Contains scenes of non-consensual sex.
No Longer a Person
I was 35 when it happened, I'd been out of work for a year and I was flat broke, with few friends and only a handful of relatives. I turned to my aunt, the one my mother had warned me against before she passed away, and asked in desperation if she could help. She could, she said: she organised me a job as a live-in PA to one of her rich acquaintances, on the other side of the country in the home counties. I took it - I just thought my mother had meant my aunt would take advantage and get me a bad job. I had no idea what I was walking into.
A taxi dropped me off at the beautiful, big detached home in the suburbs and I walked up the long gravel drive and knocked on the door. A well-built man with a shaved head greeted me and took my bags from me. He led me upstairs into the office room, where his wife was working: the woman whose PA I thought I was to become.
"Welcome," she said. "George, will you get the young man something to drink?"
"Sure thing," he replied.
I looked her over: she was white, a brunette, quite petite, with small breasts and dark eyes. She looked back at me and her gaze seemed to sear into me. I smiled and she just looked at me blankly. We sat in silence and I racked my brains for something to say.
"Erm, so when do you want me to start?"
"Let's talk about it when you've had some refreshments, yes?"
"Oh OK."
George came back a minute later and handed me a large glass of orange juice. It was a hot day and I was parched, so I gulped it down in a few goes, then I waited for the woman to address me: she seemed intent on an email she was writing. Minutes passed and I began to feel very woozy. George moved to my side, then he held me and told me everything was going to be OK. I passed out when he thrust a syringe into my neck.
When I awoke, I felt air caressing my skin, and I tried to move to shake off the sleepiness. A clank announced one of the chains that held me to a metal table. I opened my eyes to find myself bound to the metal table, tilted so that my head was higher than my feet. George stood there, quite naked, wearing a metal collar and something on his cock; the petite brunette was there too.
"What's going on?" I demanded.
"Shut up, slave," said the woman; George stood mute.
"Let me go!"
"Last warning: silence," said the woman with a fierce look in her eyes.
"Fuck you!"
"Wrong answer."
She raised a remote control and I felt my neck and my balls explode in agony as electricity pulsed through them. I jerked around on the metal table, making a racket as the chains rebounded and juddered, but I could not get loose. She kept her thumb down on the trigger for a while, and I thought I might be about to pass out when she finally released me.
"Silence," she said.
I nodded - the pain was too much to even contemplate asking for more of.
"Good boy. First lesson learned: obedience avoids pain. You are no longer a person: you are a slave, and you will be trained here until broken, then sold to the highest bidder on the black market for submissive boys. Your old name no longer applies: I am renaming you Sugarboi, with an I in 'boi', to reflect your new status.
"It is usually good, Sugarboi, to tell a boi how he came to be where he is. Your aunt is part of our organisation and regularly sends me males to train. You came to her attention many years before when she installed spyware on your computer and found out about your submissive tendencies, but until now you were not in a sufficiently vulnerable position to take. After the death of your mother, that changed.
"I paid her good money for you and consider you my property at present, Sugarboi. I will break you, train you, then sell you. I have done this many times and never been caught. Your social media will be monitored by me, and your friends will find you gradually cut off contact over the next few months as your new job takes over. I doubt they will miss you once 'you' sever contact completely, having fallen in love with someone on the other side of the world.
"My boi George here was once trained by me in just such a way. He is so broken that he can be trusted to live without a control collar - his is purely decorative - and help train you: he will report any attempt by you to beg him to be let go. George is a very good boi indeed. You will break, for you are no longer a person. You are property. I look forward to destroying and rebuilding you.
"We will speak again tomorrow, slave. For today, you will be shackled here and reflect on your new status in my basement dungeon. It's escape-proof and soundproof, by the way: scream all you like."
Week 1
I did indeed scream all I liked that first day. Over and over, I drew in great gulps of air and directed them at the cellar walls and door, screaming for help, to be let go, anything. No one came. George entered to feed me a few times, and a couple of times to put me in elaborate bondage so I could use the little bathroom down there in the cellar. The rest of the time I spent chained to the table.
The door only opened when I was securely chained to some other surface, and I quickly realised I had no chance of escape unless someone let their guard down or made a mistake. I resolved to watch and wait, and stopped my screaming. That left me with a night's broken and restless sleep before day 2, when my training really started.
For the whole of day 2, I got nothing but pain. Even now, years later, I can hardly bear to recall those moments. I knew my brunette captor only as 'Mistress'. Mistress spent that first day with me using every whip, flogger and cane she had while I hung defenceless in chains, suspended from the ceiling, my toes barely touching the floor.
"What is your name?" she would cry.
"Sugarboi, Mistress," I would cry back.
