The Cockpig Ch. 05


Make no mistake: creating a real cockpig takes work. It’s like doing battle. You have to deprogram the faggot from the nonsense its been taught all its life, about how self-esteem is important, how it should respect itself, all that crap. See, with a cockpig, all that is turned upside down inside its little faggot brain. Nothing makes it more unhappy than trying to live like a normal person. The need to be degraded and used, the need to grovel in front of a real man and debase itself – those needs are constant. They never go away. The older the faggot gets, the stronger those desires become. A cockpig’s brain functions the opposite of the way a real man’s does. A normal man wants respect; protects his dignity and reputation; works to avoid pain and humiliation.

Not a cockpig. It craves abuse and humiliation. Deep down, the faggot knows how it deserves to be treated, and repeatedly seeks out alpha males that recognize it for what it is and who will use it accordingly. Just like a real pig, which delights in eating garbage and rolling around in mud and shit, nothing makes a cockpig happier than being abused, degraded, and forced to suffer for the pleasure of a real man. At first, of course, this really fucks with the cockpig’s head — the faggot hates the treatment, but craves it constantly. That’s cognitive dissonance, which is what causes most faggots to run away from their dark desires. It is that conflict which keeps them from fully submitting, from giving in to what they know is right for them despite everything society tells them, from living their truth. For the few who do, though, the true cockpig faggots – they achieve a satisfaction in their submission that most cock worshipers never find. Once they let go of any attempt at self-esteem or respect, once they completely surrender all dignity in exchange for true obedience, they finally achieve the contentment they’ve always sought, even if it’s to be found in a cage, or encased in a gimp suit, being subjected daily to what others would call torture or abuse.

With the little ginger fag, the battle was about half over. Transforming a faggot into subhuman property doesn’t happen overnight. That’s the mistake most of the so-called “masters” make. They try to make the transformation happen suddenly, in one fell swoop. That almost never works. It takes time. You have to make the transition happen slowly, step after inexorable step, allowing the faggot to overcome his fear at each stage before moving on to the next. Otherwise, he’ll spook and flee, just like any other dumb animal you try to tame and break.

The ones I look for are like my ginger cunt — born inferior, and they know it. They’ve always known it, and now are finally ready to admit it. Like AA teaches, admitting the problem is the first step to becoming happy.

Now that my pussyboy had taken some time to himself to consider his future and had decided he wanted to live as my slave, it was time to put that commitment to the test. Time to take the transformation to the next stage. Not in one big move, but in a series of small ones. Just like boiling a frog: start off in cold water and heat it gently. By the time the frog realizes what’s happening, it’s too late.

The first step was exerting control from a distance, taking away the faggot’s freedoms one at a time. I wanted to gradually but relentlessly chip away all those things that made him feel like a normal person. The chastity cage had already removed his ability to touch his little drain or pleasure himself, not to mention his ability to piss standing up. Every time the bitch had to sit like a woman to use the bathroom, it reinforced the differences between him and real men.

The next step was taking away his identity in more concrete ways. I started by making him surrender his online accounts, beginning with his social media. He sent me the user names and passwords for his Facebook and IG, his Grindr and Recon accounts, and then finally his email. Of course, I immediately changed all the passwords so he had no access to them anymore. He didn’t need them, and they provided me with a wealth of information about him, including a list of his family and friends which would definitely come in handy. The dumb bitch didn’t realize it, but he’d just given me plenty of ways to expose his true nature to the world if I chose to do so.

Those accounts were hard for the faggot to give up. Taking away his online connections really reinforced in his mind that he had no control and no privacy. But to accomplish the full transformation, I needed to take it further. Much further.

I shipped him two small IP cameras, with instructions on how to install one in his bedroom and the other in his bathroom. Once they were in place, it gave me 24/7 access to watch him any time I wanted to. The cameras were wonderful training tools. They included full-color digital video and sound. He immediately recognized the loss of privacy. Even his bathroom was no longer private. I made it kırşehir escort bayan clear to him he was monitored and observed at all times: when he slept, showered, even when he took a dump.

You should have seen the look on his face when I started dictating his schedule. No more free time or leisure time. Slaves get neither. I made him send me his work schedule, along with any other commitments he had, then structured his days and nights, including long periods where he was confined to his room, where I could watch him if I chose. The cameras were always on, and he had no control over the feeds. He had no idea if I was watching or not at any given time. All that mattered was that I might be watching, which was enough to ensure he was in that room, naked and ready to obey any order I gave at any moment. Of course, I had far more important things to do that spend my time watching over a faggot, so I set the camera feeds to record, allowing me to access them at any time if I wanted to check up on the pussyboy and verify his obedience. Since they were IP cameras feeding directly to the web, I was able to watch from anywhere, or allow any of my buddies to watch the fag any time they wanted from the comfort of their own homes. I made sure the faggot knew I could give out the pass code to observe his camera feed if I chose, to anyone I chose, at any time. Hell, I could even live-stream it on the web if I wanted to, allowing anyone who so desired to see him taking a shit, or displaying his hole, or groveling on the floor and begging to be used in nasty ways. It took the lack of privacy to a whole new level, really fucking with his head, carving into his brain that he was totally out of control, completely subject to my whims and desires. Another message was clear as well: your entire life is nothing but entertainment for me and other alpha males.

After that, I started giving him regular orders. Some were daily routines: wake up and get down on all fours facing the camera, face on the floor, arms outstretched like you are praying. Stay that way for 20 minutes while contemplating what it means to serve a real man. Then, 20 minutes with your ass in the air pointed toward the camera, cheeks spread and your hole on display for me, just like you are begging for it to be used, filled, fucked. Nothing like a little quiet obedience upon waking up to set a faggot’s mind right for the rest of the day. Plus, the camera allowed me to make sure he woke up and went to bed at prescribed times, regardless of how tired he was or what he had planned. I changed the times daily, so the bitch didn’t get too used to a routine, explaining that a slave must always be available for its owner regardless of the hour, and should be just as thankful for any opportunity to serve as it is for any rest it’s allowed.

In addition to the faggot’s daily routine, I included plenty of random use via the camera: fucking his hole with a dildo I sent him; drinking his own piss while I watched; regular and random inspections of his chastity cage to make sure it was secure, along with inspections to make sure he was groomed and dressed as ordered. I selected what he would wear; sometimes on a day-to-day basis, sometimes for the entire week. He was required to ask permission to go anywhere or do anything which deviated from his required daily routine. Visit a friend? Beg. Go out to dinner with your roommate? Grovel and plead for permission. Sometimes I gave it, but more often, I didn’t. I wanted the faggot to get used to being denied pleasure, and I wanted to force him to face the humiliation having to of make excuses for why he couldn’t go. Each element, each order, was designed to reinforce certain concepts: you have no privacy and deserve none; you have no choices and deserve none; all control and decisions are mine, as they should always be.

Yeah, it was rough adjustment for the faggot at first. He was used to living like a real person, but he adapted quickly. Giving up all control just felt right to him, like it was the way his life was meant to be. Plus, the longer he was locked in chastity and went without release, the hornier he became, and therefore the more willing to obey me. At his young age, those locked balls were constantly throbbing with unspent cum. A horny faggot is a very obedient faggot.

Once his brain was used to the lack of privacy and lack of choices, I began to take more from him. First, it was access to his bank account. That way I could see every expenditure or withdrawal he made, and you better believe I required him to account for every cent. After all, it wasn’t his anymore, it was mine. He was allowed a minimal budget which I set, and only one check per month to his roommate for rent and utilities. When you are confined to your bedroom most of the time, you don’t really need much money. Plus, limiting his expenses meant there was extra money for my benefit. I signed the pussyboy up for classes to develop him escort kırşehir as a slave, using his money to pay for them. I soon had him taking classes in cooking, baking, and massage. Not only would they make him more valuable as a slave, but they used up a lot of his free time, which meant he was either working or serving me in some way. I wanted him to grasp that every minute of his day would revolve around me, every second of his time spent in some form of service or worship.

After I got him used to my control over every aspect of his life, including his money, I went a step further and made him change his direct deposit at work. His pay went straight into my bank account now, not his. I put money in his account for needed expenses, but he was basically working his ass off every day to make money for me. Not that I needed it, of course. The small amount the faggot earned barely even registered in my bank account. It wasn’t about the money. It was about demonstrating for the pussyboy what he was, and what he was good for. That really helped reinforce his status as a slave, convincing him he was nothing but owned property.

This was a new life for the faggot, and these kinds of changes take time to work their way into a fag’s brain and become a part of his new normal, to reshape his sense of identity and purpose into something more appropriate.

I took my time. I kept the pussyboy like this for three months. Three months of restrictions and strict control. Three months of being permitted fewer and fewer choices and decisions, as well as a complete lack of privacy. Three months of denial, frustration, and no chance to grovel at my feet where he wanted to be. He had to earn that, I told him. I was making him prove his devotion to me every single day in a variety of ways. More importantly, I was completely reshaping his mental concept of who and what he was.

When I was certain the pussyboy was ready, I set a date to go get him. Made him tell his roommate he was moving out. They were friends since high school, and I knew that would be a hard connection for him to sever. I also made him submit his notice at work. That was the big one. Jobs for untrained, uneducated fags aren’t easy to find, and this bitch had no real skills except sucking cock, so giving up his job was a big loss, no matter how shit the job was in the first place.

His last day of work was on a Friday. The next day, I went to pick him up. I’d given him strict packing instructions: two boxes of personal items only. Keepsakes, books, personal treasures and heirlooms all went into one box. Clothing, shoes, and other personal items went into the other. We’d pack up the furniture when I got there, I told him. When I arrived, he was waiting outside on the sidewalk in front of his apartment, next to his old car. The little faggot was dressed exactly the way I’d ordered: a pair of small blue gym shorts and nothing else. Shirtless, barefoot, no underwear — as close to naked as I could get him in public. The look of confusion on his face when I pulled up in my car was adorable. He was expecting I’d arrive in a U-Haul or some type of truck to move his stuff. Reality was about to come crashing down on my fuckhole, and it was going to be entertaining to watch, as well as a key element of his transformation into property.

He stood up and walked over to my car when I parked. As soon as I got out, I snapped my fingers and just pointed to the ground, to my boots. The fag immediately went into one of those full-body blushes I find so hot. He bit his bottom lip, then looked around the parking lot to see if anyone was watching. I snapped my fingers in front of his face again to focus his attention. This time, the bitch dropped to his knees and kissed my boots like a good little cunt. He was learning; slowly, but definitely learning.

I ordered him up finally, and had him lead me into the apartment and to his bedroom. Cody, his roommate, wasn’t home, which was disappointing. Once we got to the pussyboy’s bedroom, I made him show me the boxes he had packed, which I inspected carefully. Just as I ordered, he’d sorted everything correctly. All his clothes, shoes, and other personal items, right down to his toothbrush and the butt plug I’d sent him, were in one big box. I pulled out his toothbrush and threw it into the much smaller box with his keepsakes. I checked the two cameras I’d sent him. Both were still in place, just as I’d ordered. I definitely wanted video of what was going to happen next. This was going to be a key moment in the fag’s transformation, and I wanted it preserved for posterity, not to mention later viewing.

I snapped my fingers and pointed to the floor. He dropped to his knees immediately. I pulled a leather slave collar out of my pocket along with a small padlock, and locked it around his neck. He began to whimper as soon as I did, partially from fear, I think, of what would happen if someone here in his small town kırşehir escort saw him like this; and partially from his desperate need to please and obey, his little faggot balls, filled with all that unspent cum, making him hyper-horny and craving any chance to serve me.

I grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look up at me. “Your new life starts now, asslicker,” I told him, looking directly into his big blue eyes, his face wearing an expression which was a mixture of fear and burning desire. “Are you ready? Are you completely and absolutely sure, fuckhole?”

He swallowed down his fear. “Yes, Sir, I’m ready, Sir.”

That was all I needed to hear. More importantly, he needed to hear it: his one last chance to back out, his final opportunity for a normal life, freely given away in exchange for ownership and servitude. I can’t overstate what that does to a faggot’s mind, how that final, conscious choice of submission fundamentally changes a pussyboy deep inside, at the core of his psyche.

I pulled his head into my crotch and rubbed his face against the bulge in the front of my jeans. Once my cock started to harden, I unzipped and pulled it out, letting him slobber on my prick for a while. All that time without any cock to worship and without being able to jack off had worked its magic on the bitch. He acted like my cock was the best treat he’d ever had, sucking on it as if his life depended on it. I let him deep throat me a bit, then I used the ring on the front of his collar pull him up and throw him over the bed. Jerking his shorts down, I reached under him and grabbed his locked-up drain, pulling it back between his legs, smacking my big cock against his swollen balls, making him gasp and cry out from the pain. I rolled him over on the bed. I wanted to see his face when my cock went in his hole. I pulled his ass to the very edge of the bed, then grabbed both of his ankles and pulled them wide apart, positioning my hard cock right against his tight, puckered hole. There was a look of fear on his face: he knew what was coming, knew just how bad it was going to hurt. But still, the look was there, written across his face: not desire, since to this day he hates being fucked, but need — a pathetic, naked, humiliating need to be used. I rammed my spit-slick cock into him all the way to my balls, causing the pussyboy to scream and tense all over, his legs straining against my grip in an effort to push out pole I’d shoved deep inside him.

I fucked him. I fucked him deep and hard and without mercy, making him thrash and squirm on the bed, trying to get away from the invader in his guts, eliciting squeals and tears from my little ginger pig as I raped his hole. I shoved his legs backwards until his knees were almost against his ears, his asshole completely exposed and vulnerable, defenseless against my ramming cock. As I fucked him, I looked up at the camera in the corner of the room, the red light indicating it was on, its constant stream being recorded at my house. No doubt some of my friends were watching me violate the little bitch’s cunt. I’d told them this would be some must-see TV. I gave the camera a thumbs-up, then redoubled my pounding of his perfect little ass.

I shot my load deep inside the faggot, then pulled out and stepped back to see what he would do. Without an order, the fag immediately crawled off the bed and sank to his knees, cleaning up my cock, desperate to get every last drop of my cum. Once I was clean, I pulled his plug out of the box of his personal items and stuffed it up his hole to make sure none of my cum leaked out of him.

“OK, cunt, time to get you moved,” I told him. “Let’s get your stuff and get on the road.”

He looked up at me from where he was kneeling, confused. “But…but Sir? How are we going to get all my stuff in your car? The bed and desk won’t fit, even if we tried to put one in yours and one in mine.”

“Shut up, fag. First lesson: slaves don’t own anything. They are owned. Everything you have is mine now, and I’ll dispose of it how I like. Understand, asslicker?”

“Yes, Sir,” he replied, hanging his head.

“Good bitch,” I said. “Now, get that camera from the bathroom while I get the one from in here.”

After the cameras were uninstalled, I placed them in the box with his keepsakes. I found a pair of old, dirty Nikes in the box with his clothes, which I tossed in with his keepsakes. They were the oldest pair of shoes the fag had, but he would need something for his feet if I took him out in public at some point.

I told the faggot to give me his wallet, car keys, and cell phone, which he promptly produced. He wouldn’t be needing these any more, though I could tell he didn’t quite realize that yet. Once I had them in my hands, I filled him in on his new life.

“Listen closely, pig: you now own nothing. Anything you still have is only because I’ve allowed it, understand me? Your new life is at my feet, or in a cage if I decide to put you there, fuckhole. All the rest of this stuff? It’s useless now. You won’t need it. From this moment, you aren’t even a person any longer, but a piece of property, a thing, an object. Truly an ‘it’.” I grabbed his chin again so he was looking directly at me. “So, all this useless crap is staying here. Is that clear, cumdump?”

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