Date: Fri, 25 Apr 2008 16:13:02 +0200
From: dralion <dralion@orange.fr>
Subject: Skin Fuck 2

"Please Sir"

He could hear his heart beating in his ears. Every muscle wanted to be this
man's slave. His fuck toy. His lowly pig. His dog. His broken slave.

"So you want to be my slave, do you cunt?"

"Yes Sir, please S........". His words were strangled in his throat as the
wind was forced from his lungs as his master thumped him in his
stomach. The blow was completely unexpected. It came from nowhere. He
couldn't breathe. His mind was exploding with shards of colour appearing
everywhere. Tears were stinging his eyes as he fell to his knees on the
ground.

Finally he could start to breathe again and he felt the intense pain in his
innards. As if somebody had punctured his stomach with a hot piece of
iron. The gulping in of air was the only sound in his ears except his
thumping heart screaming for oxygen.

"What do you say cunt?".

His mind was racing. He couldn't think. His mouth was dry. Panic. Suddenly
he could feel the bile rising up his throat. He tried to swallow to keep it
down, but his stomach spasmed and the contents exploded up his throat and
onto the muddy path.

Again and again he puked until he was just retching. The acrid taste of
bile burned his throat and nostrils. He was shocked and scared. Scared of
what his Master would do. He hadn't been told to or had permission to
puke. He had tried to stop but he couldn't. He hoped his Master would
understand that it was just an involuntary reflex after his master's fist
to his stomach. Would he be understanding? Be merciful?

But he didn't want that. He didn't want his Master's mercy. He wanted to be
treated like the lowly piece of shit that he was. If he fucked up he should
be punished for it. That was the only way. He needed to learn. If that
meant learning the hard way then that is what he had to take. What he
needed. He didn't want a soft Master. He needed a man to teach him and mold
him into shape. Into the real slave he could be.

Next he felt the rough sole of a boot at the back of his neck. He could
feel the rough tread scraping at the skin of his neck as it pushed neck and
head down. He tried to resist for a little but the boot just pushed
harder. Pushed his face towards the contents of his stomach lying on the
muddy path. He could see it coming nearer and nearer.

The smell hit him first before he felt the still warm vomit on his face. He
closed his eyes, whilst the boot kept on pushing. "Keep your mouth open,
cunt. I want you to taste it. This is what they do to fucking animals when
they foul the place." He could feel the lukewarm vomit mixed with the cold
mud fill his mouth as the boot pushed his face down further and
further. 'Disgusting' is what his mind was shouting. 'Don't do it.' But he
knew he had to take it. Take whatever his Master gave him. It would make
him a real slave. He had made a mistake and he had to pay for it.

His dick was rock hard in his combat trousers and pulling painfully against
the cock and ball torture device that he had been forced to wear at the
pub. This is what he wanted. A Master who knew how to deal with him. He had
had a few Masters before but he had always been able to get around them. To
get them not to punish him or not too harshly. But he always got bored with
them in the end. He was looking for somebody who could handle his pushy
dominant side. To put him in his place.

The boot now pushed his head from side to side, wiping his whole face in
the vile mixture of vomit and mud. This is horrible. I can't believe this
is happening. These thoughts were racing through his mind. This was
happening because this is the way he should be treated. He should be
degraded and humiliated. To be shown that his body and life did not belong
to him but to his master. To do with as he pleased. To break the arrogant
little twat that he was and to mold him into whatever he wanted.

"Close your mouth!" his master shouted. The battle still raged in his
head. Should he obey or just tell his Master to fuck off? He had done it to
so called Masters before. But this time......

Slowly, he clenched his jaw. Closing the vomit and mud in his mouth
cavity. His stomach spasmed again with the bile rising in his throat. But
this time he controlled it. He could taste the acid of the vomit at the top
of his mouth and the earthiness of the mud. He could even feel the
coarseness of the rough mud in his mouth.

The pressure of the boot eased on his neck. This allowed him to raise his
head out of the mud by about two to three inches. He couldn't really see
anything clearly as he flickered his eyelids to try and clear the muck.

"Now swallow, pig!" What? No, absolutely not.

But he deserved it. He had done something wrong and his Master was taking
the time to teach him that it was wrong. He wanted to learn so badly. Again
slowly, he gathered his willpower together.

His Master smiled as he saw his new slave's Adam's apple move up and down
as he fought to swallow the contents of his mouth.

"Good boy. We might make a fucking pig slave out of you yet." Although his
mouth stank of vomit and mud, he was happy. He had passed. His Master was
happy with him. He had not been sent away.

"Thank you, Sir," he stammered.

Next he felt the cold of leather replacing the boot on his neck. His master
closed the collar tightly around his neck. It wasn't a small dog collar,
fit for a poodle, but a large four inch thick collar fit for a
mastiff. Although cold to begin with, the leather soon warmed up, becoming
as warm as his own skin. It felt so natural. But he was disappointed when
there was no padlock to keep it in place. He did not deserve a padlock
yet. He would have to earn that. So far, he only deserved a collar that
could easily be removed and be placed on another more deserving slave.

His Master attached a heavy chain to the collar. Just a simple thick
chain. It was heavy enough to pull on his neck. To remind him it was there
and why it was there.

Next came the cold steel of handcuffs, as his arms were cuffed behind him.

A sharp tug on the chain told him what to do. He struggled to his feet, not
easy with his arms handcuffed behind his back. His Master was already
walking. He was dragged. But he got his feet underneath him and stumbled
after his Master. His clothes dirty. His hands cuffed behind his back. A
large collar and chain around his neck. His face covered in caking mud.

And the imprint of his Master's boot on the back of his shaven head.