Date: Mon, 16 Feb 2009 03:59:22 -0500 From: Matt W Subject: Bred Slave - Part 6 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 7 - SLAVES WORK, MASTERS PLAY I winced as a droplet of bacon grease jumped from the small pan on the stove in front of me where three strips were sizzling and stung my bare chest. Nervously, I glanced at the clock. It was 10:53, and I knew I only had 7 minutes to finish preparing Ryan's breakfast. Fumbling with a spatula, I set it on the counter, and fished two slices of bread out of a bag and into the toaster. Wiping a bead of sweat form my forehead, I glanced again at the clock on the microwave. I couldn't believe how fast the time had gone. Replaying the past several hours in my mind, I had picked up three huge bags full of trash, dusted every bit of surface I could find, scrubbed the kitchen counters and floors, cleaned the bathroom from top to bottom, fluffed the cushions and pillows, everything I could think of. The chains had made it difficult, slowed me down. Every action took longer and more thought. I was tired, aching from bending and scrubbing and kneeling and reaching in all directions. Dried sweat from my run was mixed with new sweat from cleaning. I felt disgusting as I continued to prepare Ryan's breakfast as ordered. Cleaning while naked had been odd enough, but cooking while naked and chained felt even stranger. Several minutes later, I was just laying the two pieces of toast on the plate next to the strips of bacon and a light pile of scrambled eggs when I heard movement at the top of the stairs. I felt myself tense as I set the plate on the counter in front of the stool Ryan had designated as his, and glanced over my shoulder as he came bounding down the stairs. He was shirtless and barefoot again, still wearing the same pajama pants as he had on earlier that morning, and although it was evident that he had just crawled out of bed, he was noticeably more rested than he had been at 4:00 am. Uncertainly, I kind of froze as I was. "What are you looking at, dick wad? When I walk into a room, you better fucking show me some respect," he barked, barely glancing at me as he brushed by me into the kitchen. "Yes, Sir," I said quietly, as I turned to face him, straightening my posture with my wrists by my hips as he'd instructed me earlier, the chain taught across my waist. I bowed my head slightly, glancing to the plate of food waiting for him on the counter. "Breakfast," he stated, rather dryly as he pulled open a cupboard door and pulled out a box of generic whole-grain cereal. Turning toward me, he snapped and pointed to the place mat and half-empty dog bowl full of room temperature tap water at the end of the counter. Silently, I shuffled a few paces and knelt in front of the bowl. Coming over to me, he bent over my shoulder and shook out about a cup of the dry, tasteless clusters of cereal into the water. I frowned, looking down at the chunks floating in the cloudy water, but feeling a familiar rumble in my stomach, I started to lean forward only to be stopped with a firm slap to my forehead. "No. Slaves eat after their Masters are finished, and only when given permission. Like I said earlier, I might let you eat." "Yes, Sir," I said, dejectedly, as I straightened up, and ground my back teeth slightly, feeling a bit of frustration welling in the pit of my stomach. Ryan set the box on the counter, and slid onto the stool at the end of the counter. "Besides," he snickered, "I want to make sure it's nice and soggy for you, just the way you like it." With that, he attacked his breakfast like he hadn't eaten in days. I half expected him to spit it out or gag in disgust. Instead, he said nothing as he shoveled a few forkfuls of eggs into his mouth, and then chewed on a piece of bacon. I suppose the silence made him uncomfortable, because he suddenly lunged across the counter and grabbed the remote to a small flat screen at the opposite end of the counter. I heard the TV spring to life, and he channel surfed for several long minutes while he continued to eat, all but ignoring me completely. I knelt awkwardly staring down at the bowl of soggy brown cereal while he scraped his fork against the plate, turning the volume up on some sports station. Then his cellphone vibrated loudly on the counter. The volume on the TV was muted. "Dude?" he answered loudly, pressing the phone to his ear. "Yeah, no, just got up. What's going on?" I couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but I knew in all likelihood it was Brent. "No, yeah, totally still on for the game. Starts at 1, right? Cool. See ya in a bit." The phone snapped shut and he tossed it back on the counter. I heard him push the plate away and hop off of the stool. "Alright, hoover that shit. You have a mess to clean up in the kitchen." It took me a second to register that he had turned his attention back to me. "Yes, Sir," I acknowledged quietly as I leaned over to slurp at the slimy bits of tasteless cereal. "Shit," he exclaimed in disgust as he turned the volume on the small TV back up. "Tone it down, bitch. Hope you didn't slurp pussy like that. No wonder the only girlfriend you could ever keep was the one ordered to be with you." My face burned red as I continued to lap at the cereal, trying to ignore the insult while he snickered to himself. "Alright, clean this shit up. As soon as you're done, get your ass upstairs. Take a shit, I know you need to by now. Then start getting yourself cleaned up. Teeth, face. Don't think about showering until I give you permission." He placed his strong hand on the back of my head while I knelt in front of the bowl, water dripping from my nose and bits of wet cereal clinging to my stubble. He gave my hair a rough pet, and shoved me forward just to emphasize his control. "Yes, Sir," I responded quietly. I heard him bound up the stairs, and I pushed up to my feet before starting in on the mess in the kitchen. As I scraped the remainder of Ryan's breakfast into the garbage disposal, it occurred to me that he hadn't acknowledged the fact that I'd prepared his food in any way. It was just what he had been entitled to demand, and I guessed that the fact that he ate it without complaining was acknowledgement enough. When the kitchen was clean, I climbed the stairs to the second level. My chains were really starting to grate on my nerves, especially on the stairs. Entering my bathroom, I'd nearly forgotten that the door and the toilet seat had been removed. Nevertheless, almost at the sight of the toilet, my guts churned, and I quickly squatted down on the rim of the bowl to expel several days worth of waste from my intestines. Nervously, I glanced to the open doorway, fearing Ryan would walk by at any moment. He didn't, but simply knowing that he could was embarrassing enough. Wiping myself with shackled hands was as humiliating as it was difficult. Even the most basic of functions were now at the mercy of my Master. Flushing, I stood up and set about brushing my teeth and washing my face with the new, generic products that Ryan had provided. It felt good just to feel clean inside my mouth, and to wash the sweat and grime from my face. "The face," Ryan stated as he appeared suddenly at the doorway. "Shave it. I never want to see that much facial hair on you again. Men grow beards, not slaves." "Yes, Sir," I sighed as I reached for the can of shaving cream. WHACK! I lurched forward, wincing in pain as his bare palm connected with my bare ass. "Check the attitude, cunt." "Yes, Sir," I repeated, more respectfully. He watched intently as I lathered my face with the cream, and ran the cheap razor over my sensitive skin, scraping away the light growth of hair. "Face me, hold out your wrists," he commanded as soon as I set the razor down on the counter. "Yes, Sir." I did as commanded. Without a word, he took my right wrist and freed the cuff, and then the left. He tossed the shackles in the hallway with a clang, and then squatted down to free my ankles. Most surprising of all, he stood and fiddled with the collar around my neck until he could reach the lock. Moments later, I felt it unhinge around my neck and he pulled it away, setting it on the sink. "Don't get excited, slave," he warned, as he gripped my shoulders and spun me around to face the shower. "Get in the tub." He pulled the clear plastic curtain aside and allowed me to step in. "Get down. Display your ass." "Yes, Sir." Nervously, I knelt down in the confines of the tub, put my chest to the cool ceramic floor and lifted my ass, pulling my cheeks gingerly apart as I'd been instructed in the dungeon. I heard him rummaging in the cabinet under the sink, and then I heard the faucet run for a minute or so. "Know what an enema is?" Ryan asked, as I heard him squat down at the edge of the tub. "Uh...yes. Yes, Sir...?" I stammered, swallowing as I stared at the floor of the tub. I gasped slightly as I felt something cool and hard at my puckering exposed asshole. "Of course you do, douchebag," he snickered as he pushed the tip gently into my rectum, and held it there. "A slave should always be clean, inside and out," he continued. Suddenly, I felt a rush of water flow into my guts and I grunted, squirming involuntarily. "Hold still...take it," Ryan coaxed as the water continued to flow into me. I gasped and groaned, feeling my stomach cramping as my guts filled with water. After several moments, when I felt like I couldn't take another drop without bursting, I felt the water stop flowing. "Good. Now, I'm going to take the hose out. I want you to clench tight, hold it in," he warned as I felt the nozzle slip out of my hole and I clenched tight. "Every fucking drop until I say." I nodded, wincing my eyes shut as I held the water in my cramped belly. "Yeh....yes, Sir," I whispered as I felt the nozzle slide out of my ass. I clamped my anus shut, squeezing my cheeks together as best I could, feeling the water sloshing around inside me, wanting nothing more than to come out. Ryan expelled a long sigh while he waited and I trembled in the tub. "Starting tomorrow, you'll be giving these to yourself. Do you have any idea how lucky you are to have a real man douche out your ass for you? I don't want to deal with this fucking shit...your fucking shit. It's your job to keep your slave ass clean from now on. Got it?" "Yes, Sir," I spat quickly, between gasps of holding my breath while I held the water inside. "Okay, let it go," he commanded. "Yes, Sir," I gasped, gratefully unclenching my ass to allow a small waterfall of murky water to gush from my hole into the tub behind me. The warm water rushed forward towards the drain washing over my hands and knees pressed to the base of the tub. I squirmed uncomfortably. "Kneel up," Ryan snapped. Take this. Before I could respond, he was pushing the enema bag and hose into my hands. I looked at it curiously. "Fill it up, to there," he indicated the amount with his finger. "Warm water." "Yes, Sir." My hands trembled a bit as I turned on the faucet in the tub, testing the water, and then filled up the bag as directed. "Hang it up there," Ryan continued, gesturing to a wire shelf fixed beneath the shower head. "Take the nozzle in your right hand, turn around to put your ass toward the bag, lean forward again and work the nozzle into your ass." "Ye'sir," I mumbled as I hung the bag up with its hook and turned around in the tub. I leaned forward sticking my ass back up in the air, and put both hands at my ass, using the tip of the nozzle to prod around my crack until I touched my hole. I could feel Ryan leaning over me to watch. "Good. There, now push it in...that's it bitch," he coaxed as I felt the nozzle slide back inside me. "Alright, feel that little lever on the base of the nozzle? Push it with your thumb. That'll start the flow...Take all of it." "Yes, Sir." I swallowed and flipped the lever, feeling the now familiar sensation of water flowing into my guts. Grunting, I squirmed as the water continued to flow for a long minute. "Okay, looks like you got it..." Ryan noted. "So, you know what to do. Lose the nozzle, and hold it in. Count to 100, nice and slow. Then you can let it go." "Yes, Sir," I gasped uncomfortably as I pulled the nozzle out and clamped my hole shut, starting to count in my head. "Out loud, dumbass." "Yes, Sir...1...2...3..." It actually helped to count out loud, as it gave me something to focus on besides the painful cramping in my guts and the humiliation of douching myself in front of another guy. "...98...99...100!" Then, a second cascade of water exploded out of my ass, rushing down the back of my legs, and swirled towards the tub drain. "On your feet but stay in the tub. Display," Ryan snapped. "Yes, Sir," I murmured as I pushed up from all fours to my feet, some of my ass juice still running down my legs. I could feel my cheeks flushing a little as I turned to face him fully, remembering the command. I straightened my posture, spread my legs widely in the tub, and put my hands behind my head. He ran his hands quickly over my upper body in a quick inspection, paying special attention to my armpits and stomach. "Hmmm, I think we're still pretty good," he mused as he kneaded his fingers intently on various areas of my torso and underarms, before moving down to my genitals, still encircled with the metal cock ring. He fingered the skin of my scrotum between two fingers. "Here too. Yeah, starting tomorrow, you'll be shaving the areas I trimmed for you as part of your routine. Pits, stomach, ass, crotch." He gave my balls a painful squeeze before letting them go, and turned around to quickly retrieve something from the cabinet under the sink. Holding the items up to show me, he continued, "Body razor and some nice girly shaving gel for you." He smirked, setting them on the wire rack under the shower head. "And if I find any stray hairs, I will pluck them one by one until you learn to do it right. Got it?" "Yes, Sir," I nodded, pathetically at the thought of shaving my body hair daily. "For now, you get to clean yourself up because you fucking reek. Here," he bent forward and pointed to a piece of duct tape affixed to the tile wall near the handle of the faucet. "You don't turn the temperature past this line. Ever. I'm not fucking wasting hot water on a slave." "Yes, Sir." I swallowed slightly, remembering the icy shards of cold water from the hose in the dungeon, but hopefully he wouldn't be that cruel. "And, here," he continued, pointing to a generic looking plastic bottle. "All in one shower gel. Soap, shampoo, all you need. And, if I ever catch you dawdling in the the shower, and even worse, jerking off, all of your showers will be in the backyard under the hose. You get in, you soap up, you rinse off, you get out. Got it, cunt?" "Yes, Sir." I nodded. "Good. Then do it. I don't have all day for this shit." He whipped the clear plastic curtain shut encasing me in the shower as I leaned forward to start the flow of water. I turned the handle until it was in line with the duct tape, and tested the temperature of the water with my hand. It wasn't hot, barely warm, but at least it wasn't freezing. I started the flow of water from the shower head and lurched as it rained down on my bare skin from above. It may not have been cold, but it certainly felt cold, nothing like the long hot showers I was accustomed to taking. I turned, giving my sweat stained body a quick rinse, until Ryan cleared his throat in warning, and I jumped to take the bottle of shower gel. Fumbling with the cap, I squeezed a generous amount onto my palm and lathered it slightly between my fingers. Instinctively, I gave it a whiff, and my nose scrunched. It had a strong, masculine, yet almost alcoholic, scent. Putting the bottle down, I worked the lather quickly into my damp hair. It felt strange, my hair suddenly much shorter that it had been in quite a long time. In no time at all, I was thoroughly shampooed and rinsed. Picking up the bottle again, I deposited another pool of gel into my palm, and soon after was working it over my bare skin, rinsing as I went. "Faster!" Ryan barked, from where he was leaning against the doorway. "This isn't the spa." I jumped, having forgotten momentarily that the shower curtain was perfectly see-through, and increased the pace in which I ran my soapy hands over my skin. When I got to my crotch, I soaped my cock and balls quickly, noting how odd it felt to slide the suds over the shaved area, sliding some of the suds under the metal cock ring with my finger tip. "Enough! Hands off," he interjected again, "Don't forget your ass crack." Almost sighing in frustration, I ran my soapy right hand up and down my shaved ass crack and bent over to soap up my legs. No sooner had I rinsed them off, did the plastic curtain slide quickly open and Ryan's hand was reaching in to shut off the water. He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the tub so quickly that I nearly tripped over the side of the tub. My wet feet slipped on the tile floor, but he caught me with both arms, holding me upright until I had my balance. I was shivering as the cool water droplets fell from my skin. "Here," he said, handing me a small, white hand towel, well, more like a rag. It was one of those cheap towels that bartenders use to wipe down their bars, and it had clearly been used before. "Towel off quickly, the rest will air dry." "Yes, Sir." I took the towel hesitantly, and began to run the scratchy fabric over my limbs, wiping as much of the water as I could from my body, as the towel dampened very quickly. By the time I'd finished with my chest and stomach, it was all but soaked and unusable. Ryan ripped the wet towel from my grasp. "You'll air dry," he snickered, as he wound the wet towel up quickly by twirling his wrist, and then without warning, snapped it against my bare ass. "Fuck!" I exclaimed, lurching forward and grabbing my stinging ass without thinking twice. "Fuck?!" Ryan yelled, his voice rising angrily. "Who the FUCK do you think you're talking to?" Almost in rage, he grabbed my arm, twisted it behind my back, and spun me around until I was pinned up against the wall. "Put your fucking hands up against the wall, and stick your fucking pussy-ass out!" I grunted slightly at the rough treatment, and before I could even reply, he was whipping my ass with the wet towel over and over again. My hands were braced so hard against the wall, that my knuckled were turning white and I could feel tears uncontrollably welling in my eyes as I absorbed blow after blow of the towel whip. I was practically dancing from left foot to right foot up against the wall as I tried to squirm my ass away from the next relentless lash. "Hold. Fucking. Still," Ryan barked, emphasizing each word with another flog of the wet towel. "Gah!" I couldn't help but scream out as the towel stung my ass. "What a fucking pussy," he remarked flatly, as the flogging suddenly stopped. "Don't fucking move a muscle." I didn't, or tried not to anyway as I trembled, bracing myself against the wall. I heard him behind me, and clenched my ass in anticipation of another round of flogging. Instead, I felt the heavy collar slide around my neck from behind, and the ominous click of the lock. "Shit. I take this off for two seconds and you already forget what you are?" He gave the collar and shake, and then grabbed my shoulders and spun me around roughly to face him. "What are you?" I glanced to him, and then diverted my eyes quickly and swallowed. As the weight of the collar once again pressed down on my neck and shoulders, I choked back the sobs in the back of my throat that had threatened to escape during the towel-thrashing. "I...I don't know," I mumbled quietly. Without warning, his bare palm slapped across my face. "Don't give me that shit. What. Are. You?" My head reeled to the side, the sting of the slap burning my left cheek, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. I really couldn't explain why, in that exact moment, I broke down. I had made it through the night, the morning run, the housework, the enemas, and now I lost it. The tears that had been welling up, escaped from my eyes and began to run down my cheeks. I felt my lip quivering, as I choked out a few sobs. "Ryan...please, come on. I..." SLAP! His left hand connected with my right cheek. I yelped in shock. Apparently, my tears were earning me no sympathy. "Ry..." I started again. SLAP! SLAP! My head reeled back and forth with more slaps. Instinctively, I brought my arms up to shield my face. "That's it," he snapped coldly. "I don't know what the FUCK is running through that dumbass brain of yours right now...we clearly have a lot more work to do than I thought. But, you better get this through your thick skull really fucking quick. I'm not your roommate, I'm not your friend, I'm not your bro. I'm your Master. And that is how you better start seeing me and treating me, with every word. Every action. Got it, bitch?" I nodded, his words drilling into me, as I sniffed back more tears. "Yeh...yes, Sir." Grabbing my wrists and shoving my arms down to my sides, he growled in my face, "Now, what are you?" Bowing my head pathetically, I spoke quietly. "A slave." "Whose slave?" "You..yours, Sir." "Who else's?" he demanded. I looked up at him, almost in surprise, momentarily forgetting that Ryan shared ownership of me with his father. "Mr...Master Grey's, Sir." Ryan lifted my chin slightly so that I could see his eyes. He smirked slightly. "And, remind me again, slave, why are you here?" I looked at him quizzically. "Because...I signed the contract, Sir." "Why?" he challenged. "Because...I had no choice, Sir." Ryan shook his head in disagreement. "That's a lie, but fine. Why? Why didn't you have a choice?" "Because..." my voice trailed, as the events of the past few days quickly replayed in my mind. My chores, my time in the dungeon, Kara, Ali, my parents. My parents. I looked back at him. "Because, I was born to, Sir," I said quietly, with a hint of sadness. He smiled, and patted my left cheek. "Good, slave. You're not completely hopeless. Now, get your ass in my room. My bed needs to be made. Neatly. When you're done, I want you to stand in front of it, bend over, and display your ass to the door and wait. I have to run downstairs, but you better be in position when I get back." "Yes, Sir." I nodded, as he grabbed my arm and shoved me out of the bathroom, stumbling into the hallway. He brushed by me on his way to the steps, and I turned to his room. Walking in, I frowned in jealousy, at the messy swirl of soft sheets and fluffy down comforter that were piled on top of the huge bed. In contrast to my shitty bare mattress, it was like a maroon cloud. I ran around the bed several times tugging the sheets, fluffing the comforte and then the pillows until I thought the bed looked pretty good. Glancing over my shoulder, I could hear footsteps on the steps, so I quickly walked to the end of the bed so that I was facing the wall, spread my legs, and bent forward. Shamefully, I grabbed my ass cheeks, and displayed my freshly douched ass to the door. I heard him breeze in behind me, and toss something onto his bed. "Brent's coming over," Ryan explained casually, as he ran his hands roughly over my back and ass, sliding his finger up and down my crack quickly. I trembled, both from the touch and the fear of what he meant by that statement. "Gonna watch the game." Swallowing, I took a few short nervous breaths. "Yes, Sir..?" He chuckled. "What? Thinking about what's gonna happen when he sees you like this?" I nodded, bent over over between my legs. "Yeh...yes, Sir." "Don't. You're not ready for him to see you. Would only embarrass me. But," he gave my ass a pat, and then leaned past me to retrieve something he had set down on the bed. "Gotta keep my slave busy. More specifically, my slave's cunt." With that, I felt something hard and wet prodding at my exposed asshole, and it wasn't an enema nozzle. I gasped slightly as it began to press in. "Relax. It's just a butt plug, pretty small at that," he explained. "Take a deep breath, and relax your ass. 1...2..." "Gah!" I exclaimed, as the plug suddenly pushed in, my sphincter clamping shut around the base. "Good, now stand up." "Yes, Sir." Slowly, I lifted my head up until I was upright, feeling the plug with every movement. "We don't want it falling out now," Ryan noted, as he circled something leather around my waist, like a belt. "A butt plug harness." He fed a leather strap from the back of the belt along my ass crack and then under my legs where it split into two straps that ran on either side of my cock and then back up to the front of the belt. The straps locked to the belt in the front with tiny padlocks. The butt plug was going no where. Taking my arm, he walked me briskly over to the closet he had shown me the day before. He opened the door to reveal the hidden cage, and flipped on the light. He opened the bar door and shoved me inside. "Sit down. Face me." I turned around, and slowly sank to the hard floor of the tall but narrow cage. Ryan pulled my leg shackles out from behind him and quickly fastened them back around each of my ankles. "Wrists," he commanded, and I held out my fists. In moments, my hands were reshackled as well, but he wasn't done. He grabbed the chain between my wrists, and then produced a large padlock which he used to lock my wrist chain to my ankles. I would be stuck as I was, bent forward, unable to stand. Still, he wasn't done. "Open," he demanded, producing a phallic shaped rubber gag, much like the one I'd worn in the dungeon. Reluctantly, I parted my lips and he shoved the black rubber deep into my mouth. "Don't want to risk drawing Brent's attention up here, do you?" he asked. I shook my head no, as if gagging me was some kind of a favor. "Didn't think so." Ryan stood up and slammed the cage door shut. I jumped as it rattled around me. He left the closet door open and without another word, set about getting himself together. He walked around the room, pulling jeans and underwear out of his dresser, picking a t-shirt out of another drawer, all as if I wasn't there watching. He disappeared into his bathroom and I could hear the shower spring to life, during which time I did my best to get as comfortable as I could on the floor of the cage. I managed to shuffle backwards enough to lean against the back wall of the cage, but even the plug in my ass wasn't enough to distract me from the discomfort of cramping limbs. What seemed like 15 or 20 minutes later, Ryan emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around his waist. He stood in front of his dresser, dropped the towel revealing his muscled backside to me, and then dressed quickly in his boxers, jeans and pulled the t-shirt over his head. He gave his damp hair a quick towel dry and tossed the towel on the floor near the bathroom. His phone rang on the dresser and he picked it up. "Yeah, man?" He paced back across the room, not even so much as glancing in my direction. "Cool, I'll see you when you get here." Snapping the phone shut, he tossed it on the bed and walked towards me. "Mmph?!" I exclaimed into the gag suddenly, lurching forward. The plug in my ass began to vibrate, rattling violently inside my rectum, and then it stopped. Ryan snickered, holding up a small black remote control. "Did I forget to mention that it vibrates?" My eyes popped open as the plug sprang to life again in my ass, and I squirmed uncomfortably, trying involuntarily to shit it out. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it felt unnatural and invasive and humiliating. He held up the remote again and clicked the button off. "Listen carefully, the game starts in about a half hour. You're not going to watch, of course, but you're not going to be up here sleeping either. I want you awake and focused on your slavery, and just to make sure, when the game is over and after Brent leaves, I'm going to come back here and ask you how many points were scored during the game, and I suggest you get it right, because if you're off by one point, you will be punished." I raised an eyebrow as I looked up at him through the bars like he was insane. Gripping the bars that made up the cage door, he gave it a little shake to test the hold, and chuckled. "I'm not expecting you to be psychic, dumbass. Every time points are scored, for either team, I'm going to let you know with this," he held up the control, and flipped the vibrator back on. "1...2...3, and off." He clicked the remote again and the vibrator stopped. "Of course, you'll need to keep a running tally of seconds the plug vibrates in your ass over the course of the game. One second for one point. Understood?" "Mmph..." I muttered into the gag, nodding my head reluctantly. It didn't seem too difficult. "So, don't fuck it up," he barked, stepping back from the door. Pausing, he glared down at me, "And, this goes without saying cunt, but I suggest you keep your movements to a minimum. Brent's not going to know you're here, but if he hears something coming from upstairs, I may not stop him from finding out what it is." With that, he slammed the closet door shut, flipping off the light, leaving me in the darkness of the cage. I panicked for a minute, recalling instantly the same feeling I'd had when I was locked in the dungeon cell. For the time being, I was completely helpless, gagged, and immobile. At least this time, I was more confident that I would be freed before the night was out. My only real concern was keeping track of time the plug vibrated in my ass, and keeping quiet enough to avoid drawing attention to myself. Getting comfortable again, well as comfortable as I could get, I began to mull over the idea of Ryan outing me as his slave to Brent, or anyone else for that matter. He couldn't be serious, yet I had no way of knowing what his intentions were. There were no assurances of anything anymore, only that I was subject to the wills of Ryan and Mr. Grey. Moments later, I tensed, hearing a bit of faint commotion through the walls and the floor as Brent had evidently arrived. It quieted down quickly, and I couldn't make out any further sounds. Time began to crawl by, and I even felt myself beginning to doze. Suddenly, the plug roared to life in my ass, and my eyes popped open. "1...2...3...4...5...6," I counted to myself. A minute later, the plug vibrated again, but just for an instant. "Extra point. 7." Not so hard. Hours later, I was in a pure panic. After the first touchdown, the game must have ground to a halt. Then suddenly, it was a scoring frenzy. Two field goals. Another touchdown. Another field goal. Another touchdown, well, I think. Was that an extra point or a field goal? Not to mention, every time the plug began to vibrate, I was thrown into a physical frenzy. At first, it was pure discomfort, but as the game went on, it began to feel almost good. Like scratching an itch that I couldn't otherwise. In fact, it was the only thing that felt good. My legs were cramped from sitting as I was. My lower back and shoulders ached from hunching forward with no relief. After awhile, the vibrating stopped completely. The game had to be over by now, but still no Ryan. More time went by, and I waited in aching frustration. Just as I was dozing again, my head bobbing slightly forward, the closet door flew open and the light flooded the space around me. I looked up to see a smirking Ryan, as he fiddled with the cage door until it was unlocked and open. Squatting down in front of me, he reached behind me to unfasten the gag, pulling it unceremoniously from my mouth. "Well?" he asked, wiping the dripping saliva from the gag across my chest, as I stretched my jaw painfully. His breath reeked of beer, and his eyes were a little bloodshot. "Thirty...three, Sir," I said hoarsely, trying to sound confident but praying that I had counted correctly. Ryan smirked, and shook his head. "Nope. 37, dumbass. Either you dozed off, when I told you not to, or you just can't fucking count." He leaned forward and unlocked the padlock that locked my wrists to my ankles. "And now, you'll have to suffer for that. Up." He took my arm and pulled me forward, helping me to my feet unsteadily. "But first, you have a mess to clean up downstairs. Get to it, and then wait on your knees by your bowl for your dinner Lucky for you, Brent and I had pizza so I don't need you to make me anything." "Yes, Sir," I responded in defeat, and shuffled out of the room back down the steps to clean up Ryan's mess for the second time that day. The vibrator sprang to life in my ass, and would continue to do so at random intervals while I cleaned. I finished clearing the living room of more beer bottles, plates, napkins and an empty box of pizza. After picking up crumbs and wiping down the coffee table, I returned to the kitchen to wait. Eventually, Ryan joined me int he kitchen, and gave me a tutorial on the makeup of my liquid meal as he made it. It was a disgusting combination of raw vegetables, tomato juice, raw eggs, an array of supplemental powders, milk, and ice, all blended together. I nearly gagged again as he poured it into my bowl and forced me to slurp it down through the straw. The butt plug vibrated inside me the entire time I ate. After dinner, I was ordered to my slave room to wait in display. I stood in front of my bed, well mattress, facing the door. My chained hands were behind my head, and my legs were spread as wide as the ankle chain allowed as I waited nervously for Ryan to retrieve something from his room. He returned, holding a small ping pong paddle which he swatted lightly against his palm. "You were 4 points off, slave," he began, coldly. "Do you know what that says to me? It says that you weren't focused. Your mind was wandering," he paused, stepping closer to me. "You need to understand that when that plug was vibrating in your ass, that was me in there. Me giving you attention, direction. Letting you know that you should be counting, up here." He emphasized his thought by bopping my forehead lightly with the paddle. "Yes, Sir. I...I'm sorry, Sir." I stammered. "I don't want you to feel sorry. I want you to feel pain." With that, he took a step back, snapped his wrist down, and slapped the paddle against my exposed balls. "AGHN!" I yelped, staggering backwards as pain rocketed up my groin and into my abdomen from the surprise assault. He reached out to steady me, as I involuntarily started to move my hands over my head to comfort my groin. "No, keep your hands behind your head, and keep upright. You deserve this. Take it like a slave." WHACK. "UGHNN!" I grit my teeth, tensing all of my muscles as another burst of pain exploded in my groin. I felt tears welling in my eyes. WHACK. I yelped, staggering again, as he held me steady with his left hand. "Please...Ry...Sir!" "If you insist," he smirked, delivering a fourth whack to my balls. I cried out in pain, wincing back tears as I shook, feeling like I was going to vomit. "Four points, four whacks. Next time, you'll remember to focus," he remarked coldly, releasing his grip on my trembling arm. "Now, thank me for punishing you." I looked at him shamefully through my tears, a mix of fear and hate in my eyes, and maybe even a hint of anger. "Thank you," I swallowed. "Sir." He smiled darkly. "Get some sleep. Think about what a dumb cunt you are, and what you're going to do to be a better slave tomorrow than you were today. In fact, that is what you should think about every single night from now on." He left the room, and slammed the door behind him without waiting for a response. I trembled in pain and shock for several moments, my balls aching. The lights went out, and I shuffled my way towards the beg, collapsing on top of the bare mattress. I curled into a fetal position, the plug still stuffed into my ass. At least it wasn't vibrating. Pathetically, I winced back tears of pain and humiliation as I drifted off to a fitful sleep. *** To be continued. 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