You remember the week’s stay in the Army hospital outside Austen. They treated your whip welts, your torn wrists, any other damaged done to you. There were a few counseling sessions and you were judged sane enough to rejoin the world. You were assured your cock and balls were intact. They proved it to you when a male nurse gave you a relaxing hand job. There was some minor pain from your balls, but they told you that would go away.
The nurse said: “Yeah, everything’ll be OK. I’ll be back to give your equipment some more exercise.” He laughed as he left the room.
You didn’t see Paul until you both were released. You remember a riotous dinner with your team. Everyone got plastered. Not only was the mission a success in that they got the leader, who was now in Guantanamo for “special treatment,” but they also got you and Paul out.
The whole team was given a two week leave to recuperate. The two of you, because of what you had gone through, were offered an honorable discharge, which you both accepted. You left the camp with Paul.
“Well, sir, we made it,” you remember saying as you stood outside the camp gate in the parking lot. It was a brutal hot day in Texas. Then you remembered something:
“Hey, I just realized, sir, I don’t have anywhere to go! I’m not going back to the farm. I hope I never see that bastard father of mine.”
“I know what I want,” Paul replied. “I want you to come to my place. I have a spare bedroom.”
“Fuck the spare bedroom, sir. I’m sleeping with you!”
“Thought you’d never ask,” Paul replied with a big grin. “And, by the way, your nips and ass are mine now, boy!”
“Thought you’d never ask, sir” you shot back with an equally big grin. You remember this resolved your earlier question of who would fuck who.
“So, let’s get started, boy,” Paul said. “Lose the shirt.”
You remember hesitating for a second, but then you complied directly. “Yes, sir!”
“Do you have a car here, boy?” he asked.
“No, sir, I came by bus,” was your reply. “I don’t have a car, sir,” you added.
“Good. We’ll use mine. It’s over there,” he replied, pointing off to the left.
The two of you walked over to his car in the third row on the left. He pulsed the car unlocked and remotely started the engine. But then he stopped before opening the doors.
“OK, boy, next step. Strip off all your clothes, but put your boots back on,” he ordered.
You were embarrassed at the thought of being caught naked in the camp’s outer parking lot. “But, sir, I . . .”
“Look, boy, that’s an order. I don’t care if you’re embarrassed. That’s your problem. Now, do it!”
You reluctantly replied “Sir, yes, sir,” and proceeded to take your boots off, drop your pants and briefs, and then put the boots back on. You could feel the sun on your back, ass, and legs. Your dick was half hard and going up.
“Good boy. Now throw all your clothes in that trash barrel over there,” he said, nodding to a metal can a few yards away.
As you returned from depositing your clothes, he grinned: “You won’t be needing them, boy. Farm animals don’t wear clothes.” Then he added: “And they have to be made to obey. Are you ready for that, boy?”
Realizing you both were now on this new path, you stopped, braced to attention, and firmly said: “Sir, yes, Sir! Bring it on, Sir! But you gotta hurt me, sir!”
“I will do that, boy,” he said. “We did learn a thing or two in that area, didn’t we?” Then he added: “Get in the car.”
“Sir, yes, Sir!” was your new response.
After that, you remember your new life, screaming your guts out at Paul’s farm house way out in the Texas countryside. He kept you naked and locked a heavy metal collar on your neck. He worked you hard in the fields with a metal horse bridle in your mouth and a wooden yoke chained across your shoulders. He spurred you on with a cattle prod and whip.
The first few nights you remember sleeping in a stall in his barn, additional short chains locking wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs to your collar and to a large eyebolt in the floor. Then he let you shower and let you sleep with him, still in chains, however. The chains held you down when he fucked you, three times the first night. Then he used a riding crop on your back to make you learn how to service him with your mouth.
You remember the day he locked this weird metal device on your junk, called it a ‘cock cage.’ It fit tight and pushed your balls way out to each side. Every time your dick tried to get hard, the compression and frustration almost made you cry. Made your balls ache, too, stretched as they were, and now aching for release. You also got a wish from your teen years: the two of you constructed a wooden rack and you finally got to feel what it was like to be brutally stretched out, screaming from the pain of tortured ligaments and muscle. And, true to his promise, there were hours and hours of electro.
You had all these memories of tortures past. And you knew in your new slave-life-role there was a lot more to come.