Dehumanization of a Submissive Male (7)

Dehumanization of a Submissive Man (6)

The small tattoo shop was strangely called “The Gray Circle.” A very Dark Punk young woman greeted my Mistress with a big smile. They kissed each other on the cheek and chatted for a few moments. The young woman pointed me toward a door, and I crossed it, finding myself in front of a very “gynecological” chair… She simply said “strip” so that I ended up naked, sitting with my legs spread.

Bound in Submission: A Tale of Chastity and Control

My arms, legs, torso, and head were immobilized with simple Velcro straps.

“You’re not planning to change that?” the young woman said, pointing at my cage. “It’s very amateurish.
If you’ve got what’s needed in stock, might as well go for it—it’ll be done, and you’ll seal it, of course.
It looks small, not sure I’ve got one. That one won’t be missed by many! I’ll check. And the weight on the balls, that’s a 900g, right?”

“Yes, once they’ve dropped a few centimeters, we’ll add 3 or 400g.”

“You want me to secure it anyway? That’s your training signature, isn’t it? The sub-losers with their balls down to their knees…”

“Yes, if you can seal it… you know it amuses me…”

“OK, no problem. So, chip, tattoo, collar, piercing, and cage if I’ve got it—good with you?”

“Yes, perfect!”

“You’ll come back in two or three hours? If I’m done, I’ll put him in the cage over there.”

“With pleasure… you’ve got his ID number?”

“Yes, yes… your request was properly submitted,” she said with a smile.

My Mistress left, and the young woman gagged me without once looking at me. I was nothing human in her eyes. I was just a Category E submissive male, basically nothing.

She started by adjusting the collar and welding it shut. I only felt a slight warmth. She was very professional. Then she took the opportunity to weld my weight. That time, I was badly burned and screamed under the gag, but not a single one of her eyebrows twitched. She removed my cage. I felt the air on my cock.

Marked as a Submissive Male: A Journey into Permanent Submission

Her only audible comment:

“Really small, pfft…”

She played a bit with my penis, not exactly in top form, and said to it,

“Ready for your lifelong prison, little worm?” and laughed to herself.

Later, she stepped out and returned a few minutes later. My poor cock was squeezed into a curved tube that pressed it between my legs. She fixed it in place. I don’t know how. I felt several sharp pains without understanding what she was doing. She had some blood on her gloves, and my penis was throbbing. I realized this sealed my sexual life as a submissive male into perpetual oblivion.

She pierced my right ear and attached a stud I couldn’t see, then brought over the tattoo equipment. Finally, she tattooed my submissive male ID number on the inside of my right forearm, very visible and not at all discreet. She continued with another tattoo on my left shoulder and a final one behind my ear, extending up toward my skull. No risk of me forgetting it—or anyone mistaking it.

She pushed the tattoo equipment aside and sat at her computer. She typed for a while, inserted something like a grain of rice into a small device, typed some more, and removed the grain. Then she picked up a strange device connected to a pneumatic system and loaded the grain into it.

She laid my hand flat, securing it with a few straps, pressed the device against the muscle between my thumb and index finger, and pulled a trigger. I felt a piercing sensation, but it wasn’t too painful. She put a small bandage on, probably just to keep me from getting blood everywhere.

Then she held her phone near my hand, and I heard a “beep.” She looked at her phone, satisfied.

Embracing the Collar: A Submissive’s New Life

Afterward, she untied me and grabbed me by the collar to lead me into a floor cage where I could barely fit on all fours.

“Good boy!” was her only comment.

My Mistress came to pick me up much later and took me back, apparently pleased.

I finished my tiles, spurred on by a few fresh whip strikes. The collar around my neck became part of my life not painful, just there, there until the end of my days. A strange sensation.

That evening, I was allowed to rest at my Mistress’s feet while she ate. Then she set me up, lying on my back with my head between two couch cushions, tilted back. She sat on me, barely letting me breathe, and I spent the evening licking the crack of her ass and her anus. I was learning the bitter taste of an anus I’d soon know by heart.

I was at peace, my jaw aching, my tongue exhausted but at peace because I felt in my place as a submissive male, finally.

The next day, after another breakfast of piss with cereal, I cleaned the entrance tiles again. Hands still bound, the filthy mop, Sisyphus, and his toothbrush. By noon, I finished the tiles, proud of myself. I wasn’t punished.

I served as a footstool during lunch and got a few scraps.

“It’s pretty strange. You’re old, but you’re adapting to your new life as a submissive male at a surprising speed. It must have been in you for so long that your brain is taking it all in as if it’s obvious. I’ll go along with it.”

She said no more. I spent the afternoon hand-washing her delicate undergarments, cleaning the bedroom conventionally (with my hands!), then the bathroom.

Descent to the Farm: A Submissive’s Transformation Begins

Late in the afternoon, after finishing the last task she’d given me, I came to sit at her feet.

“You’re lucky. I managed to get you a spot at the farm for the end of the week. You’ll stay there for three weeks. I think you’ll leave behind whatever ego you have left and come back with a significant boost to your basic skills. There was an opening for the ‘toilet’ training. We’ll use it to further reduce your human side. There’s a kennel with some fine German mastiffs.”

I didn’t fully understand, but “toilet” sounded like “urinal.”

I spent another evening licking my Mistress’s ass, a perfect evening for what I was becoming. But was I really questioning it?

My work pace sped up a little more each day. Up at five, I worked until I could lick her ass while she read or watched a movie. When my tongue faltered, a few whip strikes on my weighted, compressed balls woke it up and spurred it on. If my poor cock shriveled in its cage, my tongue undoubtedly grew stronger every day.

Friday came quickly.

I briefly wore human clothes again, though my slave gear—cage, plug, weight, collar—never left me.

She gave me a train ticket, and I walked to Montparnasse station. Her instructions were brief.

“They’ll be waiting for you at the arrival station. Obey, and everything will be fine. When you return, you’ll be less human, and your life will be simpler.”

From a Submissive Male to Livestock: A Submissive’s Rural Rebirth

I was surprised to walk alone in the street, to take the train like a normal man, not a submissive one.

At the exit of the small rural station, a van was waiting. A woman held a sign with “E24K273” written on it. I joined her, no need to speak. She opened the back, and I found myself with two other submissives, already naked, on all fours, and chained by the neck.

Her only comment was:

“Strip and get like them!”

It took me a second to shed my shoes, pants, and sweater, which she stuffed into a small trash bag with a label and my ID number on it. A chain was padlocked to my collar, and the van started moving. It felt like a cattle truck.

Less than an hour later, I think, it stopped, and the back door opened. Our driver unhooked the chains, and we found ourselves on the grass in front of a long building with several outbuildings.

Another woman came to scan my hand, attached a leash to my collar, and pulled. I followed, not used to crawling on uneven, natural ground.

I entered a white-tiled outbuilding of the main structure. It looked like a vet’s office, with cages, medical tools, and a heavyset woman in a white coat.

“Sarah, this is the replacement for the sub-loser who just croaked. You’ll take care of him? Catheter, PREP, and anti-urea treatment.”

“With pleasure… we’ll finally have a usable urinal!”

My instinct hadn’t been wrong. I was going to be swallowing.

Branded for Service: A Submissive’s Dehumanization

I received several injections while the doctor explained…

“The PREP is just in case, but since you’ll be licking and swallowing a lot of fluids, it’ll help you last longer. The anti-urea is to limit the breakdown of your mental faculties from the urea. It’s limited in effect, but it’d be nice if you could still understand orders—otherwise, you’re already pretty useless.”

Then she struggled to insert a catheter into my caged cock, leaving it dangling. Finally, she grabbed a spray paint can and drew a huge “WC” on my chest and, I assume, the same on my back.

She took me outside and tied my leash to a ring, leaving me alone out there like an abandoned dog.

I saw other “things” crawling in and out on all fours. Their only common traits were the collar and nudity. Some were covered in whip marks, others had dangling cocks, some had no cock at all, and others no balls. None complained; occasionally, a cry of pain escaped from the next room.

I was picked up by another woman I hadn’t seen yet, who led me into the main building. Sub-humans scrubbed the floor on all fours; other submissives served as coat racks. I went upstairs and entered a large, tiled bathroom.

Bound to Serve: A Study in Submission

I knelt under the woman’s pressure into a square hole against a wall, positioning my mouth at the desired height, no doubt. The catheter tube was shoved into a hole in the floor. My collar was attached to a very short chain that barely let me move, while my hands were bound to the wall behind me, further limiting my movement.

Then my plug was removed without care, replaced by a larger tube fixed to the wall, which brought a few tears. My lower abdomen was thus slightly pushed forward.

Clamps, like those for eating snails, were placed on each of my balls and connected by wires to a terminal on the wall. Electrodes were also attached to each of my nipples, and I felt her fumbling behind me with more wires.

She stepped back to admire her “work” with a very professional air.

“Good, very good. It’s simple, very simple, even for a submissive male like you. A human comes in front of you. They either want to piss, get licked somewhere, or get sucked. So you drink, lick, or suck. If you hesitate, let urine or other fluids spill, lick poorly, or suck badly, you’ll get shocks to your balls, nipples, or ass. The taste, smell, cleanliness, age, appearance, or anything else about the human doesn’t matter. You don’t scream, you don’t speak. You don’t think. You can piss whenever you want.”

End of explanation.

Trial by Fire: Lessons in Endurance

She approached, lifted her skirt, and, wearing no underwear, brought her red-haired pussy to my mouth. I opened and the piss flooded in, making me cough and choke. She stopped urinating, reached for the wall, and my balls were crushed by an electric shock. I screamed and got a monumental slap in return.

I cried, unable to think or figure out how to make it stop.

She let me calm down for a moment.

“OK, it’s normal. You’ll mess up for a few days. So it’s going to hurt a lot. The trick is to curl your tongue so a strong stream doesn’t hit the back of your throat. Otherwise, you’ll cough and choke. But you still have to swallow fast without closing your mouth. You won’t get it right away. There are about twenty of us here, including some big water or tea drinkers, so you’ll get plenty of practice, don’t worry!”

Then she came closer again, and I tried to break the stream and swallow, but some liquid escaped. She kept going anyway, letting me swallow what I could. I didn’t cough…

By the end, she looked at me and pressed another button for five seconds, just long enough for my nipples to feel like they were being ripped off raw. I screamed, unable to stay silent under that torture. Two massive slaps ended the discussion, and she walked off calmly.

My balls were on fire, my nipples locked up, my cheeks red, and the taste and smell of piss all over me.

That’s when I realized my Mistress had said “three weeks.”

Deluge of Duty: A Day of Relentless Service for the Submissive Male

Next came the doctor. I quickly learned she was one of the biggest drinkers and had one of the biggest bladders on the team. She wasn’t shaved either, very hairy, and smelled of sweat.

I swallowed as much as I could, avoiding coughing, but couldn’t drink it all. My body was soaked in piss, and this time, my anus took a mind-blowing shock. To “make up” for hurting me, she “allowed” me to lick her massive ass, backing up onto my face to smother it completely. I licked for a long time, my head and tongue straining against the chain to reach every part of that enormous ass.

She only stopped when another woman arrived, apparently in a hurry… I drank again, on the verge of vomiting, and started pissing myself, my belly swollen with all that piss.

Of course, more leaks, and the shock returned to my still-recovering balls…

I don’t know how many liters I drank that first day. By evening, I was exhausted, and a woman came to hose me down with ice-cold water—it felt good despite everything.

My stomach was about to burst; it felt bloated and huge and I constantly wanted to throw up.

They finally untied me, and I crawled away as best I could. I looked at the ground and soon felt grass under my hands. I was locked in a fenced enclosure. The woman who locked me in said only: