MY NEW SLAVE By Pete Brown.
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part One
I'd just come back from a pretty strenuous run - I'll call it that, rather than a jog as I pride myself on being above averagely fit - and my personal trainer looked as if he'd had a good workout, too. He's much younger than me - late thirties I seem to remember - and taller than my six one, and as his entire function is to remain fit and good looking, I make him run ahead to scout the path, then come back to me and run with me for a bit, then run ahead again. It's quite a delicate balancing act for him, I suppose, and that's why not a lot of men use slaves as personal trainers - they have to be able to give you "instructions" and "make" you work hard, whilst all the time keeping that proper civility and servile attitude that one expects from a slave. I'd bough this one a couple of years ago, though, from a sale they held up at the old mines when they went bankrupt, and I think he was so glad to escape from the terrible underground life that he was willing to do almost anything to ensure I did not re-sell him back to a mining company.
He'd been in a terrible state when I first saw him - skin deathly pale as he'd had absolutely no exposure to the natural light for about four years, dust and grime really ingrained into his skin everywhere making him look extremely dishevelled, and a rough beard and long shaggy hair - those underground slaves were apparently only given the occasional use of a pair of rough scissors to hack at their hair and beards, as the mine owners wanted to avoid the possibility of the slaves damaging themselves with knives and so on. His knees and elbows were heavily calloused and covered in a tough layer of skin from where he'd spent so much time crawling on hands and knees through the narrower tunnels, and there were some new, livid lash marks across his back where it seemed he must have incurred the displeasure of the guards who were holding him and his companions in the pre-auction stock pen.
On the other hand, he was tall, as I've said, was properly proportioned with a large-boned frame to match his height, and beautifully muscled from the unrelenting toil in the mine - I understand they had to "buy" food from the surface with the products of their labours, so there was every incentive to keep working very hard indeed. All of the slaves in his group conformed to this general type, but unlike most of his companions, this one was not horribly disfigured by large, obscene tattoos over most of his skin, and he told me later that although the decoration of the body was almost the only leisure activity available to them deep down there in the bowels of the earth, he'd not indulged as he "hoped, one day, to see the sky again and knew that an owner might find such decorations offensive." He was right, of course - some of the smaller men were superficially more appealing as it is known that it can be hard to control a very large slave, but the presence of the swirls, words and crude human caricatures all over their skin made them totally unsuitable as personal servants (well for me, at least - I did not relish the prospect of inserting my dick into a slave's ass that was crudely tattooed with a huge set of concentric "bullseye" circles, for example).
I had no real plans to purchase another slave that day and had gone along to the auction more as a social activity, to meet my friends and neighbours and have a couple of glasses of wine with them as we discussed crop prices and other matters of interest. But as the auction began and I heard the ridiculously low prices these men were fetching, my business sense got the better of me. It occurred to me that if I bought the slave I'd seen and got him properly cleaned up and his skin nicely tanned, I could always sell him on a potentially big profit - providing, that is, that no one else had the same idea and bid him up too high. Consequently I splashed out on another round of drinks for my companions, and then excused myself briefly to pop back over to the stock pens to take another look at him. The sun had come out by now and I saw a glint of gold in his dirty, matted hair, and felt my cock stir as I could imagine how well dark blond hair would look on a man of this stature. Consequently I called one of the auction staff over and asked for a pair of latex inspection gloves, and decided to give the slave the "once over" - normally I prefer to do this bare-handed, but frankly the slave's skin was so dirty that I did not really want to touch it. As it was, the inspection was bad enough because of the simply disgusting smell the slave was giving off, but it was necessary only to give most of him a fairly cursory inspection as his muscles were so evidently in good shape. When I ordered him to bend over and grab his ankles so that I could test his anus, he dared to protest, however!
That small act of defiance almost cost him my attention, as I've told you that I was already concerned about buying such a potentially risky large slave; and, more immediately, it won him a slash across the buttocks by the guard's tawse. He obeyed then, as you might expect, and as I probed with my finger he moaned, and seemed exceptionally tight for a slave. I commanded him to stand upright once more and cupped his balls in my hand - delightfully heavy, and hanging low in their sac - and then teased him to erection. Strangely, he did not seem to mind this quite as much as the anal probing, and as I peeled off the gloves, I commented to the handler that the slave was unusually tight and that he would be a real pleasure to mount. To our astonishment, the slave blurted out "I don't get fucked! I'm a top."
Well, as you can imagine, the handler really laid into him with the tawse then, striking him not only across the buttocks but also the back, and then his chest - the slave did his best to cover himself, but the handler was skilled at using the tawse and easily managed to get several really stinging blows at the slave's genitals, and nipples. As the slave lay there in the dirt feebly trying to protect himself, the handler apologised to me on behalf of the auction house. "...but you must remember, sir, that this batch have just been common workers down the mines, and not properly trained for normal duties. If you are considering purchasing a slave for personal use, sir, I'm sure you will find something in the 'trained servant' section that is not so insolent. It's just that they get into bad habits down the mines, without any supervision at all."
"Don't worry. I am, though, interested in hearing what he has to say.... Be so good as to get the creature back onto his feet."
The handler kicked at the naked slave and told him to rise, and as he stood there in front of me, rubbing his big calloused hands over his body in an effort to ease the sting of the tawse, I said to him "I am not interested in your views, slave. But you said you didn't get fucked - does that mean that you are a virgin?"
"No! Of course not! When I was in the Marines I was married, and have two kids. But then they enslaved me as they said I 'broke the rules' by fighting too hard in the Third Gulf War and killing too many terrorists - it was a fucking disgrace, I can tell you. What the fuck do they think a soldier's supposed to do, but kill terrorists? But those lily-livered liberals in Congress now had me court martialled and enslaved.... They said I didn't show proper respect for the rules of engagement and several Arab nations had complained... "
"Yes, yes. I am not interested in all of that. You're a slave, and that's all that matters. But are you a virgin?"
"No, as I said, I have kids...."
"I meant 'have you been fucked?' I'm not interested in your sordid experiences with women! Have you experienced a stiff dick in that tight ass of yours?"
"No!"
"...and you said you were a top?"
"Look, what else do you think we do, stuck down that fucking mine? Sex is the only pleasure we've got. I like fucking, there's no women around, so what else can a guy do? Anyway, most of the other guys down there like a dick up them.... I was being kind, really...."
I laughed, thinking what a pleasure it would be to tech this big unruly slave not only proper manners, but how it was me who decided on whether he would take dick or not, once he became mine!
Fortunately my plan worked - most of the other potential bidders were still drinking when he came up onto the block, and even those who were there were now put off by the very visible tawse marks that now were visible showing through the dirt and grime. I got him at a knockdown price - only around a hundred New Dollars, I seem to remember, and paid a small premium to the auctioneers to ship him directly to the local slave trainers as I certainly did not want that dirty, stinking body in my car.
Well, as I've said, I've had him for a couple of years now, and he's turned out to be an excellent investment. Once he was cleaned up and the dirt sweated out of his skin, his hair was cropped and his pubes shaved, he already looked more like a thoroughbred when I went to visit him the next day at the trainers. In his hearing I told them that he was to be taught the proper, respectful way of addressing free men, that he was to learn the proper slave stances for display, rest, and so on, and that in his education they should not hesitate to use the cane and tawse 'as necessary' to get a swift and ready compliance. He looked wilful and defiant as he heard me say this, but then spat at me and screamed that I was a real bastard when I also listed my "extras" I wanted them to perform on him - nothing drastic, of course, as I wanted a real man, but all my slaves are circumcised, and have my house brand burned into the left buttock. I also decided that he should be called Steve, as are all my personal slaves as it saves me remembering new names, and that this should, along with my phone number, be tattooed on his right breast.
Actually I suppose it helps a slave like Steve to get accustomed to his new life to make him use a name I have chosen - if I'd stuck with his old name, whatever it was, he'd be more likely to think about his former life.
I never bothered to enquire exactly what methods they used at the slave training centre, but when he was delivered to my house three weeks later, he was a changed man: his neat, short hair was that dark blond shade I find so appealing, and that, and his green eyes, were really set off by his dark, but not overly dark, tan. He'd learned manners, too, and when I ordered him to drop his shorts so I cold inspect his dick and brand, he did so with only a moment's hesitation - and I found that somewhat appealing, as it implied that deep down there was still a spark of a "free man" lurking, and this could only add a little excitement to our sexual encounters. He let me run my fingers over his brand - they'd done an excellent job, with crisp, sharp edges that always denote just the right temperature and pressure of the branding iron - and did not even protest as I stroked his dick to erection and toyed with his neat head, teasing his piss slit with my nail and enjoying his body's instinctive reactions. When I commanded him to bend over and grip his ankles, though, I felt he almost demurred, and did so very reluctantly. And when I commanded him to reach back and pull his strong muscular buttocks apart so I cold more easily see his anus, he whispered "Please, sir, no...."
Well, this is not about Steve, really, so I'll gloss over those first few times where it took several of my other slaves to subdue him and strap him down on to a flogging horse before I was able to properly see his tight, virgin anus and then use it for the purposes for which it was intended. Even now, after all this time, I sense that he does not really like my dick inside him even though he has learned that a willing acceptance is the only way to avoid a painful thrashing with the punishment cane. I understand from my major domo that Steve is quite a lad in the slave quarters, and much in demand as he really knows how to pleasure a man with his dick. I must confess it gives me a certain satisfaction to know that he has had to learn to accept my dick thrusting into him, even though his natural inclinations are clearly to be the fucker, rather than the fuckee, so to speak: there is that certain tension every time my dick pushes at his ass for entrance, and it is almost as if I can feel him having to control himself as he knows that I am his master in all things.
Now he is a truly excellent personal trainer - he still has a natural pride in his own body and relishes keeping it in the superb condition that I require. And, as I said, it's a difficult thing to do, to "spur me on", whilst remaining properly respectful and servile, and he generally does this very well: I think he was a sergeant or something in the army, and he has a way of giving orders still (naturally I do not encourage him to talk about his former life, as like all slaves he needs to remain completely focused on considering my current needs and requirements). He stood there now in front of me, his T soaked in sweat, and as I nodded at him to give him permission, he quickly stripped it off, and dropped his shorts and turned to go to the bathroom to run my shower. As I always did, I enjoyed the sight of his firm, muscular buttocks as he strode across the room (much enhanced, in my opinion, by the sight of my house brand still clearly visible on them and denoting my total ownership and control of him) , and I wondered if there was time to spread them and fuck him before I needed to go off to church.
One of the things we've never perfected as a society, even after thousands of years of technological progress, is a way of getting the shower temperature exactly right from the outset - even with thermostatic valves there's always an initial spray of cold water, and you see men doing extraordinary contortions to avoid it as they grope for the control. With a Personal Trainer acting as your shower slave of course all this is avoided, and it always amuses me to see him standing there in the big walk-in enclosure, reaching for the valve, and almost screwing up his body in anticipation of the initial icy blast. He's learned how to adjust the water to my exact requirements, and as I entered the enclosure he did as he always did and dropped to his knees in front of me in case I require some sexual relief before my dick is slathered in soap and so on. I did not want this today, and so it took very little time before he was drying me with the big fluffy white towels I like, and helping me dress.
As I said, I was expecting to have to leave for church shortly - I'm not at all religious, of course, as I'm an intelligent man, but it provided a convenient place to meet other businessmen and slave owners in the area and so I generally go along once on a Sunday. Provided I keep my personal player on a low setting, I can usually manage to enjoy some Mozart or perhaps a little Shostakovitch without the nauseous self-justifying preaching of the minister intruding.
This Sunday turned out to be rather special, though, as our local Police Chief, Chief Williams, had brought along his son who was on his midsummer break from college. I vaguely remember the boy from when he'd been on the soccer team at the local High School, when I'd presented the prizes one year (having contributed most of them!), and I also remembered that even then I'd been quite interested in the boy. Now, as I exchanged a few words with him and his father, I learned that he was twenty years old now and contemplating a career in slave management once he graduated. He'd grown into a real stunner - well, at least as far as I was concerned! At "only" five ten, I towered over him, but he had a most agreeable "slight" body, although there were evident signs of him taking care of himself as his tight pants showed a pleasing well-rounded ass. He had his hair moderately short and fashionably waxed to stand up stiff from his head, giving him a modern and yet intelligent look, and although he was clean shaven and neat for church, where his wrists protruded from his long-sleeved shirt there were those agreeable signs of a hairy body, always something I like. I also like a man with dark brown eyes as I think they're rather sexy especially when close-up, in bed, and as we chatted idly away my brain couldn't help speculating about whether he had been cut at birth, or whether his foreskin was still intact - I suspected the latter, as so many parents are now concerned to ensure that their sons are not "slave like", when so many owners regularly have their slaves 'skinned.
It quite made my visit to church worthwhile, and I even turned off my player in favour of slipping into a pleasant reverie about how it would be to have that firm young body under mine in bed - a reverie that I had to cut short as I realised that my straining erection might turn into a spontaneous ejaculation as I had turned down Steve's ministrations to my dick earlier, as I have told you. It's often thought that older men do not have such firm or such frequent erections as young guys, and that they run no risk of unwanted ejaculations, but let me assure you that in my case none of these things is true - the sight of a shapely set of buttocks, or a nice smile on a handsome face, or the scent of virile sweat from a workman, can all distract my attention from business into more pleasurable avenues! I was determined to have another sight of the young man, and so made it my business to seek out Chief Williams on the church steps after the usual trite nonsense of the service and engage him in conversation about his election prospects, and at the same time hinting that a generous donation from me to his election funds might well be possible. He willingly accepted my offer to continue our discussion over a drink before lunch, although he said that he'd have to bring his son - Dan, I learned - with him as they had come in only one car.
Seated on my terrace overlooking the pleasure grounds I had to listen to the Chief droning on when all I really wanted to do was to feast my eyes on the young Daniel, and the boy fidgeted around, inflaming my interest in his lithe body, as he too was clearly less than interested in what his father was saying. I suggested that he might prefer to go and take a dip in my pool, adding that there were several freshly-laundered costumes always available in the pool house and that he should summon a slave if he required any assistance. I thought it would be premature, and perhaps scare him off, if I had suggested that as it was only men around he could, if he wished, swim "au naturel"! Nevertheless when he did emerge and execute a neat dive into the pool, I was gratified to see that he'd chosen proper swimmer's Speedos and not some of those baggy shorts that the young tend to favour these days.
He raced up and down the pool., evidently keen on the exercise, and when he finally stopped and hauled himself out I was rewarded with the sight of an inviting dark treasure trail emerging from the Speedos and running right up to the modest patch of hair on his chest. Fortunately his back was agreeably free of hair (I like a properly hairy man, but prefer their backs to be smooth as I rake them with my fingers during sex). I like to see a man hauling himself out of the water to sit on the pool edge as all the muscles in the arms and back take part, and as had been "promised" when I'd seen him at church, he had those lithe, stringy muscles that only the young have as they come into the first bloom of their twenties. All in all, he was a most desirable young man, and I wanted to ravish him there and then - something that was, of course, impossible, given my position and status in our local society, and the fact that he was a free man! I did however summon a slave to fetch my cheque book and gave Chief Williams a substantial contribution to his campaign expenses in the hope of fostering some appropriate further meetings between us, meetings at which he might, after all, be accompanied by his son!
The scandal broke later that week, and resignedly I wrote off my campaign contribution. The Chief was found to have been engaged in corrupt practices relating to the letting of the contracts for civic works, and to have colluded with certain other "honest" citizens in getting the newly enslaved knocked down to them at bargain prices, so defrauding the general tax base of our community. It amazes me to hear that earlier in the century there could be huge delays in bringing cases to court, and then endless appeals and so on afterwards, that could mean that an accused could spin out the time to his ultimate incarceration to months or even years. Nowadays of course justice is more swift, and more sure, and by the middle of the following week all the evidence had been considered, and the former Chief Williams was now a slave, with no further possibility of any appeal. On hearing the news I hurried down to the Court House in time to see him being carried away in shackles to the slave dealer's wagon, and went inside to find young Daniel imploring the acting Police Chief, a man in my pay, to "do something".
When he saw me he rushed over, took my arm in a gesture of urgency, and said "Sir, can't you do something to help my father? They're taking him away...."
I smiled. Of course I could do something. I called over the acting Police Chief and calmly said "This is your former boss's son. He is, I believe, only twenty years old. It seems to me that ex-Chief Williams' assets will be insufficient to repay the taxpayers of our town for the money he embezzled, and that therefore you will need to seize this boy as well, so that he can in turn be enslaved and sold to help repay his father's debt to society. I think we're fortunate to have this additional asset to sell, as in a few months he would have reached his majority and no longer be the responsibility of his father."
Daniel gave a cry of "No!", but even as he did this my man called over two officers and they quickly and efficiently cuffed him, and led him away.
Whilst it was most satisfactory that the young man was now potentially mine as I could bid for him when he came up for auction in the usual way, I was concerned that the general enslavement process would alter him fundamentally. My thoughts had been filled with the idea of having a young, handsome, free man in my bed, and I did not want to spoil the pleasure by having him cropped, tattooed, branded, 'skinned, and sullied mentally by all the degradation and humiliation that these processes would necessarily entail. Consequently I spoke to the acting Chief, and in return for my promise of a generous contribution to his own campaign expenses for the forthcoming election, he agreed to postpone any "work" on the newly-enslaved Dan. Later that day the Mayor was amenable to "selling the slave, the former Daniel Williams, by private treaty rather than public auction, as it was agreed that the price was far in excess of the current auction 'guide price' for male slaves of that age". The Mayor, too, was most pleased by my contribution to his own campaign expenses as we concluded "a most satisfactory deal for our community": Dan was turning out to be a most expensive purchase, but my dick was almost constantly erect in anticipation of the delights ahead, and I think I have few enough pleasures in this life considering how hard I work, so I did not begrudge myself this small indulgence.
By the time Dan was delivered to my house he'd only been in custody - and that in the Police Station, rather than the municipal slave barracks - a day. They'd clearly given him the opportunity to shower and shave, and as he got out of the Police Car and stood at the foot of the steps leading up to my front door, he recognised where he was from the visit with his father the previous week. As soon as he saw me standing on the wide veranda by the front door, be bounded up the steps, grabbed my hand, and pumped it in a strong, eager handshake. "Sir, oh thank you, sir, for getting me set free.... Can you do something for my dad, too, please sir?", he blurted out
I decided not to shatter his illusions for the moment, and replied calmly "We'll have to see about that, Dan, now, come on it...", and I made a gesture of dismissal at the police, knowing that they knew that I was an experienced slave owner and that my household was easily capable of dealing with the boy. I led him across the wide, flagged entrance hall, and up the sweeping staircase to the bedroom floor. He followed me obediently along the corridor, evidently thinking we were on the way to a study or den or something, and it was only when he obediently followed me into my bedroom and I closed the door, that he realised something was odd.
"Sir, can we talk, please?", he asked, a note of concern entering his voice.
"No, Dan. We cannot. Slaves do not talk. They obey."
"But sir, you saved me.... They were going to enslave me to help pay dad's debts..."
"And they did. They did enslave you. I have the papers, and I have bought you. Bought you at a high price, I might add. And now I would like to inspect my purchase.... Please remove your clothes, as I have so far only had the pleasure of seeing you stripped down to Speedos, and I am eager to see, and touch, your entire body...."
"No!" His tone was defiant, and he said it as if it was his last word on the subject.
"Dan, you are a slave. A slave obeys his master. A master has he right to inspect his slave, in any way he wants. And I want to see your body, your entire body, and then, when I have done a visual inspection, I intend to move on to examine your musculature in great detail with my hands..... And for all of this, I require you to be naked. So get those clothes off, Dan, and do it now!"
"No!" That defiant tone again.
"Dan, I don't want to have to do this, but another right a master has over his slave is the right of punishment. If you persist in disobeying me, I will have to order you to be punished. And the more you continue to disobey, the more severe the punishment will become. Did you not see your father punishing slaves?"
"No, sir. We did not have any slaves at home... Dad said we couldn't afford them...."
"Well take it from me, whilst not as dramatic as a public whipping in the Town Square by the public whipmaster, the sorts of punishment I can order and execute here are normally more than sufficient to bring even the most disobedient slave into line fairly quickly. I hesitate to use them on a young slave like you, one new to slavery a that, but if you continue to defy me, I will do so. Now, disrobe, as you have been commanded to."
He said nothing, but shook his head once more. I shrugged my shoulders, looked at him and said "Well you have brought this on yourself....", and went and pressed the button by the side of my bed to summon my Personal Trainer, Steve.
Dan continued to stand there looking at me, not moving a muscle, and I in turn stood there, relaxed and with a faint smile on my face. There was a knock on the door, and I called enter, and Steve burst in to the room. It was clear that he'd been working out, as he was in his exercise shorts and otherwise naked, and his whole exposed body was covered in a most agreeable sheen of sweat - I allow him exercise shorts as a well-hung man like Steve works best, I find, with some support for his tackle, but I have had them specially styled to be interestingly revealing: they are slung very low, way below the hips, so that even with his neatly trimmed pubes there's an exotic line of dark blond hair revealed above the waistband, full prominence is given to his six-pack belly, and they are made of stretch fabric so that they split his butt and highlight his crack, adding emphasis to that part of it which is in itself above the waistband.
He stood in front of me, panting slightly, his lovely muscled torso expanding and contracting gently. "Master?"
"Ah, Steve, this is my new slave, Dan. I have ordered him to strip, and he refuses. I think he's embarrassed to appear naked in front of me. Please demonstrate that it is perfectly natural for a slave to be naked."
Steve gave me one of his endearing half smiles and his green eyes twinkled, and without any hesitation at all he pushed the skimpy shorts down, and did that little "flick" that big confident men do to release their dicks from where they have stuck to their balls.
"Now, Dan, you've seen Steve here, and how he obeys, and how he's not ashamed to be naked in front of his master. Now I want you to do the same thing: I want to see you as bare-assed naked as Steve is, and I want to see it now!"
He shook his head again, and I said calmly "Steve, please teach Dan here a lesson for me, would you? Please put him over your knee and give him a couple of slaps with those big hands of yours...."
Steve sprang to obey me - for a big guy, he's surprisingly nimble of his feet when he needs to be, and before Dan could react he'd grabbed the boy, put one arm around his chest and lifted him off the ground, and moved over to the bed. He sat down in a perfectly controlled way, positioned Dan so that he was hanging over his big strong thighs, and almost without any perceptible delay the sound of two hard slaps ricoched around the room like a pistol crack. As a final gesture Steve pushed Dan off him, and continued to sit there as the boy sprawled feebly at his feet on the rich white carpet. I watched with interest as Dan pulled himself together, then got to his feet - a couple of slaps on his butt from Steve must have really hurt him, and he was keeping his face screwed up tightly as if he was holding back tears.
"Now, Dan, that was just the start. Steve here will give you two more if you persist in defying me, and then, if that fails, we'll move on to the punishment cane. Steve can tell you how even a big man like him does everything in his power to avoid the cane, and that's when it's only me wielding it: I don't think your butt would like the feeling of the cane wielded by Steve - as you can see, he's exceptionally well muscled and strong, and his arms really pack a punch...."
I saw him beginning to waver, and I went on "Look, Dan, I don't want to have to have you hurt. But you are my slave, and I do need to take a good look at you, to make sure you were not damaged or anything in the Police Station. Now it's only you, Steve and me here in this room, and Steve's already naked, and I saw you in Speedos last week anyway. So where's the harm in just removing your clothes? I really do need to make sure you're OK...."
I thought that this "appeal to reason" might work - it was all bullshit of course, as even if the Police had raped him and beaten him, I had no comeback. But I was gratified to see that he began to unbutton his shirt, all the time keeping his eyes cast down as if in some mysterious way he could avoid Steve and me looking at him if he didn't look at us!
End Of Part One