When we met, the cockpig didn't look anything like it does now. Oh, yeah, of course I added the markings and the rings, that's a given. No, I mean the look in its eyes, the expression on its face. That's what's different. Back when I started training it, you could see a lot of fear in its eyes, just like you'd expect, but also hope. Hope. It's always hard to tell with a cockpig exactly what it's hoping for. Tenderness? Kindness? Pain? Abuse? Probably some combination of all that, wrapped up together in its little faggot brain in ways it can't possibly sort out on its own. That's part of what gets faggots like mine confused. They get confused about what they want, as well as what they are. Society keeps telling them they are people, with rights, deserving respect. Deep down, though, they know that's not true. They can feel they were born different - lesser somehow. The first time they have a real man take charge and put them in their place, the light bulb in their brain finally lights up, and they start becoming what they are meant to be. It takes a true alpha male, though, and a lot of patience, to really transform a faggot and help it realize its full potential as a cockpig. To remove that hope from its eyes and replace it with submission. That's what it's all about for me - transformation.
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.
