Ha ha, little do you know, silly Master. You think your biggest problem will be getting me in my cage. The real conundrum will be getting me out of it. Actually, I think cage is too harsh of a phrase. Hm. Comfort Box. Yes, that’s better. I will nap here and I will do well. Arf.
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Text is fictional.
Come on, pup, get in your cage! And remember: no barking. The guests are coming in a few minutes and I don’t want you to embarrass yourself by jumping them or humping their legs as they enter the room. Chopchop, off you go, and behave!
Gooood boy! *clicks lock shut*
Good boy indeed. “You can come out once the guests leave. Aw, don’t look at me with those eyes. You haven’t finished obedience school yet. Once you do, we can try socialization. Now, in case you have to pee, there’s a pad in there but try to hold it. You are housebroken aren’t you? I’ll check in on you in a little bit and get you some water. Here’s a Rubik cube to play with. Good boy.”
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Text is fictional. Eeee I love when gayboykink writes pup captions.
The slave lifts its head. He hears footsteps coming up the creaky, wooden stairs. They’re heavy and boot-clad. Instinctively, the slave turns itself in the uncomfortable cage so that he’s on all fours, head down, eyes down. The boots stop at the landing.
”Now that’s what I like to see,” booms a bass voice. The man walks forward. The slave startles a little when a big hand smacks the top of the cage.
”I figgered you had enough time up here, boy. I just want to make clear what happens if you disobey me. I don’t go right for the whip. Instead, I put you up in the Cage, up here, in the dark even during the brightest days, where it’s drafty and the mice run ‘round. And you will still stay here until your attitude changes. I find that’s the best deterrent to loose behavior ‘round here. The other slaves will tell you as much. How long you think you were in there boy? Permission to speak.”
The slave works its dry mouth. “Thank you, Sir. An hour…? An hour and a half maybe?”
The man gave hoarse chuckle. “Try twenty-five minutes.”
The slave was silent.
“Now you get it. You gonna be a good boy, Sir?”
”I’m going to be a very good boy, I promise!”
”That’s what I like to hear. Now let’s get you watered and washed off. I want to inspect you. Damn slavetraders always try and cover up pro’lems with dirt.”
”Thank you for the lesson, Sir.”
”Attaboy now. N by the way, your new name is Blue. You’ll meet Red, Yellow, and Green later.”
Blue tries not to smile. First time he had a name he actually liked. “Thank you for the name, Sir.”
”You’re pretty docile, for a slave. You should teach Green some things. Boys back is always covered with stripes.”
“If you’d like me to, Sir.”
The new Master just nods. He unlocks the cage and instructs Blue to come out. Blue stands, awkwardly. His Master gives him a hand with his numb limbs and pulls him to full height. Blue keeps his eyes on the floor, but his Master cups his jaw in a frighteningly-strong hand and forces him to meet His gaze. Blue feels a knot form in his stomach when he sees his Master’s firm, grey gaze staring back at him.
“Welcome to the farm, boy. Work right, this might be your forever home.”
Blue can’t bear it any longer and drops his gaze. He tries not to give away just how hopeful he was for that to be true, though. He hated being transported and auctions gave him anxiety. He internally resolves to putting all his energy into pleasing his new Master.
“I will aspire to it, Sir.”
“Atta boy.”
The Master places his paw over the back of the boy’s neck. Alright now, let’s go get you situated and collared.”
Blue happily goes along like a tame lamb.
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Text is fictional. Source below:
“I"m going to be a very good boy. I promise!."
This is a new shot.
model: Tyy M
Learning how to stay in a cage for long periods of time.
It takes a tough Master to not give in to that pouting puppy face.
Nice to see a hot leather boys learning good discipline – especially when it’s happening in Los Angeles, in my own backyard.
Instructing his lad on the play out for the up coming session where he will be shared …
Roy was trying to listen to his Master. He usually was entranced by the timbre of his voice, the low commanding tone he used to give instruction. His Master was laying out the specifics on how he was to behave later that night, how many men were coming over, on how he would be tied down and shared for their pleasure. Roy should really had been listening to that. It should have filled him with a bit of nervousness, both over pleasing his Master and pleasing the men. He hadn’t taken so many man in one session, so it was an appropriate time for self-reflection before the night began.
“And they’ll probably want you in the swing, so your hole will be open to them, and they can fuck you one by one..”
But Roy wasn’t thinking about that…he was smelling the smoke from his Master’s cigarette. He could faintly smell the acrid scent of cheap beer too and hear it slosh around in the glass bottle. It reminded Roy, very bluntly, that nine months ago he was in a pub holding those same things when they met. He used to smoke two to four a day. Roy loved the social aspect of smoking, how cool he felt, the shape of the box in his hand. He wanted just one drag, to feel the sweet caress of nicotine of it in his lungs. The cravings had died down after his Master had forced him to quit for his own health, as he couldn’t run even a block, but Roy discovered that the cravings had never really left. He wanted one, more than he wanted an orgasm at this point. And of course, nothing quite rounds out the buzz of a cigarette like the aftertaste of alcohol on the numbed tongue. Roy considered begging, asking for his Master to share them, but Roy did not dare. He knew his Master was doing this on purpose, to remind him distinctly that this casual conversation was masking a lesson about control. About denial. About ownership. And Roy was the one in this cage, awaiting use by all those men, for his owner’s pleasure.
His Master was a man amongst men. Undeniably male, in his form and presence and voice. He could have a cigarette, and a drink whenever he wanted; hell he was entitled to them! Anything in moderation, because Masters are in control of themselves. Roy knew he was not on that level. He was weak, susceptible to peer pressure and addiction. He sought chemicals to dull feelings of inadequacy and poor self-esteem. It was better that his Master had the upper hand and could make decisions for him, about his health, and body, but it didn’t mean Roy always enjoyed it. And now, he wasn’t, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Are you listening, boy?” his Master asked, with a burp.
“Ye-yes Sir.”
“Then what did I just say?”
Roy swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry. “That…that I’ll be stretched before Ortega fucks me, because he is huge, and that I shouldn’t assume I can take him just because I took the others.”
“Or?”
“Or because I’m horny and would be excited by a big dick, Sir,” Roy mumbled, blushing.
His Master took a long drag, then exhaled. Roy nearly whimpered at the scent. “Good boy.” He stubbed the cigarette out, leaving about a quarter of it unburned.
“You please me tonight, you can smoke the rest of this. You fail me, and I’ll make you eat it.”
Roy felt a chill go through him. This was a very different kind of reward, and the challenge excited him. He strained in his cage. “Yes sir, thank you Sir. I will not disappoint you tonight.”
“I do not expect to be disappointed, or embarrassed in front of my friends. Are you a good boy?”
“Yes sir.”
“Are you horny?”
“Yes sir.”
His Master took another swig of beer. “This is going to be a fun night, don’t you think?”
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Text is fictional.