Date: Mon, 12 Mar 2012 04:50:03 -0700 From: Randall Austin <randallaustin2011@hotmail.com> Subject: One Step Behind You - Part 4 One Step Behind You Part Four By Randall Austin This story is erotic fiction meant for mature readers and should only be read by adults over the age of eighteen years old. Please do not use my stories without my permission and please forward all comments to randallaustin2011@hotmail.com Randall Austin's Archive Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Randall_Austin_Stories Authors Comments: Please help us support Nifty and keep it a free site for all to enjoy. Please make a donation today... Thank you... As we got into the parking lot my friends and family were all just pulling out and they all got to see me being led by Lang on a leash, dressed in my spankers and bellboy hat, struggling to carry his heavy case with both my hands on the handle. They waved but I couldn't wave back. All I could do was nod my bellboy-hatted head back at them. Mr. Falkenberg opened the trunk of his large luxury sedan and indicated for me to place Lang's case inside. He took the driver's seat, and Lang opened the back door of the car and ordered me to get in. I got in and Lang went to the other side of the car, and got in the back seat with me. I was happy to be out of the limelight. I put my shoulder on the armrest, and rested my cheek on my hand. We drove out and I was very depressed, mindlessly letting the scenery roll by. Wednesday afternoon had always been one of my favorite times. I would walk and jog in Smitty Park, and then go for a swim on campus, where I'd join Tony, Perry and Eric. Lang broke my thoughts, "Stop resting your head on your hand. Sit up straight. Keep your legs together and fold your arms in your lap. Stop daydreaming about the past." I was annoyed at Lang, and showed him no deference. I was too depressed and I kept staring out the window. I was suddenly jolted out of my self-pity by an awful stinging of Lang's flip whip across my lap. I yelped, sat up, and furiously rubbed my lap. "Imagine what that would feel like if you didn't have any trousers on to protect you. Now sit up nice and straight! Put your legs together, and fold your arms in your lap, and look cheerfully ahead! You should always be thinking, 'What can I do to help make things pleasant for Mr. Falkenberg and Lang?' If you aren't smiling and cheerful by the time we get home, I'll be hauling you over my knee for a cheering up session." I sat up straight, brought my legs together, and folded my arms in my lap. I was fuming on the inside. Lang sensed it, "I can see that one of the first things we're going to have to work on is that attitude problem. The sooner you tackle your bad attitude and start acting cheery and eager to please, the happier you'll be." We pulled up to a stop light in the middle lane of a three-lane roadway. Cars had pulled along beside us to stop in the lanes to our right and left. The occupants of both cars looked into the Falkenberg's fancy car and saw me uniformed in back. Lang, indicating that we were being watched, said, "When people look into our car I want them thinking, 'Those folks are lucky to have such a perky, wide-eyed, smiling, smartly uniformed, servant looking so ready, able, and willing to please.' I want everyone to see a real eager beaver in you when they look in our car. I want everyone who sees you to wish that they owned you." I was feeling strange, being treated like a little kid. I didn't understand what life had done to me. We drove down Bay Park Drive, a road that had many neat trails going off for hiking. It made me feel sad. With me sitting up straight, and with my arms folded in my lap, sitting in a strange car with strangers, I suddenly broke down and started to cry out loud. I didn't know what Lang would do, but he simply stared at me as if this was all old hat to him. I was afraid he would use his whip or slap my face. But instead he reached over and undid the buttons of my trouser flap. He pulled my front flap down, reached into my boxers, and pulled my dick out. I didn't know what he was doing. He didn't say anything, but with a self satisfied smile he simply turned away and watched the scenery go by out his window, leaving my dick sticking out of my pants. After about five minutes, Lang turned to me and said, "See, you're feeling better now. The moment I opened up your trousers you forgot whatever it was you were thinking about and you stopped yourself pitying crying." An almost inaudible, "Fuck you!" escaped my lips. Lang calmly said, "Dad, pull into the next rest stop. I think our new slave's pants are little uncomfortable on him." Within ten minutes Mr. Falkenberg found a rest and recreation stop along the roadway. He drove in and parked, and said there was no rush, as he was going to get some coffee and go for a short walk to stretch out. The slave rest room was located in back of the men's and women's restrooms. It consisted of one very large cinder blocked room, and served both male and female slaves. Open toilets and urinals lined one wall, with sinks and mirrors off to the side of each of them. There were about thirty steel poles anchored into the floor in one corner of the room. The poles had `D' rings attached at various points along their length so that slaves could be secured to them, in a standing position while their owners used the recreation area, or picnicked. There were about 15 slaves chained to various poles in a variety of ways. Some by a single handcuffed to the bar, some with their arms cuffed around the pole, some by a single ankle chain, and one naked brother and sister slave were both leashed by their collars to a single pole. They all simply had to stand there and wait, chained next to their poles. Open showers lined one wall, and a teenage girl was supervising the showering of two cock-ringed male slaves in their late twenties. In the middle of the room were several long benches which could be used as changing areas. Lang led me to one of the benches, sat down, and ordered me to take off all of my clothes and get over his lap. "Let's get you jack naked!" The teenage girl supervising her bathing slaves turned to watch me undress as she waited for her slaves to finish showering. A middle aged woman two benches down had just finished spanking a male slave who looked to be about my age. He was super cute, and crying like a baby, rubbing his fanny. When she saw that Lang was about to do the same to me as she had just done to her slave, she said, "He's new, right?" Lang answered, "We just got him collared about 2 hours ago. He had a little ceremonial paddling, but now I'm starting to wonder if it might be a bit too soon for any more work on his behind." As her slave was sniffling and getting dressed, she walked over to me just as I had removed my boxers and she reached over and felt my butt. "This butt is ready for anything you want to give it. The only time you should lay off is if it is still a deep red in color after 2 hours. Other than that, a slaves bubble can pretty much take whatever you want to give it." Thanking her for the advice, Lang pulled me over his lap and immediately started in on a series of rapid-fire hand spanks on the curves of my buttocks. He covered every area of my bubble, going in circles. The speed of his spanks was amazing. When he saw in what mode I was about to buck or kick, he quickly pulled both of my arms behind my back, and held them down against my back with his left arm, and by pressing down on my arms he held me tight against his lap. "Listen slaveboy, it's time to start buckling down to your new reality! Dad and I aren't going to put up with any disobedience from our slave, and that includes little snide remarks." I begged him to stop. The middle-aged woman's slave had dressed, but she remained and watched me get it, while her own slave was preoccupied with soothing his fanny. The teenage girl waiting for her slaves to finish showering kept watching me with interest. And all the slaves chained to poles were watching me get spanked as well. It was at least something to watch as they waited for their masters to finish picnicking and come and fetch them. The showering slaves finished and toweled themselves off. After they put on their slave boxers, the teenage girl snapped leashes to their collars, and started to lead them out of the restroom, but stopped by our bench to watch Lang finish up with me. She complimented Lang on his spanking technique and said, "My dad uses that same spanking method on these guys," indicating her two freshly showered and underpants slaves. Seeing her up close I wondered if she was even yet 14 years old. The pain of Lang's handwork was overshadowed by the pain of my humiliation. When Lang let me up I was too embarrassed to hop around so I squatted down and found that by making the flesh taut across my buttocks, it eased the pain. Lang patiently, and with seeming interest, watched what techniques I used to try and soothe my burning butt. With consideration, he told me to get dressed as soon as I felt able. Eventually I got dressed, and as I followed Lang out of the slave rest room a man who was waiting for his wife to come out of the female rest room asked Lang of me, "A new slave?" Lang smiled and answered, "Yeah. It's pretty easy to tell, isn't it? We just picked him up. He's brand new. Just two hours old." The man, who didn't take his eyes off of me, said, "He looks like he should work out fine for you." A group of boys playing catch whistled at me, "Hey slaveboy! Cool outfit!" "Monkeyboy, where's your barrel organ?" When we got back in the car Mr. Falkenberg asked how everything went. Lang answered, "Swimmingly!" He looked at me, smiling, and asked, "Billy, when was the last time you got a spanking from your dad? When you were 10, 11?" "My parents never spanked me or any of my siblings." "I'm not surprised at that. All the studies show that kids who aren't spanked generally grow up to be well adjusted, well-behaved, and top students. But I'm just asking this to see how used you are to spankings. Your ass is starting to get a little tender, so I'm going to have to lay off of it for the rest of the day. In a month or so it'll be firmed up and able to take all the spankings it needs, but for now I want you to know what I'll be doing. A spanking typically goes on for 3 minutes steady, not counting pauses and the occasional lecture or words of wisdom that dad and I toss out during the course of a spanking. And paddlings are typically from 8 to 16 swats. But the paddle can only be used on buttocks, and your tender free-boy-like soft buttocks need a rest. So I'll be substituting the tawse, strap, and flip whip for the rest of the day in the event you need any more chastening." "Now the tawse, strap, and flip whip are level two punishment instruments, far more painful than the hand or the paddle, which are used for level one chastening. So if you need any more chastening today, what I'll be doing is cutting down the punishment by one half of what it would be with the paddle. So that means I can give you 4 to 8 slashes of the flip whip on your back and your legs. And I can use the Flexi-tawse for up to 4 swats on your arms and upper back. And if I still need a fresh work surface, I can use a strap on your inner thighs and legs. So I just want you know what's up Billy. I'm just trying to give your little toosh-toosh a rest so it's all rested and ready for tomorrow's spankings." "So did you hear all of that Dad?" Mr. Falkenberg answered, "Yes, I heard you. Sounds like a good plan." Lang untied both of his shoelaces, kicked off his shoes, and pulled off both of his socks. He lifted his feet up, turned his body, and placed his bare feet in my lap. He laid back in the seat, put his head on the armrest, and said, "Give me a foot massage!" I was surprised, so I didn't react immediately. Lang counseled, "That kind of hesitation is something that has to go. We'll be working on that. Anyway, get to work on my feet!" I started kneading his feet, and Lang relaxed. He "oohed" and "ahhhed" a couple of times so I knew I was doing an acceptable job on my new owner's son. As the drive continued I thought about the slaves at the rest stop, the naked brother, the two cock ringed slaves under the showers, the handsome kid who was jumping around rubbing his fanny. Sexual thoughts. How strange we slaves were allowed to be treated. A world I knew was out there but had never seen. And I thought of Lang. He had power over me, almost absolute. My inner sense of security and comfort was shifting in a mighty way. I was owned and to be controlled by the guys in the car. Should I just be super obedient and avoid any more embarrassing and painful spankings? Was it even possible? I was dressed in a ridiculous costume and felt like a fool. So I quietly asked Lang if I could put some different, more comfortable, clothes on when we got home. "Look, guys like my dad have to wear suits and ties all day long, so I don't think it's going to hurt you to wear your various uniforms. Dad and I are very strict on your dress. We have a variety of outfits that you are to wear for different seasons and occasions and work types. You will be in uniform at all times, clean as a whistle, neat as a pin, and groomed to a `T'. You will always be on full call, but there are times when generally you can expect to be free, usually from whatever time you wake up until 6 am, and from 6 to 9 in the evening. At these times we usually don't care what you wear." "And then when we go out, depending on the nature of the outing, you will dress accordingly. When we go to the mall, you will wear your slave cargo uniform, a jump suit with almost every square inch covered in large pockets for carrying our purchases. You will be fitted with a large double decker back pack, as well as a large front pack. And by the end of our shopping you'll be loaded down like a little mule." "On the occasions when dad needs you at the office, you will wear an outfit similar to the one you are wearing now, only the slacks, shoes, bum warmer, and bell boy hat will be black, and your shirt will be white." "When you accompany me to school and to my classes, you will wear your brown knee length slave smock, belt, sandals, and book pack. When you have your smock on you are to never wear underwear. And all slaves on campus must wear the school's identifying cap for students' slaves, which is a green and yellow skullcap." "When we do such things as go to the beach or park you will wear your blue recreation smock." It was dreary listening to talk about what my life was going to be like, but finally we arrived at their home. My new residence was a very big house on Brentwood Way. While it was in an upper class part of town, the majority of residents in the community, known as Collingwood, did not own slaves, Mr. Falkenberg proudly explained to me. While I had to carry Lang's big case into the house, they didn't give me any other chores to do on my first day there except get my room ready. My room was on the second floor of the house. It had a comfortable looking one-person bed and a desk with a computer on it. When they asked me how I would like to spend the rest of the day, I asked if the computer was for my use and if I could use it. They said absolutely. They said they wanted me to be very happy in my room and hoped that I would be content to spend a lot of time in there when I wasn't doing chores around the house. I didn't know what that meant, and asked them if there was a word processing program on the computer, since I would like to write. Both Lang and Mr. Falkenberg were eager to show me the computer's features and the use of its word processing program. I asked if what I wrote would be mine to possess. They assured me that whatever files I created were mine to keep, print, and do whatever I wanted with them. I thanked them. I spent the evening creating and writing a journal for myself. I enjoyed it, it helped me to collect myself, and time flew quickly. I was very surprised when Lang entered my room at about a quarter to 9 with a friend of his. He introduced us, "Billy, this is my friend Weston Michael Andrews." I knew Weston but not personally, and I told him so. He was only one year older than me and lived about half a mile from my dad. He smiled, and said, "So you're Lang's new slave? Pleased to meet you." He put out his hand and shook it. Lang explained, "Billy, I'm sorry but it's a little late. It's way past your bedtime. We need to get you in bed right now." I showed a surprised look and he explained. "We want you in bed by 8:30 so you can sleep comfortably and be up early. We don't care exactly when, but you should be up by 5 each morning so you can freshen up the house, prep our breakfast, make coffee, and so on. Don't worry about specifics. We'll show you how things are done, how we want to be served and so on in the days ahead. So let me get you out of your clothes and into your sleepers." I wanted to stay up and must have shown my disappointment. "If you are having a hard time deciding whether or not you want to do what I tell you to do, I can have you go and fetch my tawse. Will that help you to decide?" I told him I would go to bed. I was so humiliated. Why did he have to talk to me that way in front of Weston? He asked me to take all of my clothes off. It was awkward with Lang and his friend just standing there watching me. When my shirt came off my big silver collar was very exposed and I looked like a real slave. Weston commented, "Wow. Some collar!" Lang answered, "It's a beaut, huh?" I hesitated at taking my undies off, but Lang said they had to come off too. When I was naked Weston checked me out as Lang went to the bureau and took out a piece of bed clothing. Lang noticed Weston checking me out and said, "That collar is on him for life. Little Billy will never really be completely naked ever again." He handed me the bed clothing, "These are you're sleepers. You will wear them every night to bed. Put them on! You are to be in them and in your bed by 8:30 every night." I opened the item up and found out it was a large one piece full length smock type nightie. Lang explained as he guided me to my bed and had me lie down. "With this nightie your ankles are free." As he said that he put a lined leather thick cuff on my right ankle, padlocked it on, attached a plastic-chain to it that was secured to the bed frame. Weston watched me get cuffed and chained to my bed. It was a strange feeling getting cuffed to my own bed by my new owner. "The chain is long enough so you can make it to your potty." Then, as the two of them exited I heard Lang ask Weston what movie he wanted to go and see.