I awake in agony, as always, as the TENS unit sends an electrical current coursing through the electrodes attached to my scrotum via croc clips. I muffle the scream as much as I can, knowing what will happen if I wake my Master or Mistress. A strangled gasp does escape, but this is absorbed by the penis gag which fills my mouth.

After twenty seconds the TENS unit shuts off, and I struggle to squirm onto my knees and lever myself up. Moving is not easy; a bondage cuff encases my arms in shiny black leather from wrist to elbow, pulling them back sharply so that the elbows are only a few inches apart. My ankles are also encased in leather cuffs, these held eighteen inches apart by a shiny steel a spreader bar. Nevertheless, I quickly work my way into a standing position and shuffle into the bathroom. When my new life began the bondage my Owners placed me in for the night had provoked agonised spasms in my shoulders jaws, and to a lesser extent my knees and hips, but by now the feeling is merely very uncomfortable.

I get the plug into the bath by sitting on the edge and leaning over backwards, and as usual I nearly tumble into the huge metal tub in the process. Once I have the taps on I add some bath scent and wait until it is at just the right level before turning the taps off again. Once I had fallen into the water at this point and almost drowned; Master had punished me most severely.

I shuffle back into the bedroom and kneel beside the bed before beginning to gently nudge Master's arm. After a few moments he stirs and wakes, smiling to see my gagged face staring at him. I stand again and go back into the bathroom, where I lie down and roll over onto my back. Master comes in and stands over my feet, stretching. He has an early-morning erection and grunts with the effort of forcing himself to go, but after a moment a thin stream of piss jets from his cock head, splashing over my torso. Master shifts his pelvis, waving the stream around to make sure he coats me liberally, then shuffles a step forward and sends the last of the stream into my face. I am glad that he chose a penis gag for me list night - the ball gag tends to let a little of the morning stream creep in around the edges.

On this particular morning Master decides that a piss is sufficient, and indicates that I should turn around. He unfastens and removes the cuffs. He allows me no time to work my shoulders - I quickly bend over and grasp my ankles, careful to keep my legs straight. The spreader bar forcing my legs apart brings my head down almost to floor level, but by glancing up I have a good view of the metal chastity cage which is clamped around my cock and balls, making any form of erection impossible.

Sometimes Master will choose to use my arsehole in the mornings, sometimes not. This morning his erection did not diminish at all after taking a piss, a clear sign that he is feeling horny. When he squirts some lube around my anus I know it's time for my first rape of the day.

His cock head butts up against my sphincter, which spreads easily for the intrusion. I have never measured Master's cock, but I know that it is much larger than my own - my guess is that it's about eight and a half inches long and two inches in diameter at the shaft, a little broader at the head. The first time he raped me the pain had been incredible, and a shocking amount of blood had dripped out afterwards, intermingled with his thick semen. Not that that had stopped him from taking me again twice more that night, of course.

By now my sphincter has reached a point where it can accommodate a prick of this size without trouble, but I still wince as he pushes home. He is in no mood to take his time, and rams his cock into me with quick, deep thrusts that quickly send him over the edge. He lets the first couple of spurts go up my arsehole then withdraws so that the third spatters come over my now gaping sphincter. Once he withdraws I turn, kneeling to plant a kiss on each foot to express the proper gratitude and respect.

He settles down for his bath and I shampoo his hair and then apply conditioner. Then he stands as I put on a pair of sponge gloves which I lather up and use to carefully clean his entire body. I rinse him off and he lies back down in the bath for a soak while I return to the bedroom.

Mistress is still sleeping on her side of the bed, for which I am grateful - like Master, if she is woken for any reason before the right time she will blame me, and that would lead to a punishment session. I gently shake her awake, bowing my head so as not to look her in the eye as she awakes. Mistress considers it a sign of defiance for me to look her directly in the eye, and to be honest I am always made a little uncomfortable by that piercing gaze anyway.

Mistress's morning routine is similar to Master's, but with a few key differences. Like him she uses me as her toilet, but she generally straddles my head and squats, spraying her entire load on my face. I scramble up and clean her pussy with my tongue, which as usual goes on until she climaxes.

Unfortunately my luck doesn't hold, and she next steps to the toilet to take a dump. I kneel by her side until she is finished, and then clean her anus carefully with my tongue. This is something Mistress is especially keen on, and any hesitation on my part is always punished most severely.

As I finish cleaning Mistress's arse, I hear Master rising from the bath. I rush to dry him as Mistress settles into the water, then repeat the whole washing and cleaning process with her while he dresses.

While Mistress dresses, I have about fifteen minutes to clean up the piss from the floor, tidy the bathroom, and then have a quick dunk in her used bath water to get myself clean. Next I rush downstairs and begin breakfast while they watch breakfast television. Fortunately both Master and Mistress like to keep breakfast simple, just a little cereal. While they eat I pour some Sludge from the Tupperware container in the fridge into a large dog bowl and kneel to lap it up. Sludge is something Mistress invented, a liquidised mash made of porridge, raw eggs, various fruits, a whole slew of vitamins and other supplements, and some vinegar added to ensure that the taste is as bad as possible. It's the only thing I am allowed to eat unless it is a very special occasion.

The first time she gave it to me, I left the bowl half-finished. She had poured out four times as much and then she and Master had taken turns whipping me, he with a strip of heavy leather and she with a narrow bamboo cane, until I had finished it all. As I lay there afterwards, a bleeding, sobbing wreck, Mistress had smiled ironically and told me that she wouldn't have food wasted when there were children starving in Africa.

When we have all finished eating, I follow Master and Mistress into the garage and climb into the boot of the car that he opens for me. The drive to work is a short one, and fortunately the parking space they use is not visible to any prying eyes.

Master owns a small garage and light engineering shop; Mistress works there running the office, managing accounts and so on. I used to have a job at the garage, which is how I met them both. I still work there, but now as a slave.

I dress in overalls and boots, the only time in my normal routine when I am allowed to wear clothes. We're pretty busy these days, and Master is a demanding boss. I settle into the work, glad for the one time in my day when I can push thoughts of my situation to the back of my mind.

I had started working for the garage about a year before. Keith and Veronica, as I called them then, were good bosses - friendly, understanding when I was late or had the odd sick day. I had been struck by the physical contrast between them - Veronica in her early twenties, raven-hair framing a beautiful face and with the body of a dancer. Keith was a good twelve or fifteen years older, and although I knew he was quite athletic in his youth, he was obviously past his prime sliding into middle age. I had even thought about making a play for her, trying to steal her away from him. She would certainly be worth losing a job over... but they obviously cared deeply for one another, and I figured that it was a case of love conquers all differences.

Why I had begun stealing off them I can't really say. At first it was an impulse thing - Veronica left the petty cash box open one day, and the sight of a couple of hundred pounds just lying there was just too tempting. I had grabbed a tenner while Keith wasn't looking. I regretted it immediately - with just the three of us working there the theft was only ever going to be blamed on one person if it was discovered.

But it wasn't discovered, and getting away with it made me bolder and craftier. I began overcharging customers by the odd ten or twenty pounds, charging for replacement parts that went home with me instead of going into their cars, anything to boost my income.

Then a customer spotted an overcharge and complained. Veronica managed to convince him that it was an accident, but she went through their records afterwards and did some cross-checking, and the game was up.

Before they could go to the police, the police came to them. A car crash had involved a vehicle which had recently been to our garage. The car had gone out of control and drove into a motorway bridge support, killing an entire family instantly. A mother, a father and two little girls, gone.

I had worked on the car, and had sent it out after installing half a dozen new parts. Only in reality, four of those  half dozen had gone home with me. I don't know for sure that I had caused the accident - I told myself that maybe the driver was drunk or tired or something. Still, I expected to be arrested at any time. Killing two little girls... nightmares of a twenty year sentence filled my nights. Fortunately, the police apparently never put two and two together. Maybe the crash destroyed the evidence or something.

But where the police failed, Veronica succeeded. She and Keith came to me with invoices, work records, stock lists... everything they needed to put me in jail for years. They made a proposition - they would keep quiet and in return I would become their personal servant, obeying every order I was given by either one of them for a period of at least five years. I had agreed instantly.

That was five weeks ago. Now I am beginning to think that jail would be better.

When the day's work is done I strip off as Master and Mistress close the garage up and climb back into the boot.

The first few days of slavery were beyond terrible. Their description of the set-up had made it sound like I would be some sort of live-in butler. Instead I found myself dressed in bondage gear and forced to not only cook and clean for them, but to act as their personal sex object. I hadn't known Keith was bisexual until he bent me over the dining room table and forcefully raped my arsehole while his wife helped hold me down, both of them laughing and joking and commenting on my performance throughout. And perverted as he was, he was an amateur next to her. It had quickly become apparent just why their marriage worked so well despite that fifteen year age difference.

We arrived home and I went to begin preparing a meal. As well as full time work at the garage I was expected to do all of the housework. What little free time I had was spent exercising, or being abused by my owners. It was a busy life.

The disaster happened midway through dinner. Mistress liked me to hold her wine glass when she drank, and as I reached for it I knocked it over. Neither of them said anything as I rushed to clean the mess up, but I knew that I had earned a punishment session.

After dinner we retired to the basement, where they had set up a modest dungeon. Mistress controlled all of the punishments - Master would happily participate, but while he had a cruel streak within him he didn't come close to matching the inventiveness and unbridled sadism of his wife.

"Stocks," Mistress ordered simply as we entered the basement. Very early on in our arrangement I might have argued. Later, I might have begged. By now I knew better. I hurried to the stocks which occupied the centre of the room. It was a modern version of the medieval instrument, a thick steel upright with a one inch thick metal band welded to the top. This had been bent to make up the bottom half of the stocks; an identical band made up the top, hinged at one end and with a locking pin at the other. The upright was itself made of two tubes, one of which fitted into the other, allowing the height to be adjusted and locked off at any height from about three and a half feet to just under six feet. Near the base a pair of locking rings attached to the central post by metal bars let the feet be similarly confined. Like most of their toys Master had made it in the garage workshop, and it was massively stronger than it needed to be to hold a person.

I put my head and wrists into the stocks and Mistress closed the top over me and padlocked it. She lowered the height a few inches before taking off my spreader bar and locking my feet into the base.

They both stripped off their normal clothes and changed into something a little more appropriate, a strappy harness affair for him and a black leather corset and high heels for her. She caressed my back, her hand trailing down to my buttocks. Despite myself my cock began to twitch within the cage. This was another toy Master had made in the workshop. It was in two parts; a steel ring which went around the base of my cock and balls and a curved tubular cage made of 4 millimetre thick steel bars which attached to the ring at the top via a small padlock. The gap between the two was far too small to prise my cock out of - it had taken him six attempts to get the size just perfect. Mistress had devised the perfect test of the design - she gave me half a dozen hard strokes with her favourite whalebone cane every hour for one day, or until I managed to wriggle my way out of the device, whichever was quicker. It was a hell of an incentive, but after that sixth fitting I took the full seventy two strokes.

The bars of the cage were sufficiently large and close together that I could get no stimulation through them, but still small enough that they dug into my penis when it tried to become erect, inflicting a good deal of pain. These days erections were becoming rarer for me, and I feared that my subconscious was associating them with the pain. Nevertheless, Mistress's touch was enough to stir my cock and I winced and grunted with pain as it strained against its confinement.

I felt her hands go to my scrotum, where the TENS unit was clamped onto the delicate skin. This was one of their many ways of torturing me - the unit could be set to deliver shocks at any time of the day and of any ferocity and duration. At low settings it produced little more than a pleasurable buzz, though this was bad enough as it tended to provoke a painful erection. But they usually used the painful levels, setting the device to go off at certain times of the day as a signal for getting up, preparing meals, etc.

She went to a set of drawers and came back with a handful of small crocodile clips and I closed my eyes in despair, knowing what was coming. The clips could just fit through the bars of my cage, and she slipped the first one through and let it bite down on my foreskin. The clips were very strong, and I yelled out as the pain lanced through my groin. Undaunted - of course - Mistress attached another one, and another. Each new clip produced fresh agony, and I struggled to remain in control of myself as she added them.

The control was lost as she began to attach them to my scrotum. Mistress didn't approve of excessive noise during a punishment session, but I sobbed openly as she continued to attach the clips to my ballsac. She continued relentlessly until at least thirty of the accursed devices were attached, turning my entire groin into a mass of metal and pain.

She stepped back to admire her handiwork, walking around me before reaching in to adjust the position of one of the clips so that it was more to her satisfaction. Master joined her and they began to kiss and caress one another, clearly very turned on. After a few minutes she broke away, warning him not to get too turned on too quickly as we had a long night ahead of us all.

Next she went to what she called her 'weapon chest', a large wooden chest which contained a stunning variety of whips, switches, rope and leather lashes, straps, rods and other punishment implements. She selected something that looked like a large table tennis bat, decorated on one side with shiny metal studs.

She took up a position on my left side, taking a few practice swings to carefully line up her swing, then brought the paddle down hard. She began a steady rhythm, one swat per second, alternating cheeks as she went. A paddle can look and sound impressive because it makes quite a lot of noise and makes your flesh bounce around a lot, but this is because it spreads the impact over more area than almost any other implement, and as a result it doesn't actually do much damage or cause a lot of pain.

To begin with.

Mistress has told me that she goes to a gym three times a week, and that one of her main goals in exercising is to build up her upper body strength and endurance as much as possible precisely for times like this. I can attest to her success. She paddled me remorselessly, never varying the pace or strength of the blows, like some kind of robot. After a few dozen swats I could feel the warmth building in my arse and knew the skin would be reddening, gradually becoming a deeper and deeper colour as Mistress worked me over. The warmth became a heat, swelling and growing in my body and in my mind. And still Mistress continued her strikes, unyielding, uncompromising. The heat became pain, a distant nagging that rapidly began to grow. I didn't try to count the strikes, it would be pointless to try and keep up with the hundreds of blows she was inflicting upon me through the steadily building pain.

And still it went on. Three hundred strikes? Four hundred? Mistress once told me that she could keep up her one-a-second pace for twenty minutes, an incredible twelve hundred strikes. She tended to get bored and switch to another torture form before that, though.

The pain grew immense proportions, threatening to overwhelm everything else. My sobs began to turn to screams of anguish.

The beating stopped.

Mistress walked into view, breathing hard but smiling with pleasure. Her corset lifted her ample breasts but left the nipples visible, and they were swollen and erect. Her pussy glistened with wetness, indicating just how turned on she was by the thrashing she had given me.

A whistling noise gave me a fraction of a second's warning of the next assault before pain exploded through my already abused arse. Master had stepped up to take his turn, using some sort of leather strap. His usual favourite was three inches wide and about four feet long, made of very stiff leather which was full of tiny cracks that had peeled back to criss-cross the surface with sharp little edges. It was a far more vicious implement than the paddle, especially when wielded by Master's much greater muscles. The belt bit into my arse again, higher up this time, causing another crash of agony through my body. Master wasn't as accomplished at this as Mistress was - he couldn't or didn't keep up her perfect rhythm or consistent strength. But what he might lack in skill and finesse, he made up with brute strength and enthusiasm. The next stroke cut across the other two, even harder than before, and following the slashing pain of the blow was the telltale trickling feeling that indicated blood was flowing. He had cut into me.

Mistress's eyes never once left my face, her expression one of purest joy, as he brought the belt down again and again. Her had crept to her pussy and she began to caress herself gently, spreading her lips and working against her clitoris. Her gentle moans and groans of pleasure were a jarring contrast to my own screams of pain. As Master began to speed up the pace of his strokes she increased the speed of her fingers to match, either deliberately or unconsciously, frigging herself towards an orgasm. Master brought down the belt one last time, this one a low blow which landed across the top of my thighs, catching my scrotum square on. I screamed as something beyond pain erupted in my testicles; tendrils of fire seemed to shoot through my  entire body, causing me to spasm as if in the throes of an epileptic fit.

The sight of such agony provoked a wave of pure lust within Mistress, and she threw back her head and cried out in pleasure as an orgasm swept through her shuddering body. Wave after wave of bliss crashed through her, until she finally slumped and almost collapsed to the floor.

Eventually, she began to recover. Master stepped into view, his own excitement evident from the immense erection he was sporting. Again they began to kiss and caress, but again she broke off and warned him against moving too fast. I knew how much she loved using her husband's body to pleasure herself, but it always came second to the joy of inflicting punishment on me. He went to a seat and slumped back while she returned to the weapon chest.

When I saw the whalebone cane, the fear was so great that I was instantly sobbing and begging for forgiveness. I was distantly aware that my bladder had let go, sending streams of urine coursing down my leg. Mistress simply watched, her finger once again drifting to her pussy. For her, inflicting physical punishment on a man was simply a matter of the proper restraints and carefully selected tools skilfully applied. But to see a man's spirit broken, to see him begging for the chance to sell his very soul rather than face her wrath... for a woman like Mistress, this was the very peak of pleasure.

Of course, there was no chance that she would ever show mercy because of such a display. No chance at all.

She had purchased the cane in Japan, some years ago. It was a single piece of carved whalebone, a little over three and a half feet from end to end. The handle was shaped specially to fit the fingers, and the grooves were narrow enough that she had known the first time she picked it up that it was designed to be wielded by a woman. Above and below the grip was a band which was intricately carved with ornate decorations.

The cane itself was about two thirds of an inch across at the base, tapering to about half that at the tip. It was incredibly stiff and hard, and narrow enough that even a light stroke produced indescribable agony. When employed by Mistress, the cane could cut deep into the buttocks with each stroke if she so chose. I didn't know how long Master and Mistress would choose to hold me as their slave, but I did know that I would never truly leave them behind - for because of this instrument, I would carry a network of scars on my body for the remainder of my life.

She stood there, letting me babble incoherently while she rubbed her pussy. Juices actually began to trickle down her leg, so excited was she by the scene before her. Finally I began to run down, knowing that my pleas were doing me no good, knowing that nothing was going to happen to alter the course of events that Mistress had selected for me. Eventually I was still and quiet, and she stepped into position.

There was a tight, high whistling noise - Swisssssh - crack!

She had let go with full force, and the cane bit deep into the top of my already tortured arse cheeks. The agony was beyond anything I had experienced before - I would rather have taken the strap across the balls again than another blow like this one. She let the cane trail across my arse as I felt more blood trickling down between my legs, an obscene parody of the juices flowing down Mistress's own thighs.

Swisssssh - crack!

She had chosen a much slower pace this time, waiting perhaps fifteen seconds until she let fly again. The second stroke landed right below the first, biting just as deep. Again I screamed in torment, thrashing helplessly against the unyielding strength of the steel stocks.

Swisssssh - crack!

The third stroke hit beneath the second, laying down a stripe exactly parallel and perfectly spaced. Mistress was truly an artist with the cane. My whole world was pain, I would have done anything, anything at all to stop it. But she was relentless, inexorable, a perfect Human engine of punishment.

Swisssssh - crack!

Another perfect stroke. The pain was beyond description, beyond imagining, pain upon pain upon pain upon-

Swisssssh - crack!

I could no longer scream. Drool dripped from my mouth, unnoticed. I was dimly aware of Master watching, eyes glazed as he masturbated himself much as his wife had done before.

Swisssssh - crack!

Swisssssh - crack!

Swisssssh - crack!

Swisssssh - crack!

Swisssssh - crack!

Swisssssh - crack!

Swisssssh - crack!

Finally, it was over.

Mistress walked around from her striking position, picking up a cloth and carefully wiping off the blood and traces of flesh which were clinging to the cane, then placed it back in the chest. She stepped out of sight.

Master stood, still slowly masturbating. He positioned himself behind me and, without any attempt at lubricating my anus or preparing me in any way, shoved his iron-hard prick through my sphincter and deep into my anus. I was too weak to scream as he raped me for the second time that day, though his thrusts sent spasms of fire through me. He set up a quick rhythm, pulling out with each stroke until I could feel his cock head distending my sphincter, pausing, then ramming home with all his strength and speed. At the bottom of each thrust I could feel his big, heavy testicles slapping into my own much smaller balls. It was quickly obvious that he had not needed artificial lubrication this time - the blood trickling over my arsehole provided all he could need.

Even at my best I could never have hoped to match the power of that fucking - he was giving me an awesome display which left no doubt whatsoever of his greater prowess and masculinity. The thought that I had once contemplated trying to steal his wife away from this man was revealed as the laughable boyish fantasy that it had always been.

Eventually he gave one final thrust and I felt his hands wrap themselves painfully in my hair as he shot his load deep within me. I could feel the semen spurting into me, the heat of it mingling with my own warmth. Some distant part of my mind wondered if this was what Mistress felt when he fucked her.

He pulled clear and stepped back as Mistress returned to view. If the sight of her cane had thrown me into wretched begging, her chosen implement this time inflicted upon me a glazed, almost sullenly silent despair.

She had stepped into a strapon harness and stood proudly before me sporting an immense black latex dildo. The thing was a monstrosity, vastly bigger than Master's own organ. I couldn't believe any male could possibly come close to matching it. It glistened in the harsh light of the torture chamber, a shiny pointed menace which promised suffering beyond imagination. Mistress paraded before me, sensing the fear which gripped my mind so tightly that any protest became impossible.

When she judged the moment right, she stepped into position behind me and placed the massive tool against my abused sphincter. Used to Master's 'mere' two inch diameter, I wondered how I could possibly accommodate something nearly twice as broad.

The answer was that I would receive no choice in the matter. Mistress paused for a long moment with the head of her cock in place, then leaned forward and took a handful of my hair. Her other hand wrapped around my scrotum, taking a firm grip. Using those two handholds, she simply rammed her pelvis forward with every ounce of strength she possessed.

My head and balls jerked backward. My sphincter ruptured in an instant as a pointed head larger than my clenched fist ploughed through it. That first colossal thrust carried the shaft deep into my body, sending convulsions of agony through my intestines. She gathered herself again, repositioning to give more leverage, and drove forward once more. I vomited onto the floor as the battering ram drove up inside me, stretching my intestines to breaking point. My mind was a constant gibber of fear, beyond hope and beyond rationality. I was reduced to a sub-human level, stripped of every lucid thought by the unending assault of my Mistress. Nothing remained of me but the fear and the pain.

And still it went on, until the immense dildo was wedged fully inside me. Mistress paused there, gasping for breath, then pulled back in one long fluid movement. I felt a terrible sucking sensation inside my stomach as my insides struggled to cope with the vacuum the intruder left behind. Then she was ramming home again, driving, pushing through any resistance, heedless of the damage she was doing. No, not heedless - she was fully aware of the damage she was doing, was revelling in it. The strangled gasps escaping my throat were music to her ears, each whimper building her lust to a new level.

Again and again she withdrew until the massive head rested just inside my sphincter before driving in once more with every bit of strength. As Master had fucked my arse me to establish his dominance, so now Mistress showed her supremacy over us both with the ultimate act of sodomy. Each thrust was a statement of power and control, a declaration that whatever the rules of society might say, in this place she reigned absolutely.

Finally she felt that she had buggered any last traces of resistance to her rule into oblivion. She pulled out one final time, sending a fresh lance of pain through my torn and bleeding sphincter as the head of that immense pole pulled clear. She walked around to present the gigantic prick to my lips, her stance a clear command.

There was no spark of ego or self left within me; at that moment I would have thrown myself into the very fires of hell at her command. I didn't even so much as glance at the mixture of blood and shit and semen that coated her prick before putting my tongue to it and putting every last trace of strength into licking it up. I could not hope to take that phallus into my mouth, so I contented myself with lapping at the thing from the sides. Thankfully, Mistress was satisfied with the display of obedience.

Finally she stepped back, unbuckling the harness and dropping it to the floor. I felt Master unlocking the stocks and releasing me, and knew that the punishment was over. I collapsed to the bare tile, sitting in a pool of my own blood and piss and my Master's semen.

Mistress tossed a roll of toilet paper onto the floor in front of me and ordered me to plug my anus as best I could with it. I could feel the cool air on my insides, and knew that I must be gaping open back there. She told me that she was going upstairs to fuck with Master for a while, so I would have some time to clean up and compose myself before he returned to bind me ready for bed. I crawled onto my knees so that I could kiss her high heels in gratitude for this rare favour. She let me show my subservience for a while before kicking me away and walking out, laughter trailing behind her.

Curled up on the floor, with blood and semen still trickling from my torn and gaping arsehole, I began to cry once more.

All in all, it had been a typical day.