Sam's world had changed from college stud to sex slave so abruptly. Captured, enslaved, and sold at auction, he was transported to Argentina in the entourage of his new owner.
Sam was deposited in a room by his captors with nothing to do but wait idly for Master Sergio. Thoughts of what would soon transpire were swirling in his mind. All he could do to pass the time was to study the large pictures of his new Master which adorned the otherwise barren walls. The man seemed to bore into Sam's soul with his dark, resolute gaze. It was as though He was already penetrating the vulnerable boy with His domineering presence.
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Sam's journey to Argentina was relatively uneventful. After his purchase by Master Sergio, he was hauled by his savage handlers aboard the Master's private jet. The captors chained his wrists to the head of a small bed. His heart was palpitating. Sam was immediately concerned that he would be fucked right then and there.
The men proceeded to administer him a sedative as soon as they had him properly secured. Sam didn't want to take the pill, but they were persuasive in their manner and effort. They pried open his gullet and lodged the pill in his cheek. Then they chased it with loads of water that Sam couldn't keep up with while yelling at him to "swallow". They derided him and told him he better learn to swallow more efficiently. "Your mouth pussy needs some real work, puta," they mocked. "What a fucking pucho!" They continued, "You're going to have to do better with Master's cum, bitch! Get those throat muscles under control."
The men continued to mock and laugh at the slave's hard clit. Sam remained mortified secretly questioning his own sexuality as he protested, "I'm not gay. I'm not a faggot!"
The men couldn't help but stroke his hard cock and retort, "Your little boy-clit tells us without question, that you are a born faggot puta!"
Sam was horrified to hear their taunts. He fought the effects of the pill, fearful he might get fucked in his sleep. Soon he began to drift away into a slumber, with nightmarish thoughts swirling in his subconscious. He could only pray that he awakened an intact and untarnished man.
When Sam aroused he was in less favorable surroundings. Now spread eagle, still in chains, this time completely nude, he was on a work bench of some type. It was extremely uncomfortable. What he noticed right away was that his legs were painfully contorted far apart, exposing his asshole in a vivid manner as it hung off the edge of the bench. He knew an awful ordeal lay ahead. He realized he was no longer on the Master's airplane but rather firmly on solid land and must be in Argentina, another new country to Sam. Unfortunately, he could not celebrate this destination as a new stamp to his passport.
The three attendants nearby noticed that he was active. "Ah, the puta is stirring. Time for us to get him ready for Master," one of them chimed. "You must be thirsty from your travels, pucho. Drink up!" They starting pouring some water down his throat. Sam was parched. So he was eager to drink what they offered him. "Good little bitch," they said. "You must stay hydrated and strong for Master. You will need stamina!"
The men turned their attention to what little body hair Sam had: his armpits, his pubes, and little scant tufts near his anus. He was naturally smooth on his chest and torso. "Master demands that these last vestiges of 'manhood' be removed from His faggots," one of the men asserted. "Bitches don't have pubic hair, only real men do. Ahhh, but don't worry pretty pucho, this won't hurt too much," he laughed.
Sam watch in horror as some benign appearing cream was generously rubbed onto his armpits. It didn't hurt at all. At least not for the first couple of minutes. Then it started to burn fiercely. Sam thought his skin was on fire! "Please take it off," Sam pleaded. "It burns! Oh Fuck!! Oh Fuck!! Oh Fuck!! It's burning me!!" The men simply chuckled in reply to Sam's cries.
"These faggots are all alike," the leader of the trio, Juan Pablo, proclaimed. "They think they are so tough, but can't take any real pain." Eventually after what seemed an eternity, Juan Pablo used a cold spray hose to rinse away the depilating cream. Sam watched all his armpit hair disappear with it tumbling down a drain in the floor. He was sad to see his axillary hair fall away, another vestige of manhood being stripped unceremoniously. Yet there was relief that the burning pain eased simultaneously. Juan Pablo took extreme pleasure rubbing at Sam's smooth pits with his savage hands ensuring to his satisfaction that they were sufficiently denuded. "Not a trace of hair left in your pits, you tasty whore! Ah but don't worry, pucho. We won't have to repeat this treatment again. This is a permanent process," he taunted. Sam was hopeful that man was lying to him.
Next, Juan Pablo started in on Sam's groin using his own very well-protected gloved hands. He took relish in stroking Sam's cock and balls vigorously as he rubbed the cream all over in a generous manner. Juan Pablo was working the genitals over during the application process, stroking and kneading them. To Sam's own horror, his erection became even more intense leaking steadily with pre-cum. He was concerned that he might shoot a load right there on the torture table. The captors noted it as well and derided him, "The fucking bitch is horny. Look how hard he is getting! What a faggot!" Sam was turning beet red. His mind was turning circles. How could this be? "You are a true faggot bitch for the Master," Juan Pablo declared. "We have a natural born and and soon to be bred American pucho right here!" he gloated.
Sam objected, "I am not a fag, you bastards! I only like and fuck women." His protests now sounded even preposterous to himself.
Juan Pablo sneered back at him as he continued to stroke Sam's erection, "Well your hard little clit is a testament to the truth, puta!" The man bellowed. "You can't deny your true faggot self! Consider how your pussy truly needs hard cocks in order to be complete. You are only discovering your authentic self!"
Sam was mortified. Inside, it was incomprehensible how his body was reacting in a pleasurable way to such horrific torture. The arousal was intoxicating and overpowering. He was emasculated and enslaved, but somehow feeling a new sexual awakening.
The men had their task at hand. Finally, they denuded his sensitive anal rosette. The pain and burning was so intense that Sam thought he might literally die. "OOOHHH FUCKKKK!!!!" He began writhing around on the work bench uncontrollably, like he was having a seizure. He was trying to rub his asshole to see if he could wipe away and dislodge some of the cream. "MY GOD, PLEASE HELP ME!" Sam pleaded, while he was thrashing around on the work bench. All of his efforts proved fruitless, the burning remained on his taut anus.
The men laughed hysterically, "Look at this fucking faggot! He wants his cunt played with so badly that he will do anything to stimulate himself!" they jeered. "He needs to be fucked by a proper Master! But he will have to be patient for a little bit longer."
Eventually the captors hosed down Sam's burning "cunt". The relief was so welcomed by Sam. He couldn't even help himself and said, "Oh thank you. Thank you. That hurt so bad. Thank you!"
"De nada, faggot," the Juan Pablo said. "Look how pretty you look now. Such a vast improvement." Sam stared in horror at his hairless pits and crotch. He couldn't see his asshole and didn't want too. He closed his eyes tightly and prayed for the nightmare to end. He tried to 'pray the gay away', but it was pointless.
