Disclaimer: By entering this site you agree that you are 18 years of age or older, and that the content of this site is legal in your country or jurisdiction.
Warning: This erotic fiction contains sexual experiences between fictional males. If this is not your thing, leave now. Furthermore, any similarity to any person, place or thing living or dead is merely coincidental.
There is no safe sex in this story because it is fiction. Remember: In real life, play as safe as possible preferably no exchange of bodily fluids.
My stories are copyrighted and are not available for use under any condition. Please forward all comments to douglas.marx.4@gmail.com.
Support nifty.org. We have all shot our loads reading Nifty. Show appreciation at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html. Thank you. Enjoy.
Story codes: M, MM, SM, bd
Please check out my other Nifty.org stories, which can be found "Prolific Authors" section at http://www.nifty.org/nifty/frauthors.html and scroll to "Douglas Marx". Thank you.
Born – Chapter Nineteen
Lying in bed with fag that night, my pensive self was at the surface. "So, did you have an interesting day, Sir?" Fag cajoled. Fag had already witnessed the wounds on my back.
"Yes, fag. I did. I fucked Phil. I was tied up and beaten by Sir Ben. Phil cried. Phil made me fuck him a second time. The day was wild and I don't know what to think." Answering the ever more insightful and intelligent fag.
"Well, Sir. I hate to say this but part of it is none of your business. The event seems much more of a dance between Ben and Phil, then anything to do with you."
"That was rude. A little kinder for my fragile emotions would be nice." Half joking, half serious.
"Sir, you are never going to figure out Ben. Stop trying. Ben had his motivations for what happened today. Phil had his as well. My observation is that their relationship is so solid that minor things such as you and Phil falling in love with each other have little relevance on the grand scheme of their lives. Ben knows that. Phil knows that. Maybe you should know that too before you put yourself in a position to get hurt." Fag was not mincing words tonight.
True to fag's words, Phil and I never spoke of what was going on that day. We commenced to continue our lover relationship just as before. Sir Ben fucked me every once in a while. Phil and I fucked a lot. In fact, surprisingly the tension that had been going on between the three of us dissipated afterwards. Ben had a way of dissipating tension whether amongst the slaves or Sir Ben, Phil and my three-way affair; whatever that was.
I ended up having bigger issues than Phil and Sir Ben. Slaves started coming and going more regularly. When I first arrived a few left, then there were replacements, but now I was dealing with new slaves weekly. What was going on? This led to more instability among the ranks, which always seemed to be taken care of by a surprise visit to the slave area of the farm by Sir Ben. What was with this guy?
I had yet to see my Dad. Supposedly he was locked up in a room by the slave offices, but how could I be sure. Fag explained the apparent. How could I have missed this? "Sir, Phil and Ben are slave traders. Were you not aware of that? The catering business is at best a distraction and at most a front. Phil and Ben have reduced the event schedule to one per week. Obviously, they are making so much money now trading that there is no need or no time to devote to catering. I've always thought they did the catering for fun anyways. Catering did not build this farm. Catering did not build this house. Catering did not build the slave quarters and the elaborate kitchens both here and downtown."
Fag posed a question to me that further annoyed me that I could be so naïve. "Since your Dad was purchased in the slave auction by Ben and Phil, the movement of slaves through the farm has increased substantially. Didn't you tell me your Dad knew how to run a business? Didn't you say that he made lots of money for the firm he worked for twenty years? Seems to me the money Phil and Ben spent on purchasing your Dad was well worth it. Your Dad has turned this little operation into a goldmine. Five to ten slaves move through here a week. That's between 250 and 500 slaves per year. That's a lot of money."
Duh! How do I miss these things? "I want to see my Dad." I exclaimed to fag.
"So why don't you ask Phil and/or Ben? The worst they could say is no." Fag refuted.
The next morning I decided to ask them both during breakfast. "Sir Ben, Phil. Can I meet the accountant? Business is going so well here. I would like to meet the person behind it all." Regretfully, I am a terrible liar so I continued by saying, "Sir, Phil, I know your accountant and business advisor. That slave is my Dad. I saw you the day you purchased him at the auction."
Sir Ben responded, "We know."
"Then why haven't you let me see him before?"
Phil answered, "Because we didn't want your Dad distracted and we didn't want you distracted. Your Dad is one of our most valuable assets. By the way, for your information, we did not ask you to come to work for us because your Dad was here as a slave. That decision was completely separate."
I said, "Thank you. That is nice to know. Now can I see him, please?" I was a little demanding than my position allows, but I really wanted to see my Dad. I had thought I would never see him again. Being able to see him was one of the reasons I took the job with Phil and Sir Ben. Or so I thought. I was beginning to think that I never had a choice in taking this job. That Sir Ben had put an incantation on me and that I had no alternative than to say yes.
Sir Ben said, "We will let you see him on one condition. You must remember that your Dad is here by his own personal choice to be a purchased slave and give up his human rights. Honor is decision. Don't try to persuade him otherwise? If there is a cruelty to a `slave by choice', it is to attempt to convince him that his decision was wrong."
I was taken aback by that request and statement. I was planning on asking Dad to escape or at least become free again.
Phil said, "You may see him tomorrow after breakfast and the slaves are started on their day. There is no food prep scheduled for tomorrow. You have a little breathing time." Then, Phil added, "And, hopefully, a little fucking time."
I saw Sir Ben roll his eyes and walk out of the kitchen.
The next morning I was so excited to see my Dad I could hardly stand it. I never spoke to my mother again even though she did call me upon her return from Europe. There were just too many mixed messages going on. Supposedly she was always upset about my disappearance but when Dad disappeared she didn't even want me to come out to the house and support her. Then, to calm her nerves she flies to Europe for a month just as the initial investigation to Dad's kidnapping ended. Really? Who does that? And, the fact that she never called the police when I went missing for ten months. Plus, no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn't stop blaming her somewhat for Dad's progressing into slavery, even though I knew intellectually she had nothing to do with it. Dad's disposition to servitude was established long before Mom stopped giving him sex when she was pregnant with me. Yet, intellect and feelings don't always match.
I walked into Dad's office' as if I was visiting him downtown at his old job. Dad was sitting behind a nice desk busily studying papers and the computer. He looked up and said, "Sir." I was hoping for son', but I had told him never to call me `son' again. Dad looked the same except that he now had no hair on his head or eyebrows.
Dad got up from his chair, picked up a ball attached to a chain attached to his ankle, carried it towards me, set it down and gave me a big hug. His naked body felt good next do my clothed body and we both sported hard ons immediately.
"Dad, what's with the ball and chain?"
"Sir Ben likes to use it as symbolism. He knows I have no desire but to be here. He just thought it was a fun accessory to my servitude. Besides, the ball is quite useful. It gives me exercise daily lifting it. I use it to do squats to keep my body trim beyond the daily exercise I get from Sir Phil or Sir Ben. See, I have a key for it. It's only symbolic. I like it."
"What daily exercise? I never see you around here."
"Sir Phil or Sir Ben or one of the slaves runs me around the exercise track. You know, they hook me up to the buggy and whip me as I run around. I usually cum. You know how I can cum while being whipped." Dad said all this with almost a hint of glee in his tone. He was happy. Certainly happier than when I last saw him the evening of the family reunion and his reveal of his life to me. Maybe Phil and Sir Ben were right, it would be cruel to ask a slave by choice if it wanted freedom. We sat down in some chairs. The office was just like any office with a beautiful desk, nice desk chair for long periods of sitting, comfortable discussion chairs, a small conference table, several computers. There was a lavatory through one side door and Dad's quarters through another. I still had to ask, "Dad, don't you miss the freedom of the outside world?"
"Sir, freedom is an illusion. One is only a free as their mind allows. I was not free when I was out there. I lived a life of denial for a long time. I lived with your mother, which was a mistake even though our intentions were valid. I worked at a job that made lots of money for others, some for me, but not in comparison. I couldn't be what I was full time because of my obligations. Yes, I had a Master, but it wasn't full time."
"Now, I live full time as a slave doing what I love. I love being naked. I love being abused. I love working on Sir Ben and Sir Phil's business making it profitable. I have a roof over my head. I get feed three great meals everyday by your boyfriend. I get exercise. I am cared for."
I interrupted, "My boyfriend? You mean Phil serves your meals."
"No, Sir. Your boyfriend. The one you call `fag'."
"Fag is not my boyfriend. Phil is my boyfriend."
"Sir. I don't mean any disrespect, but Phil is your lover. He is not your boyfriend. Fag is your boyfriend. I knew you didn't understand that. You always were a little dense to the apparent." Dad said.
My dominant side got angry and I almost got up and slapped Dad. Dad was actually expecting me to react as an insecure top, but I composed myself quickly and said, "Yes, Dad. You are correct. Phil is my lover. Fag is my boyfriend. I just wasn't willing to admit it."
"For your reward for being honest Dad, lay on you back on the desk, ass hanging over. Put the ball on your chest to restrict your breathing. I want to deposit a load before I go on with my day."
Dad moved deftly with that ball and chain. He was in position within thirty seconds. I dropped my pants plunging my ringed cock into the slave whore's cunt. "Oh fuck, Dad. Your cunt feels so good. I love fucking you. You were my first fuck. God, you are hot. The heat enveloping my cock is amazing. You are a true whore. A true slave. Damn. Oh, Dad. Yeah. Fucking eh. Oh man. I'm gonna shoot. I'm going to shoot into my Dad. My whore Dad. My slave Dad. Oh yeah. Oh fuck. Oh FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK!"
Dad shot a load all over his stomach and the ball. I looked down and smiled at him. "I'm glad to see you Dad. I love you."
"I love you too, Sir. Thank you for fucking me." Dad said.
I pulled out, slapped him on the ass and walked out of the office similar to how Sir Ben leaves after cumming. I was satisfied with the reunion. I knew I would never bring up the subject of freedom ever again. Dad had made his point. He was obviously happy. I said to myself, `Shut the fuck up, Jim.'
Phil tapped me mid-afternoon. I was not getting a lot of work done today, but some other topics were beginning to be answered.
"Strip, boy." Phil ordered. "Stand here in the center of the room." I did as told. Phil put a leather blindfold on me. He made sure there was no light. I heard Phil busily going around the dungeon getting things; what I did not know. Suddenly, I felt the rough texture of rope at my feet. Phil was an expert at bondage. I groaned at just the thought that Phil was going to tie me up.
Phil did not just tie me up. He created art. When I saw the pictures later, I was amazed at how beautiful his designs were over my naked slave body. He made sure that I was very secure. I could not move at all. Yet, most of my skin was still very exposed. Phil had me stand with my ankles apart about an inch. He wrapped them together four times then took the rope between my ankles twice through finishing with a perfect sailor's knot. He moved up my calves another two inches and did the same. Next he continued with the same design just below my knees and then just above. My thighs were treated to the same in two places.
The upper body is where it got very interesting. Started with tying my cock at its base, he moved the rope up over my hip bones attaching it to my wrists that rested on the small of my back. His next connection was securing my waist at the bellybutton to my forearms. Just below my ringed pectorals he fortified my torso six times round while attaching the rope to my biceps. At the top of my chest, he laced the rope under my armpits around the base of my shoulders, up my back, down each side of my neck attaching the final knot to the rope securing my upper chest. With this maneuver, I was slightly hunched forward. The final piece of art was a leather gag in my mouth.
I wondered what he was up to. When he was finished, he left for a while. I assume it was part of the ritual. I was very happy to be bound up, particularly by my lover.
Phil was gone for at least an hour. I began to tire but the eroticism was there. It felt so good to stop. I was moving at such a fast pace all the time, the bondage became a meditation for me. That may have been part of Phil's point.
I felt Phil return simply by the feeling of a presence in the room. Slowly Phil started to touch my body. He played with my nipple rings flipping them up and down with his fingers followed by twisting them to the point that I was screaming into the mouth gag. Phil was a master at touch. The deliberateness of his hands demonstrated what an expert he was in the art of love making. My cock dripped so much pre-cum I thought I would lose my juice at any moment.
Finally, he took the ball gag out of my mouth replacing it with his lips. Phil kissed me for a very long time. In fact, he made love to me. He was having sex with me; however, I was unable to move or participate other than to present my body to my superior. He rubbed his moist cock head around my ass cheeks as if he was going to fuck me. He kissed my entire body from my feet all the way to the top of my neck and lips. Several times he mouthed my balls and deep-throated my cock. My ring was obviously all the way into his esophagus.
My body was incapable of movement I was so tightly bound. The only part that was able to indicate the intensity of the pleasure given to me was the moans coming from my mouth.
One last time Phil went down on my cock. This time I knew he meant business. This time I knew he was going to make me cum. This time I was going to shoot a massive load in his mouth without any ability for my body to participate. The orgasm was so intense because it was all internal except for my screams of passion coming from the only part of my body unsecured.
Phil stood up taking my mouth again to his sharing my cream together. As Phil continued to kiss me deeply, he started to jack himself off. Once again, I had no control over this situation to assist with my body. He never let his lips leave mine as he sprayed a load of jizz onto my thigh and cock.
When he was finished he held me tight for several minutes. Suddenly, tears started to stream down my face. He just held me not saying a word for a long time. Patiently, he lifted the blindfold for just a minute looking deep into my eyes and said with a smile, "It's time for you to slow down boy and face what you really are." He lowered the blindfold back down over my eyes and walked out of the room leaving me to my thoughts and my tears.
"So fag apparently I'm your boyfriend." I was bringing up the stinging point my Dad made to me earlier as the two of us lay naked together after a long day of work.
"Yes, Sir." Fag responded.
"And, Phil is my lover." I continued.
"Yes, Sir."
"What the fuck is the difference?" I said with some irritation in my voice.
"The difference, Sir, is that you and I are much more simpatico. We come from the same mold. You are running around here attempting to be something that you may be able to pull off for a while, but not in the end."
"What is that, fag?"
"A top, Sir." Fag stated with the usual bluntness I was accustom to.
I started to argue his point. "Well, I think I'm doing a good job around here. I fuck you. I let you suck me off. I call you fag. I fucked my Dad today. I run the slaves as an expeditor during catering service. I make sure the slaves are doing their work around the farm. I work hard in the prep kitchen, which requires being dominant."
"Sir, I don't think you are going to be happy if I answer your statement." Fag said.
"Oh, go ahead, fag. What am I missing now?" I exasperated.
"Sir, you fuck me and call me fag because we met during a trying period in your life. You were dominant with me from the anger inside you; not because you are a top."
"You fuck your Dad for the same reason. You are angry with him because he is a better slave than you are. He is happy with himself, while you are not."
"The rest of your points are around your job. You are paid to cook. You are paid to handle the slaves. Even slaves have to be dominant to other slaves in certain capacities. You are Phil and Ben's slave. This is the standard corporate hierarchy."
"But, what about the fact that they pay me? Why didn't they just take me as their slave?" I asked.
"Sir, you would never have accepted their offer to become their slave. Nor would you have been a good slave to them had they just forced you into slavery. You were too traumatized by what happen with Mr. Brown. You may be a slave, but you also have this streak in you that feels you have to take care of yourself. Running away from Mr. Brown made that streak come out in the strongest sense of your life.
"You told me that you have worked since your early teens saving money to be on your own in anticipation of becoming a full-time slave someday. That opportunity happened very quickly. Yet, it didn't work out. When Mr. Brown was arrested that event scared you understanding that a Master's decisions about his life affect a helpless slave."
"Fag, what about the pay?" I admonished.
"I'm getting there, Sir. Taking on an employee for the catering business was simply a smart move on Ben and Phil's part. Having an employee for such a successful franchise makes the business look more legitimate. Sir, you are a most outstanding worker. They knew that. Plus, you are a `born' slave. The other aspects of Ben and Phil's life would not be a shock to you. If they had hired some other chef, they would have had to keep all this separate from that person. With you, it is a natural place."
Now I was really upset. "But, I think slavery is horrible. After what I saw happen to those poor people that day, I never wanted to be involved again."
"Yet, here you are. You are what you supposedly despise, yet can't leave." Fag pointed out.
"I can leave any time I want." I pouted like a spoiled child.
"No, you can't, Sir. You are under Ben's spell. You are not ever leaving Ben. He is your permanent Master."
Those words hit me like a ton of bricks. Fag said what I was suspecting. I was under Sir Ben's spell. I was never leaving Sir Ben. I loved Phil, but I worshipped Sir Ben. Why was it that I was satisfied that Ben only played with me every so often? With Mr. Brown, I could never get enough of him. Mr. Brown did not have the power Ben had. Sir Ben was so powerful that I would serve him forever with or without sex, with or without pay, with or without SMBD.
Now I understood the dance going on here a little more. Now I understood why Sir Ben had no concern about my relationship with Phil. I was with Phil because I loved him. I was with Sir Ben because I was to serve him.
Your thoughts and feelings on this story are extremely appreciated.
Please send any comments to: douglas.marx.4@gmail.com