Date: Fri, 9 Sep 2005 06:06:21 -0700 (PDT)
From: Steam Train <steam_t2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Middle Class Slave Revisited

A Middle Class Slave Revisited
By Steam Train    (steam_t2000@yahoo.com)

One of the most prolific and best writers of Slave
stories is Pete Brown ( petebrownuk@yahoo.com ). His
story `A Middle Class Slave' has long fascinated me.
It can be found at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories.

It ends with the principal character Steve Wright
serving as a slave caddy for the Piney Hills Golf
Club. I approached Pete with the idea that this story
had the potential to be taken further, as the eventual
fate of Steve was left up in the air at the end of
what Pete had written. I asked Pete if he was
interested in taking the story further but he had
moved on and his imagination was not aroused by the
thought of revisiting this story. He did however
encourage me to write a sequel to his story if I
wished. So with his permission I have made such an
attempt.

What follows is my own thoughts of where the story
might go not Pete's. I cannot hope to write to the
standard Pete achieves in the best of his stories but
I hope that for those of you who have read the
original story, you find something of interest in this
sequel.

Steam


Chapter 1: Piney Hills Golf Course.

My transfer as a slave from Green Bay Farms to the
Piney Hills Golf Club had been one of those events in
your life that looking back you realise had been a
stroke of good luck for you.

When I first arrived I was reunited with my slave
lover Matt. He had been a slave at Green Bay Farms
with me but we had been separated into different
coffles and lost contact. I had thought that we had
lost contact with each other for good, but he had been
transferred to Piney Hills some time before I had.

At Piney Hills, I was no longer constantly shackled to
a working coffle where I was punished for the
slightest slacking off in work effort. As a caddy at
the Piney Hills Golf Course I had a lot more freedom.

True I often worked 72 holes in a day and whilst this
was hard work, I was very fit and out on the course
carrying my masters golf bag it was pretty pleasant
with only rare occasions when you received much in the
way of physical punishment.

Ok, it was not quite so good during the middle of the
week when the course often got a lot of retired folk
who could not walk far around the course and so I had
to pull them around in golf carts.

The older guys liked to steer you around the course by
reins attached to each end of the bit. You can't speak
at all, with the bit in your mouth holding your tongue
down, and they even gave the masters light whips to
"encourage" you.

Some of the old guys are regular "drivers", and get a
real satisfaction from treating you like a pony,
pulling your head from side to side to steer you,
pulling hard back to make you stop, and then whipping
your ass to make you move faster if you're not quick
enough off the mark. It was not as pleasant as
carrying a golf bag but still a lot bet ter than
working the farm in a coffle.

I was 27 years old when I was transferred to Piney
Hills. It had been five years since I had been
enslaved for the rest of my natural life for
intercourse outside marriage leading to unwanted
conception.

Matt, very early on after my transfer had warned me
that whilst we remained relatively young, and kept
ourselves in reasonable shape, we would probably do
the caddying for quite a few years.

However we had to ensure we did special exercises.
Even though we did lots of exercise every day walking
around the course carrying bags or pulling trolleys,
with our arms chained to the side of our bodies all
day, it was essential we do push-ups and stuff like
that at night, to keep our biceps and upper bodies
nicely firm.

Matt had quickly noticed that too many of the other
guys just let themselves go, and ended up with huge
thighs and asses, and tiny skinny tops. He had noticed
and I soon discovered he was right, that they didn't
last long at the course after that.!"

After only three years, Matt, myself and twenty-seven
other slaves remained of the original fifty slaves
that had been caddies when I was first transferred.

The cold stabbing fear of what was to be my eventual
end always resurfaced when one of the caddies was
removed from our ranks. With our bodies tattooed and
ornamented like they were, we were pretty much useless
for anything else. Matt was convinced that our
ultimate doom was to work in the mines till our
eventual demise. This thought always sent that cold
stabbing feeling right through my heart.

My life at Piney Hills followed the same pattern day
in and day out. It was difficult keeping track of time
but the change in seasons sort of kept you in tough
with where you were in relation to the year and
occasionally you heard snippets of conversations
between masters and very vaguely this kept me in some
knowledge of the important events that were happening
in the world.

Over the years of my enslavement I had gotten used to
many aspects of being a slave. One aspect I outright
enjoyed and I was sure I would not have swapped even
for my freedom was Matt. Matt was my greatest of
pleasures, the love of my life. Every day as I walked
the course my thoughts lingered on the evening to come
and the evening just gone. I would not have known the
joy of a male companion if I had nor been enslaved.

I had two older brothers, Michael and William, but we
had never shared any brotherly love like I had seen
the two brothers who were my masters at Green Bay
Farms share between themselves.

There was of course still the other side of being a
slave that I don't think I could ever get over. Even
after all these years of enslavement I still found it
totally degrading to be a naked, tattooed, ornamented
animal that was kept on the course for the pleasure of
the player's. These players were mostly visitors,
complete strangers who would pull you around the
course by your cock, given half the chance.

Almost none of them would ever consider speaking to
me; after all, I was I am sure in their minds nothing
more than a mere dumb animal.

There was the very rare exception to this rule.

The masters that did speak to me were almost always
from the north and the conversations were always very
brief. `Slave did you see where my ball went" "Boy
come here with those clubs", never anything like a
proper two-way conversation.

I saw occasionally my two masters from Green Bay Farms
as they played the course. If they recognised me
through all my tattooing and ornamentation they never
acknowledged it. Once I even caddied for the younger
brother, but all morning as we walked the course, he
just looked straight through me as if I was not there.
I of course was not permitted to say anything to him
unless spoken to and I was never spoken too.

Then there was Master Booth who mostly made
fortnightly visits to the course. He was a man of
stature. He had a commanding presence and a manner
that exuded power, confidence and self-assurance. He
also showed some compassion for us slave caddies. I
had noticed how he often thought enough of his caddy
to stand them in the shade of a tree and allowed them
watering at the ninth.

Over the first years of my service at the course, I
caddied a few times for Master Booth. He had a great
liking of taking your cock in his hand and guiding you
around the course. He was gentle but persistent in
this desire. If he felt me nearing an ejaculation he
would ease off for a while but then when the urge had
subsided he would resume his handling of my cock on
his walk around the course.

One day in about my third year of service as he stood
looking down the 4th fairway and pondering his next
club selection, he turned and asked me for my opinion.

No one before him, if they had talked at all to me had
ever asked for my advice. Strange, as I had never
considered it, but after five years of walking the
course over and over I knew almost every blade of
grass, every hillock, every trap.

"Master, I would suggest you lay up short on the
fairway of that large tree to the right of the fairway
about in line with the water trap on the left. If you
do so you will have an easy chip in to the green and
avoid the hidden bunkers that line the front of the
green".

The way he looked at me a sudden surge of fear swept
over me. Had I said too much?

He did ask me a question didn't he? I was compelled to
answer a master's question was I not?

"How long have you worked this course boy?" he asked.

"Master, three years I think sir" I politely replied".

"Damm, why didn't I think of this earlier, I could
have saved a lot of frustration on this course if I
had had good advice all these years I have been
playing here".

That was a statement not a question I decided, so I
stood awaiting further instructions.

My advice proved invaluable and soon he was see\king
my advice at all the holes of the course.

At the twelfth hole my new found enjoyment at being
asked for my opinion after nearly ten years of
mindless slavery seemed to be coming to an abrupt end.
I was convinced I was heading for my worst punishment
since leaving Green Bay Farms when the course Slave
Master approached Master Booth and asked him if there
were problems with the slave caddy.

"Problems?" Master Booth asked.

"Yes sir, I have had reports that this slave here has
been talking to you. I apologise sir for this
insolence on behalf of the club. Rest assured sir I
will have his tongue cut out for this repulsive
behaviour towards you sir" the Slave Master replied.

My tongue! Fear gripped me.

With a laugh Master Booth replied, "Oh is that all, no
he has only spoken because I have asked him a direct
question. Do you know, I'm having my best game ever on
this course and I have played it nearly every second
week for years Your caddies a goldmine of advice on
how to play the course Have you ever considered
training some of the caddies specifically to do this
on a regular basis for the members?"

"Why no sir I don't believe the club ever has, but
thank you for you suggestion", the slightly flushed
Slave Master replied.

Obviously from his body language he was of the firm
opinion slaves should be seen but not heard.'

I was left on my own with Master Booth for the rest of
the round. He even thanked me quietly for my
assistance as he took himself off to enjoy the 19th
hole.

The look I received that afternoon from the Slave
Master as I sat in the caddies chorale awaiting my
next master was almost of hate. But he said nothing.

The next morning as all the caddies were being
prepared to be led out for the new day to the chorale,
we were all fitted with mouth gags similar to the bits
that were fitted when we pulled the golf carts. With
these fitted they held your tongue down and you were
unable to speak at all.

When we arrived at the chorale there was a freshly
painted sign clearly visible to all players near the
chorale fence stating that members and visitors were
reminded that slave caddies were unable to speak as it
distracted them from their duties. Then to my shock it
went on via words and diagrams to show how there was
no need to talk to caddies at all and showed how
caddies could be steered around the course by our
cocks.

I had been told by the Slave Master when I first
arrived that part of our purpose as slave caddies was
to help increase the acceptability of slavery amongst
the middle-class players who visited the club from the
north. This was achieved by presenting the slave
caddies as 'objects', slaves that have been so
dehumanised by the ringing and tattooing, that the
northern visitors would find it easier to accept the
concept of using slaves for menial tasks.

The Save Master had obviously, like I suspected
yesterday back at the twelfth hole, not liked Master
Booths idea of caddies providing playing advice during
the round.

Two weeks later I was waiting with a Master at the
first tee when Master Booth walked past the Pro shop
on  his way to prepare for his round of golf.

As I was walking off with my master down the first
fairway I saw him return from the direction of the
caddy chorale, even from that distance I could see he
was fuming with anger.

I noticed Master Booth a few more times over the next
months, but I never directly caddied for him.

Then one day as we were being prepared in the morning
as usual for the days caddying, there were no mouth
guards for some of us.

The Save Master entered and called out ten slave
numbers, which included both Matts and mine. In fact
most of the longer serving caddies who were in any way
articulate were in the group. Fear spread quickly over
me. Was this the end? Was I being sent off to the
mines? I was still fit, I must only have been about
thirty and I expected to be able to work as a caddy at
least till I was forty.

"Right, follow me" the Slave Master ordered.

He led us out, down the corridor past the "infirmary
and in through the next door to a small room that had
a white board on a stand at the other end.

Once we were all standing submissively he ordered,
"Pay attention. The board of the club has decided to
create a new specialist caddy type. You ten have been
selected to be the initial intake. Now I will tell you
right from the start I don't agree with this, but the
board has ignored my advice".

You ten caddies have been approved by the board to
give advice on club selection and ball positioning
during the course of a round however you are still
strictly forbidden to speak to a master unless
explicitly asked and then only to discuss matters of
golf play. Is that understood?"

"Master, yes sir" we all replied.

The rest of that day and the next were taken up with
classroom lectures on correct speech and refresher
courses on proper slave behaviour as was usually
applied to domestic house slaves not outdoor slaves.
We also had practical walks through each hole on the
course with the Assistant Professional and the Slave
Master discussing course features, club selection and
playing recommendations.

The club board must have sensed that we would be seen
by the visiting players as more than just objects or
animals if we gave advice because all ten of us were
issued with khaki shorts emblazoned with the Piney
Hills logo and with black stripes designed to match
the striping of our body tattoos. The front of the
shorts though had an open pocket that allowed any
master easy access to out cocks for directing us
around the course if they so wished.

It was the first time I had worn clothing of any sort
in about eight years. It felt totally strange, even
uncomfortable to have my cock and balls constrained
within those shorts. It was almost a relief when some
master pulled them out through the front of the
shorts.

The fact that ten of us now got to wear shorts didn't
prove too much of a problem for the other forty
caddies either.

Yes they were jealous but the Slave Master soon
discovered there was keen competition amongst the
forty normal caddies to aspire to be an `Advice Caddy'
or Alpha Caddy as we slaves named the role. The threat
of loss of status to an `Alpha Caddy' was often as
good a deterrent as the threat of a good whipping.

The new scheme quickly proved to be a big success.
Word soon spread that with the help of an Advice
Caddy' your score was almost certain to improve.  We
could still be used as normal caddies if our expertise
was not required, however as our services were so soon
in high demand, this hardly ever happened to any of us
Alpha Caddies. We also came at a premium price if our
course expertise was being used and we had a small
separated section of the caddy chorale to sit in when
not being used.

The next time Mr Booth came to play I was sitting in
the `Course Advice Caddies Section' awaiting my next
job

I saw Mr Booth take out a notebook and scower the
chorale. He looked right at me then his eyes moved on.
Eventually he called out my slave number and asked if
I was present.

I stood immediately and took up my servants position,
head bowed.

"Come here boy," he ordered. I walked towards Master
Booth and stood in my servant's position immediately
before him. He reached over and removed my shorts, my
cock springing out to it's usual semi erect position
now free of the constraints of the shorts.

I heard the muffled sounds of a few giggles from the
other caddies as I was exposed.

In the short time since I had been issued with shorts
they had become a big status symbol amongst the
caddies and having to stand there and be stripped made
me blush unexpectantly. I had thought that after eight
years of total nudity I was passed blushing. I learnt
then how quickly you could adapt back to your old life
styles of modesty if allowed. He placed my shorts over
the chorale rail and pulling me by my cock led me
away.

I was soon fitted up with his golf bag and setting off
to the first tee.

"Darn if I can tell the difference in all you caddies,
you all look the same. If it wasn't for your slave
number branded on your arm I could never tell you
apart. As to why you would cover over with shorts such
a fine specimen of flesh I have no idea, you look much
better this way" he stated.

Again it was a statement and I made no reply though I
could feel my face blushing again at his statement
about my body.

I also noticed the Slave Master standing to the side
with a wide smirk on his face due no doubt to my
obvious blushing embarrassment and taking a keen
interest in my behaviour. I was very careful to do
everything he expected of me and nothing more.

Master Booth had another good round that day and was
very satisfied with my services.

Over the following months I became his regular caddy.
He would seek me out and later he began ringing ahead
to the pro Shop and booking my services in advance.
The Slave Master did not approve of this but was not
able to challenge Master Booth's obvious authority to
have these added privileges.

Though I was always totally naked when I caddied for
Master Booth, this change in my fortunes made my time
at Piney Hills even more bearable. In my own mind and
my own self-esteem, it raised me up slightly from
being nothing more than a naked, tattooed, ornamented
animal.

When you have something to aspire too, no matter how
trivial, in a life of total monotony, it brings a
refreshing change. This single idea of Advice Caddies
by Master Booth, which he took to the Board and had
approved, had much wider effects upon the lives and
mental well being of all the slave caddies than Master
Booth, the Club Board or any of the free members and
visitors to the club could have imagined.

End Chapter 1 (Part 10 Continuance of Original)