Slave in Training

by Danny Tyran

  “Well,” said Jean. “These are interesting choices. Will you tell me why you chose them and why you didn’t cheat? As I’m sure you’re frightened by all this.”

  “I didn’t choose. My hands went to these objects by themselves. I don’t know why I didn’t cheat.”

  “I guess you’re not quite awake”, yet.” Jean smirked. “We’ll soon fix that. Present and spread your buttocks with your hands.”

  He shoved the dildo deep inside me without any lubrication. I’d been opened so often in the preceding days that the bumpy phallus entered without too much trouble. Once the dildo was inside, Jean began to hit me with the knout. Blood flowed with each blow. He administered twenty strokes on my back, buttocks and the back of my thighs. Then he ordered me to turn around and gave me another twenty on my chest, belly and front thighs.

  “Lie down on the table now.”

  I lay on my back, the cold surface cooling my burning skin a little, but reviving the pain of all my wounds. He then placed the electrodes all over my body, not forgetting my nipples, ass and cock. He connected the device and adjusted the dial to the desired intensity and frequency of electric current. He then sat comfortably on one of the chairs in the basement, lifting the footrest and lowering the back. He was ready for the night.

  Shortly before four in the morning, he unplugged the device, cleared away the blood stemming from the knout’s nails and cleaned the nails themselves, removed and washed the dildo, then put everything away in the closet before dragging me back to my bed. I was able to sleep for an hour before I had to get up again at five o’clock and start my day as if nothing had happened.

  Jean made me take a shower, which felt icier than usual, if that was possible. I didn’t feel well at all. I was feverish. I wanted to go back to sleep, but couldn’t.

  I prepared breakfast, without knowing what I was doing. It was as if I was immersed in a giant aquarium. Everything seemed blurry, dull and distant. I was operating too slowly, but I couldn’t do otherwise. Whenever my master set eyes on me, I hoped he would notice the wounds left by the knout; but he seemed blind to my suffering. Was he seeing nothing or was he unconcerned about my fate? I wasn’t alert enough to be able to tell.

  That day was one of the longest and most painful of my young life. My master and Jerry acted as if they didn’t understand that I wasn’t well. But the next morning, as I could not get up, my master brought an old man at my bedside. He was a doctor and was accompanied by a beautiful young assistant, who he addressed as his slave. Undoubtedly she was.

  The doctor measured my temperature and my blood pressure. He examined the wounds on my skin and my anus. Then he turned to my master, who was waiting in the doorway. “What do you want to do to him exactly? There are limits to everything!” he said angrily. He extracted a variety of pots and tubes from his briefcase. “You’re going to put this on his wounds, administer these tablets and suppositories, and give him this syrup. Do it yourself. Don’t you dare hire a nurse or ask your bodyguards to treat him in your place. It’s your responsibility to do this. Caring for him will make you think about the result of your actions.”

  “My master did what he was supposed to do,” I offered, in a tenuous voice.

  The doctor ignored me and continued addressing my master. “This kid obviously adores you. If you are waiting for him to give up, you better stop or he will die. Do you understand me?”

  My master nodded. I had never seen him seemed so ashamed.

  He did what the doctor ordered. Letting me sleep for a few days. But each night, Jean came into my room. “Hurry up and heal,” he ordered me. “Your master is looking after you. You don’t have the right to deprive him of your services. Come on, lazy boy. Hurry up. Heal!”

  Despite my illness, those words reverberated in my heart and my mind. I thought he was right. I didn’t have the privilege of being sick. My master had the right to get rid of me as a stubbornly defective appliance. But he came, whenever necessary, to administer my medication.

  “I’m doing my best to heal, Master,” I reassured him.

  I couldn’t interpret his facial expression. It was neither hard nor tender, as if he were trying to hide how he felt about all this or about me.

  “I know. Sleep now.”

  After two days of inactivity, I felt a little better. On the third morning, I wanted to get up, get to work as it was my duty. But when my master saw me stagger as I approached him, he ordered me back to bed.

  “But, Sir, I assure you that I am much better.”

  “Don’t argue with my orders, Max. Go to bed. Immediately!”

  He showed me to my room, where I had to spend another day. But that night, I set the alarm for five in the morning. I was certain that by then I would be completely healed.

  Fortunately, I felt better, as my parents decided to visit me. After breakfast, they called from somewhere in Montreal to ask if they could come.

  My master wanted to see me back in my slave life. Meaning I had to serve my master, the guards and potential visitors, maintaining the house, and so on, as I had prior to the arrival of the guards. But since my enslavement test was scheduled to take place in ten days, the three men would continue to test me in all possible ways as they had done before.

  My master allowed my parents to come and told me to get dressed. Jerry asked my master if things would proceed as usual during my parents’ visit.

  “Yes, Jerry. You do what I tell you, and Max will do what we order him to do, as always. If he disobeys or acts against the rules, you can punish him.”

  “And if I want to play with him?”

  “To the extent that it doesn’t interfere with his regular slave’s duties, I don’t see any problem with you using him as you please, as you would in his parents’ absence.”

  I wasn’t too sure what to make of that. Jerry was very imaginative. I didn’t doubt his ability to make my life unbearable, especially in the presence of my parents. As for Jean, with a little luck, my parents would already be gone when he arrived for his shift. But I had suffered so much lately that the possibility of the troubles my relationship with these three men could cause my parents left me almost cold.

  My parents arrived at half past one. My master and Jerry had almost finished their meal and were enjoying some cheese and crackers. I had been allowed a normal meal, rather than one the sludge-like meals of recent days, and I was quite satiated. When the doorbell rang, I rushed to answer it.

  “Hello, Son!” my father greeted me quite cheerfully.

  My mother just hugged me. She seemed uncomfortable to be here. I showed them into the dining room. My master invited them to sit down, introduced Jerry and offered them a drink.

  They started off talking about my parents’ journey while I cleared the table and brought in coffee for my parents. My father smiled at me from time to time as he answered their questions. My mother stared at me, only contributing a “yes” or “no” when required.

  After starting the dishwasher, I sat on the floor near the table. My mother asked me why I didn’t sit at the table with them. I replied that it wasn’t possible, smiling when I responded to show that I didn’t mind sitting there.

  “You’re a little pale,” she said.

  “I’ve been sick lately. But I’m better now.”

  “Sick? What was wrong?” my father asked.

  “I don’t know. I had a fever. My master took care of me and, as you can see, I’m fine, now.”

  “What sort of illness did he have?” my mother demanded, turning to my master.

  “What does it matter if he feels well now?”

  “My son’s health is very important to me,” my mother replied.

  I sighed inwardly. It would always be like this. Whenever my master and my mother met in the future, regardless of which master I had, she’d ask what harm had been done to me. It was true that lately, my life hadn’t been easy, but I had to be ready for my test, otherwise I would fail.

  “He had a fever due to his exh
austion,” my master admitted.

  My mother exclaimed, “Exhaustion?”

  “Yes.”

  Jerry stood and ordered me to do the same. He told me to face the nearest wall and stand as close to it as possible.

  “Clasp your hands behind your back and turn your head to one side. Your feet must remain on the ground exactly where they are right now. Understand?”

  I replied that I understood and obeyed without question.

  He caught the back of my shirt and pulled me to him. Since I was not allowed to move my feet, I was forced to lean back diagonally. Then he pushed me against the wall. Violently. Splat! He left me like that for a while.

  “What are you doing to him?” my father asked, fretfully.

  “Oh, I just wanted to play a little,” Jerry replied. Then he pulled me toward him again and pushed me back against the wall.

  My mother came over and tried to remove Jerry’s hand from my shirt.

  Jerry looked strong. But he was even stronger than he looked. His hand didn’t move at all.

  He pulled and pushed me again.

  My mother tried to hold me and lessen the impact. But she only succeeded in unbalancing me. My feet changed position on the floor, so I reached out in a reflex action to counter my fall.

  Jerry stopped me from falling, twisted me around so I was facing him and shoved me back against the wall, harder this time. “I don’t remember allowing you to change position.”

  He slapped my face with the palm of his free hand, then with the back of it and with the palm again. Splak, splik, splak!

  I felt my cheeks retrieve the color that had been absent for several days.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that my father and my master were keeping an eagle eye on each other. My mother started to cry. “I knew we shouldn’t have come,” she said, sniffling.

  “We had to come. We cannot pretend we don’t know our son,” my father replied.

  She shouted, “Then why don’t you do anything to help him?”

  “He hasn’t asked for our help.”

  Maybe Dad understood me better than I did. I never felt the need to call for help. Despite all the difficulties experienced recently, I continued to trust my master to take care of me, even though I had just discovered that he was not perfect. He was a human being, but he still was the master I needed.

  “If he was drowning without screaming for help, would you let him drown?”

  “He is not drowning.”

  “No, but look at him. He is whiter than these walls.”

  In fact, the walls were beige. But with the dim lighting, my mother couldn’t see the difference.

  “He has been sick.”

  “From exhaustion!”

  While my parents were bickering, Jerry pushed me, face against the wall again, without holding me. My feet were now too far from the wall. I started to slide to the ground.

  “Stay there. Don’t move,” he commanded.

  I tried to stay in position without using my hands, but my clothes had no adhesion to the too smooth wall. My slide continued.

  My master spoke up, “Mr. Lemay, must we go on like this any longer? I thought the issue of my relationship with your son had been definitively settled.”

  My father looked at my master without answering, then he looked at me and my mother.

  She asserted, “Either we leave with Max, or we leave alone, but I won’t stay here another minute.”

  “Max? Will you join us?” my father asked wearily.

  My cheek and mouth were distorted from pressing against the wall, but I still managed to answer, “No, Daddy.”

  Then, to my surprise, my father asked my master if he could spend the day with me and stay all night.

  “As long as you’re willing to share the same life as Max for the entire period and don’t try to interfere with his training.”

  My father stared open-mouthed at my master, his expression suggesting he didn’t believe what he had just heard. Then he appeared to weigh up the terms of the deal he’d been offered. “How could you expect me not try to help my son?”

  “If what you want is to thwart his training, I will ask you to leave this house immediately.”

  My father gave me a glance, and then he asked my mother if she could take a taxi to go back to her sister’s.

  “You’re not gonna let yourself get trapped by this guy?” my mother exclaimed in astonishment.

  “I can’t just leave without doing anything for my son, without at least trying to understand. By staying, I may get an idea of how he feels.”

  “There is nothing to understand. All this is pure madness! If Max doesn’t want our help, there is nothing I can do for him.” Mom had always felt threatened by anything too different from the universe as she knew it. Father was more resilient.

  “Maybe. So what? Do you want me to call a taxi?”

  At my mother’s nod of consent, Jerry ripped me off the wall and ordered me to phone for one. After the taxi arrived, my mother left, without farewelling me or anyone.

  Chapter 20

  My mother had no sooner closed the door than my master ordered me to undress. Perhaps he wanted to show my father the marks left by the last days of my training.

  My father shuddered at the sight of all my wounds, which were just beginning to heal. “My God! What have you done to him?”

  My master ignored his question and ordered, “It’s your turn now, Michel. Strip.”

  My father started crying, but I knew it was for his son that he shed tears. I was no longer the boy he had known and raised with so much love. He knew for sure now.

  I approached and took him in my arms, trying to comfort him as I had consoled Gabrielle. “Hush!” I whispered and rocked him a little.

  “Max, how can you stand it?”

  “I’m fine, Dad. These are only minor injuries. They are already healing. We must both obey now or you have to leave. Please, undress.”

  My father turned to my master. “Why do you treat him so harshly?”

  “Slaves don’t question their master about the reasons for acting the way they do. They accept. Now, obey or leave.”

  My father raised a trembling hand to his jacket and slowly began to remove his clothes. He seemed to doubt his own common sense. His decision surprised me, and I was very proud of him, proud of his courage, touched to see what he was willing to do this to understand me, for my sake. I didn’t doubt my mother’s love, but she was unable to see me suffer. Watching helplessly while someone inflicted even minimal suffering on me was too much for her, she‘d have been sick with pain.

  “Jerry, you can do your rounds while I take our new slave on a little tour. Max, go back to your work.”

  My master showed my father the whole house, including the basement, and I had no doubt, the entire contents of his cabinets, chests and cupboards in his dungeon. When they were back upstairs, I heard my master say to my father that he should speak only if he was ordered or to answer questions and, if he had something to ask or say, he had to obtain permission first. He also told him that he should obey me because he was the last of the last here, and he was everybody’s slave, including mine. Then they came to me. “Max, you’ll show Michel his tasks and how to do them.”

  When our master was gone, my father turned to me and started talking. “It’s unimaginable. Have you seen all there is in these cabinets? And a dungeon!”

  “Weren’t you forbidden to talk?”

  “Yes, but since we are alone...”

  “No, Dad. You play the game by his rules or you leave. I’ll report you for this disobedience, if you don’t do it yourself.”

  “You wouldn’t...”

  I placed a hand over his mouth to force him into silence. And I replied to what I thought was his question. “Yes, I would, Dad. This is not strictly speaking a betrayal, since I gain nothing by denouncing you, only a sense of doing what I think right.”

  My father shook his head in a gesture of denial. His son, denoun
cing him? It was clear that he couldn’t believe it. “A young woman used to live with us. She died because she believed it to be her duty to give her life to save that of her master. Do you understand, Dad? We do not play slaves and master here. There are masters and there are slaves. This is not a game. If you want to play, go find a nice master or mistress in a bar in Montreal, but don’t stay here.” My tone of voice was vibrant and determined at the end of my little lecture.

  My father stared at me, visibly surprised. Then he nodded.

  I smiled at him and said, “Good. Now, slave, work.”

  I made him wash four bathrooms thoroughly and clean the toilet bowl in the dungeon. When I showed him the third washroom, he caught my arm and seemed to want to say something, then changed his mind and began to follow my instruction as I returned to my own work.

  Later, I went back to see how he was doing and found Jerry leaning against the doorjamb of the washroom where my father, on all fours, was cleaning the floor tiles.

  Jerry glanced at me, looked at my father, then smiled. “I have an idea for a game involving two slaves. What do you think, Max?”

  “Whatever you want, Sir.”

  “Get out of there,” he ordered my father.

  Dad immediately got to his feet and left the bathroom.

  “I don’t remember telling you to stand up.” Even before Jerry finished his sentence, he slapped my father who raised one hand to protect himself and clenched the other in a fist aimed at Jerry. But he stopped halfway.

  “Don’t you dare raise your fist at me again or you’ll see which one of us can strike the hardest blows.”

  My master appeared at the top of the stairs. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Jerry told him what had happened. My father shot a worried glance at our master.

  “He may be over forty, but he’s still a novice, Jerry. You shouldn’t forget that fact. He has a lot to learn.”

  “Well, he better learn fast, because I know a few ways to bolster understanding.”

  My master laughed. He came toward us, turned to my father and put a hand on his shoulder. “Slaves do not seek to protect themselves from punishment or other sufferings their masters want to impose on them. Slaves’ bodies, minds and even souls belong to their owners. They must offer everything at any time in anticipation of their masters’ wishes, whatever those wishes are. Do you understand, Michel?”