CHAPTER 2 — “The Neighborhood Toy”

HugoTheBoss's Diary

April 1st. 19:33h

It's only been a few days since I tied the pink ribbon around his wrist. He hasn't taken it off, not even to sleep. He says it gives him security, reminds him of what he is. Every night, he sends me a photo of his flaccid cock adorned with the ribbon, like it's an amulet, as if he's afraid of losing me if it falls off.

Marcos, or rather MeatBoy, is evolving. He no longer thinks, no longer doubts. He just follows orders and smiles with that proud puppy face when I praise him. He likes to obey, needs to. Today, I'll take him out for a walk.

19:55h

We met in the city center, on a quiet corner. I told him to come without underwear. The rest, a white crop top with the word SLUT in large, pink letters that accentuated his torso. The pants, tiny, gray. Nothing else. I put a fine black collar around his neck, easy to hide under his shirt, but the pink ribbon peeked out slightly when he lowered his head. Perfect. I want it to be noticeable without being seen, so he knows he's marked, can't hide it completely.

"Today, you'll train for me, in public. You'll be my himbo, show off your flesh, your smile, your happy stupidity, knowing you're useful for something," I said in a low voice.

He nodded enthusiastically, as he always does.

20:17h

We entered a small neighborhood gym, nothing glamorous, oxidized iron, sweat smell, monotonous music. Ideal for what I wanted. I ordered him to do bench presses with high weights. As he lifted, I whispered in his ear:

"Each repetition is for me, not for you. You don't train to be strong, you train so I can use you."

He grunted between effort and pleasure, looking at me for approval. Between sets, I made him do push-ups on a mat, face down. I sat on his back, like a human bench. Some people watched, some smiled. He knew it, and it excited him more.

During a break, a very muscular guy, around twenty-something, approached me while drinking water. He asked in a low voice if I was the trainer of the guy with the crop top. I said yes. He smiled slyly and leaned towards my ear:

"I wouldn't mind if you trained me too... in private."

I looked him up and down slowly, warned him:

"You might end up like him, just a muscular idiot happy to obey."

He laughed with a slight shiver, took my phone from my hand with audacity, wrote down his number, and saved it under a single name: "Muscular Idiot". It turned me on.

21:10h

Still sweaty, without letting him change, I took my MeatBoy to a discreet gay sauna in Lavapiés. I didn't say anything until we parked.

"Today, you'll be used, you won't decide anything. You'll enter, undress, and let them touch you, smell you, taste you. You're sweaty, stinky, perfect. A himbo doesn't think about hygiene, just serving."

I led him inside with a...