When we met, the cockpig didn't look anything like it does now. Oh, yeah, of course I added the markings and the rings, that's a given. No, I mean the look in its eyes, the expression on its face. That's what's different. Back when I started training it, you could see a lot of fear in its eyes, just like you'd expect, but also hope. Hope. It's always hard to tell with a cockpig exactly what it's hoping for. Tenderness? Kindness? Pain? Abuse? Probably some combination of all that, wrapped up together in its little faggot brain in ways it can't possibly sort out on its own. That's part of what gets faggots like mine confused. They get confused about what they want, as well as what they are. Society keeps telling them they are people, with rights, deserving respect. Deep down, though, they know that's not true. They can feel they were born different - lesser somehow. The first time they have a real man take charge and put them in their place, the light bulb in their brain finally lights up, and they start becoming what they are meant to be. It takes a true alpha male, though, and a lot of patience, to really transform a faggot and help it realize its full potential as a cockpig. To remove that hope from its eyes and replace it with submission. That's what it's all about for me - transformation.
I knew early on the cockpig had a lot of potential. He was certainly an obedient little bitch, and took to sucking cock like a champ. As well he should; it's part of what he was born for, after all.
After I'd fed the cockpig his first-ever load of cum, I decided to let him get more acquainted with my body. I put him on his knees in front of my recliner and had him start licking my boots clean while I relaxed. He'd never licked a man's boots before he met me. I'd made him secretly lick a pair of his roommates boots one night on Skype for my own amusement. His roommate was his best friend from high school, but not someone he was sexually attracted to in any way. It was funny to watch. He was torn between terror that his roommate would suddenly discover his boots missing and catch him licking them; his disgust at having to smell his buddy's foot sweat; and his pathetic need to obey me. My enjoyment wasn't just from watching him tongue swabbing those nasty boots - it was watching him wrestle with all those conflicting feelings as he did it, his emotions written on his face as clearly as if he'd spoken them out loud.
My boots were the first ones he'd ever licked that were still on a man's feet, though. I'd worn my oldest black cowboy boots just for the faggot, because they were in need of a good tongue shining. Took some time to walk around in the yard for a while before I went to get the bitch just so they'd have fresh dirt and grime on them for his young tongue to scrub off.
"Those better be spotless, fuckhole," I instructed him. "No telling what nasty shit is on those boots. I don't want any of that mess on my floor, so make sure to clean them and swallow all of it, pig."
By this point, the little faggot was practically chewing the mud off my boots, though I could see disgust on his face as he swallowed each lump of dirt, not sure if it was really dirt or something worse. I lifted up my foot and made him lick the bottoms. The bitch wrinkled his nose at the nastiness, but his tongue never stopped.
When my boots were clean, I had the cockpig take them off. His next test: sucking the sweat out of my socks. My feet were nice and ripe, too. I'd worn the same socks for four days, just for this moment. The smell was pretty powerful. From the look on his face, it hit the faggot in the face like a slap when I finally gave him permission to pull of my boots. I could see him recoil from the smell, but he already knew better than to say no to me. He started sucking the sweat out of my socks, taking my toes into his mouth, making little whimpering sounds the entire time. By the time I let him actually lick my stinking, sweaty feet clean, the bitch was sucking my toes like his life depended on it, eventually trying to get my all of them in his mouth at once. Stupid little cunt was so wrapped up in licking my boots and sucking a man's toes for the first time, he never noticed me recording him with my phone. Yeah, that footage would come in handy later on.
I knew the pig liked the idea of worshiping a man's feet. We'd discussed it a lot during our Skype calls. But this wasn't about what he liked; it was about seeing if he was worth keeping around to train. Time for a real test.
I went and grabbed some leather ankle and wrist cuffs. I padlocked them on the bitch, then clipped his wrists to his ankles, so he was kneeling with his head on the ground and his shoulders supporting his torso. Face turned to the side so I could see the expression on his face at all times. That beautiful, pale young ass was positioned just right. I kicked his legs further apart, exposing his virgin hole. I took one of my socks and stuffed it in his mouth so I wouldn't have to listen to the faggot, then I removed my belt. I stood where he could see me do it, too, so he'd know what was coming and realize he had no chance to stop it. My cock was still hanging out of my jeans from the blowjob he'd given me, and now it started to rise again. I grabbed some lube off the coffee table and started stroking my cock to full mast. I doubled over my belt, then brought it down on the faggot's ass. Not one of those pansy-ass blows, like most faggots expect when they know you're going to spank them. No, this was a full force blow from the onset, the kind your dad used to give you as a kid when you'd really fucked up. I brought the belt down on the bitch's ass right across both cheeks, hard. I could hear him scream into my sweaty sock. I could see the fear in his eyes. He'd told me early on when we started talking that he wasn't into pain, that it wasn't what he was seeking. I'd cleared that up really quick: no one cares what a faggot is "into". I told him a faggot's role was to serve, and suffer, and obey. Period. No one gave a shit what a piece of property liked or didn't. Nobody ever asked a doormat for its turn-ons, or inquired what the toilet was "into", so why would anyone care what a faggot liked? He'd said at the time he understood, but now he was experiencing the crushing, painful reality of it.
It took about three blows before the tears started. After five blows, the pig was sobbing, tears collecting on the floor next to his face. His ass was already bright red, with large welts forming in the pattern of my belt. God, I love the pale skin gingers have! It colors so easily and perfectly. By the time I was ready to stop, the faggot was sobbing and moaning loudly, his ass clearly on fire. I took careful aim with the last blow and brought the belt down hard right on the pussyboy's hole. He practically levitated off the floor, making a sound like wounded animal, his body thrashing and trembling.
The faggot had cum on the floor, his drain still locked inside the chastity cage. I'd whipped a month's worth of cum out of his painfully full balls. All that horniness, gone with one blow of my belt against his asshole. Too bad for the fuckboy, because it was going to make what was about to happen even more painful.
