No Longer a Person

"There there, puppy wuppy, you did so well today. So, so well. In fact, puppy wuppy, you did ever so awfully well that I really think the pup-life suits you, so this is as good a way as any to break you a bit more. You already know you're no longer a person, but for the next week you're not even human: you're a puppy. Good boi!"

A week, I thought. A week without hands, not allowed to speak, a week crawling and leashed and caged and treated like an animal. Already my lower back and shoulders ached, but it didn't seem like Mistress would be happy if I spoke to point that out. I was going to have to be a good pet for her, I knew it even in that moment, lest she give me a further week in chains - unless, of course, that just prompted even more pet-time.

While my mind turned it over, Mistress fed me from a bowl and made me drink water from a bottle she held, then she locked me into a thick metal cage in her bedroom and left me there to stew on my new situation while she fucked George with a strapon on the bed. I watched with my cock locked back in chastity. I had no way to break the chains or locks that held me, and no way to summon help or even open the cage door with my hands mitted and locked.

So it passed that I spent a week as her puppy slave. Mistress had me with her often as she did her thing around the house: I watched her spend a lot of time video calling friends, one of whom was in the business and even got to see me all pupped up. The rest of the time Mistress spent training me, relaxing, or playing with George, and every so often she got bored of me and caged me alone for a while, so I could reflect on my powerlessness and gather energy to serve her more.

It clicked on the fifth day of the week. I was just a pet. I had no control, no hands to use, no freedom to even speak human words, no ability to stand. I was her human-puppy and she could keep me like that as long as she liked. The only way to move on was to show her she had taken some humanity from me permanently, or else to fake it well enough that she could not tell.

When I tried to fake it, somehow she knew. I spent the sixth day of that week howling in agony as I was flogged, whipped, caned and shocked, while Mistress drove home basic puppy training and had me beg, roll over, sit, fetch and heel again and again. She hurt me then rewarded me, scolded me then praised me, telling me over and over again to never fake for her.

On day seven, purely and simply, I was her puppy. I listened for command words and ignored everything else I heard. I eagerly yipped and yapped when she trained me and I begged sincerely for every scrap of food and water she gifted me, When she made me hump a pillow, I did it so enthusiastically it was over in a mere minute or two, and she patted me on the head with a satisfied "Good boi!".

Week 3

On day one of the third week, they let me rest in my cell in the cellar, while I got used to having the ability to walk and use my hands again. Around the walls of the cellar, beyond the cage bars, hung printed out pictures of me as a puppy, so that I could never look away from what I had become, never forget what I had enjoyed and why I had enjoyed it. It was clear to me even then: I had obeyed and thus found happiness. I was on the way to being broken.

Day two of the third week introduced me to feminisation. George came into my cell, ice packed my cock and locked it into the smallest chastity cage I had ever seen, then he had me try on lacy knickers and stockings until he settled on a pure white set that seemed to shine in the bright strip light. I bristled at the humiliation, which George noticed.

"A slim boi like you, not somehow serving in sissy mode some of the time? No, forget it, Sugarboi, this is part of who you are now for the rest of your life," said George.

"Yes... Brother..." I said back, careful to try and control my tone.

"Once I've got you looking nice and pretty your mind will follow along happily in the sissy groove and you'll relish the humiliation, trust me. I've seen your cock twitch as a puppy, I know you like to be degraded, that's a good thing. Trust me!"

"Yes, Brother."

George squeezed me into a corset and then gave me a white frilly maid's dress to wear, with fake breasts stuck onto my chest. He made up my face with exaggerated blush and eyeshadow, pink lipstick and a blonde bob wig that framed my cheeks; he had already had me use a special cream to take away all traces of my stubble and leave me smooth and fresh.

My legs were hobbled and my arms were shackled to a chain around my waist, then I was led up to the main house and presented to Mistress. She clapped her hands, congratulated George, then took hundreds of pictures of me in all sorts of revealing poses: curtseying, bending over, kneeling down, over the desk, over the chair, lying flat on my back with my legs up in the air, every way she could think to display me.

"Good boi!" she said at last. "Now, for today, I want you to clean the whole house - George will supervise as you need to use some cleaning chemicals and I know you might get ideas about using some as weapons. George knows all the signs and he will taser you if he thinks you're about to fight. You can't escape even if you disable or kill him: I have the only keys. Plus, if you did hurt a hair on his head, well... Your death would be very long and very painful, and I really do mean that. I'd take the financial loss. Go now: lots to do."

George spanked me and caned me relentlessly that day: he punished me every time my movements were less than perfectly sissy-like. He apologised occasionally but explained that our Mistress had ordered zero tolerance, so he was bound to obey her superior wisdom, and he was sure it would help break me to happy slavery sooner than his gentler approach would have. I nodded and curtseyed to him: he leered as the frilly dress rose above my knickers and the little bump of the small chastity cage.

Wearing the feminine fabrics and clothes helped me pretend I really was just some serving girl in a strict household, and I passed a busy day fantasising about the next time I might get to cum. George kept up the spankings and canings right into the evening, then he locked me back in my cell and made me sleep in knickers and a pink camisole.

The next day we did it all again: I cleaned while he supervised. Cleaning everything again hurt me emotionally, but I learned how to show my girly submissiveness in a way that got me punished a whole lot less. George especially liked it when I giggled and fluttered my eyelashes, so I worked that into the routine. He gave me a few encouraging pats on the bottom when I did the whole routine to him.

The day after, Mistress taught me how to take a strapon cock like a sissy: lots of pouting, lots of writhing, lots of panting and making big eyes at the person taking you. She never let me out of chastity, but she did alternate fucking and spanking. I learned how to moan and plead for mercy in a high-pitched sissy voice, and how to wriggle my silk-knickered bottom around to make a pleasing display while Mistress's paddle turned my cheeks red.

In the cell that night I realised I was aching to cum, but I knew better by then than to beg for a release. I had to wait and see what happened while my cock just ached and my balls felt swollen. There was barely a moment in that house where I wasn't being made to think or act in some sexual way, so I was overflowing with erotic energy, but I had nowhere to put it except into pleasing Mistress.

A few more days passed: I learned to be a simpering sissy maid and surprised myself by just how much I enjoyed it. I especially enjoyed the curtsey, because it let me tease Mistress by lifting the skirt until it peaked above my caged cock, and she said it made her proud of what a good little sissy I had become. The words thrilled me and made me feel happy to obey.

Week 4

Mistress put me back through two more days of hallucinogenic video watching: brainwashing with sound and images to reinforce my slave status. I hung quite happily in chains while I watched the videos of male subjection, and I repeated every slave mantra until my thoughts were erased and only the words of slavery remained.

I knew I was beaten. All that remained was to get right with it and enjoy my new life the way George clearly enjoyed his. I let the brainwashing take me away and reshape me into something better: I willed it to happen and tried desperately to rid myself of my remaining urges for freedom and self-determination. I was no longer a person; I was a slaveboi. I wanted it to be true.

It was clear to Mistress that I could be trusted with more responsibility. After a lengthy explanation of just how bad it would be for me if I injured her, she let me lick her arse on her bed while George stood by with a taser in his hand. I plunged my tongue deep into Mistress's crack and she gasped in pleasure as I lapped back and forth.

"He's nearly ripe, darling," she said to George.

"Most certainly, Mistress, my love," he replied in a soft voice.

"George, tie him down to bed on his back please."

A few minutes later, George stood by while Mistress rode my face to completion. I lapped and lapped, gulping down her pussy juices, and made sure I focused in on her clit to give her maximum pleasure. She screwed my face and stopped me breathing, but she never said a word to me nor I to her: words weren't needed. When she climaxed, she screamed out in triumph, then lay down next to me on the bed and unlocked my chastity cage.

"Do you know, Sugarboi, I think you've earned a little reward. And a story... I first enslaved George many years ago, not long after we were married. One of the first things we did as a domme-slave couple was a bit of cuckolding. George would stand right at the edge of the bed and watch, naked and chaste, while I banged other men and then he would get us drinks and clean us up.

"Things escalated a long way from there: George is legally and emotionally totally under my control, and he has been through extensive training and even some plastic surgery to please me better. George would suffer the same fate as me with the law if we were ever caught enslaving bois like you, but he does it so well because he loves his owner-wife with all his heart. Loves me so much, he will watch placidly as I fuck you, then clean your cum from my cunt with his tongue."

I caught George's eye and thought there was just a flash of jealousy there. Moments later, Mistress took all my attention when she slid her pussy onto my hard cock and started to ride me fast and hard. I panted and moaned but she thrust herself up and down without any regard to my needs: she was only there to ride a cock she owned, and she knew I would cum regardless.

"Good hard boi, Sugarboi!" she cried.

"Thank you, Mistress!"

"It's almost a shame you're broken... I enjoy training bois like you in the first part of our time together far more than the second, but still, the money will be nice. I'm going to sell you, Sugarboi. Know why?"

"Mistress?"

"Because you're just an object and the money means far more to me than you ever will. George is priceless to me, for now, but you - well, you are just an income stream. A commodity. I think you know that deep down, Sugarboi, that's why you broke so easily."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"Well said, slave, well said."

The final week of my training was all about giving pleasure. She taught me how to lick the mud off her heels in the most pleasing way, how to kiss her arse to make her skin tingle, how to fuck back when I had a strapon inside me and how to give the very finest of orgasms with my tongue, again and again until I was ready to weep from the pain in my jaw. I became a machine for giving pleasure, and I relished every gasp of delight Mistress gave me in return.

Final day

I stood in front of cameras and lights in the basement while online bidders slowly put my price up and up. I was a commodity to be bought and sold, and all I could do to help my superiors was demonstrate how well I had been trained and how much I wanted to serve. I hoped that my new owner would find me pleasing, and I showed off my slave-mind by faithfully repeating everything buyers asked me to say.

As the day progressed, George helped me get into a maid's uniform, a puppy outfit, a ponyboy costume, harnesses, knickers, stockings, corsets, spiked collars and shackles, one outfit after another, each coming with its own set of orders. I simpered, I sashayed, I barked and yipped, I crawled and pouted and stretched and curtseyed, I did everything I was told to do the moment I was told to. My heart raced and I found I could hardly stop smiling.

Mistress acted as MC, advertising my assets and talking me up, and gradually my price climbed and climbed. I stared into the cameras and pouted, barked, neighed, used my sissy voice, and talked about how I was convinced that women were superior and I was a mere commodity to be bought and sold. I explained how I craved a woman to serve, and my price ticked even higher.

"Sold," said Mistress at the end of a five-hour bidding war.

I was a little shocked by just how valuable a commodity I was, until I reflected that owning someone who had been changed from a person into a slaveboi must be quite rare, and that scarcity was my main source of value. I knew by then that I myself was nothing, mere chattel, so my Mistress's careful training was the real reason behind my price.

A few hours later, a van arrived at the house; two athletic brunettes backed the vehicle into the garage then came inside to collect me. They stripped me naked and bundled me into the back of the van, where they strapped me into a seat hidden behind piles of wooden boxes bearing the logo of a mechanical supply company.

One of them attached an electric wire to a strap that went around my balls, then she pointed to a camera in the ceiling and said "behave or else." I gulped and nodded, then waited, and waited, until finally the motor started and we left. I never saw Mistress again, and neither she nor George came to say goodbye - they just sold me and moved on.

We drove many hours. Occasionally we stopped and I was allowed to eat or drink, or to go to the toilet in the cover of a forest, leashed and naked, while tasers pointed at me from either side. I was gagged for most of the journey, and even when I was allowed to eat, I never spoke. I had not been told to, so it would not have been right.

By and by, the van reached a cove on the coast - it must logically have been the west coast of England - and there I waited naked, strapped into the chair, until my handlers saw a yacht heave to and get ready to take on cargo. In the dead of night, I was rowed out to the yacht, then handed over to two well-armed black women, who took me down into the cabins and then sedated me.

I was sedated for most of the voyage, then unloaded into another van with a secret compartment, by blonde women with American accents. We drove from a secluded cove, in what direction I did not know, for several more hours before we reached our destination. The motor stopped again, and again we waited.

An hour later, the rear doors opened. I was unloaded into a little medical clinic, and immediately given an anaesthetic by a female doctor, while other female doctors prepped to do something to me. I passed out as they wheeled me through into a little surgical theatre, and the drugs robbed me of any ability to panic. I was theirs to do with as they pleased.

A day later, I awoke in a normal bedroom, and met my new owner. A gorgeous, short, thirty-something curvy black woman with long wavy hair stood over me, and she handed me a bottle of water. I drank a little of it down and then felt my throat spasm in pain, but she came in close and stroked my face and head until I had calmed down. The pain faded into the background when she gave me a pill to take, and I lay in bed, in her home, and listened to what she had to say.

"Welcome, honey," she said in a soft voice while her dark eyes sparkled, "I own you now. You're in my five bedroom home in a nice suburb of ---------, and you just became my slave-husband. My name is Harriet ---------, and I will very much look forward to making your acquaintance over these next few weeks.

"You have a legal existence here: passport, social security, you're my legal husband. Power of attorney is already set up, but then you won't really own any assets so it doesn't really matter. Please me, and I will share my wealth and life of leisure with you. Displease me, and I will share with you my darker side - the side of me that likes the thought that I bought you and now you are simply mine. The side of me that paid extra for a little surgery. The side of me that had your vocal cords removed."

I tried to speak up to protest at that, but no sound issued from my throat.

"One week extra for chastity," she said when she saw what I was trying to do.

I nodded and gulped, then rationalised it: she owned my body so it was hers to modify. My voice wouldn't please her so it was gone - that was her decision to make, not mine, and I had no right as her slave to protest, even if I could. Instead I bowed my head to her and she ruffled my hair, then she lifted my chin up and kissed me passionately on the lips.

"Rest now, we'll talk more tomorrow."

She shackled my ankle to a long chain that allowed me to move around the room but not to go further than the door. I looked at the windows and noticed they were security glass. There was nothing in the room I could use to escape, but why would I want to? I lived with a beautiful, successful woman, as her husband, in a lifestyle that sounded like paradise. I felt like I had returned home after a long absence.

My new owner left me locked in the ensuite attic bedroom of her home, while she did who knew what elsewhere in the house. I explored the room, and found maid clothes, normal clothes, pet clothes, and even some ponyboy gear in the drawers. There was nothing else there except food and water. I went back to bed and drifted in and out of consciousness for that day.

The next day, she returned to collect me. She wore a black dress, black high heels, and had her hair up in a bun. From her hand dangled an upper-body harness and a leash, which she fastened to me and tested with a quick jerk of her hand. She smiled when I followed the movement and got out of bed, and she nodded when I dropped to all-fours.

"Hi honey! Come down to the lounge with me and let's work on some house rules. I'll sit, you stand. The curtains are closed so you don't need clothes - just this harness and leash, we'll collar you when your neck heals up from the surgery. Good.

"House rules. One, wear what I pick out for you every day - I want you in nice silk panties with a normal man's clothes over the top whenever the curtains are open, and then I want you to change into your evening outfit whenever the curtains are closed. Sometimes that's full regalia, sometimes nothing at all - I'll pick it out for you.

"This area has lots of successful women with trophy husbands. They'll expect you to act like my servant, my happy and grateful butler, whenever I tell you what to do. Show me some affection to make them think you're really my husband, yeah? Good. Good. Oh, your for-show-name is now Henry, but in private I'll call you a few different names depending. Henry is not your real name, you understand? Good.

"For general slaveboying, I'll call you Houseboy or Sugarbutt or maybe just slave or boi. Sugarbutt is my favourite - your little slave ass really sealed the deal for me. For pet-slavery your puppy name will be Precious Puppykins, which will be on your collar and petsuit in any case, and for sissy maid services I'll just call you Sissy Sally. Well, Sugarbutt, how do you like your new home?"