Technically I was finishing off some research for the publication I worked for. Hence the journalistic exposé cleverly entitled "Involuntary Man Slut". At least I thought it was clever, not prophetic. Officially I was here to either dispel or prove the growing public suspicion that men were being enslaved against their will. In a culture of permissiveness where men and women could voluntarily submit to domination, sexual predation was hard to prove. But apparently some men had escaped to tell tales of abuse at the hands of some unscrupulous females. The woman I was interviewing was one of those suspects. Unfortunately for me, my research had taken on a more personal significance. I was unprepared for the level of curiosity I was experiencing.
According to reports from men who had been held captive for months by female kidnappers, they were coerced into sexual slavery. There was nothing consensual about it. The men were kept naked and trained to respond to various female handlers. Their cocks were locked into chastity devices and could only released by keys the trainers kept on their person at all times, fastened to thin chains that hung between their breasts. Or attached to ankle bracelets for convenience.
Over the weeks and months following their abduction, male slaves were forced to engage in humiliating acts designed to subdue their will and make them pliable for whatever deviant behavior the women preferred. Apparently they enjoyed a wide variety of depravity.
Males were forced to act like dogs, wearing anal plugs shaped like tails. They were required to wag their butts when their owners entered the room, like grateful subservients. They crawled on all fours, barked for treats and came when they were called. Some men were milked like cows in front of an audience of female spectators, who then bought the best producers. The males were often milked multiple times in succession and their sperm used as lubricant for their continued milking or as an anal easement.
The "Sisterhood," as I nicknamed them, enjoyed riding their males from behind like jockeys in fake slut-races. Fake, because of course the sluts ran nowhere. They were tied in place to prevent them from moving. Bound so that their arms were stretched out uselessly in front of them and attached to the far end of the bench the men were strapped to, the arrangement prevented any possible interference, as unlikely as that was. Their chests rested on low, wide benches. Knees were spread apart and asses were raised as high as possible, leaving caged cocks and balls swollen by excessive fondling within easy reach.
They had ball gags fitted into their mouths like bridle-bits. The gags didn't stop them from making any sounds, just from making intelligible sounds. The riders liked it when their mounts grunted and whinnied.
Nothing fake about the riders though. The women found the biggest dildos possible to use as strap-ons and dressed up in jodhpurs and spurs. In selecting a mount, each slut had his balls weighed by many hands. Erections were stroked and compared. Holes were explored, lubricated and tested for elasticity; an easily accessed asshole could give the rider a head start. Riding crops were used liberally to urge their mounts on during the race and to ensure full participation. Shocking accusations, if they were true.
Rumor was that some males were even being given testicle replacements. Supposedly they were kept shackled in cages, their collars chained to the bars in front of their faces, while their knees were secured on either side, so that the captive's legs were spread wide toward the cage door for easy access. The men were kept immobilized on their hands and knees for hours. Weights attached to their scrotums stretched their ball sacks over a period of time to accommodate the enlarged testicles that were transplanted into them. If they looked unnatural, the women using the cocks didn't seem to mind. In fact, verbal accounts of escaped slaves confirmed that female owners preferred the males with bigger balls to the unaltered slaves. These modified males couldn't possibly fit into an ordinary pair of pants anymore, but they were never going to be allowed to wear clothes again anyway, so it wasn't considered an issue.
In response to my question regarding escapees from her training facility, the woman I spoke with denied that anything but consensual sex was going on. She was amused by the notion that her clients would even consider leaving without consent, let alone acknowledge the possibility that it could be done.
"No of course I'm not concerned about him running away," she replied incredulously. "Where on earth would he go? He has no credit cards and no drivers' license. Nothing has been in his name for a long time now. As far as the government is concerned he is my dependent." Yeah, she couldn't imagine why her boy would want to escape. Moreover, she was certain he couldn't.
"How far would he get?" she reasoned. "I keep him naked with a remote-controlled cock ring locked around his balls." She glanced behind her.
The boy
"Come here boy." A boy of about 18, pale skinned, naked, dark hair tucked behind his ears, with his hands cuffed behind him emerged from the shadows. He stood dejectedly beside his handler and stared forlornly at the floor. A gleaming metal cock ring, securely fastened around the base of his shaved genitals caught the mid-afternoon light streaming through the windows. The boy stood trembling beside the woman. She kept glancing toward me, eager to see my reaction as she presented her toy. With the index finger of her right hand she traced a line from one of his nipples to his navel. Her sharp fingernail left a faint pink line etched on his skin. The boy shivered in anticipation.
"He is being punished for disobedience, she explained." As though some rationale beyond her perverse pleasure was required for his totally irrational circumstances. "He is teased practically all the time, but not allowed to cum," she continued. "If he wants relief he needs to please me." She smiled and ran her hand down the boys' flank, cupping and squeezing his ass, like any livestock owner would I guess. I must have looked skeptical.
"And yes, because I can see the question on your face, I do control that." She took a smooth, palm sized remote out of her pocket and gently slid the control lever forward until the boy moaned. She increased the current slightly and his cock began to stiffen.
She hardened him quickly and had him begging in no time. But then she let him hang there, unable to relieve himself. He had no real choice but to wait for her to decide if he could cum. The kid looked tired, like he was used to disappointment.
But his cock stayed hard for a long time, all through her explanation of why her pet would never run away. It didn't really matter much what he wanted anymore, only what he could endure.
"He never knows when I will make him cum, so he gets horny every time," she grinned. "I'm gonna have to milk him soon, and provide some release before he explodes. I think just satisfying his addiction to cumming has become his only goal in life," she said pensively. "Sad, really. But shouldn't every boy want to please his owner?" She played casually with the erect cock beside her, tapping it, tracing its length back and forth with her fingers, then looked at me. "I mean, wouldn't you want to please me if you were in his situation? I would certainly hope so, gratitude is paramount in my estimation of a man's role." She searched my face for signs of revulsion or indications of fascination, but she had guessed correctly that I would not be sitting there at all if I hadn't made up my mind by now.
"I let him cum just enough to feed that addiction and stay reliant on me. About once a week now, unless I'm feeling generous," she smiled. "But only if he earns it," she said softly. Her eyes followed the outline of the boy's body. Her fingers smoothed over his muscles, squeezing, teasing him until he shivered. His erect cock oozed precum and she spread it along his erection with slow fingers.
"It's been fun," she murmured, like a cat playing with a toy. "We found out he can have multiple orgasms if he's forced. But who cares. He stays hard for as long as I want, and keeping him horny makes him an enthusiastic participant."
I must have looked vague regarding her reference. She stared at me, amused by my naïveté.
"Enthusiastic participant, you're pondering?" Her eyes twinkled. I nodded.
"I mean he licks me like his orgasm is at stake instead of mine. How pumped is that? Plus his cock stays hard the whole time and he can fuck for a good 20 minutes after I cum. Which I sometimes like to do," she grinned somewhat shyly, almost confessional, for a woman who took pride in using men in unusual ways.
She was certainly not on anyone's list of coy people. So admitting to liking straight up old-fashioned fucking was almost an embarrassment of normalcy for her. But she recovered quickly. She had a reputation to maintain, after all.
"Of course I usually just use him and let him clean up while I go out. But occasionally I enjoy a relaxed, easy fuck after I climax." She stretched in her chair, flexing.
