Taming the Twins25 minutes of an awesome read

Identical twin brothers, they were each six feet tall, blond and rugged like their Viking ancestors. Nineteen years of farm life had left them well-developed without the exaggerated cuts of the competitive bodybuilder. During the year that I had owned them, weight training had given a sharper definition to their already considerable musculature. Their hair was neatly and shortly clipped, their faces clean-shaven, their bodies smooth, almost hairless but without shaving.

The day I bought them at auction I found I needed them marked for identification. Mark, some twenty minutes younger than his brother, had the privilege of deciding which of his tits got pierced. He has a gold ring through his left nipple. The ends of the ring are welded together so it can’t be removed. Matt has an identical ring through his right tit. I also ordered Prince Albert rings in each of their identically large and cut cocks. These are not welded and can be removed. One time I removed them was as a reward and allowed them to fuck each other for the first time—for my amusement. But, then, maybe you’ve seen the video.

When I walked in, both boys did exactly as they had been trained to do. They knelt and touched their foreheads to the floor. This put their bound wrists at a convenient angle for me to remove the padlock connecting the leather cuff locked on each wrist. Then, I decided to remove the padlock connecting the chain from the wall with the iron cuff each boy had welded onto an ankle, coincidentally on the same side as his tit ring.

When they were both unlocked, I allowed them to stand and they followed me to the weight room. Each brother’s workout exactly matches the other, lift for lift, pound for pound. I can’t keep up with them, but it’s good for me to try. After a two hour workout we were all breathing hard and glistening with sweat. I like to have my slaves exercise before sex. I like the smell and taste of fresh man-sweat and I like the feel of the skin when all of the natural oils haven’t been scrubbed away.

Their devotion to each other makes them easy to discipline. Whenever one of them needs to be punished, he is spread-eagled in the quiet room. He wears a hood with stereo headphones built into it. Then, the other brother and I go into the playroom. When I have him screaming, I open a mike to the quiet room so the one being punished can hear his brother’s pain and know that he had caused it.

Of course, the one being worked over in the playroom knows I wanted him screaming, and why, and they had gotten pretty stoic about being stretched on the rack, shocked with cattle prods, and some pretty heavy ball work. But, after I work with them for a while, it is easy. I discovered that Matt has absolutely no tolerance for hot wax, while a belt on Mark’s butt reduces him to tears almost immediately (difficult to understand since he can stand up to a bullwhip or cat fairly well).

Once they start crying or screaming I start recording. When I have a full cassette I set that to repeat into the headphones, over and over again, for hours. Awake or asleep the sound of his brother’s pain penetrates his brain, constantly, and he gets to think about what he did to cause the hurt and how to avoid it in the future. Guilt can be as useful a training aid as pain.

I haven’t had to do this often. They are good boys by now, naturally submissive, and eager to please their master. They had grown up on an isolated farm, the only children in their family. They worked hard on the farm every day as far back as they could remember and were not allowed any kind of social life. Natural athletes, neither was allowed to go out for sports because both were needed at home as soon as school was out. Or even before. They missed a lot of schooling to stay home and help out Their eighteenth birthday was their last day of school, both dropped out a few months short of graduation.

A lot of farm boys, growing up isolated from girls, go through a period of fucking the livestock. Matt and Mark never did. Instead, they discovered each other. It was one of those days after lunch, they felt they had enough time to get their teenage nuts off before they went back to work. They were sixty-nining in the hayloft when suddenly they noticed their father standing over them with a shotgun. Keeping them covered with the gun, he made them put their boots (and only their boots) back on, pick up shovels, go out behind the barn, and start digging a grave-sized hole.

The hole was about half finished (a little over six feet long, double-wide, and plenty deep) when they heard

“Freeze! Drop the gun!”

All three of them turned to see a Deputy Sheriff with his hog leg aimed at the older man’s heart. The boys dropped out of the possible cross-fire, their intended grave becoming a suddenly welcome foxhole. Their father dropped the gun and surrendered.

At the Sheriffs office he claimed that he never intended to hurt his sons, that he was only trying to “scare the queerness” out of them. The local Judge couldn’t seem to understand that there was a law against killing homosexuals, much less threatening them, and the boy’s father was released on his own recognizance before the boys finished giving their statements.

At nineteen the brothers had no money, no high school diploma, no marketable skills and seemed to have no choice except to go home.

The Deputy Sheriff, who had rescued them, suggested something else. He explained it as a private alternative to the witness relocation program. It would mean leaving home which, at the time, seemed like a good idea. It would also mean becoming some man’s slaves, but they had already been enslaved by their father for most of their young lives. There were some other meanings that were yet to come.

They spent that night in protective custody in the County Jail. The Deputy introduced them to safe sex and with someone other than themselves. They made an obedient daisy chain, the deputy sucking one boy while getting sucked by his twin. The next morning he gave them traveling money and put them on a bus. After an uneventful bus ride they arrived at the Kansas City Exchange.

The KC Exchange has a Stockyard, a place where wild animals are rounded up and domesticated. Like the broncobusters of the Old West, the trainers at the Stockyard corral take an undisciplined, unbranded maverick and break him and make an obedient, affectionate, useful animal out of him. If you know about their Stockyard you don’t need me to tell you about it. If you don’t know about it, but you’re interested, just network with other people into S-M. Master or slave, when you are in the Midwest and need to know about the Stockyard you will.

The Deputy had called ahead, someone met Matt and Mark at the bus station and escorted them to a panel truck. Once in the truck they were told to put on leather hoods that completely blindfolded them. Both were then cuffed, collared, with the collars padlocked to eye bolts in the floor. After a long drive, they arrived.

They were stripped, photographed and fingerprinted. They were given a physical, including blood, urine and semen samples. The hoods were replaced after their eye exams and not removed again until the auction. They were showered, or more accurately, scrubbed by slaves with stiff-bristled brushes. Next came the interrogation where they were asked question after question, over and over again, with their answers compared to each other. While stretched on racks, they were introduced to the feel of various whips and electric shock prods. Name calling and verbal abuse were showered on them along with some piss. They were made to suck cock, one condom-sheathed cock after another, more cocks than they thought anybody could suck in a lifetime.

The trainers worked in shifts, keeping up the pressure around the clock. The boys were not allowed to sleep for three days, then, they were spread-eagled on bunks in a soundproof room and left alone. They both caught up on their sleep and, upon being awakened, they compared notes. Both admitted what they had suspected, that they liked sex with men and decided that this was better than going back home. They agreed that their experience so far had been different from what they had expected, but not too bad, all in all.

Later Mark was the one who realized there had to be a camera and mike in that room and the only reason to put them together was to let them talk and hear what they said when they thought they were not being monitored. They immediately quit talking when trainers came to get them up. They were allowed to piss, shit, shower, shave and eat. Afterward they were taken into separate rooms and each one had the slave contract read and explained to him.

“You don’t have to sign this. If you want out now we’ll call it even. Just say, No, and we’ll get you a job and a place to stay until your first paycheck. But this is your last chance. If you agree to sign, you’re in this for life.” Both elected to stay.

I was lucky to get to the Stockyard that day, not that I was in the market for a slave. I knew that the auction was scheduled and had looked over the catalogue of what they were offering. When the picture of Matt and Mark arrived over the FAX machine, I called to verify that this wasn’t someone’s idea of a put-on, and, then, I checked with my travel agent.

Several men who were interested in the boys weren’t able to get there in time. When the auction started, four trainers were holding phones, representing men that were calling in their bids. Two slaves were present with letters of instruction from their Masters.

Matt and Mark went up on the block first, apparently on the theory that no one would bid on anything else until after they had been sold. Two trainers in full leather led the boys, who were buck naked except for their hoods, onto the stage. After four days of total darkness, they flinched from the bright lights when the hoods were pulled off, leaving them fully exposed.

Their freshness and innocence was overwhelming. They never struck a pose, didn’t know to keep their eyes downcast, even tried to squint through the glare of the lights to see the bidders.

The auctioneer described the lot, as if everyone there didn’t know the details. Identical twin brothers who had voluntarily indentured themselves, inexperienced but enthusiastic cocksuckers, never been fucked. Their history of unsafe sex consisted of only with each other.

As far as the bidding went, let’s just say it was a tough fight, but before I left the room I had two standing offers to buy them if I decided I couldn’t afford them or got tired of them. A representative of the largest brothel in Tokyo said his principal would buy them as long as they were HIV negative, and the man who operates the Gladiator circuit in New York said he would take them as long as they even looked healthy.

I paid for the boys and arranged to use the facilities at the Stockyards to impress upon them that they were totally in my control. They were placed back in a holding cell while the equipment I wanted was located and set up. They were led, hooded again into the examining room. I took their hoods off, and they saw me for the first time.

I handed them their contracts, and one at a time they stood in front of the video camera, buck naked, read the contract out loud and then signed it.

Both were then secured to vertical racks, their feet supported, their arms stretched over their heads, straps on their ankles, thighs, bellies, necks, biceps, and wrists. I turned to the slave holding a straight edge who had been instructed before they got in to the room. “Prep ’em good. Remember, they’re both a lot more valuable property than you are. Any cuts or nicks will be taken out of your hide.”

As soon as I said that I knew it was a mistake. For a fraction of a second he had a mischievous half-smirk of a slave looking forward to being punished. Fortunately one of the trainers saw it too. “And if he finds it necessary to punish you, I’ll make sure you spend some time in The Pit afterward.”

The slave went pale, and I made a mental note to ask about this Pit. One at a time he lathered the boys from neck to crotch and removed the hair from their armpits and crotch along with the peach fuzz from their chest and bellies.

While they were being shaved, the boys got to watch a videotape. There was a trainer on the videotape who held up a castration clamp, sort of like a pair of pliers with a yard long handle. He explained that it was designed to crush the blood vessels of the scrotum above the testicles, removing the balls quickly, almost bloodlessly, and relatively painlessly. He demonstrated on a black angus bull. The bull bellowed as it became a steer, and the trainer held the balls up to the camera.

The scene shifted to an interior shot. There was a giant Black man strapped to a rack like the boys were now. He was sweating and trembling. One trainer milked his balls down, getting them as low in the sack as possible. The trainer we had seen in the first part put the clamp in place, not applying pressure yet, just keeping his nuts away from his body. The man began to beg. His giant uncut cock was rock hard. The trainer took it in his hand and began to stroke it gently.

“Your new owner wants a harem guard, and that’s all there is to it. You’re going to get your balls cut off in a few seconds, so enjoy them while you got ’em. But if you want to keep begging that’s all right. Won’t do you any good but it’s making me hot. Think you might cry?”

In his last act as a stud the Black man’s cock erupted, a thick jet of white cum spurting out onto the trainer’s hand. At the same time the other trainer brought the handles of the clamp together. Again he picked up the bloody balls and held them up to the camera.

My boys were now pale, sweating, trembling, and looked like they were about to be sick. I hefted one pair of their bull balls, then the other. I stepped back where I could watch both and held up the castration clamp that they had just seen in the tape. “Ready to be gelded?”

One of them closed his eyes. The other looked me in the eye, and in a voice that cracked from tension said, “Yes, Sir, if that’s what you want. I guess we all belong to you now.”

I put the hood back on his brother, blindfolding him. Then I had the slave stand in front of the one who had spoken, so he could see the gold rings piercing both nipples. In a whisper I informed him “You’re going to get a ring like that. Do you warn it in the right or left nip?”

He thought for a moment. “Left, please, Sir.”

“What’s your name?”

“Mark, Sir.”

“All right, Mark, open your mouth wide.”

I gagged him with a hard rubber ball, then, I swabbed his left tit with an iodine solution. We turned the boys so they were facing each other.

Mark’s cock was rigid. A trainer slipped two copper rings onto his cock, one at the base, the other near the head. There were wires attached to the rings and he hooked them to a transformer. Then he put some gel on Mark’s skin to make sure of a good electrical contact Mark jumped a little when the electricity started through his cock. Somewhat surprised that it wasn’t hurting, he allowed himself a shy smile. I looked into his eyes, took hold of his balls, stroked them gently and whispered, “Don’t cum until I give you permission.”

The doctor (the same one who had given the boys their physicals) put on a white rubber glove and felt Mark’s left nipple. He examined the boy with the patience of a diamond cutter, deciding how best to polish a flawless gem. He took a fell tip marker and placed two dots where his needle would enter and exit. He swabbed the area with iodine again and opened sterile packages, containing forceps, needles, and a gold ring.

Meanwhile Mark had a desperate case of blue balls. The trainer had eased up the power on the transformer. Mark was panting, his pulse racing, his eyes closed, an occasional groan getting past his gag.

I thought about making him watch, then decided he could see the videotape later. He was so focused on the sensations from his cock that he didn’t even react when the doctor gripped his nipple firmly with the forceps.

The doctor held up a needle and nodded. I whispered, “You can cum now, Mark.”

The trainer turned up the transformer all the way. Mark’s cock shot a stream of sperm that splashed on his brother’s belly. Man screamed, thinking the warm fluid was blood. The doctor ran the needle through Mark’s nipple as he screamed.

I removed Mark’s gag, then Matt’s blindfold. He watched the gold ring being threaded through his brother’s tit and soldered shut, and the electrodes were moved from Mark’s cock to his. I explained that Mark had shown more of an understanding that they belonged to me now, an acceptance of anything I was going to do to them and had been rewarded by being allowed to choose which tit got the ring. Matt had no choice, his right nipple was being pierced.

Mark watched with interest while we repeated the procedure that we had just performed on him. The twins were no longer identical, but mirror images. Now I could tell them apart at a glance.

The slave cleaned the cum and electrode gel off of the boys, and swabbed their cocks with iodine. “There was another reason for using the transformer. Not only did it distract you from the pain of getting your tits pierced, it overloaded the nerves in your cocks. You won’t be able to feel anything there for hours.”

I indicated to the doctor that he should continue working on Matt. He took a smooth, steel rod, a sound, out of a sterile package and lubed it and eased it into the piss hole of his limp, cut dick. He took another sterile needle and put it through the bottom of his cock, into the urethra just behind the head. Another sterile gold ring went into the new hole and out the one nature had provided. This one wasn’t welded, but it was left where I could remove and replace it after an appropriate healing time. Both boys watched, fascinated by this relatively painless operation.

Prince Albert piercings are useful and I think all slaves should have them. Putting in the rings now had the advantage of impressing on the boys how much control I had over them. Every time they pissed they would see the glint of the raw gold and be reminded that I could have taken their balls off, and still can.

Since then they have seen the videotape of the slave I did castrate. I had lent him to a friend and, inexplicably, he had tried to rip off a few small, valuable trinkets. The personality change after his balls were removed was amazing. Not only did he become considerably more docile and eager to please, but he became an absolutely insatiable fuck toy. After training him on pegs, dildoes, cocks and fist I sold him to a sheep rancher in Australia. I don’t think he’s worn clothing since I delivered him to the station. He mucks out the stables, takes care of the tack, brushes and rubs down the horses, and every evening gets the rancher’s cock down his throat and then gets serviced by the rancher’s favorite stallion.

The doctor ringed Mark’s cock, then gave both boys an antibiotic injection in their rumps. I inspected both carefully. They had good physiques from hard work, but they showed a little laxity in the abdominals—the beginnings of love handles. That would have to be corrected. I had been trying to think of another contest for them, and this seemed like a natural.

They were released from the racks. I told them to lay on their backs on the floor with their hands clasp behind their heads and knees bent where their heels touched their bulls. “When was the last time you did sit-ups?”

“Three or four years ago, in school, Sir.”

“Well, you’re going to be doing them daily now. I want to see which one of you can do more. The one who does more sit-ups gets to be the first one to get fucked.”I kept count, and both of them did their sit-ups together, with an occasional do over when one or the other had not preformed a rep to my satisfaction. By the tenth rep both were sweating. By the hundredth their stomach muscles were knotted and twisted. When they reached two hundred their butts were scraped raw from the floor. As they were approaching the three hundredth sit-up, Mark suddenly rolled over onto all fours and started vomiting.

I had Matt do one more sit-up and then walked over to Mark. I gently stroked his shoulders and said, “You did good, boy. You didn’t win this time, but you tried your hardest and I’m pleased with you.” I had the slave fetch rags and a bucket, and told the trainer to have Mark clean up after himself and put him back on the rack, leaving his right hand free for now.

I had Matt stand up. “You aren’t going to be sick, are you?”

“I don’t think so, Sir.”

I put Matt in the sling, on his back, his legs secured and elevated, his asshole exposed and vulnerable. His left arm was fastened tight, but I left his right arm free for now. I took off my Levi’s, exposing my own equipment. With one hand I look hold of his balls, and with the other I guided his right hand to mine.

“The word testicle comes from the Latin word testis, meaning ‘witness’, the same root that gives us words like testimony. In ancient times men would make vows holding on to each other’s balls. It’s even in the Bible, but you probably didn’t hear much about it in Sunday school. When I let you take hold of my nuts, it means that I’m about to make the most serious vow that I know how.

“You belong to me now. I’ll take care of you, make sure you have the food, shelter, training and whatever medical care that you need. My cock and your brother’s are the only ones that go into your mouth or up your backside without a rubber. If I ever find out that you’ve had another naked cock stuck into you I’ll sell your ass.”

I secured Matt’s right hand, and checked on Mark. He had finished cleaning up after himself and was back on the rack. I made sure that his stomach was settled, then I guided his free hand to my balls, took hold of his, and repeated what I told Matt. The trainer secured his right hand and I indicated that he should put a ball stretcher with metal electrodes on the boy.

I went back to where Matt was in the sling. “Ready to loose your cherry?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I put my stiff cock in his face. “Take it in your mouth, get it good and slick with your spit.” He did, making up with enthusiasm for what he lacked in technique. I could tell that he had raw talent and with training would become a world-class cocksucker. I pulled out, and went around to stand between his legs.

While they were in the holding cell, one trainer had offered to have the twins cleaned out and lubed. I declined. Since then they have been trained to take enemas and keep their asses oiled, but that time I had my reasons for wanting the boy natural.

I moistened one finger and worked it gently into his virgin fuck-hole. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. I pushed more lube into him, then put the head of my cock at his rosebud. There was a moment of resistance and then the head of my cock penetrated. He flinched, gasped, and pulled on the chains holding his arms. I waited. The spasm of pain passed, and he relaxed again and smiled. I started slow, gently stroking, pushing into him another fraction of an inch with each thrust. When I got all the way in, his balls against my belly, I paused to let him adapt to having a man’s cock inside of him. He smiled again and tightened his asshole, squeezing my cock.

Usually, I have my slaves crawl on their bellies while getting fucked. I was using the sling this time primarily because of the piercings, but I was glad that I was watching this stud’s face as he got it for the first time.

I began to thrust harder and harder, matching my rhythm to the motion of the sling, the satisfaction of owning this fine slavemeat was overwhelming, and soon I shot the load that had been trying to get out of my nuts from the first time I saw them on the auction block.

Almost staggering, I pulled out of Matt’s fuckhole, picked up a remote control switch that I had left nearby, and walked around to his mouth.

“That was a real good fuck, boy. Now clean your Master’s cock.”

He clenched his jaw shut and looked at me with a puzzled expression, as if he thought I could not possibly have meant what I said. I held the remote where he could see it and pushed the button.

“Fuck!” Mark yelped with pain and surprise as a capacitor discharged through his nuts. I turned to him.

“I don’t think I heard that, boy,” and I pushed the button again.

“No excuse, Sir! I meant, ‘Fuck, Sir!’ That was painful and startling, Sir!”

“Much better.” I turned back to Matt. “Now, are you going to cause your brother’s nuts to get fried off, or are you going to open that pretty mouth and clean your Master’s cock?” I pushed the button again. Mark didn’t yell this time, but Matt could hear the sound the rack made as he jumped.

He opened his mouth, and my softening cock went inside it. His tongue began to scrub lube, cum, and his own shit from my cock. Without warning I started to piss. He swallowed it all, without spilling a drop. Natural talent, that’s all there was to it.

That was over a year ago. They’ve gotten a lo of training since then. But tonight is special. After their workout we went to the playroom, and they were ordered to lay on the waterbed. I locked their ankle cuffs to the chains attached to the bed frame.

“I have a surprise for you.” I turned to the one-way mirror that dominated one wall of the playroom. “Come on in now!”

The Deputy Sheriff who had rescued them from their father, walked into the room in full uniform. He had waited over a year for this.

“He’s going to be using you tonight.” I turned to the Deputy and reminded him of the limits we had set. “Safe sex, no marks, they have my permission to cum at your command.”

The Deputy is a legend at the Stockyards. From that one sleepy county in Idaho he’s recruited six blond farmboys three before the twins and one since then. But the twins had haunted him. The commissions he’d gotten from the Stockyards added up to a tidy enough sum that he had contacted me and offered to pay for time with the twins. My only price was his secret of how he managed to find so much prime slavemeat in such a backward area. He said he’d tell me about it tomorrow morning.

So he began reacquainting himself with the boys by having one lick each of his boots as I settled back for the evening to watch the show.