One Step Behind You
Part Three
By Randall Austin
This story is erotic fiction meant for mature readers and should only be read by adults over the age of eighteen years old. Please do not use my stories without my permission and please forward all comments to randallaustin2011@hotmail.com
Randall Austin's Archive Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Randall_Austin_Stories
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The Depository official was dialing his mobile before Eric had finished his outburst, saying to Mr. Falkenberg, "I'll have him removed."
Mr. Falkenberg held out a hand to the official, indicating for him not to make the call, and the other hand he held out and pointed at Eric. "Young man, I would like to answer your question. Will you listen to me without interrupting?" Eric nodded 'yes'. "What, may I ask, is your name?"
"My name is Eric Valiotis."
"Mr. Valiotis, thank you." Mr. Falkenberg paused, quickly assessed the situation to make sure Eric wasn't some sort of `crazy', and then began; "Billy is the eighth slave I have owned in my lifetime. I have typically owned them for anywhere from 2 to 5 years. They eventually move on because of such things as old age, a lease running out, someone made me an offer I couldn't refuse, I needed a change, or the slave needed a change. Many households find the one slave who is the perfect fit, and stays in the family for a lifetime. I have not found such a slave. I am not necessarily looking for such a slave. But who knows, maybe Billy will be that slave."
"There are all kinds of slaves out on the market. But I always buy the same kind of slave; boys like Billy, who would be considered good students and well-behaved boys, just as I'm certain you are and your friends are who stand next to you. Such slaves are very expensive. With my purchase here today of Billy, a lot of money is going into the state coffers. I could easily have purchased a boy like someone you mentioned, who comes from the other side of the tracks. A piece of `white trash', as you put it, the sort who never holds on to jobs, drops out of school, and is always in trouble with the law."
"Not only would such a `white trash' slave be a lot cheaper than Billy, but you know what? They are some of the easiest slaves to control. They are very low maintenance slaves. It's a fact. Boys who are good students, like Billy, are the ones who as slaves end up getting punished the most. Its boys who are the poor students, lazy, and never hold a job, who end up having the easiest time of it as slaves. The reason is that good students like Billy have a natural inquisitiveness which works against them as slaves. Someone like Billy is likely to be asking questions of the tasks he's given; why do it this way, my way is better, this is inefficient. Such boys are likely to take the initiative and do things their way, thinking it'll be all right. And it is that attitude that keeps them walking around with very warm fannies for their first couple of years as slaves. To put it simply, they think too much."
"If Billy is typical of enslaved well-behaved boys from good homes who end up getting enslaved either because of felonies or costly judgments against them in lawsuits, and I suspect he is, then he can expect to be getting paddled or spanked about two times a week. He can expect to be getting strapped or tawsed, for more serious offences, about once a month. And in all likelihood he will be guilty of the most serious type of offence and get whipped at least once a year. These are not only the statistics found in all of the sociological data, and backed up by the state's annual reports, but these averages have been borne out in my personal experience, as well."
"And, Eric, what is most interesting is that the typical boy you would refer to as `white trash' has an average punishment record, as slave, of almost one quarter of what Billy's is likely to be. That's right. A young man the same age as Billy, from the other side of the tracks, is likely to need only about 14 spankings, 4 strappings, and probably no whippings in a single year. And so now you are starting to wonder if this is fair, what we're doing to Billy. But you need to know that I have no choice but to treat all slaves equally. I have to follow the rules. If they disobey, they have to be punished. The law mandates it. And all that I'm saying is that statistics show that Billy is likely to be a very disobedient slave for as many as the first five years of his enslavement. After that they typically mellow out, and need less punishment."
"Remember, Billy has just entered a change of status. He is going to be treated differently now, according to the law. The fact that he has been a good boy and a top student for his entire life no longer matters. It counts for nothing. His status has changed, and the system demands he now be treated as a slave."
"Consider the reality, the scope, of his changed status; If Billy's dad were ever to paddle Billy when he was a free boy the way Lang is about to paddle Billy, Billy could have gone to the police and cried abuse'. And he would have had the full force of the law on his side; he would have won every lawsuit, for it would have been, indeed, legally, abuse'. What Lang is about to do to Billy now, now that he's a slave, however, is legally called `chasten'. Not only is it fully legal to chasten slaves, it is a legal requirement of slaveholders to do so. In fact it's their primary responsibility, to keep slaves fully chastened. And we, my son and I, as law-abiding citizens, certainly intend to follow the law and keep Bill well chastened. The fact that as of this moment Billy as a new slave hasn't really yet done anything deserving of a spanking, is beside the point. The State Slave Authority recommends that all slaves maintain at least one deposit in their punishment account for safety reasons."
"I have something very important I want to say now to Billy, in front of all of you. Billy, look at me." I raised my head slightly from off my chest to look at Mr. Falkenberg. "Billy, I want you to know something very important. When Lang and I order you up for punishment, when we order you to strip naked and get over our knee for a spanking, or grab on to the edge of the table and bend over for a paddling, or lay down on the bed so we can strap you down for a whipping, we're not doing it because we hate you, or are mad at you, or think you're worthless. We will be doing it because we want to give you all of the backup support we can possibly offer to help correct you. We don't expect perfection from you; you're a slave after all. We want you to know that for every infraction, every misstep you take, Lang and I will be right in back of you, one step behind you, with our paddles in hand. And that should be a source of comfort to you, to know that we care enough to help you be all that you can be. We will be there for you every step of the way."
The room was silent. Eric had his mouth shut in a sneer.
After a short pause, Mr. Falkenberg continued, "I see you have nothing to say Mr. Valiotis. I suspect you are beginning to see the other side of the issue, that things aren't quite as simple as they seem, that slavery isn't quite as awful as it seems, and that just maybe my son and I aren't bad guys after all." He looked around at everyone with a big smile, and then said, "Ok, I think the issue is resolved. Let's get on with it!"
Lang reached down with his left hand and grabbed my balls. The clerk, seeing I had not yet grabbed on to the desk, but was still covering my private parts, took the erection cone from the desk and came over and quickly slipped it over my semi-flaccid dick at the same moment he moved my hands away from my groin. I sensed he was trying to help me. He was aware I was having a hard time of being nude in front of my family, and managed to keep anyone from getting another look at my cock. He very deftly wrapped the cone's rubber band around the base of my cock to secure the cone. And while my privates were in fact now hidden from view, I didn't know what was more embarrassing, being naked or being naked and wearing a large erection cone that covered my cock and stuck straight out from my groin. He nodded to me, indicating I should bend over and grab on to the table. I managed to do it, though my senses were numb from humiliation.
Lang, still holding on to my balls with his left hand, opened the top button of his cream colored dress shirt, then picked up the paddle from the desk, "One naked and coned slave is about to make a punishment deposit." With that announcement he immediately swung the paddle out as far as it could go, and swung it back into my ass with determination. When I yelped, he smiled. The room was silent. He swung it again. I screamed, and I erected almost to the hilt, sending my coned dick slapping up against my belly. He beat me a third time, and as I tried to move away his left hand squeezed my balls. I immediately got back into place. He swung wider and harder with the next two in rapid succession and I blurted out "Fuck you!" He gave my balls a quick tight squeeze, and I broke into loud crying. He swung again, the pain was immense, and I bolted backwards trying to get away, but he squeezed my balls very hard, and led me back to the table by my balls. After the next swat I yelped so hard that Lang momentarily let go of my balls, and at that moment I bolted off the dais and ran to take cover in back of the workbench off to the side of the dais.
The Depository official reached under the desk and pulled out a three and a half foot long steel rod that had movable tongs on one end, and a lever control on the other. He came at me aiming the pole at my head. I didn't know what it was, and was terrified. But with the tongs he got an easy grip on my collar, squeezed his end of the handle to tighten the hold, then with the leverage the long pole provided he gave it a sharp twist, and was thus easily able to bring me down to the floor in a bent over kneeling position. He then pulled me along in a crouched over position, making me scramble back towards the dais like a dog caught by a dogcatcher.
Lang substituted his paddle for the flip whip and stepped off the dais and came over to me being held in a crawling position on the floor by the official's slave catcher pole. The official released the tongs from my collar, and Lang grabbed my collar with his left hand. With his right hand he gave one fierce swipe of the whip across my back. The most awful stinging sensation imaginable made me howl and dizzy with pain. Lang shouted; "Now get back up on the dais, grab on to that desk, and stick your ass out! DO IT NOW!"
I scrambled to the desk. My penis cone was sticking straight up. I couldn't see anyone through my tear-blurred eyes, but I really didn't want to see anyone. Being shouted at like I was the scum of the earth was devastating. Lang came back to the desk and stood beside me, laid the flip whip on the desk, picked up the paddle, regrabbed my balls, and shouted, "Stick that slave ass out nice and high for everyone to see!" He whacked me. He paused. He whacked again, and then said, "Compared to the flip whip the paddle doesn't seem so bad, right? Maybe now you'll stand still and take your paddling like a good little slave!" Every time I bucked or swore, Lang squeezed my balls.
Mr. Falkenberg got friendly with Brother Michael, "See the amazing control Lang has over Billy with the `tug and paddle' method. It keeps bucking down to a minimum. That's why I don't understand these slavers who have their slaves castrated for the slightest offense. One can really send some forceful messages to slaves through their balls. They are one of the slave's most valuable pieces of equipment in terms of control as far as I am concerned."
When the next paddle blow landed I screamed out, desperate, "Brother Michael, help me!" Brother Michael, dressed in black slacks and a black shirt, holding a prayer book, stepped up on the dais, and stood on my right side. He asked Lang if it would be all right if he held me for the paddling. Lang shook his head approvingly. Brother Michael put his left hand on my back, and its warmth felt healing. I cried quietly and with teary eyes begged, "Brother Michael, take me away from here." He leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Billy, everything will be all right." The paddle hit my ass. I cried, "No, it won't be!" I could smell Brother Michael's sweet warm breath in my face as he said, "I'm here with you Billy. You can take it. It will soon be over." The paddle hit my ass, I bucked, Brother Michael's hand on my back held me down, and I cried, "I don't want to take it." Brother Michael leaned even closer, and with his lips almost touching my ear, he comforted me with, "You have to take it Billy. You're a slave now."
The next blow hit the same spot, I screamed and rammed my groin into the desk, and my penis cone bent, the rubber band holding it around my balls snapped, and the cone fell off of my dick. Brother Michael bending over me could see my pulsing erection, wet-knobbed with precum. Staring at my cock, he said, "Billy, the bible in Ephesians, chapter 6, says, "Slaves, be obedient to your masters. Serve them with fear and trembling, and single minded devotion." The paddle hit me, I bucked and my cock bobbed, sloshing precum. Brother Michael continued, his breath was almost hot in my ear, his breathing stern and steady, and his eyes glued on my erection; "Billy, the bible exhorts you to be a good slave. That is what you have been called to do. You must go peacefully down that path. Seek always to be the best slave you can be." Brother Michael's words numbed me so much that I didn't feel the last blows of the paddling. So when the paddling stopped and there was dead silence in the room, it was unexpected.
Brother Michael was still leaning over me, with his hand on my back. Only when he realized the paddling was over did he close his eyes, collect himself, put his prayer book in front of his groin, and stand up. When he got back to his place I heard my father thanking him for whatever words of comfort he had whispered in my ear during my paddling.
I remained leaning over the desk. Lang touched my buttocks and I instinctively screamed and howled, "NO!" Lang smiled, "Easy there, big fella! Just checking out the temperature of your butt!"
Some of the folks in the room jumped when I screamed. Mr. Falkenberg smiled, "When you have slaves around you get used to all of their noise. After a while you pay no mind to their constant hollering and complaining."
Lang took a comb out of his back pocket. He touched me on the shoulder and said, "Okay buddy, that wasn't so bad was it? Let's get you up and get your hair combed. It's a mess from your paddling." He pulled me up and turned me around and walked me to the back of the dais by the workbench, where a mirror hung on one of the cupboard doors. I was still erect and feeling confused feelings in my groin. I was beyond being embarrassed, beyond being shamed. I had no idea what I was feeling. Lang gave me the comb and ordered me to comb my hair. Everyone got to see my naked backside, as I combed my hair looking in the mirror. Everyone got to see me doing what I was ordered to do by my new owner's son. Everyone could see that it was likely that from now on I would be doing whatever Lang told me to do. Everyone could see that, indeed, the Falkenberg's really did have power over me. Everyone could see that it looked like I was starting to be an obedient slave.
When I was finished I gave the comb back to Lang, and he had no qualms about using his comb, which a slave had just used, on his own hair. He briefly recombed his own blond hair, rebuttoned the top button of his dress shirt, and gave his upper lip a lick with his tongue. When finished, he put the comb back in his back pocket and told me in a rather loud voice, doubtless just to humiliate me, "Now scoot back to the desk!"
I did so with my hands fully spread out in front of me trying to cover my big erection. When I got back to the desk, Lang saw that I was still trying to be modest. He told me to stand up straight. He seemed intent on humiliating me. I did stand up straight, but I still kept my hands in front of me. In a voice one would use on hardened convicts, and not the kind of voice one used on Grade A honor students, he shouted; "Stand straight and tall, get your legs spread out!" I spread them. "Spread 'em further apart!" I did. "Hands in back of your head!" I didn't. He grabbed the flip whip off the table, walked towards me, and I immediately put my hands in back of my head. He addressed the room, "Did you see that. He didn't want to put his hands in back of his head, but he did it anyway. He's starting to learn to obey, and that's a good thing." He held up the flip whip for all to see, and said, "Maybe this had something to do with it." He flashed a wink and a smile at Brother Michael, who was looking somewhat flushed from taking in the sight of his fully exposed former favorite student.
Lang addressed the room; "Everyone. What you see up here on the dais is a fully exposed, bald-pussied, freshly paddled and whipped, newly enslaved work boy, about to undertake his lifetime enslavement order." He took a digital camera from his case and snapped three quick photos of me. He explained to everyone, "For the family album! If you are new to the culture of slave owning, it's common practice for slavers to show pictures of their slaves to each other. And like baby pictures, slaves are always photographed nude."
"Nudity is no big thing among slaves. One of the goals of this little ceremony is to instill into Billy that he no longer has any of the rights that free boys have. He doesn't even have that right which is considered most basic to free boys, the right to privacy. While this may be a painful or embarrassing moment for Billy, and maybe even for some of you, I want you to know that after this episode, Billy will have a much easier time of doing the things he is asked to do. As you may not know, nudity is considered a very benign form of inculcation for the freshly enslaved, and therefore we use it. For that reason I want you all to get a good look at Billy. Billy has to be fully exposed because he is a slave now, and as a slave Billy can't have any more secrets from anyone. So, everyone, please get a good look at Billy."
And a good look they did get. My eyes were closed, but I could feel their eyes on me. My dick was not only erect, but being cinched made it look like I was a super horny pervert. My dick knob was just about the darkest purple I had ever seen it.
"And to Billy's friends who are gathered around and know Billy as a top student and popular guy on campus, I want to say to you that my dad and I are aware of Billy's accomplishments. In fact, we purchased Billy because of his past record, even though that record will count for nothing in his new life. That may be confusing to you, but let me explain. Billy has a record of excelling at whatever he undertakes. My dad and I want a quick-learning, fast-stepping, eager to please, whip-smart, paddle-wise, hard working, pain-fearing, hop-to-it, pantry-sharp, neat-as-pin, scrambling, and curtsying houseboy. Who better to get to quickly learn our routines and protocols than someone who is a top learner? Voila! Billy is our boy! He'll be a perfect slave!"
"Hopefully this ceremony will help Billy realize that although he once was a 4.0 honor student, he is not that anymore. His accomplishments as a good student count for nothing now. Absolutely nothing. You may think of him as the `best behaved, politest, good little hard working boy' you ever knew, but none of your opinions matter anymore. As far as the state is concerned Billy is just another collared and cinched, shaved-pussied, work boy. He has the same status as every other work boy slave in Pennsylvania State. And that is how dad and I think of him. He is now a common work boy garden-variety slave, and he will be judged by dad and I solely on how well he obeys our orders. He will not be judged on his high grade point average that just won him a scholarship which he will never be able to use."
"And I know what you free boys are thinking right now, both Billy's friends and his brothers. While you might be genuinely feeling for Billy right now, what you are most strongly feeling is how glad you are that you aren't the one standing up here freshly collared, cinched, paddled, and crying your eyes out. You're all eager to get out of here and go back to your parents' houses, go to your doubtless well furnished, gadget stocked rooms, and hang out. Do whatever you want, maybe be alone, or maybe hang out with friends. And you know Billy will not be doing that. He'll be coming home with us, and begin his service as a lifetime workboy who has to do whatever he's told to do for the rest of his life. Tonight you boys may go and have a drink, maybe go out and dance, or party. Billy cannot go out do such things ever again. And while you boys will be doing all those fun things, Billy will probably be doing chores around the house. And all of his `off work' time will be spent at our house, and he will only be able to engage in recreational pastimes which dad and I approve of."
"I know that's what you're all thinking. Don't deny it. But the reason I mention it is because I want you to know that, even though you and Billy won't believe this, Billy's life is not going to be anything like you imagine it will be. Once Billy gets over his adjustment period to his new life, he is not only going to be leading a happy life, but he will probably be the happiest he has ever been in his entire life. I know you think this is just the talk of a kid who's always had a slave around to clean up his room for him, but it's not. And to prove to you that what I say is true, I want you all to come out and visit Billy in about six months. I think you will all be very relieved to see a very happy Billy."
Lang looked at his dad, and smiled. "Dad, by the looks on everyone's faces it seems they are all skeptical." Mr. Falkenberg addressed the room, "My son is right. And to prove it to you I encourage all of you to keep tabs on Billy." Mr. Falkenberg threw his arm around Lang's back. "Well son, I think we better get our new boy home so we can start to get our money's worth out of him. Let's get him dressed."
Lang took a pile of folded and brightly colored clothes out of his case. "Ok Billy, you can put your hands down now and come over here so I can dress you." Lang unfurled a large white pair of plain undyed Indian cotton boxer shorts. He held them open for me, and indicated for me to step into them. He was dressing me like I was a little kid in front of my family and friends. Everyone recognized the undies. They were the type of cotton used in slave clothes that were sold at slave supply stores.
Lang then unfolded a pair of strange light brown cotton slacks. He held them open for me and instructed me to step into them. When both legs were in he pulled them up. They fit like normal slacks except that they had flaps that buttoned up in the front and in the back. As he buttoned up the front he said, "We got you a brand new pair of spankers." He smiled. As he buttoned up the rear he said to everyone, "I guess you can see why they're called `spankers'?" People were starting to relax, so that comment was met with some light laughter. Chad was starting to relax and said, "Those slacks are kind of neat, bro." I didn't answer him.
Lang instructed me to lift my arms up in the air. He took a bottle of slave cologne and sprayed my armpits. "Dad and I like our slave nicely scented." Jill said it smelled good, like grass and clover.
Lang unfolded a cotton loose fitting slip over shirt that was the same kind of Indian cotton as the undies, and had me slip my arms into it. He pulled it on me and the hem went down to about four inches below the top of my trousers. He tucked the shirt into my trousers all around, "We want everyone to see the buttons on your brand new pair of spankers!"
Next Lang held open a vest with of brown and red design, which was open in the front, and went down only to my belly button. It made me look like a servant. He took some plain cotton socks and a pair of tan, rubber, but thick soled shoes and had me stoop down and put them on. Everyone was watching me. I heard Perry say, "Hey, that's cute!" I looked up to see what he was talking about and Lang was removing a pillbox hat from his case. When I stood up Lang came over to me with the red and brown bellboy hat, with a thin chin strap and placed it on my head. It was trimmed with braid and buttons, and matched my vest. Lang was pleased with the overall effect. "There Dad. We got ourselves a brand new, fresh smelling, and super-spankable, little slave boy. Let's take him home and put him to work where he'll do some good!"
I couldn't believe it, but everyone was smiling. Like they were happy. Like everything was somehow back to normal. Mr. Falkenberg and Lang went over to dad and were chatting with him. I stood there in my goofy uniform, and no one came up to me because no one knew what to say or how to act with a slave boy all costumed up and ready to serve and obey. I felt hopeless. My world was gone. Standing alone on the dais with everyone watching me I just started to cry. I didn't wipe my tears; I kept my hands at my side and let the tears fall. And still no one said anything or tried to comfort me. Lang shouted over, "Hey, don't be a crybaby. Maybe I should have put you into diapers instead of your brand new spankers!"
The clerk came over to me, and quietly, so no one else could hear, said, "I want you to know you were totally cool. You had dignity, man." I thanked him, in just as quiet a voice through my tears, for not being an asshole. He continued, "And I want to tell you something else. Old man Falkenberg was right about one thing; there always will be assholes like he and his son one step behind you, watching everything you do, ready to beat your ass for everything you do that they don't like. But know too, there will also be guys like your pal Eric and me, people who care and will try to do what we can to help you. And we too, always, will be one step behind you." He patted me on the shoulder, blinked `good luck' at me, and exited as Lang approached me with a leash.
Lang snapped the leash on my collar and led me off the dais and over to my friends. "Time to say 'goodbye' for now." Eric eagerly hugged me; he hugged me hard and long and said nothing. And everyone else did the same. Standing there hugging my friends, while on a leash held by my new owner was painful. Brother Michael tried to hug me but I backed away. He put out his hand, I took it and we shook. All of my family and friends noticed that. My friends left, and then it was my brothers' turn to hug me. Chad said he loved me. Timothy said he loved me, but was crying heavily. Ellen hugged me tight like a kid sister, but at first she was scared of me. Dad hugged me, and was crying more than I was. Dad, my sister and my brothers then all walked out together.
Lang led me back to the dais, packed his things back into his case, and as he was about to close it, he took out the flip whip. "I might need this." He closed the case, and ordered me to carry it. It was heavy. Mr. Falkenberg walked out, followed by Lang leading me on a leash carrying his case.
As we got into the parking lot my friends and family were all just pulling out and they all got to see me being led by Lang on a leash, dressed in my spankers and bellboy hat, struggling to carry his heavy case with both my hands on the handle. They waved but I couldn't wave back. All I could do was nod my bellboy-hatted head back at them.