The Cocpig

NOTE TO READERS: This story gets more intense and twisted from here. You've been warned.

Let me tell you a basic fact about faggots: they live in constant fear. That fear begins the first time they realize, secretly, deep down in their hearts, that they are inferior. When they first realize they are different from real men. It's the fear of being found out, of being recognized as an inferior. Fear of their own desires, that need for cock burning inside them. Fear of being exposed for what they really are. But more than that: it's fear of their own need to be dominated, controlled, used, degraded. They don't just want to worship men's cocks - they need to, on a deep primal level. It becomes their main motivation and drive. That's what sets a true cockpig apart from real men: the inborn need to serve and obey their betters, no matter how degrading the experience or rough the treatment. They recognize that need in themselves early on. Even if they can't admit to it anyone, they know that need is there, that craving that won't go away. They think about it all the time, hoping for a man to use them, wishing and praying for the abuse they need, while at the same time ashamed of their own desires.

Some people say I'm cruel, that I'm abusive to the cockpig or other faggots I've used, but that's not true. I've never forced anyone to do anything. Trust me, every disgusting act and degradation the cockpig has been subjected to, it participated in willingly. That's the key; that's the mark of a true subhuman cockpig, you see. To it, real abuse would be denying it the chance to serve, to grovel, to debase itself for my amusement or the amusement of my friends.

That first night the faggot slept on my floor, I heard him toss and turn throughout the night, trying to get comfortable, trying to find some position where the hard floor wasn't making his sore ass and legs hurt more. I knew he would have a hard time sleeping, especially with those welts on his ass and his freshly fucked hole damn near turned inside-out. Good. I wanted the fag tired. I wanted him to sleep poorly, so that his exhaustion would work in my favor. The brain is more malleable when sleep deprived, as well as more suggestible. Training a faggot means reshaping his thoughts, reforming his self-image into what I want it to be. An image that better reflects on the outside what the faggot feels inside. But that requires breaking through a lot of mental barriers and societal programming. Lack of sleep is an excellent tool for training faggots.

The fag was already awake when I got up, lying there on the floor with his eyes open, his pathetic little drain straining against the chastity cage. He looked up at me with a look that was a combination of adoration and fear. That's exactly where I wanted him mentally. After I threw on some shorts, I grabbed a leash and attached it to the faggot's collar.

"Heel!" I ordered, and started walking downstairs. The fag quickly started crawling along behind me, doing his best to keep up. At least he didn't do something stupid like try to stand up and walk like a person. That would have been a huge mistake. I led the fag out the back door into the yard. It's a a big backyard, and I put up a privacy fence specifically so I could use bitches outside. It's great training for fags; it reinforces that their status isn't just "bedroom play" but a way of life, regardless of locale.

I needed to piss. He'd never drank a man's piss before. I'd made him drink a glass of his own piss on Skype one night, just to test his obedience. It took him a while to choke it down, but he drank it all. Drinking straight from a man's cock is a different experience, however, and morning piss is the strongest and nastiest. I expected a mess, but it was an important test for the faggot.

Once outside, I made the bitch kneel in front of me with his mouth wide open. Apparently, he was expecting to suck my cock, but I held it just outside his mouth. When I started pissing, I could see the fear in his eyes increase. My morning piss was dark yellow and quickly filled the fag's mouth. I stopped my flow and ordered him to swallow it. He did, and then started to cough and choke, the taste making his gag reflex kick in. Good. I wanted the bitch to suffer through this, to hate every second, yet strive to obey regardless. That's what true obedience is all about: hating something yet doing it anyway.

The fag ended up spilling about half my piss. Some he choked down, some ran out of his mouth, some he almost swallowed, then retched back up. I finally hosed the faggot down head to toe in piss. I wanted him to smell it, to know he'd been marked with it. I wanted the scent and taste of it to linger on his body and in his mouth, as a constant reminder of being used as my urinal. When we were done, the look on his face was priceless: a combination of relief that it was over, disgust at what he'd done, and dissatisfaction with his own failure to swallow it all. That last one, that's the look that convinced me this fag was worth my time to continue training.

"Does it need to piss? Need to take a dump, fuckhole?" I asked, as he sat there dripping with my urine. He nodded, not making eye contact with me. I knew by now he probably had to piss pretty badly. Time for a new lesson. I ordered the faggot to heel again and walked him on his leash to the back part of the yard. When I stopped and turned around, I could see in his eyes he'd figured out what was coming next, and it terrified him.

"All right, bitch. Do your business," I said, staring directly at him. He immediately went into one of those full body blushes only gingers can achieve, his pale skin turning almost as red as his hair from the humiliation of being ordered to piss and shit in the yard on the end of a leash, just like a dog. I made sure to keep staring at him while he tried. Slaves have to learn they are allowed no privacy, no secrets. That's another tough barrier to break down. This was the first step.

It took the faggot a while, but finally his full bladder overcame his shame, and he pissed on the grass, squatting there in front of me like a good bitch, the piss shooting out of his chastity cage. I took the opportunity to remind him of why that little locked up nub of his was called a drain and not a cock: this is all it was good for. He just nodded, almost ready to cry from his own shame. When he was done, I asked if he needed to shit, but he quickly shook his head no. He was lying, of course. Just as well - I had better training in mind for the cunt.

He was still covered in my piss, and frankly, I didn't want him dripping all over my floors. I looped his leash over the handrail to the back stairs, and left him there, naked and wet, to dry in the morning sun while I went inside.

About an hour later, I returned to get the faggot. He was still right where I'd left him. Even though he could easily have untied his leash, I'm happy to say the little fuckhole knew better. I led him back inside and ordered him to make me breakfast. He set to work cooking my food. I knew by now he had to be very hungry. I purposely hadn't fed him anything the evening before except my cum. When my breakfast was ready, I had the faggot lick and clean my feet while I enjoyed my bacon, eggs, and toast. I had a tasty breakfast while he got to suck the dirt off my soles and from between my toes. That was part of the message I wanted the fuckboy to get in his head: I have comfort while he suffers. I was nice enough to leave some scraps of everything on my plate when I was done eating. I got up and pulled a can of tuna fish from the cabinet and opened it, then dumped it on my plate with the rest of my breakfast scraps. I gave it a good stir, then spit in it a couple of times for good measure. Once the slop was ready, I put it on the floor and allowed the faggot to eat his breakfast. No hands, of course. Animals don't eat that way.

I wish you could have seen it. That full body blush happened again. He was groveling on the kitchen floor, trying to eat this nasty concoction with just his mouth, getting it all over his face. The smell of my piss was still very strong, and I know it filled his nostrils and flavored his food, too. Good. This was just a start, not to mention one of the best meals he was likely to get in my house. Perhaps I could even move the faggot up to eating from a dog bowl before the end of the weekend at this rate.

So far that morning, the pussyboy had failed two tests: drinking all my piss, and shitting outside on his leash. I had fully expected he would fail those. Those tests were more about measuring his obedience and determining what mental barriers I needed to break down as part of his training. However, an essential part of training a faggot is never allowing any failure to perform as ordered to go unpunished. Otherwise, you just get more failures, and eventually disobedience as well. No, fags need strict control and discipline at all times, not to mention swift and certain consequences.

I filled a large glass with water and ordered the faggot to chug it. He drank it down while I went to the bathroom. I keep some fast-acting laxative suppositories tucked away in the medicine cabinet for faggot training like this, as well as some Viagra. I grabbed two of the suppositories (twice the usual dose) and one of the Viagra pills. By the time I returned to the kitchen, the faggot had finished his water. I gave him another large glass of water, followed by another. I wanted him full of water. When he'd finished the third glass, I ordered him to put his head down on the ground with his ass in the air. I took a moment to admire the pretty welts my belt had left all over his beautiful little ass, then slowly inserted both the suppositories up his hole. Once they were in, I gave the fag another glass of water, and told him to swallow the pill, without telling him what it was.

Those suppositories don't take long to work. After the fag finished his last glass of water, I grabbed his leash and led him downstairs to the basement. I have a dog cage down there. Nothing fancy, but it's sturdy, and just about the right size for a fag. It has padlocks to make it secure. I unlocked the pussyboy's chastity cage and took it off. I wanted his little dicklet on full display. He gasped as his little drain was able to fully expand for the first time in over a month. Then I led the faggot inside the cage. I attached a short chain to his collar and padlocked it to the top of the cage, then did the same with his wrist cuffs. The result was to keep the pussyboy in a kneeling position, unable to sit down, but able to shift from side to side and turn a little. He was also unable to touch any part of his body. Then I padlocked him into the cage and left him there.

I didn't have long to wait. I have a camera trained on the cage so I can keep an eye on any slave locked inside. It took 20 minutes before the fag started feeling the effects I wanted. The Viagra must have kicked in first. I could see his little nub get fully hard and start throbbing and bouncing up and down with his heartbeat. The pussyboy was still incredibly horny, and he began trying to rub his drain against his leg to try and get some pleasure, hoping to achieve only his second orgasm in the month since he'd been locked up. The moment the laxatives took effect, though, was immediately evident from the look on the pig's face. He suddenly realized what was about to happen, and that he wouldn't be able to stop it. He tried, I'll give him credit. He started begging out loud for me to come back, for me to let him out, pleading for release he knew wouldn't come. Finally, the medicine overruled both his will and clenched muscles, and he had no choice - he shit himself. Probably for the first time since he was a baby. It started slowly at first, and he fought against it, but once it started there was no stopping it. I could see from the look on his face his relief was outweighed by his deep shame at what he had done. Once his bowels were finally empty, though, the reality of his situation set in. I could watch the recognition of it dawning on his face, which by then was already streaked with tears. He realized he was stuck there, sitting in his own mess, for as long as I left him like that. Even worse, when I returned, I'd see him that way, covered in his own shit, with his little nub still hard as steel, no matter how disgusted he was nor how much he willed it to go down. He appeared to finally realize that this was so much worse than shitting in the yard like a dog would have been.

Once all that water went through him, he had no choice but to piss himself, too. Ever try pissing with a hardon? It's not easy, but a full bladder will have its way. Of course, that meant the pussyboy was pissing all over himself, simply adding to the cage already filled with his own filth.

I left him like that for six hours.

Six hours, sitting there in his own waste. His nose filled with the stench of my piss as well as his own piss and shit. The smell a constant reminder of his lowly status, a reminder that he wasn't able to control anything, not even his own bladder or bowels. His predicament was because I chose it; his body responded to my will, not his own. I left him there to think about the consequences of not performing up to my expectations. I wanted him to fully grasp that what happened to him was my decision, not his, and that I would allow him no privacy, no dignity, no choices.

When I finally returned to let him out, he was broken. I could see it in his eyes. Something fundamental had changed in his brain, as he pondered and finally grasped the full import of his situation there in the cage. He cried when I came down to let him out; tears of shame, and also tears of submission. Not unusual, really. The faggot had all that pent up stress and fear, built up over all those years of pretending to be something he wasn't, trying to act like a human and a man, and that had all fallen away as he sat there, kneeling in his own waste, helpless to do anything about it. It was cathartic for him, destroying those inhibitions that would have prevented him from fully serving any real man that chose to use him. I let him sob and blush while I stared at him, making sure he knew I saw him for exactly what he was: a subhuman pig in a cage, covered in piss and shit, still sporting an erection. Yeah, even after the Viagra wore off, despite the disgusting state of his cage, the humiliation of being seen like that combined with a very full pair of balls made his little drain stand up and throb, merely adding to his embarrassment. It was possibly the thing he was most ashamed of, the piece de resistance.

I left him locked up while I went outside and got a bucket and filled it with water, then brought it back and set it down next to the cage, along with an old sponge I used for washing my car. I unlocked him and released him from the cage.

"Clean up your cage, pig. No one wants a faggot covered in its own shit," I sneered. I reached out and slapped the little nub between his legs nice and hard. He squealed and bent over from the pain, but I noticed his drain didn't go soft: if anything, it just got harder. I could tell he hated the pain but hated the fact that it turned him on even more. He was ashamed of his desires and needs, like most faggots. All I was doing was exploiting that shame, along with his need for abuse.

I stood by and watched while he cleaned his shit and piss out of the cage. Made him scrub it good from top to bottom, even the parts that weren't soiled. He had to go outside several times to change the water and rinse out the sponge, but I didn't allow him to clean himself up first. That came last. I wanted him walking around with the evidence of his complete lack of control present on his body for as long as possible. The stench was terrible, but trust me, it was worth it. This little episode was a lesson the faggot would never forget and went a long way towards stripping away the veneer of humanity he was clinging to. It was an essential part of transforming the faggot into the cockpig it is today.

Once the cage was completely clean to my satisfaction, I ordered to pussyboy outside, and put him in the 'present' position: standing, legs spread wide, hands locked behind his head, eyes down. I used the hose to wash him down, the same way I would clean off any other dirty object I owned. I think the comparison was pretty clear to him as well. Such things help to reshape a fag's mind, and act as a reminder to the pussyboy he isn't a person, but something lesser: property.

I hosed him off good, then leashed him up and left him tied to the railing again to drip dry. Meanwhile, I went inside and prepared a nice large enema. Had make sure the bitch was clean inside as well as out. I also grabbed a butt plug. Not too long, but fat enough that the fuckboy's tight little hole would be securely plugged.

Once he was dry, I led the pussyboy back inside and bent him over the tub. He'd never had anyone give him an enema before, and I could tell he was scared when he saw the bag. It's a big bag, more than enough to fill the faggot up. I drained it all into his hole, then plugged him with the butt plug. Nice and secure, with all that water churning in his guts. I pulled out my cock and sat on the toilet, putting the faggot on his knees, sucking on my tool. He was working on getting it down his throat when the first cramp hit him deep inside. I could see it on his face the moment it hit, and I laughed.

"What's the matter, pig? Guts churning again? Need to release that enema?" I asked. He nodded vigorously, my cock still in his mouth. "Well, faggot, do you think that's more important than pleasing my cock and making me cum?" He slowly shook his head. "Exactly, bitch. Make me cum and the toilet is yours. I'll pull the plug and it can empty its guts. Make a mess on my floor and it will lick the floor clean, understand me, faggot?"

The pussyboy nodded. I could tell the cramps were increasing. But I also knew he would do absolutely anything to avoid soiling himself twice in one day. From the looks of the way he was clenching his ass cheeks, I surprised he didn't crush the plug with his hole. He began sucking me for all he was worth, ramming my cock down his throat, playing with my balls, using his tongue like a pro. You'd hardly think this was only his second day as a cocksucker. As the cramps increased, he began groaning and even squealing around my cock, sending wonderful vibrations all the way up my spine. I pulled my cock out of his mouth and smacked him with it several times, watching him desperately try to get it back in his throat so he could make me cum. This was exactly how I wanted him - desperate to please me, desperate for my orgasm, with absolutely no thought of his own useless nub. His little drain was as hard as steel, slapping up against his belly as he bobbed on my cock. It was leaking some of that pent-up cum in his balls, leaving a pool of precum all over the floor. I made the faggot stop sucking me and lick it up. I've never seen a faggot lick faster than he did. I could actually hear his guts churning once he got back on my cock.

It wasn't his mouth that made me cum as much as his desperation, his pathetic need to please me. I grabbed his head and shoved my cock all the way down his throat and blasted my load straight into his belly. I held him down on my rod while he sucked out the last drops, knowing that his guts were reaching emergency status. I wanted the message to be crystal clear to him: 'My pleasure is all that matters; your suffering is of no importance.' Once that was burned into his brain daily in dozens of different ways, it would help complete his transformation into true property. This was just the start.