Face In The Mirror
by: controlone
Day One
I stand here staring into the mirror knowing that I should recognize the person looking back at me, but I keep drawing a blank. Who am I? How did I get here? Where did I come from? I only have bits and pieces. I should say that I’m only allowed bits and pieces. My name is Toy or Pussy or Cuntboy or Pussyface or cumdump, whatever I am told for the time, for the day. I am at the mercy of my handler, my master although I do not know his name or remember his face. My mind is almost empty and the harder I try to regain my memory the more the clouds roll in and my head starts to hurt.
The face in the mirror is handsome if a bit thin. I am compelled to exercise hours every day. I must maintain the body of a young god. My hair is blond, almost white; my skin is dyed to the precise shade my master desires. I groom to measure up or else. I must be perfectly clean in every way. I must keep my body hair to the correct measurement. My master demands that I keep the hair on my chest as it is. He likes the way it swirls around my nipples and rises up to just below my adam’s apple. It is golden like the hair on my head although I no longer remember if it has always been this way. It lightly covers my pecs and tapers to a narrow line that leads down my stomach into my crotch where I am allowed to keep a neatly trimmed triangle of pubes…also blond. I am allowed the hair in my pits and legs because it pleases my master, but my ass and balls are kept clean, which I don’t think is very difficult, but I don’t remember.
It’s been so long since I’ve had any kind of real life that I am afraid I will lose all contact with reality. I must be careful what I think. Sometimes my master questions me for hours about everything. How I feel, what I believe. I am not allowed to think outside certain limits. I mustn’t spend too much time obsessing about myself because I do not matter. I am nothing. I have no value, no worth except what my master allows. I belong to him. Sometimes, depending on his mood, he will let me remember who I was and what I used to be. He lets me have my life back for minutes here and there, but that can be very painful. I think I used to be a man. I think I used to have a girlfriend. I think I used to fuck women, but it hurts to think. My master gives me every element of my life, even my thoughts. He lets me be alive. He is my life. I am nothing except what my master desires.
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Day Two
I woke up today and I was very, very tired, but why? What happened? I live in a room. It’s almost bare; just a bed and a dresser and an adjoining bathroom. There is a chair next to my bed, but I am never allowed to sit in it. It is for my master when he comes to me, comes to get me, comes to bring me back to life. As I lay here I am aware that I cannot move. My body is frozen in place and I am quite aware that I need to pee. My bladder is full. That’s what woke me up an hour or two ago. Oh god, I need to pee. What started as discomfort became pain a while ago, but now I must wait. Either my master will come or I will burst. There is no alternative. The pain is doing something to my mind. If I concentrate on the pain I can remember something. I can remember that I was in my room yesterday afternoon when my master came to get me. I do not recall his face or his actual person coming into my room. I just realized at a moment in time that he was in my head, releasing me from my paralysis; bringing me back to life, back to his purpose. He was preparing me for my night’s work, my life’s purpose…..to serve men. He told me to get up and I was free to move. He instructed me in what to wear. I had to be provocative. I went to the dresser and took out the loose fitting red plaid shorts. They were made so that there would be free access through a pleat to my pussy, my focus. I am a mouth and a pussy. That is what I am. My only function is to receive cum, to beg for cum, to plead for cum. It is the reason I am alive, the reason I breathe. If I went a day without at least one man’s cum in my pussy and one man’s cum in my mouth I would surely die. It is my milk and honey, my sustenance, I must have it. I must beg for it.
So I put on the shorts and felt with my hand to make sure my pussy was easily displayed. I then put on the special sleeveless t-shirt. It is rigged to be torn off, and the printing on the front says, “I am worthless. What can I do for you? Ask me to debase myself.” On the back it says, “tear off here,” and points to a few places where the material has been weakened. It usually doesn’t take more than an hour till I am completely naked. You would think I’d be used to it, but I have been programmed to be intensely shy and extremely self-conscious about my body. Regardless of how physically fit I am, no matter how much my body is in shape, my muscles taut and cut, I am trained to feel ugly and always be acutely aware of my body….and my nakedness. With a simple command I become clumsy, and easily trip over my own feet. This of course further embarrasses me.
I keep having these adolescent feelings, but it occurs to me that I am twenty nine. Jesus, I’m not a boy; I’m a man…………………………………. What happened? Suddenly the slate is clean. Where was I? Dear God, what gives? I was thinking. Think!!! Christ!!! Think!!! I was at the gathering. I was in my special clothes. I was allowed to wear clothes.
From across the room a man snaps his fingers I must immediately present myself to him. I must go to him and turn and bend so that he can see and have access, if he wants, to my boycunt. Then I must wait for his next signal. If he raises his index finger it means that he wants me to plead for his attention without words. I must remain bent, but I must move to him and lightly touch and caress his pant leg and thigh…but very respectfully. One wrong move and I will spend the rest of the evening on the floor begging to lick shoes and clean feet. I must do everything in my training to plead for his attention, to beg for his hands on me, entreat him with my eyes to fuck me with his fingers and if I am very, very pleasing that he should fuck me with his mancock; fuck me and fuck me and fuck me till I beg for his sperm in my worthless boypussy. I watched and he flicked his index and second finger. He wanted me to speak. I blushed a deep red. I am always at a loss for the proper thing to say, the means to plead with my body and my words for a man’s attention. Then as always the words came, just as I had been taught, just as my master had programmed me; they spilled out of me.
“Sir, master, I am nothing. I want nothing more than to be your boy, to be your pussyboy. Please use me as you see fit. I am yours. You my master are so much more than this cuntboy could ever want (and he was, because just as I have been programmed the men who use me are my gods. They are always taller than I; stronger than I; better looking than I. This godlike man was at least 6’6” tall, 4 inches taller than I am. He was well cut under his three thousand dollar suit; and although I did not look into his face, as I have been trained, I did notice out of my peripheral vision that he had the most perfect white teeth in the most perfect face I have ever seen. Only my master, whose face I cannot recall, is better looking.). Master, please use me. I am yours to abuse. Please tell me how low and unworthy I am. I will do whatever you want. Go wherever you choose, be whatever you need. Please instruct me, teach me. Please master, tell me what you want. I am nothing, a receptacle for your sweet, sweet cum. May I suck your cock? May I lick your balls, massage your back, eat your ass, kiss your feet? I am trained to bring you pleasure master. May I please be allowed to kiss your cock and worship at your feet? Anything sir, master; I will do anything and if I please you give me your manseed, put your cum on my face, in my ass, rub it all over my body. Please master; I am yours to abuse, to use. I am skilled in the pleasures of the flesh and I am tireless. I would die before I stopped pleasing your dick or sucking your balls, or licking the sweat from your armpits. Let me groom your body with my tongue. You may beat me if you like. I will not rest until I satisfy you master. The sight of your body fills me with desire. I am consumed by the need to be with you, to be commanded by you. I cannot cum unless you tell me and I am already burning with need. I need your come to live. If I do not please you and you do not cum in my pussy and on my lips sometime tonight I will not live to see the dawn. I must be yours. I am yours to have, to instruct. I am your boy, your pussyslave, your boycunt, your cumdump.”
He again moved his index finger. I immediately shut up and presented myself, but I began to purr as his gesture indicated. If he wanted me to be more supplicating he only needed to raise his hand. If he wanted me to open my pussy, he only needed to snap his fingers. I was his. I would do whatever he wanted. I could feel my desire rising. My dick was hard as a rock. It was painful and it seemed like I had needed to cum for hours, for days. My attraction to him was total. I loved him more than I can say. I would have done anything to please him; endured anything to make him want me. All the while I was struggling to make him take me he was talking to another man. I was only dimly aware of these others. The room had perhaps ten well-dressed men in it as well as five or six of us toy-boy, pussy-slaves, each drooling over his assigned god, begging to be owned.
My man turned his attention to me as I was slightly bent, purring, pleading with my body for him to claim me and take me away from here so that I could use all my abilities to please him. He reached over to me, took hold of my shirt and tore it away from my body. He ordered me to stand up straight. I felt all the blood rush to my face. Everyone in the room was looking at me. I was mortified. He looked me in the eye and my discomfort grew. I immediately averted my gaze to the floor and said, “Please master may your pussyboy please throw himself at your feet. Please master.”
He glared at me. Dear god what had I done? Was he angry? Had I displeased him? What to do? What should I do?
He said, “Come.”
As my body heard his word it obeyed. My boycock began to shoot rope after rope of cum. Because my boydick was jutting out of my waistband by two inches the first couple shots of cum hit me directly in the chin. The white stringy boyseed hung there for a second and then dripped into my chest hair. I wanted to crawl under a chair. I wanted to run, but I just stood there in front of a roomful of my masters and my betters and cringed as my kidcock continued to shoot three, four, five more times. He just shook his head and said, “Is that the best you can do? I thought you wanted me? I thought you were hot for me? Explain boy!! But first lose the shorts; you don’t deserve them.”
The tears began to well up in my eyes, “Pleeeeze master. Pleeeeze forgive me. I am just a boy. I cum like a boy. I am so sorry. I need you. I want you. I know that I don’t deserve your attention. Please master let me try to please you.” I put my fingers into the waist of my shorts but before I could pull them down and complete my humiliation he reached over and grabbed them.
As he pulled the shorts gave way. I was naked except for leather slippers I am allowed to wear. He looked at my feet, “And take those off immediately. I want you stripped to the skin. You are worthless.”
I tried to cry quietly. I tried to hide my intense embarrassment, but I couldn’t. I wanted; I needed to be lower. I am trained to be very uncomfortable in any position that might indicate my status as an adult. I need to be at his feet. I need to be servicing my master’s needs whatever they were.
My master of the evening said, “I need to relieve myself.” My boydick shot to attention with the need of a thousand erections; and my mouth dried out like the Sahara.
Suddenly my sadness abated and I was thirsty; thirstier than I’d ever been and I was elated. Perhaps he would allow me to drink from his mancock. Whatever came out of that magnificent vessel could only serve to quench this boyslave.
“Oh master may I…” I was so flustered, “Please sir, may I place my lips around your dick, may I drink from your vessel. Oh please master, I will do anything to drink from your beautiful cock, your manprick, your huge fantastic masterdick. Please sir may I?”
He looked at me, “And what will you do for this gift?”
“Anything sir, anything you desire. I will suffer for it sir. I will work for it master. I will do whatever you command.”
“Right answer.” Was all he said. Then he glanced down at his cock and I fell to my knees, hand trembling, lips quivering, and boydick dripping in anticipation. I carefully opened his fly. I felt like I was unwrapping the best gift in the universe. It was as if everything I had ever wanted or would ever need was just beyond his zipper. My boycock kept jumping as I gently touched my master’s maleprick. It was so warm and so large that I felt the gooseflesh rise all over my body. I couldn’t help but let out a gasp as it came into view. The room, the other people all vanished. It was just me and my master’s cock. It wasn’t completely erect; it was magnificent. My heart began to pound as I put my lips around the masterful phallus. In a second it began to pulse with the vital fluid and I said a little prayer that I not spill a single drop. If I did my life could well be over and my disappointment would be beyond description. [Once during my early training when I was still a whelp, pussyboy, asswipe, piece of flyshit I had lost my concentration and my master’s mancock had dropped from my lips causing his golden drink to spill all over my chest. My master was disappointed and I had to be taught my lesson so I was bound tightly, hands behind my back, ankles together, roped tightly standing erect, atop a chair with my balls tightly bound by a thin wire that was tied to a beam above my head. I had to stand there, at complete attention for two days and nights. If I in any way lost my attention I would have fallen and my balls would have been torn from my body. By the end of the second night I was sweat from head to toe. Tears streamed from my eyes as I cried as carefully as possible. More than once I almost fell and gelded myself, but it was a necessary lesson. It was all my fault and I kissed my master’s feet for being so patient and for working so hard to make me a better cuntboy.] So I knelt there reverently allowing the liquid to flow down my throat and fill my stomach. I was in heaven. When my master finished I continued to hold his manprick in my mouth waiting for his next instruction. He was involved in a conversation with another man who was finger fucking a boypussy bent over a small table. The boy was all smiles, cooing and purring, his boyprick at the ready. I began to feel jealous….and hungry. It had been hours….I think since I had my last infusion of manseed and I could feel my need rising. Still I waited as my master spoke. I don’t know what they were talking about because I am programmed to be unable to understand adult conversation unless it is about sex or degrades me in some way.
In a few minutes my god for the night gave me a wink and I took his mandick out of my mouth, carefully licked it all off, gave his balls a good cleaning and before I could put it away I just had to kiss it a few times and generally worship its perfection. All the while my need was rising.
He looked down at me with a strange expression on his face. He said, “Stand up for a minute.” So I once again rose from the floor trying hard to supplicate myself for him. He said, “What is your name boy?”
I was at a loss, “Pussyboy sir….or cuntface…or dogboy…or cumdump…or dicklips sir, whatever you please.”
He furrowed his brow, “No, no David, release his memory for a minute. Let’s have some fun.”
The voice in my head began whispering to me and it was as if the clouds lifted, “My name is James Cunningham, sir.”
“And James Cunningham, what do you do? What is your occupation?”
“Sir, I am an actor sir, and a model. I majored in drama at Cornell and then was signed by the Sullivan Modeling Agency. I’ve done a lot of print work and have a chance to get a role on a soap opera………. I had a chance to get a part on a soap.” I began to remember, and as I did the world began to cave in. Oh my god, my life. I had a life. I had a fiancÉ. What happened to her? How did I get here? And just as I began to search my mind for the answers that damn voice in my head began to whisper and as it did I started to get confused. “I am an actor sir. Master. I have a girlfriend….but I don’t remember her name. My name is James….James something. My name is cuntboy. Master, what’s happening to me? Why can’t I think straight?”
He reached over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Excuse me? What are you talking about? Are you looking me in the eye boy?”
I was so embarrassed. Everyone was looking at me. Oh god I was so naked. And my boydick was so hard and it was drooling. And I was so drawn to this god-like man before me. Suddenly I realized that I hadn’t tasted a man’s cum in hours and my need was enormous. I began to groan. My whole body felt empty. I was starving for mancum. My boypussy began to throb and my boydick began to jump.
He said, “Would you look at this ridiculous pussyboy, cuntface, cumdump? He needs to be used, and he needs it bad. How about some of us take him where we can give him what he needs? Jack, Bill bring your pussyboys and let’s find a room.” He took me by my ear and led me down a hall. There were three masters and three pussyboys in a large room with a couple big beds, some couches and a lot of bondage gear. My master, the biggest of the three godlike men said, “This pussyboy is arrogant. He needs to be brought down a peg or two. He needs to be a bit more humble.”
When his words sunk in they burned like hot coals. My eyes filled with tears. I was desolate. I laid at my masters feet. He kicked me in the balls. I immediately spread my legs so that he could have easier access. He reached down and squeezed my balls. As he squeezed them he pulled me to my feet and as he looked me in the face he said, “You don’t deserve a man’s cum. You are a spoiled boy. You are a disgrace to your master. A few minutes ago you remembered your life pussyboy! You remembered your name. You remembered that you used to have a girlfriend. You used to be a man. You loved women. You were a hound boy. You were every woman’s dream; strong, handsome, full of yourself, but that’s the past. You are a boyslave. You live to service mancock. You are a mouth and a boycunt. You need to remember that and only that. What are you boy?”
As I sobbed I said, “I am a pussyboy sir, master, sir. I service mancock. I live for mancum master. I belong to whoever wants me. I am the lowest of the low.” And I cried and cried.
“Look around you boy. These other pussyboys are embarrassed by you. You are a disgrace to them. Do you realize that boy?”
He looked me in the eye. I stared at the floor. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to grovel at his feet. I needed to be debased, but he was holding my balls tightly in his fist. He was crushing them and I could only cry.
“Answer me, you cunt. Do you realize what an embarrassment you are to these other cumdumps?”
“Yessir master. Yes I know I am a disgrace. Oh please master what can I do? Please master, tell me what to do?” I was crying uncontrollably
He continued to instruct me. “You need to go over there to that cuntface, pussyboy with the red hair and as you kiss his feet you need to beg for his forgiveness. I want you to crawl over there on your belly and plead for his mercy.”
I began to panic. I was a trained pussyboy. I was lower than worm snot. I was nothing, but I had no idea how to talk with another cumdump. We had been taught to fuck and physically abuse each other as we were instructed. We could fuck each others’ worthless boycunts. We could lick and suck each other’s useless boycocks, we could suck and drink each other’s piss and eat each others’ boypussies and swallow each others’ boyseed, but we could not, ever talk to each other. We were not given the ability to speak to one another. So I began to shake. He let go of my balls and I fell to the floor. Because I was as his feet, almost by rote I began to lick his shoes.
He kicked me away and said, “I want you to crawl over there on your belly and beg that red haired cuntboy for his forgiveness. Now do it! Crawl.”
So I got down on my belly and began to drag myself across the rug to where the red headed pussyboy was laying across his master’s lap. As he was laying there his master was fingerfucking his boycunt vigorously with three fingers. The cumdump was moaning with joy. I took a look at his useless body. He must have been about 5’ll” with bright red hair on his head, pits and in a small wisp over his 8” boyprick. He was in prime physical condition with the tight body of an athlete. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I knew he was in his thirties, that we had been in training together and had fucked each other raw on several other occasions, but I barely remembered any of it. The carpet was abrading my boydick, but I didn’t dare raise myself any higher. I had to obey my master to the very best of my ability. It was my singular purpose in life. That I knew.
When I got to the redheaded pussycunt’s master’s feet I raised my head till I was looking the cumdump in the eyes, but the words just didn’t come. I tried to speak. I sputtered and stuttered and ummed and ahhed. I got more and more frustrated, more and more embarrassed. There were no words. I had not been taught to speak to other cumdumps. So my master walked over to me and slapped my face very hard a few times. I could only cry. I was so embarrassed to have these other masters see me, such a stupid boycunt unable to speak, unable to remember the right response.
He said, “Repeat after me you cuntfaced idiot, and I want you to realize how inadequate and sorry you are. I want you to be embarrassed by how low and degrading this is. You are about to plead with another cunthole, pussyslave for his pity. I want you to wrap your mind around that idea. I want you to realize how demeaning it is to be asking for pity from the most insignificant piece of shit on the planet.”
And it all became clear, just how low I was. How low and how useless I was. Why was I allowed to breathe the same air as my master? Why did he waste his time trying to train me to be a better cumdump and pussyslave? So I began to cry again and I lost control. My nose started to run and I began to sweat. The perspiration started to drip from my pits and I shook all over.
He began to speak, “Please you redheaded pussyslave, won’t you please abuse me? Please train me. Please degrade me and make me realize what a useless cunthole I am……Say that!!”
As I sobbed and shook I said, “Please redheaded pussyslave…”
My master stopped me, “Listen, I want you to lower yourself to him. Let him know how much better he is than you. Tell him how superior he is to you. Ask him to be your master. Ask him to own you. Lower yourself to him.”
His words hit me like the lash. I had to beg this cumdump to be my master. I had to ask a lowly pussyslave to degrade me. All this while the redheaded cumhole, pussyslave was being finger fucked by his master. His dick was currently drooling between his master’s legs and falling on the floor in front of me. My king, my master of the evening pointed his finger and I immediately began to lick the drool off the rug, but he slapped the back of my head, “Ask his permission to clean his useless boydrippings and when he gives you permission it will taste like the most bitter poison, but with every drop you will fall deeper in love with this redheaded boycunt. You are going to want to be his boypussy. Your cumhole is going to begin to itch for his useless boycock. And all the while you will realize everything. All the humiliation will sink deeper and deeper into your mind it will fill your thoughts.
So as I lay there on my belly I began to beg the redheaded boypussy if I could lick up his boydrool. As he lay there moaning his master whispered something in his ear. The redheaded cumhole looked at me and said, “Beg me.”
I said, “Please sir, master boycunt, please, may I lick up your boydrool?” and after some more pleading he groaned out a yes, so I began to tongue up the boycunt’s dicksnot. It tasted awful, but as I licked it up I began to feel something happen. I stopped crying and looked up at the redheaded prickhole. He was nothing, he was useless, but I felt drawn to him. God I wanted his cum. I wanted his boycock. I wanted to eat out his boypussy. The unbelievable humiliation of longing for another pussyslave kept occurring to me. Oh god how could I be any lower. I wondered if the masters in the room could tell what I was feeling. I wanted to ask the redheaded cumdump if I could lick his drooling boyprick, if maybe I could drink his useless boypiss or suck his worthless boypussy. Meanwhile his master had removed his fingers from the redheaded boy’s pussyhole and began to kiss him and pinch his boytits. The boypussy was moaning and gyrating his hips. His large, beautiful body was draped over his sitting master’s lap (my mind was swimming with the incongruity of the redhead’s size and age; he was not a grown man; he was a boycunt, a pussyhole, a man’s toy not a man). I was drooling too as I stared at his boycock pulsing and spitting out cocksnot everywhere. The redheaded cumdump’s master was putting his pussyslave into sexual orbit. If the pussyboy wasn’t allowed to cum soon he would explode and you could tell because his moans and groans were growing more and more desperate. I continued to lick up his cockdrool as my desire to debase myself for him grew. I wanted him so much. I could feel myself blush all over as my cock jumped again and burped out more cocksnot. The redheaded boypussy’s master once again whispered something in his ear and before I could blink he jumped off his master’s lap, grabbed me under my arms, lifted me up and threw me onto the bed in the center of the room. He didn’t say anything; he snapped his fingers and I threw up my legs and grabbed the back of my knees. In a second he was on me. He savagely thrust his boycock into my pussyhole. It hurt like hell as he began to pile drive my boycunt. An hour later he was red in the face and we were both soaking wet. The masters had gathered around the bed and were instructing my new master in how to subdue a cuntboy.
“Slap his face a few times; and grab his balls. He’s not paying attention to your needs. Get his fucking attention. And don’t you dare cum. I don’t care how hot you get or how long you fuck him. You will not cum. And you, down there you worthless pussyboy. I want to hear you beg your new master to fuck you harder. I want to hear the gratitude in your voice. Tell him what you’re going to do for him. Beg him to be your new master.”
Thoughts kept filling my head. Jesus, were they really going to give me to a pussyboy. Was I going to be the cuntslave or a pussyhole? No one was that low. I began to feel terribly fearful. How would I live? I needed the cum of my master to survive. I needed a mancock in my pussy and a mancock in my mouth every single day, as often as possible. I needed mancum, manseed, not pussyboy cuntslave juice. I needed the redheaded cuntboy to cum so I could beg my master to fuck me. My pussy was hurting like crazy; the redheaded pussyboy was sweating all over me and there was no end in sight. So I began to plead, “Redheaded pussyboy, my new master please cum in my pussy. Please master cum in my cunthole. I want to clean your boyprick and suck on your pussycunt. I want to lick your body all over and drink your sweat and swallow your piss. Please come in my boyhole. Please master.”
And he grunted and he dripped sweat, it collected and fell from the tips of his boy tits onto my chest. He plowed my boycunt for hours without stopping. My legs were aching and my heart was racing. Finally the cuntboy’s master said, “Tell me boy, do you want to come? Beg me and maybe I’ll let you.”
So the redheaded pussyslave began to plead with his master, “Please master, please sir let me cum. I need to cum. My boyprick is so hard and it hurts so much. Please sir let me shoot my worthless boyjuice into my pussyslave. Please sir.”
And his master responded, “What have you done to deserve pleasure. Why should I let you cum? I tell you what boy; I’m going to give you control of your climax. In a minute I’m going to release the power to cum to you; it will be under your control, but at the same time I’m going to grab your pussyboyballs and I’m going to squeeze. Now that’s fair isn’t it? You can come at the moment you pass out from the pain in your boynuts, and not one second sooner. Do you understand? If you come before you pass out from the pain I won’t let you come again for a year; and you’d better understand because I will get you hot and dripping your boyjuice three or four times a day, every day for that whole year, and I will not allow you to cum. I will make you wear white shorts every day and make you fill them with cocksnot. You will walk around everywhere in complete embarrassment. The only thing you will be able to think about for that entire year is how much you want to cum. I will keep you up at night, and when I’m not there I will post someone else to keep you hard and horny all the time. Do you understand? Do you think that’s fair.”
By this time both the redheaded pussyboy and I were crying. His eyes were filled with fear. What if he came before he passed out? It was something he would have to control. Once his master freed him to come he would have to hold back his orgasm until the pain in his balls knocked him out. He had been hard and ready to cum all night. It is how we were trained. We had to be ready to come every moment we were in the company of a master. He had been fucking me for at least three hours, always ready to cum, but locked up, in his master’s control. Once his master allowed him his own will, he would have to control himself. If he didn’t, his life for a year would be unspeakable hell.
The redheaded cunthole’s master looked at me, “And your job, you worthless pussyboy’s cuntboy is to get him to cum. I want you to move your pussyhole exactly as your master trained you. Your job is to get your pussyboy master to cum. If you get him to cum before he passes out I’ll let you go back to your master. If you don’t you’re gonna be this redheaded cunthole’s pussyboy for the next year, and I remind you that he’s gonna own your pussyhole and mouth for that whole year. That means that you’re going to be his fuckhole 24 hours a day. As low and fucking horrible as his life is, yours is going to be on the step below him. That’s in the downstairs basement of hell. Your pussyboy days will be full of cuntboys. And when your cunthole pussyboy master is busy sucking and fucking his masters. That means you’re going to be available for the other pussyboys. Your life will be trotting after all the cuntholes in this place pleading for their piss, sucking their pussies, and begging to be abused by them. And all the while you’ll be longing for a man. Your desire for mancum will not diminish. Your need will remain the same, but you will never be satisfied. You’re going to be cock and cum hungry all the time, twenty-four hours a day. Now do you both understand?”
We were both crazy with fear. We both understood how much more miserable our lives could become. I looked at my redheaded cuntboy, feeling full of love and admiration, and fear, and hunger. My mind was swimming. I had to get him to cum. As much as I loved and wanted him, I knew I’d die without my master. As much as I wanted to suck his boycock and lick his red haired sweaty boypits and nibble his boytitties I had to make him cum before he passed out. My mind and body began to act as they had been trained. My only purpose was to please my redheaded cuntboy master; to get his boyseed, his boygism, his boycream. I lapped at his chest with my tongue. I began to rotate my hips and use the muscles in my boypussy to pull and tug on his boydick. I purred in his ear, “Oh master, please pound my worthless cockhole; fill me with your boycum.” I tongued his chest and let go of my legs in order to put my arms around his neck to pull his face to mine. Once I had him in my grasp I pulled his lips to mine and pushed my tongue into his mouth. I savored his taste, his boy spit. He was so juicy, so wet and I slid my tongue everywhere, probing, tasting, trying to make him hot. I kept up my sucking kiss and the tugging with my pussy muscles. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his master reach between his legs and grab his balls as they were slapping against my boypussy, cunthole. Master said, “On my count of three you are free to cum. But boy you’d better not cum till your balls can take no more; till the pain and pleasure become one. Till your mind and body can take no more. Till your redheaded pussyboy’s body passes out. AND NOT ONE SECOND SOONER. Do you understand?”
Master put his lips next to my redheaded cunthole pussyfucker’s ear and said, “Do you understand? Answer me.”
My redheaded fuckhole pussyboy was quivering all over; his arms shook like they might give way any second causing him to crash down onto me. His voice trembled uncontrollably as he said, “Yes master I understand.”
Master said, “Then, one, two, three.” But instead of crushing the redheaded cunthole’s balls his master let them go. He smiled and began to fingerfuck the redheaded cuntboy’s ass. He pushed three fingers deep into the redheaded cunthole’s pussy till he found his boynut; his bonus buzzer, his prostate, and he began to rub it with the tips of his fingers. Master began to laugh as the redheaded pussyboy began to bawl. He completely lost it. He lost all control. His whole body began to shake. His eyes rolled up into his head and he started to scream at the top of his lungs, “Noooooooooooo!!!!!!” At that moment the master pulled out of the redheaded cuntboy’s ass and grabbed his boyballs. I could feel master’s hand vibrate a little as it closed on the redheaded cuntholes balls. A second later I saw my redheaded cunthole pussyboy master’s eyes come back into focus for a second before I felt him lose his breath and as his body fell into mine I felt his boycock erupt deep inside my cunthole. He laid on me out cold and his boydick kept shooting, over and over, and over.
That was just the beginning for me. I was dragged from the room with the boycream dripping from my pussyhole. They brought me back into the main room where pussyboys were in different places and positions straining to please their masters. They made me stand in the center of the room at attention. They pinched my boytitties and fucked my boypussy with a big black dildoe, as they made me describe word or word exactly what had happened in the other room. I had to tell masters and pussyboys alike how I couldn’t even get a worthless, drooling cuntboy to cum. As I told the story they fucked me and pulled my boytitties and played with my boycock. My knees kept buckling as my boycock struggled to cum, but would not because my master would not give me permission. I had to beg every pussyboy in the room to punch me in the stomach as hard as they could. Then I crawled to each of them and they each fucked my cunthole and my mouth. The masters had me give a tongue bath to a tall dark haired pussyboy with lots of chest hair and a full bush, but only after he had been good and truly fucked by each of the masters present. By the time they finished with him he was covered with cum and sweat. It took me an hour to lick him clean from head to toe…each and every toe. His pits were a mass of black curly hair that was saturated with sweat. By the time I finished them my hair was soaking wet and all matted down. They had one of the other blond cuntboys fuck me upside down. I was held with my head and hands on the floor while two cuntboys held my legs straight in the air. As the blond pussyboy fucked me I was told to bathe the feet of the boys who were holding me. I was fucked over the arm of a chair, on the floor, with two boycocks in my mouth, and finally they had the boys take turns finger fucking my pussyhole while they played with my dick and balls. I was not allowed to cum. At times I thought my mind would explode. My whole body was screaming to cum. After three hours I was completely insane. I begged them to hit me. The intensity of my need to cum was so great that I wanted them to hurt me. I needed my master to put me out of my misery. I begged to be punched. I entreated my master to allow me to hurt myself. He pulled me to his lap and began to rub my boycock until I sobbed uncontrollably once again.
The whole night I was fucked and fucked by one pussyboy after another. No master fucked me or filled my mouth with his mancum. By sunrise I was panicking. I had never gone a single day without a full load of mancum in my mouth and in my cunthole. Finally my master told me I would have to get my mancum second hand. I had to beg each of the pussyboy’s to eat out their cuntholes. I had to beg to suck out their master’s vital mancum second hand. I didn’t care how I got it. My mouth was watering. My pussyhole was open and leaking boyjuice down my legs, but it felt completely empty. I felt even more useless and worthless and I only had twenty minutes before this training session was over. I was desperate to fill myself with manseed. I wanted as much as I could get. I got down on all fours and crawled to the blond cuntboy. He was servicing his master’s delicious mancock with his mouth. I looked up, pleading with my eyes. The blond’s master said, “OK boy open up for this worthless fuckup.” Without losing his absolute concentration on his master’s cock the blond boy moved his legs apart. I could see his boycunt winking at me. I was mortified by his control. I knew that my master was right in declaring me worthless. I began to dig out the manjuice with my fingers and suck it into my mouth. I couldn’t get it fast enough. It was delicious. I must have been making too much noise because the master opened his eyes, reached over and slapped my so hard I wound up on the other side of the room. I very quietly crawled back across the room, tears streaming down my face and this time I applied my mouth directly to the blond pussyboy’s cuntlips, and ever so gently I pulled out ever drop of the precious jelly.
Next I crawled over to the dark haired pussyboy. He was lying across his master’s legs and receiving a very hard spanking. I do not know the reason for his punishment. Everyone could see the level of his shame. He was crying, and with every slap his boydick jumped and burped out boyslop onto the carpet. Without being told I began to clean the carpet with my mouth. The dark haired cuntboy’s master paused in his beating to look down at me, “You really need the manseed in this worthless cuntboy’s pussy don’t you?”
I was afraid to respond. I might say the wrong thing. I had gotten some mancum out of the blond pussyboy, but there was no way of telling how much of it was actual master’s manseed and how much was pussyboy assjuice. I needed to have a full load of mancream in my mouth and a full load in my boycunt, so yes I needed the master’s cum in the dark haired cuntboy’s pussy. I just kept my eyes lowered. After five or six more very hard slaps, the master said, “Roll your worthless cunthole onto the floor so this pussyboy can get my manseed.” The dark-haired cuntboy, still sobbing moved himself to the floor and spread his legs wide. I was shocked to see that his pussy wasn’t smooth but full of dark curly hair. My mind began to form questions, but was quickly overruled by my intense hunger. I fell onto his pussyhole and began to tongue out the cream. He was really full, but the hair was making it difficult to suck it out, so I was forced to scoop it out one tongue-load at a time. Within a couple seconds the dark-haired pussyboy stopped crying and began to moan. That surprised me. You learn early on in your training that we cuntboys are worthless and useless. The only way anyone could possibly find us appealing was by direct order from a master. We could fuck and suck each other AS WE WERE DIRECTED. We were mindless cumdumps. We could not think. We existed to please our masters, certainly not ourselves. I knew the dark-haired cuntboy was going to be in trouble if anyone noticed his reaction so I began to hurry. I alternately sucked his pussyhole, and then used my fingers to scoop out what mancream I could reach, and then I’d pull his cunt cheeks apart and tongue out whatever I could get to. Sure enough about five minutes into the procedure his master marched over to the dark-haired cuntboy, grabbed him by his hair and dragged him from the room. The dark haired pussyboy squealed all the way terrified by his master’s reaction. We could hear him screaming from the other room. The masters came into the room and told us cuntboys to follow them. They took us into the prep room. The dark-haired cuntboy was standing on a small raised platform in the center of the room. Two of the masters walked to his trembling, sobbing body with clippers and began to remove his body hair. They took it all except the hair on his head. When he was completely denuded they put him into a diaper.
His master commanded him, “Behave like you have no self control and you will have none. He looked the boy in the eyes and said you have the body of a two year old. All your training is still in place but you have no more control over your body than a child of two. You will also have the vocabulary of a toddler.”
Immediately the front of the dark-haired cuntboy’s diaper began to darken as he wet himself. He continued to cry as he was led from the room.
Just then the door to my room opened.
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The door opened and my master walked in. I could see him. My god he is gorgeous. I could see his magnificent face, his 6’4” frame, his broad shoulders and narrow waist, his wavy dark brown hair, his neatly trimmed goatee, his body. Jesus, he was beyond my dreams. My boycock, with is piss hard-on, began to pulse and shoot goo all over my belly. It hurt like hell; I was so hard, so erect, I needed to kiss his feet and plead for his mancock, beg to suck his balls and attend to his every wish. I loved him with the heat of a thousand passions. He looked at me and I felt my heart begin to pound. I thought it would leap out of my chest. I felt so utterly inadequate in his presence. I was so humbled by his visage. I had to avert my eyes to keep from shooting my load and further embarrassing myself.
He said, “I’d imagine cuntface that you need to piss. Is that an accurate assumption pussyboy?”
“Yes sir, master this worthless pussyboy needs to pee very badly.”
He stared at me, “What to do….what to do. I tell you what; let’s begin by releasing your body. You may move, but hear me I want you to remain still until I tell you exactly what to do.”
My body sort of shuddered and I immediately got the chills. My need to pee was filling my head. My whole abdomen was distended and I thought my bladder was going to explode.
He said, “Ok cuntlips, heels over shoulders. Let’s get that ass way up there. I want you to aim that pitiful boydick at your pussymouth and get ready for your morning’s pickup drink, but don’t you dare piss till I tell you.”
I pushed my ass up and threw my legs over my shoulders so my hard boycock was staring me right in the face. I was able to open my mouth and put my lips around my circumcision scar.”
“Get that boyprick out of your mouth, you useless cuntboy! You are not to touch that boycock! You aim it at the back of your throat and when I tell you I want you to release that piss right into your gullet, and you’d better not spill a drop. Do you understand?”
I said, “Yes sir master, sir. Not a single drop sir.” He gave me a nod and told me to piss. The piss shot out of my boycock like it was a fire-hose. The hot, dark orange, salty, very bitter fluid quickly filled my mouth, but as much as I tried to swallow it all there was simply too much. A few drops leaked down the sides of my mouth. I immediately began to tremble.
“Can’t you do anything? Are you totally useless. Control boy! Control! Control that flow you asswipe or you’ll be cleaning shoes with your pussymouth for a month. I’ll have you stand by the door and clean the shoes of every master who comes in off the street. Control that useless piece of boymeat.”
I used all my might to bear down on my boydick. It took a few seconds, but I managed to slow the flow and swallow the murky liquid as fast as it poured into my mouth.
Master shook his head, “You may never again have to use a urinal. Between drinking your own piss and trading piss with the other cuntboys, you pussyslaves won’t need to pee in toilets anymore. That should save time. When you finish I want you to clean yourself as you have been trained. I will be back in about 40 minutes and I want you meticulously groomed, spotlessly clean, and flawlessly dressed.” My master went to the dresser and took out my clothes for the day; a blue and green plaid kilt split up the back for easy access to my boycunt, a black silk vest, grey wool socks and loafers. He turned at the door and said, “Forty minutes…and I expect perfection.”
The last of my boypiss trickled into my mouth and I got up to prepare myself for my master. Pussyboys must clean out their boycunts twice a day, in the morning and in the early evening. We must fill ourselves with three quarts of warm soapy water, scented with rose petals and fragrant oil. Once we have taken in every drop of the three quarts we must perform 100 pushups. I remember how difficult it was for me the first time my master instructed me. He had to stop the procedure in order to spank me over his knee several times. In the beginning I couldn’t hold all that fluid. Some of it leaked out. My master was so disappointed that I couldn’t stop crying. He finally had to use a plug, which is the absolutely worst thing possible because it meant that I lacked control over my boypussy. My god how awful. A good pussyboy knows how to control his cunthole. He knows how to open and close it at will. He learns to tighten it on command. We spend days learning that control. My master would grease a glass rod and place it in my boycunt. Then I had to walk around the grounds always keeping the rod from sliding out of my boyhole. At first I couldn’t go ten steps before the damn rod would fall out and smash on the ground. I did a lot of crying that day too. I felt so lousy to disappoint my master. He spends so many hours in my lessons; teaching me; training me to be the perfect pussyslave and then I keep letting him down. I can not tell you how bad it makes me feel to be so useless, so worthless as a cuntboy. Now I can hold three quarts of liquid. I can do my 100 pushups till the first cleansing is over. I do my best to ignore the terrible cramps, the pain that shoots through my stomach as I force myself up and down. Then I am ready for my second rinse. We use the same amount, three quarts but the second time the water is cool and it contains some herbs that cause our bowels to tighten, expand and contract. With the second liquid inside…every drop, I must do 100 sit-ups. This can be agony. All the while I’m forcing myself to sit up and lie back down my guts are wrenching. My master says the herbs approximate the feelings a woman has in labor. Some of the herbs are used in the medication doctors use to induce labor. That’s what it feels like. Like your insides are going to rupture if you don’t expel the liquid, but if I lost even a drop it would disappoint my master and I would rather die. So I do my sit-ups and try to concentrate on how much I love my master, his enormous mancock, his delicious mancum, and I think of the next time my master will take me and use my boycunt to deposit his mastercum. Sometimes my boycock gets so hard and burps up so much boyspunk that it looks like I came. Then I have to beg my master to believe me; to believe that I did not come. You probably think I should just clean it up, lick it off the floor, use my fingers to scoop it off my legs and just swallow it. A pussyslave can’t do something like that. We are not allowed to even think of such things. That would be a decision. We aren’t allowed to make decisions. We don’t understand such things. We are cuntwhores, pussyboys, we can’t think about such things. We just can’t. When ever I have such ideas my mind will go completely blank. I’ll lose everything. Try to think and I lose everything in my head, any memories, any pictures or ideas. So I would never do anything I wasn’t told to do. I live for my master, for his voice, for his pleasure, for that fantastic mancock, for the sumptuous mancream he sometimes lets me have. Oh god how I love my master. So I do my setups and strain to endure the wrenching cramps. My body shudders and shakes uncontrollably as I get closer to 100.
Finally I get to pass out the liquid and move on to the third solution. In the last cleansing I have to go to the small refrigerator and get the ice. The solution used in the third rinse must be ice cold, it contains the most delicious smelling oils. The third time we take in an entire gallon; four quarts of the icy fluid. Once we’ve taken in every drop we have to do 100 jumping jacks, and we have to do them as if our master was in the room and we were doing them in his presence. Of course everything a good cuntboy does he does as if his master were present. I mean we live for our masters, without there constant attention we would wither and die so as far as I am concerned my master is always with me. It’s why my woeful inadequacy hurts me so much. I want to be a good pussyboy for him, I want to make him proud, but that almost never happens. I am useless. With a gallon of the freezing solution in me I begin the arduous task. With every jump I can feel the weight in my gut as the liquid pushes its way through my bowels. I look like a pregnant woman. My stomach sticks out. It distends my abdomen so that you can’t see my ab muscles. Any time I can’t see my six-pack I get very nervous. It’s the very least that’s expected of a cuntfaced pussyslave. We must maintain our bodies to perfection. My master must at all times be able to trace, with his finger, the musculature of my body. He must be able to trace my abs, my glutes, my lats, my delts, every major muscle group must stand out flawlessly, every single line. I spend hours in the gym trying to please my master, so any time my stomach gets too full my definition disappears and it scares me to death. I jump harder and faster. I need to finish. If my master comes back and I am not ready, if he sees that my abs have disappeared, Oh god I would be in so much trouble. My gut bounces against my rhythm. My pussyhole is pulsing. My control is at its breaking point. Oh god please don’t let me spill a drop. Please don’t let me spill a drop. 88….89…..90. Jesus I can feel it. It’s going to let go. Help me, help me!! 94…95…96. My head is swimming. The harder I strain to stay closed the more my gut pushes on the liquid forcing its way out of me. Help me!! 99…100. I had to leap to the toilet. I barely made it. As soon as I was drained I got down on my knees and searched the floor for evidence of liquid. I found three different puddles of boysauce; my cock is so damn hard; and it refuses to stop leaking. Why can’t I control that? No time to waste.
I shower using the special soaps and fragrant herbal scrub. We use brushes to keep our bodies spotless. We have to shine for our masters. If I’m a little abraded too bad. If my skin glows red from being scrubbed then all the better to please my master. I shave my face, my cunthole, trim my boypubes, cut my nails, and comb my hair. I take a few minutes to inspect every inch of my body….it’s really my master’s body, I just take care of it. That’s why I have to be so careful to keep it perfect for him. I check every hair on my arms, and my legs; they must not be tangled or matted. The same goes for my little boybush; it must be neat and tidy. I check my pits too, and good thing; there was some tangling so I needed to force a comb through them till I had pulled out all the tangled hair. Christ, if I had missed my messy pits and my master had inspected them it would have meant an ass beating over his knee in front of all the other masters and cuntboys; it would have meant being shaved neck to foot, in front of my betters; it would have meant shame. Thank you god, thank you for letting me find my messy pits. I combed each pit a few more times just to make sure that all the offending hairs were gone.
I went to my dresser and put on the kilt. My boycock stuck out in front tenting the material. Would that ever go down? Would my boyprick ever stop demanding release every second, every minute of every day, at least it wasn’t spooging all over the place. If I stained my kilt it would be taken away and I could have spent days stripped naked all the time. The black silk vest fit my torso like a glove. It felt a little cold against my bare skin. The wool socks were warm. It had been days since I had been allowed to wear socks. It was a great honor. I beamed. Then I put on the loafers, went to the door, stood at attention and waited.
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Day Two-continued
Daily Progress Notes Re: J. Cunningham
The candidate, as one of our more gifted subjects, is progressing; but he takes one step back for every two steps forward. James continues to maintain a connection with his ego which runs counter to his ultimate surrender of will.
Debriefing sessions using Watson’s method for disinclination and relocation of the ego and superego are having limited success. The subject’s intellect may be in direct conflict with our goals. To that end we need to continue the process of externalizing his attention. I need to completely distract him from the great inner turmoil of personality which threatens to delay our goals and is counterproductive to his training.
At this point I believe we need to go a step further in securing his complete subjugation. I have decided on a program of multiple body piercings along with stronger reinforcement of his self-consciousness which should lead to greater deterioration of his prior personal self-image and his connection with that image and its frames of reference. Piercings and their effects should serve to focus even more of his thoughts to the physical plane. I need to secure 100% of his conscious attention. All ideation, feeling, and memory needs to be ephemeral. I must keep his every thought and action focused on things that are truly small and insignificant, taken together they’d be puff of smoke, a drop of water, or the head of a pin. To accomplish this I must make the subject see that pin’s head as his universe, as his meaning, as his life. I have to keep him occupied and in the moment.
In two days candidate Cunningham is due for a complete physical exam and psychological review. He is one of our more challenging candidates and his training serves to refine and improve our means and methodologies. I believe he will ultimately be one of our greatest success stories. As always careful scrutiny and constant surveillance is of the essence.
Control One
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As I wait at my door for my master’s arrival my mind is full. There’s so much to keep track of, so many duties and obligations and I am so thick and inadequate. I must stand up straight. I mustn’t slouch. My master hates it when I slouch. He spent an entire day trying to teach me how to stand correctly. He used a meter stick and a riding crop to correct me.
Thwack! He’d strike my worthless cuntboy ass. He’d say, “Draw your ass in pussyboy. Hold it in, and keep the muscles flexed. I want to see definition! Definition! Definition!” But it seemed that every time I’d pull my dumbass in place and flex my glutes my stupid belly would stick out and the definition in my abs would go all to hell.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! The stick against my belly. So I’d try very, very hard to hold my ass in and flex my glutes as I held my belly in place and kept my abs defined. But dammit when I did that my shoulders would slump. That brought out the riding crop. Slumping your shoulders is a very bad thing; even five year olds know how to keep their shoulder straight. Then I had my pecs; they had to be even with each other and on the same axis as the midpoint of my biceps. My master showed me over and over with the meter stick how to line up my pecs with my biceps.
Switch! Switch! Switch! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! All morning long and just when I thought I was getting close I’d look down and fucking shit, my feet were not pointed forward at a 60 degree angle to each other. It took two hours to get my feet to cooperate with my legs, and all the while my master was so patient, so wonderful. We had to stop so that I could eat something and go to my exercise session. (In spite of my complete failure in learning to stand, my master allowed me to drink his warm delicious piss from his mancock and then he gave me some cold ground meat and vegetables in my dog dish. I did have to wear a large card around my neck that said, “I am a fuckup who can’t learn to stand up straight.” And when I got to the gym I had to go from master to master and pussyboy to pussyboy and explain my problem. All the while I told the story I could feel the heat in my face. I must have been so red from all the embarrassment, but the worst thing; the thing that made me want to cry was that I had disappointed my master. God how I love him. I need his mancum in my mouth and in my cunthole every day or I would surely die.) All the while I exercised I prayed hard that I would do better for my master in the afternoon. I prayed that I would finally learn to stand up like any good cunthole pussyslave.
Just as I was finishing in the gym my Master came and pulled me by my ear into the courtyard to continue my lesson. I hadn’t showered so I was very, very self-conscious about being all sweaty. Of course the standing lessons and my exercise sessions are done naked. Otherwise how would we know what we were doing? We have to be able to see every inch of our bodies, be constantly aware of every line, every hair, as we are trained in the ways of being a proper cuntboy. So I was covered with perspiration; my head was soaked and my hair was tangled and matted down, the hair on my chest and legs was a mess, wet and sticky. I didn’t even want to think about my pits. And I was sure I smelled bad. Oh Christ, I must have smelled like a sweaty, dirty, filthy, disgusting pussyassed cuntface. I kept my arms down at my sides to hide my pit hair and try to contain some of my stink. Master started right in…and I was just as bad, just as useless. Oh god what’s wrong with me?
Master said, “Christ, can’t you do anything right? Talk to me boy. What is wrong with you? Why can’t you stand up? All the other cuntboys can stand. Why can’t you do something so very simple? Is it that you just don’t care? Am I wasting my time on you? I spend hours teaching you, correcting you. Don’t you care at all? Answer me; I need to know.”
I started shaking and the sobs just erupted from my guts. The tears rolled down my face and dripped onto the mass of tangled hair on my chest. I couldn’t talk I was crying too hard. After a minute or two with snot running out of my nose I tried hard to stop retching. “Oh master, sir. I will try harder. I will try harder. I am so stupid, so useless, so completely worthless. You are wonderful. Pleeeeze master, pleeeze give me another chance; don’t give up on me. Oh master, I love you so much.” And I fell to my knees in front of him, a total wreck, wet from head to toe, wracked with guilt, wanting to die. I pushed my face onto the ground by my master’s shoes and begged him, “Master, sir please let me try again. Please train me some more, but this time you mustn’t be so patient; so easy on me. Master beat me. I am so stupid. The only way a useless cunthole like me learns is through pain. Beat me master until I please you. Beat me till I learn to stand up straight like a good pussyslave. Please master you mustn’t be so wonderful, so kind; beat me and beat me and beat me till I please you.”
It took that whole day and lots of the meter stick and the riding crop; but finally I started to make progress. It wasn’t perfect, but I realized that if I used my whole concentration; if I focused my whole attention on my delts, and lats, and glutes, and biceps and elbows and feet and legs and shoulders and the other parts of my body I could almost stand up straight. I almost got it right.
So while I stand at the door, at attention, waiting for my master that’s just one of the thousands of details I’m thinking about. It takes so much effort to be a good cuntfaced pussyslave and I know that if I want to get there I have to try very, very hard because I am so damn stupid and thick. Christ it took me a whole day to almost learn to stand up properly.
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