The new life of David: Skinhead Property

David's life changed radically from the day Kurt shaved his head. He was no longer a person. He was a possession, an object with specific functions.

Every morning he woke up inside the metal cage that Kurt had installed in the corner of the living room. The dimensions were just right: one and a half meters long by one meter wide. He could barely stretch. He slept naked on an old blanket, with the chastity belt tight around his balls and the urethral probe constantly stimulating his cock but without the possibility of relief. The XXL plug never came out of his ass, keeping his anus dilated and ready to be used whenever Kurt wanted.

"Wake up, pig," Kurt growled, opening the cage with a kick. It was 7:00 am.

David crawled out of the cage and dragged himself to his Master's feet. Kurt was already wearing his black 20-eyelet Doctor Martens, and David knew what his first task of the day was.

"Boots, faggot. Clean them."

The Docs were disgusting. Kurt had gone out the night before and had stepped in puddles, cigarette butts, spit, and dog shit. The soles were especially repulsive, with remains of filth embedded in the characteristic pattern.

David stuck out his tongue and started licking. The taste was vomit-inducing: dirt, dry mud, something that seemed like dog shit. He passed his tongue over the entire sole, inserting it into each groove, cleaning every square centimeter of black rubber. He swallowed the dirt while Kurt smoked a cigarette calmly.

"The soles better, damn it. I want to see them shine."

For twenty minutes, David licked and licked until the soles were clean. Then he moved on to the leather: licking, spitting saliva, rubbing with his tongue, polishing. His lips and tongue hurt from the effort, but he wouldn't stop until Kurt was satisfied.

"Good. Now your boots."

Kurt pointed to the 14-eyelet red Doctor Martens that David now had to wear as part of his new skinhead identity. They were the only clothes he was allowed to wear, apart from the collar with a chain.

David started the same process with his own boots. Licking the soles, spitting, rubbing, polishing the red leather. It was humiliating to clean his own boots with his mouth, but that was his function. Keeping the skinhead footwear immaculate, his Master's and his own.

"Breakfast," Kurt ordered when he finished.

David crawled to the kitchen where his stainless steel bowl was waiting for him on the floor. Inside were leftovers from last night's dinner: cold fries, a piece of meat with fat, and on top Kurt had spat and added cigarette ash.

But before breakfast came the morning ritual.

Kurt stood in front of the bowl, pulled down his pants, and pulled out his thick cock. "Open your mouth, urinal."

David opened his mouth, and Kurt started pissing. The hot and bitter stream filled his mouth. He swallowed and swallowed, feeling the pee going down h...