Date: Fri, 4 Feb 2005 03:38:38 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Pleasure Slave, Part 19

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

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


Part 19

I knew I was completely at Rob's mercy.  Nothing I
could do would make my life any better.  If I
disobeyed him in even the slightest regard, he'd cane
me.  And I knew that if I resisted his physical
chastisement of me, he'd call the SP and have me
bullwhipped.  And if I tried to stop him from doing
that, then sooner or later I'd be in even worse
trouble as there was no way I could escape the
apartment with my ankle chained so securely to the
floor.

Like so many things, though, the more Rob did to me,
it seemed the more he needed to do to me.  So after a
time he tired of just fucking me (however inexpertly
that was done), and tired of having me suck him.  He
started to piss into my mouth instead of just being
blown, and as you'll all surely know, this is really
vile if it's the first piss of the day when it's been
"fermenting" in the bladder overnight!  And one night,
when he was particularly drunk, having rammed his dick
into me and then lost his erection, he stayed in there
and pissed into my gut.  There was hell to pay after
that, and Rob rained the cane's blows down on me as if
he was a madman - I mean, when your gut's full of
piss, there's nothing you can do to stop some of it
dribbling out, is there?  When he'd pulled out of me I
tried to get to the bathroom, but on the way left a
small trail of droplets from my ass over the carpet,
which, in spite of my best efforts, I couldn't
entirely clean off.  Every time he saw the faint marks
he used it as an excuse to beat me, not that he needed
one anyway.

I'd sit there most days in absolute despair after I'd
done my chores, just staring our of the windows at the
glorious scene below.  Even the slaves pulling the
haulage drays that I could see on the street  had a
better life than me - their drivers might be
"encouraging" them with the lash as I watched, but I
guessed that at night they'd at least be locked away
together and could chat with each other, or just enjoy
their bodies.  I tried to think of how to make Rob
behave better, but  nothing was any good:  however
perfectly I ironed his clothes, however much I cleaned
away every speck of dust in the apartment, he could
always find some fault.  And it was all made worse,
much worse, as Rob drank more and more.  He now never
came in sober, and the alcohol seemed to fuel his
temper and anger.  To make matters worse, I know he
was supposed to be wealthy, but he was losing large
sums at cards at the Friday poker sessions - indeed,
it was difficult to avoid the impression that some of
my old friends were now just coming along in order to
make a nice, regular income as Rob's standard of play
was so bad as the alcohol fired him.  The more he
lost, the worse his temper got.

A month or so after that first time he'd "lost" me as
a gambling debt and my supposed friend Greg had fucked
me in front of the others, I was again kneeling with
my head bowed just inside the living room, as Rob
opened the apartment door for one of the sessions.
There was a voice I didn't recognise, but I didn't
even think about looking up to see who it was, as that
was precisely the kind of thing that Rob would pick on
as an example of my "poor attitude to slavery":  he
wouldn't do anything at the time as he didn't want to
appear sadistic or anything in front of his friends,
but I knew that later that night he'd use it to
"justify" beating me.

It was only when they were all seated around the table
and Rob ordered  me to get up and fetch the drinks
that I saw who the stranger was - well, I didn't know
exactly who he was, other than that he was a cousin of
one of the guys who was in town for some business, but
I recognised him as the cowboy who had inspected me so
thoroughly when I was first being sold, before Slaves
For Your Pleasure stepped in and outbid him.  I don't
suppose he recognised me, as a guy like that would, I
thought, have handled hundreds of slaves since then,
but I did thrill when I heard him say to Rob "That's a
fine piece of slave flesh you've got there.... A man
who owned that is surely lucky - and rich!  I've been
trying to buy a strong, hardworking slave to help me
out of my ranch for some time, but the prices just
keep going up and up, especially for good-looking
bucks like that one."

"Yes, he's good to look at, and he fucks well", Rob
replied.  "But he sure is uppity.  I have to punish
him almost constantly - you can see the cane marks all
over his butt if you look closely."

"Perhaps he's not been properly trained - I think
slaves are like horses, you know:  train them
properly, then treat them fairly, and you don't have
any trouble.  Like a horse, a slave needs to know that
his owner will behave consistently and fairly - if
they break the rules, you punish them, but if they
work properly, you reward them.  I always keep a few
carrots or apples in my pockets when I'm working my
horses... How do you reward the slave?"

"I can see you don't own slaves!", Rob said, rather
nastily.  "You wouldn't be speaking like that if you
did... They're not like horses, who understand and
respect their owners.  Slaves just expect everything
to be run for their convenience - they want to be
housed, fed, clothed.. but they're always trying to
duck out of working hard in return...  You must be
soft, rewarding 'proper' behaviour, instead of just
punishing them when they don't obey completely...."

"Well, you obviously don't need to spend much on
clothing this one....", the stranger said, trying to
turn the whole thing into a joke, and moving my loin
cloth to one side.  I think he sensed this
conversation was going places he didn't want to go,
and was trying to turn it.  Fortunately all the other
guys started to laugh, and the mounting tension broke.
 Rob split  open a new pack of cards, and the game got
underway.

The pattern was much as usual - most of the guys had
two or three beers, but Rob drank continuously, and
soon started to lose.  The stranger hardly drank at
all, sipping sparingly at his can and making one last
a very long time, and after a couple of hours, hours
in which Rob got more and more frantic in his efforts
to win, he soon had a massive pile of chips in front
of him.  Inevitably, I suppose, they got to some sort
of showdown and the stranger kept raising Rob until
Rob ran out of chips.  Then his friends all reminded
Rob about what had happened before - he'd had to bet
the use of my ass to stay in the game: personally, I
think they all just enjoyed watching Greg fuck me, and
had seen that the stranger had a good body with nice
slim hips, and were looking forward to seeing him
pound into me.

The stranger wasn't interested, though.  He looked at
Rob straight in the eye and said "I don't care what
you guys do here in the city, but out where I come
from, men don't fuck men.  So I'm not interested.  So
are you folding, because that means I scoop the
pool....."

He reached out with his arm to gather in the huge pile
of chips in the middle, but Rob snapped "Not so fast.
I'll bet the slave.  The slave against everything
you've got there..."

"Hey, Rob, that's too much - I've been trying to buy
myself a slave, and I know that prime beef like that
is way, way more than this pot here.... I'm a guest,
and I don't want to take advantage..."

"So you're chicken, are you?  Scared of losing those
dollars?"

I saw the guy tense all over as Rob called him
chicken, but he kept his temper - he was obviously a
very nice guy.  "I'll forget that", he said quietly,
but menacingly, "...as you're my host tonight.  But if
you had said that down where I come from, you'd be
minus a few teeth by now!  As I said, I don't want to
take advantage of you... I'm an experienced player,
and...."

"Fuck you!", Rob almost screamed.  "Isn't my money
good enough for you, country boy?  I'll bet the slave
against your remaining chips.... Or, if you really
want to make it 'fair', and bearing in mind that
you're going to lose, if it will make you feel better
you can toss into the pot all your clothes, and the
use of your ass!"

"What?"

"You heard me.  Now who's really scared?  If you lose
this hand, you'll have to strip naked as a jay bird,
then me or one of the other guys, or all of them,
perhaps, will use your ass...."

"You're insane!  I don't mind stripping, but
fucking... No!"

The whole room was tense now - you could hear a pin
drop in-between the spats of conversation from Rob and
the stranger.  But I saw some of the guys looking at
the stranger with renewed interest - perhaps it
wouldn't just be Greg who was going to do a public
fucking!

"OK, then - you'll strip naked, then kneel on the
table here, and jerk off for us.  Or are you one of
those guys with a tiny dick, who finds it hard to cum
anyway....?"

I really thought the stranger was going to hit Rob
then.  His whole body was tense, and he half rose to
his feet.  "You don't deserve the courtesy of having
another man not take advantage of you!", he barked.
"So I'll accept - all my chips, stripping, and jerking
off for you, against the slave.  And should I lose, I
don't think you'll find anything lacking in my
equipment!"

All the time I'd played in these games when I was a
free man, and all the times I'd watched them since
becoming Rob's slave, I'd never felt so tense as when
the two men then laid their cards down of the table.
This really mattered to me - this was my only chance
of getting away from this hell-hole, from Rob.  It
didn't matter what the stranger did, nothing could be
as bad as being a prisoner in this luxury apartment.
And it couldn't be all that bad - after all, he'd said
he didn't fuck guys:  maybe I'd be going to a proper
job, where I could just work!

Considering how important it was to me I don't
actually know what Rob and the stranger had in their
hands!  Judging from the shouts of triumph when Rob
put down his hand, though, it must have been pretty
spectacular.  All the guys were on their feet,
jostling for a good view, and as a slave I had to
stand back and just wait for this thing that was going
to affect the whole of the rest of my life.  Then
there were gasps of astonishment, followed by a lot of
whistles, then applause, as the stranger put down his.
 Rob just turned, and walked into his bedroom.

The stranger came over to me  - I was stunned, I
guess, but I just stood there, head bowed.  "Come on,
Steve - I guess I own you now.   Go and get some
clothes on, and let's get out of here..."

So that was it!  Lost on a hand of cards.  At one
level, I felt pretty demeaned, but at another I was
delighted to be getting out of this apartment, and
away from Rob.   And being owned by a guy who didn't
fuck butt - well, that must be like slave heaven!  But
there was a problem:  "Please, master.... I can't
leave... You'll  have to ask Master Rob for the key to
this shackle...."

"Yes... The bastard kept you chained up like this all
the time, I guess... I don't even do that to my
horses!"   He turned and strode into the bedroom,
without knocking, and I heard raised voices.  Rob came
out, followed by my new owner, who looked pretty
cross, and Rob fumbled in a chest in the hall, then
threw a key onto the floor.

The stranger lithely stooped and picked up the key in
a fluid motion, then came over to me.  "Put your foot
up on the chair, Steve, and I'll soon have you out of
this...", he said with a caring tone.

I was amazed - I mean, you'd have expected that he'd
just have given me the key and told me to do it
myself, wouldn't you?  But he gently undid my ankle
shackle, then ran his strong, tanned fingers over my
skin, feeling and testing.  "You're OK - no abrasions
or scarring.  These metal shackles are really
inhuman....  Still, pick up some clothes, and let's
get out of here..."

"Master... I don't have any, other than this loin
cloth.  Master Rob kept me naked, all the time."

"Hey, lend me some old slacks and an old shirt for the
slave", my new owner called to Rob.  "I'll post them
back to you as soon as I can buy him some new
stuff..."

"No way!  I don't want a slave inside my clothes.
Take him naked - it's late, and if you're quick no one
will notice you breaking the city ordinance about
naked slaves here in the city centre!"

"It's minus ten out there, and I'm parked three blocks
away... He'll freeze his bollocks off..."

"Well that's your problem.... Now the party's over....
Time to go...."  Rob was in that kind of truculently
assertive mood that drunks can have, and no one seemed
to want to argue with him, so we all went to the door.
 Other than when I came in first, I'd never actually
been right down by the hall door, and it seemed so
strange to be looking  back at that room where I'd
been imprisoned for so long.  And now I was out of
Rob's influence, some of my old friends seemed to be
responding properly to me again, as in the elevator
that were saying things like "Hey, Steve, I never
really liked Rob treating you like that, but you were
his slave, so I couldn't really say anything...."  and
 "Steve, congratulations - only a few more years now,
buddy, and you'll be back with us properly..."   I
didn't think all that much of these expressions, as if
they'd really been my friends I think they ought to
have worked on Rob a bit;   still, it did make me feel
better when they offered to stay with me in the lobby
whilst my new owner went to fetch his car - they kind
of clustered around me, so that the other residents
coming and going didn't get to complain to the
concierge, who would probably have made me go and wait
outside in the bitter cold had they done so.

We were all looking for a car, and my new owner had to
honk the horn several times to attract our attention -
we'd kind of assumed that the really beat-up old truck
outside belonged to the Hispanic gardeners, or
something:  yes, it was that old and decrepit!  When I
saw my owner waving at me, though, I sprinted across
the forecourt, dick and balls waving, and threw myself
into the passenger seat, wincing as the icy cold
plastic of the seat was pressed into my butt and back.
 My owner tossed me an old blanket, and said "Sorry,
Steve - this is the best  I can do.  Wrap yourself in
this that I keep in the back to wrap cargo, until we
can find an all-night store..."

"Thank you, master..."

"Hey, Steve - I'm not really into his master and slave
stuff.  I'm going to call you Steve, and you can just
call me sir, or boss...."

"Thanks, boss!"

"Right - I was going to stay tonight at my cousin's
place, but now I've got you, I've decided to run for
home.  We ought to make good time at night.... But
it's about six hundred miles."

It felt really odd to be wearing clothes again - my
new owner, who it turned out was called Hank - bought
me cheap work jeans, a jacket, and a work shirt.  With
some socks, a pair of cheap trainers, and a baseball
cap, he didn't spend more than fifty:  I had to wait
in the truck, and when n he came out he said "These
ought to be OK - you're just a bit bigger than me, and
they're a loose fit on me, as I tried them.  Now, get
dressed, as you'll need to drive in a couple of hours
as I'll be falling asleep at the wheel...."

"Boss, I think that's illegal - slaves aren't allowed
to drive...."

"Well watch out for the Highway patrol, then, and make
sure your driving's perfect!"

"But boss, if they stop us, and find me driving,
they'll cite you and you may get a period of temporary
Servitude - and believe me, slavery's not fun...."

"Let me worry about that, Steve!  If the worst comes
to the worst, I can always offer to bribe them - they
always say that the guys in the Highway Patrol are
after a fuck, and I have got you to give to them,
remember?"  He was grinning as he said this, so I
don't think he meant it, but before I could say
anything, he went on "But just be careful, OK?  And
keep your shirt on - literally!  If we just look like
a couple of ordinary guys, two co-workers, or buddies,
even, they'd never think you were a slave unless they
could see those tattoos of yours....  But just to be
safe, so we don't look all that different - take those
jeans off...."

I looked at him, but he was my owner, after all, so I
didn't argue and dropped my jeans, standing there in
the cold with my ass and balls really feeling the
chill.  To my utter astonishment he did the same
thing, and handed me his jeans, as he went to pull on
the ones I'd just been wearing.  They were all warm
from his body as I pulled them on, and yes, they were
quite tight on me and you could see my dick and balls
outlined as I stood there.  It just shows how my life
had changed - at one time there's no way that I'd have
worn someone else's clothes, especially without having
them washed first, and certainly not when they were
still warm from his body!  And even if I had thought
about it, it would only have been a sweater, and not
jeans, and not jeans worn commando!  It was
interesting, though, that he hadn't bought me any
underwear - I'd wondered why, but now knew:  he didn't
wear it himself, and had been as naked as I was during
the change over.  He'd got a nice dick, I now
realised, and, like me, good low-hangers.

"Good", he said, adjusting the belt on his jeans, "Now
it doesn't look as if you're all in new stuff, and I'm
all in worn stuff - I guess those Highway Patrol guys
would have a problem in thinking one of us was a slave
now:  they might have thought it was me before, after
all, in those scruffy work clothes!  Now, let's be on
our way again...."

It was a really long drive, and we changed over
several times to share it.  Hank liked to listen to
country music on the radio, and we made stops for
coffee and food from time to time - although the
places all had separate facilities for slaves, as
you'd expect, Hank just took me in to the main dining
room.   Mind you, he didn't let me look at the menu or
order - when the waiter came, he just ordered for two
of us, so I had to eat what he liked.  It was
fantastic to have real food again, though, after all
the slave chow!  "Don't get used to this, Steve", he
cautioned, "I'm flush after that win at poker, but
money's tight and I quite often eat slave chow myself
as it doesn't cost much.  And it's easy - when I'm dog
tired after a day on the ranch, it's easy just to
munch a handful of chow and know I'm getting all the
nourishment I need.  Still, with you around, there'll
be more time, I suppose - but then there'll be a lot
less spare cash, as I'll have two mouths to feed."

Although we sat there looking rather like two buddies,
dressed similarly, both looking as if we did good,
healthy jobs, we did occasionally hear comments from
some of the other customers wondering if a slave had
been allowed in - I guess there must be something
about a slave, some way that you can pick up on the
fact that a guy's lost his freedom, his will to act -
or perhaps it was my very short, cropped hair:   this
style was distinctly out of fashion for young free
guys, it seemed.  Still, Hank just ignored it all, and
kind of muttered at me "It's all fucking stupid, this
separation of slaves and their owners.  Sure, if I was
the boss of a heavy construction crew I wouldn't want
those brutes feeding with me, but then, if I'd stopped
here I wouldn't have them in the buildings at all -
they'd be kept chained to the truck, and I'd just
break out a bag of slave chow for them.  But when a
guy has a well behaved, easy on the eye slave like
you, where's the harm in having him in here?   I mean,
what's wrong with you eating alongside me - you're
going to be doing that all the time at my place, after
all, as there's no facilities for a separate slave
quarters - it's too small for that!"

That got us talking about Hank's place, and we carried
on as we went back to the truck and resumed the
journey.  He'd been brought up in a small town in
Wyoming, he told me, and was lucky not to have "gone
bad" and ended up as a slave for some offence or
other.  His father had walked out when he was only
three, so he didn't really remember him, and his
mother had had a hard time bringing Hank up as there
was very little money - she'd had huge problems
finding work, as most of the unskilled stuff she could
do was now done by slaves.  He'd been only average at
school, and wasn't going to get a scholarship of any
kind, either academic or for football or anything like
that, to go on to college.  By the time he was fifteen
he was regularly ducking out to go and spend time
helping out at a ranch on the outskirts - although it
was mostly staffed by slaves, the overseer there, a
childless man, had sort of befriended Hank and let him
do odd jobs around the place.

"It really opened my eyes, I can tell you, Steve".  He
was talking on in a kind of stream of consciousness
way as we drove through the night. "A lot of the kids
at school were experimenting with drink and drugs
then, but I'd seen what happened to them if they were
not careful -  a couple of minor offences, then under
the 'three strikes and you're a slave' laws, that was
it!   And seeing how the slaves were treated on the
ranch, even though the overseer was a really nice guy,
there was no way I wanted to go there!  I loved the
life on the ranch, though - for a free man, it's
great:   the wide open spaces, the variety of things
going on, and, of course, the horses.  I vowed to
myself then that I'd become a rancher, and raise
horses.  But for a kid without money, it looked like
an impossible dream. I wasn't even sure that I
wouldn't rather be a slave on a ranch, rather than
spending my life in some dreary office - but of course
you can't guarantee that, and I could have ended up as
a slave in the mines, or factories, or somewhere."

"I was feeling it was all pretty hopeless, and I saw
what a good time most of the other kids at school were
having, partying, fucking.... You know how it is, when
you get to fifteen.... And I was really tempted
sometimes not to go to work on the ranch at weekends,
but to go partying."

"When I left early one Saturday and was feeling too
ill from the drink to go on Sunday, the overseer
harnessed a couple of slaves and drove to our
apartment - it caused quite a stir, I can tell you:
we were definitely 'on the wrong side of the tracks'
and people who could afford carriages pulled by slaves
were not normal in our street:  when he came and
banged on our door, demanding to see me, quite a
little crowd gathered and stood there looking at the
slaves as the sweat dripped off their bodies.  There
were even some guys who felt sorry for them - some of
our neighbours had been enslaved for a few years and
were now free again, and were starting to mutter about
the way that the overseer had clearly been working
them too hard on the journey, as you could see the
marks of the carriage whip still all over their naked
asses.  Still, they didn't want to cause too much
trouble, as if the overseer had called the cops,
they'd have been enslaved again as a released slave
isn't allowed to criticise the system.... Or perhaps
you didn't know that, Steve.... You'd better watch
out, when you get free again!"

"Anyway, my mom answered the door and he just strode
past her, came into my bedroom, and hauled me out of
bed.  I'd managed to get my clothes off when I got
back from the party, and I remember feeling really
embarrassed as the overseer stood there, gripping my
arm - I'd got a hard-on:  you know how it is, when you
wake up!  He stood there and told me to pull on my
jeans and a T, then hauled me out and into the
carriage, telling me that I'd agreed to work that day,
and that I was fucking well going to do so!  I'd never
actually been in a carriage before, and even with my
splitting headache it was pretty exciting - I think it
is for everyone, the first time:  seeing the male
frame working hard, doing what it's supposed to be
doing, is pretty exhilarating.  And you get a lot of
sweat, or the smell of sweat, coming back to you as
you race along.  The Overseer was a really experienced
driver, and he used just the right amount of whip on
their backs, butts and thighs, which were naked so
that he could do it, to keep them working at maximum
pace as the road out to the ranch wound up and down
small hills.  It really excited me, and he even let me
have a go, holding the reins to steer them."

"Well, after that, I really didn't dare not go every
weekend, as I knew he'd come for me.  But it wasn't
that difficult, as I liked the work - helping out with
the horses, even exercising some of them by riding out
with them, all that kind of stuff.  The overseer was
pretty kind to me, and taught me a lot about horses -
and slaves, I suppose:  there's not a whole lot
different about their management and training, you
know, except that you mustn't whip the horses so much
as they don't forgive you and can get vicious, whereas
most slaves need a good whipping every now and then to
keep them in check."

I shuddered as he said this, and he saw me do it, and
laughed.  "But don't worry, Steve - these were the
kind of brute labourers every place needs, shovelling
the manure, hauling the feed in, all that kind of
stuff:  it was a big spread, and there was a lot to
do.  You only get the best out of slaves like that
with a fairly heavy hand on the whip.  My place isn't
like that - much, much smaller, and I specialise in
breaking and training horses, so there's not all the
grooming and stuff.... So don't worry - I expect the
work load will be well within the capabilities of a
big guy like you, so I won't have to use the whip to
discipline and encourage you.  Well, providing you
behave, that is...!  And, anyway, I prefer the cane:
it's so much more intimate!"  He smiled as he said
this, so I knew he was joking.  I liked this guy, and
I didn't doubt that we could work well together,
anyway.

As he'd gone silent, listening to a song on the radio,
I ventured "So, boss, how did you get started...?"

"Oh, well, as I said, the overseer there kind of liked
me and found me the interesting jobs to do, and for
the next year I went absolutely every weekend, and for
all the school breaks, too.  Mom didn't mind as she
was always out working to pay the rent and stuff, and
was glad I was keeping out of mischief - and the
overseer would give me a few bucks every week, that
paid for my clothes and lunches and stuff.  Then, the
weekend after my sixteenth birthday, he told me I
wasn't going home that Saturday night, and called my
mom and explained we were going to have a special
celebration."

"I'd never been inside his cottage on the ranch, but
after I'd finished work that day he took me over
there, and told me to get myself cleaned up (I'd been
sweating a lot as I worked, and my shirt was wet with
it).  I told him I didn't have any clothes to change
in to, and he just laughed - he just pushed me into
the bathroom, and told me to shower.  I didn't like
it, it seemed odd, but even though I was maturing well
and was fit and strong for a guy my age, he was much
more powerful, and I really had no choice.  I locked
the door, stripped, and started to shower, but just as
I was finishing I saw the handle turn, and he just
walked in.  He told me he'd gimmicked the lock, and
stood there as I dried myself.  Look, I was no
stranger to showering and drying in front of other
guys, as even though I wasn't a real jock at school, I
still enjoyed the gym and games.  But you're with your
peers then, aren't you - other guys the same age?  And
here was this big tough guy in his forties standing
there, watching me.  I went to wrap the towel around
my waist when I'd done, but he just pulled it off me.
'Boy, what are you worried about?  You know I see lots
of naked guys all the time - look at most of the
slaves around here!', he told me sternly."

"He said he had a special sixteenth birthday present
for me, and he had - his dick!  He led me into his
bedroom, pushed me onto the bed, then as I watched,
really scared and worried about what was going to
happen, he stripped off, then came and lay beside me.
It was kind of comforting at first - without a dad, I
hadn't had a mature guy that close to me ever, and I
guess he was about the same age my dad would have
been, in his early forties.  But when he started to
kiss me, it was really repulsive at first - I mean,
I'd kissed girls and so on, but then I always took the
lead, and now it was his thick, hot tongue forcing
itself down my throat!   And when he reached down and
took hold of my dick, I thought I was going to freak
out and started shouting."

"The next moment he had me over his lap.  I remember
feeling my dick touching his, and the utter
humiliation as he held me down by the scruff of the
neck with one hand, whilst he spanked my ass with the
other - boy, did it hurt.  But I think it was my pride
that hurt most.  When he'd given me six hard ones, he
let me up and sat me there on his lap, one arm holding
me close to him, and the other stroking my body.
'Now, Hank, that's what you get if you're
disobedient', he told me.  And when he started kissing
me again, it felt somehow OK - the warmth of his hairy
body against me, the comforting feeling of his arm
wrapped around my body, and the sensation of his dick
against my thighs as it kept jutting into me as he was
so erect."

"Once I'd calmed down, though, he pushed me back onto
the bed, turned me onto my belly, spread my legs, and
fucked me.   You probably know better than I, Steve,
that the first time isn't all that much fun,
especially as I was a young guy still with a
relatively small hole, and he had a massive, real
man's dick.  But over the next few weeks I got used to
it - he made me stay over every Saturday night, and
used to like to fuck me before going to sleep, then
wrap his body around me all night, so that the moment
he woke up on Sunday morning with a hard-on, he could
fuck me again."

"Actually, after the first couple of times I got to
like it, as you do.  There I was, a country boy, poor,
without a father or any other males around, and there
he was - a big, tough, virile guy who really took an
interest in me.  I got to love the way he wrapped me
in his arms, the way he slid his dick into me, the way
he kissed me and stroked my body.  And I could talk to
him about stuff I couldn't talk to my mom about - sex,
and all that.  He knew I was missing out on the girls
by working all weekend and vacations at the ranch, and
one weekend he therefore hired a young slave girl from
a brothel in the town and spent Saturday night
teaching me how to fuck her - he'd take her, then I
had to do as he'd done, and so on.  It was a lot of
fun, and I only wish I'd had a real dad who could have
done all that stuff with me.  He really cared about
me, and wanted me to be properly educated."

"The next weekend he lined up several of the young
bucks from the ranch and then I had to fuck them as he
watched:  it was different from the slave girl, but on
the whole I preferred it.   Well, you know how it is -
it's great to be all guys together, even if some of
them are slaves.  Men have a fundamental understanding
of each other, don't they, even if some of them are
free and some are slaves?"

"Well, after that, it was great:  he never allowed me
to fuck him, but if there was a slave I fancied whilst
I was working, I could order him to the cottage for
the night and then fuck him, or the overseer would
fuck him, or we both would, before sending him back to
the slave quarters so we could kiss and cuddle all
night.  I really got to like him, no, to love him - he
treated me just like a son.  He was the father I'd
never had, and I was the son he'd never had.  We'd
have been together to this day except for the accident
."

"I was eighteen by then, and was talking to him about
my future.  We thought it would be good for me to go
into the marines for a spell, to see a bit of the
world, and to meet other guys, and then afterwards
we'd buy a spread together... He had some money saved,
and he pointed out that marines don't get badly paid,
and provided I stuck with fucking my buddies and
didn't go off to bars and brothels, I ought to be able
to save a bit, too.  And, of course, I could spend all
my leaves with him... and bring any special buddies
back to the ranch if  I wanted to.  I was quite
looking forward to it - I'd never spent a lot of time
with guys of my own age, never been outside the USA,
and so the prospect of travel to foreign parts and
spending a lot of time with guys you could get really
close to was pretty exciting."

"But then there was the accident.  At the inquest they
said he'd been travelling far too fast - he was late,
and so he'd been whipping the slaves too hard, and
they'd lost their powers of concentration as the
lashes rained down.  The carriage went off the road
into a tree, and his skull was broken.  He'd left me
his savings, though, in his will - not all that much,
but just enough to put a down payment on a small
place:  I've got a big mortgage, and it's been really
tough for the past few years keeping it going:  there
isn't all that much money in horse breaking.  And
without a slave to share the work, it's especially
hard - and lonely.  It will be good to have you there,
Steve:  not only do you have the kind of body that
looks as if it can work and work, but it will make the
nights a lot less lonely, too.  I'm looking forward to
seeing if you've got any special tricks that you used
with those fancy clients of yours before that Rob
bought you..."

"Boss, forgive me for mentioning it, but you told
Master Rob that you didn't fuck slaves, you turned
down the possibility of fucking me if you won a
hand.... I thought you were shy, or something."

"Who, me?  Shy?  I've been fucking in front of other
guys - admittedly, mostly slaves - since I was
sixteen, as I've told you.  No, Steve - I'm a pretty
good poker player, right?  And I needed a slave.  I
wasn't going to let that creep Rob off with the
possibility of just losing a use of your ass for a few
minutes, fun though that might have been.  I saw that
if I refused, he wouldn't back down... And, as I said,
I need a slave."

"But boss, you might have lost... Have had to strip,
and jerk off with them all watching..."

"So?  I've got nothing to be ashamed of - I work hard,
and my body shows it.  I've got a good dick, even
though  I say it myself.  And what's wrong with
jerking off?  All guys do it, don't they?"

I would have asked more, but just at that moment we
turned off the main highway, and he leaned forward in
anticipation of being close to home.

End Of Part 19