Chapter 14: Dinner Time

(Clarence narrates)

Hunter’s room had been absolutely transformed and was now much more suitable for slaves. The bathroom and extra walls and all furniture had been removed, just leaving one large area. Under the shower head was now a hole in the ground with two footprints each side. Hunter now had his own toilet. The sliding glass doors that formerly gave a scenic view had been replaced with solid wooden shutters and a security door. That’s standard, because traditionally slaves being punished are not supposed to know the time: the shutters would rarely be opened. The interior had a very simple look, not unlike the demonstration areas at BondCo. It was appropriate for training and punishment sessions. There were now cameras everywhere, not just my old hidden one, which is standard for slave quarters.

A giant monitor had been attached to the wall. Although it could play videos, I’d mostly wanted it to provide Hunter with an inspirational quote to improve morale. I thought about the various slave adages and decided to enter this classic: “A Good Slave Does Not Think.”

“Um, where’s his bed?” one of the twin’s asked.

“He’s going to sleep in the sleeping cage we ordered, don’t you remember?”

“Oh yeah.”

Well, the delivery was still an hour away, so I asked the boys what they wanted to eat. Hunter’s eyes lit up so big, I knew he was famished – he hadn’t really eaten since he’d been enslaved 48 hours ago. “You can eat too now Licker,” I said, condescendingly patting him on the head.

“What do you guys want?”

“Pizza!” they both said instantly

“Seriously, you can’t eat pizza every night...”

“They have the Slaver Special: two pizzas and two pounds of slave pizza for free,” Tad begged.

“Um, what’s slave pizza?”

“Does it actually matter? It’s for Hunter!” Chad retorted and they both burst out in a fit of giggling laughter.

We ordered the Slaver Special. As usual the twins never try anything new, and only wanted pepperoni.

When the delivery guy arrived, I tipped the driver and said that our slave needed BJ practice. “Wanna let him blow you?”

The young male driver checked his watch, then said, “Hell yeah,” dropping his shorts literally as he walked in the door. Then his jaw dropped as he saw Hunter. “No way! Hunter! Head of our rival high school’s team? This is too good to be true.” He turned to me, saying: “He spent the last year teasing me, all so that he could upset me in the final game. And the worst part was that it worked: he spooked me and we lost. I’m so fucking happy to hear he’s a slave.”

“Open up, big guy!” he said, thrusting his dick into Hunter’s mouth.

“His slave name’s Licker, by the way,” I helpfully suggested.

The pizza guy burst out laughing, “Oh man, that’s perfect.” He grabbed Licker’s ears and switched to fucking his face.

After a few minutes, he grew annoyed with the position and made Hunter lie on his back on the table, with his head hanging down off the end. “Open your slave mouth!” he barked and proceeded to give his former rival a ruthless face fucking.

As it turns out, “slave pizza” was just table scraps from the dine-in restaurant, indiscriminately packed into a box. There was salad, garlic bread, pizza crust. All cold and stale. I even saw a paper wrapper from a straw as I was dumping it into an old dog bowl for Hunter. I was going to pick it out, but I decided it might provide some nutrients for our slave. I decided to throw the second pound of slave pizza into the fridge for later.

“Licker, the installation guys from BondCo are coming soon, so you need to eat this quickly,” I said, setting the unappetizing slop in front of him.

Gross as it looked, he was so hungry that he started shoving it into his face with his hand. I could see he was famished. But he stopped when one of the twins collar-shocked him.

“Licker, you know that slaves don’t eat with their hands.” Chad said. And it was true, he really should have known that. After that, he ate by burying his face in the bowl, like a dog.

Meanwhile, the twins and I ate excellent hot pizza, with sodas and beer, and talked excitedly about collars and tawses and training, and all manner of other stuff that excites the teenage mind.

The doorbell rang and I showed the installers the room. I pointed out where to put the stocks and the cage, and came back to be with the family.

Licker seemed to be done eating, and I noticed that the straw wrapper was still sitting in his dish. “That’s one demerit for not eating everything your owners have graciously provided,” I said. “Eat up.”

He crawled over, picked up the paper with his mouth, and slowly chewed and swallowed it. “You don’t look happy, smile!”

With a ton of effort, he managed to force his lips into a grimace. “Good job! I want more smiles! It’ll be demerits from now on if you aren’t smiling enough.” I wasn’t really serious, but I ultimately did give him some demerits for this.

When the installers were done, I took everyone downstairs to show them the new equipment from BondCo.

First I showed off the stocks. I locked Licker’s head and wrists in it, and showed how it could be lowered so his neck was almost flush against the floor (inside the wall, his nose was pressed into a stud at floor level), or raised so high he had to stand on something. There was a pedestal for him to stand or kneel on that could also be adjusted. I raised his body up but kept his head low, so he was doubled over at the waist, his shapely ass sticking out...

“Now, check this out,” I said, turning on the TV. The image on the TV was filled with Hunter’s cute boyish face, lit in a very attractive, natural lighting.

“He can’t hear us, and he doesn’t know we turned the TV on – he can’t tell whether we’re watching or not!”

I picked a polished wooden paddle from the assortment of paddles, belts, whips and tawses, held it an inch away from his unprotected butt, and without warning wound up and took literally the hardest swing I could. It took a fraction of a second for him to yelp in pain, because it was so unexpected. The volume was way down, but you could see from his facial expression that it really hurt and he screamed hard.

The twins found this very amusing, and took turns seeing what expressions that they could get with all the various devices. I grew a bit bored, “You can play with our slave whenever you want. Let’s try out his cage now.”

Reluctantly, the boys released Hunter from the stocks, and forced him into the plexiglass box/cage that was now where he would sleep. The twins thought this was pretty boring. I said: “We can demonstrate the sound system using white noise, which was the factory default. But wouldn’t it be more fun to pick a song that would annoy him? Do you know any?”

They instantly came up with “Hop Hop Like A Bunny”. They began singing it in unison, forcing me to tell them to shut the hell up. It’s meant to torment Hunter, not me. Anyway, it was a good choice: it’s a very annoying song, so it’s no surprise that it was in the catalog on the cage’s jukebox. I clicked it to start playing.

“OK, so now it’s playing on repeat. He can’t stop it, only we can stop it. Right now, it’s playing at a quiet volume, 30 dB. Turning it up to 60 dB it’s playing at normal speaking volume. Turning it to 80 dB it’s pretty loud.”

All the while we were watching Hunter react. I cranked it up to 120 dB. “It’s like a jet engine. Too long at this volume will damage his hearing.” Hunter was curled up in a fetal position, hands trying to protect his ears. “Wow, the box really is completely soundproof!” I said, as we strained to hear even the slightest hint of noise from the song that was deafening inside the box.

I turned it back down to 60 dB. “Let’s leave it like this to annoy him, but not hurt him.”

“OK, check out these other settings.” I cranked the temperature down to 40°F (5°C). He was naked, of course, so it didn’t take long at that temperature for him to start shivering. He huddled in the corner hugging his knees for warmth. Then I cranked it the other way, and soon we could see beads of perspiration. “If we turn the humidity up as well, we can really get him to sweat,” I said, adjusting that slider on the control box. Now he was really dripping.