Bound by Obedience: A Slave’s Trial
My Master had long teased the idea of pushing my limits as his slave, but until now, our discussions remained just that—words. At a gathering of fellow Masters, the topic resurfaced, and he returned armed with tips and offers of aid to test my devotion. I sensed a shift in him; his demands grew sharper, his expectations harder to meet. As our vacation loomed, the air crackled with tension.
The day before our break, Master assigned me tasks designed to be impossible. When he returned home and found them incomplete, his voice was cold. “You think you decide what’s done here? You’ll learn.” He stormed out, leaving me trembling.
Hours later, he returned. “Let’s go. No need to change.” He drove me to an unfamiliar house, its silence unnerving. In the empty hall, he ordered me to strip. My hands were cuffed behind my back, and he led me down a dim corridor, descending into a vaulted chamber—a torture den, its walls lined with sinister tools.
He bound me to the wall, my back pressed against cold stone, and left me alone for what felt like an eternity. When he returned, he freed me only to reposition me in the room’s center, where a winch loomed overhead. My ankles were secured to eyebolts in the floor, a meter apart, forcing my legs wide. My wrists, freed briefly, were fastened to a 1.5-meter bar hoisted above, stretching my body taut. “I’m in charge,” he declared, his voice like steel. “You’re nothing but a slave, a piece of meat to obey and please me.”
The days that followed would sear that lesson into me.
He circled me with a flogger, its leather kissing my buttocks, back, chest, and thighs—sensitive but bearable. After fifteen minutes, he paused, slipping a blindfold over my eyes. The flogger returned, harder now, its strikes unpredictable—back, belly, thighs, even grazing my cock. Bound tightly, I could only endure. As the blows intensified, my skin reddened, and I groaned, begging for mercy, claiming I’d learned my place. Master ignored me, silencing my pleas with a gag.
“The lashes are for my pleasure,” he said, resuming the assault. My muffled cries grew desperate, but he was relentless. Then, unfamiliar hands roamed my body—not his. My cock was gripped, and someone pressed against my ass. “My pleasure includes others using you,” he announced. The room filled with unseen figures, their presence heavy with intent.
He lowered me slightly, my feet flat on the ground, but kept my legs spread with a bar. Ordered to lie down, I obeyed, the cold floor biting my skin. A warm stream hit me—piss, from multiple sources, humiliating me further. Left alone again, I shivered, still bound.
Later, footsteps approached. The winch rattled, and my ankles, still in the spreader bar, were hoisted until I dangled upside down, hands bound to another bar. A cock pressed against my face. “Suck,” a voice commanded. Disoriented and blindfolded, I struggled to comply, but my hesitation earned scorn. “Unwilling,” Master declared, deeming my effort inadequate. Despite my protests, a gag silenced me again.
Voices debated my punishment. One suggested a single-tail whip, claiming it tamed defiant slaves. They settled on three strokes, not hard enough to draw blood. I shook my head futilely as a collar was fastened, my hands secured to its eyebolts. The first lash from Master’s bullwhip struck my buttocks, leaving a blue stripe. The second and third hit my buttocks and back. Another took the whip, landing precise blows on my belly and chest, targeting my nipples. A third wielder struck my abdomen, buttocks, and back. The fourth, a sadist, aimed for my cock, the whip’s tip coiling around it, doubling its size in purple agony. His final stroke landed perfectly on my asshole, the pain unbearable despite my gag.
Lowered and released, I sobbed, vowing obedience. Unmoved, Master locked me in a cell for the night. Morning brought no reprieve. My aching body was ignored as he gagged me and dragged me back to the chamber, securing me backward on a rack, my limbs strained. Hot candle wax dripped onto my nipples, belly, chest, cock, and balls, each first drop a fiery sting. Master knew only the initial burn hurt most, so he coated me meticulously.
To remove the wax, he wielded a cat o’ nine tails, its leather striking my chest, nipples, abdomen, and genitals. Each blow peeled wax away, leaving red welts. My muffled moans went unanswered as he worked methodically, uncaring of my tears, until no wax remained.
Released briefly, I was soon hoisted again, spread-eagled under the winch. Master declared my morning complaints proof of my defiance. This time, one wielded the single-tail, others the flogger and cat o’ nine tails, delivering five-stroke series. The whips painted my skin with blue and purple, some blows targeting my groin. When the final single-tail stroke landed, I hung limp, my body a canvas of bruises.
Left dangling for an hour, I was then blindfolded and led to another room, dropped among a group of strangers. Hands and cocks assaulted me—I sucked, was fucked, jerked off, and was used relentlessly, their release covering me. Exhausted, I was returned to my cell and collapsed into sleep.
The next morning, Master burst in, cheerful yet merciless. “Time for class!” he announced, hauling me to the chamber. A thin rope was tied to my cock, threaded through an eyebolt across the room, and weighted, pulling it taut. With a strip whip, he methodically struck my back, chest, abdomen, and buttocks, grinning as he targeted my weighted cock, each blow swelling it further.
For the finale, he unleashed the single-tail without restraint. The first stroke slashed my back, the second and third coiled across my chest, swelling my nipples. Others marked my belly, buttocks, thighs, and groin, one landing precisely on my asshole, another on my cock. I screamed through the gag, the pain overwhelming.
After an hour, he freed me, removing the gag. Broken, I collapsed, my obedience absolute. For the next six months, Master faced no resistance—until the lessons began to fade.
