Date: Wed, 15 Feb 2006 08:50:13 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: My New Slave, Part One

MY NEW SLAVE  By Pete Brown.

Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part One


I'd just come back from a pretty strenuous run - I'll
call it that, rather than a jog as I pride myself on
being above averagely fit - and my personal trainer
looked as if he'd had a good workout, too.  He's much
younger than me - late thirties I seem to remember -
and taller than my six one, and as his entire function
is to remain fit and good looking, I make him run
ahead to scout the path, then come back to me and run
with me for a bit, then run ahead again.  It's quite a
delicate balancing act for him, I suppose, and that's
why not a lot of men use slaves as personal trainers -
they have to be able to give you "instructions" and
"make" you work hard, whilst all the time keeping that
proper civility and servile attitude that one expects
from a slave.  I'd bough this one a couple of years
ago, though, from a sale they held up at the old mines
when they went bankrupt, and  I think he was so glad
to escape from the terrible underground life that he
was willing to do almost anything to ensure I did not
re-sell him back to a mining company.

He'd been in a terrible state when I first saw him -
skin deathly pale as he'd had absolutely no exposure
to the natural light for about four years, dust and
grime really ingrained into his skin everywhere making
him look extremely dishevelled, and a  rough beard and
long shaggy hair - those underground slaves were
apparently only given the occasional use of a pair of
rough scissors to hack at their hair and beards, as
the mine owners wanted to avoid the possibility of the
slaves damaging themselves with knives and so on.  His
knees and elbows were heavily calloused and covered in
a tough layer of skin from where he'd spent so much
time crawling on hands and knees through the narrower
tunnels, and there were some new, livid lash marks
across his back where it seemed he must have incurred
the displeasure of the guards who were holding him and
his companions in the pre-auction stock pen.

On the other hand, he was tall, as I've said, was
properly proportioned with a large-boned frame to
match his height,  and beautifully muscled from the
unrelenting toil in the mine - I understand they had
to "buy" food from the surface with the products of
their labours, so there was every incentive to keep
working very hard indeed.  All of the slaves in his
group conformed to this general type, but unlike most
of his companions, this one was not horribly
disfigured by large, obscene tattoos over most of his
skin, and he told me later that although the
decoration of the body was almost the only leisure
activity available to them deep down there in the
bowels of the earth, he'd not indulged as he "hoped,
one day, to see the sky again and knew that an owner
might find such decorations offensive."  He was right,
of course - some of the smaller men were superficially
more appealing as it is known that it can be hard to
control a very large slave, but the presence of the
swirls, words and crude human caricatures all over
their skin made them totally unsuitable as personal
servants (well for me, at least - I did not relish the
prospect of inserting my dick into a slave's ass that
was crudely tattooed with a huge set of concentric
"bullseye" circles, for example).

I had no real plans to purchase another slave that day
and had gone along to the auction more as a social
activity, to meet my friends and neighbours and have a
couple of glasses of wine with them as we discussed
crop prices and other matters of interest.  But as the
auction began and I heard the ridiculously low prices
these men were fetching, my business sense got the
better of me.  It occurred to me that if I bought the
slave I'd seen and got him properly cleaned up and his
skin nicely tanned, I could always sell him on a
potentially big profit - providing, that is, that no
one else had the same idea and bid him up too high.
Consequently I splashed out on another round of drinks
for my companions, and then excused myself briefly to
pop back over to the stock pens to take another look
at him.  The sun had come out by now and I saw a glint
of gold in his dirty, matted hair, and felt my cock
stir as I could imagine how well dark blond hair would
look on a man of this stature.  Consequently I called
one of the auction staff over and asked for a pair of
latex inspection gloves, and decided to give the slave
the "once over" - normally I prefer to do this
bare-handed, but frankly the slave's skin was so dirty
that I did not really want to touch it.  As it was,
the inspection was bad enough because of the simply
disgusting smell the slave was giving off, but it was
necessary only to give most of him a fairly cursory
inspection as his muscles were so evidently in good
shape.  When I ordered him to bend over and grab his
ankles so that  I could test his anus, he dared to
protest, however!

That small act of defiance almost cost him my
attention, as I've told you that I was already
concerned about buying such a potentially risky large
slave;  and, more immediately, it won him a slash
across the buttocks by the guard's tawse.  He obeyed
then, as you might expect, and as I probed with my
finger he moaned, and seemed exceptionally tight for a
slave.  I commanded him to stand upright once more and
cupped his balls in my hand - delightfully heavy, and
hanging low in their sac - and then teased him to
erection.  Strangely, he did not seem to mind this
quite as much as the anal probing, and as I peeled off
the gloves, I commented to the handler that the slave
was unusually tight and that he would be a real
pleasure to mount.  To our astonishment, the slave
blurted out "I don't get fucked!  I'm a top."

Well, as you can imagine, the handler really laid into
him with the tawse then, striking him not only across
the buttocks but also the back, and then his chest -
the slave did his best to cover himself, but the
handler was skilled at using the tawse and easily
managed to get several really stinging blows at the
slave's genitals, and nipples.  As the slave lay there
in the dirt feebly trying to protect himself, the
handler apologised to me on behalf of the auction
house.  "...but you must remember, sir, that this
batch have just been common workers down the mines,
and not properly trained for normal duties.   If you
are considering purchasing a slave for personal use,
sir, I'm sure you will find something in the 'trained
servant' section that is not so insolent.  It's just
that they get into bad habits down the mines, without
any supervision at all."

"Don't worry.  I am, though, interested in hearing
what he has to say.... Be so good as to get the
creature back onto his feet."

The handler kicked at the naked slave and told him to
rise, and as he stood there in front of me, rubbing
his big calloused hands over his body in an effort to
ease the sting of the tawse, I said to him "I am not
interested in your views,  slave.  But you said you
didn't get fucked - does that mean that you are a
virgin?"

"No!  Of course not!  When I was in the Marines I was
married, and have two kids.  But then they enslaved me
as they said I 'broke the rules' by fighting too hard
in the Third Gulf War and killing too many terrorists
- it was a fucking disgrace, I can tell you.   What
the fuck do they think a soldier's supposed to do, but
kill terrorists?  But those lily-livered liberals in
Congress now had me court martialled and enslaved....
They said I didn't show proper respect for the rules
of engagement and several Arab nations had
complained... "

"Yes, yes.  I am not interested in all of that.
You're a slave, and that's all that matters.  But are
you a virgin?"

"No, as I said, I have kids...."

"I meant 'have you been fucked?' I'm not interested in
your sordid experiences with women!  Have you
experienced a stiff dick in that tight ass of yours?"

"No!"

"...and you said you were a top?"

"Look, what else do you think we do, stuck down that
fucking mine?  Sex is the only pleasure we've got.  I
like fucking, there's no women around, so what else
can a guy do?  Anyway, most of the other guys down
there like a dick up them.... I was being kind,
really...."

I laughed, thinking what a pleasure it would be to
tech this big unruly slave not only proper manners,
but how it was me who decided on whether he would take
dick or not, once he became mine!

Fortunately my plan worked - most of the other
potential bidders were still drinking when he came up
onto the block, and even those who were there were now
put off by the very visible tawse marks that now were
visible showing through the dirt and grime.  I got him
at a knockdown price - only around a hundred New
Dollars, I seem to remember, and paid a small premium
to the auctioneers to ship him directly to the local
slave trainers as I certainly did not want that dirty,
stinking body in my car.

Well, as I've said, I've had him for a couple of years
now, and he's turned out to be an excellent
investment.  Once he was cleaned up and the dirt
sweated out of his skin, his hair was cropped and his
pubes shaved, he already looked more like a
thoroughbred when I went to visit him the next day at
the trainers.  In his hearing I told them that he was
to be taught the proper, respectful way of addressing
free men, that he was to learn the proper slave
stances for display, rest, and so on, and that in his
education they should not hesitate to use the cane and
tawse 'as necessary' to get a swift and ready
compliance.  He looked wilful and defiant as he heard
me say this, but then spat at me and screamed that I
was a real bastard when I also listed my "extras" I
wanted them to perform on him - nothing drastic, of
course, as I wanted a real man, but all my slaves are
circumcised, and have my house brand burned into the
left buttock.  I also decided that he should be called
Steve, as are all my personal slaves as it saves me
remembering new names, and that this should, along
with my phone number, be tattooed on his right breast.
 Actually I suppose it helps a slave like Steve to get
accustomed to his new life to make him use a name I
have chosen - if I'd stuck with his old name, whatever
it was, he'd be more likely to think about his former
life.

I never bothered to enquire exactly what methods they
used at the slave training centre, but when he was
delivered to my house three weeks later, he was a
changed man:  his neat, short hair was that dark blond
shade I find so appealing, and that, and his green
eyes, were really set off by his dark, but not overly
dark, tan.  He'd learned manners, too, and when I
ordered him to drop his shorts so I cold inspect his
dick and brand, he did so with only a moment's
hesitation - and I found that somewhat appealing, as
it implied that deep down there was still a spark of a
"free man" lurking, and this could only add a little
excitement to our sexual encounters.   He let me run
my fingers over his brand - they'd done an excellent
job, with crisp, sharp edges that always denote just
the right temperature and pressure of the branding
iron - and did not even protest as I stroked his dick
to erection and toyed with his neat head, teasing his
piss slit with my nail and enjoying his body's
instinctive reactions.  When I commanded him to bend
over and grip his ankles, though, I felt he almost
demurred, and did so very reluctantly.  And when I
commanded him to reach back and pull his strong
muscular buttocks apart so I cold more easily see his
anus, he whispered "Please, sir, no...."

Well, this is not about Steve, really, so I'll gloss
over those first few times where it took several of my
other slaves to subdue him and strap him down on to a
flogging horse before  I was able to properly see his
tight, virgin anus and then use it for the purposes
for which it was intended. Even now, after all this
time, I sense that he does not really like my dick
inside him even though he has learned that a willing
acceptance is the only way to avoid a painful
thrashing with the punishment cane.   I understand
from my major domo that Steve is quite a lad in the
slave quarters, and much in demand as he really knows
how to pleasure a man with his dick.  I must confess
it gives me a certain satisfaction to know that he has
had to learn to accept my dick thrusting into him,
even though his natural inclinations are clearly to be
the fucker, rather than the fuckee, so to speak:
there is that certain tension every time my dick
pushes at his ass for entrance, and it is almost as if
I can feel him having to control himself as he knows
that I am his master in all things.

Now he is a truly excellent personal trainer - he
still has a natural pride in his own body and relishes
keeping it in the superb condition that I require.
And, as I said, it's a difficult thing to do, to "spur
me on", whilst remaining properly respectful and
servile, and he generally does this very well:  I
think he was a sergeant or something in the army, and
he has a way of giving orders still (naturally I do
not encourage him to talk about his former life, as
like all slaves he needs to remain completely focused
on considering my current needs and requirements).  He
stood there now in front of me, his T soaked in sweat,
and as I nodded at him to give him permission, he
quickly stripped it off, and dropped his shorts and
turned to go to the bathroom to run my shower.  As I
always did, I enjoyed the sight of his firm, muscular
buttocks as he strode across the room (much enhanced,
in my opinion, by the sight of my house brand still
clearly visible on them and denoting my total
ownership and control of him) , and I wondered if
there was time to spread them and fuck him before I
needed to go off to church.

One of the things we've never perfected as a society,
even after thousands of years of technological
progress, is a way of getting the shower temperature
exactly right from the outset - even with thermostatic
valves there's always an initial spray of cold water,
and you see men doing extraordinary contortions to
avoid it as they grope for the control.  With a
Personal Trainer acting as your shower slave of course
all this is avoided, and it always amuses me to see
him standing there in the big walk-in enclosure,
reaching for the valve, and almost screwing up his
body in anticipation of the initial icy blast.   He's
learned how to adjust the water to my exact
requirements, and as I entered the enclosure he did as
he always did and dropped to his knees in front of me
in case I require some sexual relief before my dick is
slathered in soap and so on.    I did not want this
today, and so it took very little time before he was
drying me with the big fluffy white towels I like, and
helping me dress.

As I said, I was expecting  to have to leave for
church shortly - I'm not at all religious, of course,
as I'm an intelligent man, but it provided a
convenient place to meet other  businessmen and slave
owners in the area and so I generally go along once on
a Sunday.  Provided I keep my personal player on a low
setting, I can usually manage to enjoy some Mozart or
perhaps a little Shostakovitch without the nauseous
self-justifying preaching of the minister intruding.

This Sunday turned out to be rather special, though,
as our local Police Chief, Chief Williams, had brought
along his son who was on his midsummer break from
college.  I vaguely remember the boy from when he'd
been on the soccer team at the local High School, when
I'd presented the prizes one year (having contributed
most of them!), and I also remembered that even then
I'd been quite interested in the boy.  Now, as I
exchanged a few words with him and his father, I
learned that he was twenty years old now and
contemplating a career in slave management once he
graduated.  He'd grown into a real stunner - well, at
least as far as I was concerned!  At "only" five ten,
I towered over him, but he had a most agreeable
"slight" body, although there were evident signs of
him taking care of himself as his tight pants showed a
pleasing well-rounded ass.  He had his hair moderately
short and fashionably waxed to stand up stiff from his
head, giving him a modern and yet intelligent look,
and although he was clean shaven and neat for church,
where his wrists protruded from his long-sleeved shirt
there were those agreeable signs of a hairy body,
always something I like.  I also like a man with dark
brown eyes as I think they're rather sexy especially
when close-up, in bed, and as we chatted idly away my
brain couldn't help speculating about whether he had
been cut at birth, or whether his foreskin was still
intact - I suspected the latter, as so many parents
are now concerned to ensure that their sons are not
"slave like", when so many owners regularly have their
slaves 'skinned.

It quite made my visit to church worthwhile, and I
even turned off my player in favour of slipping into a
pleasant reverie about how it would be to have that
firm young body under mine in bed - a reverie that I
had to cut short as I realised that my straining
erection might turn into a spontaneous ejaculation as
I had turned down Steve's ministrations to my dick
earlier, as I have told you.  It's often thought that
older men do not have such firm or such frequent
erections as young guys, and that they run no risk of
unwanted ejaculations, but let me assure you that in
my case none of these things is true - the sight of a
shapely set of buttocks, or a nice smile on a handsome
face, or the scent of virile sweat from a workman, can
all distract my attention from business into more
pleasurable avenues!  I was determined to have another
sight of the young man, and so made it my business to
seek out Chief Williams on the church steps after the
usual trite nonsense of the service and engage him in
conversation about his election prospects, and at the
same time hinting that a generous donation from me to
his election funds might well be possible.  He
willingly accepted my offer to continue our discussion
over a drink before lunch, although he said that he'd
have to bring his son - Dan, I learned - with him as
they had come in only one car.

Seated on my terrace overlooking the pleasure grounds
I had to listen to the Chief droning on when all I
really wanted to do was to feast my eyes on the young
Daniel, and the boy fidgeted around, inflaming my
interest in his lithe body, as he too was clearly less
than interested in what his father was saying.   I
suggested that he might prefer to go and take a dip in
my pool, adding that there were several
freshly-laundered costumes always available in the
pool house and that he should summon a slave if he
required any assistance. I thought it would be
premature, and perhaps scare him off, if I had
suggested that as it was only men around he could, if
he wished, swim "au naturel"!  Nevertheless when he
did emerge and execute a neat dive into the pool, I
was gratified to see that he'd chosen proper swimmer's
Speedos and not some of those baggy shorts that the
young tend to favour these days.

He raced up and down the pool., evidently keen on the
exercise, and when he finally stopped and hauled
himself out  I was rewarded with the sight of an
inviting dark treasure trail emerging from the Speedos
and running right up to the modest patch of hair on
his chest.  Fortunately his back was agreeably free of
hair (I like a properly hairy man, but prefer their
backs to be smooth as I rake them with my fingers
during sex).  I like to see a man hauling himself out
of the water to sit on the pool edge as all the
muscles in the arms and back take part, and as had
been "promised" when I'd seen him at church, he had
those lithe, stringy muscles that only the young have
as they come into the first bloom of their twenties.
All in all, he was a most desirable young man, and I
wanted to ravish him there and then - something that
was, of course, impossible, given my position and
status in our local society, and the fact that he was
a free man!  I did however summon  a slave to fetch my
cheque book and gave Chief Williams a substantial
contribution to his campaign expenses in the hope of
fostering some appropriate further meetings between
us, meetings at which he might, after all, be
accompanied by his son!

The scandal broke later that week, and resignedly I
wrote off my campaign contribution.  The Chief was
found to have been engaged in corrupt practices
relating to the letting of the contracts for civic
works, and to have colluded with certain other
"honest" citizens in getting the newly enslaved
knocked down to them at bargain prices, so defrauding
the general tax base of our community.  It amazes me
to hear that earlier in the century there could be
huge delays in bringing cases to court, and then
endless appeals and so on afterwards, that could mean
that an accused could spin out the time to his
ultimate incarceration to months or even years.
Nowadays of course justice is more swift, and more
sure, and by the middle of the following week all the
evidence had been considered, and the former Chief
Williams was now a slave, with no further possibility
of any appeal.  On hearing the news I hurried down to
the Court House in time to see him being carried away
in shackles to the slave dealer's wagon, and went
inside to find young Daniel imploring the acting
Police Chief, a man in my pay, to "do something".

When he saw me he rushed over, took my arm in a
gesture of urgency, and said "Sir, can't you do
something to help my father?  They're taking him
away...."

I smiled.  Of course I could do something.  I called
over the acting Police Chief and calmly said "This is
your former boss's son.  He is, I believe, only twenty
years old.  It seems to me that ex-Chief Williams'
assets will be insufficient to repay the taxpayers of
our town for the money he embezzled, and that
therefore you will need to seize this boy as well, so
that he can in turn be enslaved and sold to help repay
his father's debt to society.  I think we're fortunate
to have this additional asset to sell, as in a few
months he would have reached his majority and no
longer be the responsibility of his father."

Daniel gave a cry of "No!", but even as he did this my
man called over two officers and they quickly and
efficiently cuffed him, and led him away.

Whilst it was most satisfactory that the young man was
now potentially mine as I could bid for him when he
came up for auction in the usual way, I was concerned
that the general enslavement process would alter him
fundamentally.  My thoughts had been filled with the
idea of having a young, handsome, free man in my bed,
and I did not want to spoil the pleasure by having him
cropped, tattooed, branded, 'skinned, and sullied
mentally by all the degradation and humiliation that
these processes would necessarily entail.
Consequently I spoke to the acting Chief, and in
return for my promise of a generous contribution to
his own campaign expenses for the forthcoming
election, he agreed to postpone any "work" on the
newly-enslaved Dan.  Later that day the Mayor was
amenable to "selling the slave, the former Daniel
Williams, by private treaty rather than public
auction, as it was agreed that the price was far in
excess of the current auction 'guide price' for male
slaves of that age".  The Mayor, too, was most pleased
by my contribution to his own campaign expenses as we
concluded "a most satisfactory deal for our
community":  Dan was turning out to be a most
expensive purchase, but my dick was almost constantly
erect in anticipation of the delights ahead, and I
think I have few enough pleasures in this life
considering how hard I work, so I did not begrudge
myself this small indulgence.


By the time Dan was delivered to my house he'd only
been  in custody - and that in the Police Station,
rather than the municipal slave barracks - a day.
They'd clearly given him the opportunity to shower and
shave, and as he got out of the Police Car and stood
at the foot of the steps leading up to my front door,
he recognised where he was from the visit with his
father the previous week.  As soon as he saw me
standing on the wide veranda by the front door, be
bounded up the steps, grabbed my hand, and pumped it
in a strong, eager handshake.  "Sir, oh thank you,
sir, for getting me set free.... Can you do something
for my dad, too, please sir?", he blurted out

I decided not to shatter his illusions for the moment,
and replied calmly "We'll have to see about that, Dan,
now, come on it...", and I made a gesture of dismissal
at the police, knowing that they knew that I was an
experienced slave owner and that my household was
easily capable of dealing with the boy.  I led him
across the wide, flagged entrance hall, and up the
sweeping staircase to the bedroom floor.  He followed
me obediently along the corridor, evidently thinking
we were on the way to a study or den or something, and
it was only when he obediently followed me into my
bedroom and  I closed the door, that he realised
something was odd.

"Sir, can we talk, please?", he asked, a note of
concern entering his voice.

"No, Dan.  We cannot.  Slaves do not talk.  They
obey."

"But sir, you saved me.... They were going to enslave
me to help pay dad's debts..."

"And they did.  They did enslave you.  I have the
papers, and I have bought you.  Bought you at a high
price, I might add.  And now I would like to inspect
my purchase.... Please remove your clothes, as I have
so far only had the pleasure of seeing you stripped
down to Speedos, and I am eager to see, and touch,
your entire body...."

"No!"  His tone was defiant, and he said it as if it
was his last word on the subject.

"Dan, you are a slave.  A slave obeys his master.  A
master has he right to inspect his slave, in any way
he wants.  And I want to see your body, your entire
body, and then, when I have done a visual inspection,
I intend to move on to examine your musculature in
great detail with my hands.....  And for all of this,
I require you to be naked.  So get those clothes off,
Dan, and do it now!"

"No!"  That defiant tone again.

"Dan, I don't want to have to do this, but another
right a master has over his slave is the right of
punishment.  If you persist in disobeying me, I will
have to order you to be punished.  And the more you
continue to disobey, the more severe the punishment
will become.  Did you not see your father punishing
slaves?"

"No, sir.  We did not have any slaves at home... Dad
said we couldn't afford them...."

"Well take it from me, whilst not as dramatic as a
public whipping in the Town Square by the public
whipmaster, the sorts of punishment I can order and
execute here are normally more than sufficient to
bring even the most disobedient slave into line fairly
quickly.  I hesitate to use them on a young slave like
you, one new to slavery a that, but if you continue to
defy me, I will do so.  Now, disrobe, as you have been
commanded to."

He said nothing, but shook his head once more.  I
shrugged my shoulders, looked at him and said "Well
you have brought this on yourself....", and went and
pressed the button by the side of my bed to summon my
Personal Trainer, Steve.

Dan continued to stand there looking at me, not moving
a muscle, and I in turn stood there, relaxed and with
a faint smile on my face.  There was a knock on the
door, and I called enter, and Steve burst in to the
room.   It was clear that he'd been working out, as he
was in his exercise shorts and otherwise naked, and
his whole exposed body was covered in a most agreeable
sheen of sweat -  I allow him exercise shorts as a
well-hung man like Steve works best, I find, with some
support for his tackle, but I have had them specially
styled to be interestingly revealing:  they are slung
very low, way below the hips, so that even with his
neatly trimmed pubes there's an exotic line of dark
blond  hair revealed above the waistband, full
prominence is given to his six-pack belly, and they
are made of stretch fabric so that they split his butt
and highlight his crack, adding emphasis to that part
of it which is in itself above the waistband.

He stood in front of me, panting slightly, his lovely
muscled torso expanding and contracting gently.
"Master?"

"Ah, Steve, this is my new slave, Dan.  I have ordered
him to strip, and he refuses.  I think he's
embarrassed to appear naked in front of me.  Please
demonstrate that it is perfectly natural for a slave
to be naked."

Steve gave me one of his endearing half smiles and his
green eyes twinkled, and without any hesitation at all
he pushed the skimpy shorts down, and did that little
"flick" that big confident men do to release their
dicks from where they have stuck to their balls.

"Now, Dan, you've seen Steve here, and how he obeys,
and how he's not ashamed to be naked in front of his
master.  Now I want you to do the same thing:   I want
to see you as bare-assed naked as Steve is, and I want
to see it now!"

He shook his head again, and I said calmly "Steve,
please teach Dan here a lesson for me, would you?
Please put him over your knee and give him a couple of
slaps with those big hands of yours...."

Steve sprang to obey me - for a big guy, he's
surprisingly nimble of his feet when he needs to be,
and before Dan could react he'd grabbed the boy, put
one arm around his chest and lifted him off the
ground, and moved over to the bed.  He sat down in a
perfectly controlled way, positioned Dan so that he
was hanging over his big strong thighs, and almost
without any perceptible delay the sound of two hard
slaps ricoched around the room like a pistol crack.
As a final gesture Steve pushed Dan off him, and
continued to sit there as the boy sprawled feebly at
his feet on the rich white carpet.  I watched with
interest as Dan pulled himself  together, then got to
his feet - a couple of slaps on his butt from Steve
must have really hurt him, and he was keeping his face
screwed up tightly as if he was holding back tears.

"Now, Dan, that was just the start.  Steve here will
give you two more if you persist in defying me, and
then, if that fails, we'll move on to the punishment
cane.  Steve can tell you how even a big man like him
does everything in his power to avoid the cane, and
that's when it's only me wielding it:  I don't think
your butt would like the feeling of the cane wielded
by Steve - as you can see, he's exceptionally well
muscled and strong, and his arms really pack a
punch...."

I saw him beginning to waver, and I went on "Look,
Dan, I don't want to have to have you hurt.  But you
are my slave, and I do need to take a good look at
you, to make sure you were not damaged or anything in
the Police Station.  Now it's only you, Steve and me
here in this room, and Steve's already naked, and I
saw you in Speedos last week anyway.  So where's the
harm in just removing your clothes?  I really do need
to make sure you're OK...."

I thought that this "appeal to reason" might work - it
was all bullshit of course, as even if the Police had
raped him and beaten him, I had no comeback.   But  I
was gratified to see that he began to unbutton his
shirt, all the time keeping his eyes cast down as if
in some mysterious way he could avoid Steve and me
looking at him if he didn't look at us!

End Of Part One