Alec always thought of himself as a strong, tough, dominant ‘real’ man. Baseball injuries never really hurt much, he healed quickly and came back fast. As president of his fraternity, even the most masculine pledges bent over and begged for another swat from Alec’s paddle on their bare asses. Girls bent over and begged him to use whichever hole he wanted.
So, when he woke up after a especially bad drunk to find himself abducted and bound, strung up nude by his wrists, he got over the shock quickly, crawled into himself and swore he would survive, he would escape and he would get revenge on the mutha who put him here. But no human ever showed up…and Alec didn’t know at first that the leather strap locked around his newly-shaved balls was linked to a chain, a chain that ran through a pivot on the floor and that the winch on the other end would automatically turn one half revolution every hour.
At first he ignored it. There were larger concerns, like figuring out how to escape. But soon Alec had spent what had to have been hours without even hearing a footstep outside the dark room that was his prison. And now, after 13… or was it 14… “turns of the screw” his large, meaty nuts where stretched farther down into his sac than he had ever seen them. He was hungry, thirsty, his hands were numb, and his genitals were on fire from the pain. He could feel rivulets of cold sweat running down his back and into the valley between his ass cheeks. And he was genuinely frightened. What if no one was around and in ten or eleven more hours this machine pulled off his nuts and he bled to death?
When the winch turned yet again, the beautiful athlete’s mouth opened with his first cry of pain. It was cathartic. By making the admission to the room, to his captor, that he was in pain, the pain became worse. The hunger became worse. The fear became worse. And the cries came out, uncontrolled. The strong muscular body began to quiver. The sweat beads were so large they dropped on the floor with a loud “spat.” Finally, after yet another turn of the winch, the sounds formed into words. “Please, I beg you… whoever is out there… whoever did this. Please… PLEASE… make it stop. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make it stop!” He repeated this over, and over… at first softly, and finally as screams. Once again the winch automatically stretched the boy’s tortured balls another half turn.
Finally, after he was hoarse from begging, Alec heard footsteps coming toward his location. And he picked up the scent of … soup. Broth. Something that made his empty stomach churn and his knees go weak. Then, through the darkness he heard a man’s voice, saying: “I can turn off the winch, boy. But I need to know you’ve made a true commitment to be my property. Say it. Say, “I am yours to own and train, Master.’”
Alec hesitated. He wanted the broth. He wanted to get down off this hook. He wanted the winch taken off of his balls. He had thought he’d do anything… but now, to say out loud that he would become a slave… to the man that had abducted and tortured him… seemed… unacceptable. Confusing. Revolting. And so fucking desirable if it got him out of this situation.
"Alright," the man said. "You can stay as you are for a few more hours." He turned and his footsteps got more and more faint. Alec panicked. "I will do anything, please," he croaked out of a dry raspy throat. But the man kept walking. "I am yours to own and train, Master." The words seemed to come out of his mouth without his knowing it. "I am yours to own and train, Master." The man was gone. "I am yours to own and train, Master." But the man was listening and watching the video, as he had been for the last 30 hours. "I am yours to own and train, Master." A smile crept onto the man’s lips as he had the camera zoom in on the beautiful college boy’s face. "I am yours to own and train, Master."
The winch turned another half turn.