The Breaking Point

"Do you know why I'm here boy?"

The young blonde man made a grunting sound through the gag which one could almost distinguish as a "Fuck you," and rotated his wrists, pulling at the ropes that help each hand.

"I could have any slave I want. I could go upstairs and drink and party with everyone else with a well-trained slave there to serve me. Do you know why I don't?"

The older, dark haired man paused to take a few of his tools down from the wall.

"You see, I find well-trained boys exceedingly boring – I would never be happy with one. No, what I truly enjoy is taking the feisty, spirited ones and watching them break," he said calmly, setting each item out gently on the table only a few feet away from where his new project stood blindfolded, gagged, and bound. He took a long few seconds to admire the lean, athletic body of the boy standing before him with hands tied on each side to the horizontal bar running across the top of the cell and legs straddled with ankles tightly secured to the vertical metal bars. This one couldn't be older than 21, he observed.

The boy threw his weight forward against his restraints again, yelling obscenities into the wadded up cloth stuffed in his mouth and the older man chuckled, thoughtfully choosing the red zapper from the table. He strode over to his victim and released a shock into the boy's right bicep, watching the boy jump at the unexpected pain. The startled cry that rose from the boy's throat sounded heavenly to him.

Stashing the zapper into the back of his jeans, the man reached forward and ripped the front of the boy's tshirt, which was damp with sweat. When the boy threw his weight into his left shoulder trying to pull away, he quickly grabbed the zapper and released another shock, this time on the boy's abs, and let his ears drink in the sound of the boy letting out another startled yelp. The boy's breath was coming slightly heavier now.

He switched the zapper to his left hand and used his right to grab hold of the boy's jaw, turning the boy's head towards him so they would be looking eye to eye were it not for the blindfold.

"Doesn't the blindfold make it so much worse?" He shocked the boy's left pec just above the nipple. "Not being able to see-" now the right hip just above the bone, "-where the next shock-" then just below the collarbone, "will be?" Instead of yelling, the boy only grunted and his jumping reduced to flinching slightly by the last shock. The boy was bracing himself and that stubbornness was what was going to make this fun. He relaxed his grip on his victim's jaw and the boy ripped his head out of the man's grip, looking decidedly away from his tormentor.

Chuckling, the dark haired man gave one last shock to the boy's abs before going back to the table and setting the zapper back in its space.

He casually walked back over to the boy and tugged on the cloth in the boy's mouth. The younger man opened his mouth wider and allowed the gag to be removed. He could tell by the sound when the boy took three tries to swallow that the boy was already dehydrated and that was something he would be able to use.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Go fuck yourself," the boy said loudly as he stared directly toward his captor. The man noted that the boy's gaze held at eye level for several seconds before he used his left hand to punch the boy in the stomach. The boy grunted loudly as the air escaped his lungs and he would have doubled over if the ropes would let him.

"That's okay, I'll go first. You may address me as the usual – either 'Sir' or 'Master'- but I don't think that was difficult to guess," he announced evenly as he let the boy cough and catch his breath. "What's your name, boy?" he repeated.

Sir watched as the boy tightened his abs and ground his teeth stubbornly. He tore the sleeves of the boy's shirt so it fell to the ground and then backhanded him across the face.

"Did you know that most of the men doing the training like me, they don't even both to ask. They give their boys new names. It's easier that way, you see, because when you give him a new identity you can focus less on destroying the old and more on building the new....but, tell me, where is the fun in that? Where is the challenge?"

The boy had recovered from the last blow and was now looking straight ahead, so Sir hit him across the face again. Once more the boy turned his head forward and once more Sir hit him.

The older man took a step back to run his eyes over every line in the boy's pale skin created by the muscles in his arms, shoulders, pecs, and abs as the boy – whatever his name was – worked to regain his composure. He's probably about 5'11", maybe 6', Sir noted to himself. The young man was obviously at least relatively active, that much was obvious by his lean muscles, and the man's eyes lingered over the sexy V-lines showing above the boy's jeans.

The boy looked ahead again, but it also took him a full second longer to do so, which made Sir smile just a little.

"That's four. The record so far is eleven, but you're well on your way."

"Fuck you!"

This time Sir hit him in the lower abs.

"Do you think you can set a new record?"

The next hit was to the young man's left side. While the boy had previously only grunted with each blow, he yelled this time and his moderately heavy breathing graduated to gasps of pain. Beads of sweat could be seen on his smooth chest, forehead, and the beautiful curves of his neck.

Sir saw the gratifying flinch as he ran his hand over the boy's chest and abs as his newest victim continued to heave for breath, but he was pleased that the boy didn't try to move away.

Mockingly, Sir crowed, "Don't tell me you're giving in yet! After only five?! What would your friends think of you – being weak like this?" He paused. The boy had regained something resembling steady breathing, though it was still on the heavier side. "What's your name?"

There was no reply and Sir saw him set his jaw, but the boy's head remained tilted down.

Finally, the man put his knee into the young man's groin. He didn't put a lot of force into it, but just enough that the boy screamed, his knees gave out, and he hung for several moments by his wrists.

The boy now grunted with every breath and his face was a mask of pain.

Sir wrapped both hands around the boy's throat and, lifting him back to his full height, gently pressed him against the bars so his breath was only a little harder to come by.

"That's six, boy. Only six more to a new record."

"Cole," the boy whispered.

"Come again?" Sir tiled his head and brought his ear closer to the boy's mouth but pressed harder on the boy's throat, further obstructing his breathing.

"My name's Cole."