Date: Sun, 10 Mar 2024 07:59:25 -0400
From: Robert Halstead <subkodak25@gmail.com>
Subject: Breaking Me In 57

Chapter 57.

I have to admit that despite having to do housework in the nude, the entire
experience with Zippy and his buddies turned out to be a lot of fun. I
mistakingly got the idea that things would always turn out this way. Wrong.

The next time wasn't any fun at all. Bobby gave me an address and told me
to drive myself there. It was a kind of gay boarding house and once again
it was a morning arrangement. Seven rooms. Seven beds. Seven bathrooms.

The guy running the place was named Harold and he was very uptight and
formal with me. He took me around even before I got naked and showed me
what he expected me to do. Very matter-of-fact and cold. I was just a
servant being given instructions.

He brought me down to his office and had me strip there. He barely looked
at me as he typed away on his computer. Once I was naked he ordered me to
take off my flip-flops. "I'm paying for you to work completely naked and
that's how you'll be," he told me. "Now get to work. Strip the beds
first. The laundry is in the basement."

And with that he dismissed me.

I hate doing this kind of work and the fact that the man I was working for
took little interest in me, there was no submissive pay-off in all
this. Just drudgery. Once I had all the beds stripped, the pile of laundry
was too big for me to carry all at once and I needed to make two trips down
to the basement. Up and down, up and down. The washing machine was quite
large and I was able to fit everything in it.

For the third time I made my way upstairs and got started on the
bathrooms. Seven fucking bathrooms, and a couple of them were a real
fucking mess because the guys who used them were slobs. Resentment set in
along with anger. Harold came in one time only to watch me work. I started
to say something to him but He immediately silenced me then handed me a
penis gag with just a little projection in it and ordered me to put it on
myself. "Keep it there," he ordered and then walked away.

Each room had a walk-in shower, which made things a little easier. At least
I wasn't going to have to scrub tubs. One of the residents obviously had a
hard time aiming his piss at the bowl and the floor was a stinking
mess. More anger and resentment and the gag Harold made me wear added to my
sense of misery. At one point, Harold's voice came through an
intercom. "Washing is done. Get down there and put it into the dryer. Right
now."

Fuck. I dropped what I was doing and went downstairs. The floor in the
basement was just concrete and my feet were getting sore. So what, I
knew. "Come to my office," was the next command. I got the dryer started
and made my way to his office again. When I got there, without saying
anything, he held out his hand which held two nipple clips, very small ones
I have never seen before. "I assume you're smart enough to know what to do
with these," he said with contempt in his voice. I took them from him and
put them on my nipples. They're not as tight as clothespins, but I knew
that as time went on they would bite into my more and more.

As soon as I put them on, without looking away from his computer he says
"Back to work, faggot."

More bathroom cleaning. At one point, a guy walked into the rooms. I guess
it was his chambers I was cleaning. He came in and saw me leaning over the
toilet scrubbing it clean. "What the fuck?" he said. "Get down on your
fucking knees, dude." When I did, he kicked me in the balls and I was
suddenly down on the dirty floor in fetal position. I couldn't help but
remember the time I was curled up that way after Red whipped my
nipple. Here I was again, similarly humiliated in the presence of this guy
I'd never met before who only called me "dude." He spit on me a couple
times. "Back to work, shithead."

Shithead? Never been called that before. I guess the guy must be straight
because that was the only interest he took in me other than spitting on me
a couple times. I wonder what these guys were told about me, about why I
was cleaning their rooms in the nude, collared and caged.

Except for a few encounters, I was totally ignored as I worked away. I
began to have a goal in sight: getting all this work done and getting the
fuck out of here. What contributed the most to my humiliation was the way I
was basically ignored, except for those times when something was done to
remind me Harold knew I was a slave. First the gag. Then the clips, which
were really starting to hurt by this point—more incentive to get my work
done as quickly as possible.

The guy who spit on me came in again while I was finishing up. He only had
his boxer briefs on. He took off the gag—what a relief! He stood at the
toilet and took out his long cock. "Hold my cock in your mouth while I take
a piss," he ordered. "Make sure you don't miss the bowl or I'll make you
lick up what you spill on the floor," he commanded. Weird. Never done this
before, holding a cock with my mouth this way, helping him aim for the
bowl. His piss smelled really strong, so I'm glad he didn't make me take it
in my mouth.

Once he was finished, he ordered me to open my mouth. He rapped his cock
against my cheek a couple times and piss flew out of it which I quickly
wiped off my face with my fingers. "Suck my piss off your fingers, pig!" he
commanded. Once I'd done that, he put the gag back in place and walked
away. That was the end of our interaction.

When I got done in the bathroom he was sitting in his chair watching TV. He
ordered me onto my hands and knees in front of his seat and put his feet up
on my back.

"Just a piece of furniture," he said. Just as my arms and legs were shaky
and I was about to collapse, he took his feet off me. "Lick my feet clean,"
he ordered, holding them up one at a time for me to take into my hands and
service it. Other than that, he said nothing at all. When he was satisfied,
he'd put his foot down and give me the other. While I was licking his
rather stinky foot clean, Harold came in the room and laughed at what he
was seeing. "Let the faggot go finish the other rooms," he ordered. He put
his foot down and when I turned towards Harold, I touched the clamps, which
hurt like hell now. Harold said nothing but just left the room.

"Pits!" the guy in the chair said. "Eat my stink!" he commanded and when I
stuck my mouth in one of his smelly pits, inhaling the scent and getting a
little turned on, he started spanking my ass with his large hand. At last,
something that I could get into. This guy was really a Dom. Finally.

But he was soon done with me, he put the gag back into my mouth, then
pushed me away. I started to get up to go to another room when he
commanded, "Crawl, faggot!" And so my joy was complete!

Only two more bathrooms to go. I began wondering what was going to happen
next. To tell the truth, I craved the attention, especially when it
involved pain and humiliation. But for the most part, the entire time was
just lonely drudgery, especially when it came time to bring up the laundry
(two trips again) and start making the beds, which I suck at. But nobody
inspected what I was doing. Nobody checked up on my work.

At one point the clamps were hurting so much that I took them off myself
and laid them on the floor outside the bathroom door. I wondered if I would
get punished from doing that and secretly wished something would
happen—anything to give me any attention.

It was then I realized that one of the things I like about being a sub
slave was the fact that most Masters really paid me a lot of
attention. That's what I wanted the most. That's what I got little of,
laboring in this boarding house. I was determined that I was going to safe
word it if Bobby ever tried to send me here again.

When I was finally finished, I went back to Harold's office so I could get
dressed again. He wasn't there. Alone I put my clothes on and left the
house to drive home.

As it turned out, they were a lot more observant than I had expected. Bobby
had a list of complaints Harold gave him. He read me the list which
included taking off the clamps without permission. After making me gulp
down the piss he'd saved up for me, He chained me down to the ground in the
dungeon and worked me over with a light whippy cane from my neck to my
knees until I was screaming for mercy, then left me there for over an hour,
and I had nothing to do except to feel the pain and realize that the Master
had punished me so that I would become a better slave, even in situations
where I didn't experience any direct payoff.

I realized that Bobby was teaching me to engage in truly self-less service
to others. And you know something? Boredom is a lot more painful than any
beating. But when I'm aware that my purpose as Bobby's slave is to give of
myself to others expecting nothing in return, then I am truly loving. And
when I surrender to each situation, not matter what it may be, because I am
doing it to show my love for Bobby, the boredom goes away and I get totally
lost in my service. I didn't realize that when cleaning Harold's house I
was paying homage and love to my Master, so I served selfishly. That's why
Bobby had to punish me.

Finally Bobby came in and let me get free. I immediately scampered over to
His feet to thank Him. After that He helped me up off the ground and held
me in His arms. I had so much I wanted to say but I never did. I just wept
and got His shirt wet.  "I know how awful that must have been, baby. True
slavery, perhaps?"

"Awful slavery," I muttered, loud enough so He could hear me. "That's
because you were being selfish," he explained.

"That's why I whipped you so hard. Every time I put you out to serve
another is another opportunity for you to prove your love for me. When you
are made to serve without expecting anything in return, then you have an
opportunity to love me by loving others.

"It's a spiritual matter, dear. Your selfishness and resentment today made
it nothing more than meaningless drudgery. I will be sending you there
again next week, and every week after that, until you are able to learn
what I'm trying to teach you, that you find your greatest purpose in
selfless service to me and to anyone I give you to, for whatever reason.

"I want you to understand. Now you know what I can put you through when I
think you need to be reminded what you are. That's how much power I have
over you now, that I can reduce you to nothing more than
drudgery. Humiliating drudgery that hardly gives you any satisfaction at
all. It's not about pleasing you all the time. NO, not any longer.

"You have to learn to please yourself. You will find that pleasure when you
let go of any pretension that you are an ordinary free man. You will find
that pleasure when you serve out of love while basing no stipulations on
the result."

I struggle to make sense of what Bobby is trying to teach me. I realize
what an opportunity I had turned down. I gradually found myself actually
wanting to return there to lose myself in the work and to love Bobby by
serving Him no matter where I may be sent or what I may be required to do.

Then it occurred to me: Bobby was my god. Bobby represented God to me. In
serving Him, I am serving God with all that I am.

To get the point in a more powerful way, Bobby locked me in the cage until
the next morning. No supper. I started struggling against the cage and He
stood there watching me. "You gonna get pissed and run away again?" He
asked. "You gonna try to demand your freedom again?"

I knew I wouldn't, no matter what he did to me, no matter what
happened. Without Bobby I'm not sure I'd be able to exist.

After some time had passed, I settled down. "I've locked up your body but
not your mind, boy. You have to choose where your mind will go. You do have
a choice: you can suffer and resist because I've taken away all of your
freedom, or you can surrender, realizing that while you're in that cage you
have no distractions at all. While you are locked up by your Master, you
have the opportunity to lose yourself in loving Me.

"Like I said: the choice is yours. Either you will suffer because you
resist what is happening to you, or you will find great peace in simply
surrendering to what is happening to you right now, knowing that your
Master knows this is the best place for you to be right now.

"Let me put it this way: the choice is between selfish misery or the peace
and joy of true surrender. Locked there in that cage, hardly able to move
at all, you have the opportunity to experience the spiritual freedom
available to you when you lose yourself by loving Me."

I know I wouldn't. I couldn't. He was conquering me in ways I never
imagined before. No! Conquer is the wrong word. The truth is that He was
challenging me. Challenging me to become his thoroughly authentic slave. My
Master has chosen to lock me away. He is giving me the opportunity to
surrender to the pain of my existence as His slave. My flesh was on fire
from the pain of the whipping He had given me. My nipples ached more than
ever before. This is what it means to be a slave. To be His slave. To be
the slave of the man I was hopelessly in love with.  A man for whom I would
endure anything at all. Anything He wanted. Anything He wanted to help his
slave learn. He did this out of love for me. I will return that love right
here, right now, in pain and under severe restriction. That is the meaning
of my existence. It always will be.

Always.

THE END

Please, please write me at subkodak25@gmail.com.  Tell me what you're
taking away from this story.  Thanks!

My next story will be entitled "Brothel Slave." It will begin soon. Please
look for it.

Rob