Hawk

I was bad once.
I fought- struggled, kicked, and bit.
Master cured me of that.
He tied me to the ceiling by my arms and legs.
The hood pulled tight around my neck felt like a noose.

He beat me.
No- he all but killed me.
The thin cane cut into my body.
From my shoulders to the soles of my feet, he marked me his.

While I floated,
Somewhere between this place and the next,
He cut me down, and dragged me to the cage:
A little piece of hell right here on Earth.

It was small.
Almost too small: he made me fit, and more besides.
I have no concept of how long I was there, or how long it has been since.
I only know I don't want to go back.

He kept the hood on.
My arms were tied to the ceiling.
The legs were spread and lashed to either side, leaving room for my tits to sway down.
I was awake by then, but could not fight.
My mouth was wired open.
It held to the far side of the cage, as I felt it being hoisted up off the floor.
The door swung shut, and a needle pricked my arm, dripping nutrients into my blood.
I was not allowed to die.

But I wished for death.
Vacuums were pushed through the bars to suck as my teats.
I felt two dildos being pushed inside of me, one in my ass, the other in my cunt.
But they were not dildos.

They were worse.
Liquid pushed its way through my system from my ass, as the my cunt was fucked
And fucked, and fucked, endlessly, by machine. There was no escape.
I was left alone.

I was so alone.
Every so often, my Master would come to let the enema out, or start a new one.
I began to live for those moments, when his fingertips would press against my ass.
When he pushed his cock into my mouth, I cried with joy.

I am no longer bad.
I know now the joy of being able to crawl, to ride a man's cock,
To be fucked in groups of fours and fives, to feel Master's hand strike my cheek.
I am grateful.