I hesitate to write about this, not wanting another "slave" who fantasize about being kept as an objectified human thing that is treated with fewer rights than an animal.
I had talked about wanting to be a slave who had nothing more in life than to spend his entire life serving a Master. Master and I lived the life. To a great extent, I had been living, more voluntarily than by his demand, as his servant. If you read my blog you will see just how we related to each other.
One of the scenarios that we played out from time to time was to kept as a object, less than a slave with no way out of the situation for what ever time he decided to keep me. He and his friends kept me bound for as long as they thought I was getting off on it. They would push my "limits" (my desire to play) then let me out.
I'd essentially given up on the idea of being an object and even got turned off to the idea once I learned of people captured by sociopathic criminals. I think that the lines between that behavior and playing out the concept as a kinky activity became blurred. I was becoming sickened by the reality of the violence in the world and wanted to step back from play long enough to sort out my feelings and somehow justify my desires and separate them from the result of violence that truly harms innocent victims. I hadn't talk about objectification or my desire to experience for quite a while, simply because of ambiguous feelings.
You may know that it is legal to carry a weapon in public in Colorado. I'm not sure what precipitated it but Master bought everyone on the ranch a side arm and holster, expecting them to be worn at all times. I think he got off on the way it looks. I carried one too. We practiced handling them so we all knew how to use them should the need arise.
New Years Eve
Snow was falling in our area of the Mountains even though it seemed warm. We had eaten a late meal of aged rib eye steaks and beer from one of the crafters in Denver. The eight men of the household were tipsy when we pushed away from the table. I cleaned the table and kitchen then joined the guys in a game of billiards. As we began to sober up, Master began to rough me up. He locked a heavy collar around my neck and connected by a chain behind my back to wrist irons and then to irons that were locked round my ankles. He walked my down to the dungeon with the other guys following. The seven men raped me ass and mouth until each of them a spent inside of me at lead once. The also pissed on and inside of me both ass and mouth.
The men locked a chain to one of the ankle irons then locked the free end of the chain to a ring in the wall. Master gagged me then they all went upstairs to uncork bottles of champagne and drank themselves to sleep.
They came down late the next day. The unchained me then restrained me on a table with leather straps where they spent the next few hours waxing every single hair from my head, face and body. Max held his side arm in my mouth and told me to keep quiet or he would blow my head off. Those were the last words that they spoke to me except to bark orders at me. They beat me with a leather strap when they finished waxing me then all took turns fucking me.
From that point on, I was an object to be used, tortured, beaten, pissed on and in, cummed in and on and even shit on. They washed me with a powerful jet of cold water from a hose when I was too stinking filthy for them to be able to stand. I saw nothing but bright lights when they used or fed me or tortured me and jet blackness when they me left alone.
There was no way to count the days. It would have been useless anyway because I did not know how long they would keep me as a prisoner.
Boredom and fear filled my head. When I wasn't gagged I could yell and scream at them. I demanded release and threatened them. I also begged for release but they simple seemed to ignore me, treating without apparent passion, even when they tormented me. Sometimes, in my most desperate hours, I tried to hold my breath long enough to die. It never worked. I spent many hours crying all to no avail.
The men released me on April 17th after beating, torturing and fucking me. Master held his gun to my head and told me that if I ever told anyone one they had done to me that they would bury me alive out in the wood.
I took a long hot shower in the dungeon bath. Master stood watch over me and we talked.
In the end, life went on as it always has. The guys were as affection as ever. I still haven't wanted to talk to them about my experience but I know why they objectified me and understand that it was a gift that they sometimes were reluctant to give.