Date: Sat, 3 Jan 2009 04:10:40 -0500
From: Matt W <matt10019@gmail.com>
Subject: Bred Slave - Part 3

The following is a work of fiction.  All characters are over 18 years of
age.  There are depictions of sexual acts and homoerotic themes.  Please do
not read any further if you are not legally eligible or would be offended by
the material.

CHAPTER 4 - BONDAGE MEDITATION

My chest was pressed against the cold cinder block wall of the small cell as
I held myself up against it, the slam of the door rattling me to the core.
When the dim light from the single bulb that hung above me went out, a wave
of panic shot down my spine.

"Mmmmmph!!" I screamed into the gag for help, "MMMMPH! MMPH!!!"

After several long minutes, my panicked screams turned into sobs, evident
that neither Ryan nor Mr. Grey were going to open the cell door until they
wanted to, and worst of all, I had no idea how long they planned to leave me
in there.  I remained pressed against the wall awkwardly for support as a
few tears began to roll down my cheeks, then dropping from my chin as I was
helpless to wipe them off.  I choked the sobs back down my throat as the
gag stuffed in my mouth prevented much sound from escaping.

The emotions began to overwhelm me, and I felt my knees begin to give
out.  Using the wall as a guide, I let myself crumple to the ground in the
pitch blackness.  When I had managed to get my knees to the cold cement
floor, I remained kneeling with my chest and cheek against the cool cement
wall for several minutes as I composed myself.  I just couldn't
get the instant regret out of my head now that reality had set in.  What had
I done?  What had I chosen for myself?

That morning it had almost seemed like the easy choice, the lazy choice.
Sure, I'd give up some freedoms, do some chores, pull more than my weight
around the house, but in return I'd get to stay with the family I'd always
known in the only home I'd ever known, no bills to pay, no job to worry
about.  The alternative had seemed so bleak and so lonely.  I'd be on my
own, completely.  No money, no family, no girlfriend, no where to live.
What kind of option was that for an 18 year old?  Besides, there was the
undeniable way thoughts of slavery had turned me on in Kara's apartment.
Everyone and everything pointed towards my destiny as a bred slave.  Yet, if
I was such a natural slave, why did I want nothing more than to take it all
back at that very moment.

I shuffled awkwardly in a circle on my knees, the chains between my feet and
wrists rattling loudly as I moved.  I leaned against the wall with my side,
and grunted into the gag as I struggled to pull my knees forward, until I
felt my ass press to the cold ground, and I was finally seated, leaning my
bare back against the rough wall.  I pulled my knees up to my chest, and
leaned forward to rest my forehead between my knees as I continued to sob
until I could cry no more.

When all of the emotion had drained from me through my tears, I sniffed back
the last of them, and composed myself as best I could.  I told myself that I
wasn't afraid.  Chaining me up and locking me in the dark was obviously a
tactic Ryan wanted to use to frighten me.  He wanted to intimidate me
with his power over me, but I refused to be scared.

I shifted uncomfortably against the wall, my arms pinned behind me.  My eyes
widening, I remembered suddenly that there was some slack in the chain
between my wrists.  Excitedly, I scooted my ass forward a bit, and pulled my
wrists as far apart as I could, trying to gauge how much slack there might
be.  Bracing my upper back against the wall, and keeping my feet planted on
the floor, I lifted my ass off the ground and slipped the wrist chain
underneath, so that my wrists were now chained under my legs.  I scooted
back, exhaling heavily through my nose, unable to breath through my mouth.
Tucking my knees tightly to my chest, I stretched my arms forward as far as
they could go, lifting my feet to step over the wrist chain.  The chains
between my wrists and ankles kept getting tangled as I grunted, attempting
the feat a few times, and finally succeeding in bringing the wrist chain
over my feet and up over my knees.

Sitting back against the wall, I exhaled loudly through my nose in relief.
But, before resting just yet, I brought my hands up to my face, and traced
the strap running from the gag back behind my head.  Lifting my wrists over
my head, I fiddled with the buckle in the back until I felt the strap
loosen.  Bringing my wrist shackles back over my head, I pulled the gag out
of my mouth, a cascade of saliva dripping down my chin.  I wiped my forearm
across my mouth, and angrily chucked the gag across the narrow cell, hearing
it bounce off the hard wall and fall to the ground somewhere near my feet
with a small clink of the metal buckle.

I stretched my jaw, which had begun to ache, and licked my dry lips.  Much
of me still wanted to scream out loudly now that I could, but what good what
it do?  Instead, I used my hands and wall at my back to slide down until my
left side was pressed against the floor.  I pulled my knees towards me, and
hugged my arms into my chest, curling into a fetal position.  The left side
of my face pressed against the cold floor, the collar around my neck
scraping against the floor as I shifted into as comfortable a position as
possible.  I didn't think it possible, but somehow, from the exhaustion of
the ordeal, I drifted off to a fitful sleep.

What could have been minutes or hours later, a loud creak of rusted metal
ripped me from my slumber with a start  I lurched awake with such force,
that I banged the back of my head against the cement wall I was curled up
against.  I groaned as my eyes fluttered and blinked, as light flooded the
pitch black cell.

"Awwww, shit," Ryan observed from the doorway.  I looked to him groggily,
blinking as my eyes adjusted, his shadow falling over me until he reached
over to turn the light bulb on that hung above my head.  "You really are a
fucking stupid piece of shit."

I sat up as best I could, my eyes widened in fear as he glowered down at
me.  He was still wearing the same thing as before, so I could only assume
not much time had really passed.  A shiver ran down my spine, feeling his
anger radiating off of him.

Without warning, he lunged forward and grabbed the chain between my wrists.
"Get over here," he growled, yanking me forward with enough force that I
thought my arms might rip out of their sockets as I lunged forward,
sprawling on my chest and stomach before him.  He let go of my shackles, my
arms now out in front of my head as I was laying halfway in and halfway out
of the cell.

"Ryan, I...I'm sorr..." I started to stammer in a slight panic.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch!"  He barked, as I felt him step over me.  I
grunted as he dropped to one knee on my back, his full body weight crushing
down on my spine.  He placed one of his large hands on the back of my head,
and began to grind my face rather unpleasantly into the cement floor.  "Keep
you fucking face on the floor, and don't forget who you're talking to,
cunt!"

He gave my head one final push into the ground, and let go.  I kept my
forehead and nose pressed against the cement, several short nervous breaths
escaping through my nose as I trembled beneath him.

"I leave you alone for 20 fucking minutes and you already fuck up this
bad?!" he exclaimed in anger as he leaned forward over my head, pulling my
left arm and toward him.  I heard the jingle of keys, as he worked to unlock
my left manacle.  When it gave way and fell from my wrist, he roughly
twisted my left arm back behind my back, and then the right, applying
pressure to both of my shoulder blades for emphasis.  Quickly, the left
manacle was closed around my wrist, securing my hands once again behind my
back.  He stood, the weight lifting from my backside.  "Get up. On your
knees," he ordered coldly as he stepped around me out of the cell,
disappearing into the shadows of the dungeon room.

Still trembling, I pulled my knees forward, rocking back and forth on my
shoulders for leverage, and then using my core muscles, I managed to pull
myself upright onto my knees, now back within the borders of the small
cell.  Not wanting to take any chances, I remembered quickly the
presentation position and shuffled my knees wider apart, straightening my
back a little and bowed my head to wait.  He was right.  I had seriously
fucked up, and I knew it.  I had no idea what I was thinking.

Moments later he reappeared at the door as quickly as he had left, but
walked past me into the cell with a rattle of more chain, ignoring me
altogether.  I heard the chains rattling loudly behind me, unsure what was
going on.  Then a scraping sound of chain against cement as I felt him step
closer to me.  My head jerked, as he took hold of the left side of my
collar.  The collar jiggled against my skin until I heard the clicking of a
lock behind my neck.  Letting going of my collar, I could tell right away
that it had been tethered to the wall.  But, he wasn't done.  I jumped, as
another length of the chain fell from the collar and draped down my back,
seemingly ending near the top of my ass crack.  It felt cold against my
skin.

His knees cracked as he crouched down behind me.  I could hear him breathing
hard through his nose as he took hold of the wrist chain behind my back.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was now connecting my wrist
shackles to my collar.

"Maybe this will teach you to keep your hands where they belong, you dumb,
stupid fuck," he growled in my ear, emphasizing each of the insults, as
he finished securing the chain with another click of a padlock.  He leaned
to the side to retrieve the gag I'd disposed of, before pushing up to his
feet and circling back to stand in front of me in the doorway of the cell.

He stood before me for a few long moments.  I kept my head bowed, not daring
to look up, swallowing hard.  Then suddenly, SLAP!  I gasped as he
backhanded me across my right cheek, sending my head reeling to the right.
But, not belong before, SLAP! and my head snapped in the other direction.  I
kept my eyes downcast, my entire body tensed as I exhaled several shaky
breaths through my nose, my cheeks stinging red.  I grit my teeth, absorbing
the pain and the shock, my eyes feeling a bit watery.

Reaching down, he grabbed the edge of my collar and jerked my neck, "Look at
me!" he commanded.  I looked up at him, eyes blurring slightly, as he glared
down at me.  "Anything your Master puts on you or in you stays on you or in
you.  Slaves don't get to choose comfort over the whims of their owner.  Do
you think maybe I wanted you to sit in here with your hands chained behind
your back, sucking on this gag?  DO YOU?!  Answer me!"

"Ye...yes, Sir," I stammered, trying to still my quivering voice.

"Then, WHY," he gave my collar a shake giving my neck a jolt, "Did you think
it would be okay to move your hands and take out the gag?"

"I...I didn't. I don't.  I mean, I don't know.  I'm sorry," I tried to
explain, tripping over my words. "Sir," I added quickly, hoping my apology
would be enough.

"No, you're not," he snapped, letting go of my collar with a shake.  "But,
you will be.  You had it easy, now you're fucking chained to the wall
because you demonstrated that you can't be trusted to do even the simplest
thing like meditating.  I told you to think about ME, and you spent 20
minutes worrying about how to make yourself more comfortable.  I don't want
to hear any more of your sniveling excuses.  Lean your head back.  Open your
mouth."

He pushed my head backwards with his palm against my forehead, and I opened
my mouth, wincing slightly as I waited for the gag to be reinserted.
Instead, he shocked me by leaning forward over my gaping mouth and spat a
giant wad of spit onto my waiting tongue.  I cringed instantly, feeling the
puddle of gooey saliva slide down my tongue towards my throat.  But, before
I could even swallow, the rubbery gag was pushing past my lips, depressing
my tongue as it had done before.

"If you didn't like the taste of the gag, the taste of your Master's spit
should help.  Bow your head," he ordered sharply.  I lowered my chin, and he
reached behind me to secure the buckle to the straps, the gag once again in
place.  "Now, let's try this again.  Maybe this time it will register in
this little pea brain of yours," he bopped the top of my head for emphasis,
"what it means to be a slave.  And by the way, anytime this door opens and
the lights go on, you have 30 seconds to get your ass on your knees as you
are now."

Without another word, he stepped back from the cell door, slamming it shut
in my face.  The light above went dark a moment later, and I heard the metal
latch slide into the concrete wall.

I remained almost motionless on my knees for several minutes, trembling in
shock over the incident.  My brain was telling me that I should have
been angry, indignant, at the way I was being treated.  It wasn't natural,
and I didn't deserve this, any of this.  Yet another part of me, somewhere
deep inside, was reminding me that I had fucked up.  I hadn't done what I
had been told, and I wasn't thinking like a slave.  Ryan was right.  I
thought first of my own comfort and second of the consequences for undoing
what he had done to me.  And now, I would be left to suffer in a worse
condition.  Perhaps worst of all, I understood that I deserved it.

Composing myself, I shuffled back several paces on my knees to the back of
the wall, where the tether to my collar began in order to give myself as
much slack as possible to play with.  There must have been some sort of ring
or hook inset at the top of the back wall where the chain originated.  It
wasn't easy with my ankles chained together, restricting movement, but
nothing was meant to be easy in chains.

 When I felt my feet hit the back wall of the cell, I grunted into the gag
again as I slowly laid myself down to my right, testing the length of the
neck chain as I went down, making sure that I had enough slack to touch the
ground without choking myself.  Fortunately, I did, and managed to lie down
on my right side, curling my knees up to my chest as best I could.  With my
arms now chained unyieldingly behind me, there was pressure on my right arm
and shoulder as I hit the floor, but there was little I could do but endure
it at the moment.  Worse yet, I realized quickly that every movement I made
with my arms inevitably pulled the collar backwards against my throat, and
rattled loudly the chain that ran up from my collar to the ring in the wall.

My body shook, as I shivered curled up in the corner of the pitch black
cell.  Ryan's words echoed in my mind.  He wanted to me to think about the
times I had allegedly hurt him, embarrassed him, one-upped him.  The idea
was almost ludicrous.  He had always had the upper hand.  He was older.  He
had the money.  His dad was the boss.  He did everything first.  I may have
pinned him a few times wrestling in the yard, but he had pinned me twice as
many.  For every time I managed to tackle him during a pickup game of
football, he would go out of his way to plow me over on the next play.

I groaned uncomfortably beneath the gag, my jaw beginning to ache again as
it stretched around it.  I swear I could feel Ryan's wad of spit sliding
down my throat and into my stomach.  I felt like I might wretch, but tried
not to think too much about it, knowing that vomiting with a gag in my mouth
would not be a good idea.  My mind wandered instead back to a time when Ryan
was the one who had gotten the best of me, and not the other way around.

It was the first day of school, my freshman year of high school.  I had made
the JV soccer team when I had tried out over the summer, and of course, Ryan
has already been bumped up to the Varsity team, even as a sophomore.  The
first day at a new school wasn't easy, especially when you were a skinny
13-year old kid, barely into puberty in a high school full of young men in
their later teens, some sporting five-o'clock stubble and hair on their
chests.  I'd had plenty of friends growing up through junior high, but I was
starting fresh at a private high school Mr. Grey had selected for Ryan and
insisted my parents send me too as well.  He paid, of course, and now I know
why.

I recall vividly walking into the cafeteria with my tray of food on that
first day, a sea of unfamiliar faces seemingly sneering at me from every
direction, panicking over the smallest detail of where I would sit for
lunch.  Where did I fit in?  Of course, the other students weren't really
looking at me at all, and that was the problem.  I had no where really to
turn, and then I saw Ryan seated at a table with a bunch of his friends,
most of them I'd recognized from soccer try-outs.  Smiling in relief, I made
my way toward the table noticing an empty chair.

Setting my tray on the table, I gave Ryan a friendly nod, expecting
a welcoming introduction as I pulled out the chair.  The conversation around
the table came to a screeching halt, and the 5 other jocks looked at me like
I had 3 heads.

"Whoa, whoa!" Ryan exclaimed in indignation, "What do you think you're
doing?"

"Uhh..." I stammered kind of in surprise, as the other guys continued to
stare at me like I'd just beamed down from another planet.  "Can I?  I mean,
can I sit here with you?"  I kind of lowered my voice, directing the
question at him timidly, suddenly feeling very unwelcome.

"Wait, Grey, do you know this dweeb?" one of the other guys exclaimed who I
would come to know as Brent, one of Ryan's best friends still to date,
soliciting a laugh from the table.

"Yeah..." Ryan nodded, drawing out his response, eyeing me up.  "Kinda.  He
lives in my guest house.  His parents are the help."

"Really?" Brent asked in mocking, giving me a once over.  "Do you usually
eat with your help, Grey?"

"Hell no.  They serve it, I eat it," Ryan laughed, exchanging a handshake
with Brent.  My face reddened as I stood there awkwardly in disbelief that
Ryan was disavowing me in front of his friends.  It was like he was a
completely different person.

"Wait, I recognize this kid," another of the guys interjected.  "Didn't you
just make JV?"

I nodded, "Yeah, I..."

"And, I already told him that it's the job of the JV players to take care of
their Varsity team, right guys?" Ryan interrupted quickly, cutting me off.

"Yeah, frosh," Brent added, jumping in.  "Since you're so good at HELPing
out, would you mind grabbing me another soda.  Guys?"

"Me too," Ryan agreed, reaching into the pocket of his navy school blazer
and retrieving a five dollar bill.  "In fact, why don't you get all of us
another soda, and then maybe we'll let you sit here."

"Fine," I took the money angrily from him, shooting him a look and stormed
off to the registers.  I had to carry the six sodas back on a tray, and I
went to set it on the table.

"Oh no," Ryan stopped me.  "Serve them to us, you know, like your parents
do."

I shot him a look of venom mixed with hurt, my cheeks flushing, as I
snatched the tray back off the table, and held it out for the first guy to
take his soda.  Students at some of the other tables nearby were snickering
as I walked around the table, holding the tray out for each of the six guys,
Ryan being last. He took the soda, and I slid the empty tray onto the table,
wanting to smack the smug look off of his face with it instead.

"Think he's got a talent for this," Brent suggested in mocking, cracking
open his soda.

"Yeah, but aren't you going to ask if we need anything else?  Like a proper
server?" Ryan asked innocently.

I grit my teeth for a long moment glowering down at him. "Anything else?"

"No, I'm good," Ryan shrugged.  The other guys snickered, and I rolled my
eyes reaching for the chair.  No sooner had I pulled it out from the table
did Ryan's legs suddenly extend so that he was resting his heels on the seat
of the chair.  "Aw, I'm sorry, frosh.  Seat's taken," he feigned a look of
apology and gave me another shrug.

My face flushed deep red with anger this time.  Fire could have spewed from
my nostrils, as I clamped my hands to the side of my tray and lifted it
angrily off the table.

"Hey, dweeb, what's your name again?" Brent asked as I started to walk away.

"Drew," I stated flatly.

"Nancy Drew, that's what I thought," Brent nodded without missing a beat.
He motioned to a table on the far side of the cafeteria where all the artsy
outcasts sat.  "Yeah, you might want to try that table over there with the
rest of the Nancies."

I didn't acknowledge the insult, and instead made my way dejectedly across
the cafeteria while Ryan and the guys exchanged high-fives and hand shakes
over the incident.  Dumping my uneaten food in in the trash, I spent the
rest of the lunch period in the library humiliated that Ryan had treated me
like his servant in front of everyone at school.  Little did I know, just
over four years later, I'd not only be his servant, I'd be his slave.

Sometime during the course of my trip down memory lane, I'd managed to fall
back to a fitful sleep, waking every time I involuntarily lurched and the
chains rattled and scraped against the cement.

Suddenly, I felt light burning through my fluttering eyelids, followed
shortly thereafter by the creaking of rusty hinges.  My eyes popped open,
and I scrambled to pick myself up to my knees and shuffle towards the center
of the cell.  It took much more effort this time, my muscles cramping and
aching all over, and balance a continued problem.  It was a real workout,
just to maneuver my body a few feet, and I could feel a few beads of sweat
breaking out over my body as I exhaled heavily through my nose.

I could feel him watching me as I moved, careful to keep my head bowed as I
spread my knees before him.  I'd noticed he'd changed, wearing nice dark
jeans and shiny black shoes.  I could only assume that it was now several
hours later, and he was dressed to go out for the evening.  He reached
forward and fumbled with the gag's strap buckled behind my head.  His
cologne was strong, filling my nostrils.  He was definitely going out.  The
strap loosened, and he pulled the gag out of my mouth, another long string
of saliva trailing behind it.

"Gross," he commented, holding the gag by the strap and wiping the rubbery
phallic insert across my chest while I stretched my jaw painfully and
swallowed back the rest of the pooled saliva that was ready to pour down my
chin.

Hanging the gag on the handle to the door, he stepped away for a moment, and
came back.  Leaning forward he carefully set a metal dog bowl down on the
floor of the cell in front of my knees.  It was full of water.

"Drink," he ordered flatly.  Reaching over me, he pushed my face forward
into the bowl with his hand until my mouth and nose were submerged in the
shallow dish.

I sputtered, panicking for an instant as water filled my nose, but he
released the back of my head, and picked my head up so that my mouth was
hovering over the dish, droplets of water now running from my nose and
lips.  I was trembling in disbelief that I was being expected to drink water
from a dog bowl on the floor.

"You have 3 seconds to start drinking or that bowl is going to be turned
over your head and you'll remain thirsty until I come back, and who knows
when that will be," he barked.

Having tasted the few droplets that remained in my mouth, I realized
suddenly how thirsty I actually was.  My throat and mouth was dry.  I stuck
my tongue and, and did my best to start slurping and lapping at the water
from the bowl.  The sounds alone were utterly humiliating.

"Enough," Ryan stopped me suddenly, though I hadn't quite finished the
bowl.  He reached forward and snatched the bowl from me.  Standing up, he
overturned the remainder of the bowl on top of my head.  As it ran down my
face and back, it reminded me of what I hadn't been allowed to drink.
"Open," he ordered flatly.  I knew what it meant, and opened my mouth.  He
tossed the bowl aside, and I heard it clang against the floor of the main
chamber, and then he took the gag off the door handle and shoved it
unceremoniously back into my mouth, buckling it behind my head.

He stepped backwards, slamming the door to the cell, and flipping the light
off, leaving me again in the dark confinement of the cell.  I strained and
grunted as I pulled myself back into the corner where I'd managed to find
some modicum of comfort, though the chains were really starting to become
annoying.  I could feel the cuffs chafing at my wrists and ankles, the
collar around my neck choking me more than a few times as I tried to move.

Settling to the ground, I let my mind wander again.  I couldn't help but
wonder where Ryan was heading off to.  A date?  The bar with the guys?  He
had one of the best fake IDs I'd ever seen, not to mention he could easily
pass for 21.  More than likely, his fraternity was throwing some sort of
end-of-semester kegger.  He was recruited, of course, by the most
prestigious frat on campus during the first semester of his freshman year,
and spent the second semester pledging.

I chortled slightly though the gag thinking back to early last spring when
he was in the height of pledging.  It was one of the only times I could ever
recall Ryan being under duress of any kind.  Of course, he didn't tell me
much of anything, and I didn't really care.  I was living it up as a second
semester senior in high school, worrying more about which colleges I would
get into out of state, wanting nothing to do with anything concerning the
local U.  It was a Thursday night, and I was lounging on the couch of the
living room in the guest house watching some college basketball game when
Ryan burst through the front door.

I remember nearly jumping out of my skin as he stood in the doorway dressed
in nothing but his boxers and tennis shoes.  The word "PLEDGE 2" was written
in what looked like red lipstick across his chest, and he looked horrible.
His hair was matted with sweat, or something else, and his eyes were
bloodshot.  Brent was right behind him, dressed exactly the same, and not
looking much better.  He had been labeled "PLEDGE 7."

"Dude, I need to borrow something from your mom," he more demanded than
anything as he rushed past me towards the stairs that led up to my parents'
room.

"Uh...ok," I responded, taken aback.  "They're not here..."

"Don't you think I fucking know that?" he snapped, bounding up the stairs.

I remember getting up from the couch and raising a curious eyebrow to
Brent as I heard dresser drawers opening and slamming shut from upstairs.
Brent and I had come a long way since that first day of high school.  We
were never friends exactly, but I had earned his respect on the soccer and
lacrosse fields, and Ryan had let up on me in front of his friends as well
once I'd earned my stripes.

"Frat business.  Don't mind us," Brent explained, checking his watch
nervously and glancing up the stairs.

Then as quickly as Ryan had gone up, he bounded back down.  Thinking back, I
wondered how he would have known my parents were out since he was
practically living at the frat house during his pledge period, but now it's
obvious.  They were probably right where I am now.

"Find what you needed?" I attempted to ask as he blew past me in the living
room, something pink bunched up in his hands.

"You didn't see me," Ryan warned, not even bothering to look at me as he ran
back out of the house.

"Later, man," Brent nodded over his shoulder, and followed him
outside, closing the door behind him.

I'm still not sure what exactly they took and what exactly they used it for,
but I knew I would never find out.  Once I had been seemingly rejected by
all of the other schools I'd applied to, and resigned to the fact that I
would need to enroll at the local university as well, I'd thought about
trying to pledge Ryan's frat in the spring.  Obviously, that was no longer
an option.

Groaning, I rolled over onto my stomach, trying to find a more comfortable
position and alleviate some of the stress on my shoulders and arms.  It kind
of worked, but there was little about a cold cement floor that was
comfortable, any way you looked at it.

I winced my eyes closed and did my best to try to sleep, drifting in and out
of consciousness, but never quite all the way there.  At one point I awoke
with a start, imagining I'd heard a door open or slam, but it must have been
my imagination.  I tried to drift back off, wondering how long I had been in
the cell now.  It felt like days, but I'm sure it had only been a mere
several hours.  Next to the discomfort of my confines, and the aching in my
jaw from the gag, the worst part was the boredom.  I kept waiting for
something to happen.  Anything.

Somewhere along the line, I must have drifted off into a fairly deep sleep,
because I lurched awake in near shock when the cell door really did creak
open again, the light bulb flooding the room.  Moaning into the gag as my
muscles screamed in pain from their cramped positions, I picked myself
upright and began to crawl towards the center of the cell on my knees, my
eyes fluttering as I adjusted to the light.  Another horrible thought
suddenly occurred to me as I shuffled over, my bladder rattling inside my
body.  I had to pee.  Badly.

I couldn't help but glance up to the doorway before bowing my head.  Ryan
was shirtless, as he often was when lounging around the house.  He had a
great body too that he was never shy about showing off, smooth rounded pecs,
a solid six-pack, long muscular arms.  His usually preppy-cut brown hair was
mussed like he had just woken up, and he was wearing dark gray sweat
pants with a thick white drawstring and some patch-logo sewn on the right
thigh.  They sat low on his hips and bunched over the tops of his feet that
he had slid into soccer sandals.

Once kneeling properly before him, I bowed my head and he leaned over me to
remove the gag.  The scent of alcohol and stale smoke was radiating from his
pores.

I was stammering as soon as the gag left my lips, "Please, Ryan, Sir, I need
to go to the bathroom,"
I practically begged.

"How is that my problem, slave?" he asked, unconcerned as he hung the gag
from the door handle again, and shuffled from the doorway in his flip flops,
returning a moment later with the metal dog bowl, bending his knees to set
it in front of me.

"But...I... please, Sir?" I continued to stammer, panic rising in me.

"Eat, then drink.  Empty the bowl," he commanded sternly, continuing to
ignore me.

I swallowed shamefully, looking down at the bowl.  There was maybe a half
cup of soggy chunks of wheat cereal floating in cloudy water.  It looked
positively disgusting.  I hesitated, leaning down towards it, but almost on
cue, my stomach began to gurgle a little bit and I realized it had been over
a day since I'd had anything to eat.  I'd been too distracted to realize
that I was actually starving.

"Yes, Sir," I muttered quietly over the bowl, before wincing my eyes closed
as I bobbed in the water for the first chunk of cereal.  It wasn't awful,
just tasteless, like soggy bread.  I swallowed, feeling the gooey lump slide
down my throat, and then went for another.  When the cereal was gone, I
started slurping again at the water, my throat and lips really dry now, so
this time I was determined to ingest every drop, and I nearly did.

"Good, bitch," he coaxed, mussing my freshly cut hair on the top of my head
as he leaned down to collect the empty bowl.  He continued, "Now, let's get
something clear.  You don't NEED to go to the bathroom, what your body WANTS
to do is piss.  What you need, slave boy, is permission to relieve yourself,
and guess what?  You have it."

I looked up at him quizzically, "Sir?"

He nodded to a spot behind me in the cell.  "There's a drain right behind
you.  Piss all you want.  In fact," he smirked, getting an idea.  "I think
I'll watch."  He grabbed the gag from the door handle and stuffed it back in
my mouth before I could protest the idea, though my eyes sure said it all.
He buckled the gag tightly.  "Get up.  I want you to squat when you do it."

My ears reddening at the notion, I reluctantly tried to pull my right knee
in, trying to figure out how in the hell I was going to get on my feet as
chained up as I was, my muscles confusing themselves all over.

"Fucking hell," Ryan growled with impatience, reaching forward to grab my
arms, and help me up to my feet.  I felt relief to stand up, stretching my
legs, though my muscles and feet cramped as my weight pushed down on them.
"Get over there and squat."  I half nodded and started to turn towards the
corner where the drain was situated.  "What the fuck do you think you're
doing, cunt?  A slave never turns his back on his Master.  Turn around, face
me.  Back it up..."

I stopped short, exhaling loudly through my nose, almost in frustration.  It
seemed I'd never be able to do anything just right.  Turning back around to
face him, I shuffled backwards until I felt my ass his the cement wall
behind me, and I glanced down noticing the drain relatively between my feet.

"Okay slave, bend those knees.  Let me see you empty that slave cock of
yours," Ryan taunted, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against
the doorway in amusement.

My face burned red as I squatted down, trying to hover as closely to the
open drain as I could.  My cock was limp, thankfully, but I still had no
control without the use of my hands.  Worse, I couldn't seem to get my
stream started.  I squeezed the muscles in my groin, wincing my eyes as I
strained to start pissing, my bladder about to explode.

"Well, fuck.  Hurry up," Ryan demanded angrily.  "I'm late getting my
workout started.  Gotta sweat this alcohol out before my dad smells it.  So
fucking piss already!"

I winced biting into the gag, and then finally a few droplets of pee
appeared at the tip of my cock, dropping to the grate below, followed
shortly thereafter with a trickle and then an open stream.  I shifted my
legs slightly, trying to ensure that the piss ended up mostly down the
drain.  The last thing I wanted to do was spend more hours in here next to a
puddle of stinking piss.

"That's it, bitch.  Give it a shake," he ordered, amusement in his voice.

I was nearing the end of the stream, and frowned into the gag in frustration
as I shook my hips slightly, shaking my cock and balls from side to side.
Wincing, I felt some of the urine running down my legs and I knew I had
inevitably splattered some over the floor of the cell.  I relaxed slightly
as the last of the piss drained from my cock, relieved that the humiliating
ordeal was over, at least for now.  I just prayed that the bit of piss he
forced me to splash on myself would evaporate quickly.

"You know," Ryan mused suddenly. "I could really use a good piss myself...
Get back on your knees."

All my internal warning alarms were going off as I heard him, my eyes
widening in fear as I took a timid shuffle forward, slowly letting my knees
give out until one touched the ground, and then the other.  He took a step
into the cell, pushing the waistband of his sweats halfway down to his
knees.  Surprisingly, he hadn't bothered with underwear and his thick
cut cock sprung free, bobbing before me on an impressive set of hairy balls.

"Mmmph!  Mmpph," I begged with my eyes, shaking my head a bit, though I was
captivated by his package.  I had never actually seen another guy's dick
that closely before.  It wasn't that he was hung all that much more than I
was, but with his full bush of pubic hair, I felt instantly inferior
remembering my shaved crotch.  It was as if his cock was mocking me.

Ryan gave it a few strokes, "What's the matter, slave?  Never seen a real
man's dick before?" he taunted, taking a step forward, as it grew
semi-hard.  His control over me obviously got him going.  Swinging his hips
back and forth, he slapped my face with his cock a few times.  I winced,
feeling the warm fleshly member bouncing off my cheeks.  "Get used to it.
Smell it."  Reaching down suddenly, he smashed his cock and balls and into
my face, and pushed my head from behind, grinding my nose into them.

'Mmph!" I tried to protest as his wiry pubes tickled my nose and face.  His
balls smelled faintly of sweat and cum.  I wondered if he'd fucked anyone
the night before, or maybe just got himself off.

Eventually he let go of my head, and took a few steps back, his sweat pants
still around his knees.  "Yeah, cunt.  Your Master's cock is everything to a
slave.  If it's not happy, you're not happy.  Remember that.  Now, where
were we?  Oh yeah," he grinned wickedly, taking hold of his cock with his
right hand and aiming it at me.

I shook my head rapidly, the chains attached to my collar rattling loudly,
"Mmmph!"

"I know that my slave is not telling his Master what his Master can and
can't do, because that would be a very serious mistake.  Am I wrong,
slave?"  He asked rhetorically, though I shook my head again, lowering my
eyes in shame.  "Good answer, because a Master is never wrong."

With that, he opened up his stream, a geyser of hot piss hitting me square
in the chest.  My eyes widened and I squirmed as he moved the stream back
and forth across my displayed torso.  He made circles around my cock and
balls, and then zig-zagged back up my abs and chest.  I was fortunate both
for the gag blocking my mouth, and that he seemed to intend to stay below my
neck.  It was little consolation though as the hot piss ran down my chest
and onto my legs, some creeping around to my backside, filling my nostrils
with the rancid scent.

"Ooooh, yeahhhh," he exclaimed as he relieved himself, squeezing the last
droplets of piss out of the tip as he stream dried up.  Stepping forward, he
wiped those last droplet off on my cheek. "Damn. Reeks in here," he
observed, pulling up his pants.  "Sucks to be you."

I watched him leave, positively stunned and humiliated as I knelt in a
puddle of his piss, the remainder of it dripping down my body.  The door
slammed and the light went off.

When I was sure that he had gone, at least for a while, I shuffled my knees
back from under me and leaned forward until my chest could touch the ground
and I was laying flat again.  I could feel the puddle of piss under me, but
I didn't care.  What did it matter at that point.  I trembled, then shook,
then began to sob for the second time since my confinement.  It was all just
too much.  I felt so low, been taken so far down, but I'd brought it on
myself.

Eventually, my tears dried up, and so did the piss.  It still reeked, but I
had gotten used to it after the first little while.  After what must have
been several hours of feeling sorry for myself, I decided not to let my
confinement get the best of me.  I was choosing to lie around in piss and
wait for Ryan to come back, my muscles really aching and cramping now.

Determined, I struggled and strained, using the wall for support as I
maneuvered myself up to my feet.  My legs were screaming, but I started
slow, pacing back and forth across the small cell.  Feeling more
comfortable, I began to jump a bit in place, just tiny hops, testing my
dexterity in leg irons.  Despite the intolerable sound of all of the chains
rattling behind me, it was working.  I felt more in control, more like
myself, despite the inescapable bondage.  Spreading my feet a bit, I tried a
few squats until I was breathing hard through my nose, and I could feel
sweat mixing with the dried piss on my skin.

Exhausted from the make-shift workout, I settled back into a corner to
wait.  My senses were completely on edge, my ears perking at the slightest
sound from outside the door, or what I thought might be a sound outside the
door.

More hours passed, and I tried to sleep, but I was on edge, anxious for the
door to open and Ryan to come back.  I didn't even care what he did to me,
piss on me again, slap me around, it didn't matter.  I just wanted that
fucking door to open.

I emptied my bladder a second time over the drain, more to pass the time
than anything else.  Settling back into the corner of the cell, I stared
through the darkness in the direction of the door.  My mind wandered,
thinking it had been far too long since he had come to check on.  Much
longer than the overnight gap between the time he went out and the time he
woke up.  I began to panic, what if he had gone out and something that
happened to him?  Gotten in an accident?  Worse yet, what if Mr. Grey was
with him and they were both in the hospital, or worse.  My adrenaline rose,
and I did my best to calm myself back down.

More time passed, and I could feel my eyes glazing over.  I wasn't hungry, I
wasn't thirsty, I wasn't tired.  My muscles were numb to the pain, and the
stench of piss had long stopped bothering me.

That's when the light came on, and the door creaked open.  I blinked into
the light, but only stared numbly at Ryan's silhouette in the doorway from
where I crouched in the corner, making no effort to move to my knees before
him.  I was completely confused, nearly delirious.  A second
silhouette stepped beside him.  It was Mr. Grey.

"What the fuck?" Ryan exclaimed, ready to step in and drag me to my knees.

Mr. Grey reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him, "He's weak
and confused," he explained.  "I warned you what to expect, but don't worry,
he'll come around.  Get the bucket and the hose."

Ryan disappeared with a huff and Mr. Grey stepped into the cell,
his expensive loafers clicking on the cement floor.  He crouched down before
me, giving me an assuring smile.  I could process everything that was
happening, but he was right, I did feel weak, almost unable to move.
Traumatized in a way from the isolation.

"Okay, slave, I'm going to release you from your chains, but you're going to
need to stand.  Think you can?" he asked, his voice low and even.

I nodded, not really sure if I could or not, but would've done anything to
be freed from the chains.  He took my arms and helped pull me up slowly to
my feet.  I felt my knees shake, and I moaned into the gag as my cramped
muscles screamed.

"Good, now turn around, press your face to the wall," Mr. Grey commanded,
his tone remaining even.  I did as commanded, feeling him crouching behind
me.  He first unlocked the left shackle, and then the right, pulling them
from my ankles and tossing them aside.  Next, he undid the padlocks that
attached me to the chain hanging from the wall, first at my wrists, and then
at the back of my collar.  "I heard you'd been defiant," he noted as he
pushed the chain aside.  "Hopefully, you learned your lesson."

Next, he removed my wrist shackles, and I moaned slightly in relief as my
arms hung free at my sides, shoulder blades rejoicing.

"The collar stays, of course," he noted, tossing the wrist shackles to the
ground with another clang.  "Remain facing the wall, but take a few steps
towards me."  I stepped backwards, rubbing my wrists as soon as I could
bring them in front of me, though he added quickly.  "Display."

My heart sinking a bit, I spread my legs apart, my stance almost as wide as
the cell itself, and put my hands behind my head, and held my head high,
squaring my shoulders and rendering my backside completely open and
vulnerable.  My legs were unsteady, my back ached, my shoulders were
cramped, but in a way it felt good, just to be free of the shackles.  I felt
Ryan's added presence behind me as he returned to the doorway of the small
cell, casting another shadow against the back wall.

"Scrub him down," Mr. Grey prompted.

I heard a slosh of water in a bucket, and the next thing I felt was a cold,
wet sponge of some sort on my shoulder blades.  It began to move up and
down.  No, not really a sponge, more like a squeegee.  It was rough, almost
like a cheap washcloth as it scraped against my skin in an unforgiving
manner.  The water was cold of course as it sloshed off my skin, running
down my back and legs.  It wasn't just water though, I felt foam clinging to
my skin in clumps, and the pungent aroma of soap.  Ryan worked quickly
coating my entire backside with the soapy water.  I shivered involuntarily,
and more so when he even ran the squeegee through my hair and up to the top
of my head.  I winced tightly as the soapy water dripped down the sides of
my head and neck beneath the collar.

"Turn around, bitch," Ryan ordered.

Slowly, I turned around, careful to keep my hands as they were behind my
head, and when I was facing towards the door, I readjusted my legs so that
they remained spread, and stared straight ahead.  Ryan was practically right
in front of me,  He had changed again since the last time I had seen him,
now wearing old jeans, flip flops, and a maroon t-shirt with his frat
letters emblazoned on the front.  Without missing a beat, he plunged the
long squeegee back into the sudsy water bucket, and sloshed it to my chest,
scrubbing me unceremoniously up and down.  However, humiliating it was to be
washed like this, it felt good to feel the dried piss and sweat running off
of me and swirling down into the drain.  I winced especially as he rubbed
the squeegee against my cock and balls roughly.

"That's enough," Mr. Grey interrupted.  "Squirt him down."

"Gladly," Ryan agreed, tossing the brush back into the bucket, and picking
up the hose which he had pulled into the cell.  "You remember how good this
feels?"

"Mmph!" I screamed into the gag, nearly staggering backwards as the ice cold
blast of water shot out of the spigot of the hose and square into the center
of my chest.  I had forgotten how much it hurt, pounding against my hot
skin.  I trembled as he widened the stream to a spray, and ran it back and
forth, showering the soapy suds off of my front.

"Turn," he called over the spray, keeping it wide.  I had winced my eyes
shut both out of instinct as the water sprayed onto my face and to prevent
the suds that were running down my face from stinging my eyes.  "Slowly.
Full 360," he added.

Holding my arms behind my head, I obeyed, slowly turning in a circle so that
he could rinse both sides of my body.  By the time I made the full rotation,
he seemed satisfied that the soap was sufficiently rinsed and released the
handle, cutting off the water.  I shivered, dripping dry as the cool
droplets of water ran off my body and pooled at my feet.  Ryan picked up the
bucket of the water and the hose, and carried them out of the cell.

Mr. Grey remained, watching me intently as I shivered.  He stepped forward
and lightly adjusted my collar, rotating it so that one of the attached
D-rings sat directly under my chin.  "You are learning what it is to be a
slave," he lectured calmly, tracing his finger from my collar down my slick
chest and stomach.  "A slave is an object.  Albeit a very useful object, if
the slave should prove troublesome or useless  in the eyes of his Master,
then the Master might opt to put his object away for a while.  Do you
understand?"

I nodded as he moved his hand from my abs down to my shaved crotch.  He gave
me cock a few strokes, and then seized the base of my balls, giving my
entire package a firm twist.  "Mmph!" I yelped into the gag, my eyes
wincing, and my knees nearly giving out as pain shot up through my groin.

"How easy it is to control a slave," Mr. Grey mused as his grip tightened on
my junk.  "Especially one who so easily surrenders that which makes him a
man..."

"That's because he's not a man," Ryan reiterated coming back into the cell
with purpose.  "He's my bitch slave."  Mr. Grey released his grip on my
balls and stepped away so that Ryan could face me.  "This little vacation is
over.  You're no use to me in here, but I have no fucking problem locking
your ass back up in here the minute you piss me off.  Got it?"  He barked.

I nodded, meaning it.  Though, I thought he had to be kidding about the
vacation reference.

He pulled a long leather leash out of his back pocket, and clipped it to the
D-ring at the front of my collar.  "Turn around.  Hands behind your back,"
he ordered flatly.  I complied, lowering my arms to the small of my back.  I
felt smooth metal circle around both of my wrists, almost simultaneously.  A
quick test would indicate there were only 3 or 4 links of chain in between,
like police handcuffs, only the cuffs themselves were thicker and heavier,
like shackles but not as medieval.

"An untrained slave cannot be trusted with the use of his hands," Mr. Grey
explained as Ryan cuffed me.  "Of course, we don't fear you.  You simply
can't be trusted not to touch that slave cock of yours.  It belongs to your
Masters now, and slaves don't touch their Masters things without
permission."

"Turn back around," Ryan snapped, nearly interrupting his father.  Their
back and forth was growing more tense, as if Mr. Grey's exposition bored
him.  I turned back around to face both of them.  It occurred to me in that
instant that I was exactly as I had seen my parents for the first time as
slaves, naked, shaved, collared, gagged, cuffed and leashed.  Ryan gave a
tug on the leash, the collar biting into the back of my neck.  "Time to go
home, slave.  When we walk, you keep to my left.  Keep your head bowed and
your eyes on me.  Your hands are always behind your back like they are
now, even if they're not cuffed.  Move."

He gave me another tug and we exited past Mr. Grey.  I stepped to Ryan's
left, and watched his back and ass as we made our way across the dungeon
floor to the exit.  I wondered exactly what he had meant about going home.

***

To be continued. Comments and Feedback are encouraged: matt10019@gmail.com