Date: Sat, 5 Feb 2005 14:26:11 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Pleasure Slave, Part 20

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

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


Part 20

Although Hank was hugely excited as we rounded the
final bend in the steep, winding road that we'd been
driving along for some time since we left the main
highway, I have to say that the sight that greeted me
was less than awesome.  There was a tiny cabin, more
like a shack, really, made of wood, surrounded by a
number of paddocks.  Although the cabin looked shabby
and run down, the fences around the paddocks were
immaculate, as was a low barn-like structure some
distance away from the shack.

"This is home, Steve", Hank said proudly.  "All mine -
well, apart from the bank loans.  As well as the
paddocks near the house here where I keep the stock
that's been broken, I've got over five hundred acres
of range in the hills where the horses run wild.  I
only really use the barn when it's winter and there's
mares in foal."

Well, frankly, it didn't look much, I thought.  And
instead of going straight into the cabin, Hank's first
thought was to go on a tour of the paddocks, examining
all the stock, making sure the troughs were still
running properly with water, then going into the barn
and bringing out hay.  The horses seemed to have a
real affection for him, nuzzling him and playfully
butting him as he fed them, and he in turn seemed to
really like them, stroking their heads and talking to
them softly as he worked away.  I was enlisted to
fetch more hay - those bales are fucking heavy, you
know -  and generally run around fetching and carrying
for Hank as his inspection proceeded.

It must have taken the best part of four hours before
Hank was satisfied that the stock was all OK after
he'd left them for a couple of days, and then we
finally went  back to the truck to pick up Hank's
meagre travel bag, and went into the cabin.  It was
like something from those old-time cowboy movies -
just one big room going up to the rafters, a bed in
one corner, a huge fireplace on the wall opposite the
door, a big rough wooden table at the end remote from
the bed with four chairs around it, and a beat-up
looking couch in front of the fireplace.  There was no
TV or CD player or anything, no dishwasher, no visible
signs of kitchen appliances.

"This is home, Steve", Hank again had that proud tone
in his voice.  "It may not look much, but it's mostly
paid for, and it's all you need when you're working up
here with the horses.  We don't have any power, so
it's a bit primitive, but you'll be surprised in the
winter when the wind is howling out there how snug it
can be with a big fire raging and the oil lamps are
alight."

"Where's the bathroom, boss?  After that journey...."

"Oh, there's an earth closet out the back.  You'll
need to draw a few buckets of water from the well
every day - that'll relieve me of one chore - to keep
in here for washing:  heat it up over the fire.  You
can also wash the clothes for us both, as another job:
 there's a washtub kept out the back, and as there's
only two of us, it's not all that hard to do it  by
hand.  Now, let's get a fire going, then we can think
about supper, as there's not all that much daylight
left and I want to conserve the oil lamps as much as
possible...  There's some logs outside, but I've
rather got behind on splitting them:  you'll need to
go to the woodpile, saw some up, and split them...
Have you ever done that before?"

"No, boss... But I've seen it done on TV and in the
movies... It can't be all that difficult."

"You'll be surprised, Steve!  Still, it's good, hard
work.... We'll need a fair few, as you'll be surprised
how much wood we get through every day..."

He was right, of course.  You think sawing tree trunks
is going to be easy - with a power chain saw, probably
it is.  But with a hand saw, it's really hard work.
And then swinging the axe to split the logs into
segments uses an entirely different set of
muscles.....  Still, it was good to be working hard
again, and I almost revelled in the feeling of power I
got from pulling the saw backwards and forwards, and
swinging the axe:  this is what a man's body was meant
to be used for, I thought, not standing there, ironing
Rob's fancy clothes!

I was pretty hot and sweaty by the time I'd done a
respectable looking pile of logs, and when I started
to carry them into the house, I found that Hank had
already lit the fire.  The place looked a lot less
depressing as the flames lit it up, and as the
temperature outside had been falling, it was good to
be inside.  There was a delicious smell, too.  "As
it's our first night back, there's a treat", Hank told
me.  "My speciality - fried cured pork belly that I've
cut off the flitch, and my special beans.  Don't
expect to eat like this every day, as money's tight,
and anyway there's usually not time - I'm so shagged
out after a day's work that I often can't be bothered.
 On those nights we eat slave chow."

"Boss, you eat slave chow?"

"Sure, Steve, why not?  It's perfectly nutritious,
it's easy, and it's cheap.  If it's good enough to
keep slaves going on, then it's OK for me, I guess.
But tonight, as I said, we're celebrating....
Here....."  He tipped out two enormous pieces of dark
grey meat and a whole mess of beans onto a plate and
handed it to me.

For a moment, I didn't know what to do - Rob had never
let me eat at the table with him, and I'd always had
to stand in the kitchen to cram down my slave chow.
But Hank seemed to be treating me like a regular guy,
who he'd invited around for pizza or something.  He
gestured at the table, and we sat opposite each other,
and he started to shovel his food down.  To be honest,
it was so long since I'd eaten proper food, or sat at
a table, or used cutlery, that at first I was really
hesitant as I tried to get the hang of doing these
things again.    But in spite of the fact that it
looked unappetising, the pork and beans was delicious,
and soon I was emulating Hank in shovelling it down.

Hank sat there as I scrubbed at the plates in cold
water, then, as I watched, he sniffed at his pits.
"Man, I stink!  Almost two days without a shower, all
that driving.... I'd normally just forget it, but now
you're here, Steve...."

I sniffed at my shirt, and it was pretty rank, too.
"You're right, boss, I guess we both need to
shower..."

"Oh that wasn't what I meant!  It's not that bad, a
good male scent.... It's just that we don't have a
shower, only a tin bath.  And I'd normally forget it
as it's so much work - I usually only bother before I
go into town on Saturdays.  But now you're here, you
can do the work:  fetch in the bath from outside and
put it in front of the fire, and put two buckets of
water on the fire to heat up."

Well, I was tired too, but I didn't want to upset
Hank, so I hauled in the old tin bath, drew up two
really big pails of water from the well in the yard,
and almost staggered in with them, they were so heavy.
 There were two special niches in the fireplace so
that the buckets could be close to the flames, and
Hank and I just sat there in silence, watching the
fire.  It didn't take long for the water to heat up, I
suppose, and Hank told me to tip it into the tin bath.

He was completely unselfconscious in stripping off in
front of me - well, I suppose I had seen his dick and
balls when we changed jeans on the journey.  But
naked, he was a really good-looking guy:  he had one
of those rather wiry bodies, extremely well
proportioned, and with the muscles just visible as he
moved, but not grossly overstated as if he'd been
working on them - a proper man's body, that you only
get from a good diet and real hard manual labour.
When he turned around I saw at once that he had the
real male shape, too - broad shoulders, a strong back
tapering down in the classic "V" to flare out again,
just slightly, at his butt.  He had those long,
muscular thighs that says "hard work", and as he
moved, I got tantalising glimpses of his dick and
balls through them.  If I'd thought about it, I
suppose I'd have been amazed at these thoughts - only
a few months ago I'd have been horrified if anyone had
even suggested that I would be admiring another guy's
body.  And it wasn't just that I had been trained as a
pleasure slave, and had got used to seeing lots of
clients - no, it was more than that:  I genuinely
appreciated Hank's body for what it was, a thing of
sheer masculine beauty.  But my dick, straining at my
jeans, told me something else, too - it wasn't just
beauty, it was sexually exciting.  I could almost
imagine the sensation of sliding my dick between those
firm, lithe butt cheeks, and forcing it into what
would surely be a tight, virgin hole...

As I continued to watch, Hank stepped into the bath
then lowered himself gently into the water, giving me
lots more opportunities to see his body in action.  He
sat there, soaping his pits, pecs and belly, and the
intense sexual feelings I now had got the better of
me.  I got up from the couch, and went and knelt
beside the bath.  Pulling off my shirt so it wouldn't
get wet, I took the soap from Hank's hands and started
to gently wash his back.

"Hey, Steve - another benefit of having a slave around
the place...."  Hank sounded really pleased at what I
was doing, and I cupped my hands together so that I
could ladle water from the bath up over his head and
shoulders, to wash the soap off.  He seemed to be
enjoying it so much that I got bolder, and started to
soap his hair - there's something really sensual about
that, isn't there - the way you get to run your hands
all over a guy's skull as you massage the soap into
the hair, then the way you can move our hands down
onto his shoulders and throat?  Throughout it all Hank
was silent, as was I: somehow doing all this in the
total quiet of the cabin,  the only sounds being the
crackling of the logs and the splash of the water,
seemed totally right.

My dick was really straining at my jeans now, and I
didn't want to stop.  Taking the soap again, I
lathered my hands and reached down to take Hank's dick
- the water wasn't really deep in the bath, and it was
mostly exposed.  I stroked it once or twice, until
Hank's hands gripped my wrists.  "That's enough,
Steve!", was his comment, said in a tone that was at
once gentle, but completely firm.   In a smooth, lithe
movement he stood up, and as I continued to kneel
there I watched as he planed the water off the hard
flat surfaces of his body, then reached for a towel
and roughly towelled himself dry.

"OK, Steve - your turn now... You stink too, you
know..."

I wondered how I was supposed to empty the bath, and
stood there a moment. But then I understood, as Hank
said "Come on, we don't have all night... Strip those
jeans off, and get in the water before it cools any
more.... You're a valuable slave, I suppose, and I
don't want you catching cold and being unable to
work...."  He was grinning a s he said this, but, all
the same, I really didn't like the reference to me
being "valuable".  We'd been getting along just like
two regular guys, and now he brought me back to the
real world, with a crash.

I stood up and lowered my jeans, and Hank laughed as
my erect dick stuck out in front of me.  "Jesus, Steve
- the size of that thing!  I'd only seen it at rest
when we were at Rob's...."

In spite of all the training I'd had, and the way I'd
been used all those months, I was surprised to find
myself blushing.  Somehow having these very intimate
remarks made in this small space, with only the two of
us there, was both exotic and erotic.  To cover my
confusion I lowered myself into the now relatively
cool water, and started to soap myself.  Hank watched
me all the time, his eyes raking over my body as I sat
there in front of him - I guess I thought he was
somehow inspecting his property!

It was good to get  clean, though, and when Hank
ordered me out, as he said I'd been there long enough,
I stood up and got most of the water off me.  Hank
tossed me the towel he'd been using - it was pretty
meagre and thin to start with, and after he'd used it,
it was more like a damp rag - but I wiped it over
myself, thinking how at one time I'd have been
horrified at using someone else's towel, especially
when it was still wet!  At home, even from when I was
a tiny kid, we'd always had our own towels, and on the
odd occasion when I'd forgotten to take one to the
sports club, I'd used my shirt rather than borrow one
from my buddies.

As I stood there, Hank got up from the couch and came
and stood by the side of the bath, and started to
casually piss into the water my feet were still
standing in.  I hurriedly got out to stand on the bare
wooden floor as his stream hosed down into the water,
and he remarked, perfectly casually "I'd advise you to
piss in here, to, Steve - unless you want to pull your
clothes on again, you'll find that going to the
outhouse at this time of night is pretty cold!"   So I
did - although it's odd, isn't it:  however much
you're used to being naked in front of other guys,
when you first piss with them watching, it's
difficult:  even though my erection had gone down, I
had a real difficulty in making the piss start to
flow, and had to really focus on it, and try to
squeeze my bladder with my muscles.  But, once it had
started, it was OK - you all know how it is when
you're pissing:  it may be hard to start, but once
it's hosing out, it's all but impossible to stop!

Hank continued to sit in front of the fire as I ladled
as much of the water out of the bath as I could with
the buckets and tipped it into the sink on the corner
(which had an outlet to somewhere outside), then
picked up the bath and emptied the remainder of it the
same way.  He stood up then, and tossed me a thin
blanket.  "You sleep here on the couch, Steve - make
sure the fire doesn't go out overnight as it will be
cold otherwise.  And make me coffee at first light, as
we start work as soon as we can in these short winter
days."

I went to wrap the blanket around me and lie down, but
he suddenly turned, his eyes raked up and down me once
more, and he said "I guess there's one other advantage
of having a slave around the place - come here...."
He took hold of me by the left bicep, and led me over
towards the bed in the corner.  It seemed to me that
he was used to handling and controlling slaves -
there's something about the way a man holds you and
leads you that just signals to you that he's in
control.

I was thinking about how I'd "turned" all those
important executives who'd wanted to fuck me, so that
I could fuck them instead, as that's what I really
prefer; so when we were standing beside the bed I put
my hands on his shoulders and exerted gentle pressure
to push him backwards and down - it's very important
to take the physical advantage from the first moment,
I find - somehow the other guy's resistance crumbles
much more swiftly after that.

But Hank was having none of this.  He pushed my arms
off him, and instead put his hands on my shoulders,
turning me around so that I faced the bed as he did
so.  "Now, boy, I'm your owner, you know that!  I
won't put up with any of your slave tricks to try to
fuck me!  Owners fuck slaves, at least around here
they do - I don't know what you've been taught in that
city, but here, on my place, you obey my rules and I
fuck you.  So no more tricks, understand?"

I must have been slow to respond, as the next instant
there was a stinging blow on my ass - and, I can tell
you, it really hurt:  Hank was a strong guy from all
the manual work he did around the place, and his hands
were toughened, too.

"I've been reasonable with you all night, Steve, and
now you're starting to take advantage.  When your
owner asks you a question, you reply, or you'll be
punished.  Is that clear?"

"Yes, boss.  Sorry, boss.... I was only...."

Another slap, causing me to flinch visibly.  "No
'buts', Steve.  No arguments.  Just do it, OK?"

This time I was ready, and I just said quietly "Yes,
boss, sorry, boss."

"Good!  Now, I don't like disciplining you, Steve, so
let this be a lesson to you.  We're going to live here
close together, really close together, but you are a
slave and I am your owner.  I want proper respect, and
if I don't get it, I will punish you - we've got a
variety of crops and whips on the place that I have to
use on the horses sometimes, and your rump will feel
them, too, if  it needs to.  Now, that's all I intend
to say on the subject.  Get your belly down on that
bed, and spread your legs - it's a long time since I
had a proper fuck, and a man gets tired of just making
out with the five-fingered widow!"

Look, I'd been with enough guys by then to know that
he had done this before.  Not only done it before, but
did it pretty expertly, too.  I could feel the heat of
his body as he stood behind me, then he kicked at my
ankles with his bare feet to get me to spread my legs
so that the height of my ass was convenient for him.
There was a faint sound as he bent down, then I felt
the warmth of his breath on my bare butt as he knelt
there, followed swiftly by the pressure of his hard
hands forcing my butt cheeks apart.  It's always a
shock when a big load of spit lands on your hole,
isn't it - and Hank must have been working up a real
mouthful to spit at me.  He only spent a moment or two
in massaging it into my hole, then he was on his feet
again, and his hands were almost pulling my apart.
"Right, Steve, here we go....", he almost shouted.

Well, what can I say?  It was a really good, hard,
professional fuck!  Hank didn't pay any attention to
me at all - it was clear from the way he moved that I
was just a convenient hole for his dick, and that
giving himself the maximum pleasure was the only thing
that concerned him.  I know a lot of guys finish up
like that, towards the end of a session when their
primitive instincts completely take over, but most
start off relatively gently, and at least pay some
attention to the way that the guy underneath is
reacting.  But Hank wasn't like this at all - from the
moment he thrust forward, hard, to force his dick into
me, he was only concerned with doing what he wanted,
what he needed, to do.

He finished remarkably quickly, then threw himself
down on to the bed, and lay there with his hands
behind his head, completely unashamed.  "Nice tight
hole, Steve - I  thought you were a sex slave before
Rob bought you?"

"Yes, boss... But, you know... Well, most guys like a
pleasure slave to fuck them...."

"Wimps!  There will be none of that here.  Your hole
fits well around my dick, and that's the way it will
be.  Now, fetch that wash cloth over and clean me off
- that's another advantage of having you as  a slave -
I hate having to mess around cleaning off the shit
after a fuck like that.."

So I did - well, I'd done it enough times before to my
clients, except  that then I'd been flushed out
myself, so it was mostly cum I had to clean off their
dicks, not  shit.  I mean, even though its your own,
it's not all that great to have to do it, is it?
Hank just lay there watching me as I teased the cloth
gently around his balls and wiped his dick gently.
Then, without another word, he pulled the blankets to
one side, rolled his body into the bed and covered
himself up.  "Good night, Steve - and remember, coffee
at first light!", he said casually.

I was so fucking tired after the drive, the work, and
the fucking, that I went into a deep, deep sleep in
spite of the couch being uncomfortable.  I was woken
by a couple of really hard slaps to my naked ass -
Hank was standing there, having pulled the thin
blanket off me, staring down at my morning hard-on.
"I ought to give you more than a hand on your butt,
Steve!  I told you not to let the fire out, and to
wake me at first light with coffee.... And it's
fucking freezing in here and there's no coffee!
Still, no time for that now - get your clothes on, and
let's start work...."

I   discovered the start of our new routine then -
Hank tossed me his worn shirt and jeans from the day
before, and he pulled on fresh ones.  I learned later
that when I took mine off at night, I was expected to
wash them so that they could dry overnight and be
ready for Hank to wear "fresh" the next day - there
were only three pairs of jeans and three shirts needed
then, with Hank being able to have fresh clothes every
day.

Hank found me my own horse that morning - not as large
as the magnificent stallion he rode - and started to
teach me how to ride.  I'd never been on a horse
before, and at first it was scary.  And by night time,
I'd discovered just how sore your muscles could get
when you'd being doing something unfamiliar like this
all day!  We rode around Hank's place and he showed me
where the wild horses liked to congregate, and pointed
out the miles of fences that delineated his" range -
fences that, I soon discovered, needed almost constant
repair and attention:  a job that fell to me.

That night it was really hard to get out the bath and
fill it - I felt as if all my muscles were seizing up
- but at least the warmth of the water did help to
relax me a bit.  It became clear, too, that we didn't
eat "well" every night, as he'd said - Hank and I both
just munched a big helping of slave chow (although he
didn't ration me, and I could have as much a s I
wanted:  and after all day working away in the open
air, that was quite a lot!).

And, in what was to become his normal way of preparing
for sleep, he efficiently and ruthlessly fucked me
immediately before bed.

That was to be our routine:  hard physical work on the
ranch, then some chores" - Hank generally cooked, I
cleaned and washed our few clothes, then a fuck, and
sleeping separately.  Strangely, it wasn't as boring
as I've made it sound:  the ranch was spectacularly
wild and beautiful, I loved working around he horses,
and I enjoyed using my body and rebuilding my
strength.  It wasn't even as if I missed anything,
either - when Hank did speak, he was a good companion
and could always tell me something interesting about
the horse we were working with, or about life in
general.  And sleeping at night was easy - as soon as
Hank had finished with me, I fell into a deep,
dreamless sleep in the way that healthy bodies that
have been working hard do.

The only change to our routine was on Saturdays, when
we went on the truck into the local small town to buy
supplies, to get Hank's cell phone charged up (he
received and made a number of calls throughout the
week in connection with selling the horses), and
generally to "socialise".  This was mostly exchanging
gossip in the couple of stores that Hank needed to
use, and ten in the bar.  Hank wasn't a great drinker,
but as a relaxation he allowed himself a couple of
beers (he even bought me one, not something a lot of
slave owners would do!).  And then he had a few hands
of poker - I got to see how he could have defeated Rob
so easily, as the ranchers around the table at the
back of the bar were deadly keen, and really focussed
on the game.

The first week Hank took me in they all marvelled at
how Hank had managed to acquire me - I was, after all,
far and away more expensive than anything that Rob
could normally afford.  But there was a lot of
laughing about "rich city dudes" when Hank told them
about Rob, and they even suggested, laughingly, that
he might like to toss me into the pot at their game.
Mind you, I was worried when one of the bigger
ranchers made Hank a fabulous offer for me - I knew,
judging from the way that everything was eked out and
the general lack of comfort at the place that Hank was
desperately short of cash.  But he just looked at the
guy and said "Well, thank you... But I guess I've kind
of got used to having Steve here around the place.  He
really makes a difference to the workload - you only
have to look at him to see how a guy like that can
work!"

"Yes, and looking at that butt of his in those tight
jeans, I bet he makes a difference at night, too,
doesn't he?  You must have been awfully lonely at
night up there all by yourself..."  I was surprised at
how well Hank took things - or was it that in my
previous life I just hadn't been used to thinking
about how real men regarded proper sex?  You got all
that stuff in the papers all the time, the supposed
"outrage"  when two guys were fucking each other;  but
the more you talk to real men, I found, the more
normal  it was for them to enjoy being with each
other.

We'd have gone on like this for ever, I suppose, until
some equine flu or something started to affect the
herd.  Hank was almost beside himself, as the horses
weren't just stock, they were really important to him.
 He had to call in the veterinarian, and although
there was a fancy vaccine, it cost a lot - a whole lot
more than Hank had.  He managed to increase his bank
loan, but the spread had been barely paying its way
before, and with this new debt, it wasn't clear to me
that he was actually in profit at all.  He desperately
cut back - we now had slave chow almost all the time,
and his couple of beers in the bar went to a single
one.  He looked worried, too, all the time, and the
cheerful Hank, who loved his life, was now more
subdued, almost depressed.

One night after we'd swallowed down our chow and
bathed, instead of taking me over to the bed to fuck,
he dismissed me and went to bed without his usual
nightly relief.  The next night, as he was about to do
the same, I gently tugged at his arm and pulled me
down beside me on the couch.  I put my arm around his
shoulder, in the way I sometimes needed to with
clients who seemed to be upset, and said "Boss,
please.... Tell me what's wrong... It's nothing I've
done, is it?"

"No, Steve.  It's not you."

"Please, boss - sometimes it helps to talk about it.."

"No, Steve."

"Please boss...."  As I said this, my other hand
gently started to stroke his dick  -  a lot of guys
find this reassuring, as you probably know.  I carried
on stroking him, but nothing happened.

"Steve, stop it..."

"But boss, you like to fuck,,,,"

"Steve! "  he stopped abruptly,  then half turned his
head away from me, in embarrassment.  He lowered his
voice - always a bad sign with Hank, who was always
open and cheerful, and went on "There's no point,
Steve.  It won't go up...."

"Hey, boss, sure it will   - you're a great fucker.
That dick of yours is an expert:  believe me, I know."
 I was trying to be cheerful, but it didn't work.

"No, Steve.  Look, it's the stress, the worry.  The
bank's talking about calling in the loan, and I'd lose
this place.  It's my life, Steve.  What would I do if
I lost it, and had to leave here?  But it doesn't look
as if I can stay - there isn't enough profit in the
horses, even though I've got time to break more of
them now that you're here to do the grunt work..."

"Well, boss, we could economise, cut back, sell
something...."

"Steve, look around!  We're running on empty already.
And there's nothing to sell... Except you!"

I was stunned in to silence.  But then I realised he
was right - if he sold me, he could certainly pay off
a large slice of his bank loan, and I knew from what
I'd heard in town that slave prices continued to climb
higher and higher as demand far outstripped supply.

"...but I couldn't do that, Steve.", he continued, and
 I felt a great wave of relief slide over me.  "We're
making little enough profit now with me able to spend
most of my time breaking the horses.  If  I went back
to having to do all the chores as well, I wouldn't
have time to break enough to continue to hold up the
revenue.... So, you see, I'm in a terrible bind."

Well, I wasn't so certain that I liked being kept just
because he couldn't afford to do without me - I'd
rather he had kept me because he liked me!  But
perhaps he wasn't telling the whole truth, I consoled
myself.

We sat there in the dying glow of the fire, and he
gave a great sigh.  "We've probably only got about
another month, Steve.  Then they'll foreclose, and
I'll have to quit.. And then I'll have to sell you.
I'm sorry, Steve - I've kind of got to like having you
around."

I tightened my grip on his shoulder, so that he knew I
appreciated him.  "Boss - I've got an idea - perhaps
someone else could look at the books?  Perhaps you're
too close to it, that you're overlooking
something...?"

"I doubt it, Steve!  And, anyway, I don't know anyone
who could do that, or, at least, would do it without
charging a huge consultant's fee, which I can't afford
anyway."

"But perhaps I do, boss...", and then I told Hank
about Scott, and how his job was to go in to an
operation and turn it around.  Hank didn't believe
Scott would be interested, but in the absence of any
other plan, did eventually agree that it might be
worth a phone call.

End Of Part 20