Over the next several days, his rapists put Phoenix through some harsh paces, until he was so battered and confused that he hardly knew his own name most of the time. It took all his strength and focus to meet each challenge they threw at him without completely losing his mind, and had no energy left at the end of his sessions to dream of escape. Each day began with a harsh foot trashing. It got to the point that Phoenix could suffer fifty successive whacks without losing it too badly. The freaks encouraged him to scream all he wanted, assured him his protests held no sway over when they would stop, and that they would not be satisfied until his bare soles were welted to just the perfect shade of deep, wine red. By the time they finished with him, Phoenix’s poor feet would be scorched so badly that he could hardly stand. The bastards explained that this was necessary in order to insure that Phoenix did not run away, but that made no sense. Phoenix was kept drugged and shackled to the wall, so there was little chance of his escaping. Phoenix suspected the sadistic freaks just enjoyed making him scream. When they were done with his feet, the bastards would hook Phoenix’s pecker up to the pump and hoover it for over an hour, while they sparked up a joint, settled back, and giggled at the spectacle Phoenix made of himself. Phoenix flopped about out of control, poised on the brink of agony and ecstasy for so long that the intense and prolonged sensations scrambled his brains. He lost count of how many times the come was drained from his nuts. His last several watery spurts always burned his piss slit so badly that his eyes watered. By the time they finally turned off the pump and removed it, Phoenix’s nuts would be shriveled and spent, and Phoenix would be convinced that his still stiff, beet red boner was going to fall off. At this juncture, the bastards would reward Phoenix with his one meager meal of the day, which he was made to lap up from a dog bowl, and that only after he sat up and begged for it. Once he had been fed, the bastards would force Phoenix to run in place and pump iron, purportedly to improve his muscle tone. They would make him do crunches and squats and leg lifts until his muscles burned. If he refused, they would spank him, or worse, slug him in the nuts. Phoenix had never encountered coaching this tough before and was swiftly convinced to do as he was told. When his workout was done, the bastards would demand Phoenix practice his commands--attention, present ass, and show hole. They would bark orders at him rapid fire and cackled with laughter at his antics as he struggled to comply. The burly one sometimes got so amused that he would double over and snort like a pig he was laughing so hard. Phoenix bowed and scraped, hiked his ass into the air and spread it, and made a shameful spectacle of himself to placate the bastards. It was humiliating beyond measure, but he dared not disobey for fear of what worse torments he might face for doing so. The freaks would then truss Phoenix up and bath him inside and out. Phoenix had not taken a proper shit since the day he was brought to this place. While they showered him, the bastards had Phoenix pee down the drain. Phoenix developed excellent bowels and bladder in-between bathings, because that was the only time of the day that he was allowed to piss and shit. It was not easy, but somehow he managed. Mercifully, Phoenix’s ass was spared during this time so it could heal, but to make up for this concession, the freaks forced their dicks down his throat whenever the urge struck them. Strapped over the horse on his back, Phoenix taught himself to appease his rapists without choking, and even discovered a couple of tricks of the tongue that sped things along. If he had to blow the sick faggots, he wanted it over with as quickly as possible. Whenever he did a good job, the bastards would reward Phoenix with pills, and the drugs were the only thing that kept Phoenix from completely loosing his mind. If he sensed his fix was wearing off before he had been given more pills, Phoenix would crawl around on his hands and knees, mouth agape like a greedy baby bird, and beg to suck them off. He did not care what kind of spectacle he made of himself when he needed a fix. Anything to keep the overwhelming waves of pain at bay. Each afternoon, the bastards would put Phoenix through some new, ever more sadistic torment to challenge his limits. Once, they trussed Phoenix up in midair, spread-eagle, wrists cuffed to the ceiling and ankles to the floor, so that his toes dangled just inches off the ground. Trapped like a fly in a web, the strain on his shoulders almost unbearable, Phoenix twisted around to find the most bearable position he could, while the lanky bastard rambled on about how a good whore boy had to to do more than just suck and fuck. A good whore boy had to be prepared to satisfy his clients’ every nasty whim. Because Phoenix’s nipples were so freakishly large and his dick so freakishly small he should be prepared for them to become targets. Reassuring Phoenix that he was only doing him a favor, the lanky freak then proceeded to twist harsh metal clamps tight about Phoenix’s nipples. Phoenix looked on in horror as his each of his nipples in turn were mashed between the harsh metal plates into tight little bundles that stung like hell. As if that were not enough, the bastard then took several metal clips and snapped them onto Phoenix’s nut-sac and prick. Their sharp metal teeth chewed into Phoenix’s nether regions and sent electric shocks shooting through him that forced his fingers and toes to wiggle. To top off his sadistic game, the bastard hung fish weights off hooks that dangled from the tip of each clamp and clip. When he weight was released, Phoenix shrieked from the piercing sting and pitched about, frantic to fling the thing free and relieve the burn. But he quickly found his struggles did more harm than good when, rather than flying off, the weights merely spun in circles and increased his agony. The burly bastard took up a riding crop and sliced it across Phoenix’s ass. Phoenix shrieked and pitched forward. The bastard let loose, pelted Phoenix’s buttocks, first left, then right, then right again, and back to left, over and over in the same pattern. Phoenix flailed about like crazy to avoid the harsh blows, which inadvertently set the weights dangling from his tender flesh to swinging faster than ever. The bastard worked Phoenix over for some time, before he finally backed off. Phoenix would never forget the piercing sting his nipples and junk suffered each time one of the clamps was removed and the blood suddenly rushed back into then. He was sent into spasms for several minutes before he brought himself back under control. Another time, they trussed Phoenix up by his wrists until he was balanced on the balls of his feet, and clipped clothes pins all over his chest, crotch, and thighs. They even pinched one onto his nose and another onto his chin. When they ran out of pins, they each lit up a cigarette, and watched in delight as Phoenix danced about in agony. Finally, the lanky bastard decided he had seen enough. He took up his riding crop and batted at the pins until Phoenix squealed for him to stop, then whacked each pin in turn, hard enough to knock it free. After each pin flipped away, the fucker bored down hard with his thumb upon the blotchy red mark it had left behind, and massaged that tender spot roughly until Phoenix screamed. Phoenix suffered through several floggings. His shoulders and back were striped, his chest and crotch whipped, and his thighs and calves flailed until his knees buckled. One afternoon, the sick freaks tied him over the horse on his back, shoved their asses down on his face, and forced him lick their assholes. It was at that moment that Phoenix understood what they meant by pain being the only language a slave understood, because, despite the fact that it made him want to wretch, he stuck out his tongue and lapped away to avoid another beating. By the end of each day, Phoenix would be so exhausted he could hardly hold his head up and so sore he could not sleep. When his captors shackled him back into his corner, he would beg them for the drugs that could bring him some peace and offer to do anything they demanded in order to earn them. They would usually make him give their dicks a suckle or two and then reward him with his request, which Phoenix greedily devoured. Only after the drugs kicked in would his suffering ease enough for his eyes to finally close for the night. Sleep was his only relief from this nightmare, even when it brought with it nightmares of its own.
