Date: Mon, 31 Jan 2005 01:30:55 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Pleasure Slave, Part 18

PLEASURE SLAVE, By Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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


Part 18

My new life was just awful.  Rob never allowed me out,
not ever.  I would have been glad to go down to the
garage and polish the Porsche - anything to break the
tedium of my life.  Rob usually got up around ten, and
snapped and snarled at me for about an hour as he got
ready to go out - he'd probably got a hangover from
the previous night's activities, which didn't help
him.  Then, as he left for a seemingly endless round
of lunch parties and teas, all I had to do was clean
the apartment, do the laundry, and iron Rob's clothes.
 I stood there, pushing away at the iron, looking
wistfully out of the window at the scene all those
floors below - I'd have given almost anything to be
able to join those ants scurrying around down there.

Rob always took the controls for the TV and CD and
phone with him, leaving them tantalisingly out of
reach in the narrow hall way, and so once my "chores"
were over, that's it.  He'd told me that he didn't
like slaves sitting on the furniture, and so I mostly
sat on the floor and just looked out.  You may wonder
why I didn't just ignore him, but one day he came back
- I heard the door latch of course, and so jumped off
the couch where I'd been sprawling.  But Rob felt the
leather, found it warm, and punished me:  he had a
light cane, and it was so humiliating to be made to
lie across the knees of my old buddy as he rained down
the strokes on to me.  "Perhaps this will teach your
ass to stay off the furniture, Steve", he said, with
huge satisfaction.

The thing I hated most was losing my fitness - I
realised my superb muscle tone was fading, and even
though I tried to cut right back on the amount of
slave chow I was eating, I even thought I might be
going a bit flabby around the belly!   It's hard
exercising without the proper machines, but I did make
an effort:  I did push-ups, squats, jumping jacks, and
even improvised barbells and weights from empty
plastic containers which I filled with water.  Still,
it wasn't easy, especially with that dammed ankle
chain trailing around after me wherever I went in the
apartment.

Rob came back at about four, usually, to change and
prepare to go out for his evening's entertainment at
around six.  He then came home some time around
midnight, and then the trouble began - he was often
mildly drunk, or worse.  And like a lot of guys who
can't take their liquor he became quarrelsome,
argumentative, and bad tempered.  He'd pick on small
faults that he said I'd been guilty of, and then I
often got caned, usually once or twice a week.  As
I've said, it was only a light cane, and you do get
used to it - that sharp stinging pain only lasts for a
couple of hours, usually, and the red marks across my
ass had always faded by morning.  I think it was the
humiliation, though - lying there across his lap,
smelling his liquored breath as he grunted and panted
with the exertion, and feeling his erect dick pushing
at me as doing this to me clearly turned him on.  You
may wonder why I put up with it - I was tougher and
stronger than Rob, after all, and I wasn't half drunk
- but what would have happened if I had tried to stop
him, if I'd refused to go along with this?  That's the
insidious nature of the slavery system - I might have
been perfectly justified in refusing to be caned for a
trivial infraction of Rob's rules, and I might have
stayed his hand at the time;  but what then?  The next
day, or even at that moment, Rob could have called the
Slave Patrol and have me taken away and flogged.  No
one would question it, no one would think Rob wrong:
he was an owner, and owners were always right.  And
more extreme measures were out, too - supposed I'd
gone to the limit, and broken his fat neck?  Well
then, what?  I'd have been chained to the floor of the
apartment still, with a corpse beside me:  sooner or
later someone would come it to attend to some of the
building services, or even if they didn't, sooner or
later I'd run out of slave chow and starve!   And as
you know, there's not even a real trial for slaves who
kill their owners - just a court appearance to order
the execution:  as there's no defence to a slave
killing his owner, and no mitigating circumstances and
no alternative sentence there's no point in hearing
lawyers, or even the slave himself, so the theory
goes.

After the caning Rob invariably fucked me.  As I lay
across his lap he'd spread my ass cheeks apart and run
his finger nail across my hole, muttering "Yes, Steve,
and now to use this properly, as it's meant to be
used...."  Again, there was no getting away from it,
no way of stopping him:  he always just fucked me
"doggy" on the edge of the bed, and I just had to
stand there and take it.  Mind you, he was so drunk
sometimes that he just couldn't get it up, and after a
lot of fumbling around and swearing and cursing, he'd
"pretend" that he'd managed it, although of course we
both knew that he had not - he was then in an even
worse temper, and would frequently decide that I
needed further punishment, which he'd administer as I
still half lay, half stood, there.

Even after all this time I still don't really
understand why Rob treated me so badly.  We really had
been good friends, real buddies, before I was enslaved
and he inherited all his money.  Even as his slave we
could have got along well, I think:  sure, in "the old
days" I always made the running and Rob generally had
to follow my lead if I decided which party to go to,
or whether  to go up to the lake that weekend, or
whatever, but he'd always seemed happy enough and
never argued (well, not much).  So as an owner and
slave he could have made more of the decisions, and
there's a lot of stuff we could still have done
together and which he always said he enjoyed, like
swimming and stuff;  and we could have worked out
together as we used to, as he really needed it.  Stuff
like that would have been good for the two of us to do
together as we had before, but no - he had this stupid
new life, and it was almost as if he needed to
constantly punish and humiliate me in order to somehow
justify his own shallow existence.

Absolutely the worst thing that went on, though, was
the poker session that we'd always had every two
weeks, on a Friday.  Rob and me and a bunch of regular
guys used to get together at his old place, or mine,
or wherever, and just play for the fun of it.  It was
good to relax after a week's work with a lot of guys,
drink a few beers, and play a few hands.

I found out that Rob still went to these sessions, and
shortly after he'd bought me, he invited the old gang
back to Harbour View Towers for the next session.
That afternoon he fussed around, getting me to move
the dining table this way and that, unable to decide
which was the best place to play in the enormous
living room:  I got tired of dragging it from one end
to another.  Then he wanted a side table for the beers
and pretzels and stuff, whereas before we just used to
go into the kitchen and help ourselves when we wanted
to.  "Oh no, Steve", he told me.  "We'll have them
neatly set out on a side table, then when someone
wants them you can serve him:  there's no point in me
having a slave, after all, if I don't use you for
tasks like this."

As if it wasn't bad enough that I was going to have to
wait on my old friends, Rob wouldn't allow me any
shorts to wear!  "Don't be stupid, Steve - we're all
guys together.  We've all seen asses before, and most
of us have seen yours in the showers at the gym - so
what's the problem?"

"But please, sir... It's different.  I'll be the only
one naked.  All my friends will be dressed..."

"I've told you before, Steve, they're not your friends
any longer:  you can't be friends with a slave!
They're my guests, and you're there to serve them, and
to please them generally - you are very easy on the
eye, you know, and most guys take an intelligent
interest in another man's body - it will be something
to do, in-between hands, looking at you.  I might even
get you to do a few press-ups or something, to show
you off better."

"Please, sir, Rob, please... Please don't."

"Steve, I do believe you're embarrassed or something!
Look, I keep telling you:  there's nothing to be
embarrassed or ashamed about - you'd be obeying your
owner's orders, and that's all that ought to concern
you.  If there's any embarrassment or shame, it would
be mine - a slave just can't feel like that, providing
he's doing as he's told.  So let's hear no more of
this, or I'll be fed up with your constant whining and
you'll get a touch of the cane."

He sat there flicking the TV channels for a few
minutes, but then said  "Mind you, perhaps I won't
have you totally naked.  It might cause some of my
guests embarrassment to see a well-hung stud like you,
as we know that some of them really have got tiny
dicks.  So perhaps you'd better wear a loin cloth -
leave your ass naked, as everyone will enjoy seeing
that, but wear that loin cloth I bought you."

Actually, it was worse in a way - this loin cloth
didn't contain me or support me at all:  there was a
fine gold chain that was slung around my hips, really
low down, so that it cut across the top half of my ass
crack and was only prevented form falling off by the
flare of my butt.  Then at the front, a tiny piece of
thin, white silk was hung over the chain, to hide my
tackle from sight.  When he'd first bought this home,
Rob had spent an hour with me standing in front of him
as he cut the width of the thing down, inch by inch,
until it was just wider than my ball sac.  Then he'd
snipped away at  the length until the bottom of it
just covered the end of my dick and balls.  Provided I
stood absolutely still then it was true to say that my
dick and balls were covered;  but any movement, or an
attempt to kneel or sit, and the thin silk wafted
aside to give people glimpses of my dick.  And, of
course, if I got a an erection, or even just went
half-hard as you often do, then there was absolutely
no concealment at all.  The whole thing was just
designed to be titillating, to make more of a "show",
rather than having plain old fashioned total nudity.

Rob had me fussing around for what seemed like hours,
smoothing out the green baize cloth that covered the
glass dining table, lining up the new packs of cards,
polishing the ashtrays and glasses, and so on.  Then
when the doorman phoned to say the first guests were
on their way up, he had me pull my loose chain and
make neat circles with it by my ankle, and then kneel
just by the entrance passageway.  As all my old
friends came in, Rob just pointed at me and said "This
is my slave - just tell him when you want a drink, or
a snack - or anything:  he's here to serve us all
evening."

Most of the guys didn't really know what to do.  They
all knew that Rob had me as a slave, I guess, so they
kind of sidled past me, and went to admire the
fantastic views.  But Greg, someone who I never
particularly liked, more tolerated as he was one of
the group, put his hand under my chin and lifted my
head up as I knelt there.  "So, Steve, a slave, eh?
Well, you certainly look like one!  I always thought
you ought to have most of that hair of yours cut off."
 Then, turning to Rob, he asked, as if it was the most
normal thing in the world, "Does he fuck well?"

I think even Rob was surprised by this question, as he
almost stammered "No... Id don't let him fuck..."

"Sure, Rob, of course not!  What I meant was  'has he
got a good ass, does he take fucking well'?  He's a
slave, for christ's sake - I wouldn't expect him to
fuck you!  But you're his owner, and any owner with a
nice piece of man flesh like this one is going to use
him, isn't he?"

"Oh,  sure, Greg.  He's got a nice sweet ass - and
having that nice muscular butt to plough through on
the way to the hole is great. It's quite changed my
life - having a fuck toy like this one is so much
better than jerking off."

"You dog, Rob!  I wish I had your money.  I'd get me a
piece of ass like this slave straight away."

They all sat down and started playing then, and, as
Rob had ordered, I spent the time fetching and
carrying for them - more beers, plates of snacks,
emptying the ashtrays, and so on.  When ever I went
near Greg he'd reach out and give me a slap on  my
butt, that caused all the guys to laugh.  And when I
served him a beer, he moved the tiny flap of silk
"covering" me to one side.  "Hey, Rob - you've had him
'skinned!"

"No, they did that at the first place that owned him.
Mind you, it does improve his look, doesn't it?  Do
you remember in the showers how he used to stand there
and 'skin back to clean himself?  Well, it's so much
easier now."

"So you didn't own him from 'new' - from when he was
first enslaved?"

"No, I found him at 'Slaves For Your Pleasure' - he
was one of the guys there servicing their clients...."

"Rob, what were you doing at 'Slaves For Your
Pleasure'?  Can't a stud like you get it without
paying for it?"  As Greg said this all the other guys
started to laugh and josh Rob, who started to blush,
and get embarrassed!

But Greg soon started questioning again.  "So he's
fully trained to service a man?"

"Oh, sure.  He can do everything..."

I hated being talked about like this.  But I saw Rob
keep giving me glances that said "remain silent", so I
just stood there, head bowed, hands clasped behind my
back.

"So can I have a go?  Lend him to me, Rob."

"Hell no, Greg.  He's mine, an a man doesn't like to
fuck an ass that's been used recently..."

"Well you must have done when you first bought him -
he must have been used a lot before then!  Come on,
Rob, buddy - surely it's share and share alike?"

"Hell no, Greg!  I've told you, I don't like fucking
ass that's been used recently, and I have plans for
Steve tonight..."

They stopped talking then as the next round of cards
had been dealt, but as the evening went on Rob got
steadily drunker and drunker, his play got wilder and
wilder, and the stack of chips in front of him went
down and down.  He was betting on one hand that he
evidently thought was good when he ran out, and asked
if he could give them all an IOU as he'd not been to
the bank that day.

"Hey, Rob, you know the rules!", Greg said.  "You pay
up front in this game, and that's it.  We said no IOUs
so that none of us would run up big debts - you put
your money in at the start of the evening, and that's
that."

"Hey, I can afford it...."

"Sure, Rob - but the rules we agreed on are the rules
we play to, the rules we always played to.  I guess I
win this hand then...."  Greg reached across the table
to scoop the pool, but Rob put out a hand to stop him.

"Come on, Greg - let's play the hand out properly.  I
tell you what ... The rules say no IOUs, only what's
here when we started.  Well, Steve was here when we
started.... And you wanted to use him.  Well, you can
- half an hour of him for fifty!"

There was stunned silence.  Then Greg counted a pile
of chips and pushed them to Rob.  "Sounds a good deal
to me", he muttered.  "Now, what are you gong to
do...."

This was so gross!  Look, I'd been unfairly enslaved,
taught to fuck when I really didn't like men, made to
work in a high-class brothel, had the guts almost
fucked out of me by Hispanics and blacks, and now
this:  I was just something that Rob was gambling
with!  You really aren't meant to treat guys like
this:  I'm a man, a human being, not something like a
pile of gaming chips that you could bet with.

As ever, Rob messed it up.  He was never a good
gambler at the best of times, and with a huge amount
of beer slopping around in his guts, he was even
worse.  Greg was smiling all over his face at having
won, and everyone then agreed that the evening was at
an end.

"I'll bring Steve back in the morning, then...", Greg
began.

"Hell, no!  Look, I keep him chained, and I don't want
to have to find the key... And you know the rules,
anyway  - we always  cash in our chips before leaving.
 So as we were gambling with Steve, you need to take
him now:  fuck him, then go home."

"Sure...  ".  Greg turned to me and said, quite
casually, "Get on the table there, boy, with the other
chips - on your belly."

I think all the guys were a bit shocked by this, but
none of them made a move to leave.  I did as he'd told
me, feeling the baize under my naked skin, and just
stood there.  Greg put his hands on my butt, and I
wriggled a bit as he stroked, almost caressed, my firm
muscles.  "Hey, Rob.... these marks on Steve's
butt....?"

"Oh, just residual markings from his last caning. - he
can be a bit 'uppity', like a lot of slaves, so I need
to keep him in check...."

The next instant I jerked forward and almost cried
out, as Greg landed a powerful slap from his open bare
hand on my butt.  Greg's a bit, powerful guy, and it
really hurt.  "So, Steve... Your owner needs to keep
your butt tender, does he?".  It was a rhetorical
question, and I just gritted my teeth and continued
lying there.  Three more great slaps, and I could feel
the heat in my butt and knew that the guys must all be
looking at the hand prints that would have appeared.

Then I heard that characteristic sound of a belt being
undone, and jeans being pushed down.  Surely Greg
wasn't going to fuck me like this, in front of all his
friends, and my former friends?  But he was - and he
was a big guy, and didn't waste any time.  I wasn't
prepared, no lube, nothing, as even in my worst
nightmares I hadn't thought that something like this
would happen.  I heard Greg spit, though, and from the
odd comments from the watching men, knew that he was
slathering his dick with spit.  Then  that pressure,
the feel of his dick against my hole, as he harshly
pulled my butt cheeks apart and positioned himself for
entry.

I could stand no more.  "No!", I screamed, "This isn't
right...."  I tried to get up, and managed to stand
upright, pushing Greg back.

There was silence at first, then Greg snapped "Hey,
Rob - I thought you said you had this slave under
control!"

"I do!  But, well, it's late.. .why don't you come
back tomorrow, and we can enjoy him together..."

"You're not trying to welsh on your bet, are you, Rob?
 I won the use of this slave fair and square - you're
not trying to stop me collecting, are you?  You're not
one of those guys who tries to get out of paying his
dues...?"

"Fuck you, Greg!  Of course not!  You want his ass,
you can have it!"

"Well, Rob, if I were you, I'd want to give me more
than that - this fucking slave here has tried to stop
me taking what's mine.  You said he was 'uppity' -
well, what are you going to do about that?  Your
caning him doesn't seem to have done all that much
good..."

"You guys without slaves sometimes don't appreciate
how hard it is to get a slave properly trained and
totally obedient..."

"Well, if he were mine, I'd beat the shit out of him
until he was properly under control..."

"Fuck you, Greg - it's not that easy!  They get used
to being beaten....."

"Are you sure it isn't just you, Rob?  I don't think
any slave of mine would ever get used to the kind of
beating I'd do... "

"Don't flatter yourself..."

"So you want me to show you?  Fetch that cane you say
you use...."

Greg now snapped at me "Back on that table, boy!
You're going to get a real caning on that butt of
yours, one that you'll remember.  That will teach you
to refuse a man's dick.... And will nicely tenderise
you before I fuck you"   He saw me hesitating, and
shouted "I told you to get down, boy - now, do  it!"

Well, what were my options?  There was no ultimate
escape, after all.  All Rob had to do was call the
Salve Patrol, and that would be it.  Reluctantly, I
lay back half across the table, and shuffled my feet a
bit apart on the floor to get as comfortable as I
could.

"Any of you guys want to help me out?", Greg asked,
and when there was a chorus of agreement, he asked one
of my former friends to get up onto the table and sit
on my shoulders.  "Put your ass fair and square down
just below his neck", he said.  "Either way round -
but if you face the rear, you'll be able to see the
fun!  I don't want him to be able to move at all, as
this is going to be a session he'll remember and it
may get a little rough...."

My former friend gave a cry of "Gee... haw....",
rather like a cowboy as he sat down on my shoulders,
and dug his knees into my ribs.  I felt the rough
fabric of his jeans almost cutting into the sensitive
skin around the base of my neck, with the warmth of
his body coming through.  And his weight made I hard
to breathe - he could at least have tried to take some
of it on his knees!
I suppose I was used to Rob's canings now.  Sure they
hurt, as the thin cane stung like a wasp, but Rob
wasn't all that strong and he always seemed worried
anyway that he might be "harming his investment" as he
so nastily put it.  But Greg was different - he was
much taller and more powerful than Rob, and he didn't
give jack shit about Rob's investment!  When I heard
the swish of the cane through the air and when it
landed, I knew I was in trouble.  This wasn't just
like a wasp sting - this was real, pure, unadulterated
hurt.  I shouted out, both in surprise, and in agony.

"That's good", Greg almost shouted in glee, "I like to
hear a boy appreciate the lesson he's getting - it
shows I'm getting through to him..."

The next blow landed, and the next ,and the next....
And I could hear myself howling from the agony they
were causing me.  That bastard Greg didn't just uses
the cane on my butt, but ranged up and down my thighs,
too:  and, believe me, it hurts a lot more to take the
cane on our thighs than it does on the big muscles in
your butt.

I've no real idea how many strokes landed in all - I
simply wasn't able to keep my brain focussed on
counting after about ten, as I was in such pain.  But
when he was satisfied, I know I was just a whimpering
heap of flesh, lying there, pinned down, unable to
think about anything else other than the fire that was
raging in my butt and thighs, and the constant spikes
of agony that kept coming to me.  Greg wasn't finished
then though, of course - that had only been the
preliminaries!  This time, when he pulled my butt
apart to get access to my hole there was a new
explosion of hurt through me, a hurt so dire that I
really didn't notice his dick nudging me for entrance.
 But even the pain I was in was forgotten when he
slammed himself home - this was no gentle entry, no
being careful not to hurt me as he eased hi dick head
through my sphincter:  no, this was a calculated,
hard, brutal ramming of his whole dick into me all at
once.  And as his body slammed in to my butt and his
wiry pubic hair scratched my red hot skin, I just
couldn't help it - I screamed, a long, low howl of
utter hopelessness and despair.

He fucked away - he didn't give even a moment's
consideration to me.  No, all he wanted to do was
please himself, give his dick an outing that I guessed
it rarely got!  I carried on shouting, and this seemed
to please the guys watching, my former friends:  they
were cheering and shouting, encouraging Greg to go
even harder and faster!  Fortunately this huge air of
excitement, and the force with which he was going at
it, meant that he wasn't long in cumming, and I heard
him give that shout that so many guys do when they
cum, and felt his body slam into my butt one more time
as he buried himself into me to get his cum right in -
that reflex action we all do, when our heads go back,
and our bodies arch.

The party broke up almost immediately then.  Although
they all congratulated Greg on his performance, were
they just a bit ashamed at what they'd witnessed, I
wondered.  No one spoke to me, and even Rob was quiet
- I was just left to lie there, half on the table,
with Greg's cum trickling down the inside of my
thighs.

When they'd all gone, Rob came back into the living
room from saying goodbye at the front door, and stood
there behind me.  "I could fuck you now, Steve", he
said, "But I'm not going to.  I don't want 'sloppy
seconds' with Greg's cum up there - but I am going to
fuck you tonight, so get into the shower and clean
yourself out....."

"Rob, sir, please... Just for tonight... Please don't,
 sir.  My butt's on fire, and my ass is really sore -
he wasn't properly lubed, I didn't get stretched...."

"Quit whining,. Steve!  That's all I ever get from
you.  You used to be a really great guy, fun to be
with, a load of laughs.  But these days whenever I
come back you're all sad and depressed looking... I
don't know what's wrong with you:  you've got a great
billet here, one most slaves would give their eye
teeth for!  I feed you properly, you've got a
fantastic place to live, and you only have to do a few
simple chores:  most big bucks like you are out there
working in the fields, or the quarries, or the mines -
too hot, too cold, not enough to eat, at the mercy of
all the overseers and guards!  Wise up,  Steve, this
is a great life you've got, so why not try to show a
little appreciation?  I don't know what's happened to
you since you became a slave - I'd have thought it
would be easier for you, without any of those worries
about your job, and you were always complaining about
not having enough to pay the bills - now I take care
of all of that, and you ought to be stress-free."

I just lay there, wondering what to say.  I wanted to
tell him that he was a bastard, keeping me imprisoned
with nothing to do, that I hated being used by my old
buddy, that he had no idea how to treat a slave
properly... But what was the point?  All he would do
was take my words and twist them.... So I just lay
there, trying to stop my sobs, as I didn't want to
give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing that I
was hurt.

"See?", Rob snapped.  "That's what I mean!  Sullen
silence, just because I've pointed out the truth to
you.   I ought to beat you again, as slaves should not
be dour and sullen - you're meant to be for my
pleasure, my entertainment!  Still, I really don't
care - get yourself cleaned out, as I'm going to take
my pleasure anyway, and a good fuck always makes it
easier for a man to sleep at night!"

End Of Part 18