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The name's Vexin. Innit Vexin. I'm pretty sure there's a joke in that somewhere.

I'm an Imp. For those who don't know what that means, picture a ten year old boy, the kind that always gets into fights at school, pulls the hair of girls, refuses to eat his vegetables and invariably smashes that priceless porcelain figurine that was your great-grandmothers. The kind of kid who, even if you spank until you hit bone, never takes a hint. That's an Imp, in attitude, in outlook, in action.

And size. I'd make some kind of bravado-heavy comment about my penis right now, but when you're strugglin' to break the 4' barrier you're lucky to get more than "aww, how cute!" and that applies downstairs as well. There are some things a man never wants to be referred to as "cute", and that's one of them.

For those who missed that loud crack, like someone tenderising beef with a crowbar, it was Rorc. He's 7'2", he's a pitbull, he's got an IQ that house-bricks laugh at, and he's puttin' his size 14 steel-capped boots into my spine. Once, thank Myrix, anymore would kill me. I'm curled up in a foetal ball and sobbin' like a newborn. It's all to throw him off, honest.

"Get up!" he barks, givin' me another, somewhat lighter bootin' that leaves my leg stingin'. I struggle to my feet, and fido grabs the chain linkin' my wristcuffs. Yanking hard, I'm hauled off my feet as he hooks the chain onto, well, a hook, and I'm left to dangle. It hurts like hell, that's for sure.

"Pathetic," he spits, examinin' my body. My skin is off-white, a sort of creamy colour, like milk that's on its way to cheeze, but not quite turned green yet. It's also dolphin smooth, and sporting a fair few bruises. He likes the bruises.

While I'm whimperin' from the burnin' in my wrists, he starts rubbin' at my genital slit, making me squirm, "Looky here, the little man's got a fucking pussy where his cock should be."

"Yeah?" I manage, "I'm surprised you even know what a pussy is, since even a fucking corpse wouldn't shag you."

Rorc looks at me, and I can tell in his eyes he's a little worried. He's thinking I'm tougher than I look, and odds are I'm going to pull some seriously nice moves. You know, lots of jumpin' around, flashy kicks, eye-watering blows to places you don't want punched. Yeah, get a camera, a couple o' ninjas and a chick with a rack you can serve dinner off, and we'd have ourselves a blockbuster.

Or... not. What really happened is the guy puches me in the stomach so hard I nearly throw up, and makes me swing back and forth like a punchin' bag. There's blood runnin' down my wrists now, and Rorc's lining up another punch. I know for a fact somethin' important is going to go snap in a minute...

"Rorc! Enough!"

Saved by the bell. The new guy walks in, a Roo wearin' the same uniform as Rorc is, though in a slightly more stylish way. For one, he's heard of soap.

"Get him down, Rorc. If you keep this up, you'll kill him, and then you get to answer for it."

Rorc thinks about this, which must have hurt, and roughly gets me back on the floor.

"Good," the Roo says, "now piss off."

Rorc gives him a snarl that says in five seconds, the Roo will be toast. Fortunately for him, and me, it took the bitch four seconds to twig that flooring this guy is going to land him in shit. He gives me one last growl, and leaves.

So, to recap. I'm stood in a small cell that was decorated by the guys that thought heavy granite blocks and wrought-iron bars were the height of fashion. Extra features include hooks, chains, a small cage that even I would feel cramped in, straw that's older than most glaciers, and the height of sanitary technology; a bucket. I'm stood naked in front of this slaver, covered in blood and bruises, crying my eyes out while he's undressin' me with his eyes. I didn't think you could do that to someone who's already undressed. We live and learn, eh?

"You're Vexin, right?" the Roo asked.

I sniffed, nodding, wondering just what clown-feet here has in stone.

He kneels down in front of me, and cups my head with his hands, "I'm Joe," he says, wiping my tears with his thumbs.

"Really?" I say, weakly, "I was expectin' Skippy."

I did explain about the attitude thing? Yeah, just checkin'.

Joe just laughs, "Well, you're definately an Imp," he says, stroking my head like he expects me to purr, "but watch that tongue of yours... it's going to get you into trouble one of these days."

I give him a 'one of these days?' look, like maybe he's one of those kids who rides the special bus to school, and has to wear mittens all year round. Not that he noticed, he's too busy looking at my wrists.

"Ouch," he says, "these have made a bit of a mess."

"No shit," I mutter. I did explain about- okay, just checkin'. I'll stop now.

Joe unlocks the wristcuffs, and I start rubbing the bloody wounds they left. He pulls out a bottle, and I can smell the magic from here... this stuff is some form o' Pixie Brew. I love Pixies, hence the restraining order. He rubs it into my wounds, and I feel a tingle running through my whole body. It feels blue, and I can see the wounds fading. Smiling at me, he rubs a little into some of my other bruises. Gotta admit, his hands running across my smooth body feel kind of nice after the massage from earlier.

"There," he says at last, seemingly pleased with himself. He pulls out a pair of cuffs with black fluffy covers, the sort you buy at a porn store, then try and hide from your parents for the rest of your life. These, however, are real cuffs. I can tell from here, just looking at them, notin' the lack of an "emergency release" key. I can almost feel the high-quality steel. Once you're in them, you're in until the guy with the key says otherwise.

"These cuffs," Joe explains, "are normally reserved for our more well-behaved slaves. Think of it as a sign of trust; you misbehave, we can go back to the alternative."

He picks me up, and carries me over to a chair that could seriously use with some padding. He sets me down, and gently opens my legs, which is never a good sign.

"Okay, let's take care of business first," he takes out a pair of tongs, the sort scientists use to carry test-tubes, only some kind soul has sharpened the edges a bit. They're joined by a chain, and I already know what he's going to be grippin'. I'm already cuppin' myself in anticipation.

Joe gives me a lop-sided look and smiles, "I'd have thought it was obvious you shouldn't do that."

Sighing, I obey. I feel his finger stroke along my slit, pushin' in a little so he can take one of my folds in his fingers.

"Take a deep breath," he instructs, clampin' down on my sensitive lip. It's not nice, I can assure you. I give a hiss when he fastens the second, and I cried out when he pulled them both.

"You need to learn to show respect, and swearing is clearly unacceptable," Joe lectures in his soft, understandin' voice. He pulls the chain up towards my chest, which really isn't fun.

"Come on," he says, "let's see if you can reach."

Right now, I don't want anything worse to happen, so I obey. It's not easy, especially when Joe just keeps pulling harder, but I manage to take the chain in my mouth. I'm crying again by now, and what makes it worse is I'm starting to get a hard-on. Involuntary reaction, honest. I'm no masochist, but genital torture does weird things.

"Good boy," Joe says, strokin' behind my pointed ears. I can feel him thinking the word 'cute'. "Stay like that until I say you can let go."

I'm not sure how long I had to wait, but it was too long. Not satisfied with strokin' my head, he starts playin' with my cock, teasing it in his fingers. Damn, he's a pro at it. Even if I'm really hurtin', his touch sends shivers down my spine. He gets me fully hard, and gives me a little kiss on the forehead.

"Okay, let go."

Finally. I drop the chain, and he removes the tongs. "Good boy," he says, "now, let's do something a little more enjoyable."

Oh fuck. Let me make this clear, I'm straight. Roo-boy here, on the other hand, is about as manly as glittery sunglasses, and has been giving me looks since he came in. I can see the bulge in his pants. In short, I've exhanged a guy who enjoys beatin' me up for one who wants to ride me like a log-flume. Still, I guess it's better Joe than Rorc. What? Who said they'd rather go with Rorc? Sick, you people, really sick.

"Look," I say, trying to stop him from liftin' me off the chair, "I don't swing that way."

Joe smiles, "Well, you'll have to learn then, won't you?"

I think about fightin' at this point, but I don't. After all, anythin' I try is only goin' to make things worse for me, right? Right. Clearly, the thing to do is to keep still, keep quiet, and let him do his thing.

"Slave!" Joe gives a sudden, harsh shout, "I have made it clear already, have I not, about what happens to slaves who don't obey?"

Didn't buy it, huh? Yeah, thought not. I was kickin' and screamin' like a three year old in tantrum mode. He wrestled me over to the cradle; a collection of straps and padded rests that can restrain a slave in a posture perfect for abusin'. Pretty soon I'm lyin' on my stomach, arms and legs spread wide by the legs of the cradle, and strapped down tight. My little tail, such as it is, is tied into a stap hangin' from the ceilin'. I know I cry a lot, like now, but I am kind of... urgh, cute. It can be a strength; you just have to look as sweet and innocent as you can, and hopefully the dumb bastard will fall for it.

"Please!" I sob as Joe walks into sight, unlockin' the wall-box containin' various punishment tools, "I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me anymore!" I give him the most teary, puppy-eyed look I can.

"I know you're sorry," Joe replies, "but I think a little reinforcement will help."

He keeps whatever he took out hidden from me. Walkin' back out of sight, I feel him fittin' somethin' to my crotch. It's not very big, just fittin' snugly over my slit, but once its on there's a certain unpleasantness to it. It's smooth, for one... featureless, and there's not enough room for me to hump it; it'll just move with me.

"This is a chastity belt," Joe explains, "it means you can't get an erection, so there's no chance of you pawing off. To make things more interesting, I'm not telling you how long you have to wear it. However, I don't recommend you start begging for its removal."

Not good. Not good at all.

"Now for the last part," Joe says, rubbin' lube into my tailhole. I clench down, which makes him start to shush me an' rub my back.

"Relax," he says, "It'll hurt more if you don't."

With that, he starts pushing somethin' into me. It's not big, no way could it be his cock. I'd guess it's about the size of one of my fingers, but it gets wider as it goes deeper. He pushes it in slowly, and I feel it rub on my prostate. He wasn't lying about the belt; I start begging him to stop when my cock has no room to expand.

"Relax, it's alright."

"Please... Ah! I think I'm gonna' break somethin'!"

Joe chuckles, "you won't. I promise you, there'll be no permanent harm."

With a sudden tinglin' of my prostate, the plug goes in all the way. Joe fits something else over my ass, no doubt to hold the plug in. Sure enough, these new pants push it hard in, making me whimper again.

"Oh hush," Joe tells me, like he's addressin' a child, "you're so cute when you act like that."

Cute. Fuck. I hate that.

With a playful slap of my rump, he heads for the door. "I'll come and check on you in a few hours," he says, and I hear the door open. Quick after that, it slams shut again, leavin' me with a somewhat unpleasant new set o' experiences to enjoy. I can't help thinkin' that maybe, just maybe, if I'd have actually been a good l'il boy like he wanted, I wouldn't be in this mess. At least, if nothin' else, I'd not have the chastity belt.

Yeah, this is going to be a fun day...