From my experience and the accounts I've received over the years, I'd say the slave/Master fantasy is shared by a large number of men into bondage. Being transformed into a nameless, self-consciousless, personality-less creature whose sole desire and purpose in life is to be abused by and exist for the pleasure of a dominant man whom they revere as a god, seems to be the ne plus ultra of many guys' aspirations—at least until they cum, after which most wipe themselves off and go back to being themselves, often drifting off to sleep in the process.
Here's one man's description [from Issue 41 of Bound & Gagged] of his ideal Slave Training Center. How many of you would like to be trained there, too? How many of you would add to, improve on or in any way change this Slave Training Center to better fit your own fantasies? How many of you may actually live in real life, day-to-day Master/slave relationships? Please write me about them.
I have read about a place where slaves are trained. Candidates for this training are instructed to apply and fill out an extensive questionnaire regarding their fantasies, limits, experience at being a slave, health/medical histories etc. In other words, a center where a responsible/professional atmosphere has been established for the rigorous training of boys/slaves/scumbags such as myself.
After initiation, the slaves are assigned numbers. There are nine of us in this training. We all are then tagged accordingly with a metal dog-tag which is attached through our right ear. i am #5 and will wear this plate for the entire week and always slaves will only be identified by their number. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. That is what we are. We are/will be our number. Nothing more and much less. This is what i crave. To be treated as such. i am at peace when a slave. i am high. i feel good about myself. i feel rich being a “nothing.” i love serving and i only want to serve my master. Thank you, SIR.
Next, each of us are collared. A heavy, black leather ring is padlocked onto each slave’s neck and each employing four sturdy “D” rings for bonding/leashing/tying. Each collar has been branded with our number. Number 5. my collar. me.
my collar smells leathery and new and feels heavy and at first is cold, but is soon warmed by my body heat that begins to surge through me all over as i get my first hard-on. A familiar sense of embarrassment emerges and the thought that i “shouldn’t” get a hard-on torments me. Then i realize that i am just a slave. No ego. No person. No shame. i am then able to let go and feel my feral-self: the raw animal of me. Whole. Alive. Free. A collared scumbag knowing what he needs and desires. And now getting it!
During initial entry, we had all been shorn of our hair to the smallest amount with electric clippers—only about a 1/4 inch of hair remains on our heads. Next we all were instructed to hose out our insides completely, taking as much time as we need to make sure that we are clean. During this time, no talking is permitted. Earlier, while receiving instructions and rules that would apply for the week, the threat/punishment was announced that any deviations from all instructions would/could mean immediate dismissal from the rest of the training. So not a sound was heard. Directions are followed seriously/completely. Tasks done well are rewarded by a firm “good boy” or “good scumbag” etc.
If standards of a certain instruction are not met, the slave/slaves will be ignored and not included in the next event—and of course, are required to complete the failed task to satisfaction before rejoining the group. As the Master/Masters deem fit, other punishments may or may not apply. we obey. we follow our instructions. we are dogs. i love following instructions. i have surrendered. i exist only to serve. Only to be this slave, this number 5. i am at peace.
Next, we are hosed down in one big shower stall. First with hot water and soap, then doused with cold water. No sounds, no screaming, when the cold water takes our breath away. we are instructed to clean each other thoroughly, every inch of each other’s body; no speech!; every inch, every hair, every toe to be cleaned completely. Also, fingernails/toenails are clipped by the assigned partner. Nothing is left undone/unclean. Nothing.
For such group events, a staff instructor always pairs up slaves, only using the slave’s number attached to the ear. The odd boy, since there are nine, is instructed to stand in the corner and wait, with his hands held behind his back and his eyes closed. (Ropeless bondage, for this scumbag, is a real turn-on and is, when my Master has me in complete control, the most secure bondage i know.)
When the paired group is finished with the event, we are to follow our previously given instructions, which means that we are to stand in one line, at attention, looking down to the floor about 10 feet in front of us, making sure that our shoulders are touching the next slaves’ and our hands are clasped behind our backs. At this point, the group will be given orders to work on the remaining “odd” slave. All eight will work on the ninth at once until the task is completed. Whatever the task. One can imagine the odd slave’s situation/condition, depending on the given instruction. Whipping, fucking, shaving, showering, tickling etc. Whatever paired slaves are to do, is always multiplied eight times for the odd scumbag. Of course, we never know who is to be the odd slave. That is always up to the Masters. As is everything/anything.
All meals are eaten out of bowls on the floor and only with the mouth. Hands, at the least, are always cuffed or bound useless during meals. Sense of time is lost. No clocks, no windows to indicate night or day, no regular schedules exist. Rest/sleep is treated just as any other event and called as such; “sleep events”. The staff will control and decide when rest/sleep events occur. We obey. That is all we are meant to do. All that we can do.
slaves sleep in metal cells, two to a cell. Collared, chained and locked to the cell, the slaves are allowed to sleep together, but their hands are cuffed, as well as their ankles, and they are chained in such a manner that makes any intimacy, such as blow-jobs, impossible. Plus, further instructions dictate that each slave, before being chained to his assigned cell, will plug the other slave’s ass with the assigned butt-plug. This plugging precedes every sleep event. No matter what the duration.
The odd slave sleeps alone, plugs himself, and is caged in front of all the others. Not only is he chained and locked in his cell, but he is gagged as well. I love being the odd slave. I hate being the odd slave.
During the week, the slaves are used in whatever fashion required. Guests are invited by the staff to attend all demonstrations/workshops in which the slaves are used/abused. The invited “Tops” are able to try all techniques taught by the staff on the slaves.
Many events take place. Limits, psychological and physical, are respected, but pushed and with no question, expanded. Safe-sex practices are demanded and in some cases, taught and lectured on during classes on such matters. Demonstrations on mummification, slave sculpturing, whipping, cock and ball torture. piercing, tattooing, bondage techniques and rope tricks are all performed on the slaves. Catheterization, enemas and many other bodily-function control restraints/deprivations, are taught to the invited guests and administered to us. This includes respiratory control, using various gas-masks and equipment that this slave has never experienced before. Much use of hot-wax and burning liniments stimulates various parts of our slave bodies as the experimentations/practices continue throughout the week, tormenting us and leaving us begging for more.
Wrestling and other contact/competitive events try our physical endurance, and keep us healthy and active. There are never any victors—only losers. we always lose. we are scumbags and are not allowed to win. When one slave excels in a competitive event, the Masters simply apply more slaves to combat the one, in some cases, all eight. we all lose. Not allowed to win. Only grovel on the ground. Lick boots and beg for more. Calisthenics are often employed by the Masters and are demanded at any moment.
As the week draws to a close, (of course the slaves have no idea when that is), a branding ceremony takes place. This, of course is by the consent of the slave on the applications. Other ceremonies take place for slaves whose limits exclude branding. Tattooing is the option of such scumbags.
The branding is on an individual basis, and includes the final scene, sometimes lasting hours and with multiple Masters. Branding of the slave is our final event. Proper medical dressings and most important, loving touches and gentle words accompany this session as well as all other sessions. Each branded slave is branded with his number; my #5, on the right ass. After the branding/ tattooing, each slave is led to a cell and waits until all the other scenes are completed. There to sit, often many hours/days?, alone with his slave thoughts/fantasies. Even though placed in individual cages and leashed/locked in, this is the first time that our hands have not been cuffed or bound when left alone. We are able to touch ourselves. Feel our bodies. Touch our cocks and our face and our heads and our tits and our ass. we are given this small gift of touching ourselves. we actually begin to sense that our training may be coming to an end. A glad feeling comes over me. Then a sad feeling. So bitter and so sweet is this. Do i want it to end? Do i want it not to end? i then just let myself be. Be sad. Be glad. Be.
i feel that rush of warmth return. i think of all that has happened. i begin to squeeze my nuts and twist my tit, the one that is still so sore from the last scene. i feel the brand; the throb-heat of the wound. i’m careful not to touch my dick as i continue to yank on my nuts and play with my tit and let my mind just be. my cock pounds hard, and all by itself, finds its own rhythm with my tugs. Finally i can’t restrain my desire to pound my dick and i grab it with my big hand, squeezing and pulling and pushing. Spitting into my palm, i return to my Dork and lubricate the gland which sends new thrills of sensations through my body—constantly tugging harder on my nuts, occasionally slapping them until i wince with the pain. Pounding, tugging my nuts, and twisting my tit, i feel that surging—my head tilts back and my eyes begin to roll upwards, into my brain and i feel everything begin to surge out of me—no return—there is no stopping/holding back now, this is it—let it rip! Pressure builds and then... i shudder uncontrollably, screaming/groaning as my cum flies up to my shoulder and onto my chin and over my chest. As the volcano finally rests, i lay there many minutes just moaning and shuddering with aftershocks of the kind that make me jump in spasms. i then remember where i am. What i am. i’m in the cell. Chained and collared in my scumbag cell. Branded…wait I’m here— No…My collar is chained to…i’m chained to my bed. i’m in my bed. Oh Fuck. Jesus. Shit. Wow. Fuck! I now recall chaining myself to my own bed. Fuck!
My fantasy would have continued:
After we clean each other for the last time, and after the customary line up, we are instructed to stand in a circle, all nine, and hold ourselves together as tightly as possible, forming one bunch of slaves. The instructors encircle us and hold us tightly and we stand there all together. The instructors then inform us, in very soft tones, that the events are now completed, we are all good slaves and it is time to breathe deeply, get dressed and slowly enter into another world. we are instructed, still as slaves, to follow this command. With a sense of sadness, our collars and dog-tags are removed. we then obey our last command. i cry. i’m held by one of the Masters. i cry and let the emotions wash over me and cleanse my spirit. i am at peace. i am told “good boy”.
As we are led to the room that we had entered on our first day, we realize that at no time during the week had we been in that room. Our clothes, stowed exactly the way we had left them, are there waiting for us. I remember thinking of what experiences/trips/joys/pain/crying/ecstasies have taken place in my life since the time I last wore my jeans, chaps, boots, shirt and jacket. The clothes are like dear old friends. They are warm; the feel of the fabric and leather is gentle, friendly and seem to speak the greeting, “welcome back John.” For the first time I really feel that I’m coming back into the world since a week ago, yet it seems like months/years/lifetimes!
And so, we begin our entry into this other world that somehow seems so strange and new. Most are timid about talking—some hold and hug and cry—some meditate and float with their thoughts/emotions.
On top of our clothes, we each find our dog-tags, our beautiful strong leather collars that we had worn the entire time and our instructions/tickets for our return home. We then have a wonderful feast in the adjoining house, one that we had never been in before, and where, I suspect, the staff lives. We do not talk about the week. It’s too dear and present in our emotions. Instead we get into each other’s company, eat well and sit gently as the fresh pain of the branding subtly reminds us that we are slaves. Good slaves who have earned this moment in life to celebrate the completion of our training.
I can imagine, someday, being in a scene, and looking over and seeing someone’s butt with a #6 branded into it. A smile will come over me and i will know of a certain bond that we have. And I will know too, that I am not alone in allowing myself to explore the innermost parts of my mind/psychic make-up and feel good about doing it. Life is as full and as interesting as we allow it to be. As I allow myself “to be”, my experience of life is limitless.
scumbag
San Francisco
Sounds like an excellent and sacred experience. I would like and relish that experience.
Posted by: bondagebuddy2 | June 17, 2013 at 07:33 PM
yummy story ... all slave trainees should be completely naked 24/7 ... and get used to being hard in public, and enjoy admiring each others hard cocks ... this is not made clear in piece ... they should be instructed to be hard 24/7 ... difficult ... but guys do get hard ... sometimes for weeks at a time ... stimulants instruction needed ... use stimulants 24/7 or as often as possible ... cheers
Posted by: Eric Shackleton | April 03, 2014 at 07:16 PM