Date: Sun, 18 Jan 2009 20:56:14 -0500 From: Matt W Subject: Bred Slave - Part 5 The following is a work of fiction. All characters are over 18 years of age. There are depictions of sexual acts and homoerotic themes. Please do not read any further if you are not legally eligible or would be offended by the material. CHAPTER 6 - RUDE AWAKENING "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" I awoke with a start, my body drenched in a cold sweat as a loud, grating noise drilled into my head, ripping me from my peaceful slumber. Miraculously, I had fallen into a deep sleep. "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" Gaining some sense as the beeping continued assaulting my ears, I groaned in the pitch black room, still pressed face down on the bare mattress. Instinctively, I went to swat at the invisible noise, only to remember quickly that my hands were cuffed behind my back. "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" I was wide awake now as the intolerable alarm cut into me. Unsure of what to do, I remained as I was for several moments weighing my options. Half of me wanted to roll off the bed and attempt to dismantle the alarm. The other half told me to stay put and that Ryan should be in any minute. "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" I couldn't take it another moment, and before I knew it, I was squirming on my stomach until my feet were dangling over the side of the bed. I slowly pushed backwards until I could feel my toes touching the floor. Finding my footing, I stood up, lifting myself off of the bed. "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" Originally, the sound seemed like it was everywhere, assaulting me from all angles. Just as I isolated the source to be directly under the bed frame, I noticed a dim green light creeping out from under the bed. I squatted down, trying to figure out the best way to retrieve the alarm with my hands shackled behind me. I dropped to my ass with a light thud, and leaning back, I slid my legs under the bed and swept them from side to side. "BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" I grunted, turning on my side as I felt my left foot connect with a small plastic box. Turning my foot like a hook, I bent my knee up and pulled the obnoxious device across the floor towards me. When it was clear of the bed, I pulled my legs in and rolled over and up onto my knees, glancing at the glowing digital numbers that illuminated the otherwise dark room. It read 4:03. Shuffling on my knees in front of the clock, I reached behind me poking blindly at the buttons on top. "BEEP! BEEP! B....." I sighed with relief, just as the bedroom door burst open and light flooded the room. Gasping in shock and pain as light burned my retinas, I winced, bowing my head away from the light. "Well, well," Ryan observed with a yawn from the doorway. "Looks like my slave is really up and at 'em this morning. I'll give you credit for your resourcefulness, but is that any way to greet your Master, bitch?!" My eyes adjusting to the light, I glanced up at him. He was shirtless, wearing loose fitting blue pajama pants that tied at the waist and sat low on his hips. It was evident that he'd just woken up as well, his hair tousled and matted in spots. He was glaring down at me through sleepy eyes, and I looked down. Though I was on my knees, I was leaning back on my heels, sprawled awkwardly near the clock. "No, Sir?" He snapped, and pointed to the floor a few paces in front of him. Reluctantly, I shuffled forward on my knees in shame to where he pointed and adjusted my kneel to what I had been taught. Expecting him to speak, he simply walked past me, bent down and retrieved the alarm clock. "4:04?" He asked, feigning surprise. "I gave you an entire four minute grace period to get your lazy ass up, shut this thing up, and get on your knees to wait for me, and that's not enough?!" "Sir? I...but," I stammered in confusion, as I hadn't been given any such directions. "But, nothing," he snapped. "Tomorrow, the alarm goes off at 3:30 just to make sure. You'll be on your knees every morning in that spot until you earn my trust to get your own ass up and out." "Yes, Sir," I acknowledged, my heart sinking at the thought of getting up a half hour earlier. 4:00 am was ridiculous enough. Ryan hit some buttons on the clock, and I heard him slide it back under the bed, realizing quickly how my mornings would begin. He stepped back in front of me, "And you better earn it quickly, I'm not going to spend my entire fucking break getting up at 4:00am with your ass. Now, get your face on the floor and your fucking cunt hole up in the air!" "Ye...yes, Sir." I hesitated, slightly taken aback by the sudden command, but slowly leaned forward until my chest and face hit the floor almost simultaneously, my weight abruptly shifting as I lifted my ass up. Roughly, he grabbed my chained wrists and pushed them up on my back, so that my ass was completely exposed. "You were four minutes late getting up." WHACK! Without warning, his hand came sailing through the air connecting with my bare ass. I yelped, lurching forward, the stinging sensation was immediate. "Count them," he demanded coldly. "One...Sir," I counted, my voice quivering slightly in shock and fear. WHACK! "Louder! Thank me for each one. I fucking drag my ass out of bed at 4:00 am to deal with this shit, the least you can do is fucking thank me for taking the time to discipline your ass," he barked. "Two! Thank you, Sir!" I called out, my face buried in the floor. WHACK! "Three! Thank you, Sir." The force of each slap surprised me. I didn't think a simple spanking could hurt so much. WHACK! "Four...thank...you...Sir." Unused to this kind of pain, I was biting back tears after only four slaps. "Get up. We're wasting time," he snapped. "Yes, Sir." My voice was small as I gratefully pulled my knees in, and shakily pushed up to one knee and then both feet. "Anything you wanna ask me, boy?" he asked abruptly, standing eye to eye. He reached down and gave my protruding balls a hard flick. I winced, the flick sending shock waves through the nerves in my groin and then into my bladder. I nodded, my face flushing a bit. "Yea...yes, Sir. I have to...I mean, can I take a piss, Sir?" Almost at the mention of the word, my bladder strained at full attention for its morning piss. "Yes, slave, you may," he smirked, stepping aside and motioning into the hallway. "You remember where your bathroom is?" "Yes, Sir," I nodded shamefully as I stepped past him with my head down and into the hallway. Everything about the walk from my room to the bathroom was so familiar, making it all the more painful now that I was a naked, collared slave that needed permission to do something as simple as pee. I could feel him behind me as I walked into the small bathroom. He flipped on the light, and I glanced at him over the shoulder as he leaned against the door frame, Trying to ignore him, I stepped in front of the seat-less toilet and bent my knees, doing my best to aim my cock at the bowl. "Uhh, what do you think you're doing?" Ryan interjected. "You were told yesterday that you were to sit directly on the toilet bowl when you were given the privilege of using the bathroom. Men stand up to piss. Slaves sit their asses on the bowl and piss between their legs like the pussies that they are. Now, do it right, or don't do it all." I hesitated for a long moment, my face flushing again, but slowly turned around. "Yes, Sir." Reluctantly, I lowered slowly to the bowl, feeling my ass cheeks balancing on the narrow rim. It was nothing like a seat and I thought my ass might dip into the water. My cock, though protruding slightly thanks to the ring, was fortunately flaccid enough that I thought I could make it into the bowl. "Waiting," Ryan snapped, and then yawned loudly, stretching his arms over head. Swallowing, I winced my eyes shut trying to pretend he wasn't there, and after a few more seconds, let my bladder open up, draining into the bowl with a tinkling sound. I opened my eyes, staring down at my feet as the pressure left my stomach. Not that I hadn't pissed in front of guys before at a urinal, and not that I hadn't squatted to piss in front of Ryan in the dungeon cell, but this was different still. I squeezed the last few drops out of my cock, and tried to shake it a little over the bowl, feeling a few drops splatter against my legs. Finishing, I looked to him. "What are you waiting for? Get up," he growled, stepping forward he grabbed me around my right bicep and pulled me off the toilet with enough forced to send me stumbling past him out of the bathroom door. I tripped over the door frame and fell sprawling to my knees and chest in the hallway, the carpet burning my bare skin as I slid across it. "I said, GET UP!" I felt Ryan's bare foot on my ass as he kicked me forward till I was flat on my stomach. "Up! Get your ass downstairs. Wait for me by the front door." "Yes, Sir," I stammered at the fire in his voice. I squirmed forward on my chest, then pulling myself up to my knees, I trotted lightly down the stairs without looking back at him. Reaching the front door, I hesitated slightly glancing at the hard tiles that made up the entry foyer, and reluctantly lowered to my knees. Unsure of whether I should face the door or the stairs to wait for him, I knelt sideways so that I could see both. I could hear him banging around upstairs. Several minutes passed and I grew increasingly uncomfortable, the hard tile cutting into my knee caps. Eventually, I looked up, hearing him jog lightly down the stairs. He had pulled a gray zip-up hoody over his bare chest, and slipped his feet into thick-soled slippers, the jingle of a leash audible as it swung from his hand. In any other household, he could have been any guy waking up early to take the dog out, but this wasn't just any normal household. There were a few other things in his hands, but I diverted my eyes quickly in fear of pissing him off. "Hold these," he stated, coming up quickly behind me. I glanced up in surprise, as a pair of sneakers with their laces tied together were draped around my neck and collar so that they dangled against my chest. I recognized quickly that they were an old pair of mine. "And this. Open." Again, I looked up in confusion, my mouth slightly agape as he wasted no time in shoving something past my lips, forcing my jaw open. It was fabric, maybe cotton, I assessed quickly as he forced it in with his fingers until my mouth was thoroughly stuffed. There was still some spilling out as I felt something hanging down my chin, something like elastic. It was a jockstrap. Ryan bent forward to clip the leash to the front of my collar, and gave a firm tug upwards. "Up," he commanded flatly. I pushed up to one knee and then the other as the collar bit into the back of my neck. Without another word, he opened the front door. A blast of wintry air assaulted my exposed skin, and I shivered instantly as he pulled me forwards out into the dark morning. I stepped aside so that he could pull the door shut behind us, and then he pulled me swiftly back across the courtyard towards the back of the main house. "Fuck, boy! It's cold as balls out here!" Ryan practically yelped as he gave my leash a harder tug towards the brick steps that ran down the back of the house to the basement door. I trotted after him as best I could, my joints quaking involuntarily from the cold. The shoes banged against my chest, and I bit hard into the fabric in my mouth as my teeth attempted to chatter. When we reached the basement door, I shivered in place as he fumbled with the lock, and eventually the door swung open, a blast of heat greeting me as he pulled me inside after him. Letting the door slam closed behind us, Ryan flipped on the fluorescent ceiling lights and pulled me forward into the center of the fitness room. Silently, he let the leash go so that it slapped against my chest and stomach, dangling by my dick. Fishing in the pocket of his hoody, he walked around behind me and grabbed my left forearm. I heard the scraping of metal on metal, and felt the left cuff release from my wrist, followed shortly by the right. Without missing a beat, my arms shot around to my front, and I was rubbing my throbbing wrists madly. Looking down, I noticed slight red abrasions from being cuffed for so long. I'm sure that I wasn't supposed to do that, but Ryan was either being merciful or was too tired to care as he walked back in front of me. Reaching toward my face, he took hold of the elastic straps that were dangling against my chin and pulled the jockstrap out of my mouth, a small trail of saliva clinging to it. "Here," he tossed it against my chest, and I caught it before it hit the ground. "Put this on." I looked down at it cautiously, unfolding it in my hands. It was obviously old and well-worn. The once white fabric of the pouch was now nearly gray in color, and despite being damp with my saliva, there were obvious yellowish stains set into it. My stomach churned in disgust at the thought of having carried it in my mouth. "Did I stutter, bitch?!" "Yes, Sir...No, I mean, no Sir!" I was the one that stuttered as I shook the jock out and untwisted the straps. Stretching it out in front of me, I stepped my right leg through the straps, and then the left, working it slowly up my legs until I was able to engulf my cock and balls in the pouch. I felt clammy as the saliva dampened fabric cradled my manhood, and I adjusted the waistband and the straps that hugged my ass. Not that it was much, but I felt an ounce of dignity returning with my genitals hidden from view for the first time since I'd been enslaved. Ryan walked casually around me. "Good. Fits," he observed, as he pulled one of the straps behind me out a few inches and then let is snap back against my ass. I jolted forward absorbing the sting. "It was one of mine from high school. Thought it might be too big for you here in the crotch," he snickered as he walked back in front of me and grabbed my junk through the fabric, giving it a firm squeeze. "But, I guess it shrunk in the wash. Now, get on the floor. You have 30 seconds to get those sneakers and socks on." Stunned, I froze for a second as he flicked my balls through the jock. "29...28...27..." Without thinking, I plopped to the floor, my exposed ass pressing into the firm carpet, and fumbled with the shoes dangling around my neck. As I tried to pull them over my head, I felt the tied laces catching on the back of my collar. I reached behind me, and worked the laces free of the collar, lifting the shoes to the space between my legs. My fingers were trembling as I worked furiously at the knot that tied the two shoelaces together. "10...9...8..." I could feel nerous sweat breaking out on my forehead as I finally made some progress with the knot, feeling the intertwined laces loosen. "3...2...and 1..." "The knot...I can't, I..." Looking up in frustration, I held the separated laces limply in my hands. "Well, don't fucking stop, dumbass. I don't need your excuses, I need you to do what you're told," Ryan snapped motioning with his hand to get on with it. "2...3...4..." Now, he was counting up. I clenched my teeth slightly in anger as I went back to the shoes, reaching into the right one, I found a white ankle-high athletic sock tucked into it. Fumbling with the sock, I slipped it over my right foot, and then went for the left. When I had both socks on, I pulled the right shoe over my foot, and tied the laces quickly, and then went to work on the left until it was tied. I looked up, like I had finished some race. "31...32...33..." Ryan continued to count, glaring down at me. My expression was one of confusion. "When a slave finishes a task, he presents on his knees anxiously awaiting his next order. 37...38..." Nearly pounding the carpet with my fist, I scrambled to sit up and forward on my knees, crossing my wrists behind my back just as he stopped counting. "41. 41 fucking seconds longer than it should take to put on a fucking pair of shoes," Ryan scolded as he circled me slowly. "Looks like you're gonna have to make that time up to me. 41 push ups. Now!" He planted his slippered foot against my back and shoved me forward with enough force that I had to catch myself with my hands. "Yes, Sir," I said quietly, feeling scorned, as I shuffled my feet back until my legs were straight, and I moved my hands to the sides, prepared to push up. The leash was coiled on the floor in front of me, still dangling from my collar. "Count them off. Perfect form. Miss any, and you start over," he warned. I swallowed, and then pushed up, "One." Lowering back to the ground, I pushed up again, "Two." Push ups weren't my favorite, and I was a little out of practice. I hadn't done many push ups since I'd left high school sports behind, favoring weight machines like most guys my age. 41 sounded manageable, though I started feeling it pretty quickly, slowing around the halfway point. "Twenty-one....Twenty-two..." "Let's go, bitch. All the way down. Back straight." I was definitely breathing hard as I rounded the last ten, feeling the burn in my chest and my arms. It was early in the day for such a physical exertion, and I hadn't exactly had the best night of sleep. A light sheen of sweat had broken out over my body. "Thirty-nine..." I panted. "Forty....Fortyyyy-onnne." I collapsed to the ground after the last count, and after a split second rest, begrudgingly remembered to kneel up in wait. Before I could finish pulling myself up into a kneel, my chest heaving, Ryan stooped forward to grab hold of my leash. "Uh uh, time's wasting. Over here; up on the treadmill." I stumbled up to my feet as the collar bit into my neck, moving towards the treadmill. Reluctantly, I stepped up onto the black conveyor belt. He stepped up next to me, and unclipped the leash from the ring in my collar. He tossed it to the floor, and grabbed the safety stop-cord that was attached to the control panel of the treadmill, clipping the end of it to my collar, effectively leashing me to the machine. I took mild comfort in knowing that I wouldn't strangle myself should I fall off the machine. "Just to make sure we're clear, the shoes and jock are not for your modesty or comfort," Ryan explained casually as he began programming the control panel in front of me. "But you can run faster and harder without your balls slamming against your thighs, which is more important to me in this case." Finishing with the controls, he hit a green button and hopped down from the machine. I felt the conveyor belt begin to crawl under my feet. "5 miles. Get going." "Uh, yes, Sir," I acknowledged, slightly disheartened at the thought of putting in 5 miles on the treadmill as I moved quickly from a fast walk to a jog and then a full run as the conveyor increased in pace. I hated running. "And just to make sure your dumbass understands the blatantly obvious, you don't touch the control panel, and if you trigger the stop-cord," he paused to shake his head almost in amusement, "You will be very, very sorry." The soles of my worn sneakers began to pound against the rubber conveyor as I developed a rhythm. Glancing at the digital controls, I could see the machine was counting down from 5 miles with some sort of random functionality selected. I would soon find out that the machine was programmed to change inclines and speeds with each half mile achieved. Fortunately, it would get easier and not more difficult as I went along. I could feel the burn immediately in my thighs as the first half mile ticked away on a fairly steep incline at about 5 miles per hour. Ryan stood behind me to the left, watching me with his arms crossed for a few minutes. Then, glancing over my shoulder, I saw him yawn dramatically, stretching his arms over his head. He turned and shuffled through the open archway to the rec room where I heard the unmistakable sound of a body sinking into the long leather sofa near the entertainment center. The asshole was going to take a nap. It was almost a relief, really, to know that I wasn't being watched as I pumped my arms and continued to run in time with the unrelenting pace of the machine. Suddenly, the mechanisms in the base of the machine began to whir, and I felt the incline lessen slightly. I had completed the first half-mile at just under five minutes, but I was already feeling it in my legs. Ryan was certainly right about one thing, without the shoes and the jock, there was no way I could have kept pace with the machine. I frowned as I caught myself feeling grateful for his consideration. Grateful? Why the fuck should I be grateful for a worn out pair of sneakers and his disgusting old jockstrap that hadn't been washed in who knows how long. What I should've be doing two days into my winter break from college was sleeping off a hangover on a Sunday morning like the rest of the guys my age were undoubtedly doing. So much of me wanted to jump off the treadmill and go pound the shit out of Ryan while he napped in the other room. Yet, I didn't. I couldn't. I stayed, and I ran, and I didn't know why. It was just what I had to do. By the end of the third mile, the incline had lessened significantly, and the pace of the belt had slowed to about 3 miles per hour. Though I was jogging now, my chest was heaving as I breathed hard, sucking in air. I could feel that my entire body was slick with sweat, and without a towel, I could only wipe the sweat beads from my forehead out of my eyes with my forearm. My hair was damp, and I could feel it matted to my head in spots. The clock registered just over 30 minutes. I knew I'd be on the treadmill for another half hour finishing up the last two miles. Almost worst of all was the damn collar around my neck. Not only did it bang up and down against my collar bone, undoubtedly leaving a bruise, but I could feel sweat pooling beneath it. Just then, my pounding heart skipped a beat as I heard the door at the top of the basement steps swing open, and then there were quick footsteps as someone descended the stairs. Glancing for a split second over my shoulder, I saw that it was Mr. Grey trotting lightly down the steps in his black track suit that he often wore lounging around the house on a weekend. I swallowed, continuing to breathe hard as I ran, uncertain as to whether I was supposed to stop and somehow acknowledge him or pretend I didn't see him or what. I could feel him approaching from behind. "Just keep running, slave," Mr. Grey assured me as he came up beside me on the right. "You are in service to your Master at the moment, and when in service, a slave doesn't stop unless he's specifically instructed to by that Master or one of equal or greater standing. Of course, it is my right as your owner to tell you to jump off the machine and stand on your head for an hour, but I have no current objections to the way my son is using you at the moment. Understand?" I nodded, swallowing back air as I continued to run, "Yes...Sir..." "But for the sake of learning a lesson, let's say you were ordered to run your miles on a treadmill at the University gym, and halfway through your run some random student told you it was his turn to use the machine. What would you do?" Mr. Grey challenged. "Uhh...ignore 'im...Sir?" My words were staccato as I struggled for breath. "Good, slave. Obeying your Master's order is always your first priority," he explained. "But, let's say that same student ran into you while you were changing in the locker room and told you to towel him off because he didn't feel like doing it himself. What would you do?" My face flushed even redder than it already was. "Do it...Sir?" "Yes, good. If not otherwise engaged in direct service to your Master, then you are most certainly subject to the will of any real man you might encounter, should he recognize what you are and choose to use you." Mr. Grey smiled, giving me a firm pat on my sweaty ass as I ran. "But, you already knew that. Speaking of which, where is your Master?" "Over...there, Sir," I gulped for breath and nodded to my left towards the rec room. Without another word, Mr. Grey circled back behind me and off towards the rec room. I glanced to my left, but I couldn't really see the area where Ryan was lying down without blatantly craning my neck or exiting the treadmill altogether, which I knew would not be a smart idea. "What?!" Ryan suddenly exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing from the other room. The next few moments were filled with tense conversation drifting from the other room, but I couldn't make out what they were saying, as the pounding of my sneakers against the treadmill drowned out any audible words. I felt guilty, almost voyeuristic as I witnessed the indiscernible argument from the next room. An amusing thought, since I was the one so humiliatingly on display in the basement. I glanced down at the control panel, relieved as I was now well into the fourth mile, starting to feel incredibly drained. After several long minutes, the argument apparently ended and I saw Mr. Grey out of the corner of my eye slip behind me without a word and walk casually up the stairs to the main level of the house. The basement door closed firmly behind him. A few seconds later, Ryan came shuffling back into the fitness room. I swallowed hard, barely able to close my mouth now as I sucked deep breaths of air into my lungs as I ran. "Shit, boy, you're not done yet?" he yawned, and shuffled up behind me to the left. There was still a half-mile left on the countdown. Reaching out, he increased the speed on the conveyor belt which had slowed to a solid 3 mile per hour jog, and bumped it back up to 5 miles per hour. I almost gasped in horror as the conveyor increased pace below me, forcing me to run faster as I neared the end of the exercise. My legs felt like jelly, and at several points, I felt like I would surely fall off. "Keep those knees up. Pump those arms. C'mon jock boy, this should be a walk in the park," Ryan taunted as he stepped back to watch. My heart was beating out of my chest as I raced to keep up. I could sense that my face was a nice shade of tomato red and sweat was pouring off of me. At the last quarter mile, I had expected the machine to force me into a sprint, but shockingly enough, it beeped and the words "COOL DOWN" flashed on the screen. I felt the conveyor slow miraculously until I was walking. I gulped, my chest heaving as I caught my breath. I could feel Ryan's eyes on me the entire time as I finished the cool down walk and the machine beeped again loudly to signal the exercise had been completed. The belt beneath my feet came to a complete stop, and Ryan cleared his throat behind me. Taking the cue, I remained where I was, spread my legs to the sides of the treadmill, and crossed my wrists behind my back as I stood waiting. "Nice little warm up for the day, right slave?" he asked rhetorically as he hopped up next to me on the machine. With his left hand, he unclipped the stop-cord from my collar, and with his right, he reattached the leash. "Let's go." He pulled me from the treadmill through the basement and stopped short at the door. "Oh shit, almost forgot. Get those shoes and socks off. Tie the laces back together and carry them around your neck. Same with the jock, you know where it goes." "Yes, Sir..." I gulped as I squatted to the floor and pulled the shoes and socks off. I stuffed the socks inside the shoes, and then retied the laces together, draping them around my neck like a scarf. As I stood, I slid the sweat-soaked jockstrap down over my legs and kicked it up to my hands. I held it up, eyeing it cautiously as it dangled from my right fingers. "In. Pouch first," Ryan commanded sternly. "I'm sure you're thirsty, slave. Nothing like good crotch sweat to quench it." My heart sank as I held the sweaty pouch in front of my face. At least I had caught my breath by this point, but I couldn't help but inhale the scent of fresh sweat. I swallowed in disgust, and then winced my eyes shut as I pushed the jock back into my mouth, trying to ignore the salty damp cloth as it slid along my tongue. Opening my eyes, I saw that he was standing by the door waiting impatiently for something, and I returned my hands behind my back in wait. Satisfied, he smirked and pulled my leash, guiding us back outside and up to the guest house, well, Ryan's house. As tired and sweaty as I was from the run, my legs wobbling as we walked back, the frigid outside air provided me with an immediate unpleasant distraction. The sun was starting to rise, and I figured it was sometime around 5:30 in the morning. Once we were back inside Ryan's place, I shivered in the entryway as he closed the door and locked it behind us. He stooped beside me to the left of the door, where the bench seat that had always been there remained. It had always been a place to throw umbrellas, shoes, and whatever else we wanted to keep out of sight, and apparently, it was one of the few things Ryan hadn't had removed from the house. Lifting the lid seat, he motioned into the trunk space. "Stuff the jock in one of your shoes, and toss them in here." I half nodded, gratefully pulling the wet fabric from my mouth, and stuffing it into my left shoe where it mingled with one of my socks. I lifted the sneakers over my head, and tossed them lightly into the trunk expecting a thud, but instead, there was a strange metal clang. The trunk wasn't empty. "Good boy. You'll know where to find them tomorrow, and everyday after that," Ryan noted flatly. Catching the look on my face, he added, "Don't worry, I'm sure everything will dry out overnight, just in time for you to moisten them up again. I mean, no need to waste time and water washing that shit when you're just going to drench it in sweat all over again, right?" He unclipped the leash from my collar, not waiting for a response, and tossed it into the trunk. Next, he leaned forward into the box and withdrew a set of gleaming chains and shackles. "Your house chains," he explained, holding them up for me to see. "Brand new." "Yes, Sir," I said blankly, as I recalled the period I'd spent chained in the dungeon cell, and not in a hurry to repeat it. I remained at ease with my hands behind my back by the doorway as he crouched down in front of me, and fastened the leg irons to each of my ankles. There was a good amount of chain between my feet, a bit more than I'd had in the dungeon. "Hold out your wrists in front of you," Ryan ordered. "Yes, Sir." I complied quietly, as I held out my wrists to be willingly chained, at least this time it was in front of me. Expertly, he fasted a metal cuff around each of my wrists, and let the two feet of slack dangle between them. I noticed immediately that this set of chains was much lighter in weight than the medieval style I had worn in the dungeon, but they certainly weren't weightless. "You've barely just begun your training. When not supervised, the chains will ensure you remember your place in my house," he explained. "Now, get your ass in the kitchen. You need water." "Yes, Sir," I nodded, and shuffled after him towards the kitchen, the chains rattling between my limbs. He snapped and pointed to the place at the end of the counter where I had been instructed to kneel for my meals. While he filled a bowl with water from the faucet, I knelt by the place mat, and let my chained hands rest near my crotch between my spread knees. The bowl was set down in front of me. "Drink." "Yes, Sir." Gratefully, I leaned forward and wasted no time lapping at the water, my insides dehydrated from the run. When I had all but licked every drop from the bowl, he picked it up and refilled it, setting it back down in front of me. I started to lean down, but he stopped me, placing his hand on my forehead. "No, you've had enough for now. But, good news, I'm giving you permission to drink water, only water and only from this bowl, throughout the day when not in my presence." He patted my head, like it was some kind of gift. "Get up. Living room." "Yes, Sir." I pushed up to my feet, and followed him into the living room stopping short as he turned to face me. "When your hands are chained in front of you like that, hold your wrists by your hips when presenting. Make sure that pathetic cock is always on display," he instructed, pointing towards my crotch. "Yes, Sir." I adjusted my hands to my sides. There was just enough slack that the center of the chain dangled just below my balls. Ryan took a long look around the living room. "This place is a fucking mess," he observed, nodding towards the coffee table littered with empty beer cans and shot glasses, and other remnants of the small housewarming party he'd thrown while I was suffering in the dungeon cell. "Duster's in the closet under the stairs, cleaning supplies are under the sink, you know where everything is. I want it spotless. Everything. Living room, kitchen, bathroom." "Yes, Sir..." I agreed, a little cautiously. "Every tile, every cushion, every speck of dust," he warned. "Don't fuck it up." "Yes, Sir." He brushed past me towards the stairs, and I turned towards him. "I'm going back to sleep. My alarm goes off at 11 on a Sunday, and you better fucking have my breakfast waiting for me on the counter when I get up. 3 strips of bacon, 1 scrambled egg, and 2 slices of toast. If everything meets my standards, I might let you eat something. So, get to work, bitch." "Yes, Sir," I responded, but I don't think he heard me as he was already bounding up the stairs, anxious to fall back into that gigantic bed for several more hours of rest. I really hated him at that moment as I looked around the first floor of the house, unsure of where to even begin with the mess. Shuffling past the stairs towards the hall closet, chains rattling, I passed the small bathroom and backed up to do a double-take as I caught a glimpse of a dark shadow in the mirror. Flipping on the light, I stepped inside, swallowing hard as I took a good look at myself in the mirror that hung over the sink. Ryan had me so focused on pissing properly that morning that I hadn't seen but a quick glimpse of myself in the bathroom upstairs since I'd been enslaved. For the first few moments, it was a true out-of-body experience. I recognized the person staring back at me, yet it felt like I was looking at a stranger. The collar was the first thing to jump out at me. I touched it lightly with my right hand, the chains jingling between my wrists. On one hand, it seemed so silly, yet on the other, it was so symbolic. It was literally a weight upon my shoulders and I wouldn't be able to ignore why it was there and the fact that I was powerless to remove it. Oddly, I noticed that it looked kind of good on me, the way it accentuated my strong jawline. My face was still lightly flushed from the run, and there was a light growth of beard as I hadn't shaved since I'd been enslaved. Numbly, I lifted my right hand and ran my fingers gingerly through my sweaty hair, now barely an inch in length on top. It didn't look as bad as I had thought it would when Ryan had clipped it, just very short and militaristic. Sliding my chained hands down my smooth chest, I stopped just at my navel, where my treasure trail had once begun. The chains themselves caught my attention, and I almost felt pride in wearing them. Of course, they restricted my movements and were as annoying as fuck, but Ryan had deemed them necessary. Necessary to help bind me in slavery. My body was strong, stronger than his, and he knew it. He would never admit it, but I was certain the chains gave him a sense of security in his dominance. Most shocking of all was my shaved crotch, especially looking at it straight on in the mirror. I had the cock and balls of a grown man, but without hair, it looked like a package that belonged to a well endowed prepubescent boy. The metal cock ring only pronounced everything, serving as yet another constant reminder that my body didn't belong to me anymore, even the most precious of parts. Shamefully, I turned away from the mirror, flipping off the bathroom light. I felt a small lump growing in the back of my throat, and I couldn't bare to look at myself, at the slave I'd become, a moment longer. Turning right towards the closet, I coughed back a sob, and steeled myself, opening the door. I pulled out an empty trash bag from a box on the shelf, and shuffled off to the living room where I began to throw empty bottles and cans into the trash bag. Glancing at the clock, I noted that it was 5:47. Plenty of time. *** To be continued. Comments and Feedback are encouraged: matt10019@gmail.com Author's Note: The feedback and encouragement for the continuation of this story has been beyond humbling. Many apologies for the delay in posting. Please be assured that although the rate in producing subsequent installments will not be as frequent as the first few chapters, the story will continue as quickly as possible.