FOUR THE SAME by Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Two
I was of course intrigued to hear about the circumcision - I was done as a baby, as so many, many men are, and so had no direct personal experience of the operation. But I do not need to bore my readers with the tedious details that the slave narrated to me. Suffice it to say that he was, at the time, so very, very unhappy about it. Not only did the operation itself hurt him physically (it was considered a "simple" one, to be performed quickly, and so no money was wasted on anaesthetic), but emotionally he felt as if some part of his being as a man had been stripped away. It was explained to him, he told me, that all his master's slaves were 'skinned as not only was this the general custom for males in this country, but that his master did not anyway agree with the concept that a slave could have the right to hide any part of his anatomy from his master: the dick head therefore had to be visible at all times. It was also universally considered there that a slave whose usage was to be primarily sexual needed 'skinning as it gave the dick a generally sleeker, more "modern" look, that was generally more attractive when the dick was not fully erect, and so it was in the best interests of those who would use him, and the slave himself.
In any event, the slave was not allowed to rest after the operation as his training had to proceed, along with that of his companions, as their master had set a very tight time limit for it to be complete. They all started exercising therefore with two of the slaves wearing just a small surgical plaster on their dicks, and all were otherwise totally naked.
It seems that there was a brutal regime in force to ensure that the slaves worked hard - guards and overseers watched the slaves intently, and at the first sign of any slacking, canes and lashes were used to "encourage" the sweating men. They raced around an oval track for hours, with the guards "moving them along" at the chosen pace, and then, when leg muscles were totally exhausted, the slaves were allowed to rest briefly before being moved on to the upper-body strengthening programme. It was, he told me, fairly standard - heavy weights to be lifted, rowing machines, push-ups - almost like at his sports club back home, except for the ever present canes and lashes to ensure that the pace was maintained. The slave confessed to me that he had never known that he had the ability to exercise so hard for so long, "encouraged" as he was by the use of physical chastisement. He had been "in shape" before, and had thought that he had stamina and the will to push his body to the limit; now he knew that he had been wrong, and that there was a limit that the body can go to that is beyond anything that the brain can drive it to; only the application of hard, physical punishment could push him through the barrier and on to a higher plane of activity and fitness.
He told me that at the end of the first day they were totally exhausted, tired in a way that none of them had ever known, or had even imagined, before. In addition to the constant complaints from every muscle in their bodies, there was a background of agony from the almost first-degree burns from their skin, where the fierce sun had struck them. And, of course, as if all that was not enough, they had weals and abrasions from the canes and lashes that had driven them on and on. They were simply at the end of their physical abilities, and the guards had to cane them further to make them eat their evening's ration of slave chow - all they wanted to do was to slump in total exhaustion, but, of course, their master required them to eat in order to give them fresh reserves of energy for the following day, and to provide nourishment for the new musculature they were building.
As they lay together that first night they no longer cared about being naked with each other, even though they were in a closeness which in their former lives they would all have found repellent. Each man was so wrapped up in his own world of pain that the presence of another naked guy, or a guy's cock, made no difference to him.
This training regime was in force for around three weeks, he told me, and at the end the "shaping" and toning that had gone on, coupled with the action of the sun in turning them an even shade of dark brown all over, had finally turned them into almost identical clones of each other. "Indeed", he said, almost proudly, "We were as alike as four identical quads from the same parents. Our owner had really succeeded in his plan, even though it was very, very hard on us. And, of course, it continues - we all have to work out every day, have to keep ourselves tanned, and the slave boys keep us all completely hairless, as you can see".
Whereas the slave seemed happy to talk about this gruelling physical training, I was more interested in hearing in the other important aspects of his life: all the way through his narrative so far he'd been at pains to emphasise how he was "straight", and exhibited almost a revulsion at the thought of proper, man-to-man, sex! He seemed so focussed on telling me about the women he'd fucked, about how he'd even avoided looking at the bodies of other men in showers at his sports club, that I wondered how on earth he had been changed so radically. Having fucked him, and having had him ride my dick, I could tell that he actually enjoyed proper sex: this was no slave who was pleasuring me because he feared punishment the following day! No, this was a man in the prime of his life using his body to bring joy to another, but at the same time revelling in the experience for its own sake, and enjoying it almost as much as I was. I questioned him about this, and I think it is easier if I continue to pass on to you his words almost verbatim - many years of attending meetings with important customers have given me the power of almost total recall of conversations, and this is proving useful as I now record this material.
THE SLAVE'S STORY CONTINUES
Well, we got used to the unrelenting physical training, and that, coupled with the feeding of the slave chow, gave us all that same "look", the body you're experiencing now, sir. We'd all got used to being totally naked all the time, too - it's hard at first, you know: not only do you not like other men looking at you, but there's a problem when you're running and stuff as your balls bounce up and down and slap against your thighs. Even though I was a sportsman, I was used to wearing a jock or shorts with built-in supporters, and until you get used to being totally naked at all times, it hurts! There was also the problem of our hair re-growing: The young boys continued to work on us in the showers, and every two or three days we had to contend with the utter humiliation of standing there as they again turned our stubbly pits, pubes and asses into perfectly smooth flesh. Mind you, if you have ever shaved your hair off, particularly the hair in your ass, you'll know that re-shaving it is no bad thing - when it starts to re-grow, the stubble digs into the other side of your ass, and it can be at first painful and then constantly itchy, so I suppose I'm glad that I'm kept this way, really.
At night the four of us could now huddle together without embarrassment, and we'd got used to seeing each other with erections, and even to jerking ourselves off with the other guys there. Well, I mean, we were always together, without a scrap of privacy, so if you didn't jerk off with the other guys there, you'd never be able to do it. And, well, you know, I'm only twenty-two, and a guy my age likes to jerk off a lot..... I don't think we thought much about it, actually: one you're used to being nude, and being with other guys all the time, it kind of gets natural to do everything that you previously regarded as intimate - like crapping , for example - in plain sight of your fellows. The guards didn't seem even to look as we crouched there over a shit pit, and I now know that it's because they don't consider us as men - we are slaves, and slaves have no rights, no need for privacy, no requirement to do anything at all out of sight of free men.
All four of us were straight guys, though, and we'd never had sex with another man before. So, O K, now we saw each other jerking off, and occasionally we couldn't help our dicks brushing against another guy's body, but we never made a big thing of it, never did it deliberately, never tried to feel another guy's private parts. No, we were straight, and we'd live like that until we escaped or were rescued, we reckoned.
In the fourth week, though, there was a change in our routine. Instead of being taken out to the exercise track or the gym, we were taken up a floor in the huge building and into a room that was vaguely "comfortable" - I distinctly remember the strange feeling of carpet against my bare feet. The lighting was soft, and in the middle of one wall there was a large conventional double bed, with snowy-white sheets on it. The guards fussed around and cuffed our wrists behind our backs - not with conventional steel cuffs as you see the police using, but with bands of soft leather that went around our wrists and which then clipped together with a steel snap fastening. We all stood there, gently tugging at our bonds, and it seemed that the intention was to keep us completely restrained without there being any risk of us injuring ourselves by straining at bare metal. Having done the job to their satisfaction, the guards then led us over to one wall where there were four hooks at approximately waist level, and our cuffed wrists were attached to the hooks so that we were standing against the wall, unable to move, but to observe whatever happened on the bed.
We stood there for I don't know how long, and of course we'd long since learned not to speak to each other at times like this (the only times we could speak were, basically, when we were w in our cell at night. At all other times there guards were listening, or there were hidden microphones.) So we just stood there, shuffling our feet gently to keep the circulation going, and wondering what was going to happen next.
The man who came in was an American, as was obvious from his accent as soon as he wished us all a "How you doing?" in a deep, confident voice. Now I'm six two, but this guy was bigger by an a couple of inches at least, and he was proportionately large, with a massive chest and arms that looked as if every muscle had a life of its own. He was wearing a checked shirt and Jeans, which revealed leather boots as he strode across the room towards us.
"Right, you boys", he told us. "I'm employed by your owner to teach you boys a thing or two about the way men have fun together. Under my expert guidance, you're going to learn how to be experts at man to man sex - all aspects of it. And lesson one, this morning, is about cock sucking. Now, how many of you have sucked cock before? You may speak, even though you're slaves."
We all shook our heads, and Marc, who can be a bit of a hot head, said "No way, we're all straight..."
The guy strode over to Marc and slapped him, hard, very hard, on the face. I saw Marc's flesh redden under the impact of the blow, and the guy said "Now, boys, there's lesson one for you. You're fucking slaves, right? And slaves keep a civil tongue in their head. Free men, like me, are always referred to as 'sir' or 'master', and you answer questions politely, without any stupid displays of emotion as we just witnessed."
"Now, I asked you if you'd ever sucked cock before I'm not interested in whether you're straight, gay, or if you like fucking sheep! I'm just interested to know if you've ever had that most sublime part of another man between your lips before, or do we all start at ground zero in this....? Well, all except for me, that is!"
He glared at us as he said this, and we all kind of muttered "No, sir."
"So have any of you ever taken a man's dick up your ass?"
Another chorus of "No", this time, probably a little louder.
"So have any of you studs ever fucked a guy's mouth, or his ass?"
Again, no.
"Finally, then, have any of you ever wanted to do any of those things? Or were you just scared about what your buddies might say if you told them you'd like to know what it felt like to have a big juicy man dick to play with?"
We all almost shouted "No, sir" this time, and he smiled. "Well, boys", he replied, "You're in for interesting times, then."
He looked us all up and down, and mused to himself "Well, they're all so alike, I suppose it doesn't matter where I start. So let's have this one...."
He came over to me and my cuffs were unhooked from the wall, and the motioned for me to move to the centre of the room, and then curtly told me to kneel. When I hesitated, only just for an instant, he slapped me hard on first one side of the face, and then the other - my head reeled from the force of the blows.
"Listen, you young fucker, when a man, a real man, tells you to do something, you obery, and you obey instantly. Or there'll be more of that, understand?"
I didn't realise I was meant to reply, and two more blows sent me staggering. I recovered, and said "Yes, sir."
"Right, boy, on your knees then...."
I knelt there, and felt rather stupid kneeling on the carpet. The man came over and stood right in front of me, then reached down and pulled my head into the crotch of his Jeans.
Now I've smelt my own clothes before, and sometimes, like all guys do, have sniffed at my underwear when I've been wondering whether there's another day's wear left in them. The whiff I got as his strong hands held my head there was like all of that - piss, sweat, and something more, some indefinable essence of maleness. He held me, and there was no way I could pull away, even had I wanted to - I just had to breather in this heady mixture of man scents. At the same time, I was very aware of "something" against my cheek, pressing in to it through the Jeans. It could only be his dick, and the longer I knelt there, the more prominent it seemed to get - oh, sweet Jesus... he was having an erection, and didn't mind me knowing it!
He rubbed himself against my face, continuing to press my nose into his crotch, and I heard him saying "You like this, don't you, boy? You like a real man to put his scent on you, to make you worship his cock..."
I knew he wanted me to reply when he pushed me backwards and slapped me hard on the face again. "The next time you don't answer me, boy, I'll whip you. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
As I knelt there, helpless to do anything against this big guy, cuffed as I was, I saw him undo his belt and push down his Jeans. Underneath he was naked, and his cock was a large and substantial as the rest of him. I'd never been this close to another man's cock before, and I was surprised at the scent of it that wafted towards me, that smell that I suppose I'd smelled on myself when my crotch was hot and sweaty, but which I'd never considered might be common to all men. I was almost hypnotised as he stood there in front of me, his cock gradually swelling, as he took the wide leather belt out from the loops on his Jeans.
He wrapped one end of it around his hand once, and muttered, as if to himself, "I think this one's probably going to need a little encouragement!", and he vaguely swished it through the air.
He was fully erect now, and to my horror I heard "Cone on, boy, come and kiss my cock..."
"Please, sir, please don't make me do that. I'm not a fag, sir, I don't go with other men...."
"Boy, you have ten seconds, before you feel this belt on you. I don't care if you're a fag or not. I don't care if you don't go with other men - you do now! Now, come here and kiss my cock. I want you to worship it. I want you to taste my manhood...."
He'd raised the belt in a very threatening way as he spoke, and I just knew that either I'd better do as he said, or he'd beat me, and then I'd have to do it. Very reluctantly, my stomach protesting and almost making me want to throw up as I did so, I leaned forward towards him. His cock seemed to become the sole focus of my life as it loomed in front of me, and with a lot of hesitation I finally pressed my lips to his cock head.
Actually, you know how it is - a man's cock is so warm and soft that it comes a a surprise, doesn't it? I mean, you don't think it's going to be like that at all, do you? It's rather like touching a snake, only in a different way - you expect it to be all slimy and cold, whereas it's dry and warm. At the same time, I was now so close to him that this man smell was completely overpowering, and my nose was assailed by the scent of his sweat and his pheromones flooding from the sweat glands in his crotch. I pulled my lips away, surprised at what I had been able to do.
"Good boy! Now, again, kiss my cock again, worship it, let your tongue play over it.... And boy, when you're worshipping cock, it's polite to look up at your master to make sure it's pleasing him...."
I did as I was told, staring up at his eyes as he towered over me, and starting, hesitantly at first, and then with more confidence, to lick at first his head, and then his shaft. It felt so odd to have a man's wiry pubic hair scraping my nose as my tongue ran up and down his shaft, and the closer I got to him, the more I was turned on by his powerful scent.
"Good boy.... You like that, don't you....."
I managed to mutter "Yes, sir...." And he responded by reaching down and pressing my head close in to him with his massive hands. His cock was pushed against the side of my face, and he moved my head up and down slightly so that I almost massaged him with my cheeks, and at the same time my nose was buried deep in to the area between his cock and his balls.
"Good boy..... Now take your master's cock in your mouth, and suck...."
The pressure of his hands relaxed, and I opened my mouth and let the warm, moist head in between my lips.
Almost as if some strange instinct was driving me, I ran my tongue over the head as it was inside me, and as the tip of it probed at his piss slit, I got that first exotic taste of pre-cum as he started to leak slightly into me.
"Good boy...", he was crooning. "Keep looking at me.... And really massage my cock with those lips and that tongue of yours. And keep your teeth well away from it, boy, unless you want a thrashing...."
With his cock in my mouth I couldn't reply or even acknowledge his command, and he didn't seem to expect me to. His hands now rested on my naked shoulders, holding my body still as I knelt there, and he started to gently thrust his cock into and out of my mouth. I kept my lips locked around his cock as it as it pistoned in and out, and had that wonderful sensation of the meaty flange pushing against the inside of my mouth before thrusting in again. I suppose I was enjoying it, until he started to thrust in too deep and I just couldn't take the thickness and the length - I started to gag and choke.
He stopped at once, pulled out and let me recover, then said, calmly but insistently, "Go down on my cock again, boy.... Please me.... Tease me.... Down on my cock, boy...."
I leaned forward more eagerly this time, and bathed his cock with my spit as my tongue raced over it. Then, almost greedily, I started to take it in my mouth to suck it, nibble gently at the flange, and tease the piss slit with my tongue tip.
"Good boy... You're a real young cock sucker, aren't you....? That's right.... Please your master...."
I tasted again that odd taste of pre-cum: not sweet, not sour, not anything, really. And all the time I was aware of his sheer presence, the power of his body towering over me, his male scent driving me on.
Then he pulled out, quite suddenly. "Good progress, boy! But you may be too good - I don't want to cum yet. Now stay there...."
He bent down to take something out of the pocket of his discarded Jeans, and came back. Reaching down, he started to fasten something around my neck. "Keep still!", he snapped as I instinctively moved back as something cold touched my flesh. "This is a training collar. We're going to move on to cock sucking stage two, and normally a boy has a head of hair I can grab hold of to guide him. But as you're shaved smooth, this collar does the job, as well as looking rather erotic. See, it's quite soft, so it won't mark you.... Not too tight, is it? I need you to be able to breathe well..."
"No, sir."
"Good. Well, here's what we're going to do.... Come over onto the bed, and lie on your belly, boy."
He himself went and knelt on the bed, and positioned me to lie in front of him so that I could easily reach his cock.
"Now, boy, you're going to go down on my cock again. But a moment ago you started retching and heaving when I was barely half way in, and a boy has got to learn to take all his master's member deep down into his throat. So we're going to practice.... You're going to put your mouth around my cock, then I'm going to press it in, all the way. You'll try to resist, to jerk away as your gag reflex cuts in, but you won't b able to - you're lying on your belly, cuffed, and I'm going to be holding the handles on your collar and holding you in close to me.... Now I've done this to boys lots of times before, and they all wriggle and squirm as if their lives depended on it, which is what their body is telling their brain! But be careful, boy.... No teeth..... I had one boy so desperate once that he bit down on me, and I then had to rip his balls off.... So struggle all you like, choke, gag, vomit, even (although you'll be made to eat it up if you do) - I've got you held tight by the training collar, and it won't do you any good...."
"Get on my cock, boy.....", he commanded, and I shuffled forward slightly on my belly, dreading what was to come, and feeling my own cock, which unaccountably had started to go erect as he spoke, scraping across the surface of the bed. It's funny how you remember something like that, isn't it? The feeling of the rough material of the bedcover against my own cock head.
I closed my lips around his cock, and started to tease the head with my tongue, as if I could in some way postpone the evil moment. But he was pushing relentlessly inwards, and I tried to move my head back, only to find that the man's strong hands gripping the collar around my neck prevented it.
"Easy, boy... .take it down... Take it all the way down....."
His cock head touched the back of my throat and I started to gag. But there was no relief. I couldn't get it out. I couldn't back away. My body started to thrash around on the bed, tossing up and down, as my lungs tried to force air out, my throat was contracting, and my whole brain went into spasm as those primeval instincts to clear the throat of an obstruction came into play. I thrashed around harder and harder. Somewhere, at the back of my brain, I knew that my whole body was covered in a sheen of sweat, that now felt icy cold. My eyes were streaming. There was a rushing and roaring in my ears. My voice was making utterly incoherent strangling noises. I was futilely tearing at the soft leather cuffs at my wrists, desperate to get my hands free so that I could tear at the man who was choking me, but it was no use.
And then it was over. I was gasping, choking, sobbing, as I lay there in front of him. My lungs heaved as I sucked huge draughts of air in. I was gagging, and thick, slimy mucus was filling my mouth -
a mucus that, another part of my brain reported, was covering my master's dick still held inches from my face. Tears were streaming down my face. I was sobbing, and then I heard the fateful command "Go on, boy, back on my cock... Back on my cock, boy...."
And it began all over again. The terror. The spasms. The thrashing and writhing. The sobbing. The choking..... And then the blessed relief as I sobbed and moaned and sucked air, before I was again commanded to go down on him again. And all the time I was helpless. I couldn't move away as my master's firm strong hands were holding the handles on the collar around my neck.
Again and again the awful process went on, until I did actually pass out. Instead of letting me recover, my master held my face pressed tightly into his crotch with his huge cock rammed deep down my throat. I was long past panic. I thought I was dying. I'd stopped choking and spasming as my body fought for air.... And then, nothing.... Until I was again lying in front of him, coming around - helped by the strong, hard slaps to my ass that he was administering with his open hand.
"There, boy.... Come on, boy.... Get back on my cock...."
I managed to splutter "Please, sir, no..."
"Back on my cock, boy....."
And there was no choice, as he hauled my head back down onto him. But this time he didn't force himself all the way in, and I was allowed to lick and suck at him for several minutes, tasting my own phlegm on his cock. He got more and more excited, and began to mutter "Good boy, suck me..., yes.... oh yes... Good boy... Come on..... Yes...."
And then his whole body went rigid, and my mouth filled with the hot, wet, salty, sweet taste of his cum.
He knelt there, his cock in my mouth, breathing hard, as I lay there in front of him, tasting for the first time another man's cum. Or, rather, tasting cum for the first time: to tell you the truth, I've always been slightly repulsed by the smell of cum, so I'd never even tried my own. But now I had a mouth full of this guy's emission, and I didn't know what to do.
He rested for a few moments, then pulled himself out of me. "Good boy! Now, swallow your master's gift, and clean my cock...."
He saw the look of terror cross my face at the thought of having to do this vile thing, and he went on "Swallow, boy, unless you want the strap...." And so I did, and, of course, it wasn't terrible at all.
Remembering to look up at him, I licked at his rapidly detumescing cock, now not minding at all the coating of his cum that I licked off it, and as I did so he gently rubbed his hands over my head, saying, quietly, "Good boy, good boy, well done for the first lesson."
Hew stood up then and led me back over to the wall and re-attached my cuffs to the hook, then unhooked one of my colleagues and took him to the centre of the floor, to kneel in front of him.
"Right, boy, you've seen how it's done... We're going to start gentle, then I'm going to give you a real throat fucking, and then I'm going to the extreme - I'm going to block your throat with my cock until you pass out from lack of oxygen. Most of the masters you service won't want to do this, but you need to know what happens..... Now, let's get started.... Kiss my cock, boy, worship it....."
For the rest of the morning I stood there, watching as all three of my companions went through the same dreadful training as I had experienced. It was a relief that, in the afternoon, we just had to exercise hard - the canes and lashes of the trainers were mild in comparison to what we'd gone through in the morning.
That training went on for four days - there's nothing you can do if a master does completely block your throat, of course: you will pass out eventually, and, I guess, die if he continues. But you can train yourself to overcome your gag reflex, and on the last few times we did it my hands were uncuffed. The American trainer guy said that he liked the way we scrabbled at him, trying to hit his body and fight him off as he asphyxiated us with his cock - he'd made sure our finger nails were trimmed right down before that lesson, so that we couldn't scratch him as we fought futilely against him.
I've never forgotten those lessons, although, fortunately, most of the men that I'm required to service now don't go that far - I can take most men's cocks right down without gagging, and it's only an exceptional man, like you, sir, that's big enough to cause me a problem.
Of course, if I'd have known then how terrible the training we were to receive in fucking was to be, I'd have been really scared. But that was to come in the next week, and the big American's long, fat cock was to haunt my brain as much as it violated my ass.
End Of Part Two