I was turned on to this universe by the writing of Pete Brown UK. Heated up by some stories from Steam Train. These two authors directed me to the works of Richard Davies, One Ring, Randall Austin and others. This story is set in a near-future world in which enslavement is the norm. This story involves erotic situations and actual sexual contact between males - as well as humiliation, exhibition, and much of the usual stuff for this genre. If you are not at least 18 years of age (or whatever legal age is where you are) go away now! If you are offended by the content of this story go away now! If you are in a jurisdiction in which it is illegal to read or possess such fiction stories go away now (well, it would be better if you could get the hell away from that jurisdiction). And if you are someone who cannot distinguish fantasy from reality, please go away and get some help.
_____________________________________________________________ By Master Redbeard (redbeardedsf at yahoo.com)
Was I naive about sex and what would be expected of me as a slave? Was I naive or just stupid?
Of course it seemed obvious that a master would expect sex from a slave. But I thought that only applied to female slaves. Growing up, I had heard a thousand juvenile jokes about boys being enslaved and being made to perform homosexual acts. Everyone knows the tradition of schoolboy "When you get enslaved..." jokes and the series of popular joke books - these were favorite putdowns used by boys just entering middle school. I remember when I was still in grade school laughing at one told by an older boy: "When you get enslaved your master will make you the slave in charge of picking up the soap in the shower." I didn't understand the joke, but I didn't want to appear to be dumb or immature. Thinking back I realize I certainly was both dumb and immature and remained so for far too long.
As I got older and met gay people and learned what homosexual acts were about, I knew there would be man-on-man sex with slaves. But I didn't give it a second thought - I figured gay sex would happen between gay owners and gay slaves.
One of the most popular TV sitcoms back before I was enslaved was "My Two Masters" about a cute boyish gay slave named Humpy who was owned by two older gay guys. The premise was that the gay couple in the show was real boring and bland, but Humpy made their lives wacky. Humpy was slim and cute, looked young and acted very girlish. He was supposed to be 19 on the series, but the actor was actually 27 and married to a beautiful woman. A big part of the comedy was that Humpy was always getting in trouble and getting punished because he was so obsessed with good-looking men. In fact, the premise of the series was that Humpy voluntarily enslaved himself at a gay slave trader's because his boyhood dream was to be a slave to big strong men.
There were articles in the newspapers about young gays voluntarily enslaving themselves inspired by Humpy. But more often the stories were about parents enslaving their gay sons so the boys could live like Humpy. And that's the way I thought it worked! Gay men would buy a gay slave to serve them just as a straight man would buy a pretty girl slave. Yes, I was very naive.
Rye filled me in on a lot as he scrubbed me thoroughly that evening, preparing me to visit Master Brad. "A lot of straight married men have boy slaves and as long as they're doing it with a slave and not with a free man they consider themselves totally straight," he said to me. "A lot of wives would rather their husband stick his wick into a boy slave than into a girl slave. They figure a boy isn't the same kind of competition as a girl. Apparently divorce and domestic violence have gone down as the use of boy slaves for sex has gone up."
"B-but, why didn't I know about this?"
"You chose not to hear it, Wally," Rye said in a condescending way. "There are remarks all around you in the media. There are jokes. Of course people who own slaves all know about it."
"D-do you think my father knew about it?"
That stopped Rye cold. "I can't say. Maybe your father was as dense as you are, boy. Or maybe he did know about it. But he also knew that the only alternative to enslaving you was to have the entire family enslaved. Or maybe he just thought that..." Rye mumbled the rest, "Maybe he thought that serving in the captain's house you wouldn't be used for sex."
"The deal was that I'd only be used for... well... household uses." Rye gave a heavy sigh and informed me that the words "household uses" in any slave listing most certainly included sex.
He was even more careful than ever about shaving every hair from my body and giving me four enemas to clean me out inside. He told me I'd be grateful for the extra enema. I asked him what it would be like to have a man put his penis inside me. "It's different for everybody," he mumbled without looking at me.
"You experienced it, Rye. What was it like for you the first time?"
Shaking his head as if to clear it, he said, "That was more than ten years ago, boy. I've had so many fuckings, so many canings, so many paddlings, so much piss down my throat - how can I possibly remember?"
"Hold on, Rye. You're only 25 now. If it was more than ten years ago when you first got..."
He waved his hand as if to erase his recently spoken words. "Is that what I said? Being a slave, I don't need to keep track of time or to keep track of my age. I don't know what I was thinking. Just forget it." He seemed oddly defensive. I was about to speak again but he shook his head and mouthed the word "No." His eyes looked very serious and intent.
When he finished trimming my hair to standard slave crew cut length, Rye handed me a fresh pair of white briefs. I tucked my penis to the side. Even totally soft, it created a lump in the tight fitting underpants. Then Rye led me up the slave staircase to the second floor. We stood outside a door and Rye knocked softly. Then he assumed slave rest position. I turned to ask if he thought he should knock again. He got a frightened look on his face and gave a motion with his head that indicated I should remain in slave rest position.
Not having a watch or any clocks, I have no idea how long we stood in the hallway. It felt like at least an hour and my legs were beginning to ache from lack of movement. Finally a voice from inside the room called out, "You may enter."
Rye opened the door and ushered me in. It was a grand sitting room that opened onto a bedroom. Brad Winston sat on a plush couch beside the fireplace. He wore a pair of striped boxer shorts and a white athletic shirt that showed off his chest and shoulders. There was a faint smile on his lips and a can of beer in his hand.
Brad pushed the left leg of his boxers up a little bit and his limp cockhead was revealed. He looked at me sternly and then snapped his fingers indicating a spot just beside his left leg. As fast as I could I was on the floor beside him in the appropriate kneeling position. He ran one hand through the stubble of my once-beautiful hair. "Recycled beer is a treat for any slave. Do you think you can swallow it all without losing a drop this time, slaveboy?"
"I'll do my best, master."
"I'm feeling benevolent tonight," Brad said with a snide twist to the words. "I don't want to have to give you the level of punishment you'd need if it spilled on this carpet. I'll go slow."
He pushed his cockhead into my mouth. I used my face to push the leg of his boxers up a little higher so I could get more of his cock in my mouth. I wrapped my lips as tightly around his shaft as I could and then I felt a trickle of piss down my throat. I swallowed quickly. A little more. Another swallow. Then more. Brad eventually was standing over me so that my head was tipped back. In that position his piss wouldn't spill so easily. When just a little piss overflowed my mouth it only messed up my face.
"Now suck out the last drop, slaveboy," Brad commanded almost as if he was instructing a child. Then he turned to Rye and asked, "Has he been practicing his piss drinking?"
"Master, I'm sorry I didn't know you wanted..."
"Fuckin' slaves, never have any sense! From now on, Rye, anytime you need to pee it goes down this boy's throat. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Master."
Brad's cock was still in my mouth and he was moving his hips in and out rhythmically. He grinned down at me and said, "Stay on it, Wally. Stay on it." He moved back onto the couch and stretched out on his back. I followed his command and never let his cock slip from my mouth. By this time it was fully stiff.
I closed my eyes and started to suck Master Brad's cock. I tried to empty my mind of all thoughts, but the one thought I couldn't escape was: Why is my cock hard as I'm being forced to suck this arrogant rich boy's boner? I knew I wasn't gay. I only ever thought of girls when I jerked off. If it hadn't been for my enslavement I never would have had a dick down my throat. And yet there was something about the situation, something about being commanded by Brad - much as I hated him - that was making me excited. In a strange way I wanted to please my master. I was sucking down on the cock with all my might, even as it hit the back of my throat and made me gag.
But apparently sucking with all my might was not sufficient for my young blond master. He pushed me violently to the floor. "What is this crap?" Brad shouted. "If I paid $5 for that blowjob in the seediest boy brothel in Bangkok I would demand my money back."
Brad landed on me. I was lying on my back on the floor and his knees were on my torso. His cock was at my lips. He shoved his cock down my throat and started fucking. He was slamming into my throat with the force a man would use to fuck a cheap whore. I was gagging and choking and making horrible noises. For a moment I thought he would kill me with his pounding at my throat. In the next moment I thought he would smash my vocal chords with his powerful thrusts.
I heard Rye call out, "Please, Master, he's never had a cock in his mouth before..." Brad continued for a few more thrusts and then the power of his movements waned.
My young master pulled his cock out of my mouth, looked up at Rye and snarled, "And why wasn't he trained to use his mouth properly?"
"No excuse, Master," Rye bowed humbly. "This slave's stupidity. I beg for correction." This response startled me. Of course Rye hadn't "trained my mouth" because he hadn't received an order from his master. But Rye knew what he was doing. His response calmed down the snotty rich boy.
Brad snapped his fingers at me and snarled, "Another beer from the fridge." Even as I was still trying to get my breath back from the recent oral attack, I retrieved the beer as fast as I could. He took it from me without any acknowledgement as he turned to Rye and said, "A master wants his new slave's ass to be in prime unused condition. That's why the boy has been kept in that cage alone. But anyone knows a new boy needs practice sucking cock." He took a long swig of his beer, then belched and said, "It's time to tie him down to the horse."
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Rye retrieved an odd-looking piece of furniture from a corner of the sitting room. It was built like a sawhorse, but there was leather along the top, the legs were fancy, and there were straps all over. Rye led me to the piece of equipment and whispered, "This will be easier for you to take strapped down, Wally." I was bent forward along the leather top as Rye adjusted the legs on the horse. My hands were strapped to the front legs and my ankles were strapped to the back legs.
There was a mirror positioned so I could easily see what was going on behind me. And what I saw made me shudder. Brad was standing naked at an open cabinet that housed paddles and canes and whips. He would take one from the cabinet and swish it through the air. When he took the largest whip and it cut the air, he grinned down at me and said, "No, my father would be so angry if I left any permanent marks on you. Almost as mad as when I banged up the fender of his Porsche."
Then Brad seemed to be weighing a leather paddle against a wooden one. He ended up taking down the wooden paddle, which had three holes drilled into it. He was practicing with it as if preparing to play naked ping pong. And he seemed to take delight in his form. As he stood behind me I could see him partially in the mirror in front of me. Once, twice, three times I saw the paddle move down quickly and heard a swish through the air - and each time I winced but the paddle failed to make contact. On the fourth time, just when I was relaxing my muscled and not expecting it, the paddle slammed into my bottom and I howled out.
My howling mixed with Brad's nasty laugh and he was paddling my butt with a flurry of blows. He only stopped when he was out of breath. I noticed that once he finished pounding my butt his cock was standing up stiff as an iron beam. He waved his hard cock so I could see it in the mirror as he gloated, "You see that little bit of spit your incompetent mouth left on my penis? That's all the lubricant you're gonna get for your first ass fucking, Wally."
"Please, Master, forgive this humble slave for speaking but I fear that master's penis will be scraped raw and hurt." Rye spoke those words at record speed and he seemed to be cowering as he spoke, as if he feared he'd be struck for daring to speak out.
"Insolent slave, speaking out of turn," Brad snapped. Then he looked from me to Rye and said, "OK, masturbate the new slaveboy and we'll use some fresh natural lubricant."
Strapped down as I was I felt Rye's warm hand wrap around my stiff penis. He started to stroke me. He was actually giving me pleasure and yet I felt humiliated. Was it my helplessness being strapped to the horse? Was it the fact that I had no say over when or how I would masturbate? Or was it embarrassment that I - avowed heterosexual - had a throbbing dripping erection even as I knew I was about to have a penis shoved up my ass.
It didn't take long for Rye's milking to produce results. My cock was spurting and he was catching my spunk in his free hand. A moment later and I felt Rye using that same spunk to wet my anus. He apparently also used the goop to lubricate Master Brad's erection.
"Nice try," Brad said sounding bored, "but you know what I need to get hard enough to fuck an ass. The problem is, anymore paddling on the new slave's butt and those cheeks won't be pretty enough to be worth fucking."
Without further explanation, Rye laid his body down on top of mine. I saw Brad lift up the paddle and I felt Rye's body push against mine as the paddle slammed down and the tall slave called out, "Thank you, Master, for correcting this humble slave." Slam. "Thank you, Master." Slam. "Thank you, Master." I counted ten whacks on Rye's butt.
Then Master Brad unceremoniously pushed Rye to the floor. My master stood behind me and his cock was once again fully rampant. One moment I felt the arrogant college athlete's cockhead pressing against my virgin hole. At the very next moment I felt the full length of his rod all the way inside me.
I know I made a loud noise, but I can't describe the noise. Brad reacted by laughing in that nasty way and shouting out, "That's it, Wally. Scream! I wanna know you're really feeling me inside you." He began fucking me hard and fast without a break. I was panting. I was crying out. I was making a loud grunt each time that bone slammed into me so brutally. It seemed to go on forever. Then Brad collapsed on top of me. His body was not moving except for the heavy breathing. But his cock was jerking around inside me, slapping my insides as it filled my guts with hot semen.
And finally I felt tears fill my eyes. I had been through so much without crying. But having Brad Winston's sperm inside my guts was more than I could stand. I wasn't going to sob. I wasn't going to do anything to let this awful rich boy know he made me cry. But I couldn't hold back two tears that slid down my cheeks.
Brad pulled out of my ass and moved around in front of me. Even as he lifted my face he didn't notice the tears. He had other things on his mind. "Clean it, slaveboy," Brad said. Then he shoved his cock into my mouth. At that moment I remembered how Rye had told me I would be grateful for having an extra enema that evening to make sure I was especially clean. Still my mouth was filled with the taste of Brad Winston's cum and my own ass juices.
Apparently the ministrations of my mouth were all it took for Brad to be stiff once again. He had kept me strapped to the horse and he fucked my butt a second time. Just as brutal this time. Only this second time lasted longer - the scraping sensation around my anus was eventually replaced with numbness. When he finally collapsed on me I felt his juices spilling out of my hole and a slick layer of sweat between us.
"This was quite a night," Brad said in the most matter-of-fact way as he pulled his cock out of me but addressed Rye. "You know daddy always breaks in the new boys. This is the first time he let me go first. But of course tomorrow night is daddy's turn."
When I got back to the slave bathing room with Rye I collapsed on the floor and took a couple of deep breaths. Then I turned to the tall slave and the first words I spoke were, "So, Brad Winston needs to beat a slave's ass in order to get hard enough to fuck?"
Rye went rigid and spoke in a loud voice, "We don't talk about our masters that way. You're new so you didn't know any better. But we never talk about what our masters may like or what our masters may do - even if we're talking to another slave who may have experienced the same things or to a slave who may be headed toward the same experiences." He looked at me in a meaningful way, nodded his head and said, "Do you understand me?"
Why was he talking to me in such an awkward voice? When we were together before this he always spoke casually. I nodded my head to indicate I understood him, but that didn't seem to be enough.
Rye turned on a shower and said, "You need some comforting, Wally. Come to me." I moved to him cautiously. He wrapped his arms around me so that his well-muscled body was pressed to mine and our faces were close together. Because of the difference in height, my mouth was at his collarbone, while his mouth was at my ear. His cock was rubbing on my stomach and my cock was against his leg. He knew I didn't like guys in that way. I tried to pull away. His lips were just about kissing my ear and he whispered, "Stay like this. It's important." I relaxed in his arms and he whispered, "They have hidden cameras and hidden microphones, boy. They don't watch every minute of every day. But you never know when they're looking and listening. They're always particularly interested in watching what goes on with a brand new slave. And I know they're very interested in you." The sound of the running water in the shower meant that nobody else could hear his words.
I kissed him on the cheek, moved back and awkwardly said, "Th-thanks for c-comforting me, Rye. But you know I'm not gay." I tried to stay focused on Rye and fought the urge to look around the room for the hidden cameras and microphones. I then turned my back to him consumed by another concern: Why had intimate contact with the big slave's bare body made my dick half-way hard?