Date: Sat, 7 Nov 2020 15:15:51 -0500
From: Jeff Hamby <jeffhamby1025@gmail.com>
Subject: The Cockpig 4

his story is an original work. It should not be reposted or reproduced in
whole or in part without the author's consent. 
Copyright 2020 by Jeff Hamby.  All rights reserved.

Warning: This story contains sexual acts between adult males
If you do not enjoy this type of material, or if it is illegal in
your country or place of residence, please stop reading immediately. This
story is not in any way an accurate depiction of reality, and any relation
to real persons or acts are unintentional. This story is fiction.


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The Cockpig


Chapter 4



That first weekend I fucked the faggot a lot. Pretty much the entire time
he was with me he had a load of my cum inside him, either deep up his ass
or filling his belly. I made sure to keep a good bit of it on his face,
too. I wanted him to smell it constantly, to know it was there at all
times, an ever-present reminder of what he was used for and his main
purpose in life -- being a man's cumdump.

He was supposed to head home Sunday morning, but I still had some training
in mind for the pussyboy. I woke up early with my usual piss hardon tenting
the sheets. The pussyboy was sleeping soundly on the floor next to the
bed. Not that he had any choice, of course: I'd put a tight, locking ball
stretcher around his useless nuts, then chained them to the leg of the
bed. Just enough chain to keep him in place, but not enough for him to go
anywhere. I wanted to reinforce in his little cum-drenched brain that he
was property, controlled even when he slept. Apparently, he was so tired
from being used that he was actually able to sleep on the hard floor, more
likely from exhaustion than anything else.

I grabbed the keys from the night stand and unlocked the chain, then jerked
on it hard, waking the pussyboy up abruptly as his nuts were yanked. It's a
great way for a faggot to wake up: with a man casually inflicting pain,
suffering from the first moment, knowing that's how its day will continue
if its owner so desires.

Once the cunt was awake, I reeled in the chain until he climbed on the
bed. I put him to work licking my erection. I think he realized it was
about to go in his ass, because he slobbered on it a lot, trying to get it
very wet so it wouldn't tear his hole when I fucked him. I hate using
lube. Dry fucking a faggot can be so much more satisfying. I love to make
pigs squeal, and that's a great way to do it. When you've got a cock the
size of mine, though, you have to be careful not to damage the property,
especially one as new and inexperienced as this bitch. That's why I usually
go for some throat lube when I fuck.

I reached down and grabbed the pussyboy's tits and pulled him up and on to
my cock. I just loved the look on his face as he impaled himself on my rod,
trying to ease it in slowly, working hard to accommodate the mass of flesh
inside him. During those early days, he always tried to get it to slide in
slowly. Obviously, that couldn't be allowed. Once he was positioned just
right and trying to relax on to my cock, just when it was positioned to be
stretching his sphincter the most, the time that required him to relax the
most to get in it, I pinched his tits really hard. Got a squeal every
time. He'd also clinch his asshole around my cock nice and tight, his body
trying to force the invader back out. That's when I'd thrust my hips into
him, ramming my cock home, holding his body in place with my grip on his
nipples. That didn't get a squeal. That always got a gasp, sometimes a
scream, all of it music to my ears. The faggot would go completely rigid as
he was impaled. Suddenly, the cock he'd been trying to ease through his
anal ring was buried deep in his guts, way up in that second sphincter at
the far end of his rectum.

Some faggots really love getting a cock up their ass. They love being
fucked by a man. You can tell from the look on their face when it's
happening, a look of pure ecstasy. Not my cockpig, though. Not then, not
even now. His look is completely different. I'm sure he gets some pleasure
from it, but the look of agony on his sweet young face has never changed
from the first time I fucked him until now. Regardless of whose cock is in
his hole, his expression is always one of pain, mixed with something in his
eyes that says, "I hate this. I need this. I deserve it."

I made the pussyboy ride my cock slowly for a while, forcing himself up and
down on it. I liked having gravity help get my cock deeper inside his
body. By now I'd managed to stretch his hole out to perfectly fit my cock
like it was tailor-made for me.  But I also had other plans, so I finally
let go of his tits and grabbed his legs. I spun him around facing away from
me, not bothering to remove my cock from his hole. Ever seen a faggot have
a big, thick cock rotated inside him? It stretches the hole in unique ways,
adding a new level of pain to the fucking. It made the pussyboy gasp and
squeal, which just made my cock throb in his ass all the more. Once I had
him positioned, I used my cock and hips to shove him forward until his head
was off the edge of the bed and his ass was up in the air. He was gripping
the side of the bed, trying to keep from falling, but I had a firm grip on
his hips. As tight as his hole was hugging my cock, I probably could have
held him there with just my dick. I rammed him good, giving his hole one of
the hardest fuckings of the entire weekend. The pussyboy was crying and
squealing from the pounding I was giving his guts, until I finally filled
him with another load of my cum.

I held the pussyboy in place after I came, waiting for my cock to soften
some. As soon as it did, I released my morning piss deep inside him, giving
him an enema of my own personal fluid. When he realized what was happening,
the faggot began to pant and whine like a wounded puppy. He'd grown
prepared in the last few days for me to use his mouth as my urinal, but
apparently it never occurred to the stupid bitch I could use his ass that
way as well. I always have a full bladder first thing in the morning, so I
really put a lot of piss up his hole. When I was finished, I slowly pulled
my cock out until only the head was inside his hole.

"Not a drop, bitch. Don't you lose one fucking drop of that piss,
especially not on my bed," I warned.

The faggot clenched his ass the best he could after the coring out I'd just
given him. After I pulled my cock out completely, I ordered him to stay
like a good dog while I got a nice large butt plug. A big fat one, just
perfect for sealing up his hole and keeping all my piss and cum inside
him. I allowed him to spit on the plug before I shoved it in, since I was
feeling generous.

Once he was securely plugged, I ordered the bitch on to the floor where he
belonged. To his credit, I didn't have to tell him what to do: he leaned in
and started cleaning my cock, licking off the piss, cum and ass slime. He
even licked my balls for good measure, making sure to clean off any ball
sweat which had accumulated while I slept. I watched his face carefully so
I could see when the cramps started. It took a little while, but when they
hit, it was easy to see.

"Time for breakfast, faggot. Coffee and a cheese omelet. Get busy," I said,
snapping my fingers. He crawled away towards the kitchen, his little drain
still hard as a rock. The view as he crawled away was exquisite -- that
small, perfect, pale ass of his, still showing red marks from my fingers
where I'd held on to him as I fucked him; the base of that big plug
spreading his cheeks apart, and his stretched nuts dangling and swinging as
he crawled. Not putting him back in the chastity cage yet had definitely
been a good idea.

After I threw on some shorts and a shirt, I followed the faggot down to the
kitchen. He was cooking my breakfast, occasionally groaning and gripping
his belly as the cramps twisted his guts. He was hopping back and forth
from one foot to the other, trying to hold everything inside him. Now and
then I could actually hear my piss sloshing around inside him.  It was so
amusing I decided to leave him that way until after breakfast. Besides, it
was great training for the faggot. It clearly communicated the message I
wanted to send -- my pleasure, needs, and desires are paramount; your
suffering means nothing. I wanted him to fully grasp the fact that, no
matter how badly he needed to empty his bowels, it was nothing compared to
the importance of making me a nice breakfast and allowing me to enjoy it in
peace.

While I ate, the pussyboy cleaned my feet and sucked my toes, not just
because I enjoy it, but because I wanted his ass high in the air, so that
all that piss inside him sloshed around good. The cramps were really
getting to him. I could tell from the high-pitched whining noises he kept
making.

"One more sound from you, fuckhole, and I'd adding a full enema bag to
what's already inside you. Then you go in the cage. Plugged," I told him,
barely interrupting my breakfast. Silence. Just the sound of him slobbering
on my toes. He was even crying silently. His training was clearly taking
hold.

After breakfast, I grabbed a leash and attached it to the faggot, then led
him out to the back yard, to the spot where I'd made him do his
business. He was rocking from knee to knee, anxious for me to pull the
plug. The cramps and his desperation had outweighed his shame at
last. Perfect.

"Well, faggot? Do you need to do your business? Need to piss and shit?" I
asked, holding his leash in my hand.

"Oh, yes Sir! Please, Sir! It hurts so bad, Sir! Please, please, please
Sir!" he begged.

"No fag," I replied. "If you're going to shit like an animal, beg like
one."

Reinforcement of status and role. It's essential to training a cockpig.

The fag immediately bent down and starting licking my feet, whining like a
dog that wants to go out, while I got my phone out. I finally reached over
and snatched the plug out of his hole, then gave him permission to release
what was inside of him. I have some wonderful video of him squatting there
like a beast, my piss, cum and his own waste flowing out of his ass, a look
of blissful relief on his face, mixed with a deep blush of shame.

Ordinarily, I'd never let a faggot waste a load of my cum and piss like
that. But it was important to train the pussyboy that I controlled his body
and his most private bodily functions; that he had no privacy, even for
something like this. It was more important than anything else to have him
here, pissing and shitting in the yard on the end of a leash, observed and
supervised by a real man. There would be time for the other stuff
later. This was vital to reshaping the bitch's mind and
self-image. Training like this carved away years of social programming,
replacing it with an imprint of his new, truer existence, like a brand in
his mind which he could never remove nor hide, even from himself.

When he was done, I hosed the fuckboy off, then left him outside on his
leash to dry. We were approaching time for him to leave. I retrieved his
chastity cage from the basement, then brought the bitch inside. He knelt in
the living room floor while I filled a metal mixing bowl with ice, then
added some water and brought it back with me.

I knew he was horny. He'd been in that cage for a month, and the only time
he'd cum was the first evening with me, when he spontaneously shot his load
while I whipped his virgin hole with my belt. Other than that, nothing. Not
even a wet dream. I'd made the pussyboy keep careful track of each
frustrated erection and report the number to me at the end of each day when
we talked, along with any wet dreams he'd had. This exercise kept him
constantly aware of his little drain being locked away, as if the cage
didn't do a good enough job of that. It also helped to remind him daily of
what he had lost, what was no longer an option for him. See, a lot of men,
when they lock a faggot in chastity, they just leave them like
that. Problem is, the bitch quickly becomes accustomed to the cage. After a
month or so, he gets so used to being horny all the time, it becomes the
new normal. Chastity loses some of its effectiveness -- the longing for
release goes away, and the burning need becomes more of a dull ache he gets
used to and begins to cope with, then ignore. I don't allow that, of
course. You can't, not if you are working to reshape a faggot's mind as
well as behavior.

I went over to the front door where I keep my shoes and boots. I chose a
nice heavy pair of combat boots, the pair I like wearing the most. Since
the faggot still had the ball stretcher locked on his nuts, I figured they
should be put to good use.

"Stand up and spread your legs, fuckhole," I ordered. Once he was properly
positioned, I tied my boots to his nuts. "Not completely useless anymore,
are they, pig?" I smirked. Once they were securely attached, I dropped
them, jerking his balls hard and eliciting another squeal and groan from
the fag.

"Now, fuckhole, we're going to play a little game," I said, handing him the
bowl of ice water. "I'm going to stroke that little drain between its
legs. Why? Because its mine and I fucking choose to, that's why. However,
it doesn't have permission to cum. It will not cum under any circumstances,
is that clear, cumdump?"

He nodded his head, fear in his eyes. We both knew what a challenge this
would be for the pussyboy. At his age, those balls fill up fast, and the
need to cum, when it hits, burns red hot. Control was never his strong
point, anyway. Before I made him lock himself up, he came twice a day
without fail, sometimes more. His balls had never been this full before,
and any relief he'd gotten from his spontaneous orgasm that first night had
faded away. I probably could have gotten him to shoot with just a couple of
strokes if that was what I wanted.

"If it cums, we're done. Forever, faggot. I'll beat its ass until it can
hardly walk, then dump it out at its car and never speak to it again. I
have zero use for fags that put their own pleasure above my orders. Got it,
pissbreath?"

"Yes, Sir, it understands," he said, practically a whisper.

I grabbed the lube from the coffee table, and put a big glob in my
hand. "Now, fuckhole, if it thinks it might cum, it will use that bowl of
ice water to stop itself. It better pull out of my hand and soak its drain
until the feeling passes, got it?" He nodded. I grabbed his little nub,
which was still hard as steel. These young fags, they are always so horny,
their drains standing at attention. I slowly began to stroke him, giving
special attention to the head of his nub, where it is most sensitive. The
faggot didn't have much meat between his legs, but that didn't matter. It
wasn't good for anything anyway. I like a faggot with a small drain. All
those nerve endings packed so close together makes them extra sensitive,
just perfect for torture. Plus, it saved me time working to shrink it
down. With faggots that have big drains, it can be great training to keep
them locked away without erection until they begin to lose size
permanently, while always reminding them they are becoming even less
nominally male that they already were. Really fucks with their heads in the
best possible way.

I stroked him exactly four times before he pulled away and plunged his
little nub into the ice water. Must have stung like hell from the sound he
made. Freezing cold water isn't conducive to an erection, that's for
sure. Still, it took him about two minutes of icing his dicklet before he
was able to present it to me again safely. He was so adorable, biting his
lip, swaying from foot to foot as I stroked him back to erection, each move
making my boots swing and stretch his balls more.

We did this for about half an hour. Edging him, bringing him right to the
point of orgasm, but then denying him. I wanted those balls throbbing like
never before, swollen and blue with unspent cum. The perfect condition for
the faggot's two-hour drive home.

I finally made him leave his drain in the ice water until he was fully
soft, I removed my boots and the ball stretcher, then put the chastity cage
back on him. The first time it was locked on, I made him do it on
Skype. Psychologically, I wanted him to know he'd done this to himself,
even if it was on my order. As he got progressively hornier, and his
burning need for release grew and turned to desperation, I wanted him to
remember he was responsible for his condition, that he chose this. Now, I
had a different message for him as I personally clicked the lock in place:
this is my property, and I do with it whatever I want.

Once he was locked up again, I reattached his leash and plugged his hole
with the butt plug he'd worn on the drive down from his place. I led him
back outside. I needed to piss again, and he needed a souvenir for the long
ride home. I had him drink some of my piss, so he'd have the taste of it
lingering in his mouth, but most of it I used to hose him down good,
especially his hair and face. I wanted his car to be filled with the smell
of my piss. I was training him as my urinal, and I wanted him to spend
those two hours smelling like one. With luck, his roommate would be home
when he arrived, stinking like a men's restroom, his ass plugged, dressed
like a slut with his chastity cage profiling through his spandex
shorts. There is nothing like being exposed to your best friend for what
you really are to change a faggot's self-image for good.

Once enough piss dripped off the bitch that he wouldn't contaminate my car
too much, I grabbed his leash and led him over to the trunk. He looked
stunned when I ordered him to crawl in.

"I don't need a toilet stinking up my car, pissbreath," I explained. I wish
I had a picture of the look on his face as I was shutting the trunk.

I drove him back to the shopping center where he'd parked a few days
before, his car right near the front of the lot, next to the busy
roadway. I made sure to park so the trunk would be in full view of both the
road and the traffic in and out of the lot. Slaves can't be shy. Shyness
has to be trained out of them step by step. I grabbed the fag's tiny
Spandex underwear and flip flops from the front floorboard where he'd left
them on the ride to my house. When I opened the trunk and the sunlight hit
the pussyboy, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He squealed
and started hyperventilating, covering his little drain and cage in case
anyone could see him. The stench of piss coming off of him was powerful. I
tossed the shorts to him.

"Get dressed, bootlicker. Time to go." He squirmed around until he got into
the skintight Spandex, then crawled out of the trunk. I could see people
driving by staring at him, and I'm sure he saw them, too. He did another
one of those full body blushes I loved so much, standing there in full view
of the road and the busy shopping center, naked except for a padlocked
leather slave collar, a pair of very small Spandex underwear which showed
off every curve of his ass, and some flip flops. The padlock and outline of
his chastity cage were both clearly visible. He looked exactly like what he
was: a faggot fuckhole. Obviously, I took my time unlocking his collar. I
wanted to give him ample time to see the decent people doing their grocery
shopping staring at him. As soon as his collar was unlocked, I left him
standing there while I unlocked the console and retrieved his cell phone,
wallet, and car keys.

"Show your appreciation for my time and training, cunt. Kiss my feet and
say goodbye," I ordered.

He stared at me for a second, like he couldn't believe I'd make him do such
a thing in such a public place. I glared right back at him, drilling my
gaze into those deep blue puppy dog eyes of his, making sure he could see I
was completely serious, that I expected obedience without question. He
dropped his gaze, blushed again even deeper, then sank to his knees right
there in the parking lot. The little fuckhole started kissing my boots and
thanking me for training him.

I finally dropped his keys next to his head. "It will text me when it
arrives home." With that, I turned and got in my car and drove off, leaving
the faggot on his knees nearly naked next to the road.

I'm sure it was a long and unpleasant ride home for the faggot.  That's
exactly what I intended.  He couldn't even stop to get a drink to wash the
taste of my piss out of his mouth, since he reeked of it and had no other
clothes with him.

It was time for the faggot's final test. The big one. The one that mattered
the most. This one, however, he had to take alone. This one took place
completely in his own head. And it began with that long drive back home,
stinking of my piss, sore inside and out from my abuse, his well-fucked
hole plugged, his nub locked away and his balls sore, swollen, and aching
for release. What happened next was critical to his training, and would
help determine the course of the rest of his life. But it all had to happen
in his mind, starting with that long drive where he contemplated what had
happened to him and decided what it meant.

He texted me when he arrived home. I told him to strip, right then, and
give me a video Skype call. I wanted him fresh from the drive, still
reeking of my piss. Once we were connected, I made him display his hole so
I could make sure he was still plugged, which he was. I asked if his
roommate was home. The faggot blushed again and hung his head. He was, it
seemed, and the pussyboy had made a mad dash to his bedroom without
explaining his appearance.  He told he didn't know what he would tell Cody
(that was his roommate and best friend), but he'd think of something. I
suggested he tell him the truth, and he blushed even deeper than
before. Then I laid it out for the faggot.

"Listen closely, cumdump. This is the last time we are going to talk for a
while. You've got some thinking to do, and some decisions to make. You've
seen what I'm like. You've got a good taste of what serving me means, and
it only gets more intense from here, fuckhole. So, you have to decide if
this is what you really want or not. Only you know what's inside you. You
are the only one that can figure out what you need most. You can stay there
and live that nothing life you've got, and take whatever life hands you;
or, you can go for what you say you really want, what you keep telling me
you crave so badly -- you can become my property. Like we've discussed,
that's all you'll ever be to me: property. No limits. No rights. No
choices. If you decide to belong to me, that's the last choice you'll get
to make. Ever. Understand me, pig?"

He nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"Good. You have a lot of soul-searching to do, cumdump, and an important
decision to make. I won't accept half measures, nor anything less than full
and total commitment. So, take your time. As long as you need. If you
decide to commit, though, that's it. It's done and final."  I paused,
letting him digest that. "If you decide you want me to, I'll send you the
key to the chastity cage. I'll overnight it to you, fag. You can remove it
and go back to jerking your little nub all you want. If you choose that,
I'll send you a box so you can ship the cage back to me. We'll be done. If
you decide you don't want to commit, we are done. You'll never hear from me
again, and you can continue to pretend you are a normal human, trying to
convince everyone you are a man. We will always know differently though,
won't be pissbreath?"

He hung his head. "Yes, Sir, we will."

"OK, cunt. That's it. Don't contact me again until you've made up your mind
one way or the other. Dismissed." With that, I hung up.

See, this is the critical part. The physical transformation of a slave is
the easy part. True transformation takes place internally, as the faggot
comes to the slow and complete realization that being a subhuman slave
isn't something he wants, it's something he simply is. Something that is an
inherent part of him which can't be denied any longer. It's a tough thing
for a cockpig to accept, this concept that it is truly inferior, truly born
to serve. Once a faggot really grasps that, finally comes to terms with it,
you'd be amazed as how much relief he experiences. Happiness comes from
fulfilling one's true calling, and for a born cockpig, that means serving
real men and worshiping cock, no matter what that requires. That's where my
little ginger faggot was at, mentally wrestling with those concepts and his
own internal identity.

For me, this is the toughest part as well. There is nothing I can do to
make it happen. I'd laid all the groundwork needed to complete the faggot's
transformation. He had to find the rest within himself. He had to make the
commitment willingly, even beg for it. I don't have any interest in slaves
that have to be captured or forced. I want the real faggots, the ones that
are born with the need for cock, for degradation, for abuse. I felt the
little ginger bitch was a perfect candidate. The question was, did he have
the courage to live his truth or not?

A week passed with no word. I began to wonder about the pussyboy. He hadn't
asked for the key to the cage, though, which was a good sign.

I figured he would break quickly. A week should have been about right for
him. I was wrong, which is pretty rare. It took three weeks before he
texted me.

"PLEASE SIR OWN IT FOREVER."

Which was exactly what I intended to do.

*****************************************************************************

Thank you to all who have written to me with feedback about this story!
You interest inspires me.

Please contact me at jeffhamby1025@gmail.com