WARNING: The following short story is a work of fiction inspired by the series called Football Hooligan in Slavery from a bondage fantasy site Russian Captured Boys. It’s intended for mature audience only. The model featured is at least 18 years of age. If you haven’t read the first part yet, click here.
Stas missed having a cover upon himself.
Since his capture to the time that he was bought, he never had the chance to wear any article of clothing except, perhaps, the cuffs that wrapped his ankles and wrists.
He lived the life of a slave in perpetual nudity and permanent exposure.
It had been a week since he was purchased as one, and his life had been a living hell.
He thought that the conditions at the barren slave market facility were harsh, but he learned within the torturous week how the treatment he received there was an act of mercy compared to his master’s inventive insidiousness.
To say that his daily routine was brutal was an understatement. Every day he was up at 4 AM to start a three-hour arduous work-out administered by one of the guards.
The sting of the single tail particularly was a strong motivator to keep going despite the feeling of faint. The only reprieve was the occasional hydration ensured by the guard to prevent the prisoner from collapse. This was, however, administered not as a relief, but more to protect the master’s merchandise.
Stas would then be blindfolded and led to the master’s training room. Apparently the master wanted to repeat the vision of how he first saw him at the facility.
After feeling the ache in his arms and muscles from the inhumane work-out routine he was daily put under, he would be tied up in the room high enough that he dangled from the ceiling, and left there for a minimum of an hour or, more often than not, longer.
Sometimes the master wouldn’t come in until half an hour after, leaving him to suffer in vain. In such unfortunate times the burning sensation in his arms would be prolonged.
The master enjoyed basking in the view of his slave. He could look at this fine specimen for hours, appreciating the aesthetics of its form. He particularly loved looking at its micro expressions, giving him clues as to the amount of pain it was taking and its declining resolve.
It wouldn’t be long until it tripped up and then he would have the perfect excuse to administer its next punishment.
As a master, he didn’t like dishing out unnecessary cruelty. There must be a very good reason before punishment was given. Otherwise, the slave would easily get immune and shut down in a shorter amount of time than he’d enjoy.
No, that didn’t look like a promising alternative. He intended to squeeze out the very last vestige of hope that the slave harbored in his head. In fact, it was time to devise the next phase of this game.
“Guard, bring the slave down.”
The guard didn’t waste a single second and went to adjust the lever and detached the slave from it.
“Slave, listen very carefully. I will give you a task that you must complete in a specific period of time. If you fail, I will take you back to the slave market facility and complain about your under-performance. I heard that the corrective methods in the compound are far more stringent and demanding than the initial conditioning when slaves are first acquired.” The master explained it to his property as though he was just having a casual chatter with a dear friend.
Stas was starting to get confused. What precisely was the master going to have to do next. He had a hard time concentrating on the master’s words because his arms were killing him, and his legs felt like they were on fire from the rigid work-out he went through that morning.
“Now, the task. It’s crucial that you do not make a mistake. On my signal, you will give me fifty push-ups in sixty seconds.”
The chosen number of push-ups was carefully calculated. Sixty push-ups were almost impossible for most humans to undertake in under a minute or on the mark. It meant a complete push-up must be executed per second. That could potentially be achieved, no doubt, by a very fit or athletic person that had not been subjected to barbaric bondage. Not his slave, though.
Stas heard it. It was another figment of his ruthless master’s imagination. How could he overcome this challenge in his current state?
The Master devised a plan where it would be possible for the slave to win the challenge by the skin of its teeth.
Stas could hardly focus. He wanted to protest but obviously that was not even in the slightest bit an option.
“On my count…one…two…go!”
Stas went down on the floor immediately and managed to give the first twenty push-ups in twenty five seconds with ease despite the aches in his arms and legs.
The next two push-ups stalled and consumed four seconds.
Dammit! Twenty eight more and he only had thirty one seconds left.
Stas concentrated and was able to give five more push-ups in six seconds.
Twenty five seconds…
Stas came down but when he tried to push up, his arms finally caved in.
“Time’s up,” the master said. “Twenty seven push-ups. That’s a pity. You only managed to give slightly more than half. Now if I wouldn’t enjoy sending you back for correction, I’d otherwise be disappointed.”
The master sat up and ushered for the guard by the door to come over.
“Ready the slave and call the compound. Tell them the merchandise needs repair.” The master promptly gave the instructions while walking to the door. “Oh, be sure to mention that I was particularly unhappy in the last three days with the slave’s performance, and I would like to personally see the correction process.”
The last piece of instruction was to ensure that the compound would administer the strictest form of correction.
Author’s Note: The above short story is my original impression from the images of the series produced by Russian Captured Boys. It doesn’t necessarily follow the series description but it’s close enough that you can work your imagination to establish a connection. If you enjoy the story and want to see the videos, be sure to check it out on RCB’s website.