The Cockpig Ch. 02
I knew early on the cockpig had a lot of potential. He was certainly an obedient little bitch, and took to sucking cock like a champ. As well he should; it's part of what he was born for, after all.
After I'd fed the cockpig his first-ever load of cum, I decided to let him get more acquainted with my body. I put him on his knees in front of my recliner and had him start licking my boots clean while I relaxed. He'd never licked a man's boots before he met me. I'd made him secretly lick a pair of his roommates boots one night on Skype for my own amusement. His roommate was his best friend from high school, but not someone he was sexually attracted to in any way. It was funny to watch. He was torn between terror that his roommate would suddenly discover his boots missing and catch him licking them; his disgust at having to smell his buddy's foot sweat; and his pathetic need to obey me. My enjoyment wasn't just from watching him tongue swabbing those nasty boots - it was watching him wrestle with all those conflicting feelings as he did it, his emotions written on his face as clearly as if he'd spoken them out loud.
My boots were the first ones he'd ever licked that were still on a man's feet, though. I'd worn my oldest black cowboy boots just for the faggot, because they were in need of a good tongue shining. Took some time to walk around in the yard for a while before I went to get the bitch just so they'd have fresh dirt and grime on them for his young tongue to scrub off.
"Those better be spotless, fuckhole," I instructed him. "No telling what nasty shit is on those boots. I don't want any of that mess on my floor, so make sure to clean them and swallow all of it, pig."
By this point, the little faggot was practically chewing the mud off my boots, though I could see disgust on his face as he swallowed each lump of dirt, not sure if it was really dirt or something worse. I lifted up my foot and made him lick the bottoms. The bitch wrinkled his nose at the nastiness, but his tongue never stopped.
When my boots were clean, I had the cockpig take them off. His next test: sucking the sweat out of my socks. My feet were nice and ripe, too. I'd worn the same socks for four days, just for this moment. The smell was pretty powerful. From the look on his face, it hit the faggot in the face like a slap when I finally gave him permission to pull of my boots. I could see him recoil from the smell, but he already knew better than to say no to me. He started sucking the sweat out of my socks, taking my toes into his mouth, making little whimpering sounds the entire time. By the time I let him actually lick my stinking, sweaty feet clean, the bitch was sucking my toes like his life depended on it, eventually trying to get my all of them in his mouth at once. Stupid little cunt was so wrapped up in licking my boots and sucking a man's toes for the first time, he never noticed me recording him with my phone. Yeah, that footage would come in handy later on.
I knew the pig liked the idea of worshiping a man's feet. We'd discussed it a lot during our Skype calls. But this wasn't about what he liked; it was about seeing if he was worth keeping around to train. Time for a real test.
I went and grabbed some leather ankle and wrist cuffs. I padlocked them on the bitch, then clipped his wrists to his ankles, so he was kneeling with his head on the ground and his shoulders supporting his torso. Face turned to the side so I could see the expression on his face at all times. That beautiful, pale young ass was positioned just right. I kicked his legs further apart, exposing his virgin hole. I took one of my socks and stuffed it in his mouth so I wouldn't have to listen to the faggot, then I removed my belt. I stood where he could see me do it, too, so he'd know what was coming and realize he had no chance to stop it. My cock was still hanging out of my jeans from the blowjob he'd given me, and now it started to rise again. I grabbed some lube off the coffee table and started stroking my cock to full mast. I doubled over my belt, then brought it down on the faggot's ass. Not one of those pansy-ass blows, like most faggots expect when they know you're going to spank them. No, this was a full force blow from the onset, the kind your dad used to give you as a kid when you'd really fucked up. I brought the belt down on the bitch's ass right across both cheeks, hard. I could hear him scream into my sweaty sock. I could see the fear in his eyes. He'd told me early on when we started talking that he wasn't into pain, that it wasn't what he was seeking. I'd cleared that up really quick: no one cares what a faggot is "into". I told him a faggot's role was to serve, and suffer, and obey. Period. No one gave a shit what a piece of property liked or didn't. Nobody ever asked a doormat for its turn-ons, or inquired what the toilet was "into", so why would anyone care what a faggot liked? He'd said at the time he understood, but now he was experiencing the crushing, painful reality of it.
It took about three blows before the tears started. After five blows, the pig was sobbing, tears collecting on the floor next to his face. His ass was already bright red, with large welts forming in the pattern of my belt. God, I love the pale skin gingers have! It colors so easily and perfectly. By the time I was ready to stop, the faggot was sobbing and moaning loudly, his ass clearly on fire. I took careful aim with the last blow and brought the belt down hard right on the pussyboy's hole. He practically levitated off the floor, making a sound like wounded animal, his body thrashing and trembling.
The faggot had cum on the floor, his drain still locked inside the chastity cage. I'd whipped a month's worth of cum out of his painfully full balls. All that horniness, gone with one blow of my belt against his asshole. Too bad for the fuckboy, because it was going to make what was about to happen even more painful.
I dropped to my knees behind him, and rammed by cock in his virgin hole, all the way to the hilt. He went rigid for a second, then began to thrash like a fish on a hook, as if I'd just stuck a cattle prod in his ass and turned it on. He fought and squirmed and tried to get away as best he could while restrained, but he couldn't go anywhere. My cock was lodged deep in his guts, deep inside where no man had ever touched him before. I kept my cock there for a moment, letting him feel the full size of it, letting it stretch his hole for the very first time. Stretch it to fit my cock perfectly, just like a soft, warm glove that was custom-made for my prick.
The faggot was panting hard from the pain of being suddenly speared to the hilt on a really big cock, his first cock. I pulled it out of him until just the head was inside his sphincter, stretching it out and leaving him feeling empty after being so completely full. Then I rammed him again. I dug my fingers into his small hips, and began to plow his tight little hole. I wanted him to feel like his hole was being turned inside out, to know what it felt like to be violated.
I reached under him and grabbed his caged dicklet and balls, wrapping my hand about them where they met his body. I used them like a handle to pull him back on my cock over and over, making sure to slam into his balls several times as I pounded him. Listening to him scream into my nasty sock was what sent me over the edge, and I filled his guts with the first of what would be many, many loads of cum up his ass.
I slowly pulled out of his battered hole. A little blood was on my cock; not unexpected with a virgin bitch like this. There was a little shit too, but not much. The fag had indeed done a decent job of cleaning out his hole, but not quite thorough enough. It was time for the pussyboy's next lesson. I released his hands so he could get up on all fours, then took the sock out of his mouth. His cute young face was stained with tears, and still showed the pain from being whipped and fucked. I grabbed his hair and pulled his face to my cock so the bitch could clean it off, but he turned up his nose at the smell of his own ass and the traces of blood from his deflowering. I slapped him across the face, hard, then pinched his nose until he opened his mouth and I could get the head of my dick in his mouth. He continued to resist, the first sign of a fight I'd seen from him so far, so I decided to try a different tactic.
I wiped some of his blood and shit off my cock onto his face, then reached over and grabbed the leash I'd used earlier and clipped it on to his collar. I stood up and started leading the faggot towards the back of the house. He was too weak to stand, which was fine by me. I prefer bitches to crawl. Keeps them mindful of their place at all times.
You should have seen the look on the fag's face when he saw the back room. It's not a "dungeon" by any means, and certainly not a "playroom". Those are for queers that want to pretend this is real. No, my room was carefully designed. Just a few, select pieces, each specifically chosen either to allow me to easily use a cockpig or to make a faggot's life hell. Or both.
My favorite piece, of course, is the cage. It's made of real iron, heavy and solid, like a real cage should be. Once a fag is in there, he knows he's not coming out until I allow it. This cage is a very small square, taller than it is wide, and just big enough to fit a cockpig securely. I had this one designed with a special neck collar opening on one end, so I can trap a slave's head outside the cage, with his body locked inside. The adjustable iron collar is built into the bars, and prevents the fag from pulling his head inside the cage. The cage is just small enough to keep a faggot's ass next to the bars for easy access, and just tall enough most slaves can almost straighten out their legs if they put their back against the top. Almost.
I led the faggot up to the cage, but he balked at crawling in. I could see in his eyes he didn't know what was going to happen to him once he was in it, but he knew it wouldn't be good. A good hard tug on his leash finally made him crawl inside. I pulled his head through the far side, and locked the collar around his neck, then locked the other side of the cage. Little bitch began to tremble as soon as he heard the padlock click into place. He was trapped, and he knew it.
I don't tolerate disobedience from faggots. They need rules, duties, and very strict discipline to learn their proper place in life. The pussyboy's refusal to suck my cock clean after I deflowered his ass couldn't go without proper correction. The bitch had to learn to obey, quickly and completely, and that any disobedience would result in suffering. I had something special in mind for the little fuckhole.
Once I had him secured in the cage, his head firmly trapped, I ordered the pig to put his ass against the top of the cage. He shifted until his feet were under him, and raised his ass up until his back was against the bars at the top. That's when I showed him the hook.
I've got a buddy who is a mechanical engineer. Abusing faggots is his hobby, and we often get together to use a bitch when one is handy. He makes all kinds of great stuff, some of it at my request. The hook was one of those. It's a long metal hook, curved just right to conform to a fag's ass. There's a big, fat metal ball at the end of the hook that goes inside the faggot, stretching the bitch's hole and securing him on the hook. There's another hook at the end of the handle, which I can lock on to the bars on top of the cage.
I didn't say a word to the pussyboy when I pulled out the hook. Just held it so he could get a good look at it. Let him begin to imagine what was about to happen, assuming he could. I walked behind him, and slid the metal ball into his hole, which was still stretched from the fucking I'd given him. Even so, it was a very close fit. His asshole was still quite tight, and, well, it's a big fucking ball of metal. Like having a lemon shoved up your ass. Fortunately, I'd dumped enough cum inside him that his hole was pretty well lubed. You should have heard the pig squeal when that ball stretched him open! Unlike a cock or a dildo, the metal is rigid and unyielding. It's a totally different experience. He was already panting and begging by the time I got it in him. I imagine the feel of that cold, round knob of metal in his guts was terrifying to him. Good. That's exactly how I wanted him.
I pulled the other end of the hook up and locked it in place on the top bars of the cage. The faggot suddenly realized his predicament: he couldn't squat back down to relax his legs, due to the length of the hook up his ass, and he couldn't expel the knob, due to its size. The only thing more painful that keeping that metal ball up his ass would be trying to shit it back out. So, he was left with his legs half bent, unable to straighten up because the cage was too small, unable to squat because of the hook, forced to support his weight with half-bent legs, putting incredible pressure on his thighs, knees and back as he tried to keep the ball from digging deeper into his already-bruised asshole. If he relaxed his legs, the pain deep inside him increased exponentially; if he relieved the agony in his hole by shifting his weight, he dramatically increased the torture to his leg muscles. I could see his legs were already beginning to tremble and shake. It wouldn't take too long in this position for muscle fatigue to set in. He was reduced to exactly what I wanted him to be: meat on a hook.
He'd already started begging and pleading with me, promising to be good. No, he needed to learn, and learning the hard way is best for fags. I stood back to admire my handiwork for moment, as the pussyboy repeatedly tried to relieve the agony deep in his hole. "Hmm," I thought. "Needs something." I pulled a nice, heavy pair of tit clamps from out of a drawer, then reached through the bars of the cage and clamped them on the faggot's tits. These clamps have a metal chain which adds to their weight. With the faggot bent forward, gravity would do all the work, his own movements causing them to swing back and forth, supported only by his tender young nipples.
"Get comfortable, cockpig. You're going to be there a while," I laughed, then left the room, closing the door and leaving him to suffer. He was going to learn obedience one way or another.
When I started building out the back room for faggot training, the first thing I did was wire it for sound and video. Small, subtle cameras to capture every delicious moment of a pig's suffering and use, with stereo sound, of course. All streamed and saved right to the cloud. It's always nice to have something fun to watch when friends come over, after all.
I relaxed in the living room, watching my little ginger cunt on the laptop. Back and forth he went, trying to relieve the pressure of the metal knob up his ass by locking his legs as far as he could, until his muscles fatigued and he collapsed, the hook and ass plug suddenly supporting his weight, driving that metal knob deeper into his hole, bruising his tender insides even further. I could see him trying to expel the knob once or twice when he realized it was the only way to get relief, but when he saw how much more painful that would be, he quickly stopped. Tears and snot were flowing freely down his face. He winced each time he moved wrong and the tit clamps started swinging back and forth, sending pain through his nipples.
I left him like that for a full hour. Easily the longest hour of his young life.
When I came back in the room, the pig was desperate to please. I could tell that a barrier had broken down in his mind, something that it took pain and desperation to tear down. He wasn't just desperate for his suffering to end - he was desperate to obey. I didn't say a word to him, just walked over to his trapped head and presented my cock, which was still coated with some dried ass slime from his first fucking. This time, the bitch didn't hesitate, didn't even wrinkle up that cute little nose of his at the smell. He started cleaning my cock like it was the most important thing he'd ever done, which in that moment it certainly was. He was even shoving his shoulders against the bars of the cage, desperately trying to get more of my cock in his mouth, pathetically eager to please me. While he concentrated on my cock, I looked underneath him. I wasn't surprised to see his little nub straining against its cock cage, despite all the torment. The mark of a true cockpig.
The pussyboy got my cock not only clean, but hard again, too. I pulled out of his mouth, then walked around behind him. I removed the hook from the top of the cage, then pulled the ball slowly out of his hole, allowing it to really stretch his sphincter as it came out. He made the nicest squeal when it did. I decided, however, to leave the clamps in place for a while. I certainly didn't want to faggot getting too comfortable.
After I released the bitch's head, I ordered him to crawl out of the cage, then replaced the leash on his collar. First things first: I led him around the where his head had been locked, and ordered him to lick all his tears and snot off my floor. After all, I can't have faggot's leaving the place a mess. Once the floor was clean, I led the bitch into my bedroom. His legs were so weak he was finding it tough to crawl, but hell, no pain, no gain, right?
Once in the bedroom, I stripped off the rest of my clothes and laid down on the bed, then pulled the fag up on the bed with me. I put him to work licking my cock again, getting it nice and wet. Once his mouth and throat had lubed it up good, I told him to sit on it.
Now, it's one thing for a pussyboy, especially one that was a virgin that morning, to get bent over and have a really big cock shoved up his ass from behind. He can imagine it, he can certainly feel it, but it's a totally different experience mentally than being made to sit on it. Suddenly, it's not something being forced in his ass that he can't control. Instead, he can see how big it is; he knows how bad it hurts inside him from the first experience. Now he has to do it to himself, and he knows that. He's not just complicit in his own suffering, he's the mechanism of it. Plus, the fag's knees and legs were already fatigued and sore from his time in the cage, so climbing up on my cock hurt before he even got it lined up with his hole.
Ha! You should have seen the bitch trying to balance himself just right to get my cock in him! He was having a hard time getting his legs to cooperate as he tried to slowly, carefully ease his sore ass onto my big, thick cock. Just when he was starting to slide it slowly inside him, his quads started to spasm and he fell, spearing himself on my prick, his own weight ramming it deep into his guts. He squealed and thrashed as my cock head rubbed against the sore spot inside him where the metal knob had been lodged, my cock aggravating the painful bruise left from that cold metal torment. Once he was fully impaled, I told him to fuck himself.
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