FSE

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Note from author:

It's been a half year or so since I posted anything, so I found myself in the mood to write a new story. Please note that this story features especially intense non-consensual sexual slavery. So if that's not what you're looking for, this is your opportunity to navigate away and to go find something else to enjoy. Or if you're in that odd minority of people who like to read content they don't enjoy and then post angry messages at the end of the story, have fun with that I guess? Haha...

( I kid, I kid. But there is always one or two people who do that. Weird but true! Even stranger, over half the people who have left angry, shitty comments under my stories have me Watched and have multiple other stories of mine Favorited. I just don't get it. For the rest of you mature and well-adjusted people out there, please enjoy this free content. )

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I've never seen his face. When he descends down the stairs into what I assume is a sound-proofed basement beneath his home, he's always wearing a full leather hood that's tied around his thick neck. The only reason I can deduce that he's middle-aged is from the gray hairs which streak his otherwise lustrous mahogany fur. He is a reindeer of shockingly large proportions and despite his age his muscles are large and fully on display because the only other articles of clothing he ever wears in my presence are the boots and the jockstrap.

Fighting back against him is pointless. Not only is the massive reindeer far stronger than me, my hands are permanently mitted in rounded gloves. Before his return, I tell myself that this time I will be brave. That I'll look him in his hooded, unseen eyes and glower back him, defiant. But as I hear the out-of-sight stairs creak beneath the weight of his mass, survival instincts take over and I start to quiver in fear and submission.

When he begins the process of opening the locked door that leads into his "playroom", I'm already begging. I can't help it. Jumbled, rushed words are pouring out of my mouth. To be honest, I'm not even paying attention to what I'm saying. Not that it matters. He never seems to care about what I say and pleading is never punished. Strangely, threats and insults are never punished either. It's as if the brute either enjoys these expressions of my desperation and my pathetic mewlings or, more likely, he can't even hear me.

If he is deaf, I suppose it doesn't change much for me or my circumstances with the exception that it means negotiation attempts really are futile. And I've spent enough weeks down here -- months, by this point surely -- that I know the reindeer doesn't come down into his playroom for tea and biscuits and polite conversation. The antlered man is here to use me in the most graphic ways imaginable.

Entering through the unbelievably sturdy metal door, the sight of him brings a fresh desperation into my begging. He typically only comes down to the basement once a day or so -- or at least, what I assume is once a day -- but while his attention is focused on me, a handful of hours can feel like an eternity. He closes the door behind him, trying the handle to confirm it's locked behind him. I've never seen him forget to double-check the door and it deepens my fear that I'll never escape this room. His jockstrap already looks slightly swollen in anticipation. A bad sign and an ominous omen of what's to come.

He stops in front of me, crossing his super-muscled arms. He's flexing intentionally as he does this. My captor knows his powerful frame scares me, and he enjoys watching me squirm as he poses to intimidate me. Then he grunts, the noise low, annoyed, and borderline bestial. I nearly piss myself at the sound. He's in a bad mood today, I can tell.

It takes me a moment to realize I've stopped begging. My voice has caught in my suddenly dry voice. I'm so scared of him, it's pathetic. He seems to sense this as his own breathing deepens as his jockstrap bulge twitches. He feeds off my terror and makes no effort to hide this fact. He snaps his fingers -- a startling loud noise in the otherwise quiet room -- and points down.

Not entirely understanding his meaning, I take a guess and fall to my knees, shoving the end of my muzzle against his leather jockstrap. I get to licking, worshiping his still dormant, hidden member. I use my mitted hands to rub his exposed thighs, feeling the shape and curves of his bulging muscles. Fuck, even the man's legs scare me. He has used them before to squeeze the air of me, his powerful thighs wraps around my stomach and back as he pulled them tighter, and tighter, and tighter still as I gasped for air. Every part of the man is scary.

He permits this oral worship of his leather-wrapped cock and balls for a moment, arms still crossed. Then he reaches down and slaps my face. Hard. Well, hard for me. For him, it's probably a love tap. From my perspective, it's like getting struck by a glancing blow from a truck's front bumper. My ears are ringing and my jaw creaks against my rattled skull.

I'm about to renew my begging when I see him pointing down again. This time I realize that he's pointing towards his feet. Apparently I had mostly the right idea. My captor wishes to be worshiped, but I'd misunderstood the desired target. The reindeer isn't pointing down at his cock but rather his boots.

Forcing myself back to my knees, I scurry to return to his tree-trunk thick legs and correct my earlier mistake, licking and kissing his leather boots with prideless abandon. His boots -- always immaculately cared for -- have a earthy, slightly bitter taste. On the whole, I suppose this wasn't too terrible but it wouldn't have mattered if they did taste foul or rotten. I'd of still prostrated myself upon them just the same.

The nameless giant must have found my efforts satisfactory, because he grunted again. The sound was still annoyed but this time there was also a subtle note of approval. Or perhaps that was my imagination? I knew from experience that the reindeer liked it best when I gave up any pretenses of pride or dignity. It turned him on to see me act like a pathetic, obedient animal. Fearful but eager to please. I risked a momentary glance upwards to see his increasingly bulging jockstrap. Yes, this pitiful display was definitely "doing it" for him.

A sense of relief washed over me. I needed to obey. Obeying was always the correct decision. Failure to obey was always punished. Always. I must always work hard to show him that I am doing my very best to obey. I lick his boots harder, using my full tongue so he'd know I was taking this task seriously. Every few seconds I switch to the other foot, not wanting the reindeer to feel that either of his boots were being ignored in favor of the other.

There are no clocks or windows in the soundproof basement so I couldn't tell you how long my tongue worked over the well-kept pair. But based on how my tongue and jaw began to ache, I'd guess my captor let me work at his feet for at least half an hour. And why wouldn't he? He enjoyed the sight of my frantic licking and it took no effort on his part to watch me debase myself.

Eventually he snaps his fingers again, this time commanding me to stop. I stop and look up at him. Since the man never speaks, I have to pay close attention to cues such as grunts, pointing, and the snapping of fingers. As I look up at his towering frame, I see his jockstrap again. It's noticeably grown and now appears to be barely holding back its swollen contents.

The thin leather stretches out lewdly as "master" (as I'd unintentionally began thinking of him) reaches down with one plate-sized hand to adjust the protruding pouch. He's looking down at me. The head-shrouding hood makes this hard to know this for sure, but I know. Time passes as we hold this equilibrium, looking at each other. My heart beats inside my chest as I try not to think too hard about what my captor might demand of me next.

The issue is, my master follows no predictable routine. I never know when he will come down the stairs to call upon my services. I don't even know what time it is now. Morning? Evening? Three AM at night? I haven't the foggiest. And when he does come through that big metal door, it's anyone's guess how he'll use me. I know next to nothing about the man -- not even what he looks like -- but I do know this. His tastes are as varied as they are deviant.

He must have noticed my anxious look of recognition because he chuckles darkly to himself, a sound closer to a gruff movement of air than any genuine sense of mirth. Then he reached out towards me. It took every ounce of my willpower not to pull away from his abusive touch. The only thing that prevents me from drawing away from his touch is the knowledge that such an act of defiance would instantly earn me a brutally punishing spanking -- his favorite method of discipline.

Master's spanking were to be avoided at all costs. They're terrible in a way that's difficult to properly convey. For when the reindeer spanks me, he seemingly does so without any care for my long-term well-being. As in, the man spanks me as if he's trying to break something deep inside of me. Phrased another way, when you're being spanked by the man it feels like you're dying. It's that bad.

Bent naked over his bare lap, his iron grip on my neck effortlessly holding me in place, his other hand comes down with the piston strength of a train. After the first swing, my ass is destroyed in pain. I'm shaking, screaming, vomiting, pissing myself, and yes, even trying to fight back. But it's no use. Spankings go on for as long as master wishes and I've never had a spanking that was less than twenty swats. As I said, master's spankings are to be avoided at all costs, no matter what it takes.

And so I don't pull away from his touch. I flinch, sure. I momentarily close my eyes in fear. But I do not pull away. I can't earn myself a spanking. No, no. I mustn't do that. Anything but that.

The reindeer doesn't seem to notice my inner turmoil. More likely, he doesn't care. Two of his fingers press into my mouth. I blink in surprise. This hadn't been what I'd been expecting but as I've mentioned, it's impossible to predict how the man plans to use me. His bare fingers (master never bothers with gloves) play around inside of my mouth. Feeling, touching, exploring. They rub on my gums and my teeth. Over my tongue and the roof of my mouth. The touch is neither playful nor kind. This is done with the level of compassion of a plumber checking a toilet for leaks.

If you're wondering why I don't bite down, you are an idiot. Not only would such an act earn me endless untold pain, there's are no short-term advantages to speak of. Besides, if I ever completely lost my senses and decided to bite master, there's far better targets of opportunity than a couple of fingers.

I should say, this isn't the first time master's fingers have probed my mouth. One day, some weeks(?) back, the reindeer spent a good part of the day intentionally inducing gagging, over and over and over again. He had ring-gagged me first, knowing that I wouldn't be able to overcome the instinct to bite down.

Holding my head steady between his powerful thighs, he worked his fingers hard and deep into my soft palate, causing me to gasp and gag and choke and heave. Then, after he grew bored of this after an hour or two, he began to use long, flexible "toys" so that he could begin to explore deeper into my throat. After that, it felt like I was dying but of course I wasn't actually at risk of death. Master wouldn't allow that.

What he was doing now wasn't nearly so bad as that last time. Not even close. Though, for all I know this is just the precursor for a more serious re-exploration of my throat and mouth cavity. You're probably assuming I hated this. And you'd be right, to an extent. But compared to many of the other ways master uses me, a bit of finger diddling is nothing. This? This is utterly vanilla, as far as the reindeer's tastes are concerned. I would happily suck on his fingers all day if that meant he'd go back up stairs without any further or more serious molestation.

But I'm not stupid nor naive. I remember the brute's bulging jockstrap. There's no way he goes back upstairs and until that's taken care of. This? What's happening right now? This is just foreplay. This is master whiling away time while he decides how he wants to get his rocks off. My mouth is just a fidget spinner for him. A time-wasting stress toy. All I can do is wait to learn what he decides. And while I wait, he fucks my mouth with his fingers.

That's really all I ever do, anymore. Wait to go to sleep. Wait for master to come down the stairs. Wait to learn how master plans to use me. Wait for master to cum, which can take hours with his herculean stamina and self-control. Wait for master to decide if I should be punished. Wait for master to decide he's done with me for the day. Then I wait to go to sleep and the cycle repeats itself.

The nameless, hooded reindeer has all the power here. That's how he likes it. Down here in this soundproofed basement, he's a god. My god. And like many other people's gods, he never talks to me. Never listens. He probably doesn't even hear me. I want to scream at the thought but the reindeers fingers are in my mouth so that's a very bad idea. So I'll wait to scream. After he's gone, back upstairs. I'll scream and scream and scream and then I'll wait.

Master's other hand touches my ass. I nearly jump out of my fur. I'd gotten lost in my own thoughts and had stopped paying attention. I'm just lucky I didn't bite down on the man's fingers. Spankings are the worst thing he's ever done to me but I'm sure he'd invent an even worse punishment were I stupid enough to bite him.

He has me stand up so that he has easier access to my holes. Now the reindeer is playing with my pre-cleaned and already lubed asshole. Stroking it. Tugging its edges via the friction of his touch. He's thinking about fucking me, I can tell. Or fisting me. Either would be brutal to take but at least his cock is made for fucking. When he fists me, I almost wish he'd spank me instead. Almost. But the spankings are the worst. The actual worst.

The truth is, master has the biggest cock I've ever seen. Aside from art and photo-manipulation, that is. The reindeer is bigger than porn stars. More in length than in girth, but he's plenty thick too. The first time he pulled it out, I assumed that it had to be some trick of the light. That this was some kind of sick prank. I certainly didn't think, 'Oh, that thing is about to go up my ass.' Well, I'd been wrong. That first day he forced me to the ground with ridiculous ease, then settled into position on top of me, shifted his erection so that its tip kissed my clenched hole, and pressed forward.

That was another occasion where I thought I was dying. It was probably the fiercest I'd ever fought back, too. Not yet fully appreciating my situation or understanding anything about the man who had drugged and kidnapped me. But my efforts did nothing. Meant nothing. I bucked and squirmed like a fish that the unbelievably hung reindeer had gutted on his fishing hook. But trapped between the unforgiving ground and master's rock-hard body mass, there was nowhere to go. So the man pressed in, in, in and I got fucked.

I can't say that his member is really all that much easier to take these days. It's true that I'm lubed and stretched these days and I more or less know what to expect. But master is just too big for the act to ever feel "normal." And so every fuck reminds me of the first. My hole on fire. Me struggling just to ride it out. To stay sane and mostly intact.

Fisting is worse, of course. But not that much worse, in comparison. It could be worse, obviously. If he decided to shove his entire arm up inside of me, for example. Which I'm sure would actually kill me. But mostly fisting is worse because of the psychological impact. Seeing the mighty arm of this anonymous greek god waiting just past my quivering, puckered hole is a head-fuck like you wouldn't believe. Master knows this -- and enjoys this -- so on the few instances he's actually fisted me he usually sets up a full-length mirror in advance, so that I have an unobscured view as my protesting hole dilated around the widest parts of his hand.

Master continues to play with my mouth and asshole as I stand there, a passive recipient. He doesn't expect me to resist and of course I don't. What would be the point? Despite his age, there's no chance I'd win in a physical contest. He's never had any trouble pinning me against a wall or the floor or wherever he wants me.

And even if I could best him or slip past him, there's that heavy metal door. I don't even know how master unlocks it. There's no keypad or fingerprint scanner or anything like that. Maybe there's a key fob? But the reindeer has no pockets. Just his boots, his jockstrap, and his hood. I've tried the door myself, naturally. I spend most of the day down here alone. I've never been punished for attempting to open the door and since there's not much to do down here, I've spent a great many hours trying to get the damn thing to open. If there are any hidden cameras down here, I'm guessing it amuses master to see my try.

So even if I defeated or killed the man (both sound equally impossible to my mind), all that would mean is that I would starve down here. Water isn't an issue because I've been given a single simple cup and a small faucet in the corner. But lack of food would quickly become an issue and if I didn't find some secret key fob on his person, all I'd have to look forward to is a slow, gruesome end. Death by starvation.

Down here, I am utterly helpless. I eat when master wants me to eat. I drink water because he permits it. I breath his air because he allows me to breath his air. I'm only alive because he finds me useful or entertaining. Because he has a purpose in mind for me. Because I am his defenseless, eager to please sex toy. And so I stand there as he fingers my holes, his big and throbbing jockstrap pressing against me.

Master never acts as though he's in a hurry. I get the sense that this is a form of relaxation for him. That abusing me is a recreational activity for him. While I am consistently on the edge of panic during his visits, this is how the reindeer unwinds after a long day. It's clear that it doesn't even occur to him to think about how I might feel about the situation. Aside from the fact that he clearly gets off on my humiliation and desperate obedience.

I've tried begging. I've tried explaining that this isn't fair or right. To tell him that I have a life and friends and people who are worried about me. I've tried talking to him and negotiating with him. He never responds. Master doesn't even punish me for this. It's as if my words don't even reach him. Which means he's either a uniquely special brand of psychopath or he is well and truly deaf and I'm wasting my time.

But what else is there to do? This is my life on pause. I can't read or study down here. I certainly don't have access to the internet. Zero forms of entertainment or ways to pass the time. Aside from the lighting and whatever dildos or other sex toys master brings down with him, there's not even any sort of technology to speak of. I can feel my mind beginning to slip. Not that the reindeer cares. It's not my mind that he fucks. At least, not in the physical sense.

So, yeah, I'd be begging right now if master didn't have his fingers most of the way to my throat. I'd be telling him what a good boy I'd be for him, if he'd only bring me a book. Any book. Any genre. I'd tell him that I'd do any dirty, sexy thing he wanted if he would only give me something constructive to spend my time on. Anything to take my mind off the endless waiting. And I'd mean it. I'd rim him so good if he'd just give me a freaking laptop with some single player games installed. I'd gargle his balls for a decades old magazine.

It shames me to think of what I'd be willing to do if he'd just give me the barest consideration or sliver of hope. But why would he? I already do everything he wants. I never fight back. Not in the way he cares about, anyway.

I tense as he slips a finger into my hole. Jeez, even his fingers are huge. What a complete monster this guy is. I barely have time to adjust to this before he slips a second one in -- and then spreads them apart. I groan into his fingers as he stretches my ass wide. With his fingers in my mouth he feels the vibrations of the groan. His jockstrap twitches and throbs against my chest. Master likes seeing me in distress.

The worst part is knowing how hard I would be without this stainless steel chastity cage gripping my cramped dick. I'm such a slut for master, I'm practically pushing back against his fingers. But not because he's such an accomplished lover or because that he's somehow made me fall in love with him. No, nothing like that. The asshole just never lets me cum.

Even worse, something like once or twice a week he'll tie me down to a table, remove the cage, and oh-so-carefully edge me for a couple hours. Or perhaps longer, it's hard to say. It's during these edging sessions that I beg and plead most shamelessly. When he teases me -- my arms, legs, and waist strapped securely against the polished metal table -- he works my shaft like a machine. Like a terminator, who's not interested in technique or finesse or anything like that. Instead, the reindeer is just looking to get me close to orgasm so he can pull back. At which point he watches me thrash and yell as tears of frustration run down my face.

He looks down at me through his leather hood like I'm an interesting insect on his dissection tray. Overcome with need, I say anything I can think of to convince him to take me over the edge. I tell him that he's incredibly handsome, though I have no idea if that's actually true. I tell him that he's strong and powerful and huge, all of which are beyond a doubt true. I tell him that if he'll just get me off, I'll be his obedient slave boy forever. That I'll love him forever. I tell him that he's my king. My god. My everything.

But while he's edging me -- carefully. methodically. -- he's not listening to a word I say. Not that he ever does. During these times I'm so sexually frustrated I feel like my balls could explode. When he sees my balls pull up or any other sign of impending climax he lays his hands down on the table, palms down. I scream and yell and threaten and beg as my cock throbs and leaks in need. Tears run down my face as I beg for release. For mercy. For anything other than more of this.

My captor doesn't react. He waits one minute. Two. Three. Maybe more. Then he carefully reaches out, takes my maddening erection back into his hands, and starts again. The process repeats over and over as drags this torture out for hours. These feather-light touches drive me insane. I try to buck my hips but the straps hold me down.

Asshole that he is, he's never once brought me to orgasm. The man edges me time and again until I feel myself going insane with pent up lust until he decides its time for me to go back into my cage. When I see him bring out the ice bag and the cage I scream myself hoarse. I'd rather die than be caged again. I'd rather be castrated or killed or fucked to death or literally anything other than have my months-denied member shoved back into its tiny steel prison.

But master doesn't care what I want. My cock isn't here for my pleasure. It's just another toy for him to enjoy like any other part of my body. My soul cracks and my sanity creaks as he maneuvers my ice-chilled shaft back into its pitiless prison. Sometimes he'll take a moment to cup my balls, as if judging the swollen pair's heft or need. But most of the time he's done paying attention to my genitals and it's time to move onto another game. Or he'll head back upstairs to do whatever the fuck he does up there when he's not down here torturing me.

I've tried to get myself off while caged. I've played with my balls. Fingered my ass. I've even pushed back against him while he's fucking me hard and deep. Nothing works. Maybe I'm just not one of those people who can get off like that. Or perhaps he puts something in my food that inhibits my ability to orgasm. All I know is that he's edged me at least twenty, thirties times and I'm broken. Shattered. I need to cum. I'd do anything to cum. But the reindeer -- pitiless god that he is -- doesn't care.

And so I gasp and push back against his touch as he fingers me. I don't want him to fuck me. It'll hurt and he's far too rough for me to find much pleasure in that act. At the same time, I'm desperate for it. I need him inside of me. I want him to breed me so hard that cum squirts of my caged rod. I don't care that this is unfair. That he's a terrible person who has done awful things to me. All I care about is that he fucks me until my prostate surrenders and my caged dick paints the floor with stored up cum.

I'm sucking his fingers now. I don't even realize I'm doing it at first. I'm so needy that it's that easy for me to slip into total slut mode. The reindeer likes it. He's playing with my tongue and it plays back. I bring my mitted hands down towards his bulge and begin to rub. It doesn't matter how big it is or how much it will hurt. This is what I want. What I need. I want him to fuck me silly. To fuck me so hard that I bleed.

Master pulls his fingers out of my mouth and slaps my face again. Hard. Once my head clears and the ringing begins to die down, I immediately understand where I messed up. Sex toys do not take the initiative. Sex toys don't take control or have agency. Sex toys are passive. Sex toys are placed into position and used.

I'm lucky that the brute didn't decide to spank me. My wanton need must have amused him. Or maybe he just wasn't in the mood to brutalize my ass. It's difficult to know for sure. The leather hood hides any expression he might be making. I don't bother apologizing. Master isn't interested in apologies. Remembering my place, I stand there and wait. I wait for whatever comes next. Whatever the man decides.

I stand there for a time, face hurting but emotionally numb. The reindeer watches me, looking to see if further correction is required. I wait. He waits. I glance towards his jockstrap before returning my gaze back towards the wall. He's still hard but not nearly as much as he was while he was fingering my holes.

This is bad. If master is losing interest in the idea of fucking me then that means he's more likely to --

My world becomes blinding pain as master brings his mighty thigh up between my legs, pancaking my testicles. I begin to tip over in pain but the man takes hold of my shoulders and steadies me. I let out an unsteady wail as the tidal wave of pain begins to catch up to me.

Master's idea of fun doesn't typically involved outright torture like this, but it does happen from time to time. I fucked up when I tried to encourage him to breed me and now he was going to remind me of my place. I take a series of long breathes through clenched teeth as I try my best to prepare myself for the next blow. The reindeer never stops at just one strike.

Snapping his fingers at me, he gestures at me to spread my legs. Then he motions at me to place my hands behind my head. He wants me defenseless. Even as I beg, I move as instructed. Unquestioning, reflexive obedience has been drilled into me by this point. If he wants to abuse my overfull sack, I can't stop him. Attempting to do so will only make things worse.

Trembling legs spread, quivering arms raised, I shake my head as I plead for mercy. I'm still pleading for mercy as he winds up for a kick, bringing his leg back, thigh muscles clenching. The world moves in slow motion as I watch as his black boot sail through the air. This is going to be bad. I'm too scared to move.

My last thought before the impact is that maybe he'll pull his "punch". After all, he doesn't want to risk castrating me, right? No. Wrong. The impact squashes my gonads against the base of my groin. Neither of my balls rupture but that's probably more due to luck than any self-restraint on the reindeer's part.

This time I do fall over. There's no helping it. My entire body is a single big nerve that's shooting non-stop jolts of agony. I'm barely able to force myself to breath.

Once again I'm reminded that this man has no limits. I was stupid to make a move without being instructed to. It doesn't matter that he's the one in the wrong here, morally speaking. If I hadn't of broken the rules, I wouldn't be laying on the ground wondering if both of my testicles were still intact. I must obey. I must always obey.

Master is standing over me now. His jockstrap has been removed and he's jerking himself off, enjoying the shocked look of bitter regret and self-reprisal on my face. Even as he masturbates over me I can tell he's waiting for something. I force my shell-shocked mind to think. What is he looking for? What do I need to do to save myself?

Then I realize what he wants. Unable to stand and still laying prone on the ground, I spread my legs and cup my bound hands behind my head as I look up at him. I know that a third strike would be the end of my balls but the only chance for this outcome is if I signal my complete and utter surrender. To save my balls I must offer them up for castration.

An eternity passes as he looks down at me, considering. He's still stroking himself, perhaps enjoying the thought of my permanent emasculation. Every second is one of painful, slow recovery for me. I wonder if I'm seconds away from losing my balls. At least the horrible edgings would stop then, right? But I can't make myself feel happy about that silver lining.

Finally he nods, as though to himself. Balls swelling, I sob in relief. He lifts his boot and presses it against my face. It's the same boot that came close to destroying my sack. Pathetic thing that I am, I lick the bottom of his shoe in a further display of surrender. He shifts more of his weight onto this boot and I feel my skull creak against the compounding pressure. I keep licking.

Master is really letting me have it today. He's in a foul mood and he's taking it out on me. But there's no one I can complain to about it and nothing I can do. I have no choice but to endure. He hasn't been this rough on me since my first week down in the basement. Back then he would choke me out on his massive cock over and over and over until I began to worry about brain damage due to repeated asphyxiation.

I must be acting too entitled. Too much like a free person, for his taste. The lesson I'd learned during the second or third week of my captivity was that the man expected me to behave as an unthinking sex toy. I existed to help him get off and had no other purpose or value to him. Shell shocked and in operating in some state of disbelief, it was "easy" to just do as I was told.

But lately I'd been recovering somewhat. Returning more and more to my former entitled self. This was a mistake. A mistake that was going to get me killed, or worse. I couldn't allow myself to think of myself as a person. I was a sex toy. Master's sex toy. That's all I was. I move how he tells me to move. Do what he tells me to do. I am not spoken to. I am non-verbally instructed. Commanded.

A forbidden contradictory voice speaks up inside my head. Didn't I want to be free? Wasn't I suppose to be thinking of ways to escape? Didn't I want to get out of here and finish college? Didn't I ever want to cum again? To take my own erection in hand and blow my load whenever and however I wanted?

Just as master stepped on my face, I pushed that thought down. Down, down, down and away. It was a dangerous thought. A bad thought. That thought was going to get my balls turned into pulverized jelly. I was a toy. I didn't need to cum. Master was perfectly within his rights to tease and edge me. I needed to get over my arrogance and give in. I had to embrace the role master had given me. I was a sex toy. I was only that and nothing else. Only master's pleasure matters.

Upon having this epiphany my captor's boot lifted off my face. I smiled up at him. Initially I had only intended to fake my the appearance of happiness but to my surprise I found that the smile was genuine. Everything would be so much easier now that I realized what I was. The only reason my time here had been so painful and distressing was that I'd been fighting back against it this whole time.

Master didn't seem to notice or care about my self discovery. He strode off, went to fetch something, then came back with a ring gag. My mouth was already open and waiting as he leaned down to strap it into my muzzle. I immediately noticed it was the extra-wide ring gag.

This signaled that master was getting ready to fuck my throat. I was fine with this. My body is just a toy for master to use, I realize that now. It was silly to try to convince myself that I was anything more.

Master lifts me up by head fur and I make my legs work to keep my neck from breaking under my own weight. He's escorting me towards the edging table but that's not the furniture's only purpose. It can also be used to tie me down in such a way that my head hangs off the edge of the table, granting the reindeer an unobstructed passage down my throat. The man plans on pummeling my face.

I don't resist, blinking away tears pain as my balls continue to pulse and swell. I know what's going to happen next and I'm glad for it. Master deserves to cum. I don't know much about him and we've never spoken but he's trained me for this and I'm ready. My throat is his to use as he sees fit.

I smile up at him around my gag as he finishes strapping me in. He doesn't even look down at my head. After getting me locked down, he pauses a moment to examine my bruised balls. Seeing that they're both still intact, he grunts softly in satisfaction.

Then he's at my face. Rather, his cock is. There's no reason for him to delay and he doesn't. He mounts up and gets to work. A couple seconds later an absurd amount of reindeer cock is shoved into and down my throat. Master doesn't believe in half-measures and since there's no resistance baring his path he shoves his hips forward until he bottoms out, his thick balls slapping against my nose.

I spasm against the table and padded cuffs. I can't help it, my body moves on its own accord. My throat feels like it's about to split open and I'm entirely unable to breathe. Master doesn't move, enjoying the sensation of my quivering throat upon his shower-clean but musky tool. He places a hand upon my throat and strokes himself through my neck. Still unable to breathe, I begin to panic. That is, until I remind myself that I am master's toy. I will be allowed air when he wants me to have it and not before.

Fifteen seconds or so later master partially withdraws and I take in a shuddering breath. Which cuts off into a heaving choke as he shoves himself right back in. My captor is so thick it feels like he's fisting my throat. Every time he's taken me in this way I've worried that I might die. And I still think that's a real possibility but I no longer think of it as the outrageous injustice I once did. If master kills me with his dick -- intentional or otherwise -- it's neither just or unjust. It simply is. Sometimes toys break. Master might regret it if he accidently broke me but I know for sure that he would shed no tears for me.

I begin to go lightheaded but I soon have another chance to take in air as master partially pulls out and pauses a moment to slap my face around a few times. The pain is nothing like what he did minutes before to my balls and I appreciate the opportunity to catch my breath. Then he gets back to it and the throat fuck begins in earnest.

Taking it up the ass is easier than taking it down my throat, but my opinion on the topic is immaterial. In a way, it's sort of a honor that such a big, strong man would use someone as pathetic as me to get off. I try to focus on this as I fight to stay conscious. I don't believe for a moment that master would stop fucking my face just because I passed out. In fact, passing out sounds like a fast way to get myself killed. So I work hard to find split seconds where I can gasp in fresh air.

It's tricky because the nameless man is in no hurry to cum. It does help a little that he begins to settle into something of a rhythm. Strapped down as I am I have no control and am completely at his mercy, but that's nothing new. But for the first time a thought occurs to me. That I want this to be good for him. That I hope my tight, struggling throat was bringing him pleasure. It sure seemed to be, based on the grunts and other noises coming from up above my head. Based on those sounds he's really getting off on fucking my throat.

The minutes drag on and I come close to passing out a couple of times. I try to stay strong and resilient for master but it's hard. I'm too weak and pathetic. He was right to tie me down. If he didn't, I probably wouldn't have been able to stop myself from trying to push him away. And that would have earned me a spanking for sure.

When he eventually cums twenty or thirty minutes later, I'm caught off guard because all my dwindling focus is spent on trying to stay awake. The pearly river of cum gushes down my throat, into my mouth, and out my nose. Master always cums a lot but today there's even more than normal. I swallow as efficiently as I can but there's so much.

I'm gasping by the time it stops. With master's plump cockhead resting just inside my mouth I'm tempted to lick it but I realize that's a bad idea. Sex toys aren't proactive. Sex toys don't think for themselves. If he had wanted me to tongue his post-orgasm sensitive tip, he'd of let me know.

We stayed like that for a while. I'm not really sure what was happening during that time with my vision blocked by him standing at my head. Master was probably just catching his breath or gathering his thoughts. I wonder if he's playing with his phone for a moment but then remember that he never brings his phone down into the playroom.

I suppose what he's doing doesn't really matter. For my part, I was fairly confident that I was doing the right thing because he wasn't hurting me. I mean, I know sometimes I do the right thing and the reindeer hurts me anyway, but there's a difference between master-is-having-fun pain and punishment pain. Punishment pain is the sort of thing that will get my balls destroyed or my ass spanked and is to be avoided at all costs.

For me, this was a strange mental place. On the one hand, I was more than ready for this to be over. I'd been punished -- repeatedly -- brutally fucked and very nearly castrated. But at the same time, when this was over master would go back upstairs and then I'd be left here for, what, about a full day? Nothing to do, no one to talk to, just waiting for master to come back.

A depressing thought but also a sobering one. This, right here, was as good as things would get for me. Dreaming about escape was pointless. I would never get out of this basement. Hoping for books or conversation or entertainment was equally stupid. My captor had drilled into me what I was -- a sex toy -- and sex toys don't read books. A man like master certainly wouldn't talk to one of his sex toys. This was the best I could hope for. Being used. Played with. The temporary cessation of complete boredom.

So when master pulled out of my mouth to go around to my other side and began rough-fucking me in my ass as a follow-up act, despite the surprise and discomfort I was happy. Glad, even. Sure it hurt. He was hung like a beast, of course it hurt. But it felt good to be used. Even as he began repeatedly slapping my face as he pounded his meat into me, it felt good. Not physically, of course. It sucked to get slapped over and over while I felt like I was getting split down the middle by his massive cock. But emotionally. I felt like I had value. I was a sex toy getting put to use.

Besides, master wasn't slapping me all that hard, I observed. It was more like a... stage slap? His unbelievably endowed shaft was causing me far more discomfort than the lazy open-hand blows to my face. The strikes made my eyes water, sure, but so did most of the things the giant did to me. Maybe this was akin to some form of cuddling for him? Affection and appreciation, delivered by way of swing of the arm. Probably not, but it was a nice thought for a second or two.

That's when it all clicked into place. The months of edging. The fucking. The face slapping. The whole situation. My ball pain. The huge unfairness of it all. As if through some unholy alchemy, all my aches and shame and discomfort transformed into pleasure as master continued to rough-fuck me. I couldn't say how I was doing it but I took all that "bad" and made it work for me. Getting fucked like this was hot. My mouth and throat drenched in his cum was hot. Getting my face slapped was hot. Being helpless was hot. Being this irredeemably pathetic was hot.

My balls began to churn, but this time in pleasure rather than pain. A switch flipped in my head and I was "in the zone." Everything that was happening was working for me. I moaned long and low through the ring gag. He chose that moment to fuck me extra deep and my moan transformed into inarticulate words as I yelled, "Oh yeah! Fuck me! Fuck your bitch hard, daddy!" I was on the edge of cumming. I wished that he'd slap me again. Anything to push me over. His palm impacting the side of my face, Master obliged.

In that moment of perfect rightness, I began to cum despite my chastity cage. It probably didn't feel as good as it would have had I been erect and stroking myself off. Plus, my reddened, swollen balls did hurt from earlier blows. But it was still the first bit of real pleasure I'd experienced since I woke up in master's basement. I spasmed in pleasure in my padded bonds as I made a sticky mess all over my stomach.

Master, for his part, didn't change a thing about what he was doing. It didn't seem to matter to him whether I came or not. He went on fucking me just as deep and just as hard. He continued to slap me just as casually and at the same relaxed cadence. He didn't react or respond as I blasted repeated shots of pent up jism. And after all those edging sessions, there was a lot.

The reindeer simply didn't care. Because this wasn't about me. Nothing that happened in this room was about me. And since my cumming didn't add to or subtract from his pleasure, and because it wasn't something I had brought about through my own agency or choice, it was beneath his notice. Me cumming wasn't an act of rebellion or me trying to rise above my lowly station. It was just the natural outcome of him slamming his too-thick meat against my prostate.

That's how I figured he reasoned it, that is. I'd of loved to have asked the man about it one day but as I was spasming in orgasm it suddenly seemed silly -- funny even -- that the man would bother talking to me, his live-in sex toy. What would a tool have to say that would be remotely interesting? Would you ask your dildo its opinion on the weather? Your prostate massager its thoughts on the current political environment? Would you explain to your fleshlight how long and how hard you planned to use it, before shoving your dick in? Of course you wouldn't. And neither would master.

That's when I realized that I would never fuck again. Never as the active participant anyway. Sex toys don't pop out of the drawer or turn themselves on for their own pleasure. Sex toys don't pair up and penetrate each other. In the same vein, I wouldn't be allowed to jerk off or even cum while erect. People jerk off. People have sex. I was a thing. A toy. An object.

As my amazing and long-sought orgasm tapered off, for the first time in my life I experienced what it felt like to be truly free. From now on, I wouldn't have to worry about anything. Not what I ate or drank or did or thought or even when I'd get to cum next. Taxes? Birthday parties? School? Work and dating? None of those things mattered anymore. Master was in control and he'd do all the thinking for me from now on. All of the deciding. The less I tried to interfere with master's intentions and plans, the smoother things would go. Certainly the better my ass would feel.

I smiled around the ring-gag, happy for the first time in a long time. Even master's hand slapping my face couldn't bring me down. Cheek throbbing, ears ringing, balls aching, I let myself relax and live in the moment. As I lay there sighing contentedly, I became the man's passive, all-accepting sex toy.

I didn't really know my master. Not his name or his face or even the sound of his voice. But there was one thing I did know. I was his. Then I groaned in real pleasure as I felt him cum for the second time. As he shot his load I felt him thrust so deeply into me that I half expected to feel his cock press into my throat from the opposite direction.

Master really is a Grade A sex machine. I've always been resentful of his endless stamina and boundless energy reserves, but I can admit it to myself now. The reindeer is hot. Sexy, even. He's a total, savage brute but I can finally confess to myself that his raw displays of power turn me on. Seeing him flex makes my imprisoned little dicklet squirm and throb in its cage. I love that he doesn't even bother to pull out, using my helpless body as if it were little more than a convenient dick holster. Unlike me, master is a real man and so he gets to grow erect and fuck and cum.

As I watch the hooded middle-aged man catch his breath, I idly wonder how he would use me next. Would he edge and tease my freshly spent cock? Would he fit me with a rebreather mask and watch me thrash in panic as he denied me air? Would he make me give him a full-body tongue bath now that he'd worked up a sweat?

I would be fine with any of this. Whatever he decided was fine. I invite his use of me. Anything he wants, so long as he stays down here with me. I hate being alone. I hate the silence and the boredom. I hate that the lights are always on and that I never know what time of day it is. I want master to use me. To fuck me. To tease me. To hurt me. To shame and humiliate me. I want the reindeer to show me just how low I can be brought. To mold me into the ideal object for his use.

I know my purpose now and despite being bound and bruised, I'm finally free. I'm my hung master's sex toy and that's all I ever need to be. I am free.

=================

A few months later, the large reindeer named John sat at an upscale bar with two of his coworkers. He drank and laughed with them, but drank more reservedly than the two females, one a cheetah named Sarah and the other a sheep named Olivia.

The group had all worked at the same financial firm for years and going out to drink once a month to relax and commiserate had been a longstanding tradition of theirs.

"John, I swear you're bigger each time I see you!" Sarah teased, having just returned to the table with a fresh set of drinks. "I didn't even know they grew reindeer that big!"

"You know what they say, Sarah," the big man countered, mischievous eyes sparkling. "It only takes a few drinks at the bar for all the men to start looking bigger. It's only in the morning that you find out the truth!"

The trio broke out into gales of laughter at the retort, their loud but private conversation remaining intimitate due to the noisy environment caused by the rest of the bar's patrons.

Not quite as outspoke as her other two work friends, a thought occurred to Olivia and she decided to voice it.

"John, you never talk about yourself. Are you dating anyone?"

Before the reindeer could respond the cheetah cut in with, "You mean to ask if he's fucking anyone!"

Olivia blushed and waved her arms before her saying, "No! Not at all! But you're right, the question is rude. He's not obligated to share. Sorry, John!"

Ever the gentleman, John reached out and patted the sheep's hand.

"It's a perfectly reasonable question, Olivia. And, well, the truth is there has been one guy that I've been spending some time with. Though, it's not exactly what you'd call a traditional relationship."

Sarah feigned shock.

"One-night-stand John is actually seeing someone? Multiple dates in a row? Isn't this supposed to be one of the signs of the apocalypse?"

Her dramatic reaction made the reindeer chuckle and the more demure sheep chortle behind her palm.

But then the cheetah continue on to say, "Oh. My. God! You have got to tell us everything. Is he cute? Is he big, like you?"

"Sorry, Sarah! You know how private I am about my love life. Besides, it's not really the sort of relationship you tell mother about, if you catch my meaning."

"Oh. Oh! Yeah, you two are sooooo fucking. Bagged yourself a naughty boy, have you?"

"Sarah!" Olivia chided, half-serious but also half-joking.

"I mean it as a compliment!" Sarah replied. "That's great. I'm glad you have someone in your life, John."

"Thanks, Sarah. Me too," John said, smiling and looking only slightly self-conscious at being put on the spot like this. "And yeah, it's been really great to have something to focus on besides work. Not everything is about making money, you know?"

"Very true," the sheep said, nodding emphatically. "But to that point, you have to tell us about him. Now that you've piqued our curiosity."

"Well, maybe one day," the reindeer answer, trying his best to side-step the topic.

"Pleeeeeease? Pretty please?" Sarah whined, slurring only ever so slightly due to the evening's imbibing. "Tell us something! Anything! Just one thing."

John gave a long-suffering sigh in an exaggerated response but he gave his usual good-natured smile and continued.

"Well, he's wonderful at relieving tension. He gives great...," the reindeer paused, and glanced around in a conspiratorial fashion. "...Massages." This last word was said with a knowing wink.

"Oh. My. God!" Sarah repeated. "I know what that means! You're so dirty!"

The three break out into a fresh round of laughter, each pausing to take another drink from the assorted cocktails.

With a sly grin, Sarah drummed the faux wood table with her fingers. "So, am I hearing wedding bells in the distance?"

"Hmmm. Probably not. It hasn't really come up in conversation. I don't think either of us the marrying type."

"And he's not intimidated by your size?" the cheetah pressed, not willing to give up the game while she was learning such juicy gossip, straight from the source.

"Sarah! Rude!" the sheep critiqued, this time sounding more genuinely critical than before.

"What? I'm just talking honestly here. Being a tall girl myself, I know from experience that some guys don't like to date people taller than themselves. And John is as big as they come!"

"Are you referring to my body, or something else?" John replied, overtly suggestively. Perhaps he was feeling the effects of his drink more than he'd expected.

The three coworkers laugh uproariously at the bold reply and Olivia seems relieved that Sarah had not unintentionally ruined the evenings fun.

"Either! Both!" the cheetah shot back when she could get her laughter under control.

Speaking slowly, as if picking his words carefully, John said, "He makes do. He was a bit reluctant at first but I helped him through it. It helps that I'm an experienced hand at being the larger guy in a relationship."

"Typical John. So loving and supportive," Olivia said, patting the top of his hand approvingly. "You're a really great guy and he's lucky to have you."

Sarah, for her part, wasn't done try to get further answers.

"Any chance I've run into this mysterious lover before?"

"I doubt it. You two run in different social circles. Besides, he doesn't get out much these days. Hell, neither do I, I'm so busy with work."

"Different social circle?" the cheetah asked herself. "Ahh. He's a young boy-toy, in other words. How scandalous! Robbing the cradle much? He must be something special, though. I never see you date."

The reindeer paused to think and gather his thoughts for a moment, before talking more on the subject.

"He has his qualities, that's for sure. Mostly, I just feel like I can be myself around him. With him, I can just turn off my hearing implant and let him see the real me. I can spend hours with him, just being myself. No excuses. No apologies. It's really freeing in a way that's difficult to describe."

The way the man spoke, it was though he was describing a treasure beyond compare. He sounded like a man who knew just how lucky he was.

"Wow. That's amazing. Where can I find a guy like that!" Olivia said, her heart fluttering as her imagination ran away with romance-book-like notions.

"Maybe try the local bus stop?" the tall reindeer suggested, his tone perhaps a bit too casual. "They have all sorts of guys. Even a few stragglers during the lonely AM hours. I bet some of them are really cute."

The sheep looked aghast at the suggestion. Seeing her reaction, John's jaw clenched shut as if he'd only just realized he'd said something he shouldn't have.

"Yikes, don't even joke about that! Did you see that story in the news? About the guy who disappeared on his way home from work? The bus got delayed and when it finally arrived at his stop, he was nowhere to be found. The man hasn't been seen since. Really creepy stuff!"

There was a brief moment of awkward silence at the table but thankfully Sarah came to the rescue just a few seconds later.

"Pity, too. From the photo in the news, that guy was a real looker."

There was another pause, then all three coworkers broke into peals of laughter.

"Sarah! You are being SO terrible tonight!" Olivia accused. "I can't even with you!" But she was still laughing even as she said this.

Smiling at his two friends, John stood up and finished off his drink in a final long gulp.

"And on that note, I'll be heading off for the evening, ladies. Before I put my foot even further into my mouth. Thank you two for the lovely time."

"Ahh, so soon? And we were just getting to the fun stuff," Sarah half-pouted. "Well, have fun with your new boy-toy!"

Before heading out, John gave his two friends a brief hug and said, "I always do," with an impish grin before heading off.

As he walked the two blocks over towards the downtown parking lot he'd left his car at, the reindeer checked his expensive watch. The hour was late and he needed to get up early in the morning for a presentation at work, but if he hurried home he should have just enough time to visit his downstairs "roommate" and --

John's rapid gait slowed as he caught sight of a lone rabbit who was reading a book under the lonely artificial light of the otherwise abandoned bus stop. The sight of the man -- hardly more than a boy, really -- took the reindeer's breath away. The youth was devastatingly handsome and even from this distance John could tell that his fur was soft and fine.

The man felt a familiar dark need rise up within him. The need to own. To posses. To conquer and claim. To use and train. To seed and breed. To break and mold. To control utterly and completely. Already he was imagining using his sturdy boots to kick the boy's bare feet apart as he lined his cock up, pushing his hips forward and --

The reindeer forced himself to keep walking towards his car.

"It's your lucky night, handsome -- I've already got a boy back home. Can't say I'm not tempted, though. Sorely tempted, really. But... Perhaps in another life, sexy."

Locating his car within the lot, the reindeer gets in and buckles himself as he tries to take his mind off the beautiful, oblivious boy at the bus stop. He tries to think about the toy he already has at home. About how good it will feel to fuck the boy so hard that the lad's teeth rattle. He tries to convince himself that if he's in the mood for something "special" he could always use less lube tonight to really make the toy feel each and every inch he was given.

John tries to direct his car back towards his house which resides on the other side of town. He really does. But, unable to help himself and overcome with indescribable need, the reindeer finds himself driving towards that lonely bus stop.

The man knew this was stupid. Risky. Self-indulgent in the extreme. He understood that what he was about to do couldn't reasonably be justified -- even by his own standards. But he couldn't stop himself. Already he was imagining the confused rabbit looking up at his booted form from his place on the basement floor, the scared boy's eyes darting back and forth between intimidating leather hood and well-stretched jockstrap.

Rolling down the passenger-side window as he slowed to a stop beside the bus stop, John put on his best winning smile and said, "Hey there, handsome. Need a ride?"

Looking up from his book in surprise, the rabbit blinked as he realized that someone was talking to him. The young man closed the book but kept one his fingers between the pages to mark his place.

"Oh. Ummm. I guess that I must have missed the last bus. Ummm, it's fine. I can just call a ride-share and --"

"No need," the reindeer said, unlatching the door and pushing it open. "Get in, I'll give you a lift. I work in this area and just wrapped up my shift."

The rabbit's face broke into a big smile.

"Wow, thanks mister! I'm new to the city and I guess it's still easy for me to lose track of transportation schedules. You're sure it's no problem?"

"Not at all," the man said, already palming the needle that he kept hidden the car's center console. Part paralytic and part memory blocker, it contained a potent mix of fast-acting compounds. "It would be my pleasure. Hop in."

Once inside the car, the rabbit really looked at the man for the first time and, unable to help himself, exclaimed, "Oh, wow, you're really big!"

Still smiling, John took the boy's left hand in his, brought it over to his crotch, and then gently but insistently closed the boy's fingers around his massive, throbbing shaft.

"I know. But don't worry. You'll learn to handle it. You can trust me on that."

The stunned rabbit didn't know what to do or say as he felt the biggest cock he'd ever come across enthusiastically respond to his involuntary touch. It felt warm under his hand. Alive. Demanding. And somehow dangerous. This whole situation was dangerous he realized, too late. Then he lost the opportunity to say or do anything more as a thin needle slid through the fabric of his pants and into his thigh.

Stunned, confused, and soon unable to move, the boy could only watch as his phone was plucked out of his pocket, turned off, and his limp body was maneuvered into the passenger-side footwell -- hidden away from prying eyes and traffic cameras.

Less than thirty seconds from when the rabbit had stepped into the car, John was humming along to the radio as he sped down the otherwise empty street. He suddenly found himself in a tremendous mood. This had been risky, true. But he knew from experience that big risks could come with big rewards.

He'd been thinking about getting his current boy a "playmate" for a while now but hadn't been able to justify taking the chance. But tonight this lovely prize had practically fallen into his lap. He couldn't wait to introduce the two of them and to begin their joint training in how to provide collaborative service. They'd soon learn that individual failure or lack of enthusiasm would automatically result in shared punishment. John had never spanked two asses at the same time before but he was looking forward to mastering the technique.

It occurred to him that this might call for special furniture so that he didn't have to hold them down and so they could look each other in the eyes as he reddened their shapely young asses. Or maybe he'd have them pointing in the same direction, but set up a mirror in front of the spanking bench? Plus, the furniture could double as a fisting frame. The reindeer decided he'd have to put some thought in the pros and cons of various options.

The reindeer's foot pressed down on the gas pedal as he imagined two sets of eager-to-please lips working his swollen arousal in tandem. He'd teach them to do everything together. Service him together. Worship him together. Swallow and lap up his cum together.

And weep and beg together too as he teased and edged their little needy dicks for hours on end, the two of them looking up at him from their twin tables as he held a twitching member in each hand. Not that he'd ever hear their begging with his hearing implant turned off. But it would be fun to watch their "loud" desperate expressions as their frantic pleas to cum fell on literally deaf ears. Expressions that would only get louder as he brought out the ice packs and prepared their months-denied pricks to go back in their tight, unforgiving cages.

There was just something so sublimely special and unique about a boy's slowly dawning realization that their tender penis was now nothing more than another tool for breaking their will. John had seen it in the first boy's eyes when he'd begun to suspect the truth. That his days of masturbation -- Of fucking. Of getting off. Of cumming real orgasms. -- were over. That he'd never experience real sexual satisfaction again. That even squirting while caged wouldn't take the edge of his horrible, ever-present need. That the only cock that mattered was his master's and that he would spend the rest of his desperate, blue-balled life doing his absolute-very-best to satisfy the pole that dominated his life. No matter how uncomfortable or humiliating it was.

Glancing down at the collapsed, softly mumbling rabbit out of the corner of his eye, John decided he'd take tomorrow off after all. He worked too hard not to indulge himself now and then. During his career he'd learned how important first impressions were and he thought it only fair that his new boy understand the reality of his situation, right from the start. Maybe he'd demonstrate for the rabbit some of his favorite ways to use his other boy, to really show the new toy what he was in for.

Plus, the first boy had been so compliant and obedient as of late, it felt proper to reward him with a "friend". And while there was no chance that the two youths would ever be allowed to converse with or "get to know" one another, it would do the boy good to have some companionship during the long hours when the reindeer was otherwise occupied.

Besides, it would be cute to watch through hidden cameras as the two bound boys rubbed their chastised nubs up against each other as they waited anxiously for whatever came next. Kissing each other. Humping each other. Comforting each other. Always lustful. Never satisfied. Both of them needing and fearing their hooded master's return.

Yes, with a little time and effort the rabbit would fit in perfectly John thought to himself as raced down the highway. Below the wheel his strong hand rubbed up and down the length of his straining but soon-to-be-freed bulge. The reindeer knew that by the time he slipped into his soft bed later that night that his fierce and rising needs would be well satisfied.