Rich Elite God

There you were. The unimaginable had happened to you. Chained and abjectly servile and terrified after only a few days of captivity. Here you were, bowing for hours with your head firmly pressed to the dirt next to dozens of other males who shared your awful fate. Waiting docilely until their Superiors deigned to notice them.

Standing arrogantly, she was such a stunning, impressive sight. A figure of graceful haughtiness and despotism. A stark contrast to the dozens of maggots she looked down upon. Broken, humiliated by your nakedness and vulnerability, eyes lowered under her hawkish arrogance, you could sense there was absolutely no hope for help, ever.

I do, actually. And funnily enough, I've been thinking about making a return just a few days ago. I seem to have made quite an impression on so many of you lowly maggots, eh?

Setting lines is one of my favourite things to do to a loser. It can be done either as punishment, or simply on a whim. Takes me about ten seconds to come up with a line and a number, but it’ll take hours upon hours of pure tedium to complete for the loser. It’s very rare that one of my slaves will go a week without writing lines for my girlfriend and I.

I’ve found that it’s most effective when it's a beautiful day out. Or at night, right before they were thinking of going to sleep. The loser will be writing line after tedious line while we enjoy a wonderful day in the sun, or enjoy some mind blowing sex and a wonderful nights rest afterwards.

I like to pick a sentence that reminds the loser of his abject inferiority. After a few hours of solid writing, the line will burn into his tiny submissive brain and eat him up from the inside. I’ll give some examples that I’ve used recently:

- "I'm a 54 year old loser who dances at the snap of my 20 year old Superiors' fingers"

- "This ugly, short, tiny dick, sexless shitstain is deeply sorry for keeping its superiors waiting for a light", after he was three seconds late with lighting my girlfriends cigarette.

- "Sir, please Sir. Will you use this wretch's useless balls for kicking practice Sir?", after football matches and trainings were cancelled due to COVID-19.

- "This wretch will profusely thank Sir when he so generously hands me my €20 weekly allowance", after he forgot kissing our shoes in respect and gratitude for his meagre loser allowance.

What I love so much about it, is that it’s usually something that’s done to teach a nine year old child a lesson. That’s what makes it so sweet to do to someone nearly three times my age. It’s a way to showcase my absolute, unquestionable superiority over a wretch. I own every second of their lives, and I won’t allow them a second of free time. It’s a sign of utterly defeated slavery for a loser.

Often around line 50 the realisation sets in that the task is going to take them HOURS to complete. And the cramps in their old, feeble hands are surely not going to get any better as time goes by. It’s so crushingly demotivating. Every fibre in his body wants to put the pen down. But his mind stopping him. His patethic, deeply submissive mind keeps him going. Knowing that this is what he deserves. What he was born for. Reminding him that this is what he wants. Of the feeling he gets when he grovels at the expensive shoes of his superiors.

And then, when the loser is on line 930 of a 1,000 task he’ll receive a text from me letting him know that I changed my mind. I decided I didn't like the structure of the sentence and changed a few words around. Throw them away and start over with the new, slightly different lines.

And when he’s finally done with whatever diabolical number I’ve set him that time, it’s time to present them to my girlfriend and I. Crawling on his belly, lines in hand. Holding them up as far above his head as his arms allow. Face on the floor. Patiently waiting for one of us to snatch them from his hands to inspect them as the stress position is taking its toll on his old body.

I can choose to inspect them line by line, scanning for the slightest mistake for an easy excuse to turn his life into a living hell. But more often than not, I’ll simply take the lines from the losers grubby little hands and rip them up in front of his face. Hours upon hours of tedium gone, just like that.

Watching the poor and weak toil away in my diamond mines in miserable, inhumane conditions for my profit is one of my favourite pasttimes. Here is a picture taken from the balcony of my mansion on which I’m sitting regally in my diamond encrusted golden throne.

Story by @cuckhumiliation

I walk down the crumbling concrete stairs and pull open the creaking, worn door. We never lock it. No one in their right mind would find anything worth stealing in our sad little basement apartment.

My entire body aches, just like it does every day. I grimace as I bend over to pull off my clothes and lay them on the pile just inside the door. It’s 6’s turn to hand wash everyone’s clothes. I walk into the middle of the single room that is our home. All the interior walls have been taken out, and there is no furniture whatsoever. An exposed toilet is in the corner, along with a tiny rusted out shower. 

Despite there only being two tiny basement windows, the whole room is painfully bright. The lights stay on 24/7 - the switches have been removed. Master likes being able to turn on the cameras and see clearly what we are doing any time from his mansion. We never know when he is watching except for when his voice blares through the speakers in the ceiling. 

All eight of us, now naked except for the unremovable chastity devices locking our shrivelled penises, file into the center of the room and perform our nightly ceremony of kneeling on the concrete floor and grovelling and thanking Master for the privilege of serving him. I lower my face to the cold concrete, already feeling the tears starting to form. I hate this so much. I never knew I could resent another person so much. Master takes complete advantage of us, making our lives utterly miserable for his personal gain, and then we have to daily grovel and thank him for it. I don’t want to do it tonight, but I know if he’s watching there will be utter hell to pay if I fail to show enough gratitude.

“That’s enough, losers.” His voice thunders over the loudspeakers. I whimper and pee myself a little, like I often do when he speaks to me. I am utterly terrified of him. I blush in shame as urine drips down my chastity cage and onto my thigh. 

“I got a report today that you were late getting to one of your appointments.” He continues. We are all trembling now. We had been four minutes late to one of our cleaning jobs.

“Double beatings tonight, and four hours holding coins to the wall with your noses. One hour for each minute you were late.” He barks.

“Yes Sir thank you Sir” we chime pathetically.

I groan, looking at the clock. We will be getting almost no sleep tonight. We look into each other’s faces, everyone already at the breaking point, even before the punishments begin. We don’t dare hesitate though. Three decrepitly walks to the corner where the wicked rattan cane sits, patiently waiting to make our lives miserable. It’s three’s turn to deliver the night’s beatings. 

I wait my turn to be whipped, listening to the pathetic sobs and howls of the others as the cane destroys their already bruised and welted asses. The dread settles into my stomach, just like it does every night. When it’s finally my turn I take punishment position, my bare butt up in the air awaiting the pain. 

Three doesn’t hold back. He knows failure to thoroughly blister our asses will result in even more punishment for him. I howl as the first blow slices into my tender flesh. Forty-nine more to go. By the time he gets to ten I’m a sobbing mess, with tears flowing down my face onto the cold floor. By twenty I’m begging and blubbering, almost losing control. It takes every fiber of determination to hold position. I know if I move the punishment starts over. When fifty is called, my whole body is shaking, and I fall to the floor unable to do anything but sob pathetically.

The last two take their beatings, and it’s time for us to take our positions at the walls. I try to stand, but my cramped, exhausted legs falter and I fall back down. The others are older and faring even worse. It takes us a long time to hobble to the little pile of coins by the wall and each take one. It’s a cruel joke that the only money we’re allowed to touch is used to punish us. Before taking our positions, we all chime crackled “thank you Sir”s through our tears. He might still be watching.

I press the coin to the block wall and pin it in place with my nose. I have become very accustomed to this miserable position. I interlock my fingers above my head and try to find a position that won’t leave me too horribly cramped. I know it’s pointless. My body is already broken and this will make it even worse. 

As the room becomes quieter, with the sobbing and whimpering getting more muffled, I think back over the last year. If only I could travel back in time and convince myself to run away while I still could. But that’s only a dream. Master took my car, my house...my life. And pathetically I never fought back, I just weakly said “yes Sir” each day as he crushed me. 

I remember the day I officially signed the house over to him, realizing there was no going back. He had sold it immediately, making hundreds of thousands of dollars and leaving me penniless. 

I moved in to the tiny slave apartment the next day and immediately was put to work as part of Master’s cleaning company - working long days and getting nothing for it except the privilege of living in this cramped place and being fed disgusting slop. My name was gone. I was just slave eight.

But even then I hadn’t really known what it meant to be utterly broken. The chastity device he locked me in hadn’t seemed like a huge deal at the time - more of an annoying inconvenience. But after two weeks I had started losing my mind. I would pathetically rub the exterior of my cage, desperate for just a hint of satisfaction. After a month I was desperate, and in sheer frustrated agony had even tried tampering with my device to try and touch myself a little. That was when I had learned true fear. Master punished me in ways I would never be able to forget. I was hung upside down and beaten from head to toe - my testicles were zapped with so much voltage they were singed - and my face was put inside a modified punishment toilet every day for a week. 

It was after that when I started peeing in terror at the sound of Master’s voice. 

Now chastity was just a part of my daily misery. I had been let out twice in the past year, each time only allowed to hump a block of ice. Master would just laugh and laugh as I desperately thrust my rock hard couple inches at the unforgiving solid ice in a futile attempt to cum. Each time I was locked back up even more frustrated than before being unlocked.

Now here I am, yet again being punished, this time with the agonizing monotony of corner time. My feet are aching already, and I’m starting to feel the cold of the space get into my bones. The thermostat is locked away from us, and except for the warmest summer months it always feels extremely cold, especially in our required naked state. It doesn’t help that the hot water has been turned off to our unit, leaving only ice cold water in our shared little shower.

My mind goes to Master, probably in his bed by now with a beautiful woman. I wonder what kind of delicious dinner he has had already tonight. I can’t get the image out of my head of him eating a steak as a gorgeous girl is under the table sucking his cock. I press my nose against the cold coin and cry. I hate him so much. I dream of revenge. I dream of sending him here to the horrible long hours of thankless cleaning, followed by punishment and humiliation, only to be repeated again every day for the rest of his life. I dream of whipping him. I dream of locking his cock. I dream of making him stand obediently in the corner like a bitch.

The male chastity device has to be my favorite tool in the world. The amount of power and control it gives to the keyholder is astounding. It can reduce even the most defiant slaves into grovelling, desperate to please worms. 

It starts out somewhat annoying but bearable. But after a week or two the ‘fun’ aspect is almost entirely gone and it’s just pure, unfiltered frustration and desperation for release. And that’s when the real fun begins.

I’ve seen slaves go from not recognizing my superiority over them and refusing to call me Sir to licking clean a full ashtray at the snap of my finger 11 days later. To begging me to clean my Porsche’s rims with their own toothbrush. To offering me €2.500 to hump a table leg for 3 minutes. All of these cases were after my girlfriend, their Goddess, locked them up and handed me the keys.

Of course, this has nothing to do with devotion. I’m not about any of that silly stuff. I prefer ruling by fear. I enjoy seeing the hate in a slaves eyes when I tell him to lick the dogshit and gum from the bottom of my shoes. When I tell him to write me 1.000 useless lines that I’ll just rip up in front of his face and never read anyway. To go stand in the corner holding a coin to the wall for 10 hours right when he was planning on going to bed. 

I like seeing that hate turn into helplessness and pure defeat when I add another month to their chastity sentence the day before their long awaited release. I like staring them down as they gratefully lick the bottom of my shoes and thank me for keeping them locked up longer.

I currently hold 8 keys. That’s all of the slaves my girlfriend had initially locked up. And none of them wanted anything to do with another guy. Now I have 8 losers at my beck and call, ready to jump to every order at the snap of my finger. To exploit and drain mercilessly. 

Since you’ve sold all your possessions and transferred all your assets to my bank account it looks like the days as our financial slave are over. You can’t be a paypig if you don’t have any money to pay with, can you? I don’t give a fuck how much you’ve given me, how much debt you’ve racked up, all I care about is getting more and more money off of you. So we’ll try something else.