You Can't Be Friends With a Slave

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part twenty five

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

FUCKED!

It wasn't hard pulling master Rafe around the place, as the area wasn't all that big. But it did go on all morning, as he never seemed to tire of watching the slaves in training as they exercised, or ran around, or were being lectured. Occasionally he would call one of the lads out from a group and inspect him, to make sure all was well - that the slave was keeping cleanly shaved all over, or that muscle was developing properly. Sometimes he had a whole group stand there and jerk off, so he could see their cum - I don't know why this was, as they were all young virile blokes: perhaps it was to remind them that they were just slaves, subject to his orders.

He went home to lunch, and I sat down on the back door step to wait for him. Luella came out and gave me water to drink, and a sandwich! An unimaginable luxury, as I was of course used to eating only slave chow. I Looked at the thick slices of bread brimming with cheese and ham, and my mouth drooled. But I remembered what happened to slaves who ate normal food when they were on slave chow, and so pushed it away.

"Oh Steve", she told me, "You're another one of those unsophisticated boys who believe everything they're told! Of course it won't hurt you - that's just a story they put around to make sure slaves who work with food don't steal it. Every now and then they give a slave a bit of ordinary food with an emetic in it, just to make it look real, and the rest of you believe it. Where are you from - Hicksville? I thought you were a smart city type when I saw your body yesterday... Just the sort of man I want to breed with."

I looked at her with astonishment. Could masters really do that sort of things as another means of controlling slaves? Yes, they could, I suppose.

I saw her looking at me, and she slowly raised the hem of her short slave smock until her sex was exposed to me as I sat there. "You like what you see, slave boy?

I liked what I saw last night of you...."

My dick was instantly erect, tenting out the front of my shorts. I went to grab her, to pull her towards me so I could bury my face in her sex, but she jerked back. "Now, now, slave boy... Patience! Master Rafe will decide when you're going to fuck with me, and he'll want to watch... We mustn't spoil his fun...."

She continued to expose herself to me, but always pulled away as I reached out for her - she was a real prick teaser, I decided. Master Rafe came out then, and I scrambled to my feet, and both Luella and I went into the "rest" position as he looked at us. I could almost feel his eyes staring at my tented shorts, and somehow I knew that there would be a damp patch on them where I was leaking pre-cum.

"So, Steve, Luella has been entertaining you, has she?

The next time she's in heat, I think I'll invite a few of my friends over and we'll watch you stud her - folks around here prefer the real thing to those porn videos, you know."

"Thank you, master", I muttered, blushing slightly. Actually, I wasn't so sure. She was a fine looking woman, and one I'd have been happy to fuck when I was a free man. And I had been attracted by the quick sight of her sex - but did I really want to fuck her? Still, I wouldn't have much choice, would I, if my owner ordered it?

"Go and get fresh shorts, Steve - some of the formal, starched ones with a good crease. I need to go into town this afternoon and I want to make a good impression as it's a bit of a formal occasion. I can't drive, as there won't be any parking spaces as there'll be a big crowd, but you can just drop me off, then come back later to collect me. Get along - I'm going to change, too, and I'll be ready in ten minutes."

I jogged off to the dorm, wondering what was going on.

I actually don't like the "formal" shorts - they starch them so they're crisp and stand out from your body, and that makes it very uncomfortable on your dick: the everyday ones, in soft, almost threadbare cotton, are much better if you're working. Still, the formal ones do look smart, I suppose, and they're of a subtly different cut - still tight across the butt, to emphasise that, but the legs are wider and looser so it looks as if your dick might drop out at any moment.

It's a bit of a problem, actually, if you're hung like me, as the legs are only just long enough to cover the tip of your dick, and if you start to have an erection, it can poke out (those of you from non-slave states need to remember that slave shorts are always cut very short and very high in the leg at the best of times, and are not at all like the type of shorts free men wear in warm weather. Indeed, most free men now wear shorts down to at least the knee, to make it absolutely clear that they're not dressed in slave wear). And of course you can't sit down at all, as you're then totally exposed.

When master Rafe came out he was dressed in a formal suit in very dark grey and of a very conservative cut.

He had a snowy white starched shirt on, and a black tie. His highly-polished shoes were black, and his hair was neatly combed and lightly oiled. I'd never seen him in anything other than Jeans and a short-sleeved shirt before and the change in him, now that he looked like some sort of city banker, was amazing. It made for an even greater contrast than usual between us - him covered and formal, and me nearly naked and almost exposed.

He leapt into the driving seat - so unlike Billy-Joe, who had to haul his bulk up - then told me to head for town. It was about the same distance from master Rafe's establishment into the town as it had been from the Colonel's, so it was an easy fast jog for me, except that I noticed that we were mostly going down hill - the haul back home was going to be much more of a struggle, even allowing for master Rafe's lighter weight. Still, I was intrigued about why he was taking me into town, and I wondered what was happening.

There were indeed crowds - we were constantly overtaken by cars carrying men and women who were dressed formally as we got closer - and they'd closed the main street, and I had to detour along a parallel street to make my way through. I saw how clever master Rafe had been in using me to pull him, as most of those arriving by car had to park a long way out and walk through the hot afternoon sunshine to get anywhere near the centre. He told me to drop him off at the church, which was at one end of main street, and I was then lucky enough to be able to pull onto a patch of grass by the side of it, to wait in the shade: if I'd been chauffeuring a car, I'd have had to have driven away. I couldn't sit down, of course, as my dick would have flopped out of my shorts, but it was good to be able to stand there in the relative cool.

Listening to the people standing around I soon discovered why we were there - it was the Colonel's funeral! He'd died a week before, it seems, from a heart attack brought on whilst he was buggaring a new slave, and all the local important folk deemed it necessary to be seen at his funeral - even master Rafe, who normally didn't seem to bother much about life in the town. I stood there waiting, and suddenly it went quiet. Then the town band struck up, and we heard their noise getting gradually closer and closer.

The band was leading the funeral procession, playing "Dixie" in very slow time, and immediately behind them was the Colonel's coffin. It was draped in the big flag of the south, and on top was his military hat and sword. The coffin was carried on what I recognised as the estate cart, though - although it had been swathed in black linen and decorated with black rosettes. The cart was pulled by the slave who had taken over from me, and he, too, had been decorated for the occasion: he'd had rings fitted to his nips since I was there, and these now sported big black ribbons through them. His collar was similarly interlaced with black ribbon and his dick and balls (as he had no shorts) were also tied up decently with black, topped off by a large floppy bow.

Following behind this was Billy-Joe in his new rickshaw - a huge thing, at least twice as big as the one I had pulled him in. It was indeed gold plated, and was extremely gaudy and vulgar, even though the spokes of the wheels had been interlaced with black ribbons and all the railings similarly decorated. Billy-Joe was in a jet black silk suit that I'd never seen before, of a very modern, stylish cut: it would probably have gone down well in the sophisticated bars of Manhattan, on a much slimmer, younger guy. He looked faintly ridiculous as he tried to be so "in fashion" in our small town, with his huge body.

To pull his gaudy rickshaw Billy-Joe had two slaves, rather than one, and his love of display was evident there too: from somewhere he'd managed to procure a pair of identical twin blacks, at least six- six tall and muscled to match. They had been entirely shorn of all hair, and their bodies glistened with a sheen of oil so that they almost seemed to sparkle in the hot sunshine. Unlike most of the blacks who were normally slaves around here, these two were the darkest ebony black I'd ever seen: there was a theory popular in the slave dorms at the Colonel's that most of the guys were brown rather than black as the early slave owners had interbred to such an extent that every slave had some white blood in him somewhere. These two, though, were clearly "pure" - from somewhere in Africa, like Chad I suppose, where the whites didn't really reach until the very late part of the nineteenth century and no interbreeding took place. I wondered how these two had been imported into the USA, as slaves were of course only supposed to be from the courts - was there some sort of people smuggling going on? Still, I suppose life as a slave here in the USA, even with a bastard like Billy-Joe as an owner, was better than living in some hovel in the jungle.

These two had big tit rings, as I had once, and nose rings, but the most striking feature of their dress were the rings around their dicks: Their balls had been pulled right forward to lie underneath their dicks, and then thick rings clamped tightly around both dick and balls so that they now naturally protruded out from their bodies even when they weren't erect. These guys were "in proportion" anyway, so had really big dicks, and having them stand out like this gave them an even greater prominence. You just couldn't help looking at their dicks, displayed for you like that, and I felt an urge to reach out and fondle them - I bet the poor guys had a lot of that to put up with, when they were tethered outside the club waiting for Billy-Joe. Still, as I thought on, I could see the sense of it - neatly cinched up like that there would be much less movement of their dicks and balls as they ran, and I guess once you were used to it, it was probably a lot easier than the way I did it totally naked, with my dick and balls flying everywhere.

Behind Billy-Joe were all the estate slaves marching in a column three abreast, all with heads bowed and hands neatly clasped behind them. It began with the indoor servants in their tight "cycling shorts" and brief waistcoats, and the outdoor slaves brought up the rear - they'd all been fitted out in new black shorts for the occasion. To add to the spectacle, stainless steel chains joined the collars of all the slaves - each row of three was chained together, and chains led from that row back to the next one. There was no need of any of this, of course, as the slaves were not likely to run off, were they? But it really did add interest, and as a symbol of Billy-Joe 's power and wealth it was pretty spectacular. Bringing up the rear was Straughan, on a jet-black horse, holding a large whip as if to be ready to punish the phalanx of slaves if there was any hold-up or misbehaviour. Chained to his saddle, and not in the main batch of slaves, were four of the biggest outdoor slaves from the estate, who I recognised. They, too, were in black shorts, and had been given black bands around their biceps sporting large black rosettes.

The procession halted at the church doors, and, as I watched, Straughan dismounted and led the four slaves who'd been behind him up to the cart. They must have rehearsed and rehearsed, as they lifted the coffin off smoothly, without a hitch, hoisted it onto their shoulders, and carried it slowly up the church steps as the band continued to play in its mournful way. Billy-Joe and Straughan followed, and the slaves in the procession were left standing there, chained and in their subservient "rest" pose, the hot sun burning down onto them.

I heard the service through the open doors of the church - lots of hymns, lots of pious speeches about what a good man the Colonel was, always upholding the old traditions of the south, and how he was beloved of his friends and slaves. Well, I wasn't sure that was right - most of us hadn't wanted to be buggared by his disgusting shrivelled up old dick, had we? It went on and on, and I was really glad that I was in the shade - the poor guys waiting in the hot sun were sweating, and some of them seemed to be almost in distress form the heat. But at last it was over, and the crowd spilled out, everyone stopping to commiserate with Billy-Joe on the way, as he stood on the steps of the church looking so out of place amongst all the respectably dressed local people.

There was to be a reception at the Colonel's, and Billy-Joe set out to lead a procession of folk in their cars back there. I noticed that the slaves, who had been waiting in the sun so patiently, were hurried away and loaded into a bus, which drove off at high speed, as presumably they needed to be there first to hand out drinks and so on. They could have gone earlier, but I suppose Billy-Joe wanted everyone to see how many slaves he owned, and the fact that they were miserable and hot under the bright sun was of no consequence.

Master Rafe returned and told me that it was only polite for him to go to the reception too, so I joined in the stream of cars heading out of town. It was tough going - as I said, there were hills leading up to the Colonel's, and I sensed master Rafe's impatience as I gradually fell behind. He shouted out to me to speed up, but I was going as fast as I could.

He pointed out that Billy-Joe's slaves, at the front, were managing a much faster pace in spite of their much bigger load, and he wanted me to keep up: they were , of course, being whipped heavily by Billy-Joe (I could hear the swish of the whip and the crack as it cut into their backs) and I remembered how Billy-Joe always thought that you could get that little extra out of a slave by the judicious use of "encouragement" like that: the poor black twins were certainly being "encouraged" that afternoon, I thought!

When we arrived, the long drive was lined with the outdoor slaves at precise intervals, all with their heads neatly bowed. Cars were taken away and parked, and I was led back to the familiar slave yard at the rear. I was really glad of a rest, and it was good to be able to sit down at last, and have a long drink. The poor black twins were just standing there though, as I had been so many, many times - shackled into their rickshaw, they couldn't sit, and as all the slaves were attending to the throng of guests, they hadn't even been watered! I took the water hose over to them and put it in their mouths, and then, as I felt the temperature of their skin, I let some of it trickle down over their bodies to help them cool. I wanted to ask them about their life, to see how Billy-Joe had changed since I was his pony slave, but although they seemed to understand my questions, all they could do was nod or shake their heads. One of them opened his mouth and pointed in, and made cutting gestures at his throat - after a lot of false starts I got enough questions asked to find out that when they'd arrived here from Africa (having been told they were going to well-paid jobs as security guards in the USA), Billy-Joe had had their vocal chords cut so that they were now mute.

I felt really sorry for them - they'd been free in their homeland, albeit poor, and now here they were, naked, their dicks cinched humiliatingly out, and muted, to serve as Billy-Joe's animals. I suppose it was a comfort to them to be together, as twins, but I wouldn't put it past that bastard to deliberately separate them at some point - even though he'd lose a lot of value as a pair is always more valuable than two identical single items, Billy-Joe might find that amusing. After all, he hadn't hesitated to reduce my value dramatically by the tattoos, had he?

It was almost dark by the time the reception finished, and master Rafe finally came out. It was going to be a long journey home, and I had already done two considerable runs that day. And, to make it worse, I knew that we had that big, final hill, when I would be maximally tired.

We set out at an easy jog, though, but after an hour master Rafe told me I had to speed up as he was expecting an important conference call with major customers, so I moved my pace up to a light run. After half an hour, he was still impatient, and called out for me to stop, and to turn around and face him.

"Steve, I think you're taking advantage of me... Those slaves of Billy-Joe's went faster than you this afternoon, and now you're even slower...."

"Master, I'm sorry. But it's been a long run already.

I'm going as fast as I can, especially as we're getting near to the long hill before home. And Billy-Joe's slaves only go at that pace because he whips them.... He's got this theory...."

"Yes, I know. He told me about it at the reception. He told me that you were inclined to 'hold back', to keep something in reserve, and that he needed to whip you to get that extra twenty percent. Mind you, he did say that it wasn't your fault - he believes all slaves are like that, indeed, all men: the body keeps back something in case it needs an extra 'push' if a real crisis develops. Is that true?"

"Master, he did whip me. Cruelly. He made me run naked so that the whip could slash at my butt, as he thought that that was the most sensitive part of the rear of a slave, the part most likely to react to punishment. And yes, I suppose it's right - I thought I was exhausted, but under the whip you can produce that extra."

"I'm late, Steve. And I need to get back. So drop those shorts, and toss them to me..."

"Master...?"

"You heard me! Now, do it. I see the whip is here, and I'm going to put Billy-Joe's theories to the test as I really do need to get home in time for my call. Now, run on...."

It felt funny to be running naked again, with my dick flopping up and down and my balls swinging against my thighs, and as master Rafe shouted "faster", I increased my pace until I was sprinting along, my long legs taking huge strides over the paved surface and my lungs sucking in the cooling night air. But as the land started to rise, I inevitably slowed as I had to start to raise the weight of the rickshaw and master Rafe vertically.

I wasn't expecting the first stroke when it came, and, as I had in the past, I involuntarily shouted, and shot forward. "Interesting!", I heard master Rafe say, then the second blow fell, and the third....

He whipped me all the way home. And unlike Billy-Joe who tired easily and where the strokes tended to decrease in intensity, master Rafe was fit and tough so the power of them never varied. And his aim was deadly - I couldn't hope for the occasional lash to catch the shafts. He also clearly didn't believe the bit about whipping only the butt, as the lashes fell over my shoulders, lower back, butt and thighs (where it really hurts!). I'd have screamed if I could, but I desperately needed all the air I could get, to keep going.

I don't know how I made it up the hill. By the time I stopped outside his house I was almost beyond knowing where I was or what I was doing. My heart was pounding, I was sucking air in great draughts (although these hurt as they came in to my lungs, which felt as if they were on fire). I no longer knew where I was hurting most, as the whole of the rear of me was one solid mass of pain. And all I could do was sink to the ground as cramps developed in my legs, and just lie there, completely broken.

Richie and one of the other guards were sent out to drag me indoors, and I needed their help to get under the shower. My back wasn't just sore and covered in the red weals you expect from the whip - the intensity of master Rafe's punishment had broken the skin all over me, and my body was covered in a film of my blood. As they gently soaped me, I had fresh hurt from the soap as it stung in the whiplash wounds, and I cried out feebly. Then, to my amazement, Richie had one more thing to do - the enema tube was produced, and he started the process of cleaning me out, that had been so familiar in my days as Billy-Joe's potential fuck toy. I was too tired to protest, too tired to resist - all I wanted to do was lie down and rest, but Richie gently insisted that it was our owner's orders, and that I had to go through the whole process of four washings.

By the end I did manage to stand upright, but when I saw my body in the mirror by the door, I was horrified - blood was still oozing out from all over my back, butt and thighs and I knew it would take a long time for the wounds to heal. I was almost numb now from the pain, it was so intense: the body tries to protect itself, I suppose. It couldn't get any worse, I thought. I was expecting Richie and the other slave to lead me to the dorm, but instead I was taken back over to master Rafe's house, and in through the slave door and up the slave stairs to the top floor. They left me standing outside the door of master Rafe's bedroom, where I'd been before.

My owner came bounding up the stairs, went into his room, and ordered me to follow. He sat on the edge of the crisp white bed and started to undress, and I stood in front of him, trying to hold the "rest" position whilst keeping my hands away from my stinging butt.

"I'm not usually impressed by Billy-Joe's actions, Steve", he said conversationally, as he sat there undoing the buttons on his formal white shirt. "But the idea that a slave unwillingly holds back, even if he genuinely doesn't mean to, and can be encouraged to give that bit extra by the proper use of the whip, does seem to hold true. I saw how utterly exhausted you were when we got back here, and even though I think you're a good slave and genuinely try to do your best, I don't think we'd have accomplished that run without the pain you suffered."

"You and I have unfinished business", he continued, rising to his feet to drop his pants. "I let you off the formal taking of your cherry last time, as you were so obviously terrified. But now the time has come - I can't have a slave here who doesn't fit in properly, and I don't want to lose you. So I'm going to use a little theory of my own, based on Billy-Joe's."

He was naked now, and erect, and he called me through into his dressing room. I hadn't been in there before, but it was a large-ish space, lined with closets for his clothes. There was a leather armchair, and, in the middle of the room, one of the standard barrel-style flogging horses.

"Over the horse, Steve....", he said calmly, and when I hesitated, his tone became firmer. "Look, Steve, its inevitable that you're going to get fucked. Now, we can do this one of two ways - I can get the guards in here and have you forced across the horse and your wrists and ankles manacled to the legs to hold you there. Or you can decide that you're a man, a real man, a man who faces life and doesn't duck the difficult decisions."

He was looking at me intently, hopefully, and I knew what I had to do. I stepped forward, and lay my belly across the horse and let my fingers and toes scrape the floor on either side. Master Rafe came and knelt down and I saw his dick bobbing up and down with excitement as he adjusted the screws on the legs to move my body down to a convenient height for him.

He came and knelt by my head, which was lolling down, and raised my chin so he could stare into my eyes. Very calmly, very quietly, in a tone that didn't seem to expect anything other than compliance, he said "I was proud of you this afternoon, Steve. I was proud at how you took that whipping, at how you gave me absolutely everything you had, so that I could get beck here for my important call. I know I had to whip you to get you to do it, but I understand that that wasn't your problem, it's a general human reaction. I was proud that you chose to serve me, chose to take it, when you could just have dropped the shafts and run off - when master Billy-Joe whipped you he had you manacled so that you couldn't resist, didn't he? I needed no manacles this afternoon, as you want to be a good slave to me, don't you, Steve?"

I hadn't thought of it like that, but I could see the sense in what he was saying. "Yes, master", I whispered, very sincerely, "I do want to be a good slave."

"And you have been, Steve. You work hard and well here for me. But we have to do this one thing, the one thing that shows you are totally subject to my will, that you completely accept that I have the absolute right to do whatever I want to your body. Do you understand, Steve?"

"Yes, master."

"Now I know it's difficult for you. There's something that's got turned on in your mind that says you won't take dick. And we've got to correct that, haven't we?

I can't have a slave who doesn't accept, willingly, that I have the right to do to him whatever I want. I know you have no hang-ups about sex, as we have enjoyed each other in my bed. So we need to work on this one thing, don't we? You need me to fuck you, don't you, Steve?"

I thought about this. It was tough. Haltingly, I whispered "I guess so, master..."

"That's what I mean, Steve! Listen to you.... Is that the way a slave answer his owner? Would a proper slave answer anything other than 'Yes, master'? No... this ridiculous dick thing is poisoning your whole life. You'll never be a happy, totally obedient slave until we have this fixed. As a responsible owner I owe it to you, Steve, to make sure you're not suffering unnecessarily - and I think you are suffering, even though you don't know it, because of this flaw in your mind. In your own interests, Steve, I'm going to take you through this so that you come out of the other side as a complete, whole person, not someone who is stunted by some imagined terror of sex.

There are too many men in America who fear proper sex and who never even get as far as you have in enjoying another man's body - but I want you to be happy and relaxed. I want you to be able to really enjoy sex, Steve. So I'm going to fuck you, and get you to lose that silly inhibition once and for all. You do understand that I'm doing this for your benefit, don't you, Steve?"

I thought about it again, and began to see the logic of it. Rather more calmly I said "Yes, master."

He ruffled my hair gently. "Good, Steve. I knew you had the makings of a good slave. Now, it's going to be tough. Are you man enough to take it, or shall I lightly shackle you, just your wrists?"

"No, master: fuck me - I can take it."

"It's not just the fucking, Steve. I'm going to get you to give me that extra few percent. I'm going to take you to that heightened state you were in this afternoon, and then fuck you. I'm going to have to whip you again - well, not whip, as there isn't room in here for a really good long shot, so I'll use a cane - until your body is crying out for relief and your mind has stopped holding anything physical back. Then I'll fuck you. Can you take that pain, Steve, like a man, voluntarily? Or perhaps it would be best to hold you down on the horse...?"

"Master, I took the whip this afternoon without shackles. Do as you must, master, please, do it."

He ruffled my hair again and I felt his strong fingers kneading my scalp in a gesture that was both encouraging and sympathetic, and yet masterful.

He only caned my butt and my thighs, but he had a four foot long, flexible Malacca cane. And as I have told you, he was very fit and strong, and had recovered from his exertions earlier, unlike me. The cane whistled down again and again, turning my already bloodied butt and thighs into a red pulp of injured and agonised flesh. I cried out initially and screamed, so intense was the pain, but soon my throat gave out - there are only so many screams you can make when your voice is at full pitch - and I just lay there moaning and sobbing. I don't think I lost consciousness, although I may have, for a few seconds at a time. I wanted to get up, to run out of the room, or at least to stay his hand and stop the torture I was undergoing, and it took all my strength of character just to lie there, my body bucking under its own volition as the blows rained down on me.

I thought it would never end. I have no idea how long it lasted really. I absolutely lost track of the number of times the cane fell across me. I only know that I was reduced to a quivering, whimpering piece of flesh, draped across the flogging horse. At first I had needed my will power to remain there, and now I didn't think I could move, even if I had wanted to. The world had gone away - all there was in my universe was the feeling of the wood of the horse against my belly, and the agony from my butt and thighs. The only sounds I could focus on were the swish of the cane, and the sound of my owner's breath as he exerted himself again and again. Nothing else mattered to me now except my master, and what he was doing to me - every other thought, every other care, every other feeling, vanished under the onslaught of what he was doing to me.

And then he fucked me.

Incredibly, I felt it. I felt his dick pushing into my sphincter. I felt that initial stab of additional pain as his dick head broke through. I felt the heat of his shaft against my sensitive flesh. I felt the agony as his pubic bone slammed again and again into my tortured, bleeding, shattered butt as he fucked me.

I felt his hands holding my back to steady himself, hands that slipped in my blood, and sent new waves of pain through me from my wounds.

This was no gentle fuck, no lover's mingling of dick and ass. This was a simple, straight forward, hard fuck - when one man forces his dick into another, then fucks away, concerned only for his own pleasure; fucks hard and strong, with long, quick strokes that at once excite, and hurt. It didn't go on for long, though, a master Rafe was so aroused before he started and he simply could not hold off from climaxing. I heard his own great shout of "Oh yes, Steve... Oh yes... Of Jesus fucking Christ... I'm cumming....", and then it was over.

Fresh waves of pain went through me as he collapsed his body forward over my beaten, bleeding back, and his hot breath was panting all over my neck. He lay there like that for what must have been minutes, then he whispered "Steve, it's over. You did it. Thank you, slave..."

"Master?"

"Steve, you did it - you lay there and took it. I drove your brain to new areas with the cane, and then in that heightened state you voluntarily took my dick.

So now there's no more to fear, is there?"

He stood up and pulled out of me, then came and helped me to stand upright. He looked into my eyes, then leaned forward, and kissed me. I responded instantly.

This was no contrivance, no artificial way of trying to curry favour with my owner. I responded naturally, completely, and thrust my tongue into him, to return his passion.

I pulled back, and knelt in front of him. His dick, covered in his cum and my sweat and my blood, was in front of my face. I licked at it gently, lovingly. This was my master's dick, the dick that had conquered me, and it felt right to kneel and worship it. I wanted to have it in me again, to hold it , to feel it. It was no longer a threat, it was the instrument of my master's ownership and control over me. His hands ruffled my hair again as I knelt there, my arms around his butt so that I could pull his dick and balls close to me, and he muttered "Steve, Steve... Is it OK?"

"Master, yes. You are really my master now. Thank you, master. Thank you, thank you, thank you.... I now know what real slavery is, master. Before, I just worked hard, but now I know that you care about me, that you want the best for me, that you want me to be a happy, true slave. And I am, master. I am your slave, in every way, master. Please..."

"Hey, Steve, calm down... What do you want...?"

"Please, master, please take me into your bed tonight.

Please use me, show me how you use a slave for your pleasure. Fuck me again, master, please. In your pleasure master, is mine..."

I was crying now with the released tension and emotion. Somehow I wasn't at all embarrassed at letting this man see me cry. I was his slave in every sense now - he not only owned me physically, owned every ounce of my flesh, but he had my devotion, my love.

End Of Part Twenty Five. YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part twenty six

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

GELDED?

Even though I was covered in blood and my body was writhing in pain, he took me into the bedroom and we lay on the crisp white sheets - sheets that were soon red all over from my blood. I suppose one of the advantages of owning household slaves is that you don't have to bother about things like that, as there's someone else to clear away the mess.

He didn't fuck me again that night, and I didn't fuck him - it was almost too painful to move, let alone engage in sexual athletics. But we lay for hours, kissing, stroking each others dicks, and just generally enjoying that wonderful sensation of being close to another man, of feeling his skin against yours, of having his hair y body rub against your own... Well, I suppose if I was really truthful it wasn't all that great for me, as every time I moved it tore at the scabs that were forming on my multiple wounds. But I didn't want to spoil the atmosphere, to break away form this unique time with my owner. He sensed my discomfort, though, ever time my body twitched uncontrollably, and did all he could to make me comfortable. And when he sucked me to climax, he did so very gently so that the touch of his lips against my dick head was almost like a feather.

The next morning I was in a bad way, and he wanted to send for the doctor. But I felt certain it was only pain and stiffness from the beating I was suffering, and the blood that was oozing out from me was only as a result of some of the scabs breaking off as I tried to get to my feet, exposing the raw flesh once more.

When she brought his morning tea, Luella screamed with fright, as she thought at first I had injured our owner as his body was covered in blood, and he had to reassure her that he was all right, and that it was my blood. He wanted me to rest that day, but I wanted to work, to serve him. And I wanted the other slaves to see my body, to understand that this is what a slave could take if he truly served his owner. So we compromised: he wouldn't make me run, but I pulled him around the establishment just walking (I won't tell you how difficult that was anyway, as every tiny movement caused waves of pain to sweep through me. But I was serving him, and that was all that mattered).

It took three weeks for my body to heal properly, three weeks in which we spent more and more time together. At first, he only had me in his bed to fuck, but gradually every night I would be summoned over to his house and spend longer and longer times with him. By the end of that month I no longer had a place in the slave dorm, and it was understood that I was now master Rafe's fuck boy, and lived with him totally. At one time I'd have been horrified if other men had referred to me as someone's "fuck boy", but now I was proud, proud that my owner valued me in this way and that he wanted to be so close to my body. And, of course, I wasn't just fucked - we soon discovered a mutual delight in each other, and I fucked him just as often as he fucked me. We spent so much time together that even when his bruises from the fall from is horse had vanished and the horse was recovered too, he decided not to resume riding: "After all, Steve, having you run along in front of me, so I can see that body of yours, keeps me hard all day - I keep thinking of what we're going to do once work is over!"

I revelled in the work. As well as pulling master Rafe, I took classes in gymnastics and running for the slaves, and my body was superlatively fit. And I had this fantastic, unbelievable, totally mind-blowing sex every night with the man who owned me and whom I adored. We lay in each others arms taking about everything, and there were so secrets between us - I could be totally open with this man, couldn't I, as I loved him, and he owned me. But somehow there was a tension - only a slight one - but a tension nevertheless. It was as if master Rafe had some secret part of him that he was holding back.

One night, at around three in the morning, I woke up and felt that he too was awake. I whispered "Master.... Shall we.....", and reached out for his dick to fondle it and encourage him to tell me what sort of sex he'd like. But he didn't respond, and his dick remained limp in my hand. I raised myself up on one elbow to look down into his face, and with a worried tone said "Master... What is it? Is it something I've done....?"

"No, Steve. Don't fret. There's something I need to work out, that's all."

"Master, can I help? Please... Let me do whatever needs to be done..."

"Steve, you can't help. Not on this one. It's something I have to think through. Now, go to sleep..."

"Master, please, no.. .you're worried. I can tell. Please..."

"Steve, get to sleep! Leave me alone. That's an order!"

I was shocked, as he never ordered me around in the bedroom. Of course when we were working, I expected him to command and me to obey, but in the bedroom we always treated each other just a buddies, real buddies, and did everything together. Well, at least, it was often me who was in charge actually - I guess a lot of powerful men who spend all day making decisions really like to "turn off" in bed, and if they're with a younger guy, or one of a lower social status, they don't mind being told what to do in a way they'd never tolerate in real life. However he'd never commanded me before like that. But what was I supposed to do? I spooned up against him, and put my arms around him to try to show him I was there, that I was near. But I could tell he wasn't sleeping, and I, too, lay awake worrying about why my owner was so troubled.

The next night after I'd fucked him and we were in that wonderful companionable state you get into when you've just been totally intimate with each other, I tried again. "Master, we've been together like this now for six months. I'm your slave, master, but I thought I was also your friend... The things we've done, the things we've told each other... I've never been so close to another person in my whole life, never. Please, master, what's wrong? You can tell me, we're buddies, aren't we?"

I felt his body stiffen, as if I'd hit on the root of the problem.

"Oh Steve! If only you knew! I like you, Steve, I even think I love you. And it's not just that love that comes from owning you, the love that owners have for their possessions. If things were different...."

"Master.... Are you going to sell me? If you are, I'll hate it, it will hurt me, wound me... But I'll understand... You're my owner, you do the right thing by me..."

He laughed, and slapped my butt playfully as he liked to do. "Don't be stupid! Sell you? The best fuck in the state? No, I'd be mad! And, anyway, who'd buy you? All those tattoos... It's only me that's learned to put up with them in bed..."

I could tell that he was joking, and relaxed. We tussled playfully together for a bit, and I slapped his butt, too. But soon I was resting on my elbows looking down at him, and asked again "So please, master, what's the problem?"

"Steve, you can't understand. I know you genuinely love me. And I love you. But we can't really be 'buddies', can we, not like two guys who find each other at school, college, work, or the gym, start to spend time with each other, and then realise they want to spend all their time together? You're a slave, I'm your owner, and we just can't be buddies - you know what they day, 'You can't be friends with a slave', and I'm afraid that's true. We can be lovers, really close, live together.. .but friends, buddies, no. It just doesn't work."

"That's OK, master - I don't care, just as long as I'm with you..."

"Sometimes, Steve, I think you really haven't adapted to being the perfect slave you like to make out you are! It's OK for you, yes. But what about me? It's not OK for me! And you ought to think about that."

I sat up in bed, and looked at him. And he looked up at me. What was I supposed to do? There was one of those agonising silences. It went on and on. Finally, he broke it - I think he saw there was no solution, and he decided to try to lighten the mood. "Well, if we can't be buddies, we can at least be lovers....", he said as he grabbed at my dick, and we had another great night together.

It's amazing how time passes, isn't it? We went along, lovers, but somehow not "buddies". I worked hard, I pulled maser Rafe around, and he did stud me with Louella, too - although by then he and I were so close that he didn't want a large audience watching. "Steve", he told me on the day she was in season and ready for impregnating, "I don't want the whole world seeing that lovely butt of yours pounding away, that's something reserved for my eyes only."

It was faintly disgusting, actually - I never thought I'd think like that, but after you're used to the feel and scent of a man in bed, going with a woman just doesn't feel right. I got it over with as quickly as possible - she lay on the cleared desktop in master Rafe's study, and I stood at the end and just fucked her quickly and economically, whilst our owner watched with a look of faint amusement on his face. That night in bed I was a bit rough with him as, to tell you the truth, I didn't think he should have ordered me to do that. After I'd pulled out of him I straddled his chest and made him lick my dick clean, which I didn't usually do. I mean, he said it was only to get a good price for the half-breed kid, but there are limits to what you ought to make your buddy do for money, aren't there?

"Steve, I know you're pissed off", he said, smiling, "But how long are you going to keep punishing me for "

I'd moved back a bit so that my ass was over his belly, and I was taking most of my weight on my knees.

And as he spoke he moved his hard dick under me and started teasing my hole with it, something I find almost irresistibly sexy. "You know I do need to make a profit here, and Louella does need a pregnancy - it doesn't do girls her age any good to go unsatisfied. Getting you to stud her is the most cost-effective solution, as the kid will fetch a lot more as a 'breed than it would as a pure black. And you always used to tell me how you were fucking women before enslavement, and how Billy-Joe studded you all the time..."

"Yes, master, but that's before we met, before...."

"Oh, I see! I'm supposed to turn down profit just because Steve's feelings might be hurt... It's not as if you used up all your cum on her, as there was more than enough for me just now... Get off me, you hunk, and let me fuck your brains out, and then see if you're still pissed off..."

And, of course, in the joy and passion of our love making, all was forgotten. Or, at least, I thought that everything was fine.

It was the evening before my thirtieth birthday. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to be "free" - not that it mattered, being the slave of master Rafe was better. He'd been away for a couple of days on business, visiting the slave dealers out of state who shipped us batches of young slaves for training, he said. And so I had been doing a lot of running and gymnastics with the trainees.

Richie came running up, and said that I was to go over to the house immediately, as there was trouble! My heart went into overdrive, as I thought something must have happened to master Rafe, and I literally sprinted the distance in my anxiety. There, standing in the yard, was a truck from UPS, and two burly guards.

As I ran up, and began to ask what was wrong, the first one snapped "Manners, boy! You're a fucking slave, aren't you? Get to "rest" and stand there silent, until you're questioned."

"This is supposed to be a fucking training place for slaves", he grumbled to his companion, "And look at how this slave who's on the staff behaves. No wonder the young slaves you see nowadays have no manners."

"No", the other agreed, "It was different a few years back - young slaves, no, all slaves, knew their place properly then."

As he spoke and I stood there, he grabbed hold of my arm and read my SIN from my tattoo, and checked it against the paperwork he was holding. "Yes, this looks like the one."

Gruffly he snapped at me "Are you the slave known as Steve?"

I felt like telling him that he was an ignorant oaf, of little intelligence. There, across my front, in huge letters, was "Steve".

To my amazement, he slapped my face, hard, and I had to really restrain myself from striking him back. "Answer me, slave! Have you got no manners? You'd better learn to do as you're told when you're with us... I see your owner lets you use a discipliner, so you know what they're all about... But ours are set on 'high'. Now, let's try again... Are you the slave known as 'Steve'?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's better. Right, shrug those shorts. We always carry slaves naked."

"Sir, please..."

"Yes?"

"Please, sir, there must be some mistake. I'm a trainer here, owned by master Rafe. He's away on business, but he said nothing about my leaving. I'm sure there's been some mistake..."

The two men laughed at each other, and one said "Here we go again! They all think that. Their owners tire of them, and they can't believe it. They always think there's been some mistake or other, even if we show them the movement order with their SIN on it. They don't seem to realise that it can save a lot of needless stress for the owner if the slave is removed whilst he's away. If I'd got a slave who was big and strong, and of whom I was tired, I think I'd have him carted off whilst I was out of the way... Leaving the job to professionals like us is much the best way of ridding yourself of an unwanted slave."

Looking to me, he went on "Now, boy, let's have no nonsense. I don't want to have to stun you with the discipliner. There's been no mistake - I've checked your SIN, and your name is Steve. And the owner ordering the move is a master Rafe, and the address is right..... Now, shuck those shorts..."

I was in panic, in despair... I didn't know what to do. Master Rafe wouldn't be disposing of me. Or, f he was, he'd have told me - he was a real man, not afraid of doing things like that if he had to. And we were close, lovers, had been for ages.... We lived together, worked together, joked together, ate together, fucked together.... He wouldn't be doing this to me.

"No, please, sir... Call the office, check...."

I didn't get any further, as the discipliner poked into my navel and fired. I fell to the ground, twitching and retching (it's best not to use the discipliner near the guts, and especially not in that most sensitive part, the navel). One of the guards aimed a kick at me, and the force of his boot catching me firmly in the butt moved me at least a couple of inches.

"Get up, boy, unless you want more....", he snapped.

I struggled to my feet, and stood there, clutching my stomach.

"Now, shuck those shorts, and let's get on - we've got some other collections to do today."

It's not that I'm shy about my body or anything - how could I be, after my life as a slave already? But it felt odd to have to forcibly strip in front of these two free men in their guards' uniforms. They looked me up and down, and one said to the other "Hey... Fantastic.... Shall we fuck him on the way back... I haven't had myself a white slave ass for a few weeks, and this one is in great shape - look at his body tone, and look at that butt.... It just begs for a free man's dick, don't you think?"

"You're right, but we're late already - and you know the new bonus system... If we're more than ten minutes late, we don't get the extra five per cent. Think you can fuck this one in less than ten minutes? No, make that five, as I want a turn, too."

"No. I need time to appreciate an ass like that. Let's just take him as he is and deliver him, and see if the guards there couldn't be persuaded to let us back in when our shift is over, for a nice leisurely evening's entertainment...."

They both laughed, and I felt sick again. What was happening? Why was master Rafe doing this to me? Was I just going to be used as some fuck toy by these oafs? I realised how utterly powerless a slave was once he was in the hands of officialdom - these men could rape me, and no one would know, no one would care. I was only a slave, and I didn't matter. No doubt men got jobs as security guards and jailers as there would always be a supply of fresh slave ass for them to fuck, whenever they wanted. What could I do? Nothing.

"OK, boy - in the truck, and in the cage...."

I looked around, and Richie and several of the other guards and trainers were all standing there watching. They seemed as horrified as I was. I thought of calling out to them, telling them to come and overpower these guards, to let me go free. I'm sure they would, I'm sure they'd see that there was something wrong and stop it. I was going to open my mouth to call to them when one of the guards held a ball gag up to me and snapped "Open wide!"

When I didn't immediately react he rested the tip of his discipliner in my navel again, and reached down and squeezed my balls, hard. "Now, you fucking slave, open your God-dammed mouth! Do I have to give you every order twice?"

He held all the cards, didn't he? He could really hurt me by squeezing my sac, and if I was violent, he'd use the discipliner. So I opened my mouth, he pushed the ball in behind my teeth, crushing my tongue to the floor of my mouth, and I felt his companion behind me fastening the straps behind my head so I couldn't eject it. Perhaps it was just as well I couldn't shout to the others - if they had done as I asked, they would have been in terrible trouble. A slave revolt was always something that was feared in the south, especially as the number of slaves began to rise and exceed the number of free men, and any suggestion of mass disobedience always resulted in only one sentence for those taking part: death. I wouldn't want that for my loyal, hardworking companions.

Inside the truck it was hot and sweaty, and the interior was divided into a number of barred "cells", some of which were already holding a naked slave, gagged, like me. The guard opened one of the cells and pushed me in, then locked the door. I could only just stand upright, being a tall guy, and there was almost no room to move around at all, as I am quite big. I stood there, and held the bars and shook them, feeling impotent rage sweep over me. Why had master Rafe done this to me? What had I done to upset him? I thought through all the things I'd done in the past few months, all the conversations we'd had, all the times I'd been a bit rough with him in bed, all the times I hadn't immediately realised when he'd gone from being playful to serious and so hadn't instantly obeyed him.....

Even taken all together, they didn't justify doing this to me, sending me away, without even an explanation, or a goodbye. But of course there's the catch, that trap of slavedom. Just thinking those thoughts showed that I wasn't a proper slave. A slave has no right to expect his owner to be "fair". A slave shouldn't expect explanations from his owner. A slave just obeys, and puts up with whatever his owner orders. My act of thinking these thoughts showed me why master Rafe was disposing of me: I wasn't a proper slave at all. He was right to be tired of me, right to give up on the task of ensuring I was a proper slave. My outward actions, in working hard for him, and in being his devoted lover, weren't enough. I'd failed, in spite of all my protestations that I was a good and loyal slave, in that first essential - I was still thinking un-slavelike thoughts. I instantly fell into a mood of deep depression. All my time these past years had been wasted. I'd been happy - using my body, no worries, great sex - and all the time I'd been making master Rafe unhappy as he'd seen that it was all outward show, that, deep down, I still had the thoughts of a free man. No wonder he no longer wanted to own me.

They slammed the back door of the truck, and we were utterly in the dark. It drove off, and I just had to stand there, holding the bars of my cage, until we stopped, the doors opened, and another poor slave was put in and caged, like me. We could none of us speak, as we were all gagged, but we could reach through the bars and clasp each others hands in some sort of gesture of humanity.

At the sorting centre it was clear that they just considered us to be goods to be transhipped as quickly and as easily as possible. On arrival a guard read my SIN and keyed it in to his hand-held PC, then took a bar-coded routing tag from his desk, and scanned it so that its code was associated with me. To my shock he attached it to my left tit - the tag had a kind of screw fastener on the end of it, rather like on some ladies' earrings, and he just pushed it over my nip and screwed the end shut. I winced, and put my hand up to stop him as he tightened it, but he waved his discipliner at me and told me to stand still. We were cuffed then, and sent to join a line of slaves who were shuffling through the giant depot.

I suppose by their standards we were well treated. It was a shock to have to stand there over the open bars of a communal shit pit again and crap along with a load of other guys - at least when I'd been living with master Rafe he'd let me use the bathroom that we shared, and even in the slave dorms there were proper lavatory bowls (but no privacy, of course). We were hosed down to clean us, and then watered and fed - the ball gags had a hole in the middle of them, and a slave told us to kneel when we got to the feeding station, so that he could insert a thin tube through the gag and the slave mash could then be pumped into us. And then we shuffled on, all of us naked, all of us pushed closely together so you couldn't avoid touching the guy in front with your dick, and you felt the guy behind stabbing at your butt with his.

The bar-coded tags routed us and gradually we were split in to different lines - it was just like those automated parcels sorting facilities you see the US Mail using, except that they didn't need conveyors and so on - the "parcels" here were capable of walking along by themselves. And finally I was in another truck, in the same type of cage, "outbound". I stood there, wondering where I was headed - to one of the auction houses, probably: although I was not as valuable as my body warranted, because of my tattoos, I supposed I had some value, and master Rafe had always spoken of the need to keep the place profitable - look at the way he'd studded me with Louella, in spite of being his lover.

I didn't relish the thought of having to stand there naked, my hands chained behind my neck, and my ankle manacled to the floor, as the buyers inspected and fondled me. But perhaps I'd get a good, kind master - one like I used to think master Rafe was. I'd work hard, I'd work intelligently - I had the capacity to be a good slave. But on the other hand perhaps no one would buy me, and then I'd be sent to the mines, who bought up job lots of otherwise unsaleable slaves: the thought of spending the rest of my life deep underground, crawling around on my hands and knees, never again seeing the light of day, was too awful - I'm mildly claustrophobic, and I didn't think I could survive being trapped in low corridors, with the feeling of the earth pressing all around me.

The reality, however, was worse - I was delivered back to the courthouse, where I'd first been enslaved. I knew there was only one reason why slaves went back to court after enslavement - their masters needed to get a court order to "calm" them. Master Rafe was going to have me turned into a eunuch, to take my balls.

I stood there in impotent fury - it wasn't fair! I'd done nothing wrong! He had no right to take a guy's manhood. Why couldn't he just have let me work normally for him as a trainer, if he was tired of me in bed? Why couldn't he just have sold me to someone else? Even being sold to a male brothel would be preferable to losing my manhood. The bastard. The utter fucker.... I could have wept, I could have screamed, I wanted to cry out at the sheer injustice of it all, at the inhumanity of treating another guy like this, especially one who'd been your lover for so long. But perhaps this was his revenge - he was going to have me gelded and fitted with prosthetic balls so I "looked right", and then put me back to work. All the other guards and trainers would know I wasn't a proper man any longer, and they'd all laugh at me - after I'd spent so long fucking them all, they'd realise I was no longer a man, and would gang up on me and simply use me as a receptacle for their cum. I'd become their plaything, and every night in the dorm they'd fuck me until I was raw, and fill my throat wit their semen. I'd never know again what it was like to feel a hard erection of my own, or that amazing sensation as your cum shoots along your sick and fly out of your dick. And then it struck me again - I'd thought of myself as master Rafe's loyal slave, his best slave, and now I hated him, blamed him.... That wasn't right - a slave didn't do that. If his master wanted him gelded, why not? His master owns his balls, doesn't he? But somehow I just couldn't make these thoughts seem right. No, I might be a slave, but I was also a man. And one man has no right to order the taking of another's manhood.

The delivery driver had the court official sign for me, just like a piece of merchandise, which, I suppose, I was, legally. Then I was taken down to the holding area under the cells, as my case was not due to go before the court until the following morning, my birthday. I recognised the court official - that officer Hughes - who'd treated me so differently before and after my enslavement, and he took a good hard look at me.

"I remember you", he said. "That voluntary enslavement guy, who'd thought he could beat the system! Well, boy, it doesn't look as if you did too well, does it?" As he spoke, he ran the tip of his finger along the brand on my butt, and then lightly traced out my name tattooed on my belly.

"Your owner sure did want everyone to know you're a slave, didn't he? We hardly get any slaves branded these days, and I haven't seen a good big tattoo like that for a long time. And I seem to remember thinking what a great dick you had - did they 'skin you, too, like all slaves are?"

I nodded.

"OK, boy, well, you're here all night, so let's get you comfortable...."

He undid the screw holding my routing tag on my nip, and I wanted to scream with the pain as the blood rushed back in. Then he undid the straps holding the ball gag in, and helped me eject it from my mouth.

"Now, boy, are you going to be sensible? We can do this one of two ways - I can either leave you cuffed all night, or I can take the cuffs off. But, if I do, you've got to promise me you'll behave, OK?"

"Why should I?" I was astounded at my boldness. It was a long time since I'd dared to speak to a free man like that, but I had nothing left to lose now, after all.

He simply touched me with his discipliner, and I fell to the ground, screaming and twitching.

He stood over me, and snarled "We get a lot of slaves like you down here - you're on your way out as a man, boy, and you know it, don't you? Is your master applying for gelding, or death? Either way, don't think you can misbehave. You're a fucking slave, and you behave like one, understand."

"Get fucked!", I snapped. What did it matter now?

"We have a way of reminding slaves brought here that they're still slaves, even if they're about to become none-men", he said, smiling evilly. Now, no nice cell for you.... Into one of the pillories instead!"

He goaded me along using his discipliner to make me move where he wanted into the cell area, and in addition to the normal cells with their pallets and lavatories, there were a number of posts hanging down from the ceiling each with a horizontal metal thing at its end.

He stood me behind one of these, and raised its top - the horizontal bar had three semi-circles cut in it, and he told me to put my wrists and neck into them. He pushed the top down, and locked it, and I saw now why it was called a stocks - it was a modern variation of the old way of holding a man immobile, using the idea of suspension from the ceiling, rather than on a post up from the ground, so that my body was unencumbered.

"Now, boy, you're going to see what discomfort is....."

A set of buttons on the wall could raise or lower the thing form the ceiling, and soon I was standing there half bent over - there was just no way I could get comfortable as I couldn't kneel, and couldn't stand upright.

"Once you've been bent like that for a couple of hours you'll wish you'd have been a bit more civil", he told me. "And, of course, you're pretty dammed helpless".

I just glared at him, and wriggled my writsts and neck angrily. "Fuck you", I almost spat out.

He smacked my butt, hard. He was a tough guy, and it hurt as he took a big swing at me. I jerked forward, but couldn't really move at all because my neck and wrists were held so tightly. "Been spanked before, boy?", he asked casually.

"Yes, sir." I decided to be a little more prudent. He held all the cards.

"A long time ago, I'll bet - there's no sign of bruising on that butt of yours."

He was right, of course. Although master Rafe still did use the whip occasionally to "encourage" me when I was pulling him around and he was in a real hurry, it had been a couple of weeks since the last time. And to us it had become sort of a game - a little light whipping during the working day was a signal to me that master Rafe wanted good hard sex that night.

At that moment another guard came in through the door.

I'd say that officer Hughes was one of the "old school" - he'd probably come out of the army or something and joined the court guards as he wanted an easier life, but still liked the uniform and so on. This guy, though, was different - although he wore the same uniform as officer Hughes, it somehow looked totally different: crisper and smarter, and his boots were highly polished. It fitted in all the right places, whereas Officer Hughes' kind of sagged and bagged. It all said "graduate hire" - straight from some course on slave management at a fancy college, and into the service here. He intended to make a career of it, and to rise through the ranks, and to rise quickly as a college guy would expect to. I remembered how I'd been when I moved south after college, and went into work every day, smartly dressed and bright eyed, waiting to move up the ladder: how fucking different things had turned out.

He came over to me, and with no preamble at all reached for my dick and ran his hand around the flange and the head, and stroked the piss slit, making me squirm. "Keep still, slave", he commanded, "Unless you want me to stick my discipliner up your ass, on full power."

He cupped my balls and rolled them around, and I was terrified - unlike master Rafe, who I trusted as he'd handled hundreds of sets of slaves' balls, I suspected this new officer didn't really know what he was doing and at any moment I expected to be in agony.

"Nice!", he commented to Hughes. "Is this the case for tomorrow morning? Do we know why he's here?"

"No", Hughes replied. "The charge sheet didn't come down. I was just told to expect a slave, and the paperwork all matches, the SIN's right, and so on. But you know how it is - there's only one reason a master sends a slave back here - gelding."

"Yes, a pity. It's a long time since I felt balls like those." He turned to me and went on "So, slave, what did you do to make your owner want to have you gelded? A slave like you, well hung, must be fun in bed.... Or did you go after some of the women slaves... Either way, it seems a pity to be losing them."

I just stood there, and he went around behind me and there was a vicious slap across my butt, causing me to grunt in shock. He hadn't used his hand as Hughes did, but stood in front of me again with a flexible leather paddle.

"Did your owner take your tongue out, slave? I expect a answer to my questions. Now, did you do something wrong in bed with your owner, or were you chasing women? Slaves aren't allowed to do that, you know..."

"Sir, I don't know."

"They all say that", Hughes said, laughingly. "You'd think we only ever gelded totally innocent slaves here!"

"Well you will be this time!", I shouted. "I haven't done anything. I'm a good slave. I loved my owner. I worked hard..." My protests were cut short by two more stinging blows to my butt.

"Shut the fuck up, slave!", the new officer snapped. "I can see why your owner's having you gelded - you're much too uppity. Don't you know the first thing about slave behaviour? That a slave just answers a free man simply and clearly?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, as you know the rules, you must have deliberately broken them a moment ago. So I think a little more punishment is in order. Or should it be pleasure? "

"You know", he went on, turning to Hughes, "I think a man deserves a bit of fun on his last night as a proper man, don't you? Shall we give him a good time?"

Hughes nodded, his big face breaking out into a grin. The new officer pulled a coin out of his pocket, and tossed it. Usual way... "Heads or tails", he said.

They looked at the coin and agreed it was "heads". Officer Hughes went to the switch on the wall, and the bar came further down so that I was bent more than double. He fiddled with it a bit, raising it a fraction then lowering it again, then came and stood in front of me. His crotch was right in front of my face.

"Right, boy", he said. " It was 'heads', so I get to fuck your throat, and the other officer here gets to ream your ass. Now I want a lot of pleasure - and I mean a lot, understand? And if I feel your teeth on my dick even once, you'll wish you were never born."

"Any special instructions from the other end?", he called out laughingly to his fellow.

"Just let's get on with it, shall we, Hughes?", the guy snapped back. "My dick feels as if it's going to burst, now I've seen this one's ass."

So they fucked me, together, one down my throat, one up my ass, and there wasn't a blind thing I could do about it. I was a slave, I was their prisoner, I was buried in the depths of the courthouse awaiting gelding, and there was no one to care, no one to stop them. It was the ultimate humiliation, the ultimate degradation - I had long ago ceased to be a free man, and now I was no longer even a respected slave, I was just a receptacle for their dicks.

And when they'd finished, they didn't even let me up to spend the rest of the night in a comfortable position. I had to stand there, bent double, feeling the officer's cum slide out of my hole and trickle down my thighs. When they patrolled the building, as they seemed to do every hour or so, they even delighted in slapping my butt as it was bent there for them, so available, and so utterly defenceless. I now knew the depths of lowliness to which a slave could sink, the totally callous way in which our society could treat a slave: once you were in their power, you were theirs, utterly and completely.

End Of Part Twenty Six.