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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/the-cockpig/the-cockpig-8 | Date: Mon, 2 Jan 2023 15:12:43 -0500
From: Jeff Hamby <jeffhamby1025@gmail.com>
Subject: The Cockpig Chapter 8
This story is an original work. It should not be reposted or reproduced in
whole or in part without the author's consent. Copyright 2023 by Jeff
Hamby. All rights reserved.
Warning: This story contains graphic sexual acts between adult males. If
you do not enjoy this type of material, or if it is illegal in your country
or place of residence, please stop reading immediately. This story is not
in any way an accurate depiction of reality, and any resemblance to real
persons, places, businesses or acts is unintentional and coincidental.
This story is fiction.
If you enjoyed this story, please make a donation to keep Nifty in business!
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The Cockpig
Chapter 8
I've said it before, I'll say it again: transforming a faggot is a long,
slow process. A psychological process, more than a physical one. Yeah,
fucking and beatings are all well and good, but they are more of a means to
an end, not the end itself. The end, the goal, of course, is to get the
faggot to a point mentally where it can fully accept its purpose and role
in life: as an object to serve real men.
Everything I do when training a fag is in service of that goal, and
designed to help reshape the faggot mentally and physically to be the best
cum dump it can possibly be. Anything less is a disservice to the faggot,
not to mention to the many alpha males that will use it over the years.
Some people are shocked by my training methods. They call me cruel and
sadistic. Well, to a point, they are right, I suppose. I am sadistic; I
love to see a faggot's face twisting with pain, knowing it is suffering
simply because I want it to suffer. Cruel? Sure, if I were doing the
things I do to another person, it would absolutely be cruel. But faggots
aren't people. Don't let the way they look fool you. They are a different
species altogether. If you treat a person with cruelty, if you heap pain
and abuse on them, they either fight back or crumple into a heap. But
faggots? When you are cruel to a faggot, it blossoms. That cruelty and
abuse triggers something deep in the fag's psyche which causes it to open
up like a flower, allowing its inner cockpig to finally come forth. The
crueler you are, the better the faggot will respond and the more obedient
it will become. Eventually, of course, the faggot will realize it is
addicted to the cruelty and suffering, that it needs that kind of treatment
just to feel complete.
Also, this: it isn't all about pain. As I said, pain can be a great
training tool, and with some faggots, pain is your main tool, the key to
unlocking that inner cockpig. But not always, and certainly not with my
little ginger bitch. You have to really dig into the faggot's brain and
find what it is most afraid of -- its deep, primal fear -- and then
relentlessly exploit that fear until the dumb cunt learns to embrace it,
learns to obey regardless of the fear or the pain. Once you do that, the
bitch is yours to do with as you please.
So, I'd made it a point early on in our chats, long before we actually met,
to find out the faggot's fears so I could understand how best to manipulate
that fear in order to properly control the cockpig. It wasn't hard to
discover, either. This faggot wore its shame almost like a shirt. Hell,
most of them do. My little ginger cunt was deep in the closet, and deathly
afraid of other people discovering that it was a cock-worshiping faggot.
Once I determined that, I was able to easily exploit that fear at every
opportunity.
Exposure. That was the ginger bitch's nightmare. So, of course, I made
that a regular theme of its training.
I'd been exposing it more and more ever since the first time we met, when I
made it strip in the parking lot of the grocery store before I allowed it
to get in my car. Then, I made it piss and shit outside in the yard, like
an animal. Sure, my privacy fence meant it was unlikely to be seen by
anyone else, but that doesn't really register in the pig's brain the first
time you lead it outside on a leash, totally naked in the bright sunlight,
and make it squat in the grass to do its business like a dog. The first
time I did that, I thought the bitch was going to have a mental meltdown,
that's how overpowering the shame and humiliation were for it. It was no
different the tenth time I did it, either. The pig still blushed deep
crimson from head to toe as I held the end of its leash and watched it use
the bathroom on the grass like the good animal it was becoming.
Imagine, for a moment, only being allowed to piss and shit with permission,
and then only outside, in view of anyone looking, while a real man, fully
clothed and supervising your most private bodily functions, holds a leash
attached to a collar around your neck. Imagine how that would make you
feel and you have a good idea of what it was doing to the cockpig's head.
Now, imagine this happening twice a day, every day, along with the
knowledge that this was what your life was going to be like forever.
That's where the pig was at mentally. The little party with my buddies
went a long way toward breaking down some of the barriers in the pig's
mind. That was the entire purpose of the party, to ramp up the exposure by
showing it off to new people, alpha males who were strangers to it, in a
situation where it had no input in choosing who it would be shown to or who
would use it.
Now it was time for the next step in its training: full exposure to the
world. No turning back. Ever.
After the party, I let the faggot rest for the remainder of the evening.
After all, having four horny alpha males abuse it for hours had taken its
toll. It curled up in its cage, still reeking of our piss and cum, its
hole still stretched from its performance with the horse dildo, not to
mention being rough fucked by all of us. Late that night, before I went to
bed, I checked on it, only to find it curled up like a puppy in its cage,
deep asleep despite the pain. The welts on its body left by the belt and
cane were still fiery red, its tits swollen and raw, with a trickle of cum
dribbling out of its well-used ass while more cum was drying on its face.
This is the point where experience in training fags really comes into play.
A less experienced owner would continue pushing the pussyboy the next day,
with little downtime to recover from the previous hard use. Yeah, there is
a lot to be said for reinforcing training while the fag is weak and
unstable, but I disagree with that approach. I prefer to let my property
recover and heal. That makes its daily treatment, as harsh as it is, seem
mild or even pleasant compared to the extremes of its use.
I wanted it calmed down. I wanted it to recuperate. Both to increase its
stamina, and to give me the pleasure of wrecking its mind all over again.
******
Today would be a big day for my cockpig. One it would remember for the
rest of its life.
I woke it up early as usual, allowing it to crawl slowly out of its cage to
kiss my feet. I gave it a friendly little kick in the ass to get it moving,
and admired the view as it crawled off to the kitchen to make my breakfast.
After I was done eating, I put some leftovers and dry dog kibble in the
faggot's bowl, then added my morning piss to give it some extra flavor.
The cockpig turned up its nose at such a meal the first few days it lived
with me; but, when it finally learned the only choice was to eat what I
gave it or starve, it finally learned. By this point, it was hardly fazed
by it, and started lapping up the nasty concoction like it was the most
delicious thing in the world.
When breakfast was over, I took the cockpig outside to do its business,
then used the hose to wash it off. I tied its leash to the back deck so it
could drip dry in the sun.
"Big day today, cockpig," I told it. "Time to do a little remodeling." I
walked off, chuckling to myself at the look of abject terror on its face,
leaving it there to contemplate what was in store for it.
The rest of the day I kept very low key, deliberately. I knew the pig's
mind was probably working overtime, trying to figure out what I had in
store for it, which was exactly what I wanted. I wanted it in a state of
fearful anticipation. I wanted it to be scared shitless of what was going
to be done to it, yet submit voluntarily and willingly despite its
fear. Later on, when all was said and done, the faggot would know, deep
down inside, that it was a willing participant in everything that happened
to it. That fact alone would fuck with its mind as much or more than the
remodeling would, and go a very long way towards completely and permanently
reshaping its identity and self-image.
That evening, after I finished eating dinner while the cockpig licked my
balls, it was time to go. The cockpig's little brain must have been racing
with thoughts about what was going to happen. It had cried several times,
and was visibly shaking when I ordered it to put its ass in the air. I
chose a long but rather thin butt plug which included a dog tail. That one
was a favorite of mine, since it reached deep inside the pig, but didn't
significantly stretch its hole, leaving it nice and tight in case I or some
other man wanted a nice, tight fuck. The tail was especially embarrassing
for the cockpig, since it served not only to make it look less human and
more like a beast, but also because it immediately let everyone who saw it
know the faggot had a plug up its ass. I dressed the bitch in a clean white
jockstrap and a pair of flip flops, then attached a leash to its collar.
The perfect look for taking the pussyboy out in public!
The cockpig balked a bit when we got to the car. I opened the trunk for it
as usual, but instead of climbing right in, it hesitated, trembling. The
pussyboy was staring into the trunk of the car like it was staring into the
abyss, as if it knew that, once it climbed in, it was doing more than just
climbing into the trunk of a car -- it was stepping into an unknown and
unknowable future, from which there was no turning back. Sure, I could
have ordered it in, or even forced it in, but I didn't. That wouldn't have
accomplished anything.
Instead, I just stood there, silently staring at it, waiting on it to make
one of the few choices left to it. I have no idea what was going on in its
pathetic little faggy brain, but eventually, with tears rolling down its
cheeks, it crawled into the trunk of the car and I slammed down the lid,
leaving it in darkness to imagine what was about to happen.
I live out in the suburbs, so it takes about half an hour to get into the
city. That's half an hour the fag had to lie there in the dark and
contemplate its future, both what the immediate future held, which was
surely some public exposure due to the way it was dressed; and its more
long-term future, of which tonight's events would be the start. I kept the
radio turned off, so I could monitor the bitch. Sure enough, I heard it
crying off and on, as it gradually began to accept its future, one
completely devoid of any control, any choices, and any privacy.
I was taking the faggot to meet my buddy, T.J. He's a good guy, T.J., but I
have to admit: he's an angry man. He's had a hard life -- shitty parents, a
number of failed relationships and careers, and a lot of bad luck along the
way. He'd finally found a couple of things he was very good at, though.
One was being a soldier. T.J. was active duty for a while, saw some combat,
and remained in the active reserves. The other thing was tattooing and
piercing. The man had an artistic flair and a great eye for color and
design. He finally decided to open up his own place in Atlanta. He got a
great deal on an old camera store that had been vacant for a number of
years. By the time he signed the lease, he still hadn't bothered to look
too closely at his neighbors, which meant it was about a week after he
opened his new shop that he finally realized it was located next to one of
the most notorious leather bars in the Southeast, which is how we finally
met.
T.J. is straight, or at least, mostly straight. He fucks lots of women, so
you can figure it out for yourself. It wasn't long after he opened the
shop that he began to attract a lot of the gays from next door, so many
that he finally talked the bar owner into allowing him to open a connecting
passage between the buildings. To supplement his business, T.J. expanded
the shop to include leather and BDSM accessories.
You remember I told you T.J. was an angry guy? Well, it didn't take him
long to realize that all those submissive faggots stopping in to browse
were perfect targets for some of his anger. Many of them even craved it and
the abuse he provided, mostly in private, but sometimes in a more public
setting. T.J. had no real liking for faggots, but, once he learned what
they could be good for, he occasionally took advantage of the parade of
pussyboys passing through his shop.
And trust me, it was a parade at times. T.J. is average height -- about
5'7, just a little taller than my cockpig. He's muscular, but not overly
so; he's done a lot of manual labor over the years. Just like my cockpig,
he was a ginger, with bright red hair which he keeps military-short and
even a freckle or two. Unlike the cockpig, though, T.J. has a massive
cock, about nine inches long, cut, and quite thick, nestled in a bush of
wiry red pubes. It was a real man's cock, and from what I'd seen over the
few years we'd been friends, T.J. knew exactly how to use it, too. There
was another reason, though, I decided to involve T.J. in my "remodeling",
one which wouldn't become clear to the faggot until we arrived.
It was around eight o'clock when I arrived at T.J.'s shop. He has a very
small parking lot in the rear, but I avoided it. Instead, I found a spot
on the street nearby, about two blocks away. It was just getting dark when
I parked, with enough twilight left to make it easy to see. I parked, then
sat there for a moment or two, letting the faggot in the trunk really
sweat. It had to know whatever was about to happen would start any second.
I wanted that suspense to build as much as possible.
After a few minutes, I popped the trunk and got out, then ordered the
fuckhole out of the trunk. Ever climbed in or out of a car trunk? It's
awkward and tricky to do, even more so if your ass has a large plug in it
with a tail sticking a foot out of your hole, a chastity cage and collar
locked on your body, and nothing to protect you from the night except a
jockstrap and some flipflops. The cockpig was trembling as it climbed out,
occasionally closing its eyes to try and keep from crying out of sheer,
intense humiliation. It wasn't a quiet street I'd parked on; we were on a
residential side street directly off one of the main thoroughfares in
Atlanta, so there were plenty of cars passing by, along with the occasional
pedestrian and plenty of homeless folks scattered around the area. The fact
that a lot of the passers-by were themselves gay and probably knew exactly
what was going on, may or may not have occurred to the pig. If it did, it
probably made the entire situation even worse, since now it was being
looked down on and judged not just by regular suburban straight folks, but
also by other gays, some of whom just stared in shock, while others openly
sneered, laughed, or pointed at the faggot as I paraded it down the street
with one end of its leash clipped to my belt, the way you'd lead any dog on
a walk.
At one point, when we approached an intersection with a "Don't Walk" sign,
I stopped directly under a streetlight when had just come on to wait for
the signal to change. I glanced at the cockpig behind me. It was blushing
beet-red from at being paraded out in public like this, its shame on full
display for the world to see. It was using its hands to try and cover its
caged drain the best it could, all the while keeping its head bowed so it
didn't have to make eye contact with anyone. I grabbed the handle of hair
I'd left on its head, (what I called its fuck handle) and pulled its head
up, then slapped it, hard, across the face, hard enough to leave a red
handprint on its cheek. "Get those hands behind your back, asslicker," I
ordered sternly. The little bitch quickly clasped its hands together
behind it, revealing to the world its caged drain, barely concealed beneath
the thin fabric of the jockstrap. The outline of the padlock and cage were
clearly visible through the cotton material, and I could tell that, despite
the agony of shame the cockpig was experiencing, the thing it hated the
most was the fact that its caged nub was as rigid as the plastic prison
would allow.
From my perspective, the short walk to T.J.'s shop was uneventful; for the
cockpig, it was a nightmare, especially the stares from passing motorists,
some of whom decided to honk at the faggot in its slutty outfit. A few
pedestrians stopped to stare, some even to laugh, while a few took out
their phones to record the scene. One homeless guy began following the
faggot and catcalling it, drawing even more attention to it. I'm sure my
piggie wanted to melt into the sidewalk, but the dog leash attached to its
collar forced it relentlessly forward, on toward whatever hellish
experience I had planned for it.
The small bell attached to the front door jangled to announce our arrival.
The shop wasn't too busy this early, mostly because the bar next door
wasn't busy yet; a lot of T.J.'s clientele were folks wandering over from
the bar to get some ink or a new piercing, or just to browse the leather
and toy collection. As always, it seemed a few were there mostly to browse
T.J. -- they flirted with him relentlessly. A few, lucky or unlucky,
depending on your viewpoint, flirted successfully now and then, only to
experience first-hand what an angry alpha soldier with a big cock can do to
a willing faggot.
"Hey, man!" T.J. called out as soon as I walked in. "This the new piece of
ass you were telling me about?" he asked, nodding toward the faggot.
"Yeah, this is it," I said. "Time for some remodeling. I thought you'd
enjoy the job."
He laughed, then said, "Bring the cunt over here, then, and tell me what
you want done to it. I'm sure I can oblige."
I marched the cockpig over to T.J., who grabbed it by the hair and pulled
its face up to look directly into his eyes, while he took the time to look
it over head to toe. At one point, he stuck his finger into the faggot's
mouth and pried it open. Of course, the bitch was trained enough that it
immediately tried sucking his finger, but T.J. forced its mouth open
further and began examining its teeth the way you would with a horse or
some other piece of livestock. He also ran his thumb over the red handprint
on the side of the faggot's face. "Looks like someone needed some
additional correction," he smirked.
"What can I say?" I replied. "It's at least learned that anything short of
perfect obedience will be painful. Gotta keep the faggot in line."
T.J. nodded, then slapped the pussyboy hard across his other cheek, leaving
an almost-matching handprint on the other side of its face. Satisfied, he
released the faggot and began walking around it.
I snapped its leash. "Strip and present, bitch!" I ordered. The faggot
immediately kicked off the flipflops and pulled off its jockstrap, then
interlocked its hands behind its head and spread its legs, leaving its
entire body open for any type of inspection T.J. wanted to do. It blushed
again, being shown off and inspected like by a total stranger, in front of
other strangers. Oh yeah, everyone in the shop had stopped what they were
doing to stare at the cockpig and its predicament. Some were clearly
wishing they were me or T.J., with an obedient slave at our command. No
doubt a few were more envious of the cockpig, wishing T.J. were inspecting
them the same way.
T.J. was looking the bitch over good, walking around it, feeling its skin
and pinching its nipples, giving the plug a nice hard tug, which elicited a
grunt from the fag. He inspected it as thoroughly as a car he was thinking
of buying.
I could see it trying to watch T.J. everywhere he moved, partially in fear,
partially in fascination. This was the moment I'd really been waiting for,
the entire reason I'd chosen T.J. for this particular part of the cockpig's
transformation. It wasn't just that T.J. had the technical skill I was
looking for -- it was his appearance. He looked enough like the faggot he
could have been an older brother to it. At thirty-two, he resembled a more
mature version of my ginger fag, with one clear, obvious difference: he was
a man. Almost the same height and weight, just slightly older, but still a
world away from the pathetic piss-drinking creature in front of him.
That's what the cockpig needed to experience, this juxtaposition of the two
of them, face to face: one a man, a business owner, a respected member of
the community and widely desired; the other a lowly faggot paraded naked
down the street for all the world to see its shame, its ass plugged and a
tail wagging behind it like a dog, its balls full, and its shriveled little
dicklet locked away and transformed into nothing but a drain. Here, in
real life in front of the bitch, was a direct comparison between what it
should be and what it actually was, between that which is respected and
honored, and that which is reviled, used, and spit on by normal folks.
The faggot was left no doubt about which of those it was. Even if the
comparison didn't register in its conscious brain, it would be forever
stuck in its subconscious, eating away at any ego it had left, silently
confirming what it already knew -- it was different, inferior, subhuman.
When T.J. finished inspecting the fuckhole, he turned to me and asked, "So,
what are you thinking about this time?"
"I have some definite ideas," I told him, pulling out some designs I
liked. "I'm thinking about these markings in these places, all in a nice
thick, bold black for maximum visibility." T.J. took the drawings and
looked them over with a critical, experienced eye.
"Yeah, these are easily done. Except this big one, of course. That's
going to take some time. You want them all today? Any piercings?"
"Oh, absolutely! We can't forget some rings! I want its septum and tits
pierced for sure. Get some nice size rings in there for me. I can work on
stretching the holes later. Trust me, stretching this faggot's holes is a
favorite hobby of mine!" We both laughed, while the cockpig stood there,
completed naked except for its collar, leash and chastity cage, still in
full present position. I noticed a few new tears leaking out of its eyes
when I talked about the piercings.
"So, I have to ask," T.J. said, "are we doing this in the back room, or out
here? Out here, I'd guess."
"Fuck yeah we're doing it out here. Might as well provide some
entertainment for your customers!" We laughed again, then T.J. headed to
the back room. A moment later, he was back, carrying a spanking bench. It
wasn't fancy -- basically a study, wooden sawhorse with a top he'd padded,
then attached some shackles for the ankles and wrists. It also had several
eye bolts in various places that could be used for more elaborate bondage.
Most customers just used a chair or table; T.J. kept this in the back for
me and other "special" customers, as well as for his own amusement, of
course.
T.J. grabbed the bitch's leash and directed it into position on the bench,
then secured its wrists and ankles near the bottom of the bench, leaving
the pussyboy immobile and helpless. He'd positioned the bench just so, in
order to give his customers the perfect view of the faggot.
T.J. had apparently decided to handle the tattooing first and get it out of
the way. He swiftly jerked the butt plug out of the faggot's ass so the
tail wouldn't get in his way, instead shoving the plug in the pig's mouth
to keep it quiet while he worked. As the faggot lay there sucking its own
ass slime off the butt plug, T.J. started by giving it a "tramp stamp",
right at the top of its ass cheeks. He inked SERVE on the left, OBEY on
the right. I had him tattoo a circle between the two to separate them, but
had him leave the circle unfilled. I had special plans the contents of the
circle at a later date, when it became appropriate.
After those were done, T.J. repositioned the fuckhole's legs to fully
expose its asshole. I heard some murmurs of desire and appreciation from
the folks watching as soon as the cockpig's asshole was fully exposed for
all to see. One look at that well-trained little rosebud was enough to
give half the crowd erections.
The next tattoo was more involved. I wanted one to frame the faggot's
hole, sort of a tribal-type design that covered the inner part of its ass
cheeks and taint, pointing towards and accentuating its asshole, just like
a target. It wasn't a complicated tattoo -- the purpose wasn't to decorate
as much as focus attention right on the bitch's tight little hole. It was a
long process putting it on, so I strolled next door for a drink and some
conversation while T.J. worked.
By the time I came back, T.J. had created a work of art. Anyone who saw
the faggot bent over would immediately see the tattoo, immediately be drawn
to the center of it like it was a bullseye, which was exactly what I
intended. And who can resist the idea of hitting a bullseye? Regardless
of whether they were hitting the hole with a cock, a dildo, a whip or a
fist, the cockpig's hole was now an instant center of attention and
lust-inspiring conversation piece for any man who saw it. Even better:
T.J. had managed to ink the pig in such a way that, when it stood up, the
tat was invisible. The only thing you could see was that perfect, pale
ass, just waiting to be abused.
T.J. untied the cockpig from the sawhorse and ordered it to sit up so he
could tattoo the front. He placed the faggot back in a standing "present"
position, which not only made it easier for him to work, but allowed the
crowd which had gathered an entirely new view of the bitch. The crowd
wasn't even pretending to browse anymore; they were gathered around in a
loose circle, watching T.J. as he tattooed what was basically his younger
doppelganger.
First up -- some labels to ensure that anyone that met the faggot knew
exactly what it was and what it was good for. I had T.J. ink the word
SLAVE in the same bold, black block lettering right on the faggot's
beltline, right above its drain. He positioned it so that part of it would
be visible (and readable) any time the cunt was shirtless. Can't have a
slave hiding its status, now can we?
The last tattoo was the most involved. T.J. sat the pig in a chair, then
got one of the members of the crowd to stand behind the faggot and hold its
fuck handle to keep its head pulled back. I'd decided on a collar tattoo,
right where the neck met the chest. On the front of the faggot would be
its name: COCKPIG, plain and bold for the world to read; around the back,
PLEASE USE ME, not just an instruction, but a plea from the faggot to the
world for the kind of treatment it craved. When T.J. was done, it would sit
just below the collar of a shirt...an item of clothing the faggot would
almost never be allowed to wear. The end result was a permanent collar the
cockpig would never be able to fully hide or fully remove -- it was marked
for life with what it was, and what it needed so desperately.
I went for another drink while T.J. worked on the collar. Ran into a few
friends of mine in the bar, friends that hadn't seen the cockpig yet. I
invited them back to the shop, and we arrived just as T.J. was finishing up
with the tattooing.
I stood back and surveyed his work. In just a couple of hours, my little
ginger fag had been nicely transformed from an obedient bitch into what a
true slave should look like. No one would ever mistake it for a man again,
that was for sure! In fact, any man that saw it would immediately know he
could use it any way he wanted, no permission required.
"Damn man, that looks great!" I told T. J. "Now for some rings. Definitely
the septum and tits, and I think a guiche as well. Oh, and I'd like a few
studs in its tongue as well. Might as well improve its cock sucking while
we are at it," I chuckled.
"None of that's a problem, but more than one stud in its tongue will affect
its speech, of course," T.J. warned me.
"So? No one cares what a urinal has to say anyway, now do they?" This
drew a laugh both from T.J. and a number of the folks watching, while also
causing the faggot to experience another of those full-body blushes. As if
its shame wasn't enough already, now everyone in the room knew it drank
piss as well.
"Oh yeah?" T.J. grinned. "Cause I've got to piss like a racehorse!" He
started undoing his fly while I snapped my fingers and pointed to the
ground. The bitch immediately knelt, and I pulled the butt plug out of its
mouth just as T.J. was hauling out his big piece of meat. It was
impressive, that's for sure: cut, long, thick as a Red Bull can, surrounded
by bright red pubic hair.
No one had to tell the faggot what to do -- as soon as it saw T.J.'s big
cock, its mouth was wide open and its tongue hanging out. Just the sight
of a man's cock was enough to turn the faggot into a drooling, desperate
suck hole. T.J. used its fuck handle to position the fag's mouth right
where he wanted it, then let out a long, relaxed sign as his dark yellow
piss began to flow into the cockpig's throat. As he pissed, I heard audible
sounds of both arousal and disbelief from guys in the crowd: arousal at the
scene of a stud like T.J. draining his dick into the faggot, and disbelief
that the pig could swallow fast enough to keep up with the flow.
As soon as his bladder was empty, T.J. slowly pulled his cock out and
slapped it against the side of the fag's face several times, knocking the
last drops of piss off before he tucked it back in his pants.
I slapped the cockpig on the side of its head, "Well, bitch? What do you
say to the man?"
It promptly bent over and began kissing and licking T.J.'s boots, "Thank
You for Your piss, Sir," it said.
"Let's get busy on those piercings," T.J. said to me. "Up, bitch!"
Once the faggot was standing, T.J. reached behind the counter and grabbed a
pair of handcuffs he keeps handy (for just such a situation, apparently)
which he slapped on the pussyboy's wrists. I could see the faggot was
trembling, the idea of having its body pierced obviously scared the shit
out of it, but, of course, no one really cared. After all, this was what
it was for, in the realest sense of the word -- being used and controlled
by its betters.
In short order, T.J. had pierced both of the faggot's tits, each piercing
causing an agonized squeal from the faggot, just like it was a real pig!
Those were tough for it, since the faggot's tits are connected directly to
its drain. As scared as it was of the needle in T.J.'s hand, its
imprisoned little drain was throbbing so hard I thought it would break
through the cage.
Next, I had him install three midline studs in the cockpig's tongue. Yeah,
it would make it tougher for the faggot to talk and eat, but that was a
small price to pay to make its blowjobs even more pleasurable for the men
who used it, especially me. Then, the most painful of the piercings: a nice
big ring through the septum of the fag's nose, the same way you'd ring an
ox or some other form of livestock. Once that was done, the guiche in
between its legs seem to barely register when T.J. shoved the needle
through its delicate perineum.
The rings weren't just for decoration -- they had practical uses, too. The
most important one was this: as long as they were in place, the faggot
would feel that metal in its body, as a part of its body, acting as a
constant reminder of me and my power. I put that mental in the fag; each
ring and stud was like an extension of my will and my ownership, to remind
the cockpig of what it was and who owned it.
T.J. had strapped the fag back down on the sawhorse to install the
guiche. Once he was done, he stepped back to admire his work on the tats
and piercings. I could see that the design he'd done around the bitch's
hole was having the desired effect. T.J. was sporting a nice, big hardon
in his pants, which he started rubbing through his jeans while looking at
the pig lying there so helpless. I wanted to give him a go at the
pussyboy, but we both knew he should have taken care of that before he did
all the work. Now that he'd been freshly pierced and tattooed, the faggot
would need some time to heal before being used again, even by me. I
reassured T.J. he'd get his shot.
I had something special planned for the near future.
******
Slaves don't get time off, but even a cockpig needs time to heal,
especially after all the modifications I'd had done at once. Waiting on
the piercings to heal was the worst part, but I didn't want to risk
infection. It's very important to maintain your property and keep it in
good working order at all times, both to preserve its value and to prevent
you from having to deal with a sick slave. A sick slave unable to serve is
the most useless thing on the planet.
I gave the pussyboy a month to recover. Of course, that doesn't mean it was
"off" during that time, just that I used it more carefully and more gently
in some ways, leaving its tits untortured, letting its asshole recuperate,
that sort of thing. The hardest part for me was not pulling on its
brand-new rings, which is something I love to do. But I assured myself
there was plenty of time for that later.
Two other benefits of having to wait: it gave me time to make some
preparations for the cockpig's big public debut, and it lulled the stupid
faggot into a false sense of security, as if the worst part was over after
everything at T.J.'s shop. I could actually see it growing more confident
and comfortable each day it was on "light duty". Needless to say, the
faggot was in for a serious surprise.
I wanted this to be a special event, a night my little ginger pig would
remember forever, so I made my preparations in advance. Fortunately, Bill,
the owner of the leather bar next to T.J.'s shop, is a good friend of mine.
When I told him what I had in mind, he was all for it.
Finally, the day came, a Saturday; the cockpig was fully healed and had
become very complacent, which would simply add to the shock and awe of what
was about to happen to it. Once the evening rolled around, I packed some
items I'd need into a bag and stored it in the car, then set about
decorating the faggot to look enticing. First, a fresh buzz to its hair,
leaving the fuck handle in place and securing it with some rubber bands to
make it more functional for controlling the cunt. Next, I changed out the
fag's chastity cage for one with rubber teeth lining the cage. They
weren't big enough to injure the faggot's drain, but enough to be a source
of constant torment, regardless of whether that useless little nub was hard
or soft. I'd ordered a special jockstrap for the faggot, too. It was hot
pink, just right for grabbing attention, but it was also made of thin mesh
material, so that it was see-through. As a result, the faggot's drain and
padlocked cage were clearly visible even when wearing it. The mesh left
nothing to the imagination -- if possible, it made the bitch look more
exposed that if it were actually naked. Other than the jockstrap, the only
thing the faggot wore was a posture collar, one which was thick enough it
had no choice but to hold its head up straight. No more of this ducking
its head in shame, hoping normal people wouldn't recognize it. No, I
wanted its face on display just as much as its ass was. Speaking of its
ass, it was immaculate: perfectly hairless without a mark on it other than
the ink. I wanted my fuckhole completely unmarked at the start of the
evening. I even took a set of photos, front and back, for comparison
purposes later on.
The evening started mildly, giving no indication to the pig of what was
coming. No butt plug, no leash, just his special jockstrap and collar and
a normal little ride in the trunk of my car. It made me hard thinking of
the cockpig in the trunk as I drove, lying there imagining what was in
store for it, not knowing if it should be thrilled, terrified, or both.
Once again, I made sure to park a few blocks away from the bar and shop, so
that the faggot would be on parade as we walked. When I popped the trunk
and let the cunt out, it could see the leash in my hand, and obviously
expected me to attach it to the ring on the front of the posture collar.
You should have seen the look of deep shock and humiliation when, instead
of the collar, I clipped its leash to the ring through its nose, then
clipped the other end of the leash to my belt. Rather than looking like a
dog, now the cockpig looked like a real piece of livestock following its
owner down the sidewalk.
This time, of course, I decided to take the long way to T.J.'s shop,
parading my fuckhole right down the side of one of the main thoroughfares
in the city; taking my time, letting the pedestrians and people driving by
get a good look at my young freak on a leash, my prized subhuman
beast. This is where the posture collar really starting coming into play.
It was obvious the faggot desperately wanted to hide its face, to stare
only at the ground and not risk any eye contact with the general public,
which was currently engaged in judging the little freak. The more we
walked, the more there were catcalls from passers-by, not to mention
honking from cars that saw us. One car slowed down right in the lane of
traffic, with three passengers all hanging out the windows, recording the
pussyboy on their phones while laughing their asses off. I just made it a
point to walk a little faster than the cum dump, in order to make sure that
the leash attached to its nose ring had maximum visibility to anyone
looking. Even more than its own nudity, it was being leashed and
permanently marked that were currently the main source of the bitch's
humiliation.
Even though our destination was the bar next door, I went directly to
T.J.'s shop, which had the added effect of scaring the hell out of my pet
faggot. It obviously assumed it was there for more modifications, an idea
which visibly scared it. I could see the pussyboy trembling in fear, which
was fine by me. I wanted it fearful and apprehensive. It was one way to
guarantee perfect obedience, no matter what I told it to do.
But T.J. wasn't doing any work on the faggot that night. We stopped off to
pay off part of the debt for the faggot's previous modifications. You see,
part of my deal with T.J. is he gets to use my pussyboys any time he wants
in exchange for his professional services. Since he'd done so much work on
the bitch during the previous visit, I elected to wait until it was fully
healed to pay up, and this was the perfect opportunity to do so.
Let me tell you, he wasn't wasting any time, either. When I walked in with
the cum dump in tow, he already had the sawhorse bench out and ready, which
just served to further convince the faggot it was in for more
"remodeling". I barely had time to put down my bag and unleash the cunt
before T.J. was guiding it towards the bench. Some of his cronies and
regulars were standing around as well, obviously ready for a show. I was
proud of the fact that, even though it was trembling in terror of what
changes would be made to its body this time, the cockpig made no protest,
but obediently bent over the bench when ordered to do so. T.J. strapped it
down the way he wanted it, with its hole clearly exposed to the world.
I don't know if the crowd that had assembled to watch was more interested
in the cockpig or T.J., but there was an audible murmur of appreciation
from the crowd when T.J. pulled out his thick piece of meat and began
feeding it to the faggot.
"Been wanting to test out that triple tongue piercing since I put it in,"
he grinned, sliding another inch of his cock down the pussyboy's
throat. "Ah yeah, those studs feel great. Man, I'm jealous as shit!" he
groaned with pleasure.
"That throat is yours any time you wanna use it," I assured him. I always
enjoy the sight of another man putting my property through its paces, and
T.J. definitely knew what he was doing. He buried the fag's nose deep in
his bright red pubes, using the fuck handle on its head to hold it in
place, the entire length of his cock buried down the slave's throat. I
could see the faggot's face turning red as it struggled to breathe, but it
knew better than to try to pull away, to try to clear the cock obstructing
its throat enough to gasp some air. What does that say about its training,
that it knew, if the choice was suck cock or breathe, it better choose the
cock?
T.J. continued to pound the bitch's mouth, sawing his rod in and out,
occasionally pulling it all the way out of the fag's mouth. A long trail of
mucus and saliva stretched out each time he did so, creating a constant
connection between this massive cock and the obedient cock sleeve in front
of him. Each time he slapped the fag in the face with his erection, a
loud, wet smack echoed through the shop. The crowd was mostly silent,
enjoying the show, in awe of T.J.'s utter domination of the little cunt in
front of him. Every time he shoved his tool back into the fag's mouth, I
could see its throat visibly stretch to accommodate the sizable tube
sliding halfway to its belly.
The faggot was drooling and gagging from the assault on its throat when
T.J. abruptly pulled his cock out and walked behind the fag. It was panting
from the face fucking it received, gasping to try and get the air back in
its lungs, when T.J. moved in behind it. He grabbed some lube from where
he'd set it on the counter and began rubbing it on his erection, adding it
to the faggot's throat mucus.
I was right about one thing: the new tattoo framing the faggot's asshole
really did act like a target. Just seeing its ass cheeks spread open on
that bench, that tight pink hole winking at him as the cockpig readied
itself, knowing the violation that was about to happen, was almost enough
to make me cum. T.J. didn't need any further incentive or instruction; he
drove his big cock home in one long stroke, all the way in balls-deep with
just one powerful thrust.
The faggot let out a piercing scream and a grunt, the sound of a fuckpig
with a really big one up its ass. T.J. wasn't wasting time being subtle,
either. He was pounding the faggot's ass even harder than he'd pounded its
face, going for a bullseye with every thrust, even pulling all the way out
of its hole just so he could ram it in again full length over and over.
The show T.J. was putting on certainly had its effect on me. There was no
point in letting the faggot be lazy and only use one of its holes, so I
walked in front of it, unzipped, and shoved my cock down its throat, right
where it belonged. T.J. had evidently enjoyed the triple tongue piercings,
and now I knew exactly why. I hadn't fucked the faggot's mouth while the
piercings healed, mostly because I knew this moment was coming, and I
wanted to savor it. There is nothing a fun as being balls-deep in a
cockpig's throat while another really big cock is ramming it from the back.
From the muffled noises it was making, you'd think our cocks were meeting
up deep inside the faggot, coring it out, leaving it feeling like it was
being turned inside-out with each thrust.
Finally, T.J. had more than he could stand. He let out a roar like a lion
and rammed his cock into the fag's hole so hard the entire bench moved.
Seeing him cumming set me off as well, meaning the cockpig was suddenly
flooded with cum from both ends. I stood there for a moment letting it
clean the residue off my cock before I stepped aside and zipped back up,
allowing T.J. to insert his dick back into its mouth for a good, thorough
cleaning as well.
Most of the guys who'd been watching had their cocks out by now, either
jacking off or getting busy with some of the other guys. A few crowded
around the faggot, hoping to get a shot at its ass or mouth. I've always
believed sharing is just neighborly, and the cockpig was a bit out of
practice worshiping cock, having had all that downtime to heal. It would
do it good to get some practice; so, when T.J. was done, I waved to the
others that they were welcome to partake.
There were only about six guys total that wanted to use the pig. The
others were more interested in playing with each other, apparently. The
six that were more serious lined up front or back and began taking turns in
one hole or the other, fucking the bitch in both ends, adding their loads
to its holes, or occasionally shooting on its face or ass.
By the time all the men were satisfied, the faggot was panting from
exhaustion, which made me smile, since I knew the evening was just getting
started. I also had a special treat for T.J. later on, to show my
appreciation for all he did for me.
I left the faggot tied to the bench in T.J.'s shop while I found Bill, the
bar owner. The crowd was just starting to come in, and Bill helped me get
everything set up the way I wanted it. Most of the items I needed I'd
brought in my bag. As soon as everything was in place, I went back to the
shop to fetch my fuckpig and give it a big surprise.
Before anything else though, I added a few items to the cockpig's
attire. The first thing was a thin leather belt with metal rings all around
it -a bondage belt. I strapped it on the faggot, giving me plenty of ways
to restrain it as needed. Next, a set of leather wrist cuffs and matching
ankle cuffs, all padlocked in place on the cockpig.
Once I'd finished outfitting the pig and again clipped the leash through
its nose ring, I led the pathetic cunt through the bar, where its
near-total nudity and utter degradation attracted plenty of stares and
catcalls from the patrons. Blushing deep red all over, the cum-covered
slut followed me into the men's room.
The bathroom at the bar isn't much -- two urinals, one stall without a
door, and a sink. There was a space between the two urinals, designed to
allow guys to piss with at least a minimum of privacy. Now, however, there
was yellow "caution" tape over both urinals, with signs reading, "Out of
Order" on both of them. In between both, at eye level on the wall, was
another sign: "Urinals broken -- Use Faggot" in big block letters.
Directly below the sign was something the cockpig couldn't help but
remember, an old friend from its nightmares -- the horse dildo. Even here,
it was huge and unreal. The very head of it was eight inches around, a
real gut-wrecker, and it only got thicker from there. The 15-inch shaft was
a terror to look at. I'd used the suction cup on the bottom to affix it to
the bathroom's tile floor, then lubed it up nice and slick. I could see
tears in the cockpig's eyes when I snapped my fingers and pointed, my order
as clear as if I'd spoken aloud.
Sobbing from shame, the ginger cunt positioned itself over the tip of the
dildo and began to slowly lower itself down on to the painful knob at the
top. Despite the good stretching its ass had just received from multiple
cocks, this monster was too big to go in easily -- too girthy, and far, far
too long. The faggot leaned its back against the wall between the two
urinals for support, then slowly slid down the dildo about nine inches
before it was panting and gasping from the pain of having its delicate ass
stretched so far.
As soon as it was settled with as much of the horse cock as it could take,
I used some clips to connect its ankle cuffs and wrist cuffs to the rings
on the bondage belt. Now, the faggot was truly stuck: unable to stand up
to remove the massive horn of rubber buried in its guts; unable to use its
hands to support it or relieve the pressure of the rubber cock pressing
inside it, the fag had no choice but to squat there, impaled, until its leg
muscles finally gave out and it slid even further down the cruel rubber
invader.
The final touch Bill and I had added was lost on my impaled pussyboy -- a
color camera with sound in the corner of the ceiling, giving a nice side
view of the faggot and everything done to it. Not only would this allow me
and my friends to observe the pig's suffering, but the footage would be
very entertaining to my friends around the world when I decided to share
it.
I examined the way the fuckhole was set up, and decided it needed one
additional touch. I retrieved its leash and attached it to its nose ring
again. The other end of the leash I loosely tied around the handle of one
of the urinals. The posture collar it was wearing forced it to keep its
head up and face showing; the leash pulled its nose up, leaving its mouth
hanging open for use. A perfect urinal.
Bill and I left the faggot there like that, skewered and helpless, while we
retired to the office in T.J.'s shop. T.J. had a laptop set up, streaming
the video from the camera in the bathroom. The three of us sat and watched
the drama unfold.
You see, the faggot had a terrible predicament: the dildo buried inside it
was huge, far too big for it to take, as small as its body was. It was
using all its strength and concentration to maintain its position, to keep
from sliding any further down. But, in a battle with gravity, gravity will
always win, so the pussyboy was constantly having to strain to lift itself
a little off the rubber horn, to get even momentary relief from the pain in
its guts. That alone was taking every ounce of its concentration and
effort.
Unfortunately for the pathetic bitch, there were other duties that it had
to attend to. It had been struggling there like a bug pinned to a card for
about four or five minutes when the first bar patron came walking in, an
older man in full leather, holding a bottle of beer. He took one look at
the cunt on the floor, then read the sign above its head and began to grin.
Before the faggot could even react, he had his cock out and was pissing in
its face, really hosing it down, some going in its mouth, some dripping
down its body. The desperate little cunt, inside of trying to close its
mouth or turn away like a normal person would have, instead opened its
mouth wider, its programming taking over at that moment, and that
programming told it that a man's piss belonged inside it, was an honor for
it to drink, no matter how nasty. I could see the confusion and shock on
its face, as its programming and innate need to be used fought against its
more rational ego.
The fuckhole swallowed every drop the man allowed it to have. And thanked
him after he zipped up, too.
Word must have spread quickly around the bar, because, after that, there
was a steady parade of men into the toilet. All of them waited their turn
to piss down the pussyboy's throat. A few even decided to fuck its face
and feed it a load of cum. At first, I was keeping track of how many men
used it, but I quickly lost count. Bladder after bladder of man piss was
emptied into the bitch's mouth, which it had no choice but to swallow.
A few guys even got creative. One decided to turn around and stick his
asshole in the fag's face, rubbing his sweaty crack all over its mouth and
nose while the pig tried its best to lick it clean. Other one, seeing
this, decided to go a bit further. He dropped his pants and turned around,
placing his asshole right on the cockpig's lips, then ripped a nasty fart
right into its unprotected mouth and nose. He left, laughing like a hyena,
while the pig squatted there, gasping and retching.
The natural result of all this use was that the pussyboy was more focused
on the cocks in front of it than the rubber one up its asshole. Its
attention divided, it was ever-so-gradually sliding further and further
down the giant dildo, taking more of more of the animal cock up inside it,
well past its second sphincter and deep into its guts. It was a deeper
violation than the faggot had ever experienced, and I could see its mind
going into overload from all the combined sensations, including
ever-present smell of the piss and cum which covered it. Man after man
made use of it. They were all kinds -- young and old, attractive and ugly,
big and little. Black, white, Hispanic and Asian, they all emptied their
bladders and sometimes their balls on the helpless pussyboy skewered on the
horse cock. It wasn't even a person to them at that point, but rather a
convenient, obedient appliance, a toilet, just like the metal and porcelain
versions on both sides of it.
Then, of course, there was the betting. I think it was after the fifth guy
pissed down the cunt's throat that the three of us watching began making
bets on how long it would be before the fag had no choice but to piss on
itself. If there was anything I knew the bitch would find more degrading
than its current situation, it would be losing control of its bladder, one
of the few bodily functions left under its control. Of course, I'd
foreseen this, which is exactly why it was "installed" the way it was.
There was a drain in the floor of the bathroom, so it wasn't like the men
coming in would be forced to stand in the faggot's piss; that wouldn't have
been acceptable at all. I knew that with the volume of urine it was being
forced to swallow, plus that fat horse cock pressing against its bladder
from the inside, the fuckhole was going to lose control of itself sooner
rather than later.
So, a game developed, with the three of us watching and shooting the shit,
laying bets on which of the guys would add just enough piss to the fag's
belly to send it over the edge and make it piss on itself. T.J. won the
game, selecting a young frat-type guy that was obviously very drunk. He
stumbled into the restroom, took one look at the pig on the floor, and
started laughing hilariously. He was still laughing when he let loose a
torrent of piss into the faggot's mouth, never letting his thick, uncut
cock touch the lips of the pathetic subhuman urinal at his feet. As soon
as he was done and walked off, the cockpig gave out a sad little cry and
let loose its own torrent of recycled piss all over the floor.
By the time we got bored of watching its torment, the fag's belly was
swollen from all the piss and cum the men had so graciously given it.
There was actually a small crowd that followed us into the bathroom when I
finally decided to remove the pig. The stupid bitch had been squatting
over the dildo when we'd first installed it; by the time I came to reclaim
my portable toilet, it was kneeling on the hard tile floor in a small
puddle of its own piss, crying. The massive rubber cock was deep inside
it, penetrating it in places never before touched, making it feel like the
giant horse dick was a part of its body, a foreign invader which would
never leave.
It took both me and T.J. to lift the cunt off the floor and get it off the
dildo. The loud pop when the head of the dildo came out of its ass amused
everyone watching. Of course, its legs were too weak for it to walk, so we
practically carried the faggot out into the middle of the bar, dumping it
in the center of the dance floor. The music stopped and the spotlights were
quickly trained on the desperate, piss-covered cockpig lying there, the
center of attention. T.J. left and came back quickly with the bondage
bench at my request. Bill and I had discussed it, and we felt some public
entertainment was in order.
I helped T.J. get the fag attached to the bench again, making sure its hole
was clearly visible to the crowd which had gathered on the dance floor to
see the show. Imagine the sight of my little ginger faggot, its small,
compact frame pushed to the limit, with its tight little hole now stretched
to the point I probably could insert my fist without any lube. It was
lying there completely and totally exposed -- hell you could even see
inside its ass! Any thoughts of privacy or hiding what it was were long
gone. This was the ultimate display, the cockpig at its weakest, at its
most helpless.
And best of all, that ass tattoo, marking its hole as a perfect target,
ready to be hit or penetrated. It was enough to drive a man crazy with
desire, even with its hole all stretched and gaping the way it was now.
The contest was simple, and took advantage of the built-in target. Each
man would stand a set distance behind the faggot with a whip or a belt.
Each got one chance to hit the cockpig's asshole. A direct hit on the hole
won an additional attempt. Three direct hits in a row won, but you were
also out of the game.
Bill was kind enough to supply a long single-tail bullwhip for the game,
while T.J. took off his own thick leather belt, which both he and I
preferred for beatings. The excitement in the crowd was palpable as Bill,
by virtue of being the bar owner, lined up for the first crack at the fag's
hole.
He took aim carefully, the reared back and let the bullwhip fly! It struck
the pussyboy's dilated asshole right on the outer rim, causing it to squeal
like the pig it was and try to levitate off the sawhorse. The crowd
cheered and applauded, while Bill took a small bow and lined up for his
next shot. The next lash went wide, leaving an angry red welt on the
cockpig's ass cheek. Bill moved aside, and T.J. took his spot.
T.J. grabbed the buckle of his belt in the palm of his hand, then wrapped
it around his hand several times, until he had a small tail of the belt
left, giving him maximum control. While it didn't have the reach that
Bill's bullwhip did, it made up for it with accuracy. T.J. threw his arm
back and then brought the belt down full-force, with the tip of the belt
actually hitting the delicate tissues just inside the pig's asshole, now
left exposed and vulnerable as a result of its distended sphincter. The
faggot screamed at the top of its lungs, no longer able to form words, just
incoherent sounds of pleading, suffering, and need.
I stopped T.J. before he could take his second swing because an idea had
occurred to me. I moved over to the bench and unlocked the fag's chastity
cage. The tiny teeth lining the cage are a torment, but considering what
the faggot had been through that night, I wasn't entirely sure it had
noticed. Now, however, its little nub was uncaged for the first time in
over a month, the last time being during the party at my house. At that
party, the pussyboy was told he would only be allowed three more orgasms
before its chastity became permanent; the first of those came at the end of
the party. Now, I thought, would be an excellent time for another one.
I quickly explained the situation to the assembled crowd, drawing more
laughs at the cunt's predicament. I ensured that its drain, which was hard
despite (or perhaps because of) all the abuse, was pulled back between its
legs. With any luck, anyone who missed the fag's asshole would hit its
dicklet instead. I was eager to see what resulted.
T.J. moved into position and took aim once more. When the belt landed, it
was another direct hit on the asshole for the ginger bitch. It squealed
again, drool falling out of its mouth as it did so. It was beyond words,
in a mental state where all it could do was suffer and react, suffer and
react, and most of all -- obey.
After taking the accolades of the crowd for his accuracy, T.J. lined up for
his last shot. This time, however, I saw an evil grin on his face right
before he left the belt fly. He'd let out some slack on the belt aimed
slightly lower this time. When the belt fell, the tip of it hit the faggot
right on the bottom of its drain, right where it is most sensitive. The
wide belt managed to hit its overly-full balls, taint, and asshole as well.
I've never heard anything like what happened then. The faggot made an
unearthly sound from deep inside, a type of plaintive, primitive squeal,
followed by a high-pitched keening as its little nub began spewing cum in
long ropes all over everything. The pig's entire body was rocked by the
power of the orgasm combined with the pain from the belt along with the
utter humiliation of the crowd watching it. Both pleasure and pain melded
into one overwhelming sensation that it would crave for the rest of its
life.
Now, naturally, since the faggot had its pathetic little orgasm, that was
the end of the game and the end of the show, right? The only merciful
thing to do, of course, was to unlock the pussyboy, clean it up, and let it
rest for a good long while.
Not even close.
I couldn't deny all those other men there the chance to abuse my toy, so
the ginger bitch lay where it was on the bench, reeking of piss and cum the
way a good faggot should. The men lined up then for turns, some aiming
carefully for its asshole, hoping for the chance for additional blows,
while some of the others (clearly the cruelest of the crowd) aimed for its
unprotected balls or drain. Like most guys, the faggot's drain became
incredibly sensitive after it came, something I'd taken delight in using to
torment it with in the past. Now, however, it resulted in a new level of
agony each time the whip or belt make contact with the hypersensitive
head. Of course, any sexual pleasure the fuckpig had been getting from the
beating was gone now, which meant its suffering was multiplied.
Of course, a lot of the guys in the crowd wanted to use the fag's holes,
but I had other plans. I let the game go on for a while, and there were a
surprising number of winners, guys who managed to get three directly blows
right on the bitch's asshole. By the time I called a stop to it, the
cockpig's ass was welted and red all over, crisscrossed with a hatching of
thin whip marks and wider imprints from the belt. The welts extended to
its inner thighs, balls, and even its pitiful drain.
Now was time for my special treat for T.J., my surprise. The faggot's hole
had been beaten enough it was now swollen, the outer ring puffy and tight
again, the inside bruised and battered. The sphincter had swollen enough
you couldn't see inside the bitch's ass anymore. I knew what it was like,
because I've beaten fags' assholes before, even if this was a first for my
pussyboy. With a flourish, I invited T.J. to enjoy one of the greatest
fucks he would ever experience.
He didn't hesitate, but moved in behind the pig and, once again, snapped
his hips forward and speared the fag with one long thrust. The swollen
tissues of its asshole were filled with blood, making them feel superheated
around T.J.'s thick rod. Deep inside, the sore spots left by the horse
dildo were already an agony, only to be made that much worse each time
T.J. rammed into them with his own massive member. He let out a sigh of
contentment as soon as his cock was buried up past the faggot's second
sphincter.
"Fuuuuuck! That's amazing!" he moaned, to the delight and encouragement of
the crowd. The swelling caused by the beating made the sloppy hole tight
again, a hole which was which was red-hot and pulling at T.J.s cock with
each stroke. Every time he withdrew his cock, it looked like he really was
turning the fag inside-out, rearranging its guts to fit his shaft. "It's
so hot!" T.J. exclaimed, thrusting harder, "I don't think I'm ever gonna
fuck an ass again without beating it first!" We all laughed at that, and
T.J. brought his hand down on the pig's ass cheek for good measure.
The pain must have been beyond belief for the faggot. Even restrained, it
was all T.J. could do to stay inside it. The faggot was bucking like a
bronco, trying its best to dislodge what must have feel like a searing rod
of red-hot iron buried inside it. The crowd was loving it, catcalling
encouragement to T.J. and filming it on their phones. Finally, with
another loud roar, T.J. shot his load deep inside the pig where it
belonged, his grip leaving deep fingerprint bruises on the pussyboy's ass
cheeks.
When T.J. finally recovered, he was nice enough to allow the faggot to
clean the combined cum, lube and ass slime off his cock. I debated
allowing the rest of the crowd to enjoy its holes, but I could tell the fag
was spent, and decided it was time to head home. We unstrapped it and got
it back on its feet, wobbly as a newborn colt, reattached its chastity
cage, and clipped the leash to its nose ring. I said my goodbyes while the
pussyboy obediently kissed the boots of all those who were generous enough
to use it.
We were headed back to the car when I felt a small tug on the leash. When
I looked back, the faggot murmured in a small, scared voice, "Please,
Master, I really need to pee!" Indeed, its belly was still a bit swollen
from all the piss and cum it had swallowed.
I'm nothing if not accommodating of the needs of others. I led the faggot
up to the next streetlight, leaving it to stand there in the pool of
brightness, spotlighted by the yellow sulphur glow, and gave it a single
command, "Piss now." Only a short time before, such an order would have
embarrassed and humiliated the faggot to the point it would have tried to
melt into the ground. Now, though, it simply squatted like the good,
obedient bitch it had become, and pissed like any animal would while I held
its leash.
Its transformation from faggot to true subhuman cockpig was almost
complete.
***********************************************************************************
Thank you to all who have written to me with feedback about this story!
Your interest inspires me.
Please contact me at jeffhamby1025@gmail.com |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/the-cockpig/the-cockpig-7 | Date: Thu, 2 Sep 2021 20:15:05 -0400
From: Jeff Hamby <jeffhamby1025@gmail.com>
Subject: The Cockpig 7
This story is an original work. It should not be reposted or reproduced in
whole or in part without the author's consent. Copyright 2021 by Jeff
Hamby. All rights reserved.
Warning: This story contains sexual acts between adult males
If you do not enjoy this type of material, or if it is illegal in
your country or place of residence, please stop reading immediately. This
story is not in any way an accurate depiction of reality, and any relation
to real persons or acts are unintentional. This story is fiction.
If you enjoyed this story, please make a donation to keep Nifty in business!
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The Cockpig
Chapter 7
Plateaus. Every training regimen has them. It doesn't matter what the
program is; if it's a progressive, goal-oriented training program, it's
going to have plateaus. They can be deadly to progress.
Whether it's a weight loss regimen, or strength training, or body building,
there are two phases which are the most difficult – getting started,
which requires both motivation and momentum; and the plateaus, when it
appears no progress is being made, even with continued effort. Plateaus
kill both motivation and momentum. Anyone that's accomplished significant
change can tell you, you have to push through the plateaus to reach your
goals. If you don't, you stall, get frustrated, then finally give up due
to lack of results.
Plateaus happen when training faggots, too. The important thing is to
remember that any faggot can perform better with proper training. So, do
not give in to your frustration at its failure to show improvement. You
just have to push through the mental barriers your cum dump has encountered
with firmness, while applying some new techniques to help shake things up a
bit. Otherwise, you'll never get rid of those barriers, the things some
people call "limits". Always remember: people, who can make choices, have
limits which they themselves set; faggots, who don't get choices, just have
barriers which need to be removed. Removal of these mental barriers makes
the faggot far more useful, of course. After all, there are only two
things which give a faggot value: its utility and its obedience.
The cockpig had been living with me for about four months when it hit its
first plateau. Not that it wasn't performing up to par; I wouldn't have
tolerated that for a second. No, it still performed as ordered, but its
performance wasn't improving. It had become a bit listless and not nearly
as responsive as it was before. While it was still very obedient, that
look of fear was gone from its eyes. Yes, it did everything it was told to
do, but there was no extra effort to please me. It was still giving 100%,
but not the 110% I'd expect from a cockpig eager to prove itself to its new
owner.
I decided it needed an additional push to get past this plateau, something
to motive it further.
So, I planned a party. Invited some guys over to watch the game and see
the cockpig in action.
Not a big party, of course. Just a small one, a chance to introduce a few
of my friends the cockpig and give them a chance to inspect the new
property. I discovered very early on that the pig was really quite shy.
Being made to do anything in public which revealed what it was, anything
which showed the world what it was good for, was deeply humiliating and
degrading to the cockpig, so of course I made such things a high priority.
Part of effectively training a subhuman slave is identifying all those
psychological barriers to its service, then relentlessly tearing them down.
I decided to alter the pig's appearance some, not just to show off its
looks, but to reinforce the idea that I controlled everything in its life.
I also wanted to make sure the pig really grasped the fact that its only
purpose in life was to serve and please its betters, even if that meant
changing its appearance.
The first thing I did was take some clippers to its head. When I'd brought
it home to live with me, one of the first acts of stripping away its old
life was to shave its head right down to the skin. God, I hated seeing all
that pretty ginger hair fall to the floor, but sacrifices must be made.
Besides, when I was done and turned the cockpig towards the mirror, it
gasped, the reflection showing it the reality of its new life. It cried a
little then, but I didn't mind that.
During its training, the hair had grown back, of course. This time, I
buzzed its head to a nice short "high and tight", so the red really showed
and it was fun to feel, especially when I made the pig rub its head against
my balls. I left a longer patch, though, right near the front – its
"fuck handle", I told it. Perfect for grabbing and controlling its head
when you are fucking its mouth, or when its tongue is buried up your
ass. When the pig saw its new hairstyle in the mirror, it whimpered a bit
at the strange look.
"Yeah, pig, it looks a little ridiculous, but the fuck handle is
functional, and that's what matters. Just another added feature for a
man's convenience," I explained. I grabbed its new handle and pulled its
face into my crotch, giving it a quick demonstration of how easily it could
be controlled that way.
Being a ginger, the cockpig was mostly hairless anyway, but I removed what
little there was under its arms and on its legs. Of course, it had been
keeping its asshole and crotch shaved since before we met, except for a
small decorative patch around its drain, mostly because I love the look of
red pubic hair. If anything, that patch emphasized how smooth the rest of
it was, and it worked to really set its chastity cage into high relief.
When the day of the party arrived, I could tell the cockpig was nervous.
No, not nervous – terrified. This was a big step for it, its "coming
out" party, so to speak. Up to this point, the only person that had ever
seen it in its newer, more natural state besides me was its former roommate
and best friend, Cody, and then only for a few moments. This was the first
time it would be presented to others, to strangers, as an owned object,
something subhuman. I could tell the idea alone was really fucking with
its brain. It had dreamed about this kind of thing for years, and now
those wet dreams had come true. This was its daily life, and it was about
to be displayed to total strangers as the thing it had willingly become.
No - that it had begged to become. Mentally, the entire situation was
almost overwhelming for the cockpig. But that's exactly what I was going
for. Gotta get past that plateau.
I decided to outfit the faggot with a special little treat for my guests: a
pig-tail butt plug. What better way to reinforce for the cockpig that it
wasn't a person, but a piece of livestock? The hot-pink curly tail
sticking out from between the fag's tight little ass cheeks looked
amazing. I made it crawl in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom
so it could see itself completely exposed: plugged, shaven, with a pink
tail. The only parts of its flesh not fully exposed for everyone to see
were the parts covered by its collar and chastity cage. I made sure to put
on the clear plastic cage, so my guests would be able to observe its little
drain straining against the plastic.
Its instructions were simple: it was only allowed to say two things: "Yes
Sir" and "Thank you, Sir," unless it was addressed directly. After all, no
one really cared what it thought or had to say, and there was no reason for
"no" to be a part of its vocabulary, anyway. It would welcome our guests
by opening the door on its knees, kissing their feet, and presenting itself
for inspection. I knew this last part would be the hardest for it –
letting total strangers see it as it lived: on its knees, drain locked,
collared, shaved. A thing, to be inspected by any men whom I allowed to
use it. Just before I left it kneeling in the foyer, I added one more
decoration to it, as a treat for our guests: I hung a small brass bell from
the tip of its chastity cage. I could see the confusion on the faggot's
face when I put it there, but I knew it would understand the implications
soon enough.
You should have seen the pig. I made it wait by the door on its knees for
a good while before the first guests arrived, just sitting there
contemplating what was about to happen to it, and how it had no control
over any of it. I don't know exactly what was going through its little
faggot mind, but soon after I placed it there, its drain was hard and
throbbing in the chastity cage. From time to time, some idea would enter
its head and it would start blushing all over, that pale skin turning a
deep red, throwing its freckles into high relief. After a while, its drain
was dripping right through the cage, creating a little puddle of precum on
the floor in front of it. It wasn't a problem though – I'd trained the
little cunt to lick up any trace of its pig scum to keep my floors nice and
clean. Every few minutes, while it waited, it would bend over and lick up
the liquid evidence of its need for abuse. Once its drain was as hard at it
could get in that tiny cage, filling the plastic prison and throbbing along
with the fag's heartbeat, the cage started to bounce, making the tiny bell
ring with each throb of its little nub. The best part was the look on its
face after about the third little ring of the bell, when it finally figured
out what was causing it, when it realized the bell wasn't just a
decoration, it was an alarm – a faggot hard-on alarm, designed to make
sure everyone nearby knew the cockpig was aroused, as well as to draw
attention to its caged nub.
Zack was the first guest to arrive. Ever seen the show "Archer"? The main
character, Sterling Archer, the super arrogant, really smug asshole with
the great body? That's Zack to a tee. He doesn't look anything like
Archer, though, except that he's got a great body from all that CrossFit he
does. He's 30, clean-shaven, with a great jawline. About 5'10, with blond
hair and broad shoulders, Zack fills out his clothes very well –
especially his jeans. He's got a bulge in his pants that you can't miss,
no matter what he's wearing. He's straight, but very cruel. Most females
aren't hardcore enough to handle Zack, which is how we became friends. I
let him work over one of my previous slaves, just to get it out of his
system, and we've been friends ever since.
Zack was carrying a long, thin box under his arm when he came in. He said
hello to me, momentarily ignoring the cockpig at his feet kissing his
Nikes, then handed me the box.
"Found this online and thought of you. Figured it would make a nice party
gift. Open it later, though," he said, an evil little smile turning up the
corners of his mouth.
Finally, he bent down, grabbed the fuck handle on the pig's head and pulled
it to its feet. I was proud to see my training was paying off: the cockpig
immediately spread its legs, assuming an inspection position, its head
pulled back by Zack's grip on its hair, with its hands locked behind its
neck, leaving all parts of it on display and completely exposed for
anything Zack decided to do with it. He reached out and grabbed the pig's
tits, pinching its delicate little nips and lifting it up on its tiptoes,
rolling the very tips of the faggot's nipples between his fingers, until he
finally made the pig gasp and then squeal from the pain. As he held it
there on its tiptoes, suspended by its tits pulled way out from its chest,
he glanced down and laughed, commenting on the fact that the cockpig's
drain was hard as a rock and throbbing in its cage, causing the bell to
ring urgently with the faggot's need. That caused the pig to blush with
shame, knowing that this total stranger was not only casually inflicting
pain on it for his own amusement, but that we were both laughing at its
depravity, at the fact that such abuse, rather than causing its nub to
shrink from the pain, instead made it throb even harder.
Zack finally let go, and we went into the living room to relax, leaving the
pig to greet the other guests as they arrived. I set the box Zack brought
down in the corner of the living room out of the way.
Scott arrived next. He runs one of those sports bars, so it was a lucky
thing for me he had the night off. No party is really complete without
him. He's got a great sense of humor, as well as a viciously cruel streak
when it comes to faggots. Scott's a body builder, with a massive chest and
huge shoulders and arms. He's in his early 30s, and let me tell you, this
dude is a beast! Unlike a lot of body builders, he's not just big, he's
strong as well. I couldn't wait for him to get ahold of the cockpig and
put it through its paces.
I started laughing out loud at the faggot when it got a look at Scott.
He's massive all over. The faggot was licking his dress shoes in greeting
when I walked into the foyer. Scott lifted the pig's face with his foot,
letting it get a good look at what a mountain of a man he is. I thought
the cockpig was going to piss itself in fear right then. It began to
tremble and whimper, obviously aware that whatever this man decided to use
it for would hurt like hell, and it would be utterly helpless to stop it,
even if it had the balls to try. Scott reached down and grabbed the pig's
fuck handle, pulled its head into the crotch of his dress slacks, and began
grinding his crotch into its face, letting the pussyboy get a face full of
the pipe growing down his leg. I told you, Scott is massive all over,
including in his pants. By the time Scott was done, there was an even
deeper look of fear in the cockpig's eyes as it realized that this huge
pole would soon be buried inside it, whether it wanted that to happen or
not. As if it even deserved a choice in the matter...
While Scott and I were greeting each other, he casually pulled the pig's
head around to his ass and jammed its face between his muscular ass cheeks,
grinding the faggot's face into his asshole, letting it get a good whiff of
his musky sweat. I'm not even sure the pig could breathe. Scott was
cramming its face into his ass hard, with the two mounds of his muscular
cheeks pinching its nose firmly in place.
As the cockpig was struggling desperately to breathe, even if to just get a
whiff of air flavored by Scott's ass sweat, Josh opened the door and walked
in. Josh is an old friend. I've known him since he was a teenager. Rough
kid with a rough home life, he learned cruelty from his family at an early
age. When I met him, he'd just turned 18, but he was already a pretty mean
little shit, constantly getting in trouble with everyone: parents, school,
cops. He liked to fight and fuck, and did a lot of both, apparently. I
saw the way he treated some of the girls he slept with, and knew he was a
kindred spirit. So, I introduced him to a faggot I was training at the
time. He was reluctant at first, afraid people would think he was gay. You
know how self-conscious teen boys can be. But he quickly took to using
faggot slaves like a duck takes to water. Once he learned he could abuse
them any way he wanted and they'd not only obey but actively beg him for
more, Josh was hooked. He still preferred women, but he started regularly
using and training faggots to be his slaves. Before he did something
stupid and got sent to prison for a couple of years, Josh had one bitch
damn near completely trained. The things he put that fuckhole through were
hilarious and downright evil. But those are tales for a different day.
Josh isn't that big, especially standing next to a mountain like
Scott. He's only about 5'9, but he's well-built and pretty muscular, not
from hours in a gym but from lots of manual labor. Josh has always worked
construction and remodeling jobs, so he's got the rough hands and ropey
muscles of a worker, someone who does hard labor all day long instead of
sitting in an air-conditioned office in front of a computer. His time in
prison certainly didn't hurt his build, since he'd had nothing to do but
pump iron and abuse some of the other inmates. He keeps his brown hair cut
prison-short, in a single length buzz all over. Unlike Scott, who has a
full beard and looks more like a business executive than a bar manager,
Josh is clean shaven and covered with tattoos, a few of them professionally
done, but many a result of his time inside, hand poked in some cell. Josh
is only 27, but he's packed some hard living into that time, which has only
made him even meaner, it seems. I love having him around just to see how
cruel he can be.
Josh and Scott greeted me and high-fived each other. They'd been to my
parties before. Scott, ever the gentleman, passed the cockpig's fuck
handle to Josh, allowing him to take over using it. Josh looked like he'd
just come from a job site. His jeans and work boots were dirty, and he had
an odor of sweat that hung on him; not nasty, per se, but you could tell
he'd been working. Josh got a mean little grin on his face as soon as he
grabbed the faggot's hair, and immediately shoved the pig's face into his
ass, rubbing its nose against his faded blue jeans. Suddenly, Josh let out
a long, loud fart, right into the pig's face. My little cockpig started to
struggle in an effort to pull away from the disgusting smell, but Josh just
pulled on its hair tighter, laughing at it being forced to inhale his
rancid gas. That's just how an alpha male like Josh greets a subhuman
fuckpig.
Once Josh was done feeding the cockpig his farts, Scott grabbed its hair
and pulled it to its feet, then bent down and threw the faggot over one of
his shoulders, carrying the cumdump like a sack of potatoes. Yeah, he
could have just made it crawl behind them into the living room, but Scott
liked showing off his strength, and I could tell it made the pig feel small
and completely helpless in a way even bondage wouldn't have accomplished.
This was a superior man demonstrating his raw power, using his muscles and
size to accentuate the vast difference between what he is and what the
cockpig is. He carried the fuckhole like it weighed nothing, not even
breaking a sweat as he toted it into the living room and deposited it,
whimpering and trembling, on the floor where it belonged.
I nudged the cockpig with my foot in order to get it back on its knees
where it belonged. "Gentlemen," I said to the guys, "allow me to show off
my newest piece of property, my new cockpig. I suppose a quick rundown of
its uses is in order before the game begins."
This was an important part of the evening, as well as a crucial part of the
cockpig's training. As deeply humiliating as it was for it to be seen by
others as a faggot slave, I wanted to push it even further, take its
degradation to a deeper level. What was more degrading than being seen and
used as a cockpig? Why, having to admit it out loud in front of strangers,
of course! Time to hear the faggot recite its catechism for our guests.
"Who am I," I asked.
"My Master," it promptly replied.
"What else? Tell these men," I demanded, grabbing the faggot's chin and
pulling its face up so it could see the guys staring at it.
"My...my owner," it stammered, blushing. Admitting it was owned property
was hard, but even harder with four sets of alpha male eyes boring into it,
judging it.
"Anything else, cunt?" I asked, my grip on its chin tight enough it
couldn't turn away.
The faggot was silent for a moment, its mouth hanging open slightly, a
pleading look in its eyes. It hated this: having to explain itself to
others, to explain its life and its new role to normal people, to real men.
Finally, it summoned its courage and replied.
"You are my god, Sir."
"It's god?" Zack sneered at the faggot. "Is it saying it worships him?"
The cockpig looked at me, pleading with its eyes, its bottom lip trembling
from the humiliation of being exposed like this. I could tell this was
painful for it, that it wanted to just disappear into the floor instead of
having these men see it this way. So, of course, I pushed it further.
I released my grip on the cockpig's chin long enough to give it a good,
hard slap across the face. "A man asked it a question. Answer, cum dump."
"Yes, sir, it worships its Master and Owner, sir."
"Tell them its name," I ordered.
"Sir, you haven't given it one. You said objects don't have names," it
replied, breaking eye contact. I saw it swallow, hard. This was intensely
stressful for the bitch.
"Well, what's it good for, at least?" Josh demanded.
The pig hesitated, trying its best to look at the floor. But our scrutiny
wasn't going to be escaped so easily. I grabbed the hair on top of its head
and pulled its head up until it was staring straight at the Josh.
"Sir, it will do anything you need, Sir," the faggot replied.
"Oh yeah?" Josh asked. "I think it should give us a list of what its good
for. Maybe, like, a menu of its services."
"Yes, sir," the faggot responded, swallowing hard. "Sir, you can fuck it
if you want."
"Hmmm. What if I don't just need to fuck?" Josh followed up. "Maybe I
need to piss, instead. What will it do then I wonder?"
The faggot turned a deep read. I walked around behind it, and repositioned
its head, so it was directly facing all three of our guests and held its
head there so it was impossible for it to look away. I wanted it to admit
what it was, all of what it was good for, while they stared it down. And
stare it down they did, their eyes boring into it, like they were looking
into its very soul. I wanted it to see the disgust in their eyes, and truly
comprehend the deep contempt real men felt for a faggot like it.
"Sir...it...it would drink your piss if you wanted it to sir," the faggot
stammered, barely above a whisper.
"What was that? I couldn't hear the little bitch," Zack said
I jerked on its hair. "Louder, fuckhole. Tell these men what it needs."
The fag hesitated, turned a deep red all over, then finally blurted out,
just as I'd taught it, a mixture of begging and yelling, "SIR, PLEASE LET
IT DRINK YOUR PISS, SIR! IT NEEDS YOUR PISS IN IT, SIR!"
"Just his piss, needy faggot? What about me?" Scott asked.
"SIRS, PLEASE LET IT DRINK ALL OF YOUR PISS!"
I noticed a few tears rolling down the faggot's cheeks as we made it beg to
be a urinal for these total strangers. Its first tears of the night, but
certainly they wouldn't be the last.
"What is it, some kind of urinal?" Zack asked, a disgusted look on his
face.
The fuckpig was silent, its mouth opening and closing without sound. I gave
it another painful tug on its hair. "Yes sir," the faggot finally admitted,
"it is a urinal for men like you."
"That's fucking disgusting, you know that, faggot? Not only allowing men
to piss on you and inside you, but begging them to use you as a urinal.
Even guys it just met, like us. Fucking sick faggot!" Zack said, shaking
his head is mock disgust.
"What limits does it have, from me or any man?" I asked the faggot from
behind.
It swallowed and blushed, another full body blush, as it felt another wave
of shame washing over it, forced to admit such a thing in front of these
strangers. "None, Master."
"So, I can use it any way I please? My buddies can do anything they want,
no matter how twisted, how disgusting, how painful? Is that what it's
telling us, cunt?" I demanded.
Another blush, deep red this time, the response almost a whisper, "Yes
Master, please Master."
"What if I just want to hurt it? Maybe beat it some, really fuck it up and
inflict some pain? What about that, bitch?" Zack inquired.
The pig started trembling, knowing that these men would not only hurt it,
but would take great pleasure in seeing it suffer. As much as the little
faggot needed cock and craved having me use it, it didn't like pain. Hated
it, in fact. But, once again, I'd put it in a position where it had no
choice but to beg for something it didn't want.
"Please sirs," the faggot begged, tears freely flowing down its young face,
"please hurt this pig. Please abuse it and make it suffer if you want to."
Zack didn't need to be asked twice. Quick as a snake, he reached out and
slapped the shit out of the cockpig, who had no opportunity to avoid the
blow, since I was still holding its head in place by its fuck handle. I
could tell Zack hit it hard enough to rattle the bitch's teeth. Before it
could recover, Josh slapped it on the other cheek just as hard, knocking
its head back in the other direction and eliciting a loud grunt from the
faggot. It was panting, trying to breathe through the sudden pain.
Obviously, the slaps were hard enough it couldn't do basic math, because it
obviously wasn't expecting the blow which came next from Scott. The
bodybuilder used one huge paw to whack it across the face hard enough to
knock it to the ground despite my grip on its hair. I thought for a moment
he'd knocked it out cold, but the faggot started crying and writhing in
pain, so I knew it was okay.
I snapped my fingers to get the cockpig's attention. "Beers for everyone.
Now," I ordered. Slowly, it pulled itself together and stood up, then
walked into the kitchen to fetch the drinks.
"Nice looking piece of ass," Josh drawled, "but I don't see why you're
letting it walk upright like that."
I smiled. I can always count on Josh to start some shit. "Well, you know
where the equipment is. Feel free to correct its behavior," I challenged,
knowing he was more than willing to rise to the bait. Josh hopped up and
headed for the back room I used for faggot training, with Zack right on his
heels, ready to get into the action. I could hardly wait to see what they
brought back with them. By the time they both came back downstairs, the
faggot was back with the beers and dutifully licking Scott's black dress
shoes to a bright gleam. Zack was holding a thin, bamboo cane, a favorite
of mine due to the way it whistled through the air just before striking
flesh, as well as for the deep, thin, incredibly painful welts it left when
wielded correctly. That thing hurt, and I could tell from the grin on
Zack's face he knew just exactly how painful it would be.
Josh, however, is always more creative in his tortures. Rather than a whip
or a cane, he brought back something far more insidious: a humbler. I
hadn't gotten around to using it on the cockpig yet, but it was certainly
about time. Josh borrowed the keys to the faggot's chastity cage from me,
then unlocked and removed the device while Scott placed his other size 13
shoe on the back of the pig's head, forcing its face into the shoe it was
licking and effectively pinning it in place while Josh installed the
humbler.
The cockpig let out a loud groan into the top of Scott's shoe when Josh
slide that cage off its drain. That was the first time it had been uncaged
in months, and the first time its little drain could finally unfold and
erect to its full size, such as it was. The other guys all laughed to see
the faggot's little drain spring to attention. They started commenting on
how small it was.
"Well, it didn't use to be quite so small," I explained. "I mean, it was
never man-sized or anything, but that chastity cage is doing a good job of
helping to shrink it. I looks a lot smaller than then I started training
the faggot. I'm pretty pleased with the results so far."
"What's your plan?" Josh asked. "You gonna let the faggot keep that little
nub as-is, or do it like that last one you had?"
"I haven't decided, really," I replied thoughtfully. "I'm sure I'll figure
it out soon. Remodeling property is always a tough decision." That made
everyone laugh.
Josh reached between the cockpig's spread legs and grabbed its balls, then
secured them in the humbler. A humbler isn't complicated – it's two
curved pieces of wood that clamp together like a vice to trap a slave's
balls. The device has two adjustable bolts to allow you to control how
tightly it clamps shut. The wood is curved to fit snugly against the back
of a slave's thighs, right below its ass. It's called a humbler for a
reason, of course: once it's clamped in place, the faggot can't get up off
its knees, not unless it wants to jerk its balls clean off. Once that
humbler is on it, the pig can't do anything but crawl, and every inch it
crawls tortures its balls, using the movement of its own thighs to jerk,
pull and crush those worthless little orbs. The humbler is a great training
tool, combining both pain reinforcement and humiliation into one simple
device.
I dug around in the table beside my chair and found a piece of string. I
handed it to Josh. "Here," I said, "tie that bell around its drain. I was
enjoying the music." That got another laugh.
Josh looped the string through the top of the tiny bell, then quickly tied
the string around the stumpy shaft of the faggot's nub, right below the
head, so that it dangled freely, sounding its chime each time the cockpig
moved or its drain throbbed. Now that it was uncaged, the piggy's drain
was rigid, despite its pain and humiliation...or more likely because of it.
The cockpig hated the humbler from the moment Josh locked it in place. I
could tell, because as soon as he had it on the pig, Zack ordered it to
show everyone how much it liked wearing it by crawling around like a good
little animal. As soon as the faggot started moving, you could see the
pain written across its cute young face. Every movement was torturing its
nuts, swollen with months of pent-up cum, the movements of its own thighs
providing the pain as it struggled to crawl around the room. Its suffering
was compounded by Zack's liberal application of the cane to its ass cheeks,
urging it forward, making it crawl faster and faster. At first, the faggot
was moving slowly and carefully, trying to minimize the pain it was
inflicting on itself with the humbler, but when Zack started bringing that
thin bamboo cane down on its ass, the stupid cunt quickly realized the only
way to avoid the fiery agony of Zack's strokes against its ass was to pick
up its speed, increasing its own torment of its trapped nuts to the
accompaniment of the little bell attached to its drain.
"C'mon pig... squeal for us," Zack demanded. "Wiggle that pig tail,
fuckhole!" He brought the cane down again, hard, right across both the
faggot's ass cheeks, and it squealed at the top of its lungs, sounding just
like a real pig, lurching forward and almost falling flat on the floor,
until the humbler threatened to rip off its balls as its legs straightened.
Remarkably, the faggot learned its lesson quickly – while it might fall
forward from a particularly cruel blow from Zack, with its upper body flat
on the floor, it remained on its knees, that beautiful, smooth white ass in
the air, offered up perfectly for more abuse. Zack drove the pig around
the living room like that, making it grunt and squeal like a real pig, its
little bell constantly ringing out a shameful tune, while we all laughed
and Josh recorded it on his phone to show his friends later.
After a few minutes of this, the pig was near collapse from racing around
the room on its hands and knees to avoid Zack's cane, so I directed it into
the kitchen to fetch us more beers. Of course, since it needed its hands to
crawl, that took it several trips, but we didn't mind. All the guys were
enjoying looking at its sweet little ass wiggling the pig tail as it
crawled around.
"Fuck, dude, you really did a number on the bitch's ass with that cane!"
Scott remarked, impressed at Zack's handiwork and the cross-hatching of
deep welts all across the pig's ass cheeks.
"Thanks, man. Been a while since I've had a faggot I could beat like
that," Zack replied.
"Well, it's all yours, guys," I said, waving my hand magnanimously toward
the fuckhole. "As long as there's no permanent damage, do what you will."
"Well, the first thing I'm gonna do is try out this bitch's holes. Which
one should I start with?" Josh asked, unzipping his jeans.
"Hmm...I'd start with its front hole. It's reasonably talented with that
one. Still needs training with the back hole, but you won't be
disappointed. It's still almost virgin-tight, no matter how many times I
core it out. Even keeping it plugged doesn't seem to make it loose," I
replied.
Josh walked over to where the faggot was kneeling, trying to catch its
breath, and shoved his semi-hard cock in its face. I was pleased to see
that, despite the pain it was in, the cockpig's mouth immediately opened
when presented with a man's cock, at this point an almost involuntary
response to the presence of a penis. My training was clearly working,
reshaping its feeble little faggot brain exactly the way I wanted it,
turning it into a true slave for any cock presented to it.
Josh was quickly sawing his seven-inch cock into the faggot's throat,
holding on to its fuck handle to control the movement of its head,
occasionally burying his shaft all the way down its throat and trapping the
pig's nose in his pubes, letting it get a good whiff of his crotch,
probably still ripe from whatever construction job he'd been working
earlier.
It didn't take Josh long to feed the faggot its first load of the evening.
He twisted its fuck handle in his hand and shoved in to the hilt, shooting
his load right into the back of the pig's throat. Once again, proving that
my training of it was working, the faggot sucked out every drop of Josh's
cum, then dutifully held his cock in its mouth, gently keeping it warm and
wet, not sucking or licking, just holding it there, until Josh withdrew and
stepped back.
"Thank you, sir!" it responded as soon as Josh's cock was out of its mouth.
Josh slapped it across the face lightly and backed up, as Zack was already
moving into place to try out the faggot's mouth for himself.
Zack is straight, so when we first met he was pretty uptight about using
faggots. He loved using women, and had a couple of occasions where he went
overboard and almost wound up in jail for abuse. Once I'd introduced him
to the idea of a willing faggot slave he could use as roughly as he chose,
he gradually began to thaw. At first, he was just into beatings and
torture, giving his sadistic side a way of safe expression at a level most
female bitches couldn't or wouldn't take. Every time I let him abuse one
of my slaves, though, I could see that prominent bulge in the front of his
pants get even bigger, threatening to rip the crotch right out of his jeans
by the time he was done with his abuse. I'd finally convinced him to let
one of the faggots suck him off, and that's all it took. He discovered he
could not only inflict pain with his hands and feet, but also with his
long, fat cock as well.
As soon as Josh moved, Zack grabbed the faggot's hair and roughly pulled
its head into his bulging crotch, while at the same time bringing the cane
down again, this time right in the crack of the pig's ass. It squealed
loudly, right into Zack's denim-covered cock, the warmth of its breath and
the keening of its suffering making his dick throb and swell even more. He
dragged its face back and forth across the rough denim, making it drool all
over the front of his pants, before he finally instructed it to unzip his
jeans with its mouth. You should have seen the bitch struggling to get
that zipper down, using only its tongue and lips. I couldn't tell if it
was more desperate to get Zack's big dick in its mouth, or to avoid more
blows from the cane. Either way, it soon managed to get his pants undone
and was smacked in the face by Zack's erection as soon as it popped out of
his jeans. The faggot obediently swallowed the entire thing, showing my
guest exactly what it was good for, which pleased me. Zack is very
arrogant, and he loves being worshiped, so he let the faggot impale its
throat on his cock for a bit. Zack's cock is uncut, around eight and a half
inches, and fat enough to completely fill his fist. He was obviously
enjoying watching how the girth of his cock challenged the faggot, which
was stretching its jaw as wide open as possible, desperate to avoid
scraping his shaft with its teeth.
Ever the sadist, Zack began to fuck the faggot's mouth, deliberately
bumping his crotch into the faggot with each thrust, forcing the pig
backwards, which caused the humbler to torture its trapped nuts with every
thrust of Zack's cock into its throat. Not content with that, Zack started
using the cane again, enjoying the vibrations on his cock as the cockpig
screamed from each blow. Zack showed the little pussyboy no mercy, ramming
his meat down its throat while beating it with the bamboo cane, two very
different rods torturing both ends of the faggot. It was pretty cruel,
even by my standards. When Zack finally shot his load down the pig's
throat and pulled out, the bitch collapsed to the floor face first,
thumping his head against the hardwood. The face rape was so brutal, we
all started clapping spontaneously at Zack's performance. The arrogant
bastard grinned at us with his 10,000-watt smile, then took several bows,
gloating both in his abuse of the cunt and our admiration, beaming with
pleasure, his thick cock on display, shiny with the faggot's spit and still
stiff as a board, ready to go again at any moment.
"You're up, Scott. Give this pig a good workout before the game starts,"
Zack said.
"Nah, not yet. I've got some other uses for it first," Scott replied,
grinning. He ordered the faggot over to him, then put it to work licking
the soles of his dress shoes clean, then licking his big feet and sucking
on his toes, while we discussed the game about to start. Just as well,
since the faggot probably needed a short break from the abuse to regain its
strength. The thing I love most about these young fuckholes is that they
recuperate quickly and have the stamina to take a lot of abuse. We were
going to test those limits today, that was for sure.
After Scott's feet were clean, he shoved the cockpig over to Josh. I could
see it recoil from the nasty work boots Josh was wearing, which were
covered in dirt and grime. I'm not sure how long he'd had those boots, but
they'd definitely seen better days. The cumdump was licking them, gently,
trying to satisfy Josh without getting too much grime in its mouth, but
Josh wasn't going to allow any slacking. He was savvy enough to spot a
slacking slave.
"Hey Zack, hand me that cane, will ya?" he asked. Once Zack passed it
over, Josh used it to encourage the faggot's tongue, whacking it on the ass
and sides of its thighs, even its back, if it appeared to be doing less
than its utmost best to clean his boots. The effect was immediate and
remarkable. The cockpig started crying from the pain and humiliation, its
tears aiding its tongue to clean Josh's boots of all that dirt, and no
doubt also helping to wash some of that grime down its throat once its
tongue was coated with construction dust. With the humbler locked on its
nuts, the faggot couldn't even move its ass out of the way to avoid the
blows without inflicting further pain on its swollen balls. Submit its ass
for a beating, or flinch away and damn near tear its own balls off? A
fitting dilemma for a cockpig if there ever was one.
It made me smile to just to watch.
I think I was right about Josh working before he came over, because when he
finally allowed the faggot to remove his boots and socks, his feet smelled
to high heaven. To its credit, the cockpig didn't try and slack off from
cleaning his stinking feet, but immediately began licking all the sweat off
his feet and from between his toes while we concentrated on the game. As
bad as Josh's feet reeked, it must have been a disgusting job, but after
all, that's what pigs are for. Yet, as the pig buried its face in Josh's
stinking feet and licked the sweat from between his toes, the bell on the
end of its drain rang constantly as its little nub throbbed with need.
During the first commercial break, Scott got up and excused himself,
walking up to the back bedroom. When he returned, he was carrying a large
dildo and the training box, which he slid onto the bolts I have mounted on
the wall. I put them there when I first got the box, near the TV, so I
could watch a faggot training its holes with the box during commercial
breaks in whatever show I was enjoying. Scott loves that box, and even
asked Ryan (my engineer buddy) to make one like it for him. Once it was
attached to the wall, Scott mounted the dildo on the box and ordered the
faggot to get the big rubber cock in its mouth. Once the faggot was
sucking on the dildo, Scott set the timer. He must have set it for only a
second or two, because the pig immediately squealed when it received its
first jolt from not pressing its nose and lips to the box. While we all
laughed, the faggot got busy trying to deep throat the huge dildo Scott had
chosen. The cockpig finally managed to take it all, but not before several
more painful shocks. Finally, the pig managed to set up a rhythm, taking
it all then withdrawing, almost like a sword swallower, making the full
length of the dildo disappear on each downstroke. Twin pools, one of
saliva, one of precum, collected on the floor beneath the cockpig, its
vigorous sucking driven as much by its need to avoid the shocks as its
innate need to obey alpha males and worship cock.
Scott returned to the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table,
watching the cockpig's efforts as if supervising an employee inclined to
slack off.
"Dude, why you got it sucking on that dildo instead of your dick?" Zack
asked. "Trust me, the faggot knows how to worship a cock!" He laughed,
then high-fived Josh.
"Because I want to make sure it can swallow all of mine," Scott drawled,
watching the cockpig take the dildo to the base. "I hate a faggot that
can't take it all. The last bitch that tried and failed actually scraped a
red mark on the top of my cock with its teeth."
"Oooh, fuck, man! What did you do?" Zack asked, cringing at the thought.
One corner of Scott's mouth turned up, a hint of a smile. "Let's just say
that faggot won't have to worry about its front teeth getting in the way of
cock sucking ever again."
"Good for you, Scott. I'm sure that was a lesson well learned for that
bitch," I remarked.
"Yeah, well, I'd prefer not to have to repeat the lesson. Especially not
on someone else's property. But from the looks of it, I don't think that's
going to be an issue," Scott replied, taking careful note of the way the
cockpig was desperately swallowing the entire length of the dildo.
A visible sheen of sweat had appeared all over the cockpig, the result of
its constant effort to keep up with the timer on the devilish training
box. I loved the box – it was like an extension of me, demanding
grueling, precise performance and punishing even slight failure with
pain. I love the fact that, instead of having to do the work of training
the little cunt myself, it was simply automated for me, another way to make
life easier through technology. Well...easier for me and other men, but
far more unpleasant for faggots. Just as it should be, of course.
Finally, Scott rose from the couch and walked over to where the fag was
urgently and repeatedly impaling its throat on the big dildo. He switched
the box off just as the faggot reached the bottom of the dildo, the entire
length buried inside it. He held its head there for a moment, waiting to
see how long it took before the cockpig started to choke. I'd taught the
little cocksucker well, though, and it managed almost a full minute with
the big rubber cock deep in its throat before it began to gag. Even then,
as it struggled for air and its guts started to heave, the cockpig knew
better than to try and pull off the dildo, even if it had been able to
overcome Scott holding its head in place. Finally, he let go, allowing the
cockpig to slide about half the dildo out of its throat. It kept the rest
of the dildo in its mouth, gasping around it, trying to catch its breath.
Scott grabbed the hair on the front of the fag's head, using it to pull the
bitch completely off the dildo, then dragged its face into the crotch of
his khaki slacks. The cockpig immediately began using its already-bruised
lips to massage his cock through the fabric, moving further down Scott's
leg as his bulge continued to grow. After letting the cockpig slobber on
his slacks for a few minutes, Scott unzipped and hauled out his cock, then
used it to slap the pussyboy across the face with an audible smack.
Some people will tell you bodybuilders tend to have small dicks, either
because all the muscle development is a way to compensate for being
underendowed, or as a result of too much steroid use. Either of these may
be true in some cases, but not with Scott. His cock is as impressive as
the rest of his muscles. It's a big, uncut club; thick, with a foreskin
that completely covers the head, even when he's hard. I've had the pleasure
of watching Scott using fuckholes before, and it's always an impressive
sight. To see a man that big, simply stacked with muscle, pull something
that formidable out of his pants and then effortlessly control the faggot
he's using is not just hot as hell, its awe-inspiring.
The size difference between Scott and the cockpig was stark: the huge,
muscular alpha male with the pale, small-framed, hairless faggot kneeling
at his feet, worshiping the half-hard shaft hanging out of the man's pants.
I caught a glimpse of the faggot's eyes, just for a second, and I could see
both wonder at the size of the cock in its mouth, and fear – fear of how
much bigger the growing pole would get; fear of what this man would do with
it once it was fully erect.
Now that Josh and Zack had stretched out the cockpig's throat and it had
spent some time fucking its face on the oversized dildo, Scott apparently
decided it was ready to worship his cock properly. He was fully hard now,
a nine-inch pillar of flesh he was rubbing all over the faggot's upturned
face, occasionally beating the little cunt in the face with it, each blow
leaving a shiny wet red mark.
The cockpig's knelt there with its mouth hanging open like some idiot,
drool trickling down its chin as Scott beat its face with his cock, each
blow reinforcing the differences between them: a real man with man-sized
cock, and a worthless cockpig with a tiny little drain, on its knees,
craving whatever abuse the man cared to give it. Scott finally pulled back
his foreskin and laid the head of his cock on the pig's tongue, then pulled
his foreskin over its tongue, enveloping it, forcing the bitch to clean
underneath it, to massage his cock head with its tongue even as the faggot
was swabbing it clean.
The cockpig had never looked as good as it did in that moment, kneeling
there, sucking on a huge cock. I noticed the pig tail was moving almost in
time with its tongue, the result of the faggot unconsciously clinching and
relaxing its sphincter, trying to get whatever tiny bit of pleasure it
could from the plug up its ass. This was the cockpig in its true natural
element for the first time in its pitiful young life: naked, plugged,
collared, totally exposed in front of a group of men that knew what it was
and what it was good for. This was its purpose, its entire reason for
existence. We knew it, and the cockpig was finally beginning to grasp the
reality of what it was.
Scott pulled his cock out of the faggot's mouth. He took a step back, a
long strand of its saliva still connecting its tongue to his cock. The pig
was mesmerized, totally focused on the massive cock in front of it, as if
that rope of spit was connected to its very soul, tying it completely to
the alpha in front of it as surely as if it was any other beast of burden
harnessed to its task. Scott backed up another step, the string of pig spit
still not breaking the connection between them, making the faggot crawl
forward, desperate for another taste of Scott's cock, desperate to display
its need for dick.
When the fag crawled forward, Scott grabbed its fuck handle and twisted the
hair in his hand, pulling its head forward onto his cock, burying his
considerable length down the faggot's throat, holding its head in place as
it quickly learned to accommodate the invader. Just as he'd done with the
dildo moments before, Scott held the cunt's head all the way down on his
cock, spearing its throat, just to see how long it would take before it
started to gag. The cockpig was struggling to breathe around the mass of
flesh, trying to get air into its lungs, its entire throat firmly plugged
with Scott's big dick. We all watched as its face turned redder and redder,
as it began to squirm and struggle futilely against the big man's grip,
desperate not to choke to death on the cock buried inside it. Really,
though, what more fitting end could there be for a cockpig, choking to
death on a big alpha cock, knowing that its last, pathetic struggles and
death spasms were simply adding enjoyment for a real man as he plugged its
throat one last time? A fitting end, indeed.
But not tonight. Maybe someday, when the faggot was no longer of any other
use, but definitely not tonight. The cockpig had many, many years of hard,
brutal use ahead of it, with tonight merely being its coming out party,
like a naked, collared debutante being introduced to a world of men who
will find endless new ways to abuse and degrade it.
The cockpig was sputtering and spasming, genuinely choking on Scott's cock
when he finally released his grip on its head and allowed it to slide back
and gulp down some air. Once he was certain the little faggot wasn't about
to pass out, he plunged his cock back down its throat and began slowly
pistoning the entire length of his shaft down the faggot's throat, pulling
out on each stroke until only the tip of his cock head was in its mouth,
then ramming the entire thing inside it until the fuckpig's nose was buried
in his pubic hair, its lips stretched thin about the base of his cock, his
big balls banging forward on each downstroke to smack it in the chin. With
each of Scott's thrusts, we could see the faggot's throat bulge as it was
stretched by Scott's massive shaft, then contract as he slowly withdrew.
The sight of the cockpig's throat stretching each time Scott rammed his
dick inside it was enough for me. I got up and moved behind the faggot and
grabbed the pig tail sticking out of its asshole. I ripped out the
attached butt plug, forcing a muffled squeal from the pig's plugged throat,
which must have been a nice vibration on Scott's cock, as he let out a
pleased groan. I pulled out my own cock and took aim at the fag's ass, the
shoved in until my balls were slapping against the faggot's ass
cheeks. With Josh and Zack calling out encouragement to us, Scott and I
pounded both ends of the faggot, setting up a rhythm with each other. Most
of the time we were opposite, so that I was shoving my cock up its ass as
he was withdrawing from its throat, ensuring that the pig was continuously
impaled in one end or the other. Several times I deliberately paused so
that we both rammed our cocks home at the same time. From the way the
faggot tensed and groaned, it must have felt like our dicks were going to
touch deep inside it. It was filled with cock, just as it was born to be,
and it totally surrendered to the penetration, concentrating only on
providing maximum pleasure with both its holes, just as I'd taught it.
It didn't take long before I filled the faggot's ass with its first load of
cum for the day. Shortly thereafter, Scott buried his cock down its throat
and shot his load right into the pig's belly. As I pulled out of its ass,
Scott withdrew about half of his cock from its mouth, then let out a long
sigh as he started filling its mouth with his piss. He looked at me and
grinned. "I figured it was thirsty after all that hard work," he laughed.
After Scott finished using my urinal, I walked around and had it clean my
cock of any traces of its ass, then sat back down. Zack and Josh were
apparently inspired by the show we put on, because they took our places,
with Josh using the faggot's front hole, and Zack behind it, using his fat
cock to stretch its rear hole.
Zack is such a fucking sadist. The double rape of the faggot's holes
wasn't enough for him. He positioned himself so that with each thrust into
the pussyboy's ass, he was also banging into its vulnerable balls trapped
by the humbler. The first time he did it, the pig screamed into Josh's
cock.
"Whoo hoo! Fuck yeah, man, that felt awesome! Do that shit again, Zack,"
Josh exclaimed.
Zack was more than happy to oblige. Each of his thrusts pounded the pig's
guts on the inside, and its trapped balls on the outside. The pain was
only half the problem the pig had, though. It also had to resist any
inclination to close its teeth on Josh's cock as a result of the pain.
Hospitality and respect for me aside, if the cockpig had bitten or scraped
Josh's cock, I doubt even I could have saved its teeth. Josh would have
surely knocked them out in a heartbeat. Not that it would have been a huge
loss, of course. At that point, I'd already considered having some of its
front teeth removed to better accommodate big cocks, though I'd rather they
be removed by a dentist instead of an ex-con's fist.
My fuckhole was learning. The months of training I'd put it through up to
this point were being tested, and I was pleased to see my hard work was
paying off. The pig endured Zack's repeated bashing of its nuts just as it
endured the double violation front and rear, eventually milking a load from
each of them men with its respective orifices. Zack finished first, but
remained buried in the faggot's asshole while Josh finished fucking its
throat. I glanced at Zack, and saw he had his eyes closed with a look of
concentration on his face which could only mean one thing: he was pissing
up the faggot's ass.
As soon as he was done, Zack reached down and grabbed the plug off the
floor, then slowly withdrew his cock from the faggot's ass, replacing it
quickly with the butt plug. Josh was shooting his load just as Zack was
sliding the plug into the faggot's cunt. Once Josh sat back down on the
couch, Zack made the little ginger cunt clean his cock off, then plopped
back down on the couch next to Josh and ordered the pig to lick his feet
clean. I could see the fag was exhausted from the use so far, and chuckled
to myself. It still had a long night ahead of it.
It was a good game. Obviously, we didn't spend the entire night abusing
the cockpig. The guys came over to spend time together and watch the game,
which was the focal point of the evening, of course. The faggot...well, it
was just a passing amusement, a convenient hole to unload some cum into, a
portable urinal, and a good object for relieving a bit of stress. It spent
most of the game licking my guest's feet, or kneeling in front of them so
they could rest their feet on its back until we needed more beers. All the
guys enjoyed watching it crawl with the humbler on, its abused balls now
swollen and angry-red, its pigtail wiggling back and forth as it crawled
around to the sound of the little bell hanging from its drain.
We all know what happens when you drink beer, and the guys drank a lot of
it. The cockpig drank a lot of piss that night from everyone except Zack.
Zack loves beer, and he was putting some away, let me tell you. But he
never made the faggot drink his piss like the other guys. Instead, each
time he had to relieve himself, he'd feed the faggot his cock just long
enough to get hard, then make it place its head on the ground with its ass
up high. He'd carefully pull the plug from its asshole and shove the head
of his cock in, adding a new bladderful of his piss to the load the faggot
was already carrying in its guts. Eventually, there was enough you could
actually hear Zack's piss sloshing around inside the cockpig's guts every
time it moved. After a while, its belly began to look swollen, though
whether that was from the amount of piss the other guys made it drink or
what Zack put in its ass, I couldn't tell. Either way, I could see it
becoming more and more uncomfortable as the cramps from Zack's repeated
urine enemas racked its young body. The faggot was also contending with
another problem as it knelt there with three sets of feet resting on its
back: all that piss it had been fed was rapidly being processed through its
body. Its bladder must have been about to burst from all that recycled
beer. Between the cramps in its guts and the overwhelming need to piss,
the faggot was beginning to squirm and gasp from the increasingly intense
discomfort, not to mention wiggle around under the guy's feet.
Zack picked up the cane and brought it down hard against the side of the
faggot's thigh. "Shut the fuck up with your stupid whimpering, bitch," he
causally ordered it, his eyes on the game.
I suppose the sudden pain broke the ginger cunt's concentration. Holding
all that piss inside it must have required a lot of effort. As soon as
Zack hit it, the fag gasped from the pain and a shot of piss came out of
its drain all over the floor.
"Fuck, dude, you made a mess!" Josh said to Zack.
"Aw, man, sorry about that," Zack said looking at me sheepishly, as if he'd
committed some party foul and spilled his beer.
"No, no, relax, Zack. Totally not your fault," I reassured him. "It's this
stupid faggot's fault for not being able to control itself better. If
anything, I owe you guys an apology for its poor conduct. Apparently, its
not even suitable to be a toilet. Obviously, it's going to need further
training. But since we are coming up on halftime, I think that we should
probably drain the bitch to avoid any more spillage. Zack, can you do me a
favor and make sure that mess gets cleaned up, and teach it a lesson about
keeping my floors clean?"
Zack's face lit up with that big grin of his, the one that made girls melt.
"Hell yeah, man, happy to help," he beamed. "Faggot, clean that piss up."
As the bitch was licking its own piss off the floor under the supervision
of Zack and the others, I excused myself and went down to the basement to
the cockpig's cage. I often stored it in the cage when I needed it out of
the way, or when it needed a good reminder that it was just subhuman
property. Can't have it getting to comfortable or mistakenly thinking it
was a person, or anything like that. Since this cage was used for more
long-term storage (sometimes for a few days at a time), I'd supplied it
with a large water bowl, the kind they use for big dogs. The bowl has a
wide, flat base and a rubber bottom, so it's hard for dogs to overturn.
Because it was a nice deep bowl, it was also suitable for caged cockpigs.
I thought I was very generous to keep it supplied with plenty of liquid
while it was caged. Sometimes, when I'm feeling especially nice, I even
put actual water in the bowl.
I took the dog bowl upstairs in time to see Zack wielding the cane like a
surgeon with a scalpel. The cockpig's entire ass was covered in welts, as
well as the tops of its thighs. Tears were streaming down its face, both
from the pain Zack was inflicting on it and the intense effort it was
exerting to keep from pissing on the floor any further.
Zack stopped beating the bitch long enough to catch his breath, so I took
the opportunity to slide its water bowl under the fag's drain. I snapped
my fingers once to focus its attention.
"Drain," was all I said. The cockpig immediately began to piss into its
water bowl while the guys laughed and commented on the fact that it least
it could obey a few commands properly. It pissed for a long time, crying
the entire time, though whether from pain, relief, or the humiliation of
the men watching, I don't know. Doesn't matter really. Faggot tears are
nothing but another form of lube. If the bitch is crying, you must be
using it right.
"Zack, I think it's about done draining. Do you think you could help keep
things neat by shaking its drain to get those last drops off?" I asked.
Zack grinned. "No problem, dude," he smirked, then adjusted his angle on
the faggot's ass. Targeting the center of the humbler, he brought the
bamboo cane down right on the fuckhole's nuts. It was hilarious! I swear
that bitch levitated at least a foot off the ground, and let out a howl
like you wouldn't believe, only to be drowned out by our laughter. It
almost collapsed to the floor, but the humbler prevented it from doing so,
with the cockpig managing to catch itself and keep its knees under it and
its ass in the air just in the nick of time to keep the humbler from
ripping its swollen balls off.
I looked at Zack, proud of the skill he'd displayed, and pointed at the pig
tail. "Zack, you want to uncork the urinal and finish draining it?"
He didn't need to be asked twice. Zack loves being the center of
attention, and I could tell he was enjoying showing off for the other guys.
He used his foot to move the fag's water bowl until it was positioned near
its ass, then grabbed the plug and pulled it out with one swift motion,
causing a popping sound as he uncorked the pig.
I snapped my fingers again. "Squat and drain," I ordered. The bitch
struggled to position itself above the bowl, straining not to leak any of
Zack's piss on to the floor, then finally released its guts into the bowl,
letting out a loud groan of relief as it filled the bowl, which provoked us
to another round of laughter. By the time it was done, I had to admit, I
was shocked at how much piss we'd poured into both ends of the cunt.
That's a big water bowl, and it was filled almost to the top with recycled
beer; some of it was double-piss, urine the faggot drank then filtered
through its body and pissed again. The contents of the bowl were dark
yellow, and I could see plenty of cum from the bitch's ass floating in it
as well.
"Well, cunt?" I asked. "I know it isn't planning on leaving that in the
middle of my floor. And it's definitely not going to waste the precious
piss these men were nice enough to give it." I mean, really, I shouldn't
have had to say even that. But the cockpig was still young and not fully
trained at that point, so I was giving it some slack and being nice by
directing it. With time, of course, it learned.
The little fuckhole was still crying when it lowered its head into dog bowl
and starting slurping up all that filthy, disgusting piss and cum. I sure
hope it savored the combined flavor of alpha male piss, cum, and its own
ass, not to mention whatever flavor its own waste imparted. Of course, it
didn't drink fast enough for Zack or Josh. Young guys can be so damn
sadistic. I laughed as they made the cunt drink faster, not just lapping
up the piss with its tongue like an animal, but actively slurping big
mouthfuls of urine from the bowl. Zack wielded the cane against the bitch's
ass, concentrating his blows on its ass crack and hole, now that the
absence of the plug left them fully exposed. Josh was less creative; he
just used his foot to occasionally kick the pig's trapped nuts. But I
mean, who could blame him, really? The humbler made them such a perfect
target, and after all, that's what they are put there for – to amuse
men.
After the faggot emptied the bowl full of piss and cleaned up any remaining
mess on the floor, Scott decided he wanted to try out its ass. The faggot
was panting; the combination of pain and exhaustion were beginning to show
on its face, but I had no intention of letting it rest, and neither did the
guys. Scott used the pig's mouth to lube up his huge cock, then
unceremoniously shoved into its ass. The faggot's face was priceless. I'm
sure it felt like Scott was going to split it in two, and it even started
to struggle a little, trying to escape the huge invader working its way up
its ass. There was no chance of that, though. Scott clamped his big hands
down on the fag's hips and simply held it in place as easily as he holds
dumbbells in the gym. This bitch wasn't going anywhere until he was done
using it, that was for sure. As he fucked it, Scott alternated his hands,
using one to hold the cunt in place and the other to slap the pig's ass
cheeks, already blistered and sore from Zack's cane. I can only image how
that must have felt, having an arm that muscular and powerful coming down
on top of those welts. Each time he hit the pig, it let out a strange,
full-throated grunt, a sound I'd never heard it make before, accompanied by
the tinkling of the bell tied around its nub. I'm quite sure it was a
sound the faggot never thought it could make, until it had a big-dicked
bodybuilder raping its asshole and beating it at the same time. We all
found its grunting hilarious! Josh even pulled out his phone and recorded
Scott fucking it, just so he could have the sound the pig was making.
"That grunt's gonna be my new text notification sound," he grinned. He and
Zack high-fived.
Scott was brutal. He rammed the cockpig mercilessly, giving it every inch
of his huge cock, using the full power of his arms to beat its ass. I
could see its cheeks beginning to bruise from his blows. After a long
while, Scott finally pulled the fuckhole all the way back on to his dick
and shot his load deep inside it, giving a satisfied grunt as he did so.
"Good timing Scott," I remarked. "The game is back on."
Scott pulled out of the fag's ass and presented his cock for cleaning, then
returned to his chair. I figured this was a good time to give the pig a
little respite, so I reattached the dildo to the training box and installed
the pig with the dildo down its throat. In order to let it rest at least a
little bit, I set the timer to a generous 45 seconds, so that it could
practice long, slow sucking strokes.
I know some people at this point probably think I should have shown mercy;
removed the humbler, perhaps let the faggot have a nice long rest in its
cage for a while. I mean, after all, it had experienced a lot of abuse
already for one day. Surely, at this point I should let it rest and
recuperate? No. That may be the natural inclination, but trust me, that's
not what faggots, and especially cockpigs, need. What it needed wasn't
rest – it needed more use, more training, more abuse at the hands of me
and my buds, all focused on making it better at its one purpose in life:
serving real men. To give it mercy at this point would simply undo months
of training, not to mention create a false impression in its feeble brain
that it deserved mercy from men, and that men were likely to give it mercy,
to coddle it. No. It had to learn. And there is only one way faggots
learn, and that's the hard way.
So, I let it "rest" on the training box, slowly deep throating the dildo
while we watched the rest of the game, except for whenever one of us needed
to piss, or needed more beer. Eventually, of course, the game was over,
and we turned our attention back to the cockpig. I had something special
in store as a surprise for the guys. A little "motivator" to ensure the
faggot moved past the training plateau where it was stuck.
One thing I learned very early on with this particular cockpig: it was
deeply shy. Shy about being seen naked, shy about being exposed as a
faggot, shy about anyone knowing the depths of its twisted desires,
especially its need to serve and obey at any price. So, of course, I made
it my mission to exploit that weakness every chance I got. I'd have been
hard pressed to guess which was more painful for the faggot – being seen
and recognized by these men as the depraved little fuckhole it was, or the
cane Zack wielded so cruelly. The thing that made it even worse, of
course, was the fact that its tiny, useless drain was hard as a rock
throughout; not in spite of the pain and humiliation, but as a direct
result of it, causing the hateful little bell tied to it to tinkle
repeatedly, drawing attention over and over again to its shame.
So, my special little show for tonight was going to degrade the pig even
further, not to mention fuck with its head in ways it couldn't begin to
imagine. Now that the game was done, I ordered the fag off the dildo and
instructed it to clear off the coffee table while I retrieved a surprise
from upstairs.
When I came back down, all eyes were on me expect the pig's. It knew
better, of course. I produced my surprise for my guests: a small carved
box. I opened it to reveal two dice, large ones. They were antiques, made
of ivory and hand carved. I'd picked them up years ago on a trip to India,
and kept them for special occasions. I walked over and stood behind the
faggot where it knelt on the floor.
"Gentlemen, this is a special night for the cockpig. You asked earlier,
Josh, if I planned to let it keep its little drain or not. Like I said, I
haven't decided yet. One thing is for certain, though: it won't be allowed
to cum like it has in the past. The chastity cage has done a good job of
getting it used to living with full balls, but I think at some point I'll
want a more...permanent...solution of some sort. What that is remains to
be seen, of course. But I'm mindful of the old saying, `You don't know
what you've got until it's gone,' so I though you guys might enjoy being a
part of a very special moment in the cockpig's life." I lifted my foot and
extended it between the bitch's legs, pulling its rigid little nub
backwards, the releasing it to slap forward, ringing the bell and provoking
laughter from the guys, and a deep shameful blush from the pig.
I set the box with the dice down on the coffee table, and snapped my
fingers in front of the cunt.
"How long since it was last allowed to cum?" I asked. This was an important
part of its training, keeping count of the days since it was allowed an
orgasm. It really fucked with the faggot's head, since it reinforced its
total lack of control over its own body, its complete subjugation to my
will. I'd warned it early on: if I ever asked how long it had been and it
couldn't immediately give me a precise answer, it would never cum again.
If emptying its balls wasn't important to the faggot, why should such a
thing matter to anyone else?
"One hundred sixty-three days, Sir," it replied immediately. Did I see a
small glint of hope in its eyes? Hope that, perhaps, just maybe, it might
finally be allowed to shoot its load, to experience some tiny bit of
pleasure for a change?
"Faggots, slaves, cockpigs...they don't need sexual pleasure. They don't
deserve it. Those are things for men to enjoy. I could just lock that
cage on its drain and leave it there forever. But I'm nicer than that,
cockpig. I'm going to give it a reward, since it has come so far in its
training in such a short period of time. I'm going to allow it to cum, not
just now, but in the future, of course. Now, obviously, that can't be
unrestricted or even unsupervised. That would be inappropriate. And I
think faggots function best with clearly defined boundaries and rules. So,
here's the deal, pissbreath: I'm going to let it roll these dice. Whatever
number it gets, that's the number of orgasms it has left for the rest of
its life. Once they are gone, they're gone. Forever. Understand,
cumdump?"
The fear in its eyes was profound. It opened its mouth to speak, stunned
at the cruelty of my order, but all that came out was a barely audible
whisper. It was shaking as the full impact of my decree began working its
way through the faggot's little brain.
"Speak up, bitch. Does it understand what I'm saying and what it's rolling
for?"
"Ye...Yes, Master," it finally stammered, tears beginning to roll down its
cheeks, a sign it was fully grasping the import of what was about to
happen. Good.
"Pick up the dice, then, fuckhole. Pray for sixes," I smirked. The other
guys laughed at that.
The pig took the dice out of the box carefully, rolling them around in its
hand, its eyes closed as if it couldn't stand to see the results of its
throw. Summoning its courage, the bitch rolled the dice across the coffee
table, then slowly opened its eyes as they came to rest.
A one and a two. The guys let out a collective "Ooooh" when they saw the
results.
Three. Three orgasms were all the faggot had left for the rest of its
life. It knew my will didn't bend, and it had learned not to expect any
mercy from me. I looked it in the eye to let it know that yes, this was
absolutely for real, and that, somehow, after it came a third time, I'd
ensure it never did again.
Its tears flowed harder. The pending loss, the crushing weight of such a
fate hanging over its head like the sword of Damocles, having no control
over when, where, or how its last three orgasms occurred, was like a knife
in its gut. And at the same time, as its tears were rolling down its
cheeks, the bell attached to its drain was ringing nonstop from its
throbbing little erection.
I turned to my guests. "So, guys, that's my special entertainment for you
this evening: the cockpigs first orgasm in six months, as well as one of
its last. And I leave it to you gentlemen to decide how that will happen.
What would amuse you the most?"
Zack spoke up first, grinning, "Oh man, I've got just the thing. Time for
you to open your little `slave-warming' gift." He retrieved the box he'd
brought from the corner where I'd placed it, and handed to me. I had no
idea what might be in the box, but, knowing Zack, it was going to be
something delightfully evil.
I popped open the end of the box and immediately recognized what was
inside, something I'd never bought but which fascinated me. Rather than
removing it myself, I placed the box on the coffee table in front of the
cockpig, which was just managing to get its tears under control.
"Open that and pull out the nice gift Zack brought it," I ordered.
The faggot finished opening the box with trembling hands, scared of
whatever "gift" it might contain. It stared dumbly at the contents once
the box was open, as if its mind couldn't comprehend what it was
seeing. Scott and Josh started to hoot and gasp at what was displayed
before them.
"I found it on one of those specialty sites," Zack explained. "They make
all kind of bizarre shit, but they specialize in wild and exotic dildos. I
know how much you enjoyed that dog dildo you told me about, so I knew you'd
love this. Supposedly, they cast a real horse cock in plastic or
something, then made dildos from that mold. So, this is totally authentic
- size, shape, everything. Gonna be just like the faggot is getting fucked
by a real horse, minus the smell of horseshit, of course."
The device on the coffee table was a silicone nightmare, enough to take
away the breath of anyone who looked at it. It was 24 inches long,
according to the box insert, with a 15-inch shaft, and a bulbous head that
was 8 inches in circumference. It was at least as long as the faggot's
arm, and the shape, while definitely phallic, was strange enough to
immediately register as non-human, a real stallion's cock. It was enough to
inspire awe in all of us except the cockpig, where it merely inspired
terror. Its pale skin grew even whiter as it gazed at the mottled black
and tan monstrosity laying in front of it, knowing that it was impossible
that such a thing would fit inside it; while, at the same time, fully
cognizant of the fact that the impossible was going to happen somehow. It
would soon not just be impaled on this silicone horse's cock, but worse, it
would be impaled in front of an audience.
I leaned over and picked up the giant dildo, amazed by the weight of the
thing. The shaft near the base was too thick for my hand to completely
close around it, and the molded balls at the base were heavy, adding
stability to the long shaft. It had a large suction cup attached to the
bottom, which I used to affix it to the middle of the coffee table where it
stuck up like an angry arm.
"Well, cunt? Don't just sit there in awe. Get that ass on the coffee
table and start getting acquainted with its new gift. I'd start getting it
wet unless it wants to take that monster dry," I told the faggot.
It started struggling to climb onto the coffee table, but the humbler
prevented it from maneuvering properly. I reached over and unscrewed the
bolts and removed it, allowing its nuts to finally swing free, eliciting a
gasp of relief from the cockpig. Its relief was short-lived though, as I
swatted it on its blistered ass in order to get it moving. Slowly, the
cockpig climbed up on the coffee table, fully aware it was now truly on
stage, displayed as the center of attention to all in the room as it began
licking up and down the giant horse's cock. I find there is no better way
to throw fear into a cunt than making it lick a huge dildo or butt plug.
Sure, it can see how big the thing is, even feel its size and weight, but
nothing brings home the real size of the thing about to get shoved up its
tight little ass quite like having to lick and suck it, knowing that
anything it can't comfortably fit in its mouth is going to be an even
greater agony sliding inside its asshole.
The bitch was desperately licking the huge molded head of the dildo, hoping
to at least ease the passage of it into its brutalized ass, already
stretched from its earlier use. No doubt both Scott and Zack had
thoroughly stretched its hole with their cocks earlier, as well as beaten
its guts up pretty good. As much as I love to fuck a faggot's hole after
its nice and sore inside, there was nothing quite like the fun of
aggravating those deep internal bruises with a huge plug or dildo. The
torment for a cockpig is almost unearthly, a deep ache that lasts long
after whatever device you use is removed. This beast cock in front of us
would multiply that effect by at least a factor of ten.
There was no way, of course, the cockpig would be able to take something
that size with just spit to lubricate it, but I let it think that was its
fate for a while, just because it was hilarious to watch it frantically
slobbering all over that giant pole, desperate to lube it enough to ease
the dildo's passage into its ass. Of course, the guys were having a great
time watching and catcalling the pig as it crawled around in the table,
trying to lick every inch of the dildo.
"Over here, pussyboy, it missed a spot," Josh ordered, pointing to a place
on the opposite side of the dildo, forcing the pig to crawl and twist its
already sore body in order to lick the spot he was pointing to.
Zack, on the other hand, chose to stand behind the bitch with the cane,
urging it to lick faster with well-placed swats against its ass,
aggravating the welts he'd already raised and creating new ones at the same
time. Each time he struck, the faggot's tongue went into overdrive until
it had to stop and work up some more spit, at which time Zack would bring
the cane down again with sharp crack.
"I can't wait to see it take the head of that thing. That's going to hurt
like hell," Scott remarked. A horse's cock is shaped differently from a
human penis. The dildo had a large head sticking out of a sheath, just
like a real horse. But this sheath wasn't made of soft, movable
horseflesh, but instead of semi-firm silicone, meaning that the sheath
formed a ring around the base of the head, a thick ring that would be a
nightmare for the faggot to get into its ass, and a true horror once it was
in there.
I went upstairs and grabbed a container of lube I reserve for heavy ass
play, and brought it down to the living room. I placed it on the coffee
table next to the pig, which showed relief on its face for just a moment,
thankful I wasn't going to make it take this pole with just spit. Then,
however, it dawned on the dumb bitch what that container of lube meant:
this was not only really happening, it was going to start in just a few
seconds, as soon as it got the dildo slicked up and ready.
On my command, the faggot began smearing the lube all over the dildo,
looking just like it was jacking off a horse as its small hands tried to
encircle the shaft. That's when the tears started again, its bottom lip
quivering as the image in its mind of what was about to happen began to
solidify, the feel of the thick shaft in its hands causing panic to set in
as it visualized what it was stroking buried inside its fundament,
spreading it and impaling it. I made the fag crawl around on the table as
it slicked up the dildo, so that everyone had a good view of both its face
and its ass at different times. When its ass was pointed at me, I reach
out and spread its ass cheeks, making sure to roughly massage the welts
Zack's cane had left, causing the faggot to gasp and sob. Sure enough,
just as I'd suspected, its asshole was spasming as it stroked the dildo,
the hole gaping open both from the brutal fucking it had received from
Scott, Zack and me, and from its mental conditioning, which caused its hole
to dilate any time it was presented with a cock of any type, real of
artificial. I knew the faggot was trying to will its hole closed, its fear
and shame making it want to withdraw into itself, but its innate need to
serve men and my training were both too much, and so, despite its efforts,
its hole stayed open, ready for more penetration, just as it should be.
"Enough, pig. Time to get that horse cock inside it before we get bored,"
I said.
The pig stood up on the coffee table, wiggling around until it finally got
the massive head positioned against its hole, then began to ease itself
onto the dildo as slowly as possible, with lots of gasps and sobs as its
already-tender hole was raped by the silicone monstrosity. It had to wiggle
its pretty, bruised ass a lot in an effort to get the head and ring inside
its sphincter. It looked like it was trying to shove a baseball up its ass,
though instead of being nice and round, the ring of the sheath was actually
curved up slightly, like a real foreskin, which meant it was scraping the
walls of the faggot's ass with each movement. For the first time, the
faggot's drain was completely limp and practically retracted into its body
from the pain in its hole.
Almost ten minutes after it had started, the faggot had managed to just get
the head of the dildo inside it. Clearly, this wasn't acceptable, so I
decided we needed to hurry things along a bit. I opened the drawer of the
table next to my chair, where I keep a number of faggot training devices
handy. I pulled out a pair of tit clamps, heavy ones with a thick chain on
them which gives them weight. The clamps are very cruel, basically large
alligator clips with teeth.
"Here, Josh," I said, handing the tit clamps to him, "do the honors and
decorate the faggot, will you please?"
Josh loved those clamps, which is exactly why I gave them to him. He took
them and reached up to where the faggot was precariously balanced on the
head of the dildo, trying to force itself past the pain to take more before
I got irritated. Josh grabbed first one of its tender little tits, then
the other, and began twisting and pinching them. As much as my pig has
always hated having its ass used, its tits were a different matter,
connected directly to its tiny little drain. It didn't take long before
Josh's efforts resulted in it sliding slightly further down the shaft of
the dildo, as well as its drain expanding back to its full length, looking
like a pale, miniature version of a cock, the humiliating little bell
ringing with each excited throb. Finally, Josh placed the clamps on its
tits, making sure they were secure, each clamp causing the faggot to
actually squeal as Josh let it snap closed on the faggot's tender nipple.
The teeth and pressure of those particular clamps are bad, but what makes
them really evil is the chain that connects them. Its weight drags the
clamps (and the fag's tits) down, and every movement causes the chain to
swing, creating a constant torment as the chain continually moves the
clamps, making them bite harder into the faggot's delicate flesh.
"Time to really see what this bitch can do," I declared. "Josh, Zack, if
you guys don't mind, how about helping this pathetic cunt out some.
Otherwise, we are likely to be here all day, and I'm sure we all have
better things to do that watch some disgusting cockpig pleasure itself on a
horse cock."
Zack and Josh, of course, were more than happy to oblige, the little
sadists. The stood on each side of the faggot and grabbed its ankles. I
could see the faggot was about to resist, its weight on the balls of its
feet, trying to prevent further impalement on the dildo. That wasn't about
to stop the boys. Josh simply reached up and slapped its sore, swollen
nuts long enough to distract it, then he and Zack lifted its feet off the
table, placing all its weight on the dildo.
Let me tell you, it's a good thing I have a bit of land and the neighbors
aren't right on top of me. You could have heard that fag scream for miles
as its own weight caused it to slide down that dildo, the massive shaft
burying itself inch after inch inside the cockpig's guts. By the time that
cruel, bulbous head and ring entered its second sphincter and lodged there
deep inside it, the faggot was beyond begging, beyond making sounds even.
It hung there, like a bug pinned to a card, helplessly impaled on about a
foot of horse cock. I knew there was no way it would be able to take the
entire length. As much as I'd like to see that, I didn't want to rupture
my property before it was fully trained, so I motioned for the guys to
release its legs. They placed its feet beneath it, so that the cunt was
now crouching on the coffee table, almost half of the huge pole inside it,
the clamps bumping around with each squirm or wiggle.
I allowed it a moment or two to catch its breath, while I explained what it
was going to do. I had to slap its face a few times to get it to focus on
me. "Listen, cunt. It has exactly three orgasms left for the rest of its
life. I'm going to be generous and allow it to have one of them tonight,
right now, as entertainment for our guests. I expect it to ride that horse
cock and fuck the cum out of itself, since that's the only way it will be
allowed to get off in the near future. Of course, it's going to be painful
as hell, but it needs to get used to that. It will never again get to cum
pain-free, faggot. Its last three orgasms will be painful, the way faggots
deserve. Of course, there's the possibility, I suppose, that the pain will
be too much and it won't be able to cum, but that's not a big concern. If
it can't empty its pathetic little nuts in the next five minutes, I'll just
consider that a forfeit, and it will lose one of those three remaining
orgasms forever. And who knows when it will get this opportunity again," I
said, starting deep into the bitch's eyes. "I might let it try again
tomorrow with some other torture, or it might not get another chance to cum
for a year or more. Now, get busy, faggot. These men want to be
entertained," I smiled cruelly.
It was quite a sight, let me tell you: the little ginger faggot, its face
twisted with a combination of pain, fear, and undisguised need, sliding its
body up and down that huge dildo, the head of it scraping its delicate anal
walls with each motion, the tit clamps acting as a constant separate
torment.
"It'll never make it," Scott remarked. "It's going to suffer for nothing,
and lose an orgasm. Just watch." He sounded like he was not only
confident in his prediction, but as if that would ultimately be the most
satisfying outcome from his viewpoint.
Zack shook his head. "Nah, it'll cum. Bet ya."
"Ok, twenty bucks," Scott said, pulling a bill out of his wallet. "Twenty
says the cunt doesn't cum before the time limit."
Zack grinned, and told Josh to keep time as he threw a twenty down on top
of Scott's money. He picked up the cane and stood up, walking around
behind the faggot, which was struggling to fuck itself on the dildo.
"C'mon pig, I've got money on the line. Take that dick like a good little
fuckhole!" Zack said. Before the faggot could react, the cane was
whistling as it cut through the air, landing across both of its stretched
ass cheeks. The pig made a high, keening wail of pain as the blow caused
it to lose its balance and slide further down the pole. Zack began calling
encouragement to the faggot the way you would urge on a racehorse you'd
placed a bet on at the track, using the cane to force the faggot to fuck
itself faster and faster, to rape its own hole deeper and more completely
as entertainment for us.
"Two minutes left," Josh called out, a grin on his face. Regardless of how
this show ended, he was enjoying watching it. Zack continued to whack the
pussyboy, forcing it to slide up and down on the rubber cock faster and
faster, the little bell tied to the head of its drain ringing shamefully in
time with its movements. I could see from the pig's face it was almost
there, right on the edge of the orgasm it had been needing, craving,
begging for during the last six months, only to be repeatedly denied. Its
need was written there for all of us to see; raw, desperate need, which
could only be satisfied by torturing and degrading itself in front of us,
making us laugh at its predicament. And laugh we all did at its pathetic
attempts to reach the height of pleasure despite its torment, or perhaps
because of it.
"One minute," Josh intoned.
"Fuck this," Zack sighed, exasperated. "I'm not losing this damn bet!" He
jumped up on to the coffee table next to the faggot, and grabbed its fuck
handle in his hand. With his other hand, he fished out his erection. He
shoved the faggot's head down on his fat, uncut cock, and quickly fed the
bitch the entire length, so that the fuckboy was completely plugged in both
ends.
Zack began pounding his cock into the faggot's mouth while he pulled on the
chain connected to the tit clamps, tugging on the fag's nipples, twisting
the chain between his fingers until the bitch's tits were pulled well away
from its chest.
"Ten seconds!" Josh called. He began a countdown. "Nine, eight..."
At five seconds, Zack was panting from fucking the fag's mouth. He grabbed
the chain attached to the clamps in his fist and jerked hard, snatching the
cruel clamps off the faggot's tits in one motion, causing the pig to scream
as best it could with his cock deep in its throat. Zack let out a loud
groan and dumped his final load of the night right into the faggot's
throat. The combined pain from its tits and the throbbing of Zack's
ejaculation was more than the cockpig could handle. Just as Josh was
finishing his countdown, it let out another scream muffled by Zack's cock,
and six months' worth of disgusting fag scum shot out of its little
drain. Rope after rope of cum flew out, some even hitting the far wall.
All of us started laughing and hooting at the sight. Zack, with a smug
grin, pull his cock out of the pig's mouth and picked up the money he'd
won.
"Told ya," he said, tucking his dick back in his pants.
I looked at the cockpig. It was spent, utterly exhausted, still impaled on
the horse cock but almost passed out from the power of its orgasm. The
boys had used the faggot hard. It was covered with welts and bruises, and
reeked of cum, sweat, and piss.
I snapped my fingers to bring it back from where ever its cum-soaked little
mind was wandering. "Don't just sit there resting, faggot. Clean this mess
up. Now!"
Slowly, painfully, the cockpig started to extricate itself from the giant
dildo buried deep inside it. After all it had been through, its legs were
rubbery as it pushed itself up and inch after impossible inch of the horse
cock slid out of its ass. As impressive and humorous as it had been to
watch it going inside the faggot, seeing the length of it coming out was
even more unbelievable. Finally, with a loud groan, the bitch pulled
itself off the last inch, the ring along the head of the dildo making one
last, painful scrape of its guts as it popped out of the fag's sphincter.
The faggot collapsed onto the coffee table while the massive, inhuman
phallus remained standing, forever erect, forever ready to turn a pig
inside out just to amuse some bored guys.
Painfully, the faggot crawled down off the coffee table and began licking
up the copious amounts of its cum, including crawling over to the wall and
licking the wall clean, removing any trace of its shameful, disgusting
orgasm so as not to offend the men in the room. I was pleased to see I'd
trained it well – without being told, it even licked the giant dildo
clean, leaving it spotless and slick with its spit.
I picked up the faggot's chastity cage and quickly reinstalled it on the
pig's drain. It whimpered a little bit, but clearly accepted this as a
part of its new life now.
"Cage," I said with a wave of my hand, dismissing it. It would be nearly
useless the rest of the night after what it had been through. The faggot
gratefully crawled out of the room and downstairs, where it obediently
locked itself in its cage just as the guys were saying their goodbyes.
After the guys left, I walked downstairs to take a look at the cockpig. It
was already passed out from exhaustion, curled up in its cage like a good
little beast. As I surveyed the marks covering its back, ass, and legs, I
began to contemplate how far it had come in such a short time, and knew,
right then, it was time for some more serious "remodeling and
customization" of my new property.
***********************************************************************************
Thank you to all who have written to me with feedback about this story!
Your interest inspires me.
Please contact me at jeffhamby1025@gmail.com |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/the-cockpig/the-cockpig-6 | Date: Sat, 20 Feb 2021 14:27:03 -0500
From: Jeff Hamby <jeffhamby1025@gmail.com>
Subject: The Cockpig 6
This story is an original work. It should
not be reposted or reproduced in whole or in part without the author's consent.
Copyright 2021 by Jeff Hamby. All rights reserved.
Warning: This story contains sexual acts between adult males
If you do not enjoy this type of material, or if it is illegal in
your country or place of residence, please stop reading immediately. This
story is not in any way an accurate depiction of reality, and any relation
to real persons or acts are unintentional. This story is fiction.
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The Cockpig
Chapter 6
You know what the problem is with most of the people who call themselves
"masters" or dominants or whatever? Patience. They lack sufficient
patience. Most of the time when they find a faggot who wants to become a
slave, they try to rush things, expecting the fag to uproot his life and
change everything at the drop of a hat, to suddenly go from a faggot that
fantasizes about being property to actually living that way overnight.
Then, when that doesn't work out, they're shocked.
That isn't how it works at all. It takes time. Incremental changes, some
big, some small, but all directed toward one goal: bringing out the
faggot's inner self. Like stripping away wallpaper to reveal a hidden
mural underneath, you have to work slowly, to keep from spooking the bitch.
Trust me, your faggot has known for years what's really inside him, and is
terrified of letting others see it, of what might happen if that inner self
became his outer self, fully exposed to the world.
My job is to bring that inner self to the surface. To get rid of that
facade built up over the years which has become the fag's outer self, the
face he shows to the world to convince everyone he's "normal"; and,
instead, reveal what lies within, his deepest, darkest, most primal
craving: the need to grovel and serve a man - a real man.
Transforming a faggot into a real cockpig, a true piece of property worth
owning, is a slow process. It takes time and determination to overcome all
those barriers -- mental, physical, and social. The social ones are the
toughest, since those are ingrained in the pussyboy's mind from a young
age. Too bad, because all of that social programming normal people get is
totally wrong for a faggot. Imagine how far most faggots could go, how much
happier they would be, if, from childhood, they received proper training
for their role in life; if they received the social conditioning they
needed to fully accept what they are and how they should live, allowing
them to finally take their proper places at the feet of their betters.
I'd been very patient with my little ginger bitch. He was like a scared
little colt at times, ready to be broken, knowing the saddle and bridle
were his future, but scared nonetheless. That's why I took my time.
Months I'd invested in the process; waiting, training, pushing when he
balked, comforting him when the little faggot got scared, reminding him
this was what he was born for, what every fiber of his being wanted,
needed, craved. Once, during his months at home, during the time I'd
confined him to his room except for work, he balked. He got scared that
being owned property wasn't right for him, that he wasn't going to be
"living up to his potential" as he put it. One Skype call corrected that.
He had a full-length mirror in his room. Once I had to little cunt on the
call, naked as the day he was born except for his chastity cage, I made him
go stand in front of the mirror.
"Take a look at yourself, bitch. Really look," I ordered him. "Now, let's
talk about what we see. Do you see a man in that mirror?"
"No, Sir," he replied softly.
"No, you don't. Know why? Well let's start with the physical stuff.
First, a man would be bigger, wouldn't he? And have more hair on his body.
He'd look more like a man, and less like a boy, wouldn't he?" I asked.
"Yes, Sir," he said, hanging his head.
"No, faggot, get that head up. I want you really seeing what everyone else
sees. Turn around," I ordered. He slowly rotated until his ass was facing
the mirror -- that small, tight, creamy white ass of his with those narrow
hips. "Look at that ass, cocksucker. Does that look like a man's ass to
you?" He shook his head slowly. "No, it doesn't. In fact, that ass is
sculpted just perfectly for one thing and one thing only. What do you
think that is, bitch?"
He started blushing, one of those full-body blushes where his body turns as
red as his hair. "Fucking, Sir," he practically whispered.
"Louder, faggot. Tell me what that ass is made for."
"Fucking, Sir! It's made for a man to fuck, Sir!" he yelled.
"Exactly, cunt. That ass is just perfect for a man to fuck. That ass was
made for fucking. It would be a sin to let it go to waste, a crime for an
ass like that not to be fucked daily for a man's pleasure, don't you agree,
pussyboy?"
"Yes, Sir," he replied, turning even deeper red.
I ordered him to turn back around, facing front. "Now, fuckboy, what's
that between your legs?" I asked.
"Sir, it's your chastity cage."
"Chastity cage? That's not something a man would ever let someone put on
him, is it?
"No, Sir," he said. He blushed again; his shame almost palpable through
the computer video.
"How long has it been on there, pussyboy?" I inquired. He'd better know
the exact amount of time. I told him when it first went on that I couldn't
be bothered to keep track of how long a faggot was locked up, and, that if
he didn't know, obviously, it didn't matter. It gave the bitch something to
hold on to, and kept him believing the length of his denial was
significant, that his suffering mattered.
It didn't.
"Sir, 92 days, Sir! It's so horny Sir!" he whined, a look of pleading hope
appearing on his freckled young face.
"No one cares, though, do they fag?" I asked pointedly.
"No, Sir. No one that matters," he replied quietly, his hope destroyed as
quickly as it appeared.
"Exactly, pig. Now, what's inside that cage?" I demanded.
"My drain, Sir," he replied automatically. It was like making him recite
his catechism, checking to see how well he'd learned his lessons and how
effectively I was reshaping his mind, right down to his vocabulary.
"What the hell is a drain, pussyboy? Isn't that your cock?" I demanded.
"No, Sir, it's my drain. Only men have cocks, and cocks are for fucking.
Mine hasn't ever penetrated anything and never will, because I'm just a
faggot. This is nothing but a drain, Sir. That's all it's good for and all
it will ever be good for, Sir."
"Quite right, pig. It's just a small, piece of plumbing, isn't it?" He
nodded, ashamed. "Look at it, faggot. Look at it right now. As much shame
as you are feeling right now, look at that drain. It's swelling and
filling your chastity cage, isn't it? Being abused and disgraced like this
makes it hard, doesn't it?
"Yes, Sir," he whispered, a tear sliding down his cheek.
"So, faggot, look at that little body, that sculpted ass, the useless drain
a real man has locked away as it should be, and tell me what you think you
were put on this Earth for, bitch. What possible reason could there be for
a boy that looks like that and behaves the way you do? What role could
Nature have intended, I wonder?"
He sighed, turning red again, accepting what he knew to be true. "Fuckboy,
Sir. A slave. Serving a man like you or any man that will use it, Sir."
"Exactly," I said. I was pleased. His training was working out well, his
mind slowly reforming the way I wanted it. This was a turning point, where
he finally accepted his true nature; where he didn't just think about it,
or feel it, but looked in the mirror and actually saw it for the first
time. Saw his inner faggot slave looking back at him from the mirror, and
understood it as what he really was.
After that, I knew we were on the downhill slide for his transition, and
that he was almost ready to come live with me as my property. To go from
"him" to "it". I'd taught him to refer to himself only as "it" early on,
so I could get him thinking less like a person with choices and rights, and
more like the subhuman object we both knew he needed to be. But while he
lived in his apartment, that transition could never be fully complete.
That moment I led him out of his apartment for the last time on a leash,
after the scene with his now-former best friend and roommate, that was when
the transition really happened. When I'd forced him to choose between
maintaining his friendship and "normal" life or obeying me, he'd chosen to
obey. He'd made the mental commitment, in addition to the physical ones.
Now, he was mine. Now the real training could begin.
Routine is important to training cockpigs. They need the security and
predictability that comes with certain routines and protocols. It makes
them feel safe in a life which is inherently unsafe; one which includes
treatment on a daily basis most people would consider torture. But, just
like real pigs, which thrive off what most people would consider the most
disgusting slop imaginable, cockpigs thrive on what others fear -- abuse,
humiliation, and suffering.
I set up plenty of routine for the cockpig, especially during its training
period. It quickly got used to living in its cage. Like a new dog needs
to be kept in its kennel, a cockpig needs to be caged more often than not
during training. When the cockpig wasn't in use in some way, I left it in
its cage. I'd fitted the cage with a remote control lock I could operate
from my phone. When I had the faggot out doing chores, or serving me in
some way, I'd just snap my fingers when I was done with it and it would
crawl back into its cage and secure the lock; waiting there until I needed
it again for something and chose unlock its cage from the comfort of my
couch. It knew as soon as that locked popped, it needed to crawl to me and
kiss my feet, waiting for whatever I needed. Eventually, I trained it to
wait silently in the corner on its knees when not in use, but that came
later. The cage was vital for reshaping its mental image, reminding it
that it wasn't a person anymore, or even human; rather, it was a thing that
was kept in a cage, available on a moment's notice. The camera I'd
installed to watch its cage was handy, because I could tell when it was
sleeping. Sometimes, I'd deliberately wait until it was asleep, leaving it
locked in the cage for hours until it finally drifted off, then I'd pop the
locks and have it crawl to me, bleary-eyed, to perform some menial task.
Suck my left big toe. Drink my piss. Bring me a beer. Then I'd dismiss
it back to its cage. The message was clear: its comfort and sleep meant
nothing. It existed to serve, period.
Another part of its routine was pain. I hurt it some every day. Nothing
too intense, but consistently, and routinely, in order to let it know that
suffering would be a part of its life at all times, enough to reinforce the
idea that the casual infliction of pain was my right, and that its
willingness to suffer was its gift to me. Usually it was something simple:
I'd see how many clothespins I could clamp on its tits at once and leave
them there for a few hours; take a paddle to its ass and turn it bright red
and sore, then send it on to do its chores for the day; removing its
chastity cage and putting a humbler on it, the wooden slats of the device
trapping its nuts and stretching them. The humbler is a device that sits
behind and below the ass, holding the nuts stretched, forcing the faggot to
crawl slowly and painfully, hence its name. From the first time I locked it
on the cockpig, it hated it. The device is not only painful, but
humiliating at hell, so of course I made sure to use it a lot during those
early days. Watching it crawl around, each movement torturing those full
nuts, stretching them, was hilarious.
Of course, a cockpig can't work all the time. It has to eat, too. Getting
it used to its new routine meant training it to a new diet at well. I was
training it how to cook for me, so it was allowed to eat some of my
leftovers. At least twice a week, it got a nice bowl of dog food -- kibble
if I was feeling mean, canned food if I was in a better mood. It helped
keep the faggot grateful for any food I gave it, and also served as a
constant reminder of its status. Of course, that took training, too. The
first time I gave it a big bowl of Alpo, which I had thoughtfully pissed in
for extra flavor, the little pig turned up its cute little nose. When I
finally ordered it to eat, it managed to choke some of it down before it
started to retch.
"Throw it up and you'll eat that too, fuckhole," I warned. Finally, I just
took the food away and threw it out. Gave the cunt a nice whipping with my
thick leather belt for its ingratitude, then let it miss a few meals. By
the end of the third day without food, it was kissing my feet, begging for
anything I chose to give it. Begging for the dog food.
I made it wait, even then. Wait for its meal until I needed to piss again.
Then it got a nice big bowl -- kibble, canned dog food, and my piss, all
mixed together. Real slop for my hungry little cockpig. This time, it
licked the bowl clean.
I also included hole training in the cockpig's routine. My buddy, Ryan,
the electrical engineer, made me this clever device a few years ago. It's
a box which attaches to the wall. I can fit it with different size dildos,
which attach to the front of it, leaving the dildo protruding from the
wall. Special dildos. There is a nice little sensor on the front of the
box, right at the base of the dildo, along with a timer and green/red
indicator lights.
The first time I attached the cockpig to the device, I said, "See, faggot,
this will train its holes to be of better use to men. Now, get that dildo
in its mouth...that's it. Here's how this works. I'm going to turn on
this little switch here just like this...and now it's going to swallow that
big rubber cock. All the way down, pig, until you touch that sensor and
the light turns green. Just like that! Feels good to have its throat
filled, doesn't it? Now, do it again. Better hurry and swallow it, fag.
OOOH! Not fast enough, huh? Yeah, when that red light goes on, it shocks
the hell out of you, doesn't it pig. Ha! I love hearing it squeal like
that. OK, cunt, keep deep throating that cock until I tell it otherwise."
I left the faggot there like that. Every four seconds, the cockpig had to
have that big dildo entirely buried down its throat in order to avoid
getting shocked. It was forced to constantly fuck its throat, over and
over, each time making the green indicator light come on to show it was
properly worshiping the cock in order to avoid receiving the painful jolt
of electricity.
It spent an hour a day on this deep throat training. Periodically, I
varied the sizes of the dildos. Sometimes longer, sometimes fatter. One
time, I use a special one shaped like a dog's cock, knot and all, just to
challenge the faggot and remind it that it wasn't a human any longer. You
should have seen those sweet lips stretched around that big dog knot...
The device works for fuckhole training, as well.
I fitted it with a big fat dildo one day and attached the pig. It had four
seconds to impale itself on that huge rubber pole, then four more to
withdraw to the tip and impale itself again. The first time when it missed
the deadline and the electricity fried its asshole was beautiful to watch.
My cockpig squealed, literally, just like a real pig. It quickly worked up
a sweat, forcing that dildo in and out of its ass, trying to keep up with
the unforgiving timer. Sometimes it succeeded, the dildo rearranging its
guts in the process; other times it failed, usually only by a second or
two, and got zapped for its failure. After the third jolt of electricity
up its tender asshole, the faggot started crying and desperately fucking
itself on the device, frantic to avoid another jolt.
Fuckhole training was every other day. On those days, there was nothing I
loved more than pulling it off the device, when its hole was sore,
stretched, and fried, and ramming my big cock inside it. Fucking its hole
when it has been thoroughly abused is the best. It squirms and cries,
panting like a bitch in heat as I hit all the sore spots left by the
dildo. I can make it squeal even louder than the electric shock when I
punch-fuck it with my cock, ramming into the pig's tight little ass.
And when we are done, it never fails to drop to its knees, lick my cock
clean, and thank me for using it. For training it. For my cruelty and my
abuse.
All part of its daily routine now. The cockpig has learned to hate it all.
And need it all.
And crave every second of it.
*****************************************************************************
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Thank you to all who have written to me with feedback about this story!
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/davon-white-superstud/davon-white-superstud-epilogue | Date: Fri, 16 Aug 2024 10:50:23 +0000
From: Duane Colwell <ddcolwell@live.com>
Subject: Davon White, Superstud, Epilogue
This is an erotic fiction story about a gay black muscleman with emphasis
on muscle worship and domination with consensual and nonconsensual sex. If
this is not your thing or you are under legal age of consent, please stop
now.
This story is entirely fictional and is not meant to depict any characters
or places or actual events in real life. Any similarity to reality is
entirely coincidental.
This story is for your personal use only. Any other use or transfer to
another site is prohibited without the consent of the author.
Davon White, Superstud
EPILOGUE
As I opened my eyes, I stretched my massive arms and then rolled over to
look at my bed partner. Jamal was so gorgeous. Big muscular hunk, any
gay man's dream, and he was all mine. Very gently, I pulled the sheet
off his muscular body, and then slid down to his crotch. I just admired
his beautiful black prick for a moment before taking it in my mouth.
Jesus, I loved doing this for Jamal. And this is the way a guy needs to
wake up, with his lover's mouth wrapped around his prick.
I knew while I was in prison that Jamal missed me. Hell, he mentioned it
often even though I talked to him once or twice a day on the phone. He
really couldn't handle the running of the business by himself, and I was
so dense that I thought that was the only reason he missed me. What he
finally admitted to me was that he has been in love with me ever since we
were fucking each other as teenagers. He was just being very patient
and waiting for me to notice. That patience ran out when he picked me up
on the day I was released from `Maryland Correctional'.
Of course, he picked me up in a limo, but I'd barely closed the door
when he was kissing me madly and unfastening my pants. Three minutes
later he had my growing prick in his mouth. Hell, I couldn't say no to
Jamal even if I believed that `friends don't fuck friends' because he
is gorgeous. He's also a top; a real dominant stud. But, damn, does
he ever know how to give a blowjob.
But it wasn't just the blow job because Jamal just wouldn't stop.
After he blew me, he climbed on and fucked himself on my cock, right
there in the back of the limo. By the time we finally arrived in
Baltimore an hour and a half later, he was trying to blow me again.
So, I have a lover and I'm monogamous now. Well, almost anyway. No
more rapes, which is probably a good thing, since that should keep me out
of jail. Jamal and I both tend to be Alphas, so we have some pretty
rough sex between us, but, as lovers, we share, and I actually bottom
sometimes. But we also bring in a twink sometimes for a threesome, so we
can really let loose and be as rowdy as we want. At my insistence they
were usually cute white teenagers. I mean, I'd really got hooked on
fucking white ass while I was in prison.
Occasionally we'd bring in two boys so we can get long, drawn out
blowjobs while lying back on the bed necking with each other. And let me
tell you, there ain't anything quite like kissing your lover while
you're each getting blown, or while you're both plowing into tight
little teenage asses.
So, I was happy, and I was in love. We spread out from the drug
business into real estate and were doing very well so we had unlimited
funds and being Boss wasn't particularly strenuous. I already told
you that my penthouse was a palace, and with Jamal next to me in bed
every night it was damn near perfect.
Believe it or not, it was even better than being in prison.
THE END
I hope you enjoyed my story.
gladiatorkid@hotmail.com
ddcolwell@live.com |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/davon-white-superstud/davon-white-superstud-7 | "Date: Sat, 29 Jun 2024 12:07:52 +0000\nFrom: Duane Colwell <ddcolwell@live.com>\nSubject: Davon Whi(...TRUNCATED) |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/davon-white-superstud/davon-white-superstud-10 | "Date: Wed, 24 Jul 2024 12:53:53 +0000\nFrom: Duane Colwell <ddcolwell@live.com>\nSubject: Davon Whi(...TRUNCATED) |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/davon-white-superstud/davon-white-superstud-5 | "Date: Sun, 9 Jun 2024 12:07:14 +0000\nFrom: Duane Colwell <ddcolwell@live.com>\nSubject: Davon Whit(...TRUNCATED) |
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/davon-white-superstud/davon-white-superstud-12 | "Date: Sun, 11 Aug 2024 13:39:47 +0000\nFrom: Duane Colwell <ddcolwell@live.com>\nSubject: Davon Whi(...TRUNCATED) |
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