Chronicles of a slave trader
By PredicamentBondage
CHAPTER 06
Don’t let anyone tell you that life as a slave trader is easy. As with any other business there are challenges and I discovered one of many, very early in my slave trading career.
My clients, as I’ve said, spend a great deal of money with me and expect perfection. Unfortunately, “perfection” is often in the eyes of the beholder and although I always do my best to interpret my client’s briefs, it’s a sad fact that many of the slaves we procure just don’t appeal to the customers. Think about it this way, you can have a pair of twins standing in front of you and, although they are near enough identical, one will always appeal to you more than the other. Every new intake requires client approval before training begins. This way we don’t waste money on training if the client rejects them.
Marco is one such reject. The client ordered an Italian (with accent), early twenties, gym bunny, low BMI, cocky, ladies’ man, the type to play soccer with the lads on the weekend and bang his girlfriend at least twice a day. The cock was specified to be thick and at least 10 inches long when hard. The testes had to be tough and low hanging as the client enjoys ball busting.
Marco fitted the bill perfectly, was an exact match for the spec, but the client was not quite happy with the face. Personally, I love it. It has a half inch scar-line over its left eye and the eyebrows are set high near the nose and low on the temples giving an expression of vulnerability. This stunning example worked in the construction industry until snatched from a road-work team after knocking-off work one evening.
In the early stages of building the business, rejects like Marco resulted in excess stock of unwanted meat which, to be frank, was a massive drain on expenses. The solution tuned out to be remarkably simple. I developed a second revenue stream for the business, separate from the sex-slave market.
Marco carefully opens his right eye, expecting to be blinded by the morning sun streaming through his girlfriend’s bedroom window. Instead, there is just blackness. Then he remembered, he couldn’t possibly be in her bedroom. The bitch had refused him sex last night as there’d been a massive argument. All because she’d discovered he’d fucked her sister when they were all on holiday together last summer. He couldn’t see what the problem was, it wasn’t as if he’d done it more than half-a-dozen times.
He closes his eye, deciding it too early to wake up.
Something doesn’t feel right, he’s not lying comfortably. He tries to turn over and realises he can’t move. Huh? What the hell? He tries to reach for the bedside lamp but his arms won’t move. In fact, his hands aren’t in contact with his bedsheet, pillow or anything else.
As Marco raises into consciousness and shakes off the fug of his long sleep, he realises he’s not in bed at all. His arms seem to be drawn behind him and are completely immobile. They are, he will soon realise, hooked over a padded horizontal bar that runs left to right under his elbows so his upper arms are perpendicular to his back, his elbows are strapped to the bar and his hands just hang uselessly behind him. “What the fuck’s going on? Where am I?” he thinks.
Nothing moves. His arms are pinned, he can’t quite work out where his legs are either, but they also won’t budge. His head won’t move up or down, or side to side. Has he been in an accident? Is his whole body in plaster-cast?
As Marco tries to understand what position his body is in, he realises his mouth feels odd. He recalls last summer when he and his bitch girlfriend went scuba diving together in Australia on Queensland’s Great Barrier Reef. The sensation in his mouth is exactly like that of having the diving gear mouthpiece lodged between his lips and teeth, not uncomfortable but very noticeable. He tries to open his mouth to spit the invader out, but can’t. His tongue explores the alien interloper to discover the plastic securing lugs behind his teeth, and the central hole through which he’s breathing. These things are designed to be air-light and water-tight. Another realisation… he is breathing through his mouth, and can’t inhale through his nose. It appears to be clamped off.
There’s a dull ache in his arse, as if he’s just taken the biggest shit ever. What he’s actually feeling is the one inch medical grade stainless steel pipe that’s embedded in his rectum.
Suddenly, two small LCD screens, the size of small tablet displays, brighten in front of him, one above the other. The top screen shows a bright, alert face, smiling but at the same time somehow sombre, framed head and shoulders down to nipple level. I offer an amiable “Good evening. Don’t bother trying to speak. You won’t be able to with the mouthpiece in place.” The bottom screen shows the crotch of my jeans from roughly belly button to mid-thigh.
It takes Marco a few seconds to become accustomed to the illumination. Once he does, he can see that he’s reclining in quite a small box, looks like metal and fibreglass construction. His legs are pulled slightly behind him, not uncomfortably, and secured by the ankles to fixings on either side. He’s sitting on some form of modified bicycle seat, his back resting on a padded support. His head restraint forces a narrow field of vision and all he can really see is my face and crotch directly in front of him. He also recognises what seems to be a half inch pipe attached to his mouthpiece, running off to the side so it doesn’t obscure his view of the screens.
“OK – you’re probably wondering what the fuck is going on, so here’s the deal. If you look behind me, you will see a door and a couple of hand dryers off to the side. You’ll grasp, therefore, that I’m in a Gents lavatory. I’m standing in front of one of three urinals. Whenever I, or someone else, stand in front of a urinal, screens will light up in your little box to show you their face and private parts. Look… If I move from the centre to the one on the right…” and I take a sideways step.
The two centre screens black out and two others light up on Marco’s right. He has to move his eyes to see me standing at the right hand urinal because his head is fixed, but it’s not strenuous.
“And if I move to the left one….” Taking two sideway steps “You’ll see me to your left.” I smile triumphantly at the hidden camera in front of me. My expression probably comes off as slightly goofy down in Marco’s box.
“Now you might wonder what all this is for. I’ll show you.” holding up a small bottle of water. I open it, take a sip and pour the remaining contents into the urinal at cock level so it can be seen on the lower screen. Marco watches in horror as he starts to understand what’s about to happen. For a while, Marco waits in anticipation, nothing happening. Then water floods his mouth in one overwhelming deluge. He’s forced to gulp the water down so he can start breathing again.
“I am in the business of marketing and supplying a range of high-tech bio-filtration systems to select organisations throughout the UK. We sell the filtration unit for £8,500 pounds, including installation. That’s the unit in which you’re currently secured. We sell replacement filters for £995 each. You are the filter.”
I drop my face to view my smartphone, so I can see Marco through a small webcam positioned between the two central screens. The light from the screens perfectly illuminate the shocked expression in his eyes, so I know that my dialogue has hit home and he understands he has just entered some sort of horrific nightmare.
“Your screen will show who and when someone pisses into your mouth. Your patrons will know nothing about your plight, of course. You’ll have to carefully judge the time between urination and delivery so you can avoid drowning and keep breathing between loads. The flush mechanism to the urinals has been disconnected. You’ll have enough to cope with without gallons of extra water, as well. Besides, it will intensify the flavour for you.”
I see on my small screen a pure gem of a tear running down Marco’s cheek.
“You are in the basement of a Gay club in Manchester. It’s Friday night and they’re expecting a good crowd in tonight, probably in excess of 200 horny revellers. No doubt all of them will visit you throughout the night, probably multiple times, pissing at least half a pint on each occasion. You can expect many doses of piss to be laced with god knows what drugs, as well as lots of unabsorbed alcohol. So don’t be surprised if you get super high tonight.
“Now, I’m not a monster and I understand that there may be times when you can’t take any more. After all, that much piss will fill you up and I expect your stomach will resemble that of a pregnant whore carrying twins after a few hours. You’ll notice above the centre screen a FACE icon. When that’s lit, all piss will be funnelled into your waiting mouth. There’s a button under the toes of your right foot. If you press it, the display will change to the ARSE icon and piss will be redirected to the pipe lodged between your cute buns. After five minutes the flow will automatically revert back to filling your mouth. You’ll know when that happens from the status icons. You can only use the divert function once every thirty minutes.
“We don’t want to leave the piss channelled to your guts for too long because the filtration machinery will only empty your bowels once every 24 hours. You can empty your bladder, however, whenever you want – you just have to take a piss. That might be a little tricky though, as you have an electrified hollow metal rod in your dick which is designed to keep your cock rigid. The current will travel between the rod in your penis to the pipe in your arse, straight through your prostrate which will keep you erect at all times. And pissing with an erection is not easy as you know. Feel free to cum any time you like though. The stimulation on your cock will be unrelenting and inescapable, and I expect you’ll cum at least once every hour, or so.”
With that, I touched the screen of my smartphone and Marco’s cock instantly springs to attention. I could actually hear the moan come up through the drain of the urinal.
“Ok Marco. It’s now 21:30 and the club opens in thirty minutes. There’s already a queue of customers from the front door, half-way around the block. I’ll leave you to delight in your evening. The club starts to throw everyone out at 3am, so I’ll check back at about 4am after the partygoers leave. Enjoy!”
With Marco trying to comprehend what was just said, I leave him alone for this night.
CHAPTER 07
Marco has no way to judge the passage of time, but the screens stay blank for what seems like at least an hour or more. The anticipation of someone entering the toilets to relieve himself, coupled with the slow passing of time, is agony. Marco finds himself holding his breath for several seconds at a time, and festoons of sweat now decorate his forehead.
Suddenly, the two centre screens light up and Marco comes face to face with a cocky looking wide-boy of about 24 or 25 years old. As he fumbles with his fly-zip, the cheeky punter snorts and spits green sputum into the porcelain urinal where it sticks to the surface. After a deal of rummaging in his pants, the guy pulls out a fucking enormous horse cock. He is so big the bulbous head would easily come into contact with the shiny white ceramic if not supported. The dude starts to drain his bladder and manhandles his appendage, directing the stream around the inside of the bowl like a fireman’s hose. The dark golden buttery liquid washes down the drain taking the slime of mucus with it.
Marco closes his eyes and waits.
When it comes, the piss is warm, strong and pungent. Marco gulps it down, revolted by the taste and his debasement. He’s never tasted piss before, not even his own. When he opens his eyes, the donor is repacking his cock and zipping up, getting ready to leave. He turns away from the urinal and Marco’s screens go blank. He’s left in the dark to suffer the flavour of his first unnamed pisser.
About twenty minutes later, the left hand screen startles Marco and his attention is focused on a muscled hirsute guy wearing a bulldog leather harness and tight Levi’s. As he pulls out his dong, the right hand screens burst into life showing a fresh-faced young twink in loose fashion-shirt and tight black pants. Muscle-guy is already in full flow as the fledgling twink shyly exposes his cocklet.
The force of the bulldog’s urine takes Marco by surprise. It hits the back of his throat with such vigour, it causes a backwash that floods across his tongue, marinating his taste buds in essence of masculinity.
The twink’s dribble of piss, by contrast, is clear and tasteless. Overwhelmed completely by the strength of bulldogs deluge, the twink finishes well before the gladiator to his left. As the twink tucks his dick into his pants, he glances appreciatively at the muscle-man’s crotch. Marco doesn’t share the twinks admiration.
Marco finds that no matter how much time passes between one pisser and the next, he cannot avoid the taste and aroma of the last fella’s pungent torrent. The tang on the palate is all pervading and remains until the tongue is washed by fresh flavours from the next punter.
Over time, the frequency of oblivious persecutors increases and Marco soon endures two and three guys relieving themselves at the same time. Several times he starts to choke as he mistimes the piss-flow from urinal drain to piss-gag mouthpiece. On one occasion he almost passes out but manages to stay conscious, probably saving his life. His stomach is starting to ache as if he’s imbibed too much fruit juice which, arguably, he has.
The electrical pulses cursing through his cock are increasingly drawing his focus from the almost continuous stream of urine and, no matter how much he fights against it, he knows he is very close to blowing his first load. The thought of gaining sexual satisfaction whilst drinking men’s piss and watching their cocks is disturbing and humiliating. He hopes that there’ll be no one urinating when he finally explodes.
Currently, there are two guys, both shaking the remnants of piss from their cocks. Marco watches, dismayed, as they look at each other, smile broadly, and both start beating their meat. Oh God! They’re going to cum. They’re wanking off into the bowls. Stop! Marco instinctively knows that he’s going to take both their piss and their cum. Repugnance overtakes him and he starts screaming into the mouthpiece, trying to stop their mutual gratification.
Marco sees that both guys are nearing climax, their faces distorting in pleasure. He realises with horror that he’s as close as they are and he’s likely to erupt at the same time they do. Less than a minute later and all three explode simultaneously, with Marco spewing the biggest load of his life, straining to extrude his thick spooge through the metal straw impaling his straight manhood. As Marco’s loins contract forcing spurt after spurt of heterosexual gloop from his rampant penis, he tastes the bitter sweet discharge of the two faggots cum as it slowly oozes onto his tongue and seeps across his taste buds.
Marco bursts into tears, totally devastated by this turn of events. He looks through misty eyes at the screens and sees the two guys have already left, oblivious to his suffering. He’s now alone with the memory of their unknowingly callous act; accidental rape. The taste of their spunk is all pervading and, for the first time in his life, Marco wishes himself dead.
Having cum, Marco suddenly needs to piss, but the e-stim keeps his cock ram-rod hard and the mounting pressure in his bladder is becoming painful. He can’t see his stomach but it feels like he’s about to explode. Maybe if he can empty his bladder, he will feel better, so he concentrates all his efforts on letting go.
He’s interrupted by the right hand set of screens lighting to show a skinhead already pissing whilst apparently arguing with a guy just behind him. The skinhead looks drunk and holds a large, full flagon of beer. He takes a swig as he relieves himself, spilling some over his chin.
His compatriot continues to shout at the skinhead and, although Marco can’t quite understand what’s being said, the friend is clearly furious. A minute later, the friend reaches around the skinhead, grabs the beer and empties it into the next urinal. “My god! That’s about two pints” Marco stares in disbelief as he realises his mouth is about to fill with beer. How can he gulp down two pints of piss-laced beer without breathing? He’s about to find out. All thoughts of the two rapists of 10 minutes ago are forgotten.
As the full urinal drains into the plumbing, the two combatants leave the battleground, the skinhead waves his arms in the air as his mate pushes him from the toilet.
The beer fills Marco’s mouth and backs up in the pipes, all the way to a half full urinal. Marco guzzles down the beer, swallowing as much as he can, as fast as he can. His lungs scream for air after 45 seconds. He continues gulping as much as he can, but the pain in his chest starts a few seconds later. He’s going to drown. He’s going to die. He remembers the button under his right foot and stretches to press it. There’s a whir of mechanics and the flow slows to a trickle. He can breathe again, just, but he feels the beer surging into his large intestines; one and a half pints of fizzing cramp inducer.
As Marco fills his lungs, another screen comes on and he is faced by an obviously overweight, older character, trying to get his pecker out. He looks drunk and dirty. Marco instinctively turns up his nose at the imagined body odour. As the guys shrunken piss-pipe is revealed and the foreskin is pulled back revealing at least an ounce of cock-cheese, Marco almost throws up. The bulky sweaty groin leaks dark putrid juice onto the ceramic then starts to flow, heavily hitting the drain dead centre. Marco is repulsed both by the thought of drinking this new load of piss and abruptly comprehending the depths to which he’s sunk. He’s actually started mentally grading the piss from different guys; realising that he prefers piss from some guys more than piss from others. This has happened only a few hours into his enforced employment as human urinal, piss filter. What will he be like at the end of the night?
The rancid piss flows over his tongue and he now knows he’ll never again be the man he was. This is life changing. He closes his eyes and swallows the fetid liquid. It mixes with the piss from at least twenty other guys in his churning stomach.
Suddenly, he can’t hold the piss in his bladder any longer. The floodgates open and a warm steaming torrent of third hand beer spews from his engorged cock. As his bladder completely empties, his body suddenly reacts to the release. His balls tighten and a second all-consuming climax wracks his body and a massive load of salty-white semen follows the piss through his dick. The pain is intense, nullifying the pleasure of the orgasm. The shame is overwhelming and consumes his mind entirely, until…
CHAPTER 08
If Marco could see a clock, he’d know it was not yet quite 11pm, and his debasement is only just beginning. This once proud example of male heterosexuality has been serving as a bio-filter below a popular gay bar for less than an hour and already he’s taken piss from twenty different guys, emptied his bladder once, swallowed about a half-a-pint of spit, been force fed two loads of slimy man-cum and been milked of his own load twice. It’s not looking good for Marco as he still has four, maybe five, hours to go.
Over the next thirty minutes the visitors to the Gents increase in number until at least one urinal is occupied at all times. The club is now about half full and Marco can hear music reverberating through the walls and floor of his basement, adding extra stimulation through the anal-invader to his already highly sensitised prostrate.
He is now consuming piss without thinking about it, and his mind wanders back in time to his life of partying, fucking and playing sports – snatched from him just hours ago. He tries to hold onto the memories but his concentration keeps coming back to his need to piss and his desire to cum yet again.
His bladder is now in “auto-empty” mode, every ten minutes or so, pissing out recycled fluid without conscious intervention. This is a normal reaction of new bio-filters. It takes a couple of hours for them to become saturated at which point the system is considered pressurised.
Marco hasn’t quite reached this state of saturation yet but, when he does, the volume in to the system and the volume out of the system will balance, resulting in him excreting piss non-stop. Imagine going to the bathroom, getting your todger out and taking a leak, but the stream doesn’t stop – ever! This will give you an idea of what Marco is building up to, right now.
Our subject is starting to hallucinate – a combination of the enormous shock to this once proud straight Italian stud and the inevitable effects of the cocktail of second hand drugs entering his system. He dreams that he’s fucking his girlfriend’s tight pussy, banging her senseless, sweat pouring off his muscled torso, cum churning in his masculine baby maker balls, his thrusting virile cock taking him to the brink of ecstasy. Just as he’s about to detonate, his throat constricts around another assault of salty urine and he starts to choke and splutter. Pay attention Marco!
As he’s yanked back to reality, his body topples over the point of no return. His cock flares in a physique slamming, earth-shattering blast of intense orgasmic discharge. Every muscle in his lean body is in tension as half a cup of gloopy man-cream is hauled from his balls and rammed the length of his aching pole.
Marco watches as the guy on screen re-zips his trousers and pulls a face, forming his lips into a fake kiss, in expression of a job well done. Marco’s vision blurs, and after that last climax, he’s also seeing double. He closes his eyes to calm himself before the next onslaught.
The club has reached capacity, the music is intense, the alcohol is flowing and the toilets are in high demand. Our bio-filter is having difficulty keeping up and, more than once, has had to divert flow from its mouth to its virgin arse-hole. Marco’s guts are now churning with the bulk of piss that has filled his large intestines and is now backing up into his small intestines. He wants nothing more than to dump the load in his colon to relieve the pressure, but the mechanics of the filtration system will not activate this function for another six hours. The timer is set to automatically flush out the bio-filter at 8am when the club is closed and all staff have gone home. Before then, his entire digestive system will be crammed with urine. He has become truly integrated into the clubs plumbing and will soon be just another necessary part of the city’s sanitation system.
Marco can feel the continuous push his bladder is exerting to expel liquid through the only available exit. The flow is now unceasing, the unrelenting pressure irresistible. Now that the system is pressurised, the filter is operating at its most efficient and the club owner can sleep contentedly, knowing that the maximum number of contaminates are being extracted from the toilet urinals resulting in cleaner waste disposal into the city sewerage system.
The constant high-pressure torrent forced through Marco’s piss slit is interrupted periodically when his body involuntarily contracts in preparation for the now regular climaxes that wrench through his being. His orgasms are now of an almost spiritual nature and out-of-body experiences are common when he shoots. After each straining climax, pain replaces the pleasure as his muscles cramp from the rigidly enforced ejaculations every 20 minutes.
Four hours in, and Marco’s throat muscles are now operating autonomously, independent of conscious thought or intention. The second something touches his tongue, no matter what flavour or texture, it triggers an automatic swallow reflex that continues until his mouth is empty.
In time, his body will no longer need his mind to operate in its capacity as bio-filter, and Marco will enter a vegetative state and let his autonomic functions take over completely. This may take one or two more evenings however. In the meantime, Marco is dimly aware of his situation and his consciousness is still trying to assert itself.
Just as Marco manages to claw himself back from the brink of mindlessness, the last of the clubber’s leave the building. It’s 3:45am and I’ve had a fantastic night dancing, laughing and chatting with friends. Duty calls, and I wander back into “the John”. I know from experience what state the new bio-filter will be in. What used to be a strutting stallion of man-hood will now be just an object, part of the buildings infrastructure, not worthy of any consideration other than that given to the rest of the plumbing. If it breaks – fix it.
I tap the app on my smartphone and it shows Marco’s face in all its broken glory. As I walk up to the urinal, he also sees me but I don’t think he recognises me. After a minute, there’s a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, the mist clears to be replaced with intense pleading. So cute.
I can see in his eyes that, deep down, he sees me as his saviour, returned after his journey to hell to take him home. He thinks his stint in the club is over and he’ll now return to his old hedonist lifestyle.
“Ok Marco – here’s the deal…. At exactly four o’clock, in a few minutes time, the microcontroller in the filtration unit will turn off the electricity to your dick. You’ve probably been shooting dry loads for the last few hours and your big Italian shlong and prostate will need time to recover.
“At 8am, the controller will start flushing out your anal cavity. It will open the valve and allow all that stored piss and any solids to flush from your rear end. This will be followed by five cycles of colonic irrigation with a special formula to make sure there’s no bacterial build-up. Your health is of paramount importance. The process will last about 2 hours.
“At 12 noon, the cleaners come in to start their shift. They’ll clean out the urinals with non-toxic cleanser and throw one of these specially formulated urinal cakes into each bowl.” I hold up a brown, rough-textured patty-cake so Marco understands what I’m talking about. “It contains more than your daily allowance of proteins, vitamins and fibre. The cakes will slowly dissolve as they get pissed on, and will act as slow release dietary supplements.
“So…. I guess my work here is done.” I turn and walk away knowing that the hope I’d seen in Marco’s eyes has now turned to disbelief and terror. I hear a feeble scream rebound through the plumbing as I exit the room.
Bio-filters are expected to last anywhere between 3 and 4 months. We recommend swapping out filters every three months as they become less efficient with time and are subject to mechanical failure after that period. This means that a typical installation, on average, will need four filter replacements every year.
We currently have three filtration units installed in Manchester, two in London, one in Edinburgh, one in Newcastle and two being installed in Birmingham. We also have several orders to fulfil over the next few months. The turnover of bio-filters, estimated to be 50 next year, will provide us with sufficient income to supplement the main slave trading business.
I am very happy to have established a viable business model for the company, ensuring long term security for myself and other staff members at the Slave Training Centre.
As I exit the club to walk back to my hotel, I think of Marco for about fifteen seconds before starting to plan out my workload for tomorrow.
By PredicamentBondage
CHAPTER 06
Don’t let anyone tell you that life as a slave trader is easy. As with any other business there are challenges and I discovered one of many, very early in my slave trading career.
My clients, as I’ve said, spend a great deal of money with me and expect perfection. Unfortunately, “perfection” is often in the eyes of the beholder and although I always do my best to interpret my client’s briefs, it’s a sad fact that many of the slaves we procure just don’t appeal to the customers. Think about it this way, you can have a pair of twins standing in front of you and, although they are near enough identical, one will always appeal to you more than the other. Every new intake requires client approval before training begins. This way we don’t waste money on training if the client rejects them.
Marco is one such reject. The client ordered an Italian (with accent), early twenties, gym bunny, low BMI, cocky, ladies’ man, the type to play soccer with the lads on the weekend and bang his girlfriend at least twice a day. The cock was specified to be thick and at least 10 inches long when hard. The testes had to be tough and low hanging as the client enjoys ball busting.
Marco fitted the bill perfectly, was an exact match for the spec, but the client was not quite happy with the face. Personally, I love it. It has a half inch scar-line over its left eye and the eyebrows are set high near the nose and low on the temples giving an expression of vulnerability. This stunning example worked in the construction industry until snatched from a road-work team after knocking-off work one evening.
In the early stages of building the business, rejects like Marco resulted in excess stock of unwanted meat which, to be frank, was a massive drain on expenses. The solution tuned out to be remarkably simple. I developed a second revenue stream for the business, separate from the sex-slave market.
Marco carefully opens his right eye, expecting to be blinded by the morning sun streaming through his girlfriend’s bedroom window. Instead, there is just blackness. Then he remembered, he couldn’t possibly be in her bedroom. The bitch had refused him sex last night as there’d been a massive argument. All because she’d discovered he’d fucked her sister when they were all on holiday together last summer. He couldn’t see what the problem was, it wasn’t as if he’d done it more than half-a-dozen times.
He closes his eye, deciding it too early to wake up.
Something doesn’t feel right, he’s not lying comfortably. He tries to turn over and realises he can’t move. Huh? What the hell? He tries to reach for the bedside lamp but his arms won’t move. In fact, his hands aren’t in contact with his bedsheet, pillow or anything else.
As Marco raises into consciousness and shakes off the fug of his long sleep, he realises he’s not in bed at all. His arms seem to be drawn behind him and are completely immobile. They are, he will soon realise, hooked over a padded horizontal bar that runs left to right under his elbows so his upper arms are perpendicular to his back, his elbows are strapped to the bar and his hands just hang uselessly behind him. “What the fuck’s going on? Where am I?” he thinks.
Nothing moves. His arms are pinned, he can’t quite work out where his legs are either, but they also won’t budge. His head won’t move up or down, or side to side. Has he been in an accident? Is his whole body in plaster-cast?
As Marco tries to understand what position his body is in, he realises his mouth feels odd. He recalls last summer when he and his bitch girlfriend went scuba diving together in Australia on Queensland’s Great Barrier Reef. The sensation in his mouth is exactly like that of having the diving gear mouthpiece lodged between his lips and teeth, not uncomfortable but very noticeable. He tries to open his mouth to spit the invader out, but can’t. His tongue explores the alien interloper to discover the plastic securing lugs behind his teeth, and the central hole through which he’s breathing. These things are designed to be air-light and water-tight. Another realisation… he is breathing through his mouth, and can’t inhale through his nose. It appears to be clamped off.
There’s a dull ache in his arse, as if he’s just taken the biggest shit ever. What he’s actually feeling is the one inch medical grade stainless steel pipe that’s embedded in his rectum.
Suddenly, two small LCD screens, the size of small tablet displays, brighten in front of him, one above the other. The top screen shows a bright, alert face, smiling but at the same time somehow sombre, framed head and shoulders down to nipple level. I offer an amiable “Good evening. Don’t bother trying to speak. You won’t be able to with the mouthpiece in place.” The bottom screen shows the crotch of my jeans from roughly belly button to mid-thigh.
It takes Marco a few seconds to become accustomed to the illumination. Once he does, he can see that he’s reclining in quite a small box, looks like metal and fibreglass construction. His legs are pulled slightly behind him, not uncomfortably, and secured by the ankles to fixings on either side. He’s sitting on some form of modified bicycle seat, his back resting on a padded support. His head restraint forces a narrow field of vision and all he can really see is my face and crotch directly in front of him. He also recognises what seems to be a half inch pipe attached to his mouthpiece, running off to the side so it doesn’t obscure his view of the screens.
“OK – you’re probably wondering what the fuck is going on, so here’s the deal. If you look behind me, you will see a door and a couple of hand dryers off to the side. You’ll grasp, therefore, that I’m in a Gents lavatory. I’m standing in front of one of three urinals. Whenever I, or someone else, stand in front of a urinal, screens will light up in your little box to show you their face and private parts. Look… If I move from the centre to the one on the right…” and I take a sideways step.
The two centre screens black out and two others light up on Marco’s right. He has to move his eyes to see me standing at the right hand urinal because his head is fixed, but it’s not strenuous.
“And if I move to the left one….” Taking two sideway steps “You’ll see me to your left.” I smile triumphantly at the hidden camera in front of me. My expression probably comes off as slightly goofy down in Marco’s box.
“Now you might wonder what all this is for. I’ll show you.” holding up a small bottle of water. I open it, take a sip and pour the remaining contents into the urinal at cock level so it can be seen on the lower screen. Marco watches in horror as he starts to understand what’s about to happen. For a while, Marco waits in anticipation, nothing happening. Then water floods his mouth in one overwhelming deluge. He’s forced to gulp the water down so he can start breathing again.
“I am in the business of marketing and supplying a range of high-tech bio-filtration systems to select organisations throughout the UK. We sell the filtration unit for £8,500 pounds, including installation. That’s the unit in which you’re currently secured. We sell replacement filters for £995 each. You are the filter.”
I drop my face to view my smartphone, so I can see Marco through a small webcam positioned between the two central screens. The light from the screens perfectly illuminate the shocked expression in his eyes, so I know that my dialogue has hit home and he understands he has just entered some sort of horrific nightmare.
“Your screen will show who and when someone pisses into your mouth. Your patrons will know nothing about your plight, of course. You’ll have to carefully judge the time between urination and delivery so you can avoid drowning and keep breathing between loads. The flush mechanism to the urinals has been disconnected. You’ll have enough to cope with without gallons of extra water, as well. Besides, it will intensify the flavour for you.”
I see on my small screen a pure gem of a tear running down Marco’s cheek.
“You are in the basement of a Gay club in Manchester. It’s Friday night and they’re expecting a good crowd in tonight, probably in excess of 200 horny revellers. No doubt all of them will visit you throughout the night, probably multiple times, pissing at least half a pint on each occasion. You can expect many doses of piss to be laced with god knows what drugs, as well as lots of unabsorbed alcohol. So don’t be surprised if you get super high tonight.
“Now, I’m not a monster and I understand that there may be times when you can’t take any more. After all, that much piss will fill you up and I expect your stomach will resemble that of a pregnant whore carrying twins after a few hours. You’ll notice above the centre screen a FACE icon. When that’s lit, all piss will be funnelled into your waiting mouth. There’s a button under the toes of your right foot. If you press it, the display will change to the ARSE icon and piss will be redirected to the pipe lodged between your cute buns. After five minutes the flow will automatically revert back to filling your mouth. You’ll know when that happens from the status icons. You can only use the divert function once every thirty minutes.
“We don’t want to leave the piss channelled to your guts for too long because the filtration machinery will only empty your bowels once every 24 hours. You can empty your bladder, however, whenever you want – you just have to take a piss. That might be a little tricky though, as you have an electrified hollow metal rod in your dick which is designed to keep your cock rigid. The current will travel between the rod in your penis to the pipe in your arse, straight through your prostrate which will keep you erect at all times. And pissing with an erection is not easy as you know. Feel free to cum any time you like though. The stimulation on your cock will be unrelenting and inescapable, and I expect you’ll cum at least once every hour, or so.”
With that, I touched the screen of my smartphone and Marco’s cock instantly springs to attention. I could actually hear the moan come up through the drain of the urinal.
“Ok Marco. It’s now 21:30 and the club opens in thirty minutes. There’s already a queue of customers from the front door, half-way around the block. I’ll leave you to delight in your evening. The club starts to throw everyone out at 3am, so I’ll check back at about 4am after the partygoers leave. Enjoy!”
With Marco trying to comprehend what was just said, I leave him alone for this night.
CHAPTER 07
Marco has no way to judge the passage of time, but the screens stay blank for what seems like at least an hour or more. The anticipation of someone entering the toilets to relieve himself, coupled with the slow passing of time, is agony. Marco finds himself holding his breath for several seconds at a time, and festoons of sweat now decorate his forehead.
Suddenly, the two centre screens light up and Marco comes face to face with a cocky looking wide-boy of about 24 or 25 years old. As he fumbles with his fly-zip, the cheeky punter snorts and spits green sputum into the porcelain urinal where it sticks to the surface. After a deal of rummaging in his pants, the guy pulls out a fucking enormous horse cock. He is so big the bulbous head would easily come into contact with the shiny white ceramic if not supported. The dude starts to drain his bladder and manhandles his appendage, directing the stream around the inside of the bowl like a fireman’s hose. The dark golden buttery liquid washes down the drain taking the slime of mucus with it.
Marco closes his eyes and waits.
When it comes, the piss is warm, strong and pungent. Marco gulps it down, revolted by the taste and his debasement. He’s never tasted piss before, not even his own. When he opens his eyes, the donor is repacking his cock and zipping up, getting ready to leave. He turns away from the urinal and Marco’s screens go blank. He’s left in the dark to suffer the flavour of his first unnamed pisser.
About twenty minutes later, the left hand screen startles Marco and his attention is focused on a muscled hirsute guy wearing a bulldog leather harness and tight Levi’s. As he pulls out his dong, the right hand screens burst into life showing a fresh-faced young twink in loose fashion-shirt and tight black pants. Muscle-guy is already in full flow as the fledgling twink shyly exposes his cocklet.
The force of the bulldog’s urine takes Marco by surprise. It hits the back of his throat with such vigour, it causes a backwash that floods across his tongue, marinating his taste buds in essence of masculinity.
The twink’s dribble of piss, by contrast, is clear and tasteless. Overwhelmed completely by the strength of bulldogs deluge, the twink finishes well before the gladiator to his left. As the twink tucks his dick into his pants, he glances appreciatively at the muscle-man’s crotch. Marco doesn’t share the twinks admiration.
Marco finds that no matter how much time passes between one pisser and the next, he cannot avoid the taste and aroma of the last fella’s pungent torrent. The tang on the palate is all pervading and remains until the tongue is washed by fresh flavours from the next punter.
Over time, the frequency of oblivious persecutors increases and Marco soon endures two and three guys relieving themselves at the same time. Several times he starts to choke as he mistimes the piss-flow from urinal drain to piss-gag mouthpiece. On one occasion he almost passes out but manages to stay conscious, probably saving his life. His stomach is starting to ache as if he’s imbibed too much fruit juice which, arguably, he has.
The electrical pulses cursing through his cock are increasingly drawing his focus from the almost continuous stream of urine and, no matter how much he fights against it, he knows he is very close to blowing his first load. The thought of gaining sexual satisfaction whilst drinking men’s piss and watching their cocks is disturbing and humiliating. He hopes that there’ll be no one urinating when he finally explodes.
Currently, there are two guys, both shaking the remnants of piss from their cocks. Marco watches, dismayed, as they look at each other, smile broadly, and both start beating their meat. Oh God! They’re going to cum. They’re wanking off into the bowls. Stop! Marco instinctively knows that he’s going to take both their piss and their cum. Repugnance overtakes him and he starts screaming into the mouthpiece, trying to stop their mutual gratification.
Marco sees that both guys are nearing climax, their faces distorting in pleasure. He realises with horror that he’s as close as they are and he’s likely to erupt at the same time they do. Less than a minute later and all three explode simultaneously, with Marco spewing the biggest load of his life, straining to extrude his thick spooge through the metal straw impaling his straight manhood. As Marco’s loins contract forcing spurt after spurt of heterosexual gloop from his rampant penis, he tastes the bitter sweet discharge of the two faggots cum as it slowly oozes onto his tongue and seeps across his taste buds.
Marco bursts into tears, totally devastated by this turn of events. He looks through misty eyes at the screens and sees the two guys have already left, oblivious to his suffering. He’s now alone with the memory of their unknowingly callous act; accidental rape. The taste of their spunk is all pervading and, for the first time in his life, Marco wishes himself dead.
Having cum, Marco suddenly needs to piss, but the e-stim keeps his cock ram-rod hard and the mounting pressure in his bladder is becoming painful. He can’t see his stomach but it feels like he’s about to explode. Maybe if he can empty his bladder, he will feel better, so he concentrates all his efforts on letting go.
He’s interrupted by the right hand set of screens lighting to show a skinhead already pissing whilst apparently arguing with a guy just behind him. The skinhead looks drunk and holds a large, full flagon of beer. He takes a swig as he relieves himself, spilling some over his chin.
His compatriot continues to shout at the skinhead and, although Marco can’t quite understand what’s being said, the friend is clearly furious. A minute later, the friend reaches around the skinhead, grabs the beer and empties it into the next urinal. “My god! That’s about two pints” Marco stares in disbelief as he realises his mouth is about to fill with beer. How can he gulp down two pints of piss-laced beer without breathing? He’s about to find out. All thoughts of the two rapists of 10 minutes ago are forgotten.
As the full urinal drains into the plumbing, the two combatants leave the battleground, the skinhead waves his arms in the air as his mate pushes him from the toilet.
The beer fills Marco’s mouth and backs up in the pipes, all the way to a half full urinal. Marco guzzles down the beer, swallowing as much as he can, as fast as he can. His lungs scream for air after 45 seconds. He continues gulping as much as he can, but the pain in his chest starts a few seconds later. He’s going to drown. He’s going to die. He remembers the button under his right foot and stretches to press it. There’s a whir of mechanics and the flow slows to a trickle. He can breathe again, just, but he feels the beer surging into his large intestines; one and a half pints of fizzing cramp inducer.
As Marco fills his lungs, another screen comes on and he is faced by an obviously overweight, older character, trying to get his pecker out. He looks drunk and dirty. Marco instinctively turns up his nose at the imagined body odour. As the guys shrunken piss-pipe is revealed and the foreskin is pulled back revealing at least an ounce of cock-cheese, Marco almost throws up. The bulky sweaty groin leaks dark putrid juice onto the ceramic then starts to flow, heavily hitting the drain dead centre. Marco is repulsed both by the thought of drinking this new load of piss and abruptly comprehending the depths to which he’s sunk. He’s actually started mentally grading the piss from different guys; realising that he prefers piss from some guys more than piss from others. This has happened only a few hours into his enforced employment as human urinal, piss filter. What will he be like at the end of the night?
The rancid piss flows over his tongue and he now knows he’ll never again be the man he was. This is life changing. He closes his eyes and swallows the fetid liquid. It mixes with the piss from at least twenty other guys in his churning stomach.
Suddenly, he can’t hold the piss in his bladder any longer. The floodgates open and a warm steaming torrent of third hand beer spews from his engorged cock. As his bladder completely empties, his body suddenly reacts to the release. His balls tighten and a second all-consuming climax wracks his body and a massive load of salty-white semen follows the piss through his dick. The pain is intense, nullifying the pleasure of the orgasm. The shame is overwhelming and consumes his mind entirely, until…
CHAPTER 08
If Marco could see a clock, he’d know it was not yet quite 11pm, and his debasement is only just beginning. This once proud example of male heterosexuality has been serving as a bio-filter below a popular gay bar for less than an hour and already he’s taken piss from twenty different guys, emptied his bladder once, swallowed about a half-a-pint of spit, been force fed two loads of slimy man-cum and been milked of his own load twice. It’s not looking good for Marco as he still has four, maybe five, hours to go.
Over the next thirty minutes the visitors to the Gents increase in number until at least one urinal is occupied at all times. The club is now about half full and Marco can hear music reverberating through the walls and floor of his basement, adding extra stimulation through the anal-invader to his already highly sensitised prostrate.
He is now consuming piss without thinking about it, and his mind wanders back in time to his life of partying, fucking and playing sports – snatched from him just hours ago. He tries to hold onto the memories but his concentration keeps coming back to his need to piss and his desire to cum yet again.
His bladder is now in “auto-empty” mode, every ten minutes or so, pissing out recycled fluid without conscious intervention. This is a normal reaction of new bio-filters. It takes a couple of hours for them to become saturated at which point the system is considered pressurised.
Marco hasn’t quite reached this state of saturation yet but, when he does, the volume in to the system and the volume out of the system will balance, resulting in him excreting piss non-stop. Imagine going to the bathroom, getting your todger out and taking a leak, but the stream doesn’t stop – ever! This will give you an idea of what Marco is building up to, right now.
Our subject is starting to hallucinate – a combination of the enormous shock to this once proud straight Italian stud and the inevitable effects of the cocktail of second hand drugs entering his system. He dreams that he’s fucking his girlfriend’s tight pussy, banging her senseless, sweat pouring off his muscled torso, cum churning in his masculine baby maker balls, his thrusting virile cock taking him to the brink of ecstasy. Just as he’s about to detonate, his throat constricts around another assault of salty urine and he starts to choke and splutter. Pay attention Marco!
As he’s yanked back to reality, his body topples over the point of no return. His cock flares in a physique slamming, earth-shattering blast of intense orgasmic discharge. Every muscle in his lean body is in tension as half a cup of gloopy man-cream is hauled from his balls and rammed the length of his aching pole.
Marco watches as the guy on screen re-zips his trousers and pulls a face, forming his lips into a fake kiss, in expression of a job well done. Marco’s vision blurs, and after that last climax, he’s also seeing double. He closes his eyes to calm himself before the next onslaught.
The club has reached capacity, the music is intense, the alcohol is flowing and the toilets are in high demand. Our bio-filter is having difficulty keeping up and, more than once, has had to divert flow from its mouth to its virgin arse-hole. Marco’s guts are now churning with the bulk of piss that has filled his large intestines and is now backing up into his small intestines. He wants nothing more than to dump the load in his colon to relieve the pressure, but the mechanics of the filtration system will not activate this function for another six hours. The timer is set to automatically flush out the bio-filter at 8am when the club is closed and all staff have gone home. Before then, his entire digestive system will be crammed with urine. He has become truly integrated into the clubs plumbing and will soon be just another necessary part of the city’s sanitation system.
Marco can feel the continuous push his bladder is exerting to expel liquid through the only available exit. The flow is now unceasing, the unrelenting pressure irresistible. Now that the system is pressurised, the filter is operating at its most efficient and the club owner can sleep contentedly, knowing that the maximum number of contaminates are being extracted from the toilet urinals resulting in cleaner waste disposal into the city sewerage system.
The constant high-pressure torrent forced through Marco’s piss slit is interrupted periodically when his body involuntarily contracts in preparation for the now regular climaxes that wrench through his being. His orgasms are now of an almost spiritual nature and out-of-body experiences are common when he shoots. After each straining climax, pain replaces the pleasure as his muscles cramp from the rigidly enforced ejaculations every 20 minutes.
Four hours in, and Marco’s throat muscles are now operating autonomously, independent of conscious thought or intention. The second something touches his tongue, no matter what flavour or texture, it triggers an automatic swallow reflex that continues until his mouth is empty.
In time, his body will no longer need his mind to operate in its capacity as bio-filter, and Marco will enter a vegetative state and let his autonomic functions take over completely. This may take one or two more evenings however. In the meantime, Marco is dimly aware of his situation and his consciousness is still trying to assert itself.
Just as Marco manages to claw himself back from the brink of mindlessness, the last of the clubber’s leave the building. It’s 3:45am and I’ve had a fantastic night dancing, laughing and chatting with friends. Duty calls, and I wander back into “the John”. I know from experience what state the new bio-filter will be in. What used to be a strutting stallion of man-hood will now be just an object, part of the buildings infrastructure, not worthy of any consideration other than that given to the rest of the plumbing. If it breaks – fix it.
I tap the app on my smartphone and it shows Marco’s face in all its broken glory. As I walk up to the urinal, he also sees me but I don’t think he recognises me. After a minute, there’s a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, the mist clears to be replaced with intense pleading. So cute.
I can see in his eyes that, deep down, he sees me as his saviour, returned after his journey to hell to take him home. He thinks his stint in the club is over and he’ll now return to his old hedonist lifestyle.
“Ok Marco – here’s the deal…. At exactly four o’clock, in a few minutes time, the microcontroller in the filtration unit will turn off the electricity to your dick. You’ve probably been shooting dry loads for the last few hours and your big Italian shlong and prostate will need time to recover.
“At 8am, the controller will start flushing out your anal cavity. It will open the valve and allow all that stored piss and any solids to flush from your rear end. This will be followed by five cycles of colonic irrigation with a special formula to make sure there’s no bacterial build-up. Your health is of paramount importance. The process will last about 2 hours.
“At 12 noon, the cleaners come in to start their shift. They’ll clean out the urinals with non-toxic cleanser and throw one of these specially formulated urinal cakes into each bowl.” I hold up a brown, rough-textured patty-cake so Marco understands what I’m talking about. “It contains more than your daily allowance of proteins, vitamins and fibre. The cakes will slowly dissolve as they get pissed on, and will act as slow release dietary supplements.
“So…. I guess my work here is done.” I turn and walk away knowing that the hope I’d seen in Marco’s eyes has now turned to disbelief and terror. I hear a feeble scream rebound through the plumbing as I exit the room.
Bio-filters are expected to last anywhere between 3 and 4 months. We recommend swapping out filters every three months as they become less efficient with time and are subject to mechanical failure after that period. This means that a typical installation, on average, will need four filter replacements every year.
We currently have three filtration units installed in Manchester, two in London, one in Edinburgh, one in Newcastle and two being installed in Birmingham. We also have several orders to fulfil over the next few months. The turnover of bio-filters, estimated to be 50 next year, will provide us with sufficient income to supplement the main slave trading business.
I am very happy to have established a viable business model for the company, ensuring long term security for myself and other staff members at the Slave Training Centre.
As I exit the club to walk back to my hotel, I think of Marco for about fifteen seconds before starting to plan out my workload for tomorrow.