Slave in Training

by Danny Tyran

  Johnny walked behind me down to the basement. My heart was beating so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest. With any luck, I’d die on the stairs and find myself in paradise instead of going through hell here. Johnny announced me as we approached my master. “Here is the applicant. He is ready for the test. Do you want to start?”

  They were the ritual words. My master replied formally, “Yes, I do,” and I responded the same way. It was almost like we were getting married. Then the two men spent a few moments discussing the order of the guests. My master also wanted to know who had won what instrument. Johnny filled him in and added that, as master of ceremonies, he had taken advantage of his right to select one instrument for himself first, and selected the knout. Not so he could use that cruel instrument himself, as he wasn’t taking part, but to prevent either Louis or Helena from getting it in the draw.

  Louis and Helena were the two members of the community that my master believed to be behind Gabrielle’s murder. But he couldn’t object to their participation because he couldn’t prove their culpability. Louis was Helena’s slave. Being sixty-eight years old, she was one of the community’s elders. Every year, she would announce her retirement, but she kept putting it off until later, much to the chagrin of many who wanted to take her place.

  The master and slave were as vicious as each other, but Helena was much more subtle, more cunning than Louis. Hence, it might be impossible to ever prove her involvement in Gabrielle’s murder. As for Louis, many suspected him of having caused the death of at least two of his own slaves.

  The first was considered an accident. It was probably caused by Louis’ stupidity, lack of professionalism and carelessness. But the other was triggered by the boy’s despair, a lack of hope engendered by Louis, who had convinced the young man that he loved him, and then drugged him for months with ever harder drugs. Once addicted, Louis deprived the boy of them all at once and threw him out onto the street. The boy ended up committing suicide. But suicide isn’t murder, right? In the eyes of the law, Louis was innocent. He got away scot-free again. But my master was looking for strong enough evidence to convince the community to forbid Louis as well as Helena from operating among its members. As my master drew closer to success, someone had tried to put a stop to his investigation by killing him. Gabrielle had died in his place.

  My master couldn’t keep Helena away, because she was the oldest member of the community in this part of the world. Given her age and seniority, she had the right to invite another person to participate with her in the event. That was why we were entitled to have Louis’ presence.

  A man sat on a chair near the back wall, listening to the discussion. It was the doctor, Leon Rhainds, who was here to ensure that nothing irreparable or dangerous to my health took place. If deemed necessary, he could also treat me after the departure of a participant.

  My master and Johnny finished their discussion. While Johnny went to fetch the first participant, my master asked me how I was. I remembered Johnny’s words about my master’s love for me, and I felt my strength returning. “I’m fine, Master. Don’t worry. Everything will be just great.”

  “My brave little soldier! I’ll be sharing this ordeal with you; you know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Master. I won’t forget.”

  Chapter 23

  I didn’t turn around when I heard Johnny and someone else coming down the stairs. But when Kathy’s voice echoed cheerily through the room, I smiled and watched her approach. I was lucky. She was one of the few guests that I knew.

  “Hello, Max! How are you doing?”

  “Better since you’re here.”

  “I bet you won’t feel that way much longer.”

  “I know, Ma’am. You’re probably right.” My smile was more apprehensive now.

  “Then why were you so glad to see me just now?”

  I told her the truth. I had been feeling so vulnerable in the basement, waiting my trial, that even just a familiar face was a slight comfort. Despite my master’s presence, I had felt abandoned, at everybody’s mercy. I just wish someone would say, “Relax, Max. This is all a big joke. There will be no ordeal.” But I knew it wouldn’t happen. I knew this ordeal was inevitable.

  Kathy took a few moments to discuss my evaluation with my master and mentioned what she’d done with Andrew.

  “You did the right thing, Kathy,” my master replied. “That will do him a lot of good. But you must be tougher on him when he comes back. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I know, James. I know. He isn’t the only one responsible for our failure.” She sighed. “But I have to take care of your boy now. Can I take many toys in your amazing cabinet?”

  “Only two.”

  She went to get what she needed. Once back, she ordered me to bend forward. Then she pushed a long stick with broad rounded ends into me, it was no wider than an average penis, but much longer. The dildo had grooves to keep it with no effort inside; but when it was impossible to push more in, there were still more than half of it outside.

  Then she tied a leather strap around my nutsack, stretching it as much as possible and pushing my balls downward. The strap was long and dangled loose at both ends. Kathy told me to crouch down as low as possible. I squatted until I could feel the tip of the dildo touching the ground. She ordered me to push down more. When I obeyed her, I felt like I was impaling myself on a sharp object that was piercing my bowels. I was in pain. But I remained in that position while she lifted the ends of the strap hanging from my scrotum. She tied one of these to my left ankle and the other end to my right ankle.

  Then seizing her flogger, the instrument she had won in the draw, she ordered me to move forward. If my ass moved upward by more than half an inch, the straps pulled mercilessly on my scrotum, squeezing my balls. If my buttocks went down too much, the dildo, already deep inside, sank in even more and I ached to the point of screaming. But that was how she wanted me to move!

  Whipping me with her flogger, she forced me to go forward. As soon as I slowed down, she used it to make me go faster. She didn’t do anything by halves. No doubt she wanted to convince me that it would be much worse to stop than to continue despite the pain of that crouched walking.

  The first two turns around the room were not too tough. I was able to keep the proper balance between constricting my balls and impaling my ass, to avoid as much pain as possible.

  Then Kathy urged me to go faster, despite the stress I was under. Soon my legs were shaking. At every step, I teetered on the edge of losing my balance and falling: the last thing I wanted to do. So I focused intently on each move I made, every step. That’s when Kathy began her interrogation. She asked me about my relationship with my master and his guests. She quizzed me on history, philosophy, music, mathematics, sexuality, etc. It seemed as if I should know everything on just about anything. Answering these questions required a significant amount of my attention and my concentration. My crouched waddle was getting more perilous.

  At one point, I realized that the purpose of this test was not avoiding pain; I’d suffer anyway. The important thing was to obey, without falling forward, and answer the questions as best as I could. I had to ignore the stick pushing into me or the way the strap crushed my balls. But almost ten minutes of this handling is a long time. Just before the end of this first part of my trial, my legs were shaking so much I thought I’d fall. I couldn’t last another second. But somehow I kept on going, squatting, inching forward, while getting almost constant blows because I was too slow. Luckily the whip she had won wasn’t one of my master’s cruelest.

  Finally, those agonizing ten minutes came to an end. I had, I believed, passed the first test. I had good answers for most of the questions. For the answers I didn’t know, I had given the most likely response or the most sensible. I hadn’t collapsed in a heap on the ground. I was happy. There were now only nineteen more participants to go...

  Kathy freed me from my shackles and removed the dildo. Then she threw ev
erything, including the whip, into a box placed in a corner for each participant to deposit their chosen instruments. At the end of the trial, when the time came to assign ratings, the master of ceremonies would open it to allow all participants to see what the others had used and discuss the tests imposed.

  “You did a good job, Max,” she told me.

  I knelt before her, legs apart, hands behind my back. “Thank you, Madam. I was happy to have you testing me. Thank you for coming.” Then I bent and kissed her feet, one after the other. Without waiting for permission, I straightened. Kathy leaned down to kiss me on the mouth. “Happy I could help you, Max.”

  She acknowledged my master and left. Johnny, who was sitting on the top step, waiting, got up and opened the door. He called the next participant. He didn’t have a list, yet he seemed to know everyone’s name and in what order they should come down.

  I returned to my master, who was sitting in an armchair not far from where the test took place, his gaze was fixed on the stairs. I heard heavier steps approach. My second participant was a man. It would be Louis.

  He came close to me and immediately struck me with some electrical wire he was holding coiled in his hand. “Did you see the stupid thing I got instead of a whip? Really, James, is that all you have to provide us?”

  “I’ve never used electric wire on a slave, except as extra links when I had no better than that. And even so, I did it only once. I’m sure this cable belongs to you, Louis, and you know how to make good use of it.”

  “I’m glad I’m second. As Max won’t be too tired, I can afford to be crueller to him. Isn’t that so, James?”

  My master only growled in reply.

  “I have a rat in a cage in Helena’s car. Can I use it?”

  “What do you want a rat for?”

  “I’m thinking of using it with your anal speculum, if you see where I’m going.”

  “No way!”

  “Even if I pull all his teeth, my rat’s teeth, I mean?” Louis flashed us his most predatory smile.

  I shuddered at the thought of what he could imagine doing with his rat. A speculum? He wanted to force the animal inside me! My stomach ached just thinking about it.

  “Forget the rat, Louis. You’ll find many other horrible things to do. I’m sure.”

  Complaining of the ‘abuse of power,’ which he accused my master of showing him, Louis started rummaging in the cupboard. He came back with a small bag of metal pins and a miniature brush, shaped like a pipe cleaner. Once, while working in the basement, I slid my fingers on this brush, so I knew that it was not a real pipe cleaner and all its tips were round.

  “I hope this bag of pins counts as a single item, James?”

  They looked a bit like the metallic wedges used by artists to secure paintings in their wooden frames.

  “Yes.”

  Louis ordered me to approach the bench, which he adjusted to its lowest position before sitting on it. He turned to me and began to fondle my breasts, gently at first, then more and more cruelly, stretching, pinching and biting. Then he took interest in my dick, which had begun to swell.

  “By the looks of it, your little noodle like what I’m doing to you. Is that so?”

  I didn’t answer, so Louis whipped me with his wire.

  It may not have been a real whip, but it certainly fulfilled pretty well the same function. Thanks to the plastic covering, the coils pinched at the slightest touch and the metal inside added a certain rigidity to it. It was hard enough to bite into the flesh and leave bruises, but flexible enough to wrap around the body.

  “You must answer when I ask a question. Do you like it or not?”

  “So far, yes, sir.”

  My uncertain answer and worried expression made him laugh. He kept stroking my cock for a little while. Next, he pinched and hit it with one hand then the other. He did the same with my balls, beginning with gentle caresses; but I knew that this gentleness wouldn’t last. I got more tense, which made him laugh harder, but he gave me another blow with his wire. “For ten minutes, your cock, balls and all the rest of your precious self belong to me. You must offer everything to me. Don’t draw back, don’t seek to protect yourself, don’t even tense. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.” It wasn’t the first time I had heard those rules. I knew that I had to do my best and forget the man I was dealing with. I wasn’t alone with him. He couldn’t kill me in this basement. He’d torture me, but the more time passed, the less he’d have to use the toys he had taken from the cabinet. So it was better to let him have his fun teasing me.

  That’s when he began crushing my balls. There’s no other way I can describe what he did to me. He squeezed them so hard, I was sure I would faint. I saw stars. I tried not to tense, or free myself, and accept his will.

  He then extracted the long but very thin brush from one of his pockets. Taking my cock in his other hand, he started to insert the brush into the slit. By this time, my erection had begun to wilt. Oh my God, what a horrible idea he had! I felt so bad and it was just the beginning. How could I hold out any longer? He moved the brush inside my cock as he would have used it in a pipe, pushing it in and out quickly. I tensed once again, and again he hit me. Giving me three quick blows on my thigh. He didn’t need to speak; I knew I was paying for my mistake. And he didn’t stop pulling and pushing on the brush while striking me.

  He continued his “curettage” while questioning me. I tried not to resist and to offer myself to him. He was right. My cock belonged to him for the duration of the test, so he had the right to make any use of it that pleased him. But it was difficult to convince myself of that fact.

  His questions were just as vicious as he was. He wanted to know if I had ever criticized my master for the way he treated me, if I hated him, if I already wanted to hit him. He asked me about specific stages of my training and wanted to know what I felt at that moment, if I wanted to give up, if I thought my master was asking too much or not enough of me. I tried to answer him honestly, as I’d have done for any of our guests. My cock started to bleed when he decided to change to another game.

  Without even withdrawing the brush from my urethra, he opened the small clear plastic bag, took out a metal pin, and then ordered me to give him one of my fingers. I knew too well what to expect. But I handed him my left hand.

  “Why your left hand? Aren’t you right-handed? Aren’t you supposed to offer the best you have to your masters?”

  I proffered him my right hand. I wanted to cry. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me, that he’d insert this sharp thing under my nail. But that’s what he did. He pushed the first small wedge in slowly, incredibly slowly, leaving me plenty of time to appreciate the extent of his cruelty. My whole being wanted to pull my hand away from his. All my body tensed for this purpose. Louis struck me again: five sharp and hard strokes on my other leg, while he continued to push the pin a little further.

  I tried to distance myself from the horrible pain, and think about something else. I heard a savage grunt. It was I who was groaning.

  “Stay with me. I forbid you to escape somewhere in the back of your head. I want you to feel every moment of the torture I’m inflicting you.” He still had four pins and about five minutes. I couldn’t say with certainty, because there was no clock in the basement. But I figured that was about the time he had left. He took a new wedge and asked me to give him a new finger. When he started to sink it in, I began to imagine him as a Nazi officer torturing a member of the resistance. The member of the resistance was me. I had to accept the pain. I must not reveal the location of our headquarters or where my friends were waiting to attack. I had to be strong.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  In sentences interspersed with gasps and groans I told him what I had been picturing.

  He laughed, but he still tormented me. While holding my finger and pushing the wedge under the nail, he positioned himself to be able to hit my ass and administered ten violent strokes. “I don’t wanna hear you
moan or cry, you hear me? You have no idea what you’re talking about. If the slave market community hadn’t imposed all these stupid restrictions on this kind of event, you’d see that I could easily force you to speak and even scream your confession, soldier.”

  I preferred not to imagine what my test would have been like without “all these stupid restrictions.” I already felt so weak. My head was spinning. Sweat plastered my hair to my head and ran all over my body. My torturer took out another wedge and chose a new finger. I couldn’t resist him. My hand was moist and floppy in his. He could do whatever he wanted with it. He kept playing his horrible game while questioning me about Gabrielle, her death and the way my master and I have been living with this memory. I glanced toward my master. He was still sitting, resting his chin on clasped hands. He was gazing at the ground, but he seemed so tense, like an animal ready to pounce on its prey.

  Louis yelled “Answer!” while hitting me harder than ever at the back of my thighs.

  I did my best to answer his questions without whining, without shedding any tears, but it was too hard. I couldn’t do it. He took his last wedge out of the bag and inserted it in one go under the nail of my little finger. I felt myself going pale. I took two steps backward, trying to prevent myself from falling because my legs wanted to collapse under me. I uttered a long groan from deep within my bowels.

  “You don’t have a fucking clue, do you?” He hit me at full speed wherever the wire could hurt, and grabbed my whole hand, squeezing it with all his might. I was distraught. I squirmed in every direction, emitting pathetic sobs in a symphony of moans and cries. But even then, I didn’t try to remove my hand from his grasp.