Date: Sun, 4 Jan 2009 22:56:06 -0500 From: Matt W Subject: Bred Slave - Part 4 The following is a work of fiction. All characters are over 18 years of age. There are depictions of sexual acts and homoerotic themes. Please do not read any further if you are not legally eligible or would be offended by the material. CHAPTER 5 - A HOMECOMING Ryan paused to open the door that led from the dungeon chamber back into the main part of the basement rec room. He tugged on my leash, and we exited the dungeon. Crossing the threshold, it felt strange as my bare feet pushed into the soft carpeting outside the covered the rest of the basement floor. Inside the dungeon I'd been thoroughly introduced to my new identity as a slave in a setting where it made sense. But, crossing back into the main house, I suddenly became very conscious of the fact that I was naked, shaved, and trailing the guy who I'd grown up with on a leash. It felt very surreal as we made our way by the full bar, pool table, and entertainment center. My mind zoomed through images of the two of us killing hours playing bool, catching a game, and sneaking shots from the bar. The lights were dim, and the large windows that overlooked the sprawling back yard of the property were dark. I realized I had no idea what time it even was, but it was obviously night. I had been enslaved around 1:30 pm on Friday afternoon, so I assumed it was sometime late on Saturday. I couldn't have been locked in the cell for more than 36 hours, could I? We made our way in silence through the rec area and under the arch to the fitness room. It was a nice little in-home gym with all the basic equipment one would need. Treadmill, bike, universal weight machine, bench press, free weights. I had expected us to take a right up the basement stairs, but instead we turned left to the basement door that led out to the backyard. I nearly ran into Ryan as we stopped short at the door, the cuff chains jingling behind me. "I said, watch me," he growled, over his shoulder. Pushing open the basement door, I shivered immediately as a cold blast of wintry air swirled inside and around my naked body. "Brrr, gettin' cold out there. Wish I'd brought a jacket," he remarked, shivering himself as he gave my leash a hard tug pulling me from the basement to the brick pathway outside. I shivered involuntarily as I stood outside the door in the December night air, and he pulled the door shut behind us. Ryan's comment was laughable. At least he had clothes on. Finishing with the door, he gave the leash another tug for me to follow after him up the brick steps that climbed the hill in the back of the house from the basement to the courtyard behind the kitchen. "Shit, boy, hurry up. I'm freezing my nuts off!" He pulled harder, as he began to jog up the steps. I increased my pace after him, the rough cold bricks scraping my bare feet, my balls banging wildly between my thighs. We made our way to the top of the steps and he pulled me across the courtyard. At first, I wondered if we might actually be getting in his car that was parked in the driveway. The thought sent my heart racing in alarm. It was bad enough to be buck naked like this outside on private property, but getting in a car like this for parts unknown was another thing altogether. So, I was mildly relieved as we turned, instead, towards the guest house, which I'd known solely as my house for 18 years. He pulled me past the decorative fountain in the center of the courtyard, which had been turned off for the winter, and we stopped by the door. My knees were literally banging together as I shivered uncontrollably. It didn't help that my hair was still damp from being hosed down not long before. "Welcome home, slave," he remarked as he fumbled with the set of keys in the door handle. Miraculously the door opened and a wave of warm air beckoned me inside. I took a step forward. "Not so fast," he turned abruptly to stop me with a firm hand to my chest. I looked at him like he was crazy. My teeth would have been chattering had there not been a gag in my mouth. "Get on your knees. A slave doesn't stride into his Master's home for the first time. A slave enters on his knees out of respect for his Master and his Master's property. Inside that door, you will never be anything more than something I own. Now, crawl." My legs trembling, I lowered to my knees on the cold brick outside the door, exhaling short frigid breaths through my nose. I felt choked up slightly, but held back my tears as I took my first shuffle forward on my knees, and then the next. I was literally crawling into the home I had grown up in. It hit me at once that it was no longer mine, not that it ever really was. I'd never watch another game lounging on the couch, sneak a girl up the stairs in the middle of the night, pre-game with Sean and a bottle of whiskey in my room before a party. Ryan tugged my leash, as I picked up my left knee and leaned forward through the entryway. Finally I was inside, my knees pressing hard against the smooth tile of the entryway. Better than brick. "Get up," Ryan snapped, closing the door behind me. Warmth suddenly enveloped me, but I continued to shiver. "Time for a tour." Shakily, I pushed up to one knee, and then both feet, looking to him. Strange that he wanted to give me a tour of what used to be my own house. He retained hold of the leash, "Follow me. When I stop, you stop. And remember, slaves don't just stand around picking their ass in the presence of their Masters, they wait respectfully for direction. In this case, just make sure you are facing me, spread your legs a good shoulder width apart, and cross your wrists behind your back, not that you have the option at the moment. Think of it like parade rest. If I want you to present formally or display yourself, you'll know." I think he wanted to test me out, so he tugged me forward leaving the entry way and pulled me into the living room. The guest house was relatively small, and designed to be an open space. The first floor consisted of the kitchen to the right of the door, the living room to the left, and the dining area to the back, the rooms flowing together without doors through archways. An open stairway ran down the center, ending relatively adjacent to the front door. A small bathroom was situated under the stairs. We went left continuing into the living room, or at least, what I remembered as the living room. He stopped, and I did too, spreading my legs a bit. "Busy few days for my father's slaves. We've remodeled a bit," he remarked in satisfaction, placing his hands on his hips and looking around the remodeled room. My eyes widened. Gone was the inexpensive pleather couch and plain wooden coffee table Gone was the ancient TV and the handed down entertainment center. In place, were two luxurious leather recliners, and a matching love seat, all facing an impressive state of the art entertainment center, with the largest flat screen TV I'd ever seen and an in-home theatre sound system. The sleek new coffee table was already covered with empty beer cans, dirty shot glasses, and an empty bottle of scotch. Ryan hadn't wasted anytime christening his new bachelor pad. "Over here," Ryan ordered as we moved through the living room to the back of the house where the dining room once was. The dining room always had the best view, with large windows that overlooked the sprawling back yard and the woods along the back perimeter of the property. But, I barely recognized it. The old table and chairs had been removed. In place, there was a brand new pool table. The back corner, once occupied with a china cabinet, was now filled with a gleaming new wet bar, complete with a mini-fridge and a sink. The shelves were lined with top-shelf liquor. I was in disbelief as the house had literally been transformed overnight, like in one of those makeover shows. "Sweet, huh?" Ryan observed, completely proud of himself. For a moment, it sounded as if Ryan had difficulty containing his enthusiasm, and genuinely wanted to share it with me. Unable to really respond, I nodded humbly, as I observed. I was actually kind of surprised to see the liquor so readily on display. Mr. Grey had always been strict with Ryan about drinking, but then, something told me Mr. Grey wouldn't be spending much time in the guest house now that it was Ryan's. A jerk to my collar, and we moved forward, rounding the circle until we were in the open kitchen. The transformation there was startling too. The dated appliances, fridge, dishwasher, microwave, had all been replaced with shiny new stainless steel versions. Otherwise, it looked relatively the same with one exception. A small breakfast counter had been added in matching granite top that extended out from the counter where the stove was towards the dining room. There were bar stools around it, obviously necessary since Ryan had chucked the dining room table. At the end of the counter extension, I noticed a place mat on the floor with two dog bowls sitting on it. I found it curious at first, knowing that Mr. Grey was allergic to most pets and had forbidden them in the home. Ryan followed my eyes. "Obviously, those are for you," he noted, letting go of my leash so that it fell hanging down my chest, tickling my cock. "It's great, see," he explained excitedly as he hopped up on the bar stool nearest to the end of the counter and spun around like a little kid. "I'll sit here while you serve me, and then you'll kneel down there and eat whatever I allow you to have." He jumped off the stool and picked up one of the bowls, walking over to the sink he filled it up nearly to the brim with tap water. Walking back over to the end of the corner, he crouched to set the bowl on the floor. Rising, he simply snapped and pointed at the space in front of the bowls. Taking the cue, I reluctantly took a step forward and knelt in front of the bowls, looking up at him for the obvious. I bowed my head as he reached forward to undo the gag buckle. "I think we've kept your mouth busy for long enough..." he muttered as he worked. When the strap gave way, he slowly pulled the gag out. "Your jaw is going to be sore," he warned, stating the obvious as he pulled the gag past my lips. There was noticeably less saliva as my mouth had gone dry over the course of my confinement. "Don't speak, just work your mouth open and closed." He was right, I groaned in pain wincing as I closed my jaw and then opened it. I did so a few times, until I felt I have control of the muscles again. "Now, what do you say?" he demanded, sharply, tossing the gag on the counter top. "Thank you, Sir," I croaked, my voice nearly hoarse. "Drink," he ordered. He didn't have to tell me twice as I thirstily dove into the water bowl lapping and slurping at the contents, grateful as it coated my dry throat and tongue. While I downed the water, he stepped to the new refrigerator, opened the door and pulled something out. I glanced up as he walked back toward me holding the pitcher portion of a blender filled with a frothy liquid that looked like a smoothie...a smoothie gone wrong. It was greenish brown. He knelt down and poured the contents of the pitcher into the second bowl. It smelled about as bad as it looked. "You need your strength, slave," he explained, emptying the pitcher into the bowl with a glug. "Luckily, it's all right here in this smoothie I've concocted. Fruits, veggies, protein, vitamin supplements. A well balanced meal, one easy drink." I picked my head up from the water bowl, a few droplets of water clinging to my lips and chin, and looked begrudgingly at the disgusting smoothie, then up at him. "Don't worry, boy, I know what you're thinking and the answer is 'yes'," he chuckled picking something up off the counter and bending back over. He inserted a thick plastic straw into the bowl, and held it up for me. "Of course you can have a straw. Water is one thing, but I don't want my slave's face dripping with this sludge. Now, drink." He demanded, his tone going cold. "Yea..yes, Sir," I agreed quietly, leaning forward to take the straw in my teeth and closing my eyes as I sucked in the first gulp. "Egh!" I couldn't contain my disgust as I jerked away from the straw, nearly gagging on the taste. It was indescribable. Like rotten fruit mixed and sour milk. Ryan held the straw up patiently. "What's the matter? Don't like my cooking?" he asked in mocking, his tone then changing to something much sharper. "Get your fucking cuntsucking lips around this straw right now and suck it down or I will bury your face in it. One way or another, you are drinking this down." I cringed and nodded somewhat fearfully, leaning back reluctantly to take the straw back in my mouth. Wincing my eyes tightly I took another wretched sip, swallowing it down, and then began to hoover it as fast as I could. I had to stop a few times to cough and choke, but I managed to get it down, at least enough to satisfy him. "Good, isn't it, slave?" Ryan suggested, taking the bowl from me. I knelt back up, swallowing down the last of it with a big gulp. "Yes, Sir," I agreed, quietly. "I knew you'd like it. Don't worry, I'll be teaching you the recipe soon enough." He tossed the bowl into the sink with a clang. "On your feet. Tour continues upstairs." "Yes, Sir," I mumbled quietly, pushing up to my feet as he took hold of my leash. He started quickly up the stairs, tugging hard at the leash so that I would keep pace behind him. The master bedroom was to the left, where my parents had slept. My room, or at least what was my room, was to the right, and the hall bathroom, my bathroom, was also to the left across from the master bedroom door. The bedroom doors were closed. We charged ahead into the master bedroom, suite really, as it took up most of the second floor. Like the entire first floor, it was nearly unrecognizable. My parents' furniture had been completely removed. A giant king bed was centered prominently against the wall, with a very modern and masculine looking headboard, dressed in fluffy maroon and white bedding, the colors of his frat. The desk was sleek and modern, with a shiny laptop centered on it. Opposite the bed was a long dresser that matched the desk, another flat screen TV situated on top. A matching nightstand was place beside the bed, with a modern reading light on top. The walls were decorated with framed mementos of his accomplishments, varsity letters, diploma, awards, a decorative fraternity paddle, photos of him and his father at various charity functions. "Pretty chill, isn't it?" he remarked rhetorically, looking around as he held tight to the leash. "So glad to finally have my own space." "Yes, Sir..." I agreed, somewhat longingly as I looked around. I felt a mix of emotions, not the least of which was jealousy at what he was afforded without working a day in his life. In strict contrast, not only could I not afford any of his things, I had become one of his things. "Need to see the best part," Ryan enthused, pulling me towards the double doors that led to a walk-in closet. He let go of the leash, and with some fanfare, opened both doors simultaneously. My eyes widened in surprise. A wall had been constructed in the middle of the closet, separating it into two halves. The left side of the closet remained in tact, a few rods lined neatly with all of his collared shirts, suits, jackets, and pants. Shelves for his shoes. The right was a different story. Metal bars had been inset from floor to ceiling around the perimeter of the closet, and a barred door faced front. It was a perfect cage, about 3' wide, 4' deep, that could be easily hidden behind the closet door. "It took some work, but I think it will hold you just fine," he observed, giving the bars a shake to demonstrate how sturdy they were. "Needed a place to put you away with the rest of my things if I have company over." "Yes, Sir," I acknowledged distantly, trying to picture myself in the small cage behind the closet door listening while he fucked some naive one-night-stand. Abruptly, he closed the doors. "More to see," he said, taking my leash and pulling me back out of the room. We didn't go into his bathroom, but I assumed it was much the same. Whirlpool tub, shower stall, double sink. Instead, we exited back into the short hallway at the top of the stairs and detoured into what had been my bathroom. The door was open. Actually, the door had been removed completely. He flipped on the light. The door wasn't the only thing that had been removed. "Remodeled your bathroom too, slave," he chuckled. "Well, my bathroom that you get to use." He gestured towards the sink. All of my things had been removed and replaced with generic everything. Generic hand soap, generic toothbrush and toothpaste, generic shaving cream, razor, face wash, deodorant. Noticeably, there were no towels or washcloths. "Everything fit for a slave," he observed. He tugged the leash gesturing towards the rest of the small bathroom. I looked around in slight confusion. The bathmat had been removed, and so had the shower curtain. In place was a see through plastic liner. Most curiously of all, the toilet seat had been completely removed. I looked at him, unable to contain my confusion. He smirked slightly, "You seem surprised, bitch? Shouldn't be. You already know you aren't entitled to privacy anymore, not the least of which when you shower or shit." He paused, motioning toward the toilet, "Speaking of which, slaves aren't entitled to sit on a man's toilet seat. No one wants to share a toilet seat with your dirty ass. In any other bathroom, you will lift the seat and sit directly on the bowl. Since this is the one you'll use most often, I went ahead and took it away completely, just to save you the trouble. Nice of me, right?" I nodded, my voice feeling small in the back of my throat as I contemplated shitting bare-assed on the toilet bowl, him watching from the doorway. "Yes, Sir..." "We'll go over your hygiene tomorrow," he warned, tugging at my leash to follow him out of the bathroom. "And, in case you're wondering, any of my guests will be told that this bathroom is out of order. I don't want any of my friends sharing a bathroom with a piece of shit slave." "Yes, Sir," I agreed, dishearteningly. "Last stop," Ryan announced, opening the door to my room and pulling me inside and flipping the light switch which illuminated a single bare bulb from a floor lamp. My mouth dropped slightly as I looked around. It looked familiar, but not because it had once been my room, but because it reminded me very much of the way Ali's room had been transformed in Kara's apartment. The windows were blacked out. My walls were stripped bare, and unlike Ali's, so was my twin-sized bed. Not even a mattress pad remained. There was a pillow though, one of those tiny ones you get on an airplane. My dresser was gone completely, as was my TV. Although my desk was still there, all of the drawers had been removed. My laptop sat closed on top, cable-locked to the desk, like Ali's. Though, there was no chair, or even a stool. And that was it. A latch had been installed on the outside of my closet door, and it had been padlocked. "This isn't your room anymore," Ryan explained. "It's the place in my house where I let my slave sleep," he smirked, adding quickly, "Sometimes." "Yes, Sir," I acknowledge vacantly as I swallowed hard. It was difficult to absorb as I looked around in shock. It was official. Everything had been taken from me. Everything. "Your clothes have been locked away, what hasn't been thrown away anyway. You won't need them for awhile," he chuckled darkly, unclipping the leash from my collar. "Display your cock," he snapped suddenly, changing the tone. I hesitated, the order catching me off guard. "Uh, yes, Sir," I mumbled. Without missing a beat, he took the leather end of the leash and whipped it across my chest with a loud snap against my skin. I yelped in surprise, the lash stinging my sensitive skin. "Louder! Enough of your fucking mumbling, dickwad. YES. SIR," he emphasised each word with another light whip of the leash. I winced, absorbing each of the two lashes into my stomach. "Yes! Sir!" I called out loudly into the room. "Now, display your fucking slave cock!" he barked. "Yes, Sir!" Scrambling, I spread my legs wide, arched my back, bent my knees, and thrust my hips forward, giving him full access to my junk. It was humiliating, even more so now than it had been in the dungeon. Now, I was here in what used to be my room, willingly giving my manhood up. Ryan didn't say anything else as he reached forward and seized what now belonged to him. He gave my balls a good squeeze as he rolled them around in his hand, soliciting a grunt from me. His hand ran up and down my cock for a few strokes, and then he swung my dick around between my legs, swatting it back and forth. I got harder with each swat, wincing slightly. He stopped suddenly, and I could hear him rustling in his pocket as I stared up at the ceiling. "It's a shame really..." he observed, as he gave my cock a few more quick strokes to bring me to a near full erection, and then took hold of my cock and balls at the base in one hand. I then felt something hard pressing against the the head of my cock, really around it. He grunted a bit, breathing hard as he forced the seemingly metal ring down the shaft of my cock, stopping at the balls. My cock seemed to magically get harder as the ring slowed the circulation of blood in my shaft. He grabbed my balls, and I winced as he popped each of my testicles through the ring until it was secure about the base of both my cock and my scrotum. He shook his head, adjusting the ring. "Yeah, real shame. Perfectly good jock dick wasted here. Slaves don't get to use these." He flicked my hard cock for emphasis, "At least, not like a man does. That cock ring will help you remember who owns your dick, and more importantly, why you're not allowed to touch it. Now, get your ass on that bed!" I swallowed hard, already feeling horny with my cock mostly hard and bobbing before me, the ring pushing my full balls forward. "Yes, Sir," I said as I looked cautiously to the bed, well mattress, and pushed up on my right knee, and then the left. "On your stomach," Ryan snapped. He reached under me to pull my cock and balls downward as I slid forward on my chest until my stomach was flat, the mattress material itchy against my skin as my cock pointed down towards me feet. "Spread your legs, feet to the edge of the bed." I inched my legs apart as instructed, until they almost hung off the edges of the small bed. He walked to the head of the bed, and lifted my chin slightly, sliding the airline pillow under my head. "It's after midnight, bitch," Ryan observed, glancing at his expensive watch. "I suggest you take advantage of this time to get get some rest. A slave's day begins at 4:00am. Everyday. No exceptions." "Yes, Sir," I answered, numbly, my voice muffled in the pillow. "Good, boy," he said in mocking, giving my bare ass a light slap as he headed toward the door. "It goes without saying, the door locks from the outside, but I'll also be nice and give you fair warning that this room has been wired with closed circuit cameras. Remember, it's a cell, not a sanctuary." With that, the light went out and the door slammed leaving me alone in the room that once belonged to me. Despite the humiliation, the handcuffs, the collar around my neck, the ache in my cock, I felt home. The feeling alone was enough to send me off to sleep, my exhausted body grateful for the modicum of comfort provided by the mattress and pillow. *** To be continued. Comments and Feedback are encouraged: matt10019@gmail.com