JOURNEY INTO SLAVERY - Chapter Two

Author: livestock
Title: JOURNEY INTO SLAVERY - Chapter Two
Date: 29 December 2014

I stared at my signature on the page in front of me. A clock ticked, unseen, on the wall, counting out the passing seconds. A bird sang somewhere in the trees on the other side of the window. Time passed and the world carried on as it had always done. But here, in this room, things had changed forever.

The MAN who was now my MASTER leant down to pick up the newly-signed contract. Again, apart from his heavy black leather gloves I felt rather than saw his movements, keeping my eyes on the floor and trying to control my nerves. I could not make sense of what I had just done or how I had managed to do it. It felt as if I had made an instinctive, split-second decision and that I was now falling, falling. Only the featureless rubber in front of me provided any sense of stability.

I heard my MASTER cross the room. There was a barely audible shuffling of papers and then two slight but distinct clicks, which might have been the opening and shutting of a folder of some kind. Then I heard his footsteps come back towards me and the next thing I knew a large gloved hand was placed firmly on the top of my head.

At the touch of that hand I began to go to pieces. This was the touch of my OWNER, of the MAN I had just given myself to completely. I had agreed to be his property. With the speed of thought parts of the contract I had just signed flashed through my head - ‘subhuman urinal pig object’, ‘no rights’, ‘no name or identity’, ‘the slave is not a person but a thing’. My bones and muscles turned to jelly and I would have slumped to the floor, my breath shuddering with fear. But MASTER’s other hand grasped my jaw with the speed of lightning, cradling my head and pushing it up against HIS hard leathered body.

My mind in free-fall, I threw my arms around my MASTER’s powerful legs and leant into HIM, my hands clutching at HIS muscular arse. HIS taut strength supported me. The rich smell of leather washed across me like a wave of calm. I remembered that I had wanted this. A series of meetings and intimate, honest conversations had led to this moment. Together W/we had taught each other what we needed. HE had made me realise that I would always be incomplete and unsatisfied without the opportunity to submit unconditionally to a MASTER, serving and worshipping HIM completely.

My anxiety began to subside. Deep down, I knew that there would be many more moments of doubt and even despair. The life I had chose for myself was not going to be an easy one, and to the outside world my choice would seem mad and misguided, maybe even twisted and sick. But as frightening as it was, it was the right choice for me. Only by giving up all control could I take control of my future. Only through total, absolute servitude could I escape the tyranny of a normality which would always exclude me. I owed this realisation to my MASTER.

Over the course of a few minutes my breathing steadied and a new vigour flowed into my limbs. I was still scared - who wouldn’t be? - but I was determined to embrace my new life and status as an owned slave. And I knew now that my MASTER was there to support me as well as to dominate and use me.

MASTER must have detected the change in my body and mind, because he gently released my head and took a slight step back. My arms slipped from around his legs to hang at my sides, and although I still felt weak I could kneel unaided. Taking deep breaths, I hung my head in emotional exhaustion but also in acceptance, and in quiet confidence that I was doing the right thing in surrendering to my new OWNER.

Then HE spoke. The words went through me like a swallow of good whisky, dark and dizzying and lighting a fire in my belly. I would come to live for the sound of that voice.

‘Look at me.’

My head jerked up almost of its own accord, obedient to the tone of command, and I drank in the sight of my MASTER. HIS skin was beautifully pale, HIS eyes pools of milky blue, arctic water.

This was the MAN who had accepted me as HIS slave, HIS property, the MAN who would exert total control over me and who would mould the inexperienced submissive before HIM into HIS devoted, mindless, obedient gimp. This was the MAN who had known I was going to fall before I fell, the MAN who knew me better than I knew myself, the MAN who would not only care for me but remake me according to HIS pleasure and HIS needs. I looked up at HIM hoping that HE could see the devotion and worship and desire in my gaze. But HIS face was an expressionless mask.

‘I want you to think very carefully about the contract you have just signed. Until I give you explicit permission you are not to speak a single word. For now I will excuse grunts, moans, cries and squeals, but if you try to say anything I will beat you senseless. Nod your head if you understand.’

The words had sent my world spinning but this was my reality now. Looking into his eyes I nodded once thinking, I love YOU MASTER, I love YOU MASTER.

‘Good. Now in a minute I am going to tell you to look down, and until I give you permission you are not to raise your eyes under any circumstances. you will look at the floor, or at MY boots if I am in front of you. Nod if you understand.’

This time my nod came immediately, automatically, instinctively, and despite my earlier panic I realised that my cock had become rock hard. MASTER was taking control and one of my greatest pleasures would be to obey HIM utterly.

‘Eyes down, boi.’

My chin snapped down instantaneously, directing my gaze to MASTER’s boots. I didn’t really have to think about it. I was HIS.

‘Well done, boi. This is just the start and I expect continuing obedience. Now, are you shaved and douched?’

Once more I nodded, this time with my head bowed. Over the last few months MASTER had taken care to shave me HIMSELF while I was restrained in unforgiving bondage. He had also supervised my douching regimen to ensure I was clean. But in preparation for this day, when I would sign my contract, HE had insisted that I shave and douche myself. I realised that MASTER wanted to make sure that I prepared myself for my life of slavery; that with every scrape of the razor and with every flush of the enema, I was personally readying myself for a life of submission and servitude. Even before I had signed the contract, MASTER was shaping and controlling me.

‘Right. Stand up and strip. Throw your clothes and shoes behind you.’

Again this was new. In previous sessions, whether in hotel rooms or in the small flat that MASTER kept, I had been required to strip as soon as I had gone through the front door, folding my clothes into a neat pile and leaving my shoes carefully beside them. But on this first and final trip to MASTER’s big country house, he had ordered me to come straight to this upstairs room wearing my clothes and shoes.

I hadn’t understood why but now I understood. MASTER wanted me to experience the transition from a clothed, normal person in jeans, T-shirt and trainers to a total slave, from a bottom who enjoyed bondage play with a Top but was still a free individual to enslaved property under the absolute domination of its OWNER.

With this new knowledge, as if in a trance, I got to my feet and removed my clothes with a kind of silent ecstasy. My T-shirt went, my trousers and boxer shorts were dropped and I stepped out of them, I bent over to peel my socks off my feet and I straightened up with my toes curling in the joy of submission. All those garments, the things that normal people wore in their day-to-day lives, I threw away like trash. Remembering my MASTER’s orders, I kept my head down and my eyes on the floor. I couldn’t help but see my cock sticking out in front of me, hard and purple and spasming with arousal.

MASTER stood in front of me for a few moments, silent and considering, and then moved to stand behind me.

‘you’ve shaved yourself well, boi’, he said. ‘I’m pleased.’

The tip of my slavecock pulsed with the warm happiness of obedience. Then, from behind me and without warning, MASTER’s hand came to slap me hard across the cheek.

‘… But we need to check that you’ve cleaned your hole properly. Bend over and grab your ankles, bitch.’

This was a routine I had been through before. I folded over and took hold of my ankles, exposing my MASTER’s slave hole for HIS inspection. I was glad that I had taken care to clean myself thoroughly for this important day. As I had expected, I felt a probing finger and I thought worshipfully about MASTER’s strong, masculine hands.

MASTER’s finger withdrew and there was a pause.

‘It seems you can obey orders, boi’, HE said with a faint note of approval. ‘Stand up.’

I let go of my ankles and stood up straight, my eyes still firmly fixed on the floor. And MASTER spoke again.

‘boi, we’re about to go downstairs and your life as my property is about to begin in earnest. But before that happens you are going to pick up your clothes and shoes, the last remnants of your previous existence, and you’re going to throw them into the bin by the door. Can you see it?’

Afraid of looking where I was not supposed to, I glanced furtively towards the door of the room and saw a large waste-paper basket standing next to it. Remembering that I had not been given permission to speak, I nodded humbly.

‘Okay. Go, boi.’

The tone in MASTER’s voice was grave, and I knew that this was an important step in my enslavement. So I tried to make sure that my movements were full of care, doing justice to the solemnity of the moment and showing my commitment to slavery. I picked up my old top, trousers, underwear, shoes and socks and tossed them into the waste-paper basket. Then, because I wasn’t sure what to do next, I stood in front of the bin, swaying sightly on the balls of my feet.

‘Stand there boi’, my MASTER commanded. ‘And look at what you’ve just thrown away.’

I did as I was told. The Converse trainers I had bought on the rainy summer’s day, the T-shirt I had bought for a fiver in Topman, the vintage jeans which had fitted me so well, the silly stripy socks that a friend had bought for me last Christmas: all the belongings of an average guy, the things that told a story about who he was, his likes and his lifestyle, lay discarded in the bin like used tissue paper. Staring at this now meaningless rubbish, I knew that the young man who had worn these things was dead. I had killed him with my signature on a slave contract. In his place a new piece of boi property, a nameless thing and sexually submissive object stood ready to be taken, trained and transformed by its MASTER.

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Dear SIRS and slave brothers, it respectfully hopes Y/you have enjoyed this second instalment of its story. it knows there has not been a lot of action so far but the aim of these early chapters is to set the stage for our 'hero's' progressive training, objectification, and descent into slavery. Please stick with it! Any and all comments are welcome, including suggestions for plot developments. Y/you can contact this slave at deliquescentdream@gmail.com. Thank Y/you SIRS and fellow slaves :)