It was the only time he didn't have a gag in his mouth.

"Master," he was finishing his pledge that morning, "do you want to fuck me?"

For the previous day, I had strapped him onto the adjustable-height desk again, but in a different way. Instead of lying back along the long edge of the desk, I'd tied him belly-down in the short direction. As a result, his ass and cock hung off one end, and his head hung off the other end. Then I grabbed his feet and pulled them up under the desk, bending him until he grunted in pain because he wasn't flexible enough; I tied his ankles like that to the legs of the desk. It held him good and bent, and it spread his legs so that his cock and balls dangled freely under the table, all with the usual weight hanging from his balls. I'd bound his arms straight out in a T. Finally, I'd looped some rope around his forehead and run it backwards, around the opposite edge of the desk and then down until I tied it to his toes. Once I pulled it tight, that meant his head was forced back so that he was facing forward; if he tried to drop his head forward, it would pull painfully on his little toes. With his ring gag in, the result was that my little slut, ass hanging off one end of the table and head up at the other end, was always ready for an insertion into either hole. For the last 24 hours, I had taken good advantage of both, often one right after the other.

So I was pretty sated.

"No, little slut," I said. "Stand up."

The abused boy drew himself to his feet. The attached weight dangled from his balls as he rose, and he barely grimaced at it. I made a mental note that it might be time to increase the weight. Again.

"Well now, let's start with your upper body today, eh? Give those arms a nice little workout. How about some pull-ups?"

Eric groaned in dismay, but the little slut knew better to talk.

"Oh, you don't like that very much, do you?"

Eric shook his head frantically.

"But you're my own little slave, so you're going to obey, aren't you?"

The naked boy stood there, arms tied behind his back, weight dangling from his balls, dildo stuffed and strapped into his ass. He turned his head as if to look back at me, or at least as well as he could guess where I was. His whole body posture said he was about to cry. And then, slowly, meekly, he nodded.

"Good," I said to the subservient child. "Good. Now follow me."

The boy followed me with his head bowed, his gait awkward with the giant dildo in his rear end. I realized that since he'd started obeying me on his own, I'd gone easy on him in some ways. There was a time I'd drag him along by grabbing the string around his balls, pulling him after me. Or maybe I'd make him crawl, or something. But that felt like more work, and if he obeyed me now, it was good enough.

Don't worry, though. I'm not going to go easy on him or anything! Let me tell you about the pull-ups he was dreading so much.

Eric obediently walked to right under the bar where he'd start pulling himself up. The broken little kid knew what he was in for, and he just stood there as I hooked him up in my twisted little way.

First, I tied his legs and feet together. As always, the rule was maximal bondage that would still allow whatever he had to do. But next was where the fun really started, and still Eric just stood there, letting me work on his body. I placed nipple rings on his ready-pierced nipples. He shivered, but he stayed still. To those rings I attached elastic cords, down to a hook on the ground. Even as he felt the mild tug on his nipples, still the boy stood; his breathing got faster but I saw him try to control his reaction. Next I untied his hands from behind his back and lifted them up above his head. Grabbing him at his side, I lifted him up, and he groaned at the increased tug on his nipples as the elastic started to stretch. "Grab onto the bar," I ordered him, and he did. I used cuffs to latch his wrists to the bar. The boy hung there, legs tied, nipples pulled down, immature little hands grasping the bar to relieve pressure from his wrists.

He was so docile. His body was limp, like a little rag doll, just letting me to do to him as I pleased. Just like a little slut is supposed to. He was shivering with anticipation at what he knew was going to happen next, but still he hung there quietly, stretched body dangling from the bar.

I reached down to the boy's privates. After a quick fondle on the hanging boy, I untied the weight from his ballsack. Eric immediately sighed at the release of pressure, but it was short-lived, as I tied another cord around his balls, this one connected to an elastic string.

"Lift up, slut," I ordered.

Underdeveloped muscles strained against his weight. The tendons in his thin little neck tensed as he lifted himself up, up, up. Although his legs were tied together, he still kicked them out as one unit, propelling him up a bit more, a bit more at a time.

"Aaaaaaaaaaah!" he cried out as the elastic pulled on his nipples, stretched tight as his body rose.

Still the obedient boy pulled himself up. It had been three days since he'd reached this point, three days since he'd become willing to subject himself to pain at my order, because he knew otherwise he'd be in for worse. He strained, and kicked, and strained, shouting as his nipples were pulled and pulled, until finally his chin was resting on the bar.

"Good little slut," I praised him (sort-of). He was gasping and red-faced with exertion and with the pain of the taut elastic pulling on his nipples. Now he was ready for the masterstroke: I grabbed the elastic that was tied to his ballsack and tied it to the pull-up bar.

"Nnnnnnnnn," he whimpered as he felt the pressure on his balls. "Muuuuuuuuuuh." It was the closest he was allowed to come to begging me for mercy. He didn't get any.

"Now, my little slut," I said, "how about… let's say five more pull-ups, eh?"

"Nnnnnnuuhhh…"

"Begin," I called.

The bound boy hung from the bar for a moment, gasping for breath. Then he pulled his chin off the bar and lowered himself down. He squealed as the elastic started to pull on his ballsack. Eric's little body was shaking. But he knew he had to lower himself all the way, and he did, all the way until his arms were straight, even as he cried out from the pain in his most sensitive – and abused – region.

"Good, good, little slut, good!" I cooed. "Now up!"

Tears were already falling down his round little cheeks, the pathetic little slut totally helpless before my commands. Sure enough, shoulders tensed, elbows bent, shoulder blades pulled back as the boy started to lift himself up. He gasped, his whole body engulfed in pain and effort and strain. As the pull on his testicles eased, the pull on his nipples increased. His upper body strained and pulled, going beyond its limits to raise him up. His legs kicked out to aid his ascent, the effect being to shake the dildo rammed up his ass. Slowly, slowly the tormented eight-year-old lifted himself up, gasping and crying out in pain as different parts of his body reacted to the torture, but always the obedient boy lifted, lifted, lifted until finally his chin rested on the bar again.

The boy's body was covered in sweat, and his nipples were being stretched out of his chest. He gasped for breath. I ran a finger along his back, picking up some of the juicy boy-sweat, and then I held it to Eric's mouth for him to lick up. He knew his job, and he promptly cleaned my finger.

"Good," I said. "That's one."

Eric moaned. And then, slowly, he started to lower himself down.

"My obedient little slut," I said, softly.

* * *

My naked eight-year-old was running back and forth across the room.

To set the scene: the kid had his arms tied behind his back, a big dildo stuffed and strapped into his ass, and his blindfold on. Y'know, more light bondage. Even his balls were getting a break, no weights attached. He sighed and he even smiled when I took them off, yes, he actually smiled because I was taking OFF his ball weights. Fuck this kid was messed up. I told him how generous I was for removing the weights as I took them off. "If you want to thank your master for his kindness," I said, "you may."

"Thank you, master," he said. "Thank you, for being so kind to me." I don't know if he thought that was what I wanted, or if he was so fucked up he actually meant it. Anyway, it didn't matter to me. His balls had been so abused recently, I didn't want him to get too used to the weights. This way they'd just hurt more when I put them back on.

Oh, wait, I forgot something about his "light bondage." That dildo was no ordinary dildo. It was rubber and squeezable. Each time the little eight-year-old took a step, it squirted a little bit of nice, acidic lemon juice into his ass. And since he was running back and forth across the room, he was squeezing it rather a lot, and each time he seemed to jump or yelp at the sudden pain inside him.

His task was to move several ping-pong balls from one side of the room to the other. But with his hands tied behind his back, his only real chance to do it was to grab them in his mouth and carry them across one at a time. Of course, since he was blindfolded, it was hard for him to find his way from one box to the other, or even to manage to pick up a ball with his mouth. And then he'd wander across the room, but not in a straight line, so he'd have to search blindly on the other side, not even able to use his hands to find his way, bumping his body and head into things just to navigate.

Oh, and of course, I'd told him that for every twenty seconds it took him above ten minutes, he'd earn himself another lash. So yes, he was moving quite quickly, and yelping or at least groaning with each step. I imagine that squirt after squirt of that lemon juice was shooting out into that well-worn boy's ass as he hurried to avoid an even worse fate.

Step. "Ugh!" he called as lemon juice squirted into his ass. Step. "Ah!" Step. "Ooh!" His body seemed to lift at that one; it must've been a big squirt. Step. "Gah!" Step. "Ya!" Step. "Ouh!" That was how it went for my blindfolded, butt-plugged, tied-up little boy as he zig-zagged back and forth across the room, back and forth holding a ping-pong ball in his mouth.

And then, on what must have been a vicious little squirt of pain, he opened his mouth to gasp and the ball fell out. He turned his head in the direction of the sound, and his face fell.

"Better pick it up," I said.

The blind boy started to move in the direction of the ball, reaching out with his foot, feeling across the floor to find the ball. It was a slow, painfull, awkward process. And then, when his foot finally found it… he pushed it away and it started rolling.

"Every twenty seconds is another lash," I said to the terrified child. "Don't forget."

"Muuuuh," he whimpered. I'm sure he hadn't forgotten.

Now, more carefully, he started patting the floor with his foot, up and down, so that when he found the ball again – and it took an agonizingly long time – he wouldn't kick it away. Finally he got it under his foot, but he had no way to lift it up. So, knowing where it was, he started to lower himself down so he could grab it again with his mouth.

By now, the boy had learned an important skill: he knew how to get himself up again even with his hands tied behind his back. So he would probably be able to do this. He lowered himself down, getting ready to open his mouth and take in the dirty ball, to get it to its destination. (That is, assuming he could still remember the direction. He sure had been wandering!)

It all turned out not to matter for the pathetic little slut. He'd bent his lithe legs so that he was sitting on his knees, and he was leaning forward with his mouth open to take in the ball… when he fell forward. What's more, as he fell his face scraped against the floor, and it somehow dislodged his blindfold. I must not have tied it properly!

To be clear, Eric had not seen anything for an entire week. He'd been utterly blind. Oh, I washed the blindfold so he didn't get infected. Every couple of days, I'd give him some sort of sleeping drug, and then I knew he was out long enough for me to take it off and switch it with another. He'd never seen me, or the cabin, or anything.

And now he could.

For the first time, I really saw his deep, scared brown eyes. I saw his pupils adjust to the sudden light as he finally saw where he'd been kept. As he saw me. He looked up from where he was lying fallen on the floor, and he saw me towering over him.

* * *

"Well," I said, taken aback. "Well."

The naked boy, fallen on the floor, stared up at me. He blinked slowly. He wasn't sure how to react, or how his master wanted him to react, so he just stared back blankly. Trembling. He was worried I was going to hurt him.

Was I?

"So now you've seen me," I said to the cowering child. "Tell me, little slut, was I what you expected?"

He stared back at me with those big brown eyes.

"Answer me," I commanded him.

"I dunno, master," he whispered meekly. His eyes were fixed on me. I could see his curiosity at finally being able to see me, at being able to see the room, tempered by his fear and uncertainty at what I would do in response.

"Answer me!" I said. "Speak so I can hear you, slut."

"I don't know, master," he said, a little bit louder.

"C'mon, little slut," I said. "Don't make your master angry. How do I look compared to what you thought?"

"You're tall," he whispered. "And, um, strong. I really dunno. You look normal. You look like a daddy."

I laughed. "Well," I said, "I wouldn't be a very good daddy. But I am a good master. Now get on your kness, slave."

The naked and terrified eight-year-old boy hurried to obey, but with his arms tied behind his back it still took work to position himself and to raise himself with just the right momentum so that he landed on his knees. He grimaced and grunted with each sway of his body, as new squirts of lemon juice shot into his tender ass from the massive dildo plugging it.

"Yes," I said, "good." I moved to stand in front of the kneeling child. "Now, my little slut, I've been using this word a lot. Do you know what a cock is?"

He shook his head. I felt myself get excited at the innocence this abused child still had in him.

"So do you know what you've been sucking all this time?"

"No, masterrr…" he started to trail off as he looked right in front of him, right at my massive, bulging cock in front of his face. I saw his face, his beautiful face, as he suddenly realized what had been in his mouth and up his ass. Or, at least, confirmed the fear he'd had all this time. "Your…" he said, "your… p--"

"Yes," I interrupted the innocent little slut. "Now open up your mouth and give me one of your fucking fantastic blowjobs."

The boy stared, eyes going back and forth, tracing the motion of my cock.

"NOW!" I yelled.

Quickly the obedient slave-boy opened his mouth wide and reached forward. After all, he'd done it before, even if he didn't know exactly what it was. His arms were still tied behind his back, so he had to dip his head forward awkwardly; he struggled to keep his balance, held his mouth open, and stuck his tongue out to try to maneuver my cock into his mouth. It took a couple of tries but he finally got it, my cock rolled into his mouth and he enveloped it with his tender lips. I felt him start to suck with that little mouth, pulling on the ready cock. A moment later his tongue started to lap across the thick cock that filled his mouth. "Yessssss," I moaned. "Fuuuck yesssss."

Eric had to strain to hold his balance with his tied hands, and I saw the tendons in his neck tense to hold him straight. His head started to bob on the cock, a careful, slow motion so as not to tip over. Soft lips and a warm, wet tongue rolled along my cock in waves. I still loved the feeling of his lips encircling me, no ring gag in the way, just the gentle seal of his mouth. His head moved back and forth as he sucked. The sucking intensified each time he moved backwards, beautiful pressure mounting on my cock. Then he dipped forwards, pulled by his own suction, and the cock, moist with his saliva, slid easily into his mouth.

"Fuck," I moaned as I felt my cock slide into the boy's mouth once again. "Fuck fuck fuck." The eight-year-old just kept sliding along, back and forth, mouth in a tight seal around me.

I looked down at the kneeling, naked, partially bound, obediently sucking child. He had closed his eyes as his head rocked back and forth. Of course, he'd always sucked me blindfolded. He probably didn't even want to see what he was doing.

"Open your eyes, little slut. I want to see them." Those deep, innocent brown eyes opened. They turned up to look at me, wide eyes filled with fear and sadness and defeat. "Yes. I want to see you while you pleasure me."

Now Eric had to see the cock that he repeatedly slid into his mouth and washed with his tongue. He saw, maybe for the first time, the tuft of pubic hair that he'd felt tickle his face before, even if he'd never known what it was. He saw the man who was his owner, the man who towered over the kneeling eight-year-old. The man he obeyed.

Back and forth he bobbed on my cock. Back and forth. For a little while, there was just that, just the sucking, kneeling, tied boy; the sloppy wet sounds of his sucking, his heavy breathing through his nose, my moans, his soft whimpers. I loved watching him dip and straighten, dip and straighten, his occasional blinking, and the focused but melancholy look in his eyes.

"Now, my little slut," I said, "swallow it, just like we've trained. Swallow it right down your throat."

"Eeeeunh," he whimpered through my swollen dick. Despite his hesitance, I knew he would obey. I felt air blowing along my wet cock as he took a deep breath, and then it started to sink deeper in his mouth.

"Yes," I gasped, "yes," as the sucking boy's head moved deeper and deeper on the cock, as I watched it sink into his mouth. One inch, and then another inch sliding obscenely into the eight-year-old's tiny head. I felt the tip pause against the back of his mouth and I felt the contractions as he started to gag, and then the muscles contracted as if to swallow. His first attempt to swallow didn't work, but as his mouth contracted with a second swallowing motion, I felt my tip start to squeeze into his little little throat. It compressed into a tightness I knew and welcomed, squeezing into that tiny space of warmth.

As my cock slid into that throat, poor Eric looked even more exposed and naked without his blindfold. It was as if the blindfold itself had protected him from the world he was in as much as it had restrained him. His deep brown eyes were wide, wide with shock and struggle and fear.

Now that the cock had started to pass into his throat, it was easier to slide further, and inch after inch sank obscenely into his mouth. I could see a bit of a bulge in his throat. I had trained him well, all that time he'd spent tied up, swallowing my dildo readying himself for this moment. I didn't need to push him. He slid onto the cock all on his own, the weight of his shoulders pressing himself onto it. Through it all, he still had his eyes wide, as wide as he could make them, all as my cock buried itself inside him.

"Keep going," I told the straining boy. "Keep going!"

Deeper and deeper it went into him, the boy leaning forward as I thrust my pelvis out, using his weight to force it in, and in, and in.

"Almost there," I called, "almost there!"

With a final push, he cast himself forward, impaling himself on my dick, and I felt it slide the last of the way into that stretchy throat.

"Yes!" I said. I placed my hands on the back of his head, holding him in place. "Now hold it! Hold it there!"

Eric stared up at me. He could feel my pubic hair against his immature face, against his lips and nose and cheeks. Maybe even in his eyes. He blinked once, twice.

"Yes, hold it!"

My hands gripped the back of Eric's head, holding him there, holding him with my cock buried all the way down his throat, surrounded by the boy's wet warmth.

Of course, I'd made the boy deep-throat me before, but he hadn't been able to get it down on his own. I always needed to shove it down. This time he'd done it himself, and now there it was, like a fact of life, my cock all the way inside him. I saw his body straining, the twitch in his shoulders, the way his tied hands flexed at his inability to breathe. Now, for the first time, I could see the fear in his eyes as he was forced to hold it like that, not knowing when I'd release him.

Every motion of the boy was heavenly and my cock blazed with pleasure. Every muscle contraction, every movement of his tongue, every twitch sent bolts of electricity through me. I wouldn't be able to hold it in much longer like this.

"All right, little slut," I said. "I'm going to let you pull back, but you can't let the cock out of your mouth, you understand?"

Even through his certain panic at being unable to breathe, the boy managed a slight nod. He'd been trained well. And that slight nod, that little motion of his head… it sent more breathtaking electricity through me.

"Good," I said. "Now you may pull back." I released my hands from the back of Eric's head. Muscles in his chest and neck straining, the boy with his hands tied behind his back still managed to straighten up slowly. My cock slowly started to squeeze its way out of his throat. I felt the walls of the throat slide against me; I felt the sense of suction as it pulled out of the plugged-up boy. Gently, gently the cock slid out, one inch, and then another inch, slowly as it squeezed its way out of his throat, wet and saliva-full, emerging from the boys mouth. After a few moments, just the tip was in his throat, and then it too pulled out into his mouth.

The boy immediately started miserably gagging at the release. He desperately pulled air in through both nose and mouth, and I felt the cool breeze against my wet cock. Still, he managed to keep the tip in his mouth, never letting it fall.

"Good little slut," I said. "Now keep sucking."

The sad boy gazed up at me, as if beseeching me for mercy. And then he started to suck again. Heavenly feelings shot through my body once again.

"You've gotten really good at this, little slut," I said. "I wonder how it feels to know that this is what you're good at now."

The boy just kept sucking. After all, he hadn't been asked a question.

My toes were curling with built-up energy, and my cock was rock-hard with desire. Eric had finally caught his breath. "Swallow again, little slut." Just like that, the big, long, dripping wet cock started to disappear into the obedient little slutling's mouth. I felt the tip touch the back of his tiny mouth; the contractions as he started to swallow; the squeeze as it pressed into his throat. With hands tied behind his back, he had to throw his whole weight forward to get it to squeeze in. To me, it seemed like it sunk in, and in, and in, almost effortlessly.

"Oh dear god fuck," I gasped. My hands reached around to the back of his head and pulled him in, the last inch forcing its way in, all the way down to the hilt. With his hands tied behind his back, he had no leverage, so I grabbed his head and pushed it back and forth, feeling the squeeze on my cock as it slithered inside his throat. A little bit in, a little bit out. A little bit in, a little bit out. Each time stimulating my glans with ecstasy like can only be imagined.

"Eyes open," I told the impaled child. I wanted him to see the pulsing, to understand exactly how the sex worked. He could feel what was coming, but he'd never seen it before. My cock pulsed inside his mouth, and pulsed again.

And then I came.

Oh, how I came. I geyser spewed straight down his too-tight throat. Pulsing and pulsing and pulsing inside him. Cum shooting out into my eight-year-old's enslaved body. I saw his eyes grow wide as he felt it, as he felt the strange warm liquid in his throat and as he saw me hump my hips into his face. Each pump of my cock stimulated my glans even more, and I felt my excitement almost growing as more and more cum spewed out into my receptacle.

The geyser relaxed to a spigot, and finally a drizzle, until at last I was done. The last bit of cum oozed slowly out into the child. At last, I pulled my now-limp man's cock from the boy's mouth. "Now lick it clean," I ordered him. He complied.

"Good," I said. "Good little slut."

For a moment I stood there as the kneeling boy licked the cock clean. Soon, the layer of cum was replaced by the sheen of his saliva. The whole long cock was slick with it.

"Now," I said, "take the tip into your mouth and suck the last bit of cum down."

Soft lips closed around the tip, sucking, his little tongue rubbing along the piss slit. Eventually the last bit of cum oozed out of my cock, and found its home soundly inside the boy.

"Now stand up," I told him when he was done.

Eric's face was conflicted and frightened. His mouth was compressed into a grimace and his eyes darted around skittishly. He didn't know why I hadn't replaced the blindfold, and the change troubled him. No matter how much he hated his blindness and helplessness, he'd gotten used to it, used to his position and routine (such as it was). Now things were different, and I saw him trembling with apprehension.

Of course, I'd given him a command, and he knew to obey. He raised one leg from his kneel, putting a foot under him, and used it to push himself up. Soon the naked child was standing in front of me, leaning forward slightly because of his arms tied behind his back.

"Come with me." We walked together, and I held his soft, tied arms behind him until we got to the kitchen. Eric was marveling at what he saw. He looked all around at the cabin. It was really a house, but rustic. He finally saw all the spaces he'd walked and staggered and teetered through blindly, bits of his hellish week finally fitting into a place. Eventually, we got to the kitchen table.

"I'm going to untie you, Eric," I said. "We're going to have breakfast together. But I want to be clear. The door is locked and you need a key to get out of this house. You run and I'm going to hurt you worse than anything you've felt so far, got it?"

He nodded with wide eyes.

"During breakfast, you can talk."

"Yes, master," he said meekly, looking down at the ground. He didn't have a framework to understand what was happening to him yet. I swear, it looked like he'd be more comfortable if I just tied him back up on the table again!

"Don't worry, my little slave," I said, patting him on the head. "It's just for breakfast. You get one breakfast as a normal boy, all right?" I reached down behind him and started to untie his hands. "Well, sort-of normal," I said to myself. I could feel his gasp as bloodflow increased again to numb little fingers; I could feel the way he flexed his shoulders at the newfound freedom. When they were free, he held his hands forward so he could look at them. He hadn't even seen his own hands in a week. He started to flex them, stretching each little finger, making fists with his hands, feeling them move once again.

"T-thank you, master," he stammered, seeming to show genuine gratitude at my "kindness."

"Hold still," I said. I reached down and started to unstrap the dildo in his ass. It was huge and long and rubbery, and Eric gasped and arched his back as I started to pull it out. The long dildo was obscene as it slid through his abused, lemon juice-filled anus. It had filled him and stretched him completely.

"Waaaaaaaahhhhhhh…" he exclaimed, shivering as inch after inch emerged. The abused little boy gasped and sobbed softly when it finally popped out, his red, sore asshole agape, throbbing and only slowly contracting.

"Well," I said casually, "I'm going to go make breakfast."

I moved towards the fridge, where I started to take out some eggs. Eric stood silently where I'd left him, nervously crossing one little bare foot over the other. Finally, he spoke up. "M-master," he said, as I got a frying pan down, "what should I do?"

"Whatever you want," I said. "Just don't leave the kitchen."

Eric stood there nervously. At first he didn't move. Then, wide eyes watching me the whole time to make sure I didn't get mad, he gently started to sit down at the table. I broke some eggs into a bowl, and he winced at the sound of eggshells cracking. Even sitting, he looked like he'd forgotten how to use a chair. He sat down on it slowly, wincing as his roughed-up anus made contact, tiny, bare legs dangling from the adult-sized chair. He wiggled there on it, feet swinging through the air, trying to find a way to sit that made him comfortable. He'd become a stranger to the movement of his own body.

"Eric?" I called.

The boy jumped up with a shout, quickly standing up almost at attention. He saw him start to kneel and then think better of it. "Yes, master?" he asked.

I couldn't resist smirking at this kid I had so thoroughly fucked up and enslaved. "What do you like in your omelet?"

"Uhhhhh…" he said, looking down, "I dunno…"

"C'mon," I said. "What do you want in your omelet? What do you usually have?"

His face was a mask of confusion, staring down at the ground. "Cheese?" he finally said, in a faint, high-pitched voice. "And ham? And mushrooms?"

I turned to him, surprised. "You like mushrooms in your omelet?"

"Y-yeah," he said, turning red and looking away from me again. "Mommy always used to make them with mushrooms. She said it was h-healthy."

"All right," I said. "I thought I was going to have the mushrooms, but I can put them in yours."

"No, no!" he shouted suddenly, coming over to me, waving little hands wildly. "No, you have the mushrooms, please, master!"

"Oh, it's all right, Eric," I assured him. "You can have them."

"No, please!" he shoted, frantic.

"Eric," I said, "stop with the mushrooms."

He paused a moment, then stared up at me. "Yes, master," he said sullenly.

I dropped some butter into the frying pan while I chopped onions. The smell wafted through the kitchen, and the naked, beaten child was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He sniffed the air and stretched himself up on tippy-toes to look at the frying pan. "Do I really get some?" he asked.

"Oh yes," I said.

"What do I have to do?"

"Nothing," I assured him. "This is just for you."

"Why?"

"I'm doing something nice for you," I said. "Don't be so surprised."

"Um," he said, clearly surprised, "all right."

The frying pan sizzled as I poured half the egg mixture into it. The smell of delicious eggs filled the room as I slowly cooked the omelet, careful not to burn it. I looked down to my right, and there was eight-year-old Eric, staring at the food. He was cutely biting his lower lip as he gazed at it, tiny mouth watering at the forbidden pleasure in front of him.

"You had omelets at home?"

"On Sundays," he said, slowly. "It was our special treat."

"Well," I said, "today's a Sunday."

"H-how long have I been here?"

"A week," I replied.

"Just a week!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening.

I flipped the omelet. I reached out, my hand closing on his little shoulder, caressing it and pulling him close. He shivered, but then he let himself fall into my embrace. "A week as my little slave," I said.

The naked boy just nodded, still cutely biting his lower lip.

I reached out; he recoiled at first but knew better, and let me touch him. My touch was tender, almost loving, running my hand through his generous head of hair. "You've been a good slave, Eric," I said.

"A-are you… um… letting me go, master?"

"No, Eric," I said with a little chuckle, and I saw sadness overwhelm his face. "I want you to understand just how generous I'm being right now. I'm giving you an hour as a free boy. Do you understand how special that is?"

"Y-yes, master," he said, lip trembling.

"Are you grateful to me?"

"Yes, master."

The first omelet was done and, letting go of the boy, I slid it onto a plate. Then I poured the second half of the egg into the frying pan, spooning out the last of it with a spatula, and started preparing it. Eric still watched, mesmerized at the normal breakfast routine going on in front of him.

"I want you to accept," I continued speaking, "that you are my slave. Do you understand, Eric?"

"Yes, master," he said, although I could tell that he didn't.

"When you do, you'll accept that you're nothing but a receptacle. A receptacle for pain, a receptacle for my cock, a receptacle for my cum. That's your role now. To receive whatever I give you."

The naked boy shivered, but not from the cold. "Yes, master," he whimpered.

"Do you accept that you are my slave? Mine to use whenever and however I want?"

Eric looked up at me with those adorable wide eyes, eyes I had only really seen today. "Yes, master," he said, but he had not truly submitted himself to me. Not yet. He would, eventually.

I flipped my omelet.

"So," I said, "back when you were a free boy, what'd you do for fun?"

Eric stared back, not really responding. His brain struggled to connect back to the world he once lived in.

"Answer me, slave," I insisted.

Maybe it was the use of "slave" that forced him back into the present and made him realize he had to answer. "I, uh, I used to play a lot of sports, I guess," he said. "Like, soccer, and tennis, and skiing."

"No wonder you're so gorgeous."

Eric didn't really react to the compliment, except to look down at the ground and blush a little.

"Do you like it when your master compliments you?" I asked, brushing a finger along his warm, round, reddened cheek. I liked that he reacted to it. It meant that he listened to what I said. He cared about my opinion of him.

Eric seemed to contract in on himself. He didn't really answer.

"Well?"

"I… I don't know, master… is that all right?"

"Well," I said, "it should be the only thing that matters to you. After all, your master controls everything about your life. Your master is your whole universe. I should be the only person you care about. When I compliment you, that should make you happier than anything else in the world."

Eric looked up at me with open eyes. "Yes, master," he mumbled in response.

Eventually my omelet was done and we headed back to the table and sat down to eat. I smiled as I watched Eric's dangling feet swinging in the air. Just having that much freedom of movement was new for him. I watched as his nimble toes flexed nervously in the air, intertwining, or pushing up against the back of a bare ankle.

For a moment, each of us quietly started to eat. Metal forks scraped against ceramic plates as we cut off pieces of omelet and moved them into our mouths. I saw Eric as the first bite hit his mouth, and he couldn't help but smile, the food was so good, so much better than anything he'd had for a week. He closed his eyes, savoring real, warm, tasty food. He seemed to lean over a bit, just taking in the smell of this forbidden deliciousness. I thought about what it must feel like to be able to eat like this instead of face-down in a dog bowl or gulping down whatever gravity slid into his throat.

"So what else did you do?"

"Um…" he said. "Video games, I guess. And my dad and I and my kid brother, we used to build planes and fly them around."

"That sounds nice."

"Yeah."

"Do you miss them? Your family?"

"All the time," said Eric. "Every minute…" His voice trailed off, and I saw a tear forming in his eye.

"Well," I said, "I have good news. Soon, you're going to forget all about them." Eric looked back at me as the tear streaked down his cheek. "This, here, is going to be all of your world. And as I punish you and use you as my slave, you'll forget your family and remember only serving me."

The boy was shaking now in his chair. He wasn't crying anymore. He was just shivering, sitting there, silently.

"Eat some more," I said. He took another bite into his mouth, and I saw his emotions change again as the rare, delicious tastes overwhelmed whatever emotions he was feeling.

"Eric," I said, "you've been a good slave, you know."

"Uh, yes, master," he said, quietly, still savoring his bite of omelet.

"I'm going to do something for you," I continued, taking my second bite. "I know that you will accept me fully as your master, that this will become your universe and you will forget your family completely. So from now on, every Sunday, you get one hour as a free boy, like this." Of course, I didn't tell him the cost. Not the cost in punishment. The cost in having an hour of bliss each week to compare to his life as a slave. The reminder of what it meant to be free. Of the life he was losing. It would be that much harder for him to forget, to get over a profound sense of loss at the life he could no longer live.

Eric stopped chewing for a moment, not sure what to make of this. "Th-thank you, master," he said.

"The one condition," I continued, "is that you have to accept what you are. That you're a slave. If you displease me, you lose your free hour."

Eric nodded back to me.

"Each week, you can tell me what you want for your free hour, and I'll arrange it."

"A-all right, master," he said.

"It can be games, toys, movies, food, anything. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master," he replied.

"Good slave," I said. We continued eating, forks scraping against the plates. The omelets were so good for him, he even leaned down and started licking the plate clean. I gave him mine to lick as well, and he did so with no trace of self-consciousness.

"You know, Eric," I said, "once you stop thinking about getting free, once you stop thinking about your mommy and home and daddy and model planes, once you just accept what you are, this life is going to get a lot better for you."

"Yes, master," he said, quietly.

* * *

When breakfast was done, I brought the naked boy into a room he'd been in many times, although he didn't know it. He looked around wide-eyed, seeing tables and chairs that he'd been tied to and fucked on; walls with manacles where he'd been hanging; and more. He started to tremble, not a small thing but something that encompassed his whole body, a violent shaking as he looked from one instrument of torture to another.

"No…" he mumbled.

"You don't have permission to talk unless I ask you a question, slave," I said back harshly. "Breakfast is over." Now Eric stood there quietly, his control of his body evaporating as he trembled.

"Tell me, are you my slave?"

Eric was shaking violently now. "Y-yes, m-master," he stuttered.

"Are you mine, utterly and completely?"

"Yes, master," he managed, looking intently at me.

"Do you surrender your body to me," I asked, "all of it, so that I can do with you whatever I want?"

"Yes, master," said the beaten boy.

"Will you obey any command I give you, no matter what I ask you to do, no matter how dangerous it is, no matter how much you know it will hurt you?"

"I… I… y-yes, master," he managed.

"Good. Then let's prove it," I said. I went over to a wall with manacles attached that could clip around his wrists and ankles, spread-eagling his body. I placed some small boxes underneath the manacles for his ankles. "Stand with your feet on these boxes and your back against the wall."

Eric stepped forward, bare feet padding against the cold floor. The terrified eight-year-old moved forward like in a fog. "Puh-puh-please, master," he begged through heaving breaths, "I'll b-be good…"

"This isn't about being good, slave," I said. "This is about you obeying me, and me having fun. Now obey."

Eric reached the wall. He turned around to face me, his back against the wall. Every part of his body was shaking. Trembling waves coursed through his thighs. His hands shook. His ballsack shook. It took him a couple of tries to land his shaking feet on those boxes, but he did it, and he raised himself up.

"Now reach down and buckle your ankles in," I commanded.

Eric looked down, seeing the shackles near his feet. Up until now, he'd been blindfolded, obeying, but never putting himself in more bondage because of my orders. I had always bound him myself. I wanted to see just how beaten this boy was. Just how subservient he'd become. Would he bind himself for me? For his master?

The eight-year-old child closed his eyes for a moment, no doubt thinking about what he was being made to do to himself. He took a deep breath, and then he leaned down, snapping the manacles in place around his thin ankles, trapping his feet in place. He straightened himself back up, looking at his master.

"Yes," I said, "you see? You are mine. Look how you surrender your body to me. Look how you bind yourself for me. Do you feel your complete surrender to me?"

"Yes, master."

"Now, my slave, raise your wrists up to the manacles above you."

Teeth chattering, eyes still pleading at me, tears flowing down smooth cheeks, he raised shaking hands up to the manacles, making it easy for me to put in his bondage. I walked up and firmly buckled him in.

Leaving the eight-year-old hanging exposed for a moment, I went off to the side of the room and returned with a wheeled cart. Carefully, I started to attach the sharp electrodes to his bare skin, taping on the metal connections.

"Yes," I said idly as I taped them to his bare skin, "look how you give yourself to me to do whatever I please with your body."

He'd never had this done to him before, blindfolded or not, and he looked down curiously and fearfully. His whole body was still trembling, making it harder to attach the electrodes, but I held him carefully as each one was taped on.

"Open your mouth," I ordered, and I strapped in a gag so that he wouldn't choke on his tongue or bite it. I placed some padding on the wall behind him so he wouldn't get a concussion if his head swung backwards. Then I reached down, got a small control box, and brought it up to his hand. "Hold on to this," I said, and he opened his hand to receive it.

"Now, my slave, it's time for you to really prove your dedication to your master." I indicated the control box in his hand. "You are about to cause yourself pain like you cannot imagine. All because I tell you to. With each new jolt of pain, you will dedicate yourself to me. You will be mine, my little, willing pain receptacle. Do you understand?"

Slowly, the gagged boy nodded.

"Good. Then show me. Push button A."

Eric's eyes widened as he stared at me. His whole body was quaking, his fingers, his feet, his chest, his knees. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks. "You know you're going to experience the pain no matter what. You are my slave and I will enjoy you however I want. But now you will show me how you obey. Push the button." A wild, uncontrolled tremor spread through the boy's body, and then he turned his head to look at his hand. He moved a shaking finger to button A, and it hovered there for a moment. Then he gave in. He pushed it.

Pain, pain rippled through his little eight-year-old body and he shook and bucked against his bonds in agony. Electricity poured into his nipples, a blinding, firey, overwhelming pain. He screamed into his gag as the self-inflicted torment overwhelmed him. It wasn't just the pain, but loss of control as muscles spasmed from the electricity racing through him. He jerked forward, chest up, heaving from the agony. His ankles pushed out against their bonds, his wrists shook, he dropped the control panel, his body strained, muscles pulled tight, as he was held there against the wall. "NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!" he cried, through a clenched jaw, as pain still rippled through his chest.

Finally it was over. His tiny, tender body was covered now in a bright sheen of sweat, and his face was covered in tears and bulging trails of snot. He was a magnificent, pathetic sight.

I reached down to his chin and tenderly put a finger under it, gently raising his face to look at mine. My own face was close, so close we could feel each others' breath. "You see, Eric," I said, "this is how it was meant to be. You're my slave. My willing slave. You obey every command I give you, isn't that right?"

Eric stared back. I could still feel tremors going through his chin. Slowly, he nodded, as fresh tears worked their way down his cheeks.

"Good," I said, "good, that's right. Look at you, such a perfect slave, already obeying me like this after just a week, such a pathetic little boy fit only to be my slave. You were MEANT for this, MEANT to serve me. It's what you are." I let go of his chin and he held his head up as I ran my hand almost affectionately through his sweaty hair. Then I reached down, taking the control panel and replacing it in his trembling hand. "Now," I said, "push button B for your master."

He stared at me, pleading with his eyes.

"Push it, slave. Prove your loyalty. Take more pain for your master. Push button B."

The shaking, confused little boy whimpered through his gag. I saw that he was nearly about to break down, nearly about to start crying uncontrollably. Somehow, with my stare, he held it together. He turned his head to look at his hand, where a wildly shaking finger hovered over button B, terrified of what he knew would happen when he pushed it. He knew it would be worse.

"Push it, slave," I said. "Prove that you're mine."

"Muuuuuuuuh," he whimpered, as his trembling finger lowered itself down, and pushed button B.

Immediately, sharp cycles of electric pulses coursed through his body. This time, the first one was a sharp, powerful jolt to his legs, running from the soft flesh in the back of his knees down to the soles of his feet, and he cried out as he felt the burning sensation course through him and his muscles clenched furiously because of the signal that was now going through them. Once again his own body passed out of his control as his legs kicked out against the restraints of their own accord, driving the sharp (but non-conducting) shackles deep into his flesh.

The next electric jolt hit his slender, smooth, hanging arms, the electric shock running right from his sensitive and vulnerable armpits to the inside of his elbows. His hands shook violently in their restraints as searing pain flowed through him and his hands clenched against the restraints.

For the third blast, the powerful electricity returned to his nipples as it burned into him. He yelled into his gag, again and again, "GHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! GHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! GHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

There was a moment's break. The heaving boy gasped through his gag as he thought it was over.

Now that it had demonstrated each of the points of contact, sequence B started to trigger them almost at random, one after the other pouring pain into the little boy's body. First the electric burning spread through his right arm, causing spasmodic twitching; then his right leg; then his nipples; then a sustained burst into his left leg, powering into the back of his left knee, then his right arm again, then his left arm… it varied the intensity and the location, causing a blinding wall of random, overwhelming pain for little Eric as he hung helpless from his shackles.

The child was screaming again incoherently into his gag. He lost control of his bladder, pee dribbling out from his hanging cock. He shook with every burst of electricity that flowed through his tender body. He flailed ineffectively against his restraints. Sweat poured across his body as he shivered, wild-eyed with pain, as blast after blast of electricity flowed into his helpless little body. What it meant to be a receptacle for pain became clear. His hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into his skin. His toes splayed out in agony as new blasts of pain hit them. He cried out, again and again and again. The disgusting mix of tears and sweat and snot from his chin started to drip down onto his chest.

Finally, sequence B ended. The overwhelmed boy hung there, limp and sobbing. His whole naked body just hung forward, arms and feet pulled back by the manacles that held him firm.

"Yes, my slave. You are completely mine."

I left the room, letting him rest as he hung off the wall. Going to the kitchen, I returned with a glass of apple juice and a straw. The broken boy was still sobbing, still hanging off of the wall, shaking and miserable. I held up the straw to his mouth. "Drink," I said.

He wrapped his lips around the straw and drank. Cool, sweet apple juice flowed into his body. It was better-tasting than what I usually gave him; I wanted him to feel the contrast. I also knew he needed the hydration and the electrolytes if he was going to make it through this. He sighed in pleasure at the sweet taste.

When he'd drunk it all, I set it down on a nearby table. (One he'd already been tied to several times.) Then I reached down and picked up the control panel. He shivered when he saw that.

"You didn't think it was over," I said playfully, "just because I brought you apple juice? That was just so you could handle it on a higher setting."

"Nnnnn!" he cried into his gag. "Nnnnn!"

"Eric," I said simply, "slaves accept what their masters decide for them."

He stopped shouting into his gag, now just staring at me, wide-eyed. Sweat-drenched hair clung to his forehead as I slowly but steadily raised the control panel and placed it in his hand.

"Now button C," I said.

Eric looked at me wide-eyed. He shook his head fearfully.

"No, my slave," I said. "You are going to show me how you obey your master. How you gladly accept any pain your master decides to give you. You are going to prove that your master is your ruler. You are going to push button C."

Eric took short, gasping breaths. His eyes showed his terror, his desperate instinct to run away that he had no way to actualize as he hung tied to the wall. His hand shook frightfully with the control panel. And then, closing his eyes as if that would help him bear the pain, my broken little slave pushed button C.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he yelled through his gag as the first wave of electricity flowed into his stomach, causing him to expel his breath in a sudden wave of pain. The next one went through electrodes on the inside of his tender thighs. Then the sequence started up in earnest, shocks flying through not just his stomach and his thighs, but also all the other places from sequences A and B: his nipples, his armpits and elbows, his knees and feet. The boy was a slave now to the sensations in his body: jerking and twitching and pulling and spasming at each new jolt of electricity, crying out into his gag, tears falling down one after another. He was an animal, a tied-up animal just reacting to each new shot of pure pain, screaming, muscles all over his body reacting and contracting without any conscious thought from him. He just was.

It was an amazing sight, this sweaty, straining, squirming, shaking, spasming boy, tied up, light glinting off his beautiful naked body as he instinctually reacted to each new thing that took him over, as he twitched and cried and pulled desperately at his bonds. I could see each boyish muscle forced to contract under the fire of electricity. Those muscles that he still controlled were trying to pull free, not from any thought, just from his desperate reaction to the pain. And still blast after blast of electricity lanced into his body, causing the eight-year-old boy to shake and twist and cry out in agony.

Finally sequence C finished.

Again I left the crying boy hanging there, limp and exhausted in his restraints, as I retrieved more apple juice. I brought it back, and he gratefully drank the sweet substance from the straw.

"Now, my sweet slave," I said when I judged that he'd rested a moment, "we have one more button left." He turned his head to look at me, slowly; he was too tired to do more. He didn't nod. He didn't shake his head. He just looked at me.

"Button D," I said, "is special. Button D is going to bring you to new heights of pain. But you are going to welcome it because your master commands it. Even if it kills you, you will welcome it, isn't that right?"

Eric stared back at me.

"Nod for me, slave. Nod to show that you welcome the pain because your master wishes it."

A moment's beat. Then Eric nodded his head.

"Excellent," I said. I retrieved the controller, fallen again during his prior agonies, and put it in his hand.

"Now we both know what you're going to do. Push button D," I commanded him.

We both knew, also, what it would do. There were no surprises here; there was one part of his body that was conspicuously untouched. But now my boy didn't hesitate; I'm not sure he had the capacity to hesitate. The naked, broken child pushed the button, and electric current flowed into his hanging cock and balls.

He thrust his hips forward as the pain tore into him, every muscle in his body straining out as this new, thundering pain flowed through his most sensitive parts. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he cried out into his gag, waves of pain echoing within him, his abused little testicles overwhelmed with searing agony.

Eventually, Sequence D released his cock and balls, and moved back to the other parts of his body. There, even as current tore through him, he merely grunted, merely moaned or twitched as pain echoed into his body. Nipples, elbows, armpits, thighs… they were like nothing to my little pin slave now. He just took it, took the pain and let it happen to him.

And then Sequence D returned to his cock and balls, and that was too much. Again he cried out, body rocking forward, trying to pull out of his restraints. Back and forth, all over the different parts of little Eric, the sequence sent new shocks of electricity through him, and my pain slave just let the torture wash through him. The boy trembled now even when electricity wasn't flowing through him. His mouth hung open, drool oozing down onto his chin. Snot flowed from his nose, some dripping into his open mouth (although he didn't notice), some dripping onto his chin, some even flying up onto his forehead or his hair when he bucked his head backwards in pain.

Again and again the bursts of pain lanced into the boy's most sensitive regions. When it was finally done, Eric lay limp, almost unresponsive. He was awake; his eyes could still track me. But it seemed as if nothing got through to any deeper awareness. He just floated there, existing.

"Good, slave," I said to the unresponsive child. "You did very well. You proved to both of us that you will obey any command I give, no matter what it is. Isn't that right?"

His eyes tracked me. I saw a spark of recognition in there, but no other response.

I smiled. "Good enough. You are a good, obedient slave." I ran my finger down his snot-, drool-, and sweat-covered cheek. "It should make you very happy to hear that," I said. "It's the highest compliment for a slave." I wondered how much of this was landing through his haze. But I was pretty sure this next part would.

I went to the side of the room and got a platform for me to stand on, pulling it in front of the hanging child. Then I climbed up onto it, unzipping my fly to let my cock hang free in front of his face. I removed his gag. "Now, slave," I said, "suck on your master's cock."

Eric turned his tired, bloodshot eyes to look at it. A few hours ago, he had been disgusted to learn what he'd been sucking on, hesitant to take it into his mouth. Now there was almost no reaction. He opened his mouth, and I slid it in to the soft, welcoming hole.

"Run your tongue along it. Suck like I've taught you."

The tired boy complied. I started to run the cock in and out of his mouth.

"Now," I said, "take it deeper like you've learned."

With no hesitation, almost no reaction at all, the boy started to swallow it, deep-throating his master's generous cock. He was almost robotic, but I knew that somewhere inside there was Eric, defeated, overwhelmed, willing to do anything at all to please his master. I could feel the boy's presence in his tongue, lapping along my cock. I could feel it in the way he sucked. He remembered his lessons, and he worked to please his master like any good slave.

I held the eight-year-old's head, forcing it back and forth along my throbbing cock, fucking the numb little boy's face. In and out I went, over and over, Eric not resisting, not reacting, just blinking occasionally as my cock shoved in. His body was limp, but still he sucked and licked to please his master.

"That's right, my slave," I said to him. "When nothing else is left, still you serve your master."

I dragged his head back and forth along the cock, wet saliva coating it, the exhausted child focused only on giving his master the pleasure I demanded. In and out of my exhausted boy's mouth, in and out of his throat, squeezing into the tight space and feeling my cock slither in, then forcing it out, then in, rubbing along the tight edge of his throat. Eric, bleary-eyed, licking and sucking. And then, at last, I held him tight on the cock, all the way in, my public hair catching on his wet and dirty face as waves of pleasure flowed through my body and I pumped my cum into the exhausted kid.

* * *

When my slave had sucked me off, I brought him some more apple juice, then I let him rest. I even brought a travel pillow to put around his neck, to hold it up, so he wouldn't hurt himself and might be able to get some sleep.

About ninety minutes later, I returned. Eric was asleep, his head lolled over to the side, mouth open, drool working its way down his chin. His smooth little chest gently rose and fell with each breath. He was still naked, tied at wrists and ankles, hanging and spreadeagled with electrodes still attached to his bare body. I stepped up to him.

"Slave!" I called roughly. I slapped him across the face. "Slave!"

He startled awake. "Muuuuuuh," he groaned. Sleepy eyes looked at me, then went wider. I shoved the control panel into the drowsy boy's bound hand before he could process anything else.

"Push button C!" I called to the barely conscious boy. "Push it now!"

He stared back at me, eyes wide, darting between me and the control panel.

"NOW!" I called.

He turned, looked at that little, manacled hand, and he pushed it. Even awoken from sleep, he knew to obey his master. Even awoken from sleep, he would bring pain on himself at my simple command. Immediately electric current flowed through his body and he cried out, straining and twisting and gasping in pain as each part of his body felt torture anew, now fully awake, now forced again to endure this torment. Powerful, burning current flowed through his armpits, through his stomach, through his knees and feet, and boyish muscles strained and pulled at his bonds, reaching desperately for a release they could not have.

Still the sequence played out mercilessly, pulse after pulse firing into the eight-year-old boy, tormenting his nipples, his elbows, his legs. "Ah! Ah! Ah!" he cried out, now fully awake, fully experiencing the pain through what had been the fog of sleep. His face was a tight grimace, lips pulled back in strain as he screamed into his gag. He shook violently against the restraints, animal desperation begging for release as his naked body quivered and spasmed and bucked before finally, finally, the sequence ended. It left him gasping, limp, and crying.

"You see, slave," I said to the desperate child. "You obey me. Always. No questions. No hesitation. No delays. No matter what the command is, no matter what, no matter how it hurts you, no matter what it is, you obey because I am your master. Do you understand?"

He looked up at me with that dirty face, covered in sweat and drool and spit and snot and even apple juice that had leaked down his chin. He nodded.

"You will obey me no matter what?"

He nodded.

I brought him some apple juice, and then left him hanging.

* * *

"Push button D. NOW!"

It was lunchtime. Again I'd awoken my slave, this time, I think, from half slumber. Eric turned, still in the daze of his nap, and he pushed it.

Current poured into his balls. He jerked forward, screaming again into his gag, as he once again lost control of his bladder and all the apple juice his system had processed started to flow out into a bucket I had ready. "MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" he cried as pain rolled through his system. Once Sequence D had finished with his testicles, it moved on to other parts of his body, sending shocks through his tender skin again and again as he jerked and twisted and sobbed.

Finally it was done. Little Eric hung like a rag doll from his restraints, all his muscles slack, his head drooping forward. I went down to get some more apple juice. "Watch," I told him.

While he watched, I mixed his own urine in with the apple juice in a 50/50 combination. Then I held the straw up to his lips.

He didn't hesitate. He drank.

I brought food then, feeding it to him as he hung there. It was relatively good food, human food, sandwiches, which I ate as well. Every so often, I would dip a bit of sandwich in his piss before bringing it up to his mouth. He ate those just as well. Just as readily.

Then, I left him again.

* * *

Throughout the day, that was our routine. I would startle him awake and make him press one of the four buttons. The boy was beaten. There was no hesitation. No begging. No waiting. He would, without question, knowing the overwhelming pain it would bring upon his body, push the button. He would let waves of agony course through him. He would take it as the current flowed into him, and then I would give him some apple juice, and sometimes some food, sometimes mixed with his own piss. He would drink it, gladly. Then I'd leave him hanging.

The final time was late that evening, before bed. I'd made him hit Sequence D twice in a row, and he had, crying in agony, begging me with his eyes, but obeying. Always obeying. Instantly obeying. He hung limply from his manacles as the sequences finished.

"You did well today, slave," I said. "You obeyed all of my commands." He hung there, not really replying to me. "Feel pride in what you accomplished today. You conquered your fear and gave yourself fully to your master."

I reached out, tying a blindfold around his eyes again, and I could feel him almost sigh in happiness to return to a world of bondage he knew. I'd fucked this kid up real good. Just the way I wanted to.

"I'm going to release you now," I said. "You will stand there until I order you otherwise." First I started removing the electrodes, and I could feel him sobbing with relief as they came off, his whole sweaty body shaking delectably with each sob. Then I undid the manacles around his ankles. He was able to find unsteady purchase on the boxes under his feet, still hanging from his arms. Finally I undid the manacles around his wrists. He nearly toppled over, but he managed to stay up, shaking on unsteady legs.

"Now kneel," my slave, "and give your loyalty pledge."

Slowly, he stopped off the boxes, still blindfolded, trying to feel around with his toes. Then he knelt down, head bowed. I could see his shoulders start to shake in another sobbing fit that he held back.

"My name is Eric and I am a slave," he said in a croak, his voice raspy. "I am my master's p-plaything," he continued with the memorized pledge, his voice breaking even higher on the word. "My life is to make my master happy. My body is not mine, it is my master's, and it… it always will be." He was crying now, and his whole body was trembling, but through his tears he continued. "W-what happens to me is up to him. I am an object to be used by my master. I am his little slut, and I will give him pleasure in all ways. Master," he finished, making it through the whole thing but voice rising again as he realized what might come next, "do you want to fuck me?"

"Oh, so much," I replied to my delectable little slave, "but now stand up."

Slowly the quaking child stood up. I grabbed his small hand in mine and pulled him after me, and he followed to the bathroom. I had him step into the tub, where I made him clean himself off in a cold shower. By the time he was done, his lips were trembling as he stood there, dripping wet. I took a towel and dried him off, taking care to get the blindfold dry enough that it wouldn't pose a problem.

"Now," I commanded the cold boy, "lie down on the floor."

He lay down on his back on the cold, hard tile, slender body on display for me, arms sitting on his belly. I took a piece of rope and I started tying his ankles together, bringing them tightly together, his feet now immobolized. Then I turned him over on his stomach, letting the cold tile rub along his belly as I brought his hands behind his back. I tied his wrists behind him.

It was one of the lightest bondage positions he'd been in. Just blindfolded, with wrists and ankles tied. But tonight was a special night. I picked him up and carried him to my bedroom, where I deposited him on the bed. Then I climbed in afterward.

"Tonight, slave," I said, "you get to sleep in bed with me. Aren't you happy about that?"

"Y-yes, master," he said, miserably.

"Good. Now, kiss me." I held his tied body close as we kissed, enjoying his warmth. I pulled the covers up over us then, and he settled into it, loving the warmth, the fabric around his skin that he hadn't felt for a week.

God, I thought. He'd only been here a week.

After our kiss, after we were covered, I turned him around. "You asked me if I wanted to fuck you," I told the slave, as I started to put lube on his ass. "Yes, my slave, I do." And then, slowly, my throbbing cock started to push into his tender, abused asshole.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhh," he moaned at the intrusion.

Slowly, slowly I forced it in, squeezing into that little hole. His small body was pushed forward by the force of my dick. "Yes, slave," I said, "welcome your master's cock."

"Guuuuuuuuuh…"

It would be a long night of fucking for both of us. My cock was going to spend most of it in his ass, leaving its seed there in my slave. I would hold him close, feeling my tied little boy's tender, warm skin. I would caress him, and kiss him, and maybe even fiddle with his tiny cock, but most of all I would fuck him and stuff his ass and lay with him while I slept.

My obedient, obedient little slave.

Now he understood.

TO BE CONTINUED