Hard core stories for the hard core. These stories are all fantasies and should not be taken as portraying either the actions or the inclinations of those individuals appearing in the accompanying photos or gifs. All photos and gifs are reblogs. If you want a post or photo of or about you deleted, please let me know and I will delete it.
Even after two months of abject sexual slavery, Derek still couldn’t quite believe that this was happening to him, that he was another dude’s sex-slave. Stuff like this didn’t happen in America in the 21st century. It couldn’t. At least that’s what Derek had thought as little as three months ago. Now, though, when it was too late, he knew how wrong he’d been.
It had all started so innocently, at least from Derek’s perspective. He’d been passing by one of the town’s two gay bars when he noticed this big muscled dude walking up to the front door. “Fucking faggot,” he’d sneered, under his breath. That was all he said, and he’d murmured it so softly that he didn’t think the dude could possibly hear him. But, somehow he had. And he wasn’t the type of man to take shit off anybody - least of all some arrogant, homophobic, college punk. Derek had only taken two steps before the Man’s arm had reached out, grabbed Derek’s arm and spun him around, and delivered an incredible smash to Derek’s face.
The fight, if you wanted to call it that, was pretty much over before it’d begun and, at best, Derek managed to land only a couple of blows before he was beaten into unconsciousness. He awoke to find himself naked and chained, sprawled on the concrete floor of a room completely empty except for a metal pail placed in the corner, clueless as to where he was. Derek has spent every night since then in that room, naked and chained the way he had been that very first night.
The Man visited Derek in his new living quarters the next morning. When Derek tried to sputter a protest as to how he was being treated, the Man delivered a series of vicious slaps to Derek’s face that left it bruised and inflamed. “Boy,” the Man said, as Derek stared up at him in shock, “I don’t ever want to hear anything out of your mouth unless I ask you a question. That is the only time that you are permitted to speak. Do you understand, boy?”
When Derek simply looked up at the Man, still pretty much in a state of shock from the situation he found himself in, the Man had given him another brutal slap. “I asked you a question, boy, and I expect an answer. Do you understand me, boy?”
“Yeah, I understand,” Derek squeaked out, not really understanding anything at all - least of all, what was going on.
Another slap quickly followed Derek’s response. “That’s ‘Yes, Master,’ boy. You are to address me as ‘Master’ every time you answer one of my questions. Do you understand, boy?”
His eyes now big as saucers, his face feeling like it was on fire, Derek meekly answered, “Yes, Mas…Master.”
“Good, boy. Good. Now I’m gonna explain what’s going on and you better listen closely, boy, because I’m not going to repeat myself.” And then, without even waiting for a reply, the Man went on to explain that Derek was now his slave, that, as the Man’s slave, Derek was expected to do exactly what the Man told him to do and that he could expect to be severely punished not only for failing to do as he was told but merely for failing to perform his assigned tasks with suitable alacrity or with a sufficient attention to detail. When he was finished, the Man stared sharply at Derek. “Do you understand, boy?” he asked.
All too aware, now, of what would happen if he failed to timely respond, Derek squeaked out a “Yes, Master.”
“Good, boy,” the Man replied. And then smirking evilly he asked, “What are you, boy?”
Nonplussed at first, Derek quickly realized what the Man was asking and while he was tempted to refuse answering he was too afraid of what the Man’s response would be. So Derek forced himself to say, “I’m your slave, Master.”
“And, boy, what do you do as my slave?” the Man pressed.
“Anything you tell me to do, Master,” Derek dutifully replied.
“That’s right, boy,” the Man smiled grimly. “Anything I tell you to do. And what I want you to do right now is get up on your hands and knees. It’s time I fucked that pussy between your legs, boy. It’s time I fucked my slave’s boypussy.”
There was a long moment during which the two of them locked eyes. But eventually, ever so slowly, Derek looked away and did as he was told - he got up on his hands and knees, leaving himself fully exposed to whatever the Man had planned for him. What else could he do, Derek asked himself? He was naked and chained and the Man was much stronger than him - he’d already proven that. What else could he do?
The Man - Derek’s new Master - then proceeded to fuck Derek’s virgin ass like an animal, like a man possessed, pounding into it with incredible force, ignoring Derek’s screams and shrieks and tears, ravaging the boy’s tender fuck-hole, raping it until Derek was sobbing uncontrollably, the pain monstrous, the humiliation overwhelming. And then, and only then, the Man shot his load of sticky Man-scuzz deep inside Derek’s guts. It was only when he’d emptied every last drop of Man-seed into Derek’s ravaged boy-hole that he finally yanked his dick out and the raped college-boy collapsed into a weeping, quivering heap.
The Man returned three times that first day and raped Derek again each time. And he’s been raping Derek continuously ever since. And in between the constant sexual assaults on what now even Derek thinks of as his ‘boycunt,’ there is all the other physical and sexual abuse he is subjected to: daily spankings just for his Master’s amusement; frequent hard whippings for the slightest infraction of his Master’s rules; the constant torture of his nipples, boy-cock and balls. His boy-tits, in particular, have become a focal point for his Master’s attention. He bites, pinches, and squeezes them constantly, telling Derek that he wants his slave boy to have nice, big, girly tits - tits that protrude at least an inch from his pecs, that visibly proclaim his status as his Master’s fuck-slave. His Master has told Derek that while the boy is nowhere near there yet, he’ll keep working on his slave-tits until they’re permanently enlarged just the way he wants them to be. And, true to his word, Derek’s Master relentlessly works on them, even though they are so tender now that the merest flick of his Master’s finger against them makes Derek whimper in pain.
And in addition to all the physical abuse and sexual use that Derek has been forced to endure on a daily basis and which the boy now recognizes as simply a part of his lot as a sex-slave, Derek performs his other assigned tasks with an attention to detail he never showed before - because he knows all too well what will happen to him if his Master is not pleased by his performance. And he performs these tasks not merely naked but laden down with chains, His ankles, his wrists, even his boy-junk, are encased in bulky metal cuffs and manacles connected to each other by equally heavy chains that are never removed - not even for his daily hosing down with ice-cold water which now takes the place of the leisurely warm showers he used to enjoy. And the constant weight of these chains on his body, the sudden pain they cause when he moves the wrong way, just reinforces in Derek’s own mind the reality that he is a slave, a sex-slave, his body now the personal property of his Master, to be used and abused however his Master desires. He is his Master’s sex-slave.
Derek hadn’t believed it was possible in 21st century America for one man to become another Man’s sex-slave. He knows now how wrong he was. His bitterest regret is that this knowledge came too late. Way too late to help Derek.
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Even after two months of abject sexual slavery, Derek still couldn’t quite believe that this was happening to him, that he was another dude’s sex-slave. Stuff like this didn’t happen in America in the 21st century. It couldn’t. At least that’s what Derek had thought as little as three months ago. Now, though, when it was too late, he knew how wrong he’d been.
It had all started so innocently, at least from Derek’s perspective. He’d been passing by one of the town’s two gay bars when he noticed this big muscled dude walking up to the front door. “Fucking faggot,” he’d sneered, under his breath. That was all he said, and he’d murmured it so softly that he didn’t think the dude could possibly hear him. But, somehow he had. And he wasn’t the type of man to take shit off anybody - least of all some arrogant, homophobic, college punk. Derek had only taken two steps before the Man’s arm had reached out, grabbed Derek’s arm and spun him around, and delivered an incredible smash to Derek’s face.
The fight, if you wanted to call it that, was pretty much over before it’d begun and, at best, Derek managed to land only a couple of blows before he was beaten into unconsciousness. He awoke to find himself naked and chained, sprawled on the concrete floor of a room completely empty except for a metal pail placed in the corner, clueless as to where he was. Derek has spent every night since then in that room, naked and chained the way he had been that very first night.
The Man visited Derek in his new living quarters the next morning. When Derek tried to sputter a protest as to how he was being treated, the Man delivered a series of vicious slaps to Derek’s face that left it bruised and inflamed. “Boy,” the Man said, as Derek stared up at him in shock, “I don’t ever want to hear anything out of your mouth unless I ask you a question. That is the only time that you are permitted to speak. Do you understand, boy?”
When Derek simply looked up at the Man, still pretty much in a state of shock from the situation he found himself in, the Man had given him another brutal slap. “I asked you a question, boy, and I expect an answer. Do you understand me, boy?”
“Yeah, I understand,” Derek squeaked out, not really understanding anything at all - least of all, what was going on.
Another slap quickly followed Derek’s response. “That’s ‘Yes, Master,’ boy. You are to address me as ‘Master’ every time you answer one of my questions. Do you understand, boy?”
His eyes now big as saucers, his face feeling like it was on fire, Derek meekly answered, “Yes, Mas…Master.”
“Good, boy. Good. Now I’m gonna explain what’s going on and you better listen closely, boy, because I’m not going to repeat myself.” And then, without even waiting for a reply, the Man went on to explain that Derek was now his slave, that, as the Man’s slave, Derek was expected to do exactly what the Man told him to do and that he could expect to be severely punished not only for failing to do as he was told but merely for failing to perform his assigned tasks with suitable alacrity or with a sufficient attention to detail. When he was finished, the Man stared sharply at Derek. “Do you understand, boy?” he asked.
All too aware, now, of what would happen if he failed to timely respond, Derek squeaked out a “Yes, Master.”
“Good, boy,” the Man replied. And then smirking evilly he asked, “What are you, boy?”
Nonplussed at first, Derek quickly realized what the Man was asking and while he was tempted to refuse answering he was too afraid of what the Man’s response would be. So Derek forced himself to say, “I’m your slave, Master.”
“And, boy, what do you do as my slave?” the Man pressed.
“Anything you tell me to do, Master,” Derek dutifully replied.
“That’s right, boy,” the Man smiled grimly. “Anything I tell you to do. And what I want you to do right now is get up on your hands and knees. It’s time I fucked that pussy between your legs, boy. It’s time I fucked my slave’s boypussy.”
There was a long moment during which the two of them locked eyes. But eventually, ever so slowly, Derek looked away and did as he was told - he got up on his hands and knees, leaving himself fully exposed to whatever the Man had planned for him. What else could he do, Derek asked himself? He was naked and chained and the Man was much stronger than him - he’d already proven that. What else could he do?
The Man - Derek’s new Master - then proceeded to fuck Derek’s virgin ass like an animal, like a man possessed, pounding into it with incredible force, ignoring Derek’s screams and shrieks and tears, ravaging the boy’s tender fuck-hole, raping it until Derek was sobbing uncontrollably, the pain monstrous, the humiliation overwhelming. And then, and only then, the Man shot his load of sticky Man-scuzz deep inside Derek’s guts. It was only when he’d emptied every last drop of Man-seed into Derek’s ravaged boy-hole that he finally yanked his dick out and the raped college-boy collapsed into a weeping, quivering heap.
The Man returned three times that first day and raped Derek again each time. And he’s been raping Derek continuously ever since. And in between the constant sexual assaults on what now even Derek thinks of as his ‘boycunt,’ there is all the other physical and sexual abuse he is subjected to: daily spankings just for his Master’s amusement; frequent hard whippings for the slightest infraction of his Master’s rules; the constant torture of his nipples, boy-cock and balls. His boy-tits, in particular, have become a focal point for his Master’s attention. He bites, pinches, and squeezes them constantly, telling Derek that he wants his slave boy to have nice, big, girly tits - tits that protrude at least an inch from his pecs, that visibly proclaim his status as his Master’s fuck-slave. His Master has told Derek that while the boy is nowhere near there yet, he’ll keep working on his slave-tits until they’re permanently enlarged just the way he wants them to be. And, true to his word, Derek’s Master relentlessly works on them, even though they are so tender now that the merest flick of his Master’s finger against them makes Derek whimper in pain.
And in addition to all the physical abuse and sexual use that Derek has been forced to endure on a daily basis and which the boy now recognizes as simply a part of his lot as a sex-slave, Derek performs his other assigned tasks with an attention to detail he never showed before - because he knows all too well what will happen to him if his Master is not pleased by his performance. And he performs these tasks not merely naked but laden down with chains, His ankles, his wrists, even his boy-junk, are encased in bulky metal cuffs and manacles connected to each other by equally heavy chains that are never removed - not even for his daily hosing down with ice-cold water which now takes the place of the leisurely warm showers he used to enjoy. And the constant weight of these chains on his body, the sudden pain they cause when he moves the wrong way, just reinforces in Derek’s own mind the reality that he is a slave, a sex-slave, his body now the personal property of his Master, to be used and abused however his Master desires. He is his Master’s sex-slave.
Derek hadn’t believed it was possible in 21st century America for one man to become another Man’s sex-slave. He knows now how wrong he was. His bitterest regret is that this knowledge came too late. Way too late to help Derek.