Literary slave

About 30 minutes had passed while the sadistic captors enjoyed a bite to eat, and a couple of cold beers each.  Their slave on the other hand, had been given nothing all day…a problem that would soon be rectified.

Clint began pulling the wads of cotton batten out of Darren’s mouth – clotted and stained with the slave’s blood from his multiple tooth extractions, the active bleeding seemed to have stopped.  “Now we can’t risk you gettin an infection in that sweet little mouth of yers bitch – after all – we done a lot of work ta get it all trained up nice fer yer new owner.  I heard that when fellers are in the bush like, lost you know?...that they sometimes use their own piss ta disinfect a wound.  Well lucky fer you nurse Clint here and nurse Pete have got yer sorry ass covered on that front slut.” 

With the press of a button the hydraulics in the bondage chair hummed to life.  The plank under Darren’s body began to lower until it was horizontal and parallel with the floor.  It carried on past that point until the slave’s upturned and impaled ass was well above the level of his head.  The writer’s feet which had been pushed back to his shoulders in a painful jackknife position were the next part of his anatomy to be dealt with.  Having been told that his new owner needed a flexible bitch who could be fucked and tortured in a variety of positions, Darren now felt both of his legs being drawn outwards towards the sides of the bondage chair and then beyond.  Clint then told the bound and helpless writer that the chair was pre-programmed to take the occupant’s legs all the way into a full splits position.  Progress would be slow so as to avoid tearing muscle, but this would also maximize the pain as Darren’s legs made the slow inevitable journey towards a full sideways split. 

The tortured writer was in agony.  He was sure the muscles on the insides of his thighs would rip in half as they were screaming at him with intense burning pain from being stretched beyond their limits.  In addition, his cunt was still stuffed with the huge inflatable plug, which was one of the elements holding him fast to the bondage chair.  Until it was deflated and removed from his hole he would not be able to get up.  As he looked up he saw Clint coming towards his face with a curved piece of plastic in his hands.  Unable to fully close his mouth with his new silicone injected lips and the bulk of his teeth removed, he was defenseless to stop the sadist from shoving the end of the plastic object into his mouth.  It rammed into the back of his throat nearly causing him to retch, and he heard Clint ordering him to begin trying to swallow.  The object itself was a variation on an intubation device used in medical emergencies.  Ambulance staff use them to maintain an open airway in an unconscious victim, while Clint and Pete were using it to bypass Darren’s throat and provide them with a direct route to filling up the slave’s stomach with whatever liquid they desired.  As it slid home, the outline of the hideous device was clearly visible going down Darren’s throat…he was now merely an empty vessel just waiting to be filled.  The flange of the plastic tube sat outside of the slave’s distended rubbery lips, but Clint had more up his sleeve yet before using the implanted device for its intended purpose.  “Can’t have out slut swallowing and choking on her straw while she’s tryin ta drink now Pete can we?”  The question being rhetorical, Clint did not wait for a response from his simpleton son.  He simply began to thread a thick white shoelace through the grommets in Darren’s upper and lower lips like he was doing up a sneaker.  Once fully threaded, Clint pulled the entire arrangement taut causing the slave’s plumped up lips to purse shut around the shaft of the plastic tube, effectively preventing the whole thing from sliding down Darren’s throat and seriously elevating the tortured writer’s pain level to new heights.  Clint tied the lace into a bow, and stood up to admire his handiwork.  Between the plastic tube invading his throat and the fact that his mouth was tightly laced shut, Darren was not only in agony, but rendered completely mute as well.

With another press of the button on the bondage chair’s hydraulics the slave was once again brought fully upright.  What the two onlooking perverts saw made them both instantly hard and horny to use and abuse Darren’s already mutilated body even further.  Bound tightly to the chair with the heavy rubber webbing cutting into his flesh, and impaled on an enormously inflated rubber plug, Darren was now in a full side-split position with the business end of a modified intubation tube protruding from his silicone enhanced tightly laced lips.  Another input to the chair’s control device lowered the slave all the way down to the floor in this position.  With his heels and calves on the floor out to either side of him, Darren nearly passed out from the pain.  When he became aware of what would happen next he wished that blissful unconsciousness would overtake him.

Pete rolled a hospital-like IV pole into the slave’s line of sight, with two large red rubber bags hanging from it.  Clint went on to explain that each of the bags held different contents.  One of them held a week’s worth of their piss.  It had been stored in the fridge, but heated up nice and piping hot in a microwave oven for his drinking pleasure.  The second, was filled with beer…which sounded like a blessing to Darren’s ears until he also heard that the beer had been laced with a highly addictive narcotic agent.  It seemed that Darren’s new master wanted not only a highly obedient slave to torture and enjoy, but also one who was drug addicted to the point of being willing to do anything his master demanded in order to obtain his next fix.  As a final indignity a catheter tube was lubed and then fed through into the slave’s cock.  Once fully inserted it was closed off to prevent Darren from being able to piss out ANY of the liquid that was about to be fed into him.  The two rubber bags had a Y-shaped connector, which joined them both to a length of rubber tubing that was then connected to the end of the intubation tube in the slave’s mouth.  Once the valves were opened, a mixture of man-piss, beer, and addictive drugs were free to fill up Darren’s belly to the point of agonizing distention.  This however, was not the end of the day’s session.

“We gots ta have ya looking pretty fer yer new Master now don’t we slut” Clint announced.  With that he rolled up a cart with a machine on it that Darren had never seen before, as well as a short stool which he positioned right infront of the author’s bound, impaled, and severely stretched body.  As he busied himself with preparing the equipment and pulling on a tight pair of black nitrile gloves, Clint explained that he was in fact quite an experienced tattoo artist, and that the Master had left explicit instructions as to how those skills were to be put to use.

Darren felt the bite of the tattoo gun’s needle pierce his flesh over and over like a thousand bee stings.  His denuded forehead and scalp were the targets of his captor’s ministrations.  For hours Clint worked away, detailing the human canvass in front of him with image after image…turning Darren into even more of a freak unfit for civilized society.  By the time he was done, the slave sported a written tattoo in big block letters right across his forehead that said “SLUT”.  All across his scalp were words like cocksucker, fagboy, cumdump, and fuckhole.  Erect rampant and dripping cocks of all shapes and sizes were depicted on his head like some kind of fetishized erotic mural.  When Darren would finally get a look at himself in a mirror to see what he had become he would weep openly with the realization that he was now more of a slave than a man…a freak more than a human.  That realization would have to wait…as they all heard the door to the dungeon open and then slam shut. 

“So is my slut ready to meet her Lord and Master yet?” was the phrase that rang out across the dungeon, and as heavily abused and tortured as his pathetic body was, the blood in Darren’s veins turned to ice when he heard it.  He had thought that this hell he was in could not get any worse…until now.  With that realization, he new owner slowly strode into view…a face that Darren not only recognized, but one that he had hoped for the last few days to have seen…Kent Davis – his agent.