Date: Sun, 18 Jan 2009 20:56:14 -0500
From: Matt W <matt10019@gmail.com>
Subject: Bred Slave - Part 5

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 6 - RUDE AWAKENING

"BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP!"

I awoke with a start, my body drenched in a cold sweat as a loud, grating
noise drilled into my head, ripping me from my peaceful slumber.
Miraculously, I had fallen into a deep sleep.

"BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP!"

Gaining some sense as the beeping continued assaulting my ears, I groaned in
the pitch black room, still pressed face down on the bare mattress.
Instinctively, I went to swat at the invisible noise, only to remember
quickly that my hands were cuffed behind my back.

"BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP!"

I was wide awake now as the intolerable alarm cut into me.  Unsure of what
to do, I remained as I was for several moments weighing my options.  Half of
me wanted to roll off the bed and attempt to dismantle the alarm.  The other
half told me to stay put and that Ryan should be in any minute.

"BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP!"

I couldn't take it another moment, and before I knew it, I was squirming on
my stomach until my feet were dangling over the side of the bed.  I slowly
pushed backwards until I could feel my toes touching the floor.  Finding my
footing, I stood up, lifting myself off of the bed.

"BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP!"

Originally, the sound seemed like it was everywhere, assaulting me from all
angles.  Just as I isolated the source to be directly under the bed frame, I
noticed a dim green light creeping out from under the bed.  I squatted down,
trying to figure out the best way to retrieve the alarm with my hands
shackled behind me.  I dropped to my ass with a light thud, and leaning
back, I slid my legs under the bed and swept them from side to side.

"BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP!"

I grunted, turning on my side as I felt my left foot connect with a small
plastic box.  Turning my foot like a hook, I bent my knee up and pulled the
obnoxious device across the floor towards me.  When it was clear of the bed,
I pulled my legs in and rolled over and up onto my knees, glancing at the
glowing digital numbers that illuminated the otherwise dark room.  It read
4:03.  Shuffling on my knees in front of the clock, I reached behind me
poking blindly at the buttons on top.

"BEEP!  BEEP!  B....."

I sighed with relief, just as the bedroom door burst open and light flooded
the room.  Gasping in shock and pain as light burned my retinas, I winced,
bowing my head away from the light.

"Well, well," Ryan observed with a yawn from the doorway.  "Looks like my
slave is really up and at 'em this morning.  I'll give you credit for your
resourcefulness, but is that any way to greet your Master, bitch?!"

My eyes adjusting to the light, I glanced up at him.  He was
shirtless, wearing loose fitting blue pajama pants that tied at the waist
and sat low on his hips.  It was evident that he'd just woken up as well,
his hair tousled and matted in spots.  He was glaring down at me through
sleepy eyes, and I looked down.  Though I was on my knees, I was leaning
back on my heels, sprawled awkwardly near the clock.  "No, Sir?"

He snapped, and pointed to the floor a few paces in front of him.
Reluctantly, I shuffled forward on my knees in shame to where he pointed and
adjusted my kneel to what I had been taught.  Expecting him to speak, he
simply walked past me, bent down and retrieved the alarm clock.

"4:04?" He asked, feigning surprise.  "I gave you an entire four minute
grace period to get your lazy ass up, shut this thing up, and get on your
knees to wait for me, and that's not enough?!"

"Sir?  I...but," I stammered in confusion, as I hadn't been given any such
directions.

"But, nothing," he snapped.  "Tomorrow, the alarm goes off at 3:30 just to
make sure.  You'll be on your knees every morning in that spot until you
earn my trust to get your own ass up and out."

"Yes, Sir," I acknowledged, my heart sinking at the thought of getting up a
half hour earlier.  4:00 am was ridiculous enough.

Ryan hit some buttons on the clock, and I heard him slide it back under the
bed, realizing quickly how my mornings would begin.  He stepped back in
front of me, "And you better earn it quickly, I'm not going to spend my
entire fucking break getting up at 4:00am with your ass.  Now, get your face
on the floor and your fucking cunt hole up in the air!"

"Ye...yes, Sir."  I hesitated, slightly taken aback by the sudden command,
but slowly leaned forward until my chest and face hit the floor almost
simultaneously, my weight abruptly shifting as I lifted my ass up.

Roughly, he grabbed my chained wrists and pushed them up on my back, so that
my ass was completely exposed.  "You were four minutes late getting up."

WHACK!  Without warning, his hand came sailing through the air connecting
with my bare ass.  I yelped, lurching forward, the stinging sensation was
immediate.

"Count them," he demanded coldly.

"One...Sir," I counted, my voice quivering slightly in shock and fear.

WHACK!

"Louder!  Thank me for each one.  I fucking drag my ass out of bed at 4:00
am to deal with this shit, the least you can do is fucking thank me for
taking the time to discipline your ass," he barked.

"Two!  Thank you, Sir!"  I called out, my face buried in the floor.

WHACK!

"Three!  Thank you, Sir."  The force of each slap surprised me.  I didn't
think a simple spanking could hurt so much.

WHACK!

"Four...thank...you...Sir."  Unused to this kind of pain, I was biting back
tears after only four slaps.

"Get up.  We're wasting time," he snapped.

"Yes, Sir."  My voice was small as I gratefully pulled my knees in, and
shakily pushed up to one knee and then both feet.

"Anything you wanna ask me, boy?" he asked abruptly, standing eye to eye.
He reached down and gave my protruding balls a hard flick.

I winced, the flick sending shock waves through the nerves in my groin and
then into my bladder.  I nodded, my face flushing a bit.  "Yea...yes, Sir.
I have to...I mean, can I take a piss, Sir?"  Almost at the mention of the
word, my bladder strained at full attention for its morning piss.

"Yes, slave, you may," he smirked, stepping aside and motioning into the
hallway.  "You remember where your bathroom is?"

"Yes, Sir," I nodded shamefully as I stepped past him with my head down and
into the hallway.  Everything about the walk from my room to the bathroom
was so familiar, making it all the more painful now that I was a naked,
collared slave that needed permission to do something as simple as pee.  I
could feel him behind me as I walked into the small bathroom.  He flipped on
the light, and I glanced at him over the shoulder as he leaned against the
door frame,  Trying to ignore him, I stepped in front of the seat-less
toilet and bent my knees, doing my best to aim my cock at the bowl.

"Uhh, what do you think you're doing?" Ryan interjected.  "You were told
yesterday that you were to sit directly on the toilet bowl when you were
given the privilege of using the bathroom.  Men stand up to piss.  Slaves
sit their asses on the bowl and piss between their legs like the pussies
that they are.  Now, do it right, or don't do it all."

I hesitated for a long moment, my face flushing again, but slowly turned
around.  "Yes, Sir."  Reluctantly, I lowered slowly to the bowl, feeling my
ass cheeks balancing on the narrow rim.  It was nothing like a seat and I
thought my ass might dip into the water.  My cock, though protruding
slightly thanks to the ring, was fortunately flaccid enough that I thought I
could make it into the bowl.

"Waiting," Ryan snapped, and then yawned loudly, stretching his arms over
head.

Swallowing, I winced my eyes shut trying to pretend he wasn't there, and
after a few more seconds, let my bladder open up, draining into the bowl
with a tinkling sound.  I opened my eyes, staring down at my feet as the
pressure left my stomach.  Not that I hadn't pissed in front of guys before
at a urinal, and not that I hadn't squatted to piss in front of Ryan in the
dungeon cell, but this was different still.  I squeezed the last few drops
out of my cock, and tried to shake it a little over the bowl, feeling a few
drops splatter against my legs.  Finishing, I looked to him.

"What are you waiting for?  Get up," he growled, stepping forward he grabbed
me around my right bicep and pulled me off the toilet with enough forced to
send me stumbling past him out of the bathroom door.  I tripped over the
door frame and fell sprawling to my knees and chest in the hallway, the
carpet burning my bare skin as I slid across it.   "I said, GET UP!"  I felt
Ryan's bare foot on my ass as he kicked me forward till I was flat on my
stomach.  "Up!  Get your ass downstairs.  Wait for me by the front door."

"Yes, Sir," I stammered at the fire in his voice.  I squirmed forward on my
chest, then pulling myself up to my knees, I trotted lightly down the stairs
without looking back at him.

Reaching the front door, I hesitated slightly glancing at the hard tiles
that made up the entry foyer, and reluctantly lowered to my knees.  Unsure
of whether I should face the door or the stairs to wait for him, I knelt
sideways so that I could see both.  I could hear him banging around
upstairs.  Several minutes passed and I grew increasingly uncomfortable, the
hard tile cutting into my knee caps.  Eventually, I looked up, hearing him
jog lightly down the stairs.  He had pulled a gray zip-up hoody over his
bare chest, and slipped his feet into thick-soled slippers, the jingle of a
leash audible as it swung from his hand.  In any other household, he could
have been any guy waking up early to take the dog out, but this wasn't just
any normal household.  There were a few other things in his hands, but I
diverted my eyes quickly in fear of pissing him off.

"Hold these," he stated, coming up quickly behind me.  I glanced up in
surprise, as a pair of sneakers with their laces tied together were draped
around my neck and collar so that they dangled against my chest.  I
recognized quickly that they were an old pair of mine.  "And this.  Open."

Again, I looked up in confusion, my mouth slightly agape as he wasted no
time in shoving something past my lips, forcing my jaw open.  It was fabric,
maybe cotton, I assessed quickly as he forced it in with his fingers until
my mouth was thoroughly stuffed.  There was still some spilling out as I
felt something hanging down my chin, something like elastic.  It was a
jockstrap.

Ryan bent forward to clip the leash to the front of my collar, and gave a
firm tug upwards.  "Up," he commanded flatly.

I pushed up to one knee and then the other as the collar bit into the back
of my neck.  Without another word, he opened the front door.  A blast of
wintry air assaulted my exposed skin, and I shivered instantly as he pulled
me forwards out into the dark morning.  I stepped aside so that he could
pull the door shut behind us, and then he pulled me swiftly back across the
courtyard towards the back of the main house.

"Fuck, boy!  It's cold as balls out here!" Ryan practically yelped as he
gave my leash a harder tug towards the brick steps that ran down the back of
the house to the basement door.

I trotted after him as best I could, my joints quaking involuntarily from
the cold.  The shoes banged against my chest, and I bit hard into the fabric
in my mouth as my teeth attempted to chatter.  When we reached the basement
door, I shivered in place as he fumbled with the lock, and eventually the
door swung open, a blast of heat greeting me as he pulled me inside after
him.  Letting the door slam closed behind us, Ryan flipped on the
fluorescent ceiling lights and pulled me forward into the center of the
fitness room.

Silently, he let the leash go so that it slapped against my chest and
stomach, dangling by my dick.  Fishing in the pocket of his hoody, he walked
around behind me and grabbed my left forearm.  I heard the scraping of metal
on metal, and felt the left cuff release from my wrist, followed shortly by
the right.  Without missing a beat, my arms shot around to my front, and I
was rubbing my throbbing wrists madly.  Looking down, I noticed slight red
abrasions from being cuffed for so long.

I'm sure that I wasn't supposed to do that, but Ryan was either being
merciful or was too tired to care as he walked back in front of me.
Reaching toward my face, he took hold of the elastic straps that were
dangling against my chin and pulled the jockstrap out of my mouth, a small
trail of saliva clinging to it.

"Here," he tossed it against my chest, and I caught it before it hit the
ground.  "Put this on."

I looked down at it cautiously, unfolding it in my hands.  It was obviously
old and well-worn.  The once white fabric of the pouch was now nearly gray
in color, and despite being damp with my saliva, there were obvious
yellowish stains set into it.  My stomach churned in disgust at the thought
of having carried it in my mouth.

"Did I stutter, bitch?!"

"Yes, Sir...No, I mean, no Sir!"  I was the one that stuttered as I shook
the jock out and untwisted the straps.  Stretching it out in front of me, I
stepped my right leg through the straps, and then the left, working it
slowly up my legs until I was able to engulf my cock and balls in the
pouch.  I felt clammy as the saliva dampened fabric cradled my manhood, and
I adjusted the waistband and the straps that hugged my ass.  Not that it was
much, but I felt an ounce of dignity returning with my genitals hidden from
view for the first time since I'd been enslaved.

Ryan walked casually around me.  "Good. Fits," he observed, as he pulled one
of the straps behind me out a few inches and then let is snap back against
my ass.  I jolted forward absorbing the sting.  "It was one of mine from
high school.  Thought it might be too big for you here in the crotch," he
snickered as he walked back in front of me and grabbed my junk through the
fabric, giving it a firm squeeze. "But, I guess it shrunk in the wash.  Now,
get on the floor.  You have 30 seconds to get those sneakers and socks on."
Stunned, I froze for a second as he flicked my balls through the
jock. "29...28...27..."

Without thinking, I plopped to the floor, my exposed ass pressing into the
firm carpet, and fumbled with the shoes dangling around my neck.  As I tried
to pull them over my head, I felt the tied laces catching on the back of my
collar.  I reached behind me, and worked the laces free of the collar,
lifting the shoes to the space between my legs.  My fingers were trembling
as I worked furiously at the knot that tied the two shoelaces together.

"10...9...8..."

I could feel nerous sweat breaking out on my forehead as I finally made some
progress with the knot, feeling the intertwined laces loosen.

"3...2...and 1..."

"The knot...I can't, I..." Looking up in frustration, I held the separated
laces limply in my hands.

"Well, don't fucking stop, dumbass.  I don't need your excuses, I need you
to do what you're told," Ryan snapped motioning with his hand to get on with
it.  "2...3...4..."  Now, he was counting up.

I clenched my teeth slightly in anger as I went back to the shoes, reaching
into the right one, I found a white ankle-high athletic sock tucked into
it.  Fumbling with the sock, I slipped it over my right foot, and then went
for the left.  When I had both socks on, I pulled the right shoe over my
foot, and tied the laces quickly, and then went to work on the left until it
was tied.  I looked up, like I had finished some race.

"31...32...33..."  Ryan continued to count, glaring down at me.  My
expression was one of confusion.  "When a slave finishes a task, he presents
on his knees anxiously awaiting his next order.  37...38..."

Nearly pounding the carpet with my fist, I scrambled to sit up and forward
on my knees, crossing my wrists behind my back just as he stopped counting.

"41.  41 fucking seconds longer than it should take to put on a fucking pair
of shoes," Ryan scolded as he circled me slowly.  "Looks like you're gonna
have to make that time up to me.  41 push ups.  Now!"  He planted his
slippered foot against my back and shoved me forward with enough force that
I had to catch myself with my hands.

"Yes, Sir," I said quietly, feeling scorned, as I shuffled my feet back
until my legs were straight, and I moved my hands to the sides, prepared to
push up.  The leash was coiled on the floor in front of me, still dangling
from my collar.

"Count them off.  Perfect form.  Miss any, and you start over," he warned.

I swallowed, and then pushed up, "One."  Lowering back to the ground, I
pushed up again, "Two."  Push ups weren't my favorite, and I was a little
out of practice.  I hadn't done many push ups since I'd left high school
sports behind, favoring weight machines like most guys my age.  41 sounded
manageable, though I started feeling it pretty quickly, slowing around the
halfway point.  "Twenty-one....Twenty-two..."

"Let's go, bitch.  All the way down.  Back straight."

I was definitely breathing hard as I rounded the last ten, feeling the burn
in my chest and my arms.  It was early in the day for such a physical
exertion, and I hadn't exactly had the best night of sleep.  A light sheen
of sweat had broken out over my body.  "Thirty-nine..."  I panted.
"Forty....Fortyyyy-onnne."  I collapsed to the ground after the last count,
and after a split second rest, begrudgingly remembered to kneel up in wait.

Before I could finish pulling myself up into a kneel, my chest heaving, Ryan
stooped forward to grab hold of my leash. "Uh uh, time's wasting.  Over
here; up on the treadmill."

I stumbled up to my feet as the collar bit into my neck, moving towards the
treadmill.  Reluctantly, I stepped up onto the black conveyor belt.  He
stepped up next to me, and unclipped the leash from the ring in my collar.
He tossed it to the floor, and grabbed the safety stop-cord that was
attached to the control panel of the treadmill, clipping the end of it to my
collar, effectively leashing me to the machine.  I took mild comfort in
knowing that I wouldn't strangle myself should I fall off the machine.

"Just to make sure we're clear, the shoes and jock are not for your modesty
or comfort," Ryan explained casually as he began programming the control
panel in front of me.  "But you can run faster and harder without your balls
slamming against your thighs, which is more important to me in this
case."   Finishing with the controls, he hit a green button and hopped down
from the machine.  I felt the conveyor belt begin to crawl under my feet.
"5 miles.  Get going."

"Uh, yes, Sir," I acknowledged, slightly disheartened at the thought of
putting in 5 miles on the treadmill as I moved quickly from a fast walk to a
jog and then a full run as the conveyor increased in pace.  I hated
running.

"And just to make sure your dumbass understands the blatantly obvious, you
don't touch the control panel, and if you trigger the stop-cord," he paused
to shake his head almost in amusement, "You will be very, very sorry."

The soles of my worn sneakers began to pound against the rubber conveyor as
I developed a rhythm.  Glancing at the digital controls, I could see the
machine was counting down from 5 miles with some sort of random
functionality selected.  I would soon find out that the machine was
programmed to change inclines and speeds with each half mile achieved.
Fortunately, it would get easier and not more difficult as I went along.  I
could feel the burn immediately in my thighs as the first half mile ticked
away on a fairly steep incline at about 5 miles per hour.

Ryan stood behind me to the left, watching me with his arms crossed for a
few minutes.  Then, glancing over my shoulder, I saw him yawn dramatically,
stretching his arms over his head.  He turned and shuffled through the open
archway to the rec room where I heard the unmistakable sound of a body
sinking into the long leather sofa near the entertainment center.  The
asshole was going to take a nap.

It was almost a relief, really, to know that I wasn't being watched as I
pumped my arms and continued to run in time with the unrelenting pace of the
machine.  Suddenly, the mechanisms in the base of the machine began to whir,
and I felt the incline lessen slightly.  I had completed the first half-mile
at just under five minutes, but I was already feeling it in my legs.  Ryan
was certainly right about one thing, without the shoes and the jock, there
was no way I could have kept pace with the machine.

I frowned as I caught myself feeling grateful for his consideration.
Grateful?  Why the fuck should I be grateful for a worn out pair of sneakers
and his disgusting old jockstrap that hadn't been washed in who knows how
long.  What I should've be doing two days into my winter break from college
was sleeping off a hangover on a Sunday morning like the rest of the guys my
age were undoubtedly doing.  So much of me wanted to jump off the treadmill
and go pound the shit out of Ryan while he napped in the other room.  Yet, I
didn't.  I couldn't.

I stayed, and I ran, and I didn't know why.  It was just what I had to do.
By the end of the third mile, the incline had lessened significantly, and
the pace of the belt had slowed to about 3 miles per hour.  Though I was
jogging now, my chest was heaving as I breathed hard, sucking in air.  I
could feel that my entire body was slick with sweat, and without a towel, I
could only wipe the sweat beads from my forehead out of my eyes with my
forearm.  My hair was damp, and I could feel it matted to my head in spots.
The clock registered just over 30 minutes.  I knew I'd be on the treadmill
for another half hour finishing up the last two miles.  Almost worst of all
was the damn collar around my neck.  Not only did it bang up and down
against my collar bone, undoubtedly leaving a bruise, but I could feel sweat
pooling beneath it.

Just then, my pounding heart skipped a beat as I heard the door at the top
of the basement steps swing open, and then there were quick footsteps as
someone descended the stairs.  Glancing for a split second over my shoulder,
I saw that it was Mr. Grey trotting lightly down the steps in his black
track suit that he often wore lounging around the house on a weekend.  I
swallowed, continuing to breathe hard as I ran, uncertain as to whether I
was supposed to stop and somehow acknowledge him or pretend I didn't see him
or what.  I could feel him approaching from behind.

"Just keep running, slave," Mr. Grey assured me as he came up beside me on
the right.  "You are in service to your Master at the moment, and when in
service, a slave doesn't stop unless he's specifically instructed to by that
Master or one of equal or greater standing.  Of course, it is my right as
your owner to tell you to jump off the machine and stand on your head for an
hour, but I have no current objections to the way my son is using you at the
moment.  Understand?"

I nodded, swallowing back air as I continued to run, "Yes...Sir..."

"But for the sake of learning a lesson, let's say you were ordered to run
your miles on a treadmill at the University gym, and halfway through your
run some random student told you it was his turn to use the machine.  What
would you do?"  Mr. Grey challenged.

"Uhh...ignore 'im...Sir?"  My words were staccato as I struggled for breath.

"Good, slave.  Obeying your Master's order is always your first priority,"
he explained.  "But, let's say that same student ran into you while you were
changing in the locker room and told you to towel him off because he didn't
feel like doing it himself.  What would you do?"

My face flushed even redder than it already was.  "Do it...Sir?"

"Yes, good.  If not otherwise engaged in direct service to your Master, then
you are most certainly subject to the will of any real man you might
encounter, should he recognize what you are and choose to use you."  Mr.
Grey smiled, giving me a firm pat on my sweaty ass as I ran.  "But, you
already knew that.  Speaking of which, where is your Master?"

"Over...there, Sir," I gulped for breath and nodded to my left towards the
rec room.

Without another word, Mr. Grey circled back behind me and off towards the
rec room.  I glanced to my left, but I couldn't really see the area where
Ryan was lying down without blatantly craning my neck or exiting the
treadmill altogether, which I knew would not be a smart idea.

"What?!" Ryan suddenly exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing from the other
room.

The next few moments were filled with tense conversation drifting from the
other room, but I couldn't make out what they were saying, as the pounding
of my sneakers against the treadmill drowned out any audible words.  I felt
guilty, almost voyeuristic as I witnessed the indiscernible argument from
the next room.  An amusing thought, since I was the one so humiliatingly on
display in the basement.

I glanced down at the control panel, relieved as I was now well into the
fourth mile, starting to feel incredibly drained.  After several long
minutes, the argument apparently ended and I saw Mr. Grey out of the corner
of my eye slip behind me without a word and walk casually up the stairs to
the main level of the house.  The basement door closed firmly behind him.

A few seconds later, Ryan came shuffling back into the fitness room.  I
swallowed hard, barely able to close my mouth now as I sucked deep breaths
of air into my lungs as I ran.

"Shit, boy, you're not done yet?"  he yawned, and shuffled up behind me to
the left.  There was still a half-mile left on the countdown.  Reaching out,
he increased the speed on the conveyor belt which had slowed to a solid 3
mile per hour jog, and bumped it back up to 5 miles per hour.

I almost gasped in horror as the conveyor increased pace below me, forcing
me to run faster as I neared the end of the exercise.  My legs felt like
jelly, and at several points, I felt like I would surely fall off.

"Keep those knees up.  Pump those arms.  C'mon jock boy, this should be a
walk in the park," Ryan taunted as he stepped back to watch.

My heart was beating out of my chest as I raced to keep up.  I could sense
that my face was a nice shade of tomato red and sweat was pouring off of
me.  At the last quarter mile, I had expected the machine to force me into a
sprint, but shockingly enough, it beeped and the words "COOL DOWN" flashed
on the screen.  I felt the conveyor slow miraculously until I was walking.
I gulped, my chest heaving as I caught my breath.

I could feel Ryan's eyes on me the entire time as I finished the cool down
walk and the machine beeped again loudly to signal the exercise had been
completed.  The belt beneath my feet came to a complete stop, and Ryan
cleared his throat behind me.  Taking the cue, I remained where I was,
spread my legs to the sides of the treadmill, and crossed my wrists behind
my back as I stood waiting.

"Nice little warm up for the day, right slave?"  he asked rhetorically as he
hopped up next to me on the machine.  With his left hand, he unclipped the
stop-cord from my collar, and with his right, he reattached the leash.
"Let's go."  He pulled me from the treadmill through the basement and
stopped short at the door.  "Oh shit, almost forgot.  Get those shoes and
socks off.  Tie the laces back together and carry them around your neck.
Same with the jock, you know where it goes."

"Yes, Sir..." I gulped as I squatted to the floor and pulled the shoes and
socks off.  I stuffed the socks inside the shoes, and then retied the laces
together, draping them around my neck like a scarf.  As I stood, I slid the
sweat-soaked jockstrap down over my legs and kicked it up to my hands.  I
held it up, eyeing it cautiously as it dangled from my right fingers.

"In. Pouch first," Ryan commanded sternly.  "I'm sure you're thirsty,
slave.  Nothing like good crotch sweat to quench it."

My heart sank as I held the sweaty pouch in front of my face.  At least I
had caught my breath by this point, but I couldn't help but inhale the scent
of fresh sweat.  I swallowed in disgust, and then winced my eyes shut as I
pushed the jock back into my mouth, trying to ignore the salty damp cloth as
it slid along my tongue.  Opening my eyes, I saw that he was standing by the
door waiting impatiently for something, and I returned my hands behind my
back in wait.

Satisfied, he smirked and pulled my leash, guiding us back outside and up to
the guest house, well, Ryan's house.  As tired and sweaty as I was from the
run, my legs wobbling as we walked back, the frigid outside air provided me
with an immediate unpleasant distraction.  The sun was starting to rise, and
I figured it was sometime around 5:30 in the morning.

Once we were back inside Ryan's place, I shivered in the entryway as he
closed the door and locked it behind us.  He stooped beside me to the left
of the door, where the bench seat that had always been there remained.  It
had always been a place to throw umbrellas, shoes, and whatever else we
wanted to keep out of sight, and apparently, it was one of the few things
Ryan hadn't had removed from the house.  Lifting the lid seat, he motioned
into the trunk space.  "Stuff the jock in one of your shoes, and toss them
in here."

I half nodded, gratefully pulling the wet fabric from my mouth, and stuffing
it into my left shoe where it mingled with one of my socks.  I lifted the
sneakers over my head, and tossed them lightly into the trunk expecting a
thud, but instead, there was a strange metal clang.  The trunk wasn't empty.

"Good boy.  You'll know where to find them tomorrow, and everyday after
that," Ryan noted flatly.  Catching the look on my face, he added, "Don't
worry, I'm sure everything will dry out overnight, just in time for you to
moisten them up again.  I mean, no need to waste time and water washing that
shit when you're just going to drench it in sweat all over again, right?"
He unclipped the leash from my collar, not waiting for a response, and
tossed it into the trunk.  Next, he leaned forward into the box and withdrew
a set of gleaming chains and shackles.  "Your house chains," he explained,
holding them up for me to see.  "Brand new."

"Yes, Sir," I said blankly, as I recalled the period I'd spent chained in
the dungeon cell, and not in a hurry to repeat it.

I remained at ease with my hands behind my back by the doorway as he
crouched down in front of me, and fastened the leg irons to each of my
ankles.  There was a good amount of chain between my feet, a bit more than
I'd had in the dungeon.

"Hold out your wrists in front of you," Ryan ordered.

"Yes, Sir."  I complied quietly, as I held out my wrists to be willingly
chained, at least this time it was in front of me.  Expertly, he fasted a
metal cuff around each of my wrists, and let the two feet of slack dangle
between them.  I noticed immediately that this set of chains was much
lighter in weight than the medieval style I had worn in the dungeon, but
they certainly weren't weightless.

"You've barely just begun your training.  When not supervised, the chains
will ensure you remember your place in my house," he explained.  "Now, get
your ass in the kitchen.  You need water."

"Yes, Sir," I nodded, and shuffled after him towards the kitchen, the chains
rattling between my limbs.

He snapped and pointed to the place at the end of the counter where I had
been instructed to kneel for my meals.  While he filled a bowl with water
from the faucet, I knelt by the place mat, and let my chained hands rest
near my crotch between my spread knees.  The bowl was set down in front of
me.  "Drink."

"Yes, Sir."  Gratefully, I leaned forward and wasted no time lapping at the
water, my insides dehydrated from the run.

When I had all but licked every drop from the bowl, he picked it up and
refilled it, setting it back down in front of me.  I started to lean down,
but he stopped me, placing his hand on my forehead.  "No, you've had enough
for now.  But, good news, I'm giving you permission to drink water, only
water and only from this bowl, throughout the day when not in my presence."
He patted my head, like it was some kind of gift.  "Get up. Living room."

"Yes, Sir."  I pushed up to my feet, and followed him into the living room
stopping short as he turned to face me.

"When your hands are chained in front of you like that, hold your wrists by
your hips when presenting.  Make sure that pathetic cock is always on
display," he instructed, pointing towards my crotch.

"Yes, Sir."  I adjusted my hands to my sides.  There was just enough slack
that the center of the chain dangled just below my balls.

Ryan took a long look around the living room.  "This place is a fucking
mess," he observed, nodding towards the coffee table littered with empty
beer cans and shot glasses, and other remnants of the small housewarming
party he'd thrown while I was suffering in the dungeon cell.  "Duster's in
the closet under the stairs, cleaning supplies are under the sink, you know
where everything is.  I want it spotless.  Everything.  Living room,
kitchen, bathroom."

"Yes, Sir..." I agreed, a little cautiously.

"Every tile, every cushion, every speck of dust," he warned.  "Don't fuck it
up."

"Yes, Sir."

He brushed past me towards the stairs, and I turned towards him.  "I'm going
back to sleep.  My alarm goes off at 11 on a Sunday, and you better fucking
have my breakfast waiting for me on the counter when I get up.  3 strips of
bacon, 1 scrambled egg, and 2 slices of toast.  If everything meets my
standards, I might let you eat something.  So, get to work, bitch."

"Yes, Sir," I responded, but I don't think he heard me as he was already
bounding up the stairs, anxious to fall back into that gigantic bed for
several more hours of rest.  I really hated him at that moment as I looked
around the first floor of the house, unsure of where to even begin with the
mess.

Shuffling past the stairs towards the hall closet, chains rattling, I passed
the small bathroom and backed up to do a double-take as I caught a glimpse
of a dark shadow in the mirror.  Flipping on the light, I stepped inside,
swallowing hard as I took a good look at myself in the mirror that hung over
the sink.  Ryan had me so focused on pissing properly that morning that I
hadn't seen but a quick glimpse of myself in the bathroom upstairs since I'd
been enslaved.

For the first few moments, it was a true out-of-body experience. I
recognized the person staring back at me, yet it felt like I was looking at
a stranger.  The collar was the first thing to jump out at me.  I touched it
lightly with my right hand, the chains jingling between my wrists.  On one
hand, it seemed so silly, yet on the other, it was so symbolic.  It was
literally a weight upon my shoulders and I wouldn't be able to ignore why it
was there and the fact that I was powerless to remove it.  Oddly, I noticed
that it looked kind of good on me, the way it accentuated my strong
jawline.

My face was still lightly flushed from the run, and there was a light growth
of beard as I hadn't shaved since I'd been enslaved.  Numbly, I lifted my
right hand and ran my fingers gingerly through my sweaty hair, now barely an
inch in length on top.  It didn't look as bad as I had thought it would when
Ryan had clipped it, just very short and militaristic.

Sliding my chained hands down my smooth chest, I stopped just at my navel,
where my treasure trail had once begun.  The chains themselves caught my
attention, and I almost felt pride in wearing them.  Of course, they
restricted my movements and were as annoying as fuck, but Ryan had deemed
them necessary.  Necessary to help bind me in slavery.  My body was strong,
stronger than his, and he knew it.  He would never admit it, but I was
certain the chains gave him a sense of security in his dominance.

Most shocking of all was my shaved crotch, especially looking at it straight
on in the mirror.  I had the cock and balls of a grown man, but without
hair, it looked like a package that belonged to a well endowed prepubescent
boy.  The metal cock ring only pronounced everything, serving as yet another
constant reminder that my body didn't belong to me anymore, even the most
precious of parts.

Shamefully, I turned away from the mirror, flipping off the bathroom light.
I felt a small lump growing in the back of my throat, and I couldn't bare to
look at myself, at the slave I'd become, a moment longer.  Turning right
towards the closet, I coughed back a sob, and steeled myself, opening the
door.  I pulled out an empty trash bag from a box on the shelf, and shuffled
off to the living room where I began to throw empty bottles and cans into
the trash bag.  Glancing at the clock, I noted that it was 5:47.  Plenty of
time.

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

Author's Note: The feedback and encouragement for the continuation of
this story has been beyond humbling.  Many apologies for the delay in
posting.  Please be assured that although the rate in producing
subsequent installments will not be as frequent as the first few chapters,
the story will continue as quickly as possible.