The morning ritual

To Master Leo, who gifted hog with its first morning shower two years ago

The black door opened. Just a few seconds later a naked body crawled reaching out the terrace. Uncertain movements followed by the rhythmic noise of the padded mittens and the tinkling chain of the leash. The chain was locked to a thick rubber collar, black as was also the head. A rubber shape with no eyes and a wide leather strap covering the mouth.

A second figure came out from the shadows behind the door. The light showed a magnificent bearded man, in leather uniform and black boots. Holding the leash, he kicked the animal’s ass to make space for himself. “Move on hog, get out of the doorway”.

Anyone in the terrace would have witnessed an inked body rushing to move as commanded, moaning “Yes Master” from behind the big gag. But there were no neighbours to hear, and no binoculars that could spy a terrace surrounded by walls.

That was the only world for the slave, for as many years as rings had been added to the cock. It was the only moment when that body would feel the fresh air, the sunlight touching the skin. It wasn’t missed at all, as the slave had embraced the space that Master had assigned for its living.

The slave bowed. Master released the buckle on the back of the head, and removed the gag harshly. Drooling, the slave crawled to the corner, where the mittens found the drinking bowl where the slave pissed. In silence, it waited quiet until it could hear how the leash had been locked to a wall’s iron ring, side by side with the hose.

Keeping on four, it buried the head between Master boots, kissed and licked each of boots, making sure the tongue would press on Master’s feet. Master wanted to feel slave’s tongue well, regardless of the thickness of the boots.

The chain was pulled up. That was the moment to open the mouth and wait.

Regardless of the season or weather, that was the place for the morning shower. Sometimes under the cold rain, sometimes in the scorching summer heat. It had been now years without a warm morning shower. Sometimes, after having served Master tortuous wishes with devotion, the slave’s wounds were given warmness and proper cares. Warm water was a privilege, a present that helped recover a trembling body that had been pushed to the limit by punishment and torture. But not for the morning.

As soon as the warmness and the salty taste reached the mouth, the slave was back to the moment, happy to serve as urinary, but happier for getting Master’s piss into the body. It was Master’s waste what the slave was getting, that showed the ultimate submission to Master. But also it was felt as a communion, as He was taking possession of its body with the liquid gold. It was daily branding. Not just marked in the outside but in the inside.

The cold water came suddenly. Master usually waited a few seconds before hosing the slave down. Not this time. He liked to test slave’s endurance, who was not allowed to moan or shout. A mistake and Master would have a valid excuse for some hard punishment, as that moment was to be kept in solemn silence.

The slave stayed quiet until Master would completely finish, until the towel would be brought and it would be dried. The slave could hear that Master was sitting, and moved itself to be in front, to serve as footstool. Master caressed slave’s ass, and He touched the purple wounds from that cane used the night before.

The darkness of the mask didn’t allow to see the blue sky, but the slave appreciated the pair of minutes that Master had decided to add to the morning stay in the terrace, and knew that Master was enjoying contemplating the cane wounds, while torturing the slave’s skin with the boots’ soles.

The slave, on its four, was happy. The morning ritual was a unique moment of intimacy with Master.

The chain pulled the head up. “End of recess, hog. There were some extra minutes today. Now each minute will be paid.” It was time to go back to the dungeon, where the slave belonged. To serve and please his God one more day.