Jock Enslavement.
By The Enslaver.
Carlos a teammate of Djokovic Goodwin stuck his head around the locker room door and said: “Djokovic, Coach Marcel told me to tell that some T.V guys want to see you in his office, pronto!” Djokovic Goodwin nodded. “Thanks, I’ll be right there,” He said. Djokovic pulled his shorts back up over his tight jock-strap, and pulled on his running vest, and headed down the corridor to Coach Marcel’s office. ‘Strange’ Thought Djokovic, Coach Marcel had arranged for the T.V crews to come Tomorrow morning, since the semi-Finals were not for two more days. Well maybe Coach Marcel was getting an early start. Djokovic smiled to himself: He was favoured to win his Semi-Final and the Final next Friday. As Djokovic stepped into Coach Marcel’s office, a hand clapped over his mouth and a muscular arm circled his neck. “Mmmpphhh!!” Djokovic moaned into the hand over his mouth, but then he saw Coach Marcel sitting in a chair, bound and gagged. A guy was also holding a gun to his head.
“No trouble, big boy,” A voice behind him gritted into Djokovic’s ear, “Or Coach Marcel just might get hurt very badly!” Djokovic moved his head the best he could to show that he understood. The hand was removed from his mouth, but not the arm around his neck, a cloth was stuffed into his mouth and white athletic tape was wrapped around his head to hold the cloth in place. Coach Marcel was bound to his chair and gagged with the same wide white athletic tape. A gun was pressed against Djokovic’s temple. He stood still, and completely helpless, as the arm was removed from around his neck; his arms were painfully pulled behind his back his wrists were bound tightly with quite a lot of wide white athletic tape. Djokovic had no idea how many men there were in the room, but he figured that there were at least three. No one spoke as Djokovic was tied up, and then the one holding a gun on Coach Marcel said.
“Take him out to the van and make sure no one sees you. Remember, the last thing we want is for the law to stop us! I’ll take care of Coach Marcel.” A thick white towel was draped over Djokovic’s head, effectively hooding him. Djokovic cooperated with the thugs, afraid that any struggle on his part would endanger his and Coach Marcel’s life. His blood ran cold as he was led down a corridor and out a side door. Why was he being kidnapped? What would happen to Coach Marcel? Djokovic raising his head slightly, he could see slightly from beneath the towel. Djokovic saw a nondescript, white Ford Transit parked immediately in front of him, the back doors open. He was pushed into the back of the van, and onto the van’s floor. Djokovic’s ankles were quickly bound together with more white athletic tape.
“Nice body, just what the boss likes,” One of the kidnappers said, as he run his hand over Djokovic’s body, and the prominent bulge in Djokovic’s tight singlet. “Let’s check you for steroid, and band drugs use.” Djokovic was horrified as the guy pulled down his shorts and jock-strap, and hauled out his cock and balls, the guy rubbed Djokovic’s ball sacs. “MMMPPPHHHHHH!!!” Djokovic writhed as his manhood was gently, but firmly stroked. Mum, nice” The kidnapper said, “Shaved balls, eh? The boss likes his toys to have shaved balls. That fuzz on top of your head will have to go as well.” The kidnapper started to pump Djokovic’s cock even harder. “Whaff oing on? Oo ah oo?” Moaned Djokovic, as his cock started to become erect, and hard. “Shut the Fuck up!” The kidnapped said, as he roughly hit Djokovic across the face.
After about 20 minutes, the guy was still pumping Djokovic’s cock, which was by now nearly fully erect. Hardly any sound was coming from Djokovic, after some more rough slaps and a hard kick Djokovic knew that he had to stay silent. The two more men climbed into the van. .“What the fuck? You frigging perv, leave him alone. You know our orders! You damage the good, you take his place” Said the guy who had had a gun on Coach Marcel said. “OK, OK,” The guy pumping Djokovic’s cock replied, reluctantly he tucked Djokovic’s erect jewels back into the Jock-strap and pulled up Djokovic’s shorts. A coil of rope was tossed to the guy.
“Hogtie the fucker, and put me out, cold. We’ve a long drive ahead of us and we can’t watch him all the time.” The guy followed his orders, quickly he pushed Djokovic belly-down on the floor of the van then he fastening Djokovic’s ankles to his wrists in a very restrictive hogtie. The white towel was removed from his head, and a leather hood was put in its place. Djokovic had been rendered completely helpless. An arm locked around Djokovic’s neck in a Sleeper hold: the arm squeezed, tighter and tighter. Djokovic seemed to fall into a great roaring blackness, and then blissful nothingness. The van drove away.
Djokovic woke and his vision cleared, he was now in a straight jacket. But rods ran parallel with his back and legs thick leather straps held them to the rods, chains ran from the rods up to the ceiling. A bar spread Djokovic’s leg apart that was also attached to chains running to the ceiling. All the rods and chains left Djokovic in a sitting, but angled position. There were angled mirrors all around the room. An I.V tube run into the Jacket, Djokovic could feel the needle in his hand, the I.V bag hung near the mirrors.
Djokovic started to panic and squirm as little as the jacket and rods allowed possible. In the mirrors Djokovic could see that his cock and balls were all hanging out of the straight jacket, his ass crack was also free. On his head was a pair of large wireless headphones, rubber gaskets sealed the headphones around Djokovic’s ears. Djokovic screamed at the top of his lungs. He tried to thrash about, but he could gain no movement against the straight jacket and rods. Bright lights came on liquid drip down the tube; Djokovic felt a cold feeling in the skin of his hand.
“This should make you more pliable Djokovic. It’s time to start!” Said a voice in the headphones. “Soon you will be ours!” Suddenly Djokovic started feeling disorientated and woozy. “This is slave Sixty-nine; he will help with your training!” Said the voice. A well-built guy, completely naked, but for a rubber hood and a collar around his neck; on which hung a large dog-tag with the number 69 on it came into the room pushing a trolley. On the trolley was an assortment of strange looking objects. Through his haze Djokovic saw slave Sixty-nine picked up what looked like two mouth guards. “Now, open your mouth”. Said the voice in the headphones. Djokovic clamped his mouth tightly shut. Slave Sixty-nine reached out with one hand and roughly gripped Djokovic’s ball sacs, and pulled down: “Fuck” Cried Djokovic, as he reluctantly opened his mouth. Slave Sixty-nine placed one of the mouth guards on Djokovic’s upper teeth and another on his lower teeth. Then slave Sixty-nine held up an odd looking football shaped metal item. He placed it in-between the mouth guards in Djokovic’s mouth.
“If you don’t know already, that object Slave Sixty-nine placed in your mouth this called a Jennings gag. It will spread and lock your mouth open, Slave Sixty-nine will demonstrate”. Djokovic felt his mouth being pried open, as this happened he heard a distinctive “click” His mouth soon would not yield as he tried to close it. After about twelve slow distinctive “click” Djokovic could felt the pain of having his mouth pried wide apart, he tried to cry out the best he could. Next Slave Sixty-nine picked up two syringes and one after the other injected them into a port in Djokovic’s IV line. The voice in the headphones returned, “Perfect, you need to be a lot more relaxed for the next stage of the operation. You will be able to see everything that is going to happen to you!” Djokovic tried to protest as best he could.
“Next this Foley catheter, it will be snaked down your piss hole and urethra into your bladder. It’s a most uncomfortable experience I’m told. We will start now.” Slave Sixty-nine snapped on a pair of Latex rubber gloves, and then he swabbed Richard’s cock head with a clear liquid, he then grabbed a syringe from the trolley and inserted it into Djokovic’s piss slit. First of all Djokovic felt a cool feeling, and then it began to burn slightly slave Sixty-nine approached Djokovic with the catheter. He slowly inserted the long rubber tube, Djokovic could felt it snaking and burning inside his gut. Djokovic felt some pressure and the snaking stopped. Djokovic’s mind was reeling; things had only ever come out of his cock and now his cock was being raped by a long rubber tube going in where nothing had ever gone before. Slave Sixty-nine snatched up another syringe and stuck it in one of two openings at the other end of the catheter. He emptied the syringe into that “port”.
The voice floated through the headphones and into Djokovic’s drugged mind. “The syringe inflates a rubber balloon inside your bladder, assuring that the catheter cannot be removed until I desire it to be removed.” Djokovic trying to ignore the burning throughout his gut. Suddenly he became distracted; as he saw yet another tube-like device being picked up by slave Sixty-nine. The tube was very odd looking in deed; it had two inflation bulbs side by side on one end, a port in the middle and then a shaft with two odd shaped ‘winged “looking objects one below the other on the shaft. “Now, next is an Enema Syringe, it’s inserted into your rectum and the inner balloon will then be inflated inside your rectum, the outer balloon will then be inflated to assure a waterproof seal, so that nothing escapes from your arse or can enter your arse”. Said the voice. Djokovic had only ever topped and had never been fucked in the arse before by man, or woman. So he wasn’t ready for what happened next.
Slave Sixty-nine rubbed lube on Djokovic’s asshole; it was cool and actually was the first pleasurable experience he had had since his capture and imprisonment in the straight jacket and being placed in this chamber of horrors. He felt slave Sixty-nine’s finger slip inside his arse; against all concentration and will power Djokovic was amazed to feel that his cock was starting to throb, and get hard, it was a painful feeling as the lubed rubber catheter moved and burned inside my hardening cock. Next Djokovic felt the Enema Syringe being inserted into my arse; at first it was not bad feeling until he felt the pain from the winged balloon passing through into his rectum. “Slave Sixty-nine will now inflate the inner balloon” Said the voice. What then followed was the pumping of the bulb, each pump made Djokovic’s arse feel fuller and fuller, it also made him feel that he wanted to shit very badly. The outer bulb was then inflated, as it inflated Djokovic felt it pull the inner bulb in towards his arsehole, until there was a very tight seal between the two bulbs.
Slave Sixty-nine held up two longer tubes he then rubbed lube on them. He began to snake the tubes through Djokovic’s nose, feeding them constantly until Djokovic could feel them going down his throat. After a while Djokovic stopped, two small balloons were inflated inside Djokovic’s nostrils.
“Finally this last tube will be inserted into your throat unfortunately it will pass in between your vocal cords, leaving you unable to make any noise” Said the voice. Slave Sixty-nine approached Djokovic he was holding a long tube with a rubber gag some way down it. Slave Sixty-nine removed the metal gag that was racketing Djokovic’s jaws open and then began inserting the tube down Djokovic’s throat. Djokovic continued to try to scream until the tube passed between his vocal cords, then all that could be heard was air passing through the tubes up his nose and down his throat. Slave Sixty-nine pushed the gag into Djokovic’s mouth and strapped it in place behind Djokovic’s head. The rubber gag was inflated, which held the tube into place, filling his mouth. “The voice came back “Don’t worry Djokovic, you are now ready for the next stage of your training. We will offer you, assistance to learn about your new place in life!” Everything except Djokovic’s eyes was now waterproof.
A large tank filled with a clear bubbling liquid was pushed before the large mirror in front of Andy. All the tubes hanging from Djokovic’s body were connected too thicker tubes that seemed to converge onto a machine, connected to a computer console. Air could be felt pumping down Andy’s nose and mouth. Richard moaned the best he could as his ass filled with what felt like a warm, burning liquid. Slave Sixty-nine removed the I.V. from Djokovic, he then picked up a spray bottle from the trolley, and turned back to face Djokovic. Slave Sixty-nine slowly and methodically sprayed a clear liquid from the bottle into each of Djokovic’s eyes. Djokovic found he could not close ever eye to the slightest degree. “This drug in your eyes will wear off in a short time. By which time you’re training will have begun.” Said the voice. A pair of goggles where placed over Djokovic’s eyes, they too had a rubber gasket on them Djokovic felt it against his forehead and cheeks. Suddenly Djokovic began to see dancing rhythms of light flashing at rapid rates. “These hypnosis glasses will assist in your reprogramming”. Said the voice.
Djokovic felt himself being hoisted up into the air; the chains and rods must be attached to a hoist, thought Djokovic. He felt the rig swing him forwards, with a terrifying thought, he knew that he was going to be lowered into the tank. Lower and lower went Djokovic until he was completely submersed. The liquid in the tank felt slightly cold, but not like water. The voice came back “Now Slave Sixty-nine will begin your reprogramming. You will soon cease to be Djokovic Goodwin; and you will become a willing and obedient slave. After the auction you will serve your Master both sexually and emotionally. Your time in the tank will completely strip you of your individuality; allow me to in the next stage of your programming to turn you into a dim-witted, but useful sex-slave!”
White noise filled the headphones, and Djokovic’s ears and head. Djokovic could not see, but Slave Sixty-nine had left the room. Leaving Djokovic to his fate. Djokovic now had no knowledge of time, or how much time had passed. He was now all alone in the tank with his torment, a private hell of that disembodied voice’s making. Djokovic’s personality was slowly stripping away, as was any of his resistance that was left. Djokovic would be left in the tank for about four hours, by which time he would be ready for his next and last stage of programming.
Five hours later:
Djokovic was out of the tank, and free of the straight-jacket and all the devices that had been put into his body. But the rods were holding up his conscious body, in a standing position, and the headphones were still on his head. Slave Sixty-nine entered the room, which was just bare white tiles, a hose was coiled against the far wall and the sound of dripping water could be heard. Slave Sixty-nine wheeled the trolley he was pushing over to Djokovic, from the trolley Sixty-nine picked up a large soapy sponge, and started to rub the sponge all over Djokovic’s body, head, arms, legs, arse-crack and balls. In no time at all most of Djokovic’s body was completely covered in soap. Once he was finished, Slave Sixty-nine removed the headphones, he then walked over to the hose, picked it up and turned it on. A stream of ice cold water shot out the hose and hit Djokovic, slowly the cold water washed away not only the soap, but also Djokovic’s body hair as well as the hair on his head. The soap contained a strong hair-removal agent; another dose of the soap later would prevent hair growth for 13 months.
Slave Sixty-nine turned off the hose, and walked back to Djokovic, who was just regaining consciousness: all the training in the tank was now completed at once Slave Sixty-nine replaced the headphone onto Djokovic. “Good slave you are now completely ready for your last lesson in become a sex-slave. And Slave sixty-nine will help you learn that lesson.” Said the voice in the headphones. Slave Sixty-nine removed the jacket and rods from Djokovic’s body he now stood unaided, swaying slightly, the cold water still dripping from his body. “Now on your knees and look at Sixty-nine’s cock, and take hold of it.” Ordered the voice, Djokovic fell to his knees looking straight ahead, and for the first time Djokovic saw Sixty-nine’s cock.
The entire shaft of the guy’s cock hung free, right in front of Djokovic’s face. It had to be twelve inches long, and incredibly thick, Djokovic’s fucked mind marveled. The monstrous head of the gargantuan cock was a deep red, thick red veins snaking down the cock. And Slave-Sixty-nine’s balls were themselves quite large. Djokovic slid the palm of his left hand down and around the shaft he slowly closed his hand around it. The shaft felt slimy, slick, sticky and hot.
“Djokovic Goodwin,” The voice whispered, quietly, “You love cock, it’s what you live for! Now serve that cock, begin the life you’re truly destine for.” Djokovic just stared at the cock for a moment, and then he leaned forward and kissed the head of the guy’s cock. Sixty-nine moaned, in pleasure from the stimulation of his cock. The cock’s piss-slit started to stream clear, thick pre-cum, it collected and dripping from the cock head. Djokovic first licked up the collected pre-cum from the piss-slit. Then he pressed the cock-head to his lips, and then took all of it into his mouth, sucking out all the pre-cum that was left. Behind his hood Slave Sixty-nine scrunched up his eyes and bit his lower lip to keep from making any noise.
Djokovic’s mind-fucked brain was in a sexual frenzy, he pulled his mouth off of the cock. He grabbed hold of the shaft with both hands, up and down the shaft his hands went. Furiously Djokovic stroked the massive genitalia in front of him. Slave Sixty-nine’s balls were tightening up, churning away, instinctively the guy grabbed Djokovic’s head and pushed him back onto his massive, throbbing cock. Djokovic went to work on the cock-head, licking the slimy swollen member all over, running his tongue up and down the ridge and around the flared hood of the head. Djokovic let out a muffled moan of approval as the guy’s cock fed him a thick stream of pre-cum.
Ten minutes later Slave Sixty-nine was pumping Djokovic’s mouth with the full length of his enormous shaft, rocking his whole body back and forth, as he thrust his cock deeper, and deeper down Djokovic’s throat. Djokovic moved his head forward and back to keep in time with the guy’s thrusting hip. The guy started screaming finally Slave Sixty-nine couldn’t take any more he started bucking his hips like crazy. Djokovic held on like riding a bull, keeping his lips fixed to the guy’s piss slit. Djokovic was determined to keep his lips right over that piss slit.
Slave Sixty-nine started Cumming. He shot what seemed like a gallon of hot, thick cream spunk down Djokovic’s throat. It hit the back of Djokovic’s throat. It more than filled Djokovic’s mouth and coated Djokovic’s entire face. Djokovic managed to swallow all of the cum in his mouth, but he was not in time to reopen his mouth for the guy’s second, but even bigger shot. Loads of cum spewed from Sixty-nine’s cock, completely coating Djokovic’s face. Djokovic stayed on his knees a stupid, goofy grin on his cum covered face, as Slave Sixty-nine moved away from him, his cock deflating.
The voice told Djokovic to stand and bend over a wooden horse in the middle of the room, Djokovic didn’t even think about what he was doing as he obeyed the voice. He stood up, and slowly walked over to the horse, he put his hands down on the horse. Slave Sixty-nine now erect again, shoved Djokovic in the back until he was leaning fully over the wooden horse, and he tied Djokovic’s hands and legs to the horse. Sixty-nine moved behind Djokovic.
Djokovic felt the guy press his cock against his butthole. Djokovic had never had anything in his butthole. No way, no how. He had once let his doctor give him a prostate exam. But nothing else had ever entered his hole. But the erect guy didn’t ask permission. Djokovic felt the guy push down on his back, and run a finger up and down his butt crack. Djokovic then felt a cock tip start to push its way into his hole. Djokovic started howling, he screamed at the top of his voice. The pain was unimaginable the guy’s cock was so huge and large. Djokovic was a butt virgin. Straightly Djokovic couldn’t bring himself to fight back.
“That’s right, you jock faggot, you’re gonna be torn wide open. Your jock faggot ass is going to be split wide open. So you will be ruined. You’ll think that there is just a huge, gaping hole down there, where a massive cock fucked you. This will happen every time your ass is fucked. You have been programmed for this new life. Welcome to your new life serving cock and your Master” Said the voice. But this time the voice was a hoarse whisper. All Djokovic knew and felt was that he had a big cock fucking his ass and he couldn’t seem to say no, or stop the fucking.
Sixty-nine’s cock was halfway inside Djokovic and it felt like he was been impaled, like being ripped open from the inside. Djokovic’s eyes glazed over, he opened his mouth and uttered the words. “I love getting fucked in the ass and sucking cock. I love serving Cock” Tears run down his face “Good little faggot. Now you ready to serve your Master!” Said the voice in the headphones. Djokovic grinned another goofy grin as Sixty-nine continued fucking him.
Slave Sixty-nine pistoled his gargantuan cock in and out of Djokovic’s violated asshole. “Oh, YEAH! YEAH!” Slave Sixty-nine yelled as he started Cumming, a small part of Djokovic’s fuck brain thought that he know the voice he’d just heard. With a mighty pelvic thrust Slave Sixty-nine exploded, blasted a load of thick, hot spunk deep into Djokovic’s ass. Sixty-nine kept screaming with the ecstasy of release. Djokovic groaned in agony as Sixty-nine pulled his cock out of his ass all at once accompanied by a loud, wet sucking noise. Djokovic felt like his guts had just been yanked out. “Not quite done yet!” Said the voice. Slave Sixty-nine untied Djokovic and holding his cock in one hand for aim and using the other to beat it, Slave Sixty-nine let off yet another blast of cum.
This blast struck Djokovic in his face plenty of cum got into Djokovic’s mouth. He tried to stand up but fell onto his cum-drenched, violated ass. A final shot of cum from Sixty-nine soaked Djokovic from head to toe. Djokovic scooped up cum with his hands, jamming fistful after fistful of the viscous spunk into his mouth, trying to eat as much as he could. Slave Sixty-nine’s orgasm ended, his cock shrank back to flaccidity he stood there, panting.
“Oh yeah, fuck, you sick piece of shit. You’ll ready to go back and serve your Master” Said the voice. Djokovic’s hair was drenched with cum; it stuck to his head under the weight of the thick spunk clotting it. “Fuck” Moaned Djokovic as he cum, his load significantly smaller than those shot by the two guys that had fucked him. The last parts of Djokovic’s mind with free will slowly shut down, completing his training.
Coach Marcel looked up from the screen he was looking at on which the now enslaved Djokovic could be seen still covered in cum. The three guys that had kidnaped Djokovic had just come into his office with Slave Sixty-nine. Coach Marcel smiled at the four men, “gentlemen you have once again done a great job on my latest slave. Your payments are of cause in your off-shore accounts.” Said the coach looking at the three kidnapers, he turned slight and looked at Slave Sixty-nine; who still had on the hood but was now dressed in a blue shell-suit. “You my Slave trainer can ‘WAKE’ and remove your hood and return to normal, remembering nothing.” Said Coach Marcel, clicking his fingers.
Slave Sixty-nine’s body seem to jerk like he was waking from a deep sleep: he reached up and pulled off the hood. The sweaty confused looking face of Carlos Djokovic’s team-mate stared at Coach Marcel. The confused jock stood looking at Coach Marcel he seemed not to notice the three other men. “You wanted to see me coach?” Carlos asked in a confused voice, the guy had no memory of calling Djokovic to Coach Marcel, or the hours he had spent training Djokovic.
“I did, but it’s getting late now. I’ll see you in the morning.” Coach Marcel told Carlos, the jock did not answer, but just nodded his head and left the room still not noticing the three other men, the jock could not think why he felt like he had had fucked himself empty, but his balls did feel sore and empty. Coach Marcel watched Carlos leave; he then turned back to the kidnapers. “And now gentlemen return to base and prepare Djokovic for shipment!” The three men nodded and without saying a single word left the room.
Coach Marcel took a last look at the cum covered Djokovic on the screen; before he turned the screen off and pulled a pile of files towards him. The search for next month’s slave was just getting started. Coach Marcel opened the first file and started reading.