YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part seventeen
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
EXPOSURE
When Charlie and Coon prepared me for my evening with Billy-Joe that night they didn't give me the usual slave shorts to wear afterwards. Instead, they pulled out another of the tiny pouches, and they commiserated with me as I had to stuff my dick and balls into it and stand there in front of them. They were told to stand outside the room again, and I went in alone.
Billy-Joe was slouched on the couch again as usual and the faithful Grunt was kneeling as he often did. with a beer held up for his owner.
"Ah, Steve! Glad to see you still like your new clothes. I bet it makes a difference, doesn't it? Is it a lot cooler?"
"Billy-Joe, how could you do this to me? It's not right, is it, doing this to your old friend? It's bad enough all the other stuff you've done to me, but this is taking it too far. Look, I could even accept that you want to keep me for a slave for a bit, but do you need to humiliate me like this?"
"Steve, watch your language! It's not up to you to 'accept' whether you remain a slave or not. You belong to me, remember? And I'll keep you a slave for as long as it suits me. And if you want me to be in a good mood about it, I'd advise you to watch your attitude. Now, come and sit down here by me...."
"I'd rather not..."
"Fucking slave! Do as you're told, before I get those two guard slaves in here and make you."
I lowered myself down onto the couch as gently as I could, because my butt was so incredibly tender after the constant whipping he'd given me. But however careful I was, I couldn't help wincing as the cold of the leather touched my delicate skin. Billy-Joe didn't notice, or didn't seem to notice, or pretended not to notice, then he sort of sidled up to me as I sat there.
"Now, Steve, I do like to see you like this", he commented. "Look at how good that scrap of white is between your bronzed thighs. It makes you altogether more exciting, you know. Somehow, having that tiny scrap of cloth attempting to hide your tackle emphasises it in some way. So, tell me, how is it, now that you're not soaked in sweat all the time?"
"Billy... Master - look, I've told you that it's fucking humiliating! I'd rather take a risk with damp shorts, than appear in public like this. Can't you see that?"
"Steve, you really don't understand, do you? You're my property, and I don't want you damaged. And it's for your own good I have you dressed like this - it would be awful if the insides of your thighs got all chapped and the skin started to flake. It wouldn't be good for you, and it wouldn't look nice. I do think about your welfare, you know. Now... Come here...."
He put his arm around my neck, pulled my head towards his and I got the reek of the stale beer fumes from his breath as he went to kiss me. At the same time he reached down and started to fondle my dick and balls through the pouch - or, rather , he started to wriggle his fingers down inside it, prodding and probing at my dick and balls. I hated it - it was bad enough when he did this to me when I was naked, but somehow having him groping me through the fabric was even worse. And there was no way he was going to kiss me! I tried to push him away, and that really upset him.
"Steve, that's not the way a slave behaves when his master is paying him the compliment of caressing his body! You should be pleased. Now, get up, and go and bend over the arm of the couch, as I think you need to be reminded of your real role, by a little lesson..."
Well, the lesson was that as I bent there, he clapped my butt with his open palm, several times, very hard. There's two problems with that - firstly, it's fucking humiliating to have your former best buddy spank you; and secondly, it hurt like hell! The big, open-handed slaps interacted with the weals and sores from his whipping to make me really be in agony.
When he allowed me to and up I was flushed with anger, and pain, and humiliation. I stood there, my limbs almost quivering with my pent-up anger and frustration, and Billy-Joe looked at me and said "Wow - fantastic! You look really roused, Steve. Now, kneel down, butt in the air, and let me fuck you."
I don't even know why I bothered. There was no way he was going to fuck me. But I knelt there obediently, and glanced at him as he dropped his boxers to reveal his flabby body. He knelt between my legs and ran his hands all over my back, up and down my ribs, grunting and groaning with the pleasure it gave him: I was repulsed by it. Then he bent right over me and whispered in my ear "Now for the best bit, Steve - I get to undress you,...."
The stench of his beer-laden breath was dreadful. And he fumbled at the knot holding the strings of my pouch together on my thigh - he seemed to be in almost a fever of impatience to undo it, and he couldn't. So he pulled the string down instead - it was reasonably tight in order to keep the thing on, and it really hurt as it scraped over my sore butt. And then, of course, as he started to fuck me, I reacted violently.
And it was really violent this time, extremely so - I reared up and almost threw him onto the ground, then fucked him as hard and fast as I could. Poor Grunt just knelt there watching - he didn't know what to do.
Should he try to help his owner, or call the guards, or what? But I knew he could see that Billy-Joe was enjoying it really - it was as if all the humiliation, all the spanking, all the attempts to fuck me, were just to incite this rage in me, so that I would use him, use him hard, use him just as if he was some piece of male flesh I'd picked up in a brothel.
When I'd finished, as usual he told me to get out, but when Charlie and Coon collected me, instead of taking me to the slave dorms they instead took me and put me into a tiny individual cell, with a small thin mattress on the floor, and a threadbare blanket to cover myself with. "It's Mr Straughan's orders, Steve", they told me. "He and Master Billy-Joe don't want you fucking the other slaves. Master Billy-Joe has decided that he wants you kept fresh for your studding work. So you're going to sleep in here in future."
"What a waste!", I said. "I don't think it's anything to do with the studding. I think he wants to keep me 'fresh' so that I can f...."
"Hush, man!", Coon cried, almost in alarm. "Don't even whisper it. You never know, walls have ears."
I lay there and pulled the blanket up over myself, and
pondered what was to become of me. I was beginning to think that Billy-Joe would never release me, and that I'd be a slave for the rest of my life. And how long could this cycle of mutual 'abuse' go on for? There was no way I could fuck Billy-Joe any harder that I was already doing, and yet there was almost no limit to the way in which he could continue whipping me, was there? After the tawse he now had this evil stinging carriage whip - but suppose he decided to move up a notch, and start use a whip that caused the skin to break and the blood to flow? What was going to happen?
I must have drifted off to sleep, but came awake as there was a noise at the barred door of my cell Charlie and Coon were outside with Grunt, and they held their fingers to their lips to indicate that I should be silent. They unlocked the gate and Grunt came in. I was standing up now, and the boy almost threw himself at me and wrapped his arms around my body and hugged me. He was kind of half sobbing as he pressed his head into my chest, and I could feel his dick brushing against mine as we were so close. I rubbed my hand up and down his back, feeling the spines on his backbone through his skin - none of us slaves were overfed, and so there was absolutely no fat on him at all. Over his body I saw Charlie and Coon locking the door again, and going away, still making the little "quiet" gestures at me.
I gently pushed Grunt away from me, and said "Hey, what's all this....?"
"Oh Steve, it's terrible... When you left, Master Billy-Joe started to slap me and hit me - he caned my butt, and then he paddled me with a flat leather thing until I was bawling. I couldn't help it, honestly, Steve. I'm not as tough or as brave as you, and I couldn't keep quiet as he continued to hit me. And the more I cried, the more he seemed to like it, and the more he hit me. And then he fucked me, as he usually does - but my butt was so sore that as he slammed into me I kept crying out. And that excited him, too - the more I shouted, the more he fucked. As you know, he's got a big thick dick anyway, and it always hurts when he goes into me; but tonight it was really dreadful..... "
"But why are you here?"
"Master Billy-Joe told Charlie and Coon to put me into the slave dorms, and you probably don't realise it, but a young guy like me gets fucked over and over again in there: I'm supposed to go with the other indoor slaves and I can mostly hold my own against the waiters and so on. But tonight Master Billy-Joe told them to put me in with the outdoor slaves - all the big tough guys like you, Steve. So I knew what would happen - I'd have to take a whole lot more dick, and I'm just too sore... Charlie and Coon saw how upset I was, and they're risking punishment themselves by putting me in here with you. I can stay, can't I, Steve...?"
It was a silly question really, wasn't it? We were locked in. We had no choice. He was with me, whether I liked it or not. Then I looked at the tiny thin pallet on the floor, and wondered where and how we were going to sleep. Grunt solved that, though - he put his arms around me again and almost pressed me to lie down, and then he snuggled himself in next to me - I was lying facing him, and instead of "spooning" himself into me with his back to my front, he kept his face to me and again put his arms around my neck and pulled himself towards me. I could feel his legs scrabbling around, and he succeeded in getting one of his in-between mine, then a little shuffle and we were in contact along almost all our bodies. I could feel him get an erection - his strong, young lad's dick was virile and strong as it stabbed into my belly and dick. I found myself responding - I mean, when there's an erect dick thrusting at yours, how can you prevent yourself from getting an erection in return?
It was actually uncomfortable trying to lie there on the narrow pallet with our erections thrusting at each other's bellies, and then a thrill ran through me - Grunt's long fingers curled themselves around my shaft. I went to protest, but it actually felt good. The lad seemed to have relaxed, and I didn't want to upset him, so I let him continue. He carried on playing idly for a few moments, then wriggled his body a bit so that our dicks were close together. Then he wrapped his fingers around both shafts, so I could feel the heat of his dick pressing all along the length of mine. It felt fucking great! There's something about the sensations your dick sends you, isn't there? And when what's causing that is another dick, well....! And then he started to jerk us off, running his hand up and down our two shafts as they were pressed together.
In spite of having fucked Billy-Joe only about half an hour before, I just knew I was ready to cum again. But this wasn't right, was it, having a young lad jerk me off?
"NO, Grunt...", I whispered, but he murmured back "Yes, Steve!" And carried on. What was I supposed to do? Of course I was stronger than him, and I could have pushed him away. But he'd been hurt and abused already this evening, and had been terrified at the thought of having the outdoor slaves use him as a fuck toy - if I were to use force on him, it might traumatise him. So I let him continue, and I felt myself almost groaning with the pleasure and excitement of it. I'd never realised that jerking off could be so much fun. Not only was it the other dick against mine, but it was having another guy do it to me: I'd never done any of this stuff at high school or college, never played with my buddies' dicks, never even thought of joining in the circle jerks that were rumoured to go on at High School. Jesus, I though, look what I've been missing - I could have had all this fun with my buddies.
In some way, having such a young guy as Grunt made me think of myself at that age, and all the guys I'd known then in my football team - it made me start to think about young manhood. And, perhaps if I had been more responsive then instead of always pretending not to be interested in the other guys, Billy-Joe might have turned out differently. With a bit of real sex with his buddies, Billy-Joe might have worked it out of his system and might now be properly married, instead of fucking young lads, and making his old buddy fuck him!
We both shot at the same time. I could feel his hot, wet semen spurting out onto my belly, and mine did the same to him. He pulled himself closer to me as our erections started to subside, and I wondered what we'd be like in the morning - with all that semen sticking us together, it might be really painful to break apart as our pubic hair would be stuck down! But who cared?
It felt so good to have a warm, lithe body pressed into mine, to feel his warm breath against my skin, just to have his "presence" next to me. I began to feel a bit guilty that this was a young lad and it might be seen that I was taking advantage of him - but I guessed that as he'd been enslaved at sixteen and was probably now eighteen, he knew what he was doing - he'd evidently had lots of experience already, as he hadn't invented that "dick to dick" jerking himself, had he? It was him who'd seduced me, not me him.
We slept. But I wasn't used to sleeping with another guy, only wit h my girl friend. And there's a difference - women are somehow more rounded, and softer, and Grunt was muscular and bony. We kind of drifted in and out of sleep throughout the night, and whenever we were both simultaneously awake, I could see a flicker of a smile on Grunt's face. He sighed in his sleep once, and whispered to me "Steve, thanks... It's really good to be with you, Steve. Steve... I love you..."
"Hey! Stop that! Cut that nonsense out! You can't love me! You don't know me! And, anyway, I'm a guy, like you. Two guys can't love each other."
"Of course they can, Steve. It's natural. I wish I could stay with you like this for ever. I wish we could just stay here, in this bed, and forget about the rest of the world. Forget about master Billy-Joe, forget that we're slaves.... If we were free men, Steve, we could go away together, live together..."
"Don't be silly, Grunt! If we weren't slaves, we'd never have met! And if we weren't slaves, there'd be no way that I'd be in bed with you. I don't have sex with other men..."
"You do with Master Billy-Joe...!"
"That's different. That's not sex, that's.... well, punishment. I'm punishing Billy-Joe for the way he treats me, and you,...."
"I don't understand, Steve. How can you punish a man by having sex with him? Isn't it meant to be good, and fun? Like it was with us, just now?"
"Yes, sex is meant to be fun. It's the best thing two people can do together. But it depends on why you were doing it. Like... well... what we just did, when you jerked us both off, that was good. We both liked it. It caused us both a lot of pleasure. But when Billy-Joe beats you and then fucks you, that's not fun, is it?"
"No, Steve. But is it fun when you throw the master over and fuck him hard, so hard he's almost crying?"
I was at a loss, now, because of course for Billy-Joe the rough, hard sex I did to him was fun. But what about me? I really enjoyed the way that Grunt had played with my dick.... but, actually, I hadn't enjoyed it as much as I had enjoyed showing my superiority, my power, my dominance, my control, over Billy-Joe. Unable to answer him, I just lay there, silent.
"Steve... Will you fuck me, fuck me properly, in the way that's meant to cause us both a lot of pleasure?"
Oh Christ! Where was all this leading? What was I supposed to do? I didn't want to turn the lad away, as he needed some human contact, some warmth, some companionship.
"No, Grunt.. It wouldn't be right... "
"Please, Steve. Don't you like me? Is it something I've done? Is it because Master Billy-Joe has already fucked me, so that you don't want me now?"
I could hear a muffled sob coming from him, and I didn't want to upset him any more, so I sort of whispered "No, it's not that...."
"So please, Steve. Please... I want to be close to you, that special closeness that you only get when you're locked together fucking. I used to do it with some of the other slave lads when we were being schooled before I was first auctioned, and it really did feel good. I really enjoyed it. I loved those other slaves, and wanted to stay with them for ever... But since I came here, all that's happened is that I've been beaten and used. I want you to show me how two guys can be real friends, Steve, show me how a proper man like you can love me.... It was great with the other slave boys, but we were only sixteen, and I want a proper man to love me, Steve. Please...."
As if to settle the matter he turned over so that his butt was pressing into my pubes. He wriggled and squirmed, and the motion of his butt against my dick stated to get me aroused again. This couldn't be happening, surely? I couldn't be getting turned on by the attentions of another guy, and a really young one at that, could I? But I was, especially a Grunt continued to wriggle himself and try to get my dick down between is young, muscular butt as he pressed himself against me. I could feel him lifting his leg - the cool night air came in under the blanket - and pulling his butt apart. I don't really know how he did it, but as we lay there side by side he managed to get my dick positioned on his hole, and kind of half slid his asshole over me. He was half-twisted around, almost lying in my arms and he reached backwards with his head, trying to kiss me. His neck and shoulders were right up against me, and I couldn't resist sinking my teeth gently - so as not to hurt him - into his flesh: I didn't break the skin, but wanted him to know that I had him so close to me and that I could control him.
He was moving himself now, my half-buried dick almost coming out of him, and I couldn't help it - I kind of thrust myself forward as best I could to stay inside, so incredible was the feeling of having his young guy really wanting me inside him.
I don't know how long it went on for. It's not the easiest position to fuck in, is it? But this wasn't really fucking - this was having my dick in Grunt's ass, and having him massage it with his ass muscles whilst he himself moaned and groaned at the pleasure it was causing him. I did cum eventually, and then Grunt could relax - he lowered his leg, and snuggled back against me. I put my arms around him, and then his hand guided mine down to his dick, which was erect again: I suppose you expect that from young guys, as they're always horny.
I'd never really jerked anyone else off before, but as his hand almost made mine circle his dick, it just felt right, felt natural, felt as if it was what I wanted to do because I would enjoy it, and because I knew Grunt would, too. I stroked and caressed his dick gently, and my other hand (he way lying on my outstretched arm) couldn't help but make small circular motions over his nips. As I did so, I could almost literally feel his dick stiffen and begin to jerk under my fingers.
And after he'd shot his load, we slept. We both slept the sleep of the utterly exhausted, the utterly content.
Charlie and Coon had to shake us awake the next morning, and they were grinning hugely as they saw our two naked bodies twined together in that abandon of sleep that only two lovers really achieve. And Coon held up the blanket, and pointed at the pallet, which were both covered in our dried cum. He and Charlie "high fived" each other, as if to celebrate something really good.
That was to be the pattern of our lives for the next two weeks. It was almost surreal - running as a pony for Billy-Joe most mornings, then being taken off by him to "stud" in the afternoons: he must be making a small fortune from me, I thought: as one local farmer used me and told the others how good I was at fucking, the others wanted me, too, and I'm sure Billy-Joe charged them more and more. Then, in the evening, Billy-Joe's increasingly crude sexual advances at me that caused me to erupt and fuck him, followed by the eager wait in my tiny cell at night for Charlie and Coon to bring Grunt in to me, so we could have passionate, loving sex. Under Grunt's eager tutelage I learned to truly appreciate how two men can enjoy each other's bodies. We jerked each other off, then Grunt taught me the pleasures of mutual sucking. I fucked him on his knees, on his back, side by side... And towards the end of the two weeks I was even getting used to having his dick play around my pucker - he was gradually working me towards the idea that I would like to feel his hard, warm dick inside me, just as he did mine. And I think I'd have let him, too, until everything changed.
Billy-Joe decided to go back to the city for a couple of days, and so I was returned to working on the estate cart - probably just as well, as some of my upper body muscles were not getting properly exercised with just pulling the rickshaw. There was one difference, of course: unlike every other of the outdoor slave on the estate, who were neatly and modestly dressed in their plain cotton shorts, I had only my tiny pouch to wear and my butt was totally naked (although it was much less "obvious" now, I suppose, as the sun burned it to the same rich brown as the upper part of my body, and my legs). Unfortunately, though, my return to 'normal' work meant that I had to spend my nights in the slave dorms like all the other outdoor slaves, and of course Grunt was locked in with the indoor servants. I just couldn't get to sleep without his body around me, without him tending to my physical desire for sex. It wasn't the same, of course, but I have to admit that I did do the obvious thing - I used some of the other guys to satisfy me instead, but as I fucked them, I always thought of Grunt and how I could almost imagine that it was his firm young butt that I was pounding.
I was glad when Straughan came to the slave shed one day and told me to get the rickshaw out again - that must mean Billy-Joe had returned, and so, hopefully, I would be back to being able to be with Grunt at night.
It was with a happy heart, well, almost, that I stood at the foot of the steps waiting for Billy-Joe that morning.
He came out as usual, looking cheerful, and as soon as he came close he immediately snapped my cuffs closed, to lock me wrists to the shafts. "Hey, Steve, good to see you again. You sure are looking good - that sun has done wonders for your butt, you know. That dark tan really suits you."
Actually, I think it was the absence of whipping for a couple of weeks that had really done wonders for my skin - without the disfiguring weals and marks, it looked smooth and firm and masculine, and it made me feel good, too. Still, I decided to say nothing, and just stood there.
Billy-Joe went on, and I could hardly believe the good news he was giving me: "Steve, you were right. You said that pouch and the string and stuff was humiliating, and I can see that, now. 'Modern Slave Owner' had an article this month on the subject, and I can see now that I was treating you wrongly. A slave shouldn't have to have his dick and balls all confined like that. And did the string make your pucker sore? The author of the article said an owner needed to be really careful..."
"Yes, Bill.. Master. It is a bit irritating."
"It's not right that you feel humiliated, Steve. 'Modern Slave Owner' says that a slave should just feel that he's doing his job, that he's serving his master properly through hard work, and that humiliating the slave is only something that the 'nouveau riche' would do, not something that a real gentleman would contemplate."
Billy Joe came around to the side of me, and fumbled at the knot holding the string around my waist. He undid it, and pulled the pouch away from me. Then, and I wished he hadn't done this, he gently teased my dick away from my balls, where they had been stuck together by their close confinement - I mean, it's OK to do that for yourself, isn't it- you can even do it in locker rooms if you take a tight jock off - but it's not something you want another guy to do for you, is it? Still, I wasn't going to let anything spoil my mood of good humour - I was going to get decent slave shorts again, and I was looking forward to Grunt that night.
"Yes, Steve, I have been wrong. In 'Modern Slave Owner', they were pointing out that slaves who work in mines, or in factories, go entirely naked - no, I mean without clothes. After all, a slave's only function there is to return a profit for his owner, and even a scrap of cloth costs something, doesn't it? And it needs laundering occasionally, and so on. And the same is true for all slaves, isn't it? I mean, I had to spend about twenty bucks on that silly pouch, and then you didn't like it, and it potentially damaged you. So I'm going to do what 'Modern Slave Owner' recommends, and let you run proud and free, with absolutely no restrictions, nothing to chafe, no costs for me..."
"Please! Billy-Joe, you can't be serious! You can't be planning to make me run naked...!"
"Steve, you don't listen, do you? You don't understand the subtle differences in these things. The slaves in the factories and mines aren't naked, they're without clothes. A slave in our society can never be naked, now can he?"
As he spoke, Billy-Joe reached up and ran his finger along the inside of my slave collar. It felt like a warm, wet slug to me, and I almost jerked away from his touch.
"See, you've got your slave collar on. All slaves do.
A collared slave is never naked, by definition. He may have clothes, or not, but he's not naked. And you forget another thing: your silly inhibition about appearing without clothes is a result of you still thinking that you're a free man: only a free man can feel shame at being nude, and it's completely inappropriate for a slave. A slave is, after all, just a piece of his owner's property, just as a pet dog is, and we don't dress our dogs up in fancy clothes, do we? There can be no shame for a slave to appear nude, if that's how his owner wants to present him to the world. So start thinking properly, Steve - I thought you were adapting well to the life, but sometimes I have my doubts!"
"Billy-Joe, please don't do this to me..."
"Steve, shut up, and stop whining. I really don't know why you are concerned. As I've explained, you're not naked - everyone can see your slave collar, so they know you're a slave, so there's no shame in not being clothed. You're being triply foolish, anyway: you're so well hung that even if you were a free man you ought to be proud to have that dick and those balls of yours on display; and a whole lot of the people around here have seen you unclothed anyway- think of the number of times you've 'studded' now - they not only see all your body, they see you doing things in public that free men only do behind closed doors! So now, let's hear no more of this foolishness - jog on!"
He was after even more sensation, of course. After his triumph with being the first one with a rickshaw, he'd had to have me in the tiny pouch to boost his ego and make him special when other rickshaws started to appear. And now he needed something new, something different, so having me pull him totally naked - I don't care about semantics here: I was naked, in spite of what Billy-Joe said about collars - was the way to go.
Have you ever tried running without anything at all on you to constrain your dick and balls? They kind of fly around all over the place. And it hurts! Your balls aren't used to banging from side to side against your thighs, and your dick isn't used to bobbing up and down with no control. You never exercise like that, do you? I mean, at school and college you always wear a jock, or running shorts with inbuilt support. I know they say the Ancient Greeks used to do all the early Olympic stuff totally naked, but I'm inclined to disbelieve them - it's just too fucking painful. On the other hand, though, most of the guys in those old statues are not particularly well hung, are they? Even big tough-looking guys seem to have little boys' dicks - so for them it probably wasn't so bad. But for me, with my low-hangers and proper man-sized dick, it really hurt. By the time I was racing down the main street I'd almost forgotten my shame and embarrassment at it as the constant nagging ache from my balls spread through my body - even the stinging of the whip into my naked butt couldn't take my mind off that.
And when we got home, and I'd been "prepared" and taken naked to Billy-Joe's suite, there was something even worse.
End Of Part 17
YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part eighteen
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
SERVANT
Billy-Joe was slumped on the couch as usual in his loose T and boxers. He was chugging away at a beer, but instead of Grunt holding the bottle out to him on a silver platter as he always had been before, the bottle was parked on the floor between gulps.
"Hey, Steve.... Come on in. You're looking great as usual, and without that silly pouch thing you really look the business: those guys who write for the magazines really know what they're doing, I can tell - it's much better for you to be like that, isn't it? No sweaty clothes restricting you. You can run free, uninhibited."
"Billy-Joe, please! Please don't make me go on like this. It's not right - a man has a right to have even a a scrap of cloth to cover him, otherwise we're no better than animals...."
"I keep telling you, Steve... It's only men who have rights. Slaves have no rights, they're just there to obey. And it saves me money not to have to buy you clothes, and it lets me get a better look at you, and I get the pleasure of seeing how my old buddy has been turned into such a perfect specimen of male flesh by all the effort we've put in to feed you properly, and make sure you exercise. Now, stop being silly about this - as I've explained, you're not naked really, you're just without clothes; that collar tells everyone you're a slave, so it's OK."
He sat up, finished his beer, and handed me the empty bottle. "Go and get me another beer from the fridge."
No "please" or anything - just a curt order, to a slave.
There was a tiny kitchen area off the main room behind a door, not big enough to do any serious coking in, but large enough to enable the waiters to re-heat food, or to put it onto the elegant china plates that I'd seen around from the containers that carried it up from the kitchens. I went in, found the fridge, and got another beer. I had to search for the opener, then carried it back into the main room and handed it to Billy-Joe.
He didn't immediately take it, but looked at me and said "Don't you know how to serve a beer? Didn't you see how Grunt used to do it?"
Grunt hadn't been there as I'd gone in, and now Billy-Joe's use of language alarmed me.
"Billy-Joe, what do you mean? How he 'used to do it'?
Where's Grunt, anyway?"
"Not that it's any concern of yours, Steve, but I'll tell you anyway. I've sold him."
"What?" My exclamation came out loud, and sharp, and reprovingly. I was horrified. What had he done to the lad?
"As I said, I've sold him."
The realisation struck home. I'd probably never see Grunt again. And now that we had become - well - lovers, I felt devastated. I think that's the first time I'd accepted that I could feel something for another guy, really feel something, love him, I suppose. And now it was being torn from me.
"Sold him? To who? Where?" I don't know why I bothered to ask, as there was nothing to be done about it, was there? Even if he'd been sold to the next estate, there was absolutely no prospect of being able to see him, to have his body next to mine in bed, to be in him, to have him in me, to do all those things together that had so transformed my life. I was breaking up inside. I wanted to cry, but men don't do that. I was clenching my fists by my side in impotent fury, and if the consequences would probably not have been so dire, I would have leapt on to Billy-Joe and punched him senseless for what he'd done.
"Steve, you've probably forgotten the realities of life, living this cosseted existence you have here. You don't have to worry about money, worry about how you're going to pay the bills, worry about where the next dollar is coming from to enable you to keep up standards. I have a position to maintain, you know. I'm a gentleman, and a gentleman has standards, and they can be expensive to maintain - not that you'd know much about that anyway as you never did bother much about having the right clothes, or the right after-shave, or the latest shirt style, or going to the right restaurants with the right people: no, you just came down from the North and slopped around in casual clothes, didn't bother how you looked going to the office, and ate at the fast food places. Well, it's not like that for a gentleman. And it's got even easier for you since you came here - nothing at all to worry about, everything found for you, no bills to pay, no need to save for the future.... As usual, you're incapable of thinking about others, about thinking about how it is for me, needing to keep a certain position in society."
The arrogant fucker! If he thought I led a cosseted life he should try running under the hot sun, dragging his fat body behind me, and getting lashed with that fucking whip of his! But he was still speaking, and although I could feel my anger rising, I struggled to keep myself under control.
"You probably don't know, because you wouldn't even be interested in trying to see how things are for me - so much for supposedly being my buddy - but things aren't going well between me and he Colonel. He doesn't want me to spend any time in the city, making my own career, and he wants me to spend my time here running this fucking place. He's suggested that I 'work under' Straughan to really get an appreciation of estate management, so that when my time comes I can maintain the family tradition and settle down here, marry a proper southern belle, raise the next generation, and keep this place up in 'the way our family always has since the civil war'. Well, it's not for me, Steve. I will do the marriage bit and the kids and all, and it will be good to have this place as somewhere to come to at weekends. But I like city life, and there's no way I want to be buried here raising crops, disciplining the slaves, and all that. So things are tough. And the Colonel is making it hard for me by cutting off my allowance - I've had to let the city apartment go as there was no rent money. He wouldn't even help me pay for the Jaguar, and he made me get rid of that, as you know. And now I'm stuck here - but I've still got expenses, you know: the tailor, the shirt maker, the boot maker, the barber, all that sort of stuff. As I said, a man needs to maintain standards."
"Yes, but what about Grunt...."
"Steve, that's what I mean! You ought to be focussed on me, your owner, not on some slave boy.... I was telling you about my problems, and you ask about a fucking slave boy that I sold?"
"But Grunt was my friend, my lov.... Well, he and I were really good friends, we...."
"Steve, you go on and on, making more and more mistakes, don't you? Didn't anyone ever tell you that you can't be friends with a slave? That's true for free men and slaves; and it's even more true for so-called friendships between slaves. Slaves don't have friends - they should be totally concentrating on serving their owners. I thought that Grunt was falling off a bit in the performance league recently, and now you tell me that you and he were so-called 'friends'... Well, perhaps that explains it. So it's just as well he's gone. It will make it easier for you to concentrate on serving me."
"Please, Billy-Joe, tell me where he's gone..."
"I don't know really. I was talking to one of the other young blades at the club and we got on to how difficult it is to ever please your dad. He'd got a big problem in that it was his father's seventieth birthday coming up, and he really wanted to give his dad a special present, something he'd really appreciate. And before you know it, it was obvious - a nice, eager, virile, lithe young slave, properly trained in personal service, was just the thing. We finished our drinks and went straight around to the biggest dealer in town, but there was nothing: lots of workers, lots of muscled studs, plenty of older guys trained in service, but absolutely nothing that fitted the bill that we'd talked about. Well, I couldn't not help out a buddy, could I? So we went back to his place and connected to the Internet, and I logged in to our management system here - yes, I do know something about running the estate - opened the inventory files, and showed him Grunt. Along with my personal assurance that the lad was properly trained in all aspects of personal service, it was clear that this was the ideal present. So we did a deal, and the transporter came and collected Grunt this morning. The money will be really helpful - I went to my tailor and ordered a new formal suit at once: I really need something new, as you can't keep wearing the same clothes, can you, even though they're not worn out? And the Colonel refused to pay for things like that...."
"Yes, but where's he gone, what's going to happen to him, how...?"
"How the fuck should I know? And I don't care, either. I sold him, I got the money, the new owner collected him. What more is there to say?"
"But he was your slave for two years.... Didn't you even like him?"
"Of course I did. And I liked my Jaguar. And I like my clothes. And I like my watch. But if I want to, I sell them. There's always another one, after all - although the dealer didn't have any serving lads of the right kind this week, there's always a fresh supply on the way - some family or other falls on hard times, and sells their sixteen year old son... And it's not hard to train them at that age to serve properly. And, you know, taking a new slave's cherry is part of the fun... as you may remember.... Anyway, I've no idea where he's gone. I expect it's to some estate like this, or perhaps my buddy's dad has a city apartment... actually, I hope it's an estate, as it's so much better for slaves to live in the country, as when his owner has tired of him he can always be put to work in the fields. But don't you think it's a good idea? I hope that when I'm seventy someone thinks to give me a nice young lad with a firm, virile, lithe body, something that's really easy on the eye and that might stir an old dick into life? And a slave with a good fuckable butt and a willing mouth, who'll minister to my every need? No, it's the ideal fit, the more I think about it, a really inspired choice of gift. Grunt had it too easy here, dealing with me - it will do him good to have to service an old man, someone who knows what he wants, and is used to getting it. He'll have to work really hard to excite the guys' dick into life, or he'll be punished - that's the normal way of these things. But then, he's young, he's strong, he's virile, so it ought to be relatively easy for him. "
I stood there, and if I hadn't needed to appear to be strong, I'd have wept. My anger that had swept over me had passed, and now all I could feel was utter despair, and resignation that what had been done had been done, and that there was no changing it. I was just a slave, Grunt was just a slave, and we were powerless to affect our own lives.
Billy-Joe looked at me then, and said "Anyway, there's a few changes for you, too, Steve. I've decided not to buy another lad to replace Grunt as I'd rather keep the cash for living expenses, at least until I manage to charm the Colonel a bit! But I do need someone to look after me, someone to serve me, someone to keep my clothes in order and so on, and you're not fully occupied: I usually only need you for a trip in the rickshaw for two or three hours, unless I'm studding you. So you've got lots of free time, and it's a waste having a good-looking guy like you dragging that farm cart around. So I'm going to use you as my body slave as well as my pony - when you're not out pulling , you'll live here, in my quarters, so you're always on hand to serve me."
"Billy-Joe, I'm not your servant, I was your buddy, this voluntary enslavement thing wasn't meant to be like this..."
"You're right, Steve! You're not my servant! You're my fucking slave, and the sooner you properly realise that, and start thinking and acting like a slave, the easier life will be for both of us. Now.... that beer.... all this talk's made me thirsty! But we'd better start the way I intend to continue. Go back into the kitchen and find the sterling silver serving salver, then come back, kneel down, and present the beer to me properly, as you saw Grunt doing."
"Billy-Joe, please...."
"Right, Steve. That's the last warning. From now on, I want you to act completely like the slave you are. If you ever call me anything other than 'master' again, or if you ever disobey me, I'll have Straughan take you outside and flog you - he's bought a nice new bull whip, I suspect in anticipation of you turning into a renegade. You'd better make up your mind, Steve: are you going to be a proper slave, or do you want to be flayed on the whipping frame? You never recover from that, you know - it's not just that your skin is shredded and you're scarred for life, but it does something to your brain: all the slaves I've ever seen who've been bullwhipped are somehow different - their eyes are 'dead', they don't have even a shred of independence left in them; all they can do is obey, totally and utterly and absolutely. In fact, I'm not sure that that isn't what you need, and having you 'broken' like that might be the best thing for you. But I do like to see that body of yours, and so I'll hold off for the time being. But this is your last warning, understand? I'll give you an order, and I'll be obeyed. I'll explain about how I like things done, but I'll only explain once, and after that, you do them my way, or else! Now, do you understand and accept, or shall we just call the whole thing off and I'll hand you over to Straughan?"
Well, it wasn't much of a choice ,was it? I could believe what he said about a flaying with a bull whip, and I had no desire to suffer the pain, or to lose my independence, such little as I still had. So I muttered "Yes, Master."
"Louder!"
"YES, MASTER."
"Good, Steve. Now, I like my beer served on a silver salver, and don't forget it. Go out and find it, then come and serve me properly."
I went out, found the salver, came back in, and remembering how Grunt used to do it, I knelt by Billy-Joe, and held out the salver in front of me. There was an evil glint in Billy-Joe's eyes as he took a big chug of the beer, then he put the bottle back onto the tray that I was still holding out in front of me. You can't imagine how difficult this seemingly easy operation is after a bit - apart from the rich Chinese silk rugs on some parts, the floor of Billy-Joe's apartment was solid oak planks, polished to a gleaming brightness by generations of attention from slaves, and as I knelt there my knees began to hurt, and my toes, being kind of bent, ached. The strain in my arms was considerable, too - I suppose that having heavily muscled arms makes them heavier, so having to keep them stretched out in front of me was a real strain. I don't know which was worse - the muscle strain in my arms and shoulders, or the pain from my knees and toes.
I tried to shuffle around a bit in the hope of getting more comfortable, but the moment I moved Billy-Joe snapped "Keep still! You're meant to be a side-table, and side-tables don't wriggle around. Can't you do the simplest things properly?"
I only got relief when Billy-Joe suddenly said "The football's about to start - turn the TV to channel sixteen."
It was another aspect of personal slavery that I hadn't thought about - if you have a slave to serve your every whim, why should you even bother with a TV remote? It must be a huge boost to your ego to be able to order a guy to change the channel for you, something that was so absolutely trivial, and which therefore enabled you to show your total domination of him. Still, I thought, at least I could watch the football! I liked that, as you know, having been a really good player myself.
Incredibly, it was not to be. Billy-Joe sprawled on the couch to watch the game, but he made me kneel at the end of it, with my head away from the TV. He then used my bare back as a rest for his feet! I could feel them scraping around on me as he watched, and it must have been a good game as he did all the stuff real men do when they watch - shout out, jerk around, and sometimes even almost scream with excitement. His feet sometimes pounded up and down on my back as this was going on, but it meant nothing to me - you can't really follow a football game just from the commentary, can you?
When the match was over it was supper time. Two of the young indoor slaves - waiters - came in to the apartment to serve Billy-Joe's dinner. They were dressed in their waiters' uniforms of short, tight black Lycra shorts, and a kind of waistcoat, also in black, without arms and which was open at the front and reached down to about their navels. Clipped to the front of their slave collars was a black bow tie. They went to set up a small table and chair, but Billy-Joe told them to stop - instead, I was ordered to change my kneeling position so that I was kneeling in front of the couch, and the waiters brought a big tray over that had two spring-loaded clips underneath it. The tray was placed on my back, and the clips gripped at my ribs to give it some stability. I then felt a cloth being put on the tray, as its edges hung over and almost tickled my bare flesh, and then I heard the sounds of the cutlery and glasses being laid out.
Billy-Joe dined off my back, but I wasn't forgotten - the last things the waiters did before retiring to stand neatly by the wall, in case Billy-Joe wanted anything else, was to put a small stainless steel bowl down on the floor in front of me. Inside was my evening's ration of slave chow, but Billy-Joe told me I was to leave it alone for the time being as he didn't like the motion of a slave's body as he ate the chow causing ripples in his wine glass.
I could hear Billy-Joe scoffing his food and making slurping noises as he drank the wine - the waiters came over several times to re-fill his glass, and I just had to kneel there. Was this going to be my life from now on, acting as a fucking piece of furniture? How much more could I be expected to take? I felt like doing something dramatic - standing up so all the food and china and glass would go everywhere, and pummelling Billy-Joe into a heap of bleeding and broken flesh. But how would that help? They'd then only do the same thing to me. Something inside me said "Hold it. You can do this. You're a tough guy, with a mind of his own. This can't go on for ever. Things can only get better. One day you'll come out of this, and you want to come out of it with your body and mind intact. So hang in there...." Well, all these "self help" thoughts must have had some effect as I stuck it out, then ultimately the tray was lifted off my back.
"OK, Steve, your dinner time now...", Billy-Joe told me, and I knelt upright and went to pick up the bowl. I was really hungry - the morning and evening rations were adjusted, as I've told you, so there was only just enough food to maintain my body mass and required energy output. "NO!", Billy-Joe snapped. "Did I give you permission to get up? Back down on elbows and knees, and eat your chow out of the bowl on the floor. It's time you learned some proper humility, and maybe you'll think more about your station in life if you eat off the floor."
So I had to try and get the chunks up into my mouth off the floor, and if you've ever tried to do that, you'll know that it's really difficult - you have to make all kinds of movements with your head and your shoulders, and that makes your whole body wriggle around if you're kneeling. Billy-Joe seemed to get some amusement to see my antics, as I could hear him almost giggling to himself as I struggled to get my food down.
There was more TV after that, but Billy-Joe was not watching anything in particular. So I had to kneel on elbows and knees right in front of the TV, and whenever Billy-Joe called out, reach up with a hand and press the "channel up" and "channel down" buttons.
It's irritating enough, isn't it, when someone else is channel-hopping and you can't watch what you want, but it's even worse when you can't actually see the screen yourself! All I got were the snatches of dialogue or the sounds of the adverts, as my head was below the bottom of the screen.
Billy-Joe ordered me to follow him into the bathroom when it was time for bed. He stood there and raised his arms in the air, and looked at me expectantly. "My body slave helps me undress, Steve. Take my T off", he commanded.
I pulled his T up over his head, and, looking around to see if there was a linen box or anything, just dropped it onto the floor.
"Hey, Steve! Treat my property with some fucking respect, will you? That's a thirty dollar T you've just dropped on the floor! You fold all my clothes neatly, even the dirty ones, understand?"
I nodded, but he snapped "...and when your owner speaks to you, you always acknowledge it respectfully.
A nod isn't good enough! Understand?"
"Yes, master."
"Right... Carry on...."
He stood here, and I realised I was supposed to help him out of his boxers. Fuck me, was there no end to the humiliation a slave could be put to?
He gestured, indicating that I was to kneel, and then I had to ease his boxers down over his hips and help them down his big thick thighs. He stepped out of them and stood there idly scratching at his fat belly, as he watched as I folded the boxers and put them on a small shelf.
He walked over to the toilet bowl and hosed a big stream of piss down into it, letting out a fart as he did so. Evidently you could do that sort of thing in front of slaves - when we'd been on the football team I had of course seen him piss in the communal urinals, but no guy would fart in front of the other players. I remained kneeling as he brushed his teeth, then he was standing in front of me, his big thick dick right in front of my face. There was a drop of his piss still in his piss slit, and I got a faint whiff of urine.
"Right. I shower in the morning, so it's time for bed. You use this same toilet bowl as I do, but I never expect to find any traces of you in there, understand? No small drops of piss on the floor, no skid marks from your crap in the pan, and no smell. You use it after I've finished, and you make sure it's spotlessly clean. Understand?"
"Yes, master."
"Right. You have two minutes. Then come to the bedroom."
I didn't need to crap, but desperately needed a piss. Billy-Joe didn't want me to leave any small piss spots on the floor, but he had: there were a couple of small ones where he'd dripped as he finished. Gritting my teeth to force myself to do it, I tore some toilet tissue and scrubbed at them to make the marble floor clean, then flushed it all away. I got up, and walked into the bedroom, feeling my dick bouncing up and down in front of me.
Billy-Joe was standing by the huge double bed, fiddling with something. He indicated one of the narrow, thin sleeping pads lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, and said "This is where you normally sleep, and make sure you don't sleep too deeply in case I wake in the night and need something. But tonight's a bit special - your first night as my body slave, so I'm going to break you in, as you might say."
He pulled aside the blanket and the crisp white sheet on top of the bed, and motioned for me to get in. I did so, and lay there, looking at him.
"Fucking marvellous, Steve! That tan of yours against the pure white of the sheet. I never though all those years we roomed together that I'd ever get you like this.... But we both know there's a problem, don't we.... Now, listen carefully: things have changed. I used to have Grunt to fuck after you'd left, but now yours is the only ass around for me to fuck. So fucked you're going to be. And we both know you're not going to like that, and how you usually react. But that's not acceptable now - the things you could do when you weren't round all the time are no longer acceptable: a body slave has to be truly subservient to the needs of his master. So no more fucking of me, only me fucking you. Understand?"
Jesus... He wasn't going to fuck me, was he? Yes, somewhere inside, I knew he was. What could I do? I started to panic, feeling my heart rate rise into the stratosphere, and the sweat to break out all over me.
"Understand?", he asked again, somewhat peevishly.
"Yes, master."
"Look, Steve, I know this is going to be difficult for you. So if you've ever doubted that I'm a good master, looking out for you, trying to make life easier, remember this moment... Now, hands above your head, there's a good boy..."
My whole body was now trembling, but I raised my hands and laid them on the pillow above my head. What Billy-Joe had been fiddling with turned out to be leather cuffs. He put them around my wrists and tightened the small buckles holding them on, all the time feeling with his fingers to make sure they were not too tight, to cut my circulation, but not loose enough to be able to slip over my hands. The chain joining the cuffs was only about a foot long, and he opened a small concealed panel on the bed head, and slipped the middle of it onto a hook that was in there, closing something on top of the hook to make sure the chain would not come free. As he'd been doing this, he'd had to lean over me and I caught a whiff of his beer and wine stinking breath, and felt his dick drag over my chest (presumably wiping the drop of piss off onto me!).
That done, he pulled the sheet and blanket over me, and went around the other side of the bed and got in. He heaved himself across its vast expanse until he was lying next to me, then put one leg down between mine, and kind of hauled on my shoulder to make me half-turn to face him. His perspiring face was now so close to mine, and the stink of the beer and wine was really strong.
"So, Steve, this is nice, isn't it? Two football players really close together in bed. You can't know how many nights I went to sleep thinking about this... I used to jerk off, wondering what it would be like to be close to you in bed as we are now... And my dick knows what's expected... Feel? "
As he said this he wriggled his hips a bit, and I could feel his big, fat, now erect dick stabbing and thrusting itself at my pubes, at my belly, at my body.
"But I don't have to jerk off, thinking about you, do I?" I could tell this was a rhetorical question, so I didn't even attempt a "yes, master."
"No, I don't need to jerk off thinking about Steve ever again. Whenever I want to, I get to enjoy the real thing...."
As he spoke, he started to play with my left nip, rolling it around between his thumb and his forefinger.
"Jesus, man, you've got a nice body", he whispered. "A really great body to admire, and to play with. I'm so lucky to own a slave like you, Steve. We're really going to have some fun times together.... And do I detect that you might be feeling the same way...?"
No he fucking well didn't! I hated his great fat body next to me, hated his alcohol-fuelled breath breathing in my face, hated the feel of his dick rubbing all over me. But his hand was on my dick, and I couldn't deny that he might have got the wrong impression, as I'd sprung a huge wood: you know I've got this nipple thing, and as he'd been gently playing with them, I just couldn't stop myself from getting boned. But I didn't say anything. Billy-Joe wasn't really expecting an answer. Like a lot of guys, he just liked to talk in bed, to add to his own excitement.
"OK, Steve.... Now let's get down to the serious business.... Over on to your belly...."
His hand was gripping my balls now, and with my hands cuffed above my head, there was absolutely nothing I could do, was there, so I rolled over.
Billy-Joe hauled his body so he was kind of crouching over me, then he reached under my belly with both his hands, and hauled me up into a semi-kneeling position.
I could feel his hot flesh all against me, his wiry pubic hair and his hard dick pushing at my butt. Then his face was on my back, and he rubbed the stubble on his chin up and down my spine as he crooned "It's almost time, Steve... Almost time for you to feel your owner possessing you again. You've only had my dick once, haven't you? Well, tonight's the start of the new regime, when you get to take it all the time.... Do you want my dick, Steve? Do you want to feel your ass forced wide so that it takes my dick? Are you ready to give your owner the ultimate pleasure, the feel of your ass caressing my dick....?"
I wasn't sure whether it was the unpleasant scratching sensation, or the terrible words that he was using, that caused a shudder to go right through me. His hands left my belly and I felt him grab my dick. "Ah, Steve... Your body is betraying you! You think you're not going to like getting fucked, I know, but you're hard as a rock... So, Steve.... Did you let young Grunt up there? Do you think I didn't know what you did to him every night when I'd finished with him? Well, now let's see if he got around to teaching you how to take dick...."
End Of Part Eighteen