Date: Sun, 29 Sep 2013 12:08:31 -0400
From: Douglas Marx <douglas.marx.4@gmail.com>
Subject: Born; Chapter 17; Story codes: M, MM, SM, bd

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Story codes: M, MM, SM, bd

-----------------------------------

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Born -- Chapter Seventeen

"But, Sir.  Please take me with you.  I want to be with you.  I have no
other opportunities at the moment.  I love being with you.  I love
servicing you.  I could be your assistant.  You are going to need help.
The job sounds too demanding for one soul.  Oh please, Sir.  Please."  The
kid was on his knees naked in front of me as he pleaded to be taken into
slavery.  God, faggot whores are annoying.  Did I really used to sound like
that to Mr. Brown?  Was I going to sound like that at times if Ben and Phil
did to me what I was suspecting; making me their regular whore?

Regretfully, I knew the answer to those questions.  Yes, I sounded just as
pitiful during my tenure with Mr. Brown until he would do something to me
that would force me to shut the fuck up.  And, yes, I lusted after both Ben
and Phil.  These men were so domineering and so manly with the vital alpha
male qualities that I would easily have turned myself over to them without
even going through the auction process.  So I was able to see both sides of
this coin.  I knew where my little nude faggot friend at my feet was coming
from as his top and I knew where I could be as a slut bottom slave whore
for my employers.  "Alright fag.  Enough.  I'll call them in the morning
and ask if I can bring an assistant without pay; just room and board."

"Oh thank you, Sir.  You won't regret it, Sir.  I will do anything you ask,
Sir.  Thank you."  The pathetic boy effused.

"Yeah, fine.  Just remember I leave in two days.  If they say no, then you
have to go back out on your own and our relationship is through."  I
reminded him.

The kid started to cry.  "Here fag.  Take your mind off what may be
forthcoming or not, and suck my cock.  I want to get to bed."

The faggot and I had been together every night for the past two weeks.  He
had essentially moved into my tiny studio apartment.  He was no trouble.
In fact, he helped out a lot.  I didn't have to get online to jack off.  My
place was always spotless.  He did my laundry and pressed my chef jackets
with starch.  He knew how to cook so I would give him a little money every
day to go to the store to buy food.  The meals were actually quite
spectacular.  I knew it wouldn't be hard to convince Ben and Phil to let me
bring him because of his cooking abilities.  But I sure as shit wasn't
going to let fag think the deal was in the bag.  There is nothing more
important than making a faggot sweat and be in doubt about its future.

Saying goodbye to the restaurant was harder than I thought it would be.
Just as with the bank, that's where my friends were and once again I was
giving them up to be in a much more seriously controlled environment; maybe
not as a total slave this time; but certainly close, only with pay and
benefits.  My boss didn't think too highly of the idea of going to work for
Ben and Phil.  He even said so.  He said he didn't trust them.  He also
said that if things didn't work out, that I was to call him immediately;
that I always had a job available with him.

I called Phil the next morning after my fag's tirade asking if I could
bring him along.  By this point, I had been informed by Phil what the
situation was with the staff.  I had been out to the house (farm actually)
and met everyone except my Dad who was behind a closed door where Phil
said, "That is where we keep our accountant and business manager.  He is
not to be disturbed."  Dad was in solitary.

Phil agreed only with the stipulation that the fag be no trouble and work
hard.  I assured him he would and if not, I would punish him, and send him
on his way.  I prayed that the fag would be as good as I hoped.  I did not
want to send him on his way.  I liked him.  I enjoyed having a lower to
order around.  Maybe that was what was missing from the relationship with
Mr. Brown.  Maybe I needed someone to give my attention to since Mr. Brown
was so wavering of his desires for me.

I didn't have to worry about that one though.  Mr. Brown was convicted by
this point and was spending several years in jail.  All his assets were
taken from him whether they were part of what he stole or not.  Mr. Brown
would be penniless when he got out of jail.  His house had sold shockingly
fast.  Most realtors predicted it would lag on the market because of the
history.  I learned later that the main selling feature for the new buyer
was the dungeon.  Location, location, location may be the motto of real
estate, but in this case it was dungeon, dungeon, dungeon.

When I disclosed the news to fag that night, he was beside himself with
glee and hugged me.  I wasn't much for this display of affection by him,
but I let him hold me as long as he needed to in order to get it out of his
system.  Maybe I had a little more in common with Mr. Brown that I thought.
I did bristle from this adoration from fag similar to the way Mr. Brown
used to with me.  Oh God.  Why am I so insightful sometimes?

The big day came.  Fag and I walked out the front door of my apartment
building into Phil's car.  Fag had a small suitcase and I didn't have much
more beyond a computer, which we put in the trunk.  Fag sat in the back.
Phil and I had a pleasant conversation all the way.  Fag never said a word,
which was his place in life.

I liked Phil probably a little more than I should.  I enjoyed being with
him, but worked hard to remain his submissive letting him direct our
relationship.  I could seriously fall for Phil.  I knew better than to do
so; but did anyway.

We arrived at the farm.  Phil showed us to our room.  Fag was going to
sleep with me instead of going with the other slaves in the pen area.  Fag
was a slave, but he was slightly elevated because he was my fag, he was my
assistant and he knew how to cook.  Most of the slaves were run-of-the-mill
workers.  They spent their day in the fields tending the crops, cleaning
the house, general maintenance of the property or chauffeuring.

You may wonder how a slave could drive needing a license and insurance.
Phil and Ben had a scheme where they kept the ID of some of the slaves and,
of course, the vehicles were insured under the company so the slave didn't
have to have personal insurance.  Phil and Ben designated them as "interns"
.  I thought this was frigging brilliant.  This is exactly how the
government has slaves; they call them interns.  Thankfully, many are
questioning these practices, particularly against the White House and both
branches of Congress.  Same is true for the higher education systems of
this Country and Wall Street.

After dinner with Phil and Ben, fag and I retreated to our room for our
first night in our new situation.  Fag was on my cock as I lay in the new
bed that was infinitely better than anything I had ever slept on before.  I
pondered how I was going to pull off cooking and also managing the slaves
with or without fag.  "Fag, I just don't see how I am going to manage the
slaves and be part of the catering team.  I realize that some of the slaves
would act as servers and runners for events, but what about all the other
times when they need to be checked on to make sure they are doing their
respective jobs."

Fag responded with an annoying observation, "Phil and Ben managed to keep
the slaves on tract before you started and still ran the catering business.
They just recently got a business manager.  Seems as if they could do all
that, you can do it too?"

I was maddened at his candor, but fag was correct.  I would just have to
figure it out as I go.

Within short order, the pace of the job and the farm took shape.  I lost
fag as an assistant shortly after we started as he was assigned as the chef
for the slaves.  This meant that fag had to cook three meals per day, plan
the meals, and submit the food order to the catering company.  Now he had
two slaves that helped, but their abilities were no better than washing
dishes, cleaning up the kitchen and serving to the other slaves.  Phil and
Ben had approximately twenty slaves when we arrived.  Cooking for twenty,
three times per day, seven days per week is a lot.  Fag's days started
about 4:30 AM, but luckily ended about 6 PM because his job did not include
clean up after any meal, in particular dinner, which would take at least a
couple more hours.

Ben and Phil required that the slaves eat well.  They felt that well-fed
slaves were much more cooperative than slaves deprived of a proper diet.
There is a particular fine line between feeding slaves healthfully and
making sure the slaves didn't get spoiled nor have expectations.  I should
know.  Part of my biggest problem with Mr. Brown aroused from me getting
spoiled and having expectations that were impossible to meet by an owner.

Keeping the slaves in check was easier than I thought it would be; however,
my job ended up being much more than sixty hours per week.  I couldn't
complain because my bank account was rising rapidly and I had no expenses
whatsoever.  Many days I would get the slaves going, then move to the
catering prep kitchen (different then the slave kitchen or the house
kitchen) to work on parts of menus that could be done in advance, then
check on the slaves, then prep food, then check on the slaves...  My days
lasted from 6 AM until 9 PM most nights.  Luckily, Ben and Phil realized
that I couldn't go down to the warehouse in the city and manage the slaves
so my work remained at the farm 24/7.  On catering days, I would take a
group of the slaves to the job and become the expeditor as Ben and Phil did
the work in the kitchen where the event was being held.

There was one big perk of this job that was not written in the job
description, but Ben and Phil told me was ok.  I had seen them walk out
into the fields or elsewhere on the property, tap a slave on the shoulder
and walk them back to their dungeon.  The benefit was I could fuck or be
fucked by any slave I wanted as long as it didn't interfere with the daily
processes.  This was nice because if I had a moment I would take fag and
fuck his ass in his kitchen while the cleaning slaves watched.  This was
how fag and I stayed close because we were both so exhausted each night we
rarely played in our room.

Then, as I predicted, I got tapped; first by Phil and then by Ben and
finally by both of them.  Phil walked into the prep kitchen just as I was
finishing up profiteroles for a job.  How did he know that I was about
done?  "Boy, come with me."

I immediately went into slave mode.  I was surprised.  I thought I had lost
my touch having to be so dominant most of the time between fag, the slaves
and cooking.  "Yes, Sir; but the kitchen?"

"Fuck the kitchen, boy.  We have slaves to finish up.  Come.  Now!"  Phil
demanded.

Phil took me into the dungeon.  I was so fucking excited I could hardly
stand it.  I had wanted to see this man naked ever since the day of my
ringing.  My cunt started to get moist with the thought of Phil's long,
thin dick pounding my waiting hole.

The millisecond the door to the dungeon shut Phil started to ravage me.
First, he ripped my chef coat off buttons flying everywhere.  He pulled my
bare upper body to him kissing me with more passion than I had ever
experienced.  We kissed for a very long time before he even started to
unbuckle my pants and strip me naked.  No one had ever touched me like he
was touching me; not even the day Mr. Brown made fervent love to me.  I
became putty in this man's arms.

Phil stayed dressed for a while, which showed his dominance of me.  He took
me over to the St. Andrew's cross facing me toward the wood attaching my
wrists and ankles.  Soon I felt the light touching of his hands all up and
down my body.  He kissed the back of my neck proceeding down my torso until
he spread wide my ass cheeks for his tongue to eat out my vagina.  As he
munched away on my cunt, his hands caressed and teased my tits.  My cock
was sandwiched against the frame of the cross dripping pre-cum.

Sir then walked away for a moment obviously to retrieve something.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"  I exclaimed as I felt the warmth and
comfort of something long forgotten in the era of workaholism I was in; the
cat-of-nine-tails making sweet love to my skin.  Sir was not whipping me
yet; just using the leather to stroke my flesh.  The sensation was so
incredible that my cock almost erupted.  How could I have deviated so far
from my base desires?  How was it possible that I had forgotten my true
essence while obviously being in survival mode for so many months?  My Dad
had reminded me of the importance of the whip.  "The whip has been my
greatest friend.  The whip has taught me that I am an object to be used by
humans."

With this Sir, with Phil, I was feeling an intensity that I had never had
with Mr. Brown.  This act was about dominance, but also about hunger.  Phil
knew how to make a slave his.  I became Phil's slave that day.

Wwwwwwwooooooooooossssssssshhhhhhhh through the air as the first blow of
the tails struck my skin; skin that had been so long in need of attention.
"AAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhhhh!"  I cried out not from pain, but from ecstasy just
as my Dad had in front of all those people at the auction.  I could tell
that Sir was not going to hit me hard enough to break skin.  I'm sure he
had a reason, regardless of the fact that I would have loved to have bled
for him.  My back, butt and thighs became hotter and hotter from the
redness of the assault.  "Yes, Sir.  Yes, Sir.  Whip me.  Please, Sir.  Oh
God.  Thank you, Sir."

Phil knew.  Phil knew how to deal with me.  Phil knew how to make me his.
Phil knew with little effort I would surrender my existence to him.

Sir took me down from the cross leading me over to the supersized bed with
black leather sheets.  He lay me down on my back.  Then, the moment
happened that I had been waiting for.  Sir started to unbutton his shirt.
Slowly he revealed exactly the body I thought he had, yet more magnificent
than I could have imagined because now I was seeing the real meat.

Sir looked like a trained athlete.  His abs were rock hard six-packs.  His
pecs were not massive.  They were tight.  There was not an ounce of fat on
his body.  He must barely taste the food he makes I thought.  Sir lowered
his jeans as his beautiful cock sprang from its jail.  Oh God, I wanted
that cock.  I wanted to taste it.  I wanted it down my throat and up my
cunt.

Today, though, I was only going to receive it in my cunt.  Sir crawled onto
the bed grabbing hold of my ankles and raising my legs to his shoulders.
Slowly he teased my labia lips with the tip of his manhood.

"I'm going to fuck you, boy.  I'm going to take your virginity as no man
has taken you before.  You are mine, boy.  Your body is mine.  Your cunt is
mine.  Your mind is mine."  Sir pushed his love muscle into me.  The
sensation was extraordinary.  Sir was slow.  He was deliberate.  He was
going to make sure that I knew what I was to him.

Finally, he was all the way in; his pubic hair touching my hairless twat.
He rested just staring deep into my eyes.  The moment I'm sure was short,
yet it seemed as if we became one then.  Sir started to move in and out
never taking his eyes off me for a second.  I wanted to look away, but
couldn't.  He had hypnotized me.  I wanted to look at his wonderful body.
Instead, I could only see deep into him.  We had a connection.  I was his.

Sir went faster and faster until his orgasm sent him away from me for a few
minutes.  His soul was somewhere on an ethereal plain, but his essence, his
man juice, his love was deep inside my bowels.  I felt the spurts.  I felt
the warmth.  I felt him impregnate me.  I felt him take complete control of
me.

I didn't cum.  I didn't need to.  Sir pulled out and collapsed beside me.
He took me in his arms and smiled with my cock hard against those six-pack
abs.  "I love you, Sir.  I love you, Phil."

Phil's response shocked me, "I know you do, boy.  You always have."

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