The Collar And The Carrot

The Collar And The Carrot

Vernon strode into his kitchen at number four Privet Drive and his eyes fell on the form of his nephew.

In years past, this sight would have ignited a fury within the large man that would not easily be ignored. However, the sight now inspired a spark of unquestionable excitement at what he managed to reduce the boy to.

The boy had his back to him, facing the kitchen counter as he chopped up vegetables for that nights baked dinner. He was practically naked, pale flesh soft and vulnerable, glowing a subtle orange from the rays of a setting sun glimmering through the kitchen window. The only item that covered the naked flesh was a crudely made loin-cloth, strips of black material that covered his prick and ass.

Vernon had forced the boy to tear up one of his precious uniforms from that freak school to fashion the small garment that offered no dignity.

Further up the boy’s body, Vernon’s eyes fell on the expensive, black collar. It was a strange item that had been given to him by a mysterious man a week before the boy returned from the freak school. But it was because of this strange item that Vernon garnered such submission and obedience from the boy.

Vernon knew he did not enjoy touching the thick, black strip of leather. An uncomfortable sensation had raced up his arm when the mysterious man had set it in his hand, but that did not matter to the large man as, once he strapped it around the small boy’s neck, he no longer needed to handle it.

The collar had been plain until Vernon went out and had a silver tag engraved with the word ‘FREAK’ and attached it to the front ring. The tag hung delicately in between the ridges of his collar-bone.

Although he did not fully understand the true properties of the collar, somehow it made the boy utterly docile. All of his passionate personality faded until he was left an obedient drone. Everything Vernon ordered of the boy, it was followed immediately.

Whatever it was worth, Vernon was immensely grateful for the strange gift from the even stranger man.

Vernon stepped up to the boy until his rounded gut touched the boy’s back and he looked over the slight shoulder. The boy did not move, simply continued with his chore of cutting and preparing the food for dinner; just as he’d been ordered to do.

Deft fingers peeled away the skin of the sweet potato before chopping it up into equal pieces.

Vernon turned to look at the profile of the boy and the corner of his mouth twitched up. Blank eyes focused on the task before him but it was his mouth that made Vernon smirk.

With the addition of the collar, Vernon had commanded the boy to retain a gagged mouth. It had first been added to keep the boy from complaining and whining. That was until Vernon discovered two things; one, the boy would not speak unless asked a direct question that required an answer and two, Vernon garnered a strange sense of glee and enjoyment at forcing the boy’s mouth open and bound on a consistent bases. After those observations had come to light, the boy remained gagged at all times, bar the half an hour he was given a day to eat and drink.

The gag, just like the loin-cloth, was fashioned from the boy’s possessions. Thin, cotton balled up socks were stuffed into the unresisting orifice, compacting the tongue to remain still and placid. Then, to ensure the socks were not spat out, a thin strip of the same black material wrapped around the boy’s face and head to fashion a cleave-gag.

Vernon’s hand crept up to the boy’s face and squeezed the cheeks together until he could feel the resistance of the socks. Once again the boy did not move or react to the abusive handling, simply continued with his set job.

A quiet chuckle escaped Vernon.

His eyes landed on over of the unprepared vegetables still on the counter – a carrot. A morbid thought popped into his head.

Vernon picked up the orange vegetable and stepped back from the boy.

“Freak, position eight,” he demanded in a firm voice.

There was no hesitation or pause. The boy set the knife down, laid the side of his head on the counter so his body was bent at the hips and reached his hands around to rest on his ass cheeks, spreading them apart.

As soon as Vernon discovered the true potential of the collar and discovering the satisfaction of ordering the boy around, he had trained him.

The freak was forced to learn ten different positions of displaying his body and memorise them by number. It had taken a week of Vernon constantly shouting out numbers from one to ten and watch as the boy complied. Vernon particularly favoured the various positions on the odd nights he took the boy on the bed.

Focusing his attention on the back half of the loin-cloth, Vernon lifted the black flap and laid in on the boy’s back so it revealed the small butt. The flesh of the two mounds was still a vivid pink from the paddling he’s received the night before.

In the beginning, Vernon had made up imaginary punishments, making his own excuses to beat the boy for no reason. But when they became tedious, Vernon realised he needed no excuse to treat the boy however he desired. Now the freak was graced with a whipping or beating at least once a day. Vernon preferred to focus on the soft, vulnerable mounds of the boy’s ass as not to scare or disturb Petunia or Dudder’s.

But, on the odd occasion, Vernon would punch or slap or grip the boy too hard just to leave a mark where he could see it.

The pink on the freaks ass was accentuated with the odd faded purple bruise – a mark that he’d been too hard and rough with the paddling.

Vernon poked at a few of the bruises to watch the boy flinch in pain.

Although he was ordered to follow commands, the boy still cried out and flinched from the blows and beatings. It was something Vernon was glad for; if the boy did not react, he knew it would be no fun to dish out the punishments.

Passing over the abused flesh, Vernon’s attention moved to the boy’s hole and the blue butt-plug that was embedded within the channel; another indulgence by Vernon to enjoy the suffering of his nephew. The plug had been a quick purchase from a seedy sex shop at the other end of town. Originally Vernon had no idea what he wanted to buy from the adult shop, having never been to one before, but after a speedy brose of the merchandise, his eyes had landed on the dildos and butt-plugs. As one was able to be retained for large amounts of time without assistance that was the one Vernon chose to gift his nephew with.

He reached for the sex toy and yanked it out with no regard. The hole twitched and winked with the loss of the plug, slightly stretched but not damaged.

Raising the carrot, Vernon smirked again and set the tip of the vegetable just inside the stretched opening. He chose not to warn the boy, instead pushing it in, unforgiving, until only an inch of the thickened top of the carrot could be seen.

The boy groused and squirmed slightly, but otherwise remained steady in position eight.

“Ready freak, I’m giving all of this to you. It’s probably the most food you’ve had in a week,” Vernon chuckled to himself at his own joke.

With a sharp jab, Vernon forced the unrelenting carrot to disappear inside the open ass. Unwilling to let it slip out and relieve the boy of its pressure, Vernon replaced the sex toy back to its previous location – plugging the ass up.

Vernon could imagine the butt-plug forcing its way in beside the carrot, stretching the tender inner walls of the boy’s rectum, pushing, hurting and filling.

He heard a slight moan come from behind the gag of the boy, though there was something off with the sound. Vernon moved around to look at the face of the freak.

Two spots of pink had caused the boy to become flushed with what looked like pleasure. Vernon lifted the front of the loin-cloth and discovered the boy’s prick had semi-hardened.

It was clear to Vernon that the carrot was pushing on the freak’s prostate, enticing pleasure and enjoyment – that was not on! He grabbed the base of the plug and twisted it, forcing it around in the boy’s passage until he heard a distinct muffled whimper of pain. Perfect.

With a final squeeze to a quivering, pink ass cheek, Vernon flipped the black cloth back down to hide the plug from view.

“Stand up, Freak.”

The boy struggled into a standing position, groaning in discomfort as the imbedded intrusions shifted and moved with his straightening body. Vernon laughed out loud with inexpressible satisfaction.

“Get on with it then, Freak. Finish the dinner and don’t burn it!”

Once the boy resumed the peeling and chopping of the vegetables, Vernon turned his heel and went to the lounge room to watch some television and relax until the meal was prepared.

An hour and a half later Vernon was startled out of his focus on the evening new by a timid tapping on his shoulder. He turned around to see the boy wringing his hands, eyes imploring and wide.

“Don't sneak up on me like that!” Vernon snapped. “What do you want, boy?”

The boy turned his head towards the kitchen and looked back at Vernon.

“Ah, dinner is ready,” Vernon stated. “It better be perfect, Freak!”

The boy bowed his head and nodded slightly.

The Dursley family assembled into the dining room and sat down to a succulent roast dinner. The pork was tender and moist with crunchy crackling, the potatoes golden brown and the other vegetables deliciously seasoned and roasted to perfection. The gravy had been made by scratch and was smooth and velvety, the taste complementing the meat.

Vernon, Petunia and Dudley sat down at the three place settings. Vernon did not start eating until the boy kneeled down in the corner of the kitchen; head down and nearly out of sight. It was the boy’s job now to sit and wait until the Dursley’s had eaten their meal and clean up after them.

They took their time with the roast dinner. Dudley, unsurprisingly, had second and third helpings of the meat, potatoes and crackling. As soon as they were done, Vernon called over the boy who scuttled up to his feet and collected the dishes and took them to the sink.

For desert he served a large apple pie, made from scratch of course, with custard and ice cream.

Dudley hoed into his helping like a pig in a trough while Petunia and Vernon ate at a more sedate pace.

The boy kneeled back in his corner of the kitchen, still not allowed to begin cleaning until the family was finished their meal.

When the entire apple pie had been consumed by the Dursley’s (more than half of it disappearing down Dudley’s gob alone), Vernon ordered the boy to take the dished and start cleaning up.

“You know the rules, Freak. This place better be spotless.”

With a tiny nod, the boy set to work. The Dursley’s retreated from the dining room; Vernon and Petunia sat down to watch some nightly television shows and Dudley slowly climbed the stairs to his bedroom to play on his computer.

It took the boy another hour to do all the washing up, scrub the oven, wipe down the counter and dining table and mop the floor. Not a speck of dirt was in sight. He tied up the garbage bag and took it to the back door in the laundry as he was not allowed to go outside to take it to the bin.

Having finished his most recent order, he left the kitchen and kneeled down next to Vernon in the lounge room. He flinched again as the carrot shifted uncomfortably within him.

Vernon watched the boy out of the corner of his eye and ignored him until the television show he was engrossed in finished.

“Let’s go, Freak,” Vernon said as soon as the shows credits began to role.

The boy stood up but Vernon purposely knocked him back onto the ground.

“No, you can crawl.”

The freak obeyed, pulling himself onto his hands and knees and followed behind Vernon back to the kitchen.

It was a small job Vernon took pleasure in doing himself. Although he could have demanded the boy fix his own dinner, it was yet another degradation he enjoyed watching the freak suffer.

From beneath the sink, Vernon retrieved two sterling silver dog bowls. One of them he put under the tap and poured a small amount of water, about half a cup. In the second he grabbed a small can of dog food. He opened the steel lid and the squelchy meat slopped into the metal bowl. Vernon used a fork to flatten it down and set both bowls in the middle of the kitchen floor.

The boy was kneeling patiently right where the bowls were placed. Vernon lent down and untied the knot of the cleave-gag and tugged the soggy socks out from between the boy’s teeth. He threw the rag and the socks down next to the freak.

“Eat. No hands.”

Leaning down so his face was in the bowls, the boy did as he was bade and began to eat his meagre meal. The pet food offered nearly no nutritional value for the boy but as it was all he was allowed to eat he had no choice.

Vernon stood back for a moment to watch his nephew act like a beaten dog. The sight never failed to make the pleasure curl in his gut.

He made himself a cup of tea and sat down at the clean dining table to sip on it and munch down some sweet biscuits. This was his routine before bed every night; he’d have a soothing cup of tea while the boy was given his half an hour to eat and drink.

The food and water he gave the boy was hardly enough to sustain him. Vernon did this to ensure if the collar ever stopped working, the boy would be too weak to fight him. If it ever got out that this was the way he was treating his nephew, Vernon knew he’d get a one way ticket to prison. The unsatisfactory food and little water was Vernon’s back up plan and insurance that he’d still be able to control his nephew, even if he lost the collar.

Vernon watched as the boy finished up the food and shifted to the second bowl. His hands were on the floor, on either side of the dog bowl to hold his balance and his dirty face lent down to lap at the tap water. The ‘FREAK’ tag clinked softly on the metal bowl as the boy’s head moved to drink up the insufficient water. He drank until there was not a drop left.

Once both bowls were licked clean, the boy stood up and went to the sink to wash up the dog bowls. He also cleaned the fork and Vernon’s tea cup, spoon and plate he’s had the biscuits on. He dried everything up and placed it all back in its proper places. The boy was allowed one piece of paper towel to whip the muck off his face and take it to the garbage bag still sitting in the laundry along with the empty can of dog food.

The boy returned with a clean pair of thin cotton socks, the strip of black material and a pair of heavy, steel handcuffs. He held them out to Vernon silently.

“Turn around,” Vernon said.

Obeying, the boy turned his back on Vernon and automatically held his hands behind his back. Vernon snapped the cuffs around the delicate wrists, noticing the faint ligature marks as a result of being restrained every night. The boy would have those scars for the rest of his life.

Turning back around the boy opened his mouth willingly for Vernon to stuff the socks in. The black strip of cloth was wrapped around the freak’s face. Vernon pulled too tight on purpose to make the material cut into the corners of the boy’s mouth. He whimpered in pain.

“Let’s go. Upstairs with you.”

Vernon followed the boy this time. He was pleased to note the strange gait of the boy as he walked. The carrot was still causing a mite of discomfort and it showed in his stance.

The boy knew to go to his bedroom. He stood next to the closed door, waiting for Vernon to open it.

Vernon walked into the room, grabbing a fistful of the boy’s hair as he went. The boy had no choice but to follow the pull.

The interior of the boy’s room had changed since the addition of the collar. No longer was there a spindly bed adorning the room, but a large comfy queen sized ensemble. The large bed took up almost the entire floor space of the room. Only the small closet stood at the end of the bed and along one side was a strip of carpeting between the bed and the wall.

In the top corner of the room, at the end of the strip of carpet that still remained in the room, was a medium sized dog bed.

Although Vernon had filled the room with a plush bed, it had not been for the boy. The bed was there for when he wanted to have fun with the boy’s body, providing comfort for himself. If Vernon was not in the room, the boy was made to curl up uncomfortably in a scantly padded dog bed.

Vernon gestured to the canine bedding and the boy scurried over to lie down. He bent his legs and tucked his knees up to his chest. Hopeless green eyes watched as Vernon moved over him, reaching for the leash that was locked to the wall above the dog bed and clipped the end to the collar. With the boy’s hands cuffed behind him he was securely locked in place to the wall with no chance of leaving the circular bed. The handcuffs would also keep the boy from removing the plug or carrot and he could have no choice but to retain them until Vernon saw fit to remove them.

That was how the boy was left for the night. Vernon took one last look at the pathetic curled up form of his nephew before switching off the light, closing the door and slipping the bolts and padlocks into place to lock the room.

He would have to remember to wake up early before work and clean the boy, take out the carrot and fill him with water. Four or five times a week he’d lay the boy face first in the bathtub, ass up and shove a flexible hose into the displayed hole. He’d have the boy keep the water within him while Vernon went off to have a shower and get dressed for work. Then he’d have the boy release and reinsert the plug. Sometime he would spray some water over the boy, depending on how smelly he was getting and that would suffice as his shower.

Just before leaving for work, Vernon would give the boy his orders for the day, ensuring he remained busy or occupied and out of the way of Petunia and Dudley. One time, on a day when Petunia wanted to have a morning tea with her girlfriends, Vernon locked the boy up in his room with the single order to get into position two (on his back with his legs up to his chest and spread apart) and fuck the plug within himself. Vernon had tied a stray shoelace around the base and of the boy’s small cock and balls and left.

Upon returning home from work nine hours later, Vernon saw the boy was still ramming the butt-plug into himself. His little dick was so hard it had pushed the front of the loin-cloth up and was flush with his chest. There was no sign of sticky, white cum so Vernon knew the shoelace had done its job.

He could also see the muscles in the boy’s forearms spasm from the constant and repetitive action of driving the sex toy into his orifice. But the best thing of all was the steady stream of tears that were running down the boy’s flushed cheeks. Whether they were from sexual frustration or pain, Vernon didn’t know nor did he care.

He laughed heartedly as the boy looked up imploringly, hopeless and begging with his wet, green eyes for some form of release or escape from the order. Naturally, Vernon took more pleasure in the boy’s suffering and stepped back out of the room after saying two words.

“Harder. Faster.”

Of course the boy had no choice but to comply and Vernon left.

For that night the boy could suffer at his own hands while the Dursley family had a nice dinner out at a nearby Italian restaurant.

Vernon was more than content with the setting in his house with the ultimate control of his nephew. He knew the strange man who had given him the collar would contact him again, but until that time Vernon was going to utilise all of its ability and keep the boy as his submissive, willing and compliant slave.