Chapter 2

 

 

The next morning I changed his routine, now concentrating on almost totally isotonic exercises. These, as the name implies, are designed to tone rather than build muscle and are in the form of free-arm exercises and the like. That is, rapid and strenuous movement but without resistance, as opposed to isometric exercises which involves weights or other exercise against resistance, such as standing in a doorway and pushing out or up on the jambs or lintel.

This was because we weren’t aiming for any increase in the size of his muscles; they were quite big enough as they were. What we were aiming for was a pleasing shape, no fat to speak of, and muscles that were clean and smooth and very well defined. This I could achieve in short order with this other form of exercise.

I won’t say anything more about his morning routines. They would bore you. Suffice it to say that the four hours a day for the first week, followed by two and then just the one hour was enough to very quickly turn him from a less than fit twenty-three-year-old, into a paragon of male beauty in the six weeks we had him.

 

I will however, detail more of our brainwashing and training aspects, both domestic and sexual.

The brainwashing was Geraldine’s department and she was absolutely brutal in the regime she forced on him, at least at first. The thirty or so hours spent perched on that horrible butt-plug in the black cell was an excellent opener but what came after that, every single day for the first couple of weeks, was just as bad.

On his third day, instead of going for domestic lessons after his hour-long rest, Geraldine came for him. “Come, scum-slave,” she said, standing outside his cell. He looked at her warily. By now he had assessed me as his physical and sexual arts trainer; and Phoebe as the home management expert. Geraldine, he wasn’t at all sure about. After this day, he would be and from then on, he would be terrified of her.

On that third day, we escorted him along to a corner of the cellar used to clean the slaves. Dangling from the ceiling was an electrically-activated rod which could both move up and down and rotate. The machinery to operate this had cost us, but once we had decided how we were going to clean them, we had willingly paid up the price tag of it.

Oh yes, we covered ourselves well with explanations for it and other way-out items; this one, that one of our hobbies was hunting and that we therefore needed an area and machinery to hoist the game for skinning cleaning and butchering.

Anyway, the rod was made of gleaming stainless steel and at its base there had been welded a metre-long horizontal bar of the same metal with lugs already affixed onto the ends.

On one of the walls near this was a heavy-duty twenty-five millimetre black fire hose coiled on a drum and this was fed by both hot and cold water, the valves feeding it being of the quarter-turn lever type to allow rapid operation. On the end of the hose was a lever-operated valve and the nozzle was of the variable type that could deliver anything from a thin but violent jet, to a torrent, to rain, to a solid deluge.

He was not going to enjoy his cleaning sessions.

This time, we strung him right side up by using Velcro straps around his wrists which were provided with a hook which went neatly over the lugs at the ends of the bar. We then stretched his legs wide open by using a similar bar with Velcro straps already fitted to the ends. This meant he was now standing with his legs wide and his arms stretched up and out from his shoulders.

I operated the wall switch that first drew him up off the floor and then the other one which started him revolving round and round.

We all stood staring up at him, admiring our work but he was less than impressed and almost forgot himself to ask what was happening to him – but he caught himself just in time and now Geraldine moved over to the fire hose, turning on the cold valve and uncoiling enough of the hose to bring it back to our position. She selected a rain torrent and then pressed the lever on the handle.

The barrage that leapt out surprised us all, I think. It really was a torrent and then I remembered that we had instructed the plumber to install a high-pressure, high-volume pump on our water system with this very purpose in mind. As it hit his belly, he almost doubled up, his middle regions receding away from us and his thighs and legs coming up a little in response to the attack.

But his body was revolving too, albeit rather slowly and as his front turned away from us, she aimed the barrage up and down his side and then his back. His fine skin soon turned blue from the cold and so she nodded to me to add hot water – and then to slowly cut back on the cold until the water was very hot. We had had the plumber install a temperature gauge on the outward side of the valve mixer and Geraldine had told me not to let the water temperature rise above 60°C which would be far hotter than comfortable but not enough to scald him. And so now his skin turned a bright red as it and his body were heated so that he must have felt as if he was stewing.

But then she made it even worse. She signalled to me to cut off the hot water once more and she then changed the nozzle setting to a thin but cutting jet and this she now aimed at his genitals, playing it over his balls and his cock and battering them both horribly while he tried to avoid the attack as best he could.

She played it over the other parts of his body, as well, of course, and as she did, his muscles reacted delightfully to the stimulation. I wondered, as I watched them flex, ripple and cord, if this wasn’t another form of exercise and also whether the barrage against the thin layer of fatty tissue just under his skin might not also be benefiting from the ‘massage’. I decided to research this matter.

We had discussed the game plan for this treatment and the next part was to give him an enema by means of the jet. For this purpose, Geraldine had added another refinement onto the nozzle. It was an enema attachment that comprised a pressure-reducing valve complete with water pressure meter and another one which measured the quantity delivered since it was last reset. She clicked this on to the main nozzle and opened its valve then checked on the two meters.

Satisfied with the result, and after I had operated the switch which raised him even more while switching off the one that made him turn, leaving his buttocks facing us, she pushed the large human cock-shaped nozzle straight on into his anus and then pressed the little lever which allowed a fast trickle to fill his rectum and colon.

She allowed two litres to really fill him and by then his belly was poking out like that of a pregnant sow and he was moaning loudly, pleading with her to pull it out and his whole body was struggling most entertainingly, his legs going every which way and his torso twisting and turning delightfully.

Once the little meter’s needle hit the two litre mark though, she yanked the nozzle out and jumped back smartly to avoid the foetid mess of brown water which jetted and sprayed out of his backside forthwith.

“And now for some hot water,” she said, grinning at us and at him who now looked very worriedly at her. Once more I set the valves but stayed to watch the temperature gauge as the water started to flow. And once more she filled him with burning hot water until his stomach protruded as before and then yanked out the nozzle.

This time he really screamed for while he couldn’t feel the heat of the water entering and inside his bowels, as it was ejected out of his now heavily pulsing anus, he certainly did.

“Oh dear,” she said in mock sympathy, “the poor boy is too hot. Another cold dose, I think…”

And as before he was now filled with the icy mountain water, after which she detached the enema nozzle from the hose, leaving it plugging his arsehole, and then barraged his whole body with the deluge setting on the main nozzle.

We walked out then, leaving him dripping with the icy water on his skin, and filling his bowels as well. We left him hanging there, naked, depilated nude and now properly cleaned, inside and out, in total darkness so that he might ponder his fate in utter misery.

This treatment, alternating pleasure and a little comfort with mindless slog and dreadful physical and mental tortures would unsettle him totally, Geraldine told us. “It will strip him of his values, even whole parts of his ethos, and then we will be building a new one to replace them.”

We had a cup of tea and then went back down to let him down. First of course, the enema nozzle had to come out followed by a now clean stream of water, now warmed by his body, which was shivering uncontrollably. A short sharp dose of hot water soon fixed that however and then we let him down and bade him accompany us.

He did, very smartly and I grinned as I thought he was going to fear this corner of the cellars very much over the next few weeks.

 

As will be readily understood, we three friends talked about sex all the time, as women do when they are alone. At these times men and sex are the favourite topics and as one of my fetishes had been the ‘sport’ of human pony-racing, I had waxed eloquent on it to them. I had read everything I could get my hands on about this subject and had discovered a doozy of a method of harnessing the human pony to the tiny, racing frames featured in most of the stories and pictures I had found.

Of course most such real-life pictures had the pony, male or female, harnessed by a belt around his or her waist and the twin poles of the frame were clipped to lugs on its sides. Another method was for him to grasp the handles with his wrists perhaps chained to them.

But my favourite was to harness them by means of their anus and their sexual organs! And yes, we were going to try this out right now. You are appalled that we could even contemplate this after the dreadful enema treatment we had just subjected him to?

Remember we were aiming at this stage to debilitate him – totally, if possible and remember also that his admittedly sore anus would now be in a perfect state to take the butt-plug harness. His rectum was clean and his anal sphincter conditioned by the nozzle and by his earlier session on the ninepin to take the plug.

He wouldn’t like it, but then that was good. In these early sessions, we wanted him to learn to fear us and I was sure he already did by the expression on his face. We took him upstairs and into the garage where we kept our cars and other things, one of which was the ultra-light gig we had made for this purpose. It really was feather-light being made of expensive but ultra lightweight materials. It comprised an axle to which was bolted a raffia seat complete with stirrups dangling from the front of its seat, and the short pole on whose end was fixed the butt-plug and genital cuff.

With his anus already so well worked, it opened easily to take the plug but I was surprised at his apparent docility. I had thought that when he saw the gig and the plug and cuff harness on its end, he would rebel, but he didn’t, even spreading his legs wide, bending forward slightly and then pulling his buttocks wide open with his hands to allow Geraldine to insert the plug and then gently close the cuff (one side of a pair of handcuffs) around the root of his penis and scrotum.

Once fully inserted and the shaft between his legs was snug up against his crotch, he stood up and took an experimental step and then his face actually broke into a smile. It seemed it was not at all painful and I suspected that the butt-plug working against his prostate gland was actually quite pleasant.

I moved up to his position then. “Your wife, when we find her, scum-slave, may well wish to use you as her pony at times and especially to race you at very special meetings devoted to the sport of human pony-racing,” I said, although it was a lie. No woman would dare take a man and especially her husband out on public streets like this; and to my knowledge, while human pony racing did exist, it was very definitely not with the ponies harnessed like this. But I didn’t care. His conditioning was what was important at that time and reality would have to take a back seat in the interim.

I went on: “She may also wish to rape you. Many women have this fetish and we therefore have to prepare your rear end for this pleasure. This activity will quickly condition your anus and rectum to it.”

Here I was on safer ground. I knew many women harboured a secret fetish to do just what I had described to their husbands, using a strap-on, double-ended dildo for the purpose. If we were to sound out the woman we selected as his wife, I was sure she would delight in raping her new slave-husband, especially if he proved adept at giving her exquisite pleasure with his backside.

He seemed to accept my words, though, replying with a simple, “Yes, mistress.”

We didn’t climb up onto the gig this first time, ordering him instead to walk it out of the garage and into the treed area around the house. We had already established a sort of cleared track outside the immediate house area but right around it and now we mounted our bikes and while Phoebe led the way, Geraldine and I followed the boy as he walked and then tried out trotting the gig around the path.

He actually seemed to be enjoying it and I wondered why to Geraldine. “I mean, I know his bottom must be raging from the hours on the ninepin and more lately his three huge enemas…?”

“I agree, but I think we have touched a nerve in his psyche, Angie. I suspect we have struck gold with this boy – that he was already a latent slave and is actually relishing what we are doing to him.”

“Good God,” I said. “Well, when will we know…? I mean if that is true, all we should have to do now is teach him how to be a wonderful husband, train him in the domestic arts and in what I know about good sex.” I paused a moment and then added, “…but there is his body, as well. We do still want to turn it into the perfect male physique, don’t we?”

“Of course we do,” Geraldine said. “In fact, very little will have changed. It just means we can move on to those other aspects of his training faster without having to worry as much about him rebelling. But in any case, I’m not certain about this. I think I’m right, but let’s just watch and wait for a while, eh?”

 

We therefore continued on with his training, although we decided to make his life a little easier.

For example, during his cleaning sessions we cut back on the cold and hot aspects, both in degree and time, and allowed him to enjoy a more moderate pressures as well. He recognised it straight away and far from taking advantage of our leniency, he responded well, offering all parts of his body to the jets.

When this appeared to be working, we tried cleaning him without stringing him up at all, either by wrists or ankles (which was another aspect we had delighted in, for a slave suspended in this manner is highly erotic – at least it is if you are into the domination of the male of the species). And then, when we let him stand totally free while we battered him, he offered every part of his body perfectly.

But I did pursue the development and toning of his body vigorously. As said earlier, he had a good frame but he had let it go a little while at university and I had him working out for at least two hours every day on various parts of his body. As a physical education graduate, I knew how to achieve this in short order and since I had specialised in this aspect of my craft as a physical trainer, I was well placed to do it in short order with Bobby.

At the same time, the other two continued with their facets of his transformation, although with his now confirmed changed of heart Geraldine was now only keeping a watching brief over him which left more time for Phoebe and me to engage him in ours.

I couldn’t get over that transformation. It had only taken a week and he had suddenly become a willing slave, eager to learn everything we had to teach him and even when he erred and we punished him (for we kept up the principle that even a small fault was to be severely dealt with), he accepted it almost willingly and positioned himself without restraints for the correction.

Indeed, when we caned him, he laid his body along the bench and took each stroke without making a sound. And we didn’t pull back on the strokes, either. Each was delivered full force and made his beautiful buttocks dance and writhe wonderfully. The thing was, though, he took it and he never made that error again.

 

I am rather mechanically minded as well as being both inquisitive and innovative. My mind was therefore always roving over possibilities. Trying out the dildo and cuff harness on the gig was one of these and I suspect we might have been the first in the world to actually test it on a real person although, as I said, it featured in erotic drawings quite a bit.

One of my other way-out ideas was to create a device which would perform a number of functions at once. You will recall that we had very early started him on anal training to facilitate his rape by his wife, if that was her pleasure. My latest idea was of an impaling machine that would stretch and exercise his anal sphincter and limber up his lower limbs while also exercising his upper body and arms.

It was set up between two vertical, floor-to-ceiling posts and comprised a number of parts. The first of these was a bar fixed between the two posts a metre above his head and which he would grip with his hands, leaving his body dangling below it.

Under that was the impaling rod itself. This was made of polished hardwood and was in the form of a slender cone but with a rounded, bulbous tip as we didn’t want to endanger his internal organs. It was fixed to the floor on top of a steel standard and its elevation was adjustable up and down this standard. The cone was a single centimetre in diameter at the top and ten at the twenty centimetre ring. From its tip and down to the twenty centimetre mark, copper bands had been inlaid into the wood a centimetre apart and these were wired to a control box which sent an electrical charge at an ever increasing voltage to each pair in turn, starting with the top two.

Thus the topmost pair of rings only delivered six volts, an almost indiscernible shock. The next pair, that is rings two and three, was seven, and so on, so that the twentieth and last ring delivered twenty-six volts to his anus. Thus, while the top ring would do no more than send a tingle to his anus, as he let his body drop down, the intensity of the shocks would increase and by half-way down, he would be in a lot of pain – a wonderful incentive to keep his body up high.

The bands were also designed as switches so that only two of them were active at any given time – the pair around which his anus rested at any given moment. This provided for the circuit to be complete but restricted the shocks to his anal area which, while extremely sensitive, would not damage his body.

But there was more. Thus far described, the machine would exercise his arm and shoulder muscles very well as he wouldn’t be able to keep himself up indefinitely but when he flagged, the increase in the shock to his anus would make him pull himself up again, thus working his biceps, triceps and deltoid muscles very well.

The third part of the machine was designed to limber up his hips. Few men except dedicated gymnasts and ballet dancers can do the splits. But it can be achieved by us all and that was my aim here.

I designed and then built out in front of the cone a simple enough device on another standard similar to the one to which the cone had been attached, thus it too was movable up and down. The working parts comprised two stainless steel rods hinged at the top and this hinge was firmly affixed to a bolt at the top of the standard. At the base of each rod, Velcro straps had been attached so that when his ankles were strapped into them, his legs could be moved outwards.

The last and most important part of this arrangement, was another hinged piece like a pair of compasses, arranged so that the points faced downwards and these were then attached to lugs set at a point twenty-five centimetres below the hinged apex of the two rods. A single cuff (the other side of the handcuffs we had used on the butt-plug and cuff harness for the gig) was then fixed to the hinge on the ‘compasses’.

Perhaps my purpose may now be clear. Once he was hanging by his hands from the bar and the first stage of the cone had been inserted into his anus, we could adjust the hinged rods height up so that the cuff was in line with his genitals – and then lock it around them.

If he now let his body drop down, even a little, the cuff attached to the hinge of the ‘compasses’ would also drop, forcing the compasses and thus the rods open. The more he dropped, the wider his thighs and legs would be opened.

It will also be obvious that the more we lowered the standard holding the apex of the two rods, the wider they would be separated, thus we could control the initial setting to begin with. Thus, as his hips became more used to being stretched wide, we could ‘up the ante’ until he was indeed doing the splits.

It didn’t take me long to construct all this. As I said, I am rather handy with mechanical things and once having sketched it out and showed it to Geraldine and Phoebe and obtained their enthusiastic approval, I soon acquired the various bits and pieces and in a few days it was ready to try out on our now very willing slave.

I had built it in one of the alcoves in the cellars and when we took him down to it, he stared at it in mystification. Not that this surprised me. He would have no idea what the cone was for and the rod and compasses arrangement would have him even more puzzled.

But he didn’t resist when we led him over to it and bade him step up onto the box which would support his body until we had the cone embedded into his anus and the cuff clasped around the root of his cock and balls.

He still didn’t understand what it was all for, though. And only when we removed the box and bade him take his weight on his arms, did he begin to understand. The cone’s standard was now raised by means of the little crank set in its side and as more and more of its length entered his anus, he reacted, pulling himself up further towards the bar until he was ‘chinning’ it. We then adjusted the other standard, moving it downwards so that his thighs were now moved out sideways.

The last adjustment was to switch on the controller but as only the third ring had so far invaded his anus, he was only receiving a seven volt shock, a mere tingle and probably quite a pleasant one.

“And there you hang, slave,” I said. “You will find, after a few minutes, that it will become difficult to keep your body up and you will sink down a little. Try it. See what happens when you do.”

I was not threatening him and my tones were encouraging so he did, allowing his body to inch down and then he felt the increased shock, still a tingle but a more violent one now. He also noted that the small movement downwards had caused the cuff around his genitals to move in the same direction and this had forced the compasses open, which when translated to the bottoms of the long rods, meant his ankles were moved out much more and he was already in a degree of pain in his hips that was more than just uncomfortable.

He pulled himself up again and the shock abated while his legs came back down to their former position. He experimented a few times, lowering himself and then pulling back up again and then, as he realised how his anus was being worked, that his shoulders and his arm muscles were also being very well exercised, and that his thighs would also benefit from the stretching of his hips, his face broke into another of those near beatific smiles and while we watched in growing amazement, he actually began to lower himself further and further down onto the cone, creating what must have been very painful shocks to his anus and at the same time stretching his thighs wider and wider until he was already doing a near ‘splits’ position.

I have omitted to mention that once he came to a realisation of what the machine was and what it would do to his body, his cock quickly rose and grew into a powerful, quivering erection. This, we had noted, was now happening at most of his exercise sessions and more especially when we punished him for an offence.

He was clearly a masochist of a high degree but that didn’t faze us at all. If he could sublimate what we were doing to him as a sexual trip it could only improve the efficacy of his ‘treatment’.

I pulled the other ladies away from him (but not so we couldn’t watch him – we would never leave him, or any future slaves, on this machine unattended) and remarked what a marvel he was.

The pair of them grinned at me and I looked surprised at their amusement. It was Geraldine who said it: “She still doesn’t know, Phoebe.”

“Know?” I said, somewhat gruffly. “Know what?”

“Him,” Geraldine said, grinning from ear to ear. “You’ve fallen for him and still don’t know it!”

I stared from the pair of them to him and then back to them. “Fallen for him…? Me…?” But then I paused, letting the idea rove around in my conscious mind and now realising that it must have been swirling about in my subconscious for the last few days.

But then my face cleared and I smiled. “D’you know, I think you may be right. Let’s not tell him, though. I want to think this out quietly for a while… But let’s just say you are right. What do we do then? I mean, suppose I decide to marry him, what will that do to this little game?”

“Nothing!” said Geraldine firmly. “I think he’ll make a wonderful addition to our staff, assuming, that is, you don’t want him to pursue architecture?”

“But it was to be just us three…?” I said, ignoring for the moment her last comment.

“Angie,” (she was talking very quietly), “the whole purpose of this project was to find us husbands we could trust. I agree that Bobby has already become a paragon of docility. Indeed, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed a chauvinist like him could have been so quickly transformed but I am sure he has. He might have been able to fool us for a few days, but I am as sure of this as I can be, that he loves you – for yourself. He doesn’t even know who you are but his love shines through every time he see you, even though his blurred vision. This means too that he loves you not for your looks for he can’t discern them very well, but for you as a person. No, I think he is going to make a wonderful addition to our little household up here in the mountains.

“But I also agree it would be wise to wait a while longer yet. I don’t think it will be necessary to continue with his domestic lessons for you aren’t going to use him in that capacity. You do delight in the perfect physical specimen, though, so why not spend the next few weeks honing his body, using him as a pony and on this delightful little machine, and in that time, Phoebe and me will go searching for our next conquest. You never know, we might get lucky and score a male for ourselves as well!”

We strolled back to stand in front of Bobby and watch as he now regularly lowered his backside down onto the cone so that more than half of it was now stretching him wide open and the shocks must therefore have been in the twenty volts region, more than enough to give him exquisite pain which was quite evident on his face.

But there was still that look of utter bliss. Yes, he was in pain (and not only from the shocks, either) but he was now glorying in that pain and was allowing his anus to move further and further down, while his thighs were as close to being horizontal as they could be.

He was sweating, of course. The pain in his anus and hips and thighs, not to mention the tiredness of his shoulder and arms muscles must have been awful and yet he continued to pull himself up so he was chinning the bar and then lower himself once more, again stretching his anus wide.

He had been on the machine for the best part of an hour and although I thought he could take more, I decided (backed up by Geraldine’s medical advice) that he had had enough and we lowered both standards and brought back the box for him to climb onto.

“Go to your cell, Bobby,” I said, using his name for the first time.

He waddled out of the alcove and along to his cell.

And now, for the first time since he had been with us, we didn’t lock it. He noted the omission and pointed it out to us.

“Yes, we know, slave. But we have decided to trust you. Now, sleep.”