Date: Tue, 6 Jun 2006 19:43:35 -0700 (PDT)
From: Hank M <redbeardedsf (at) yahoo (dot) com>
Subject: The Fate of a Poor Man's Son, part 6

I was turned on to this universe by the writing of Pete Brown UK. Heated up
by some stories from Steam Train. These two authors directed me to the
works of Richard Davies, One Ring, Randall Austin and others. This story is
set in a near-future world in which enslavement is the norm. This story
involves erotic situations and actual sexual contact between males - as
well as humiliation, exhibition, and much of the usual stuff for this
genre. If you are not at least 18 years of age (or whatever legal age is
where you are) go away now! If you are offended by the content of this
story go away now! If you are in a jurisdiction in which it is illegal to
read or possess such fiction stories go away now (well, it would be better
if you could get the hell away from that jurisdiction). And if you are
someone who cannot distinguish fantasy from reality, please go away and get
some help.

_____________________________________________________________
By Master Redbeard (redbeardedsf at yahoo.com)


Was I naive about sex and what would be expected of me as a slave? Was I
naive or just stupid?

Of course it seemed obvious that a master would expect sex from a
slave. But I thought that only applied to female slaves. Growing up, I had
heard a thousand juvenile jokes about boys being enslaved and being made to
perform homosexual acts. Everyone knows the tradition of schoolboy "When
you get enslaved..." jokes and the series of popular joke books - these
were favorite putdowns used by boys just entering middle school. I remember
when I was still in grade school laughing at one told by an older boy:
"When you get enslaved your master will make you the slave in charge of
picking up the soap in the shower." I didn't understand the joke, but I
didn't want to appear to be dumb or immature. Thinking back I realize I
certainly was both dumb and immature and remained so for far too long.

As I got older and met gay people and learned what homosexual acts were
about, I knew there would be man-on-man sex with slaves. But I didn't give
it a second thought - I figured gay sex would happen between gay owners and
gay slaves.

One of the most popular TV sitcoms back before I was enslaved was "My Two
Masters" about a cute boyish gay slave named Humpy who was owned by two
older gay guys. The premise was that the gay couple in the show was real
boring and bland, but Humpy made their lives wacky. Humpy was slim and
cute, looked young and acted very girlish. He was supposed to be 19 on the
series, but the actor was actually 27 and married to a beautiful woman. A
big part of the comedy was that Humpy was always getting in trouble and
getting punished because he was so obsessed with good-looking men. In fact,
the premise of the series was that Humpy voluntarily enslaved himself at a
gay slave trader's because his boyhood dream was to be a slave to big
strong men.

There were articles in the newspapers about young gays voluntarily
enslaving themselves inspired by Humpy. But more often the stories were
about parents enslaving their gay sons so the boys could live like
Humpy. And that's the way I thought it worked! Gay men would buy a gay
slave to serve them just as a straight man would buy a pretty girl
slave. Yes, I was very naive.

Rye filled me in on a lot as he scrubbed me thoroughly that evening,
preparing me to visit Master Brad. "A lot of straight married men have boy
slaves and as long as they're doing it with a slave and not with a free man
they consider themselves totally straight," he said to me. "A lot of wives
would rather their husband stick his wick into a boy slave than into a girl
slave. They figure a boy isn't the same kind of competition as a girl.
Apparently divorce and domestic violence have gone down as the use of boy
slaves for sex has gone up."

"B-but, why didn't I know about this?"

"You chose not to hear it, Wally," Rye said in a condescending way. "There
are remarks all around you in the media. There are jokes. Of course people
who own slaves all know about it."

"D-do you think my father knew about it?"

That stopped Rye cold. "I can't say. Maybe your father was as dense as you
are, boy. Or maybe he did know about it. But he also knew that the only
alternative to enslaving you was to have the entire family enslaved. Or
maybe he just thought that..." Rye mumbled the rest, "Maybe he thought that
serving in the captain's house you wouldn't be used for sex."

"The deal was that I'd only be used for... well... household uses." Rye
gave a heavy sigh and informed me that the words "household uses" in any
slave listing most certainly included sex.

He was even more careful than ever about shaving every hair from my body
and giving me four enemas to clean me out inside. He told me I'd be
grateful for the extra enema. I asked him what it would be like to have a
man put his penis inside me. "It's different for everybody," he mumbled
without looking at me.

"You experienced it, Rye. What was it like for you the first time?"

Shaking his head as if to clear it, he said, "That was more than ten years
ago, boy. I've had so many fuckings, so many canings, so many paddlings, so
much piss down my throat - how can I possibly remember?"

"Hold on, Rye. You're only 25 now. If it was more than ten years ago when
you first got..."

He waved his hand as if to erase his recently spoken words. "Is that what I
said? Being a slave, I don't need to keep track of time or to keep track of
my age. I don't know what I was thinking. Just forget it." He seemed oddly
defensive. I was about to speak again but he shook his head and mouthed the
word "No." His eyes looked very serious and intent.

When he finished trimming my hair to standard slave crew cut length, Rye
handed me a fresh pair of white briefs. I tucked my penis to the side. Even
totally soft, it created a lump in the tight fitting underpants. Then Rye
led me up the slave staircase to the second floor. We stood outside a door
and Rye knocked softly. Then he assumed slave rest position. I turned to
ask if he thought he should knock again. He got a frightened look on his
face and gave a motion with his head that indicated I should remain in
slave rest position.

Not having a watch or any clocks, I have no idea how long we stood in the
hallway. It felt like at least an hour and my legs were beginning to ache
from lack of movement. Finally a voice from inside the room called out,
"You may enter."

Rye opened the door and ushered me in. It was a grand sitting room that
opened onto a bedroom. Brad Winston sat on a plush couch beside the
fireplace. He wore a pair of striped boxer shorts and a white athletic
shirt that showed off his chest and shoulders. There was a faint smile on
his lips and a can of beer in his hand.

Brad pushed the left leg of his boxers up a little bit and his limp
cockhead was revealed. He looked at me sternly and then snapped his fingers
indicating a spot just beside his left leg. As fast as I could I was on the
floor beside him in the appropriate kneeling position. He ran one hand
through the stubble of my once-beautiful hair. "Recycled beer is a treat
for any slave. Do you think you can swallow it all without losing a drop
this time, slaveboy?"

"I'll do my best, master."

"I'm feeling benevolent tonight," Brad said with a snide twist to the
words. "I don't want to have to give you the level of punishment you'd need
if it spilled on this carpet. I'll go slow."

He pushed his cockhead into my mouth. I used my face to push the leg of his
boxers up a little higher so I could get more of his cock in my mouth. I
wrapped my lips as tightly around his shaft as I could and then I felt a
trickle of piss down my throat. I swallowed quickly. A little more. Another
swallow. Then more. Brad eventually was standing over me so that my head
was tipped back. In that position his piss wouldn't spill so easily. When
just a little piss overflowed my mouth it only messed up my face.

"Now suck out the last drop, slaveboy," Brad commanded almost as if he was
instructing a child. Then he turned to Rye and asked, "Has he been
practicing his piss drinking?"

"Master, I'm sorry I didn't know you wanted..."

"Fuckin' slaves, never have any sense! From now on, Rye, anytime you need
to pee it goes down this boy's throat. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master."

Brad's cock was still in my mouth and he was moving his hips in and out
rhythmically. He grinned down at me and said, "Stay on it, Wally. Stay on
it." He moved back onto the couch and stretched out on his back. I followed
his command and never let his cock slip from my mouth. By this time it was
fully stiff.

I closed my eyes and started to suck Master Brad's cock. I tried to empty
my mind of all thoughts, but the one thought I couldn't escape was: Why is
my cock hard as I'm being forced to suck this arrogant rich boy's boner? I
knew I wasn't gay. I only ever thought of girls when I jerked off. If it
hadn't been for my enslavement I never would have had a dick down my
throat. And yet there was something about the situation, something about
being commanded by Brad - much as I hated him - that was making me
excited. In a strange way I wanted to please my master. I was sucking down
on the cock with all my might, even as it hit the back of my throat and
made me gag.

But apparently sucking with all my might was not sufficient for my young
blond master. He pushed me violently to the floor. "What is this crap?"
Brad shouted. "If I paid $5 for that blowjob in the seediest boy brothel in
Bangkok I would demand my money back."

Brad landed on me. I was lying on my back on the floor and his knees were
on my torso. His cock was at my lips. He shoved his cock down my throat and
started fucking. He was slamming into my throat with the force a man would
use to fuck a cheap whore. I was gagging and choking and making horrible
noises. For a moment I thought he would kill me with his pounding at my
throat. In the next moment I thought he would smash my vocal chords with
his powerful thrusts.

I heard Rye call out, "Please, Master, he's never had a cock in his mouth
before..." Brad continued for a few more thrusts and then the power of his
movements waned.

My young master pulled his cock out of my mouth, looked up at Rye and
snarled, "And why wasn't he trained to use his mouth properly?"

"No excuse, Master," Rye bowed humbly. "This slave's stupidity. I beg for
correction." This response startled me. Of course Rye hadn't "trained my
mouth" because he hadn't received an order from his master. But Rye knew
what he was doing. His response calmed down the snotty rich boy.

Brad snapped his fingers at me and snarled, "Another beer from the fridge."
Even as I was still trying to get my breath back from the recent oral
attack, I retrieved the beer as fast as I could. He took it from me without
any acknowledgement as he turned to Rye and said, "A master wants his new
slave's ass to be in prime unused condition. That's why the boy has been
kept in that cage alone. But anyone knows a new boy needs practice sucking
cock." He took a long swig of his beer, then belched and said, "It's time
to tie him down to the horse."

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Rye retrieved an
odd-looking piece of furniture from a corner of the sitting room. It was
built like a sawhorse, but there was leather along the top, the legs were
fancy, and there were straps all over. Rye led me to the piece of equipment
and whispered, "This will be easier for you to take strapped down, Wally."
I was bent forward along the leather top as Rye adjusted the legs on the
horse. My hands were strapped to the front legs and my ankles were strapped
to the back legs.

There was a mirror positioned so I could easily see what was going on
behind me. And what I saw made me shudder. Brad was standing naked at an
open cabinet that housed paddles and canes and whips. He would take one
from the cabinet and swish it through the air. When he took the largest
whip and it cut the air, he grinned down at me and said, "No, my father
would be so angry if I left any permanent marks on you. Almost as mad as
when I banged up the fender of his Porsche."

Then Brad seemed to be weighing a leather paddle against a wooden one. He
ended up taking down the wooden paddle, which had three holes drilled into
it. He was practicing with it as if preparing to play naked ping pong. And
he seemed to take delight in his form. As he stood behind me I could see
him partially in the mirror in front of me. Once, twice, three times I saw
the paddle move down quickly and heard a swish through the air - and each
time I winced but the paddle failed to make contact. On the fourth time,
just when I was relaxing my muscled and not expecting it, the paddle
slammed into my bottom and I howled out.

My howling mixed with Brad's nasty laugh and he was paddling my butt with a
flurry of blows. He only stopped when he was out of breath. I noticed that
once he finished pounding my butt his cock was standing up stiff as an iron
beam. He waved his hard cock so I could see it in the mirror as he gloated,
"You see that little bit of spit your incompetent mouth left on my penis?
That's all the lubricant you're gonna get for your first ass fucking,
Wally."

"Please, Master, forgive this humble slave for speaking but I fear that
master's penis will be scraped raw and hurt." Rye spoke those words at
record speed and he seemed to be cowering as he spoke, as if he feared he'd
be struck for daring to speak out.

"Insolent slave, speaking out of turn," Brad snapped. Then he looked from
me to Rye and said, "OK, masturbate the new slaveboy and we'll use some
fresh natural lubricant."

Strapped down as I was I felt Rye's warm hand wrap around my stiff
penis. He started to stroke me. He was actually giving me pleasure and yet
I felt humiliated. Was it my helplessness being strapped to the horse? Was
it the fact that I had no say over when or how I would masturbate? Or was
it embarrassment that I - avowed heterosexual - had a throbbing dripping
erection even as I knew I was about to have a penis shoved up my ass.

It didn't take long for Rye's milking to produce results. My cock was
spurting and he was catching my spunk in his free hand. A moment later and
I felt Rye using that same spunk to wet my anus. He apparently also used
the goop to lubricate Master Brad's erection.

"Nice try," Brad said sounding bored, "but you know what I need to get hard
enough to fuck an ass. The problem is, anymore paddling on the new slave's
butt and those cheeks won't be pretty enough to be worth fucking."

Without further explanation, Rye laid his body down on top of mine. I saw
Brad lift up the paddle and I felt Rye's body push against mine as the
paddle slammed down and the tall slave called out, "Thank you, Master, for
correcting this humble slave." Slam. "Thank you, Master." Slam. "Thank you,
Master." I counted ten whacks on Rye's butt.

Then Master Brad unceremoniously pushed Rye to the floor. My master stood
behind me and his cock was once again fully rampant. One moment I felt the
arrogant college athlete's cockhead pressing against my virgin hole. At the
very next moment I felt the full length of his rod all the way inside me.

I know I made a loud noise, but I can't describe the noise. Brad reacted by
laughing in that nasty way and shouting out, "That's it, Wally. Scream! I
wanna know you're really feeling me inside you." He began fucking me hard
and fast without a break. I was panting. I was crying out. I was making a
loud grunt each time that bone slammed into me so brutally. It seemed to go
on forever. Then Brad collapsed on top of me. His body was not moving
except for the heavy breathing. But his cock was jerking around inside me,
slapping my insides as it filled my guts with hot semen.

And finally I felt tears fill my eyes. I had been through so much without
crying. But having Brad Winston's sperm inside my guts was more than I
could stand. I wasn't going to sob. I wasn't going to do anything to let
this awful rich boy know he made me cry. But I couldn't hold back two tears
that slid down my cheeks.

Brad pulled out of my ass and moved around in front of me. Even as he
lifted my face he didn't notice the tears. He had other things on his
mind. "Clean it, slaveboy," Brad said. Then he shoved his cock into my
mouth. At that moment I remembered how Rye had told me I would be grateful
for having an extra enema that evening to make sure I was especially
clean. Still my mouth was filled with the taste of Brad Winston's cum and
my own ass juices.

Apparently the ministrations of my mouth were all it took for Brad to be
stiff once again. He had kept me strapped to the horse and he fucked my
butt a second time. Just as brutal this time. Only this second time lasted
longer - the scraping sensation around my anus was eventually replaced with
numbness. When he finally collapsed on me I felt his juices spilling out of
my hole and a slick layer of sweat between us.

"This was quite a night," Brad said in the most matter-of-fact way as he
pulled his cock out of me but addressed Rye. "You know daddy always breaks
in the new boys. This is the first time he let me go first. But of course
tomorrow night is daddy's turn."

When I got back to the slave bathing room with Rye I collapsed on the floor
and took a couple of deep breaths. Then I turned to the tall slave and the
first words I spoke were, "So, Brad Winston needs to beat a slave's ass in
order to get hard enough to fuck?"

Rye went rigid and spoke in a loud voice, "We don't talk about our masters
that way. You're new so you didn't know any better. But we never talk about
what our masters may like or what our masters may do - even if we're
talking to another slave who may have experienced the same things or to a
slave who may be headed toward the same experiences." He looked at me in a
meaningful way, nodded his head and said, "Do you understand me?"

Why was he talking to me in such an awkward voice? When we were together
before this he always spoke casually. I nodded my head to indicate I
understood him, but that didn't seem to be enough.

Rye turned on a shower and said, "You need some comforting, Wally. Come to
me." I moved to him cautiously. He wrapped his arms around me so that his
well-muscled body was pressed to mine and our faces were close
together. Because of the difference in height, my mouth was at his
collarbone, while his mouth was at my ear. His cock was rubbing on my
stomach and my cock was against his leg. He knew I didn't like guys in that
way. I tried to pull away. His lips were just about kissing my ear and he
whispered, "Stay like this. It's important." I relaxed in his arms and he
whispered, "They have hidden cameras and hidden microphones, boy. They
don't watch every minute of every day. But you never know when they're
looking and listening. They're always particularly interested in watching
what goes on with a brand new slave. And I know they're very interested in
you." The sound of the running water in the shower meant that nobody else
could hear his words.

I kissed him on the cheek, moved back and awkwardly said, "Th-thanks for
c-comforting me, Rye. But you know I'm not gay." I tried to stay focused on
Rye and fought the urge to look around the room for the hidden cameras and
microphones. I then turned my back to him consumed by another concern: Why
had intimate contact with the big slave's bare body made my dick half-way
hard?