Date: Sat, 18 Dec 2004 14:23:02 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Plesure Slave, Part 5

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


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


Part 5

The reception area had that air of understated
elegance that said "money" - a lot of it had gone into
the dark panelling on the walls, the chrome and glass
tables, leather couches, and large reception desk.
The flowers alone, which must have needed to be
changed twice a week at least, looked as if they cost
hundreds of dollars.

The slave behind the desk called out a cheery "Hi,
Gary, back already?  And welcome, Steve!"  I could see
from his tattoos that he was called Brad.  Actually,
having guys' names prominently displayed like this
isn't a bad idea, especially if you're bad at names,
like me: you don't have to remember what a guy is
called, when you can read his chest or his back (no,
I'm joking - it's fucking demeaning, actually, to have
a guy labelled as if he's just some piece of
property).

"Scoot straight along to Master Brett's suite", Brad
went on.  "He told me to tell you not to keep him
waiting, once you got back."

Gary nodded, and led me off.  We went down a long
corridor panelled in the same expensive hardwood as
the reception area, and the carpet under our feet had
that kind of "spring" to it that said it was thick,
rich, and laid on expensive underlay.  The lighting
was concealed, except for antique tables with lamps on
them at intervals, and through the panelled doors I
could see people working away, and a conference room.
It was all like some very high-priced lawyer's
offices.

We stopped outside one of the panelled doors, and Gary
knocked, then stood there respectfully - hands clasped
behind his back, and head bowed.  He motioned me to do
the same, whispering "Master Brett might want us to
wait, and he likes his slaves to look smart and
slave-like here in the corridor, in case clients come
past."

I wanted to ask him about it, but he kind of shushed
me, reminding me that slaves were not really supposed
to talk, and so I did as he did - it felt odd standing
there, almost naked, in these plush "corporate"
surroundings.  Again, I've no real idea how long we
waited - no clocks were visible and I'd long since had
my watch removed - but it must have been some time as
I needed to tense my legs occasionally to stop them
cramping.  Then we heard an "enter" from inside, and
Gary opened the door and ushered me in.

Given the outside appearance of the building I was
kind of expecting a really modern office, with big
windows, etc.  But it was more like a gentleman's
club:  the same dark panelling and thick carpet, and
the windows were hung about with huge, rich swagged
curtains in burgundy silk.  Master Brett sat behind a
big dark oak desk with a single telephone and a PC
screen on it, and there were two big leather couches
in front a a fire in a big stone fireplace!  Yes, a
real fire, here on the tenth floor of a downtown
building. With the rows of leather-bound books in the
bookcases on another wall, the whole thing had the air
of an old-time gentlemen's club.

The man, who I recognised as the fat guy from the two
who has so humiliatingly inspected me at the auction
room, was sitting behind the desk.  He wore a suit,
but again it was not like a regular business suit -
this one was a kind of hairy green tweed, overlaid
with a shadow pattern of darker squares.  He still had
on an immaculate shirt, and a silk handkerchief in
green and yellow stripes flopping out of his top
pocket matched his expensive-looking silk tie.  I came
to learn that men in his profession were supposed to
dress rather flamboyantly, although, at the top end of
the trade, it also had to be expensively.  Clients
could therefore understand that they were getting
"quality", but at the same time could be faintly
contemptuous of men who would dress so garishly.

"Ah, yes, the new slave", he said.  "How's it going ,
Steve?"

"Fucking awful... You've had me skinned, tattooed,
ringed...."

"Shut the fuck up, slave boy, unless you want to be
punished!  You sound as if you're criticising me...."

"Well it's not right!  When they made the indentured
servant laws they didn't mean for you to treat a guy
like this..."

"OK, that's it!  You were warned!  A slave does not
criticise his owner, even obliquely.  Any more of that
and I will punish you. Now, let's try again.  When I
ask you how it's going, the polite, slave-like
response is 'Fine, thank you, master.'  So, Steve,
how's it going so far?"

I didn't want to be punished with the prod again, of
course.  But I am a bit hot-headed, and once my anger
is up, I just can't resist having my say.  I was
right, and he was wrong, whether he was my owner or
not, after all.  So I said, managing to be both
sarcastic and contemptuous at the same time, "Fucking
great!"

"Right, that's it!  I warned you", he snapped.  "Get
over to the horse, and take up the position.  Gary...
Show him how."

I stood there, not really knowing what he meant, and
he turned almost apoplectic with rage. "You fucking
college-educated slaves!  You think you can do things
your way, and ignore your owner's commands.  Well,
you'll soon learn!  Now, unless you want me to get the
guards in here and have you prodded, get over to the
horse, and get on it!"

Gary reached out and tugged at me, indicating that I
should follow him.  I guess I really didn't fancy
being prodded again, so I forced myself to try to calm
down, and moved after him.  My body language would
have given me away though, as I was so angry that my
shoulders were kind of hunched, and my arms hung down
loosely, ready to fight.

Standing alone in the far corner of the room was
something I'd kind of noticed as I entered, but had
ignored as I scanned the rest of the luxurious
furniture and drapes.  It looked a bit like a saw
horse, except that the top was about a foot wide and
was covered in leather, and the legs were made of the
same dark oak, beautifully turned, like the rest of
the furniture.

"It's a punishment and fucking horse, Steve", Gary
whispered to me. "Haven't you seen one before?"   When
I shook my head, he carried on in the same low voice
"Lie on it on your belly, ass over the end, with your
head at the top where that ring is..."

Well, I didn't want to get into any more trouble, so I
did as he said, and he came and knelt by my head.  The
next moment I was held there, unable to move - Gary
had opened the ring thing in some way, slipped it
through my nose ring, and closed it up again:  my head
was now held down on to the horse.

"Reach down and grab the legs, Steve... I don't think
Master Brett is going to tie your arms down this time,
but you'll find anchoring points down there.  Grab
hold of them and brace yourself - pull yourself right
down onto the horse, as it's best if your body has no
movement, or else you might jerk your head suddenly
and rip your nose apart.  And that's really painful,
believe me!"

As he was saying this to me, Master Brett had got up
from behind his desk and was now standing next to me.
"Right, slave, your first time riding the horse, and
on your first day here, too.  Not a good sign! And I
thought you were a sensible kind of chap.  Still,
perhaps you'll learn."

Turning to Gary, he went on "Get his shorts off."

Gary came around behind me, and I felt him fumbling at
the waistband of my shorts, then pulling them down.
"Step out of them, Steve", he said quietly, as I felt
the satin fall over my feet.  Jesus Christ!  How
fucking much more humiliated could I be?  I mean, it's
bad enough having to go around naked, but being tied
down naked, when someone else has taken down your
shorts... Well!  I felt at once embarrassed, and
angry, very angry. And slightly ashamed - I mean,
through my opened legs, as my ass was hanging over the
end, I knew they could look at my balls and dick
hanging there in-between my thighs - somehow seeing
them from behind is worse, isn't it?

"This isn't right!", I shouted at the world in
general.

"Enough, slave!  I was just going to give you two
strokes, as a taster of the horse, but you've just
doubled that to four.  Say one more word, and you'll
double it again, to eight.... Now....."

I heard a swishing noise, and then my ass exploded
with pain.  I actually screamed out loud, and if I
hadn't been holding the handles as Gary had suggested,
I'm sure I would have jerked upwards so violently that
my nose would indeed have been torn.  Swish again, and
another explosion of pain, and another scream.

Master Brett came around to the front, and stood
there, flexing a long, light cane in his hands. "See,
Steve?  This is what we do to disobedient or uppity
slaves on the horse.  Sometimes we use a paddle, but
personally I prefer the cane.  Now, if you hadn't been
such an insolent boy, we'd have been finished... But
as it is, two more strokes...."

He went around behind me and I got two more.  You'd
have thought that the pain would have diminished with
each stroke as the nerves in my ass got desensitised,
wouldn't you? But as those of you who have received a
punishment caning will know, it just isn't so - each
one actually feels worse than its predecessor.

I lay there, my whole ass feeling as if it was on
fire, and I'm ashamed to say that tears, tears of
pain, rather than anger, were making their way down my
cheeks.

"Release him, Gary.  And you, slave, put your shorts
back on, and come and sit next to me on the couch."

Gary fumbled with the ring holding my nose down, and I
moved - only to get a fresh torrent of sensation going
through me as my ass moved.  And, of course, when I
had to bend down to pick up my shorts, and then as the
tight material clung to my ass, it went on, and on.

"Get over here, slave!", Master Brett snapped, seeing
that I was moving very slowly, trying to minimise my
discomfort.  "...unless, that is, you're so fond of
that horse that you'd like another ride?"

He patted the seat immediately next to him on one of
the big leather couches, but I lowered myself,
gingerly as I knew my ass would hurt so much, at the
other end.  The leather felt cold against my bare skin
- I suppose you're not used to sitting on leather
without much clothing, are you?

"No, Steve, here, right next to me.  Owner and slave
need to get to know each other, and I can't do that if
you're four feet away from me.  Get over here, boy!"

Again, ever so carefully, I moved along the couch, and
sat next to him.

"Right, good.  You're not afraid of me, are you,
Steve?"

"No, sir!"  Actually, I suppose, I was.  I knew what
he could order to have done to me. But no man will
publicly admit to being afraid of another, will he?

"Well you should be, Steve.  For the next ten years of
your life I have a pretty good control over you - what
you can eat, where you can go, what you do... And, of
course, I can order punishments for you.  You've
already experienced the prod, at the auction centre -
we tend not to go much for that here, as although it's
pretty good at stopping a wild slave in his tracks,
there and then, immediately, it doesn't have much
lasting effect... A caning on the horse gives the
slave something to remember for a day or so - as
you're noticing, the pain hangs around, and you get
fresh reminders of it all the time, as you move.  When
you're working, of course, we tend to use the paddle,
as clients don't like to see those ugly striped weals
across a slave's butt.  That's not to say we don't do
it in severe cases - and don't even think about being
bad enough to deserve a caning on the back, thighs and
calves - that's real pain for you!  And finally, in
almost hopeless cases, we do have a whipping frame:
it's in a soundproof room at the end of the corridor,
as no slave can help but make such a dreadful noise
during a whipping that any clients here would be
disturbed!"

"But let's not dwell on that.  With proper training,
I'm sure you'll adjust well and do a really great job,
and we won't have to think about any of that - just
remember, though, that even really good slaves, like
young Gary here, occasionally feel the paddle or cane
if they are less than enthusiastic.  Anyway, Steve,
what do you think we do here?"

"Well, sir,  in  reception it says you 'serve
travellers'."

"Quite right.  Now, what sort of services, do you
think?"

I thought hard about the kind of stuff people need
when they're on business trips, and replied "Well,
secretarial services, that kind of thing.  Then
concierges - booking restaurants and so on. And
chauffeur-driven cars...."

"Quite.  I'm sure business travellers need all those
things, but they're catered for elsewhere:  most
businessmen now do their own e-mail and so on, their
expensive hotels offer a concierge service, and
specialised companies do cars with drivers.... So that
only leaves our speciality:  it has to be something
that pays well, doesn't it, to enable us to have these
nice offices, to buy prime man flesh like you, and to
make master Jed and I a very good living?"

"Yes, sir, I suppose it would."

"So you can't even speculate, can you?  Well, I'll
tell you:   we sell sex to the business traveller.
And after proper training, you'll be one of our
operatives, using your body to please them.  You'll be
the twenty-fifth slave on the operative staff here,
and we have an excellent reputation, which you'll need
to work hard and well to preserve.  We won the
President's award for customer service (small business
section) last year, and we're aiming for it again.  So
no mistakes, no slipping of standards."

I was surprised - well, I mean, I suppose I'd heard of
slaves being bought as sex toys - there was a popular
TV comedy series where three old matrons retired to
Florida, sharing a house. It was an update of
something that ran last century, "The Golden"
something or other.  They bought a good-looking slave
to do the yard work, and the whole point of it was how
they all schemed to keep it secret from the others
that they used the guy for sex!  It was hugely
popular, as the women were very funny, and, I suppose,
we all got a laugh from the way that the poor young
guy, in his early twenties, seemed to be constantly
exhausted from the yard work, and from satisfying the
three old crones.  But the more I thought about it,
the more it made me feel almost sick - I mean, fancy
having to fuck a really old woman!  With my looks I'd
never had any difficulty in getting women of my own
age.

"Sir, I'm not sure I'd be able to fuck a really old
woman, but it sounds kind of fun otherwise...."

Master Brett threw back his head and roared with
laughter, and Gary started to smile, too.

"Steve, where have you been all your life?  How many
women executives are there, do you think, who travel
regularly?  I bet that tonight there aren't more than
ten or twelve in this whole city, and I've got twenty
five pleasure slaves here in my business alone, and
we're not the only ones!  No, since the arrival of
really good quality video conferencing, it's only
really senior executives who travel, and only then
when a face to face meeting is unavoidable.  And
they're almost all men, as you'd expect.  Our business
is providing pleasure slaves for the male executive,
and that's what you'll be doing..."

"Sir, I can't.... I can' go with guys... I don't go
with men. I don't even fancy them...."

"Nonsense, Steve!  Now look, I can't stand prejudice.
Have you ever tried sex with another guy?"

"NO! ....sir."

"No experiments with jacking off with a buddy around
puberty?  No fumbling in the showers at high school?
No circle jerks with your buddies on the football
team?  No mutual jerking off when you ask a buddy
around for a beer and to watch a porno movie?"

"No, of course not...."

"There's no 'of course' about it, Steve.  But, anyway,
if you've never tried it, how do you know you won't
like it?"

I shook my head, not knowing what to say.  I kind of
muttered "But it's unnatural, sir..."

"How can anything that two men choose to do together
be 'unnatural'?  Haven't you ever wondered, when
you're jerking yourself off, or playing with your
nips, or fingering your asshole, what it would be like
to have another guy do that to you, or what it would
feel like to do that to another guy?  And why do you
think all those pleasure points are in your body
anyway - most women don't like playing with men's
bodies, after all.  So they must have been designed
for other guys to use."

"NO, sir.  I was always taught that it was wrong.  Our
local minister used to lecture all of us, when we were
kids, about the evils of sex.... I mean, the bible..."

"Oh, come on, Steve!  You know, ministers are probably
responsible for spoiling the fun of more guys in this
world than anyone else - we wouldn't tolerate them
spreading their lies and half-truths in any other walk
of life. I thought you'd got a proper education, and
that you weren't some superstitious hillbilly who can
barely read, let alone think for himself!  Didn't they
teach you anything at college about looking at the
evidence, and making a rational judgement? ."

"Of course, sir, the scientific method..."

"Quite!  So you look at the bible, and it has all this
stuff about people rising from the dead, giving birth
without sex, walking on water.... Did you look at that
evidence, and make a judgement, or are you just going
along with that superstitious nonsense that ministers
use to fool the ignorant and irrational?"

"Well, of course, that stuff is probably just
stories..."

"So if those bits, which I guess are pretty central to
the whole pack of lies, are 'just stories', why do you
place any credence in the rest of it?  Or, to take
another argument, if you do actually believe some of
these fairy tales, why don't you also go for all the
other bits as well, like  'doing unto others as you'
be done unto' - that's surely about mutual jerk-offs,
isn't it? And 'loving thy neighbour as thyself' -
aren't you therefore allowed to make love to the guy
next door?  And Doesn't it always go on about loving
your fellow men?"

"Yes, but..."

"Look, Steve, interesting though this debate on your
curiously irrational view of the world is, I don't
really have time.  The plain fact of the matter is
that you are here as a pleasure slave, you will be
servicing men - rich, powerful, men - and you will do
it well, or else you will be punished.  We have strict
quality control here, and you'll soon learn that you
meet the clients' exacting standards, or you'll be
punished, and punished hard.  But before we let you
loose on the clients, you have to be properly trained
- after all, when a man is paying two thousand or more
for your services, they have the right to expect the
best."

"Two thousand, sir?  Who can afford that...?"  I was
genuinely shocked - I'd always imagined that
prostitutes got a hundred or so, and that was for
"regular" sex, man and woman (or, at least, that's the
kind of stuff that was reported in the papers when a
guy was fond out, and prosecuted).  I couldn't believe
that anyone would pay that much to go with a guy.

"Right, Steve, just a few words on the economics of
this thing, before we start your training.  I've told
you that it's only really senior people who travel
now, because of video conferencing, and they need to
do so because there are some meetings you just have to
have face to face - really key negotiations, for
example.   One of the oddities of modern life is that
therefore the higher you are in the corporation, the
more you travel - quite the opposite of the way it
used to be, when guys at board level used to mostly
stayed in corporate headquarters, and it was
lower-level people who charged all over the country.
So if these guys are all travelling a lot, what do
they want?  Answer:  all the comforts of home!  That's
why these very expensive hotels flourish in all the
big cities, and they're mostly suites, too, not just a
normal room.  That's what senior people expect.  And
when a guy has been without sex for a day or so, he
wants that, too, doesn't he?  So we're here to fulfil
that need, and that's why we're right here, downtown,
in  the middle of all the expensive hotels.  After
all, a senior businessman with his mansion in
Scarsdale, used to eating at all the best restaurants,
staying in his expensive suite, doesn't want to have
to go to some cheap, tatty, hole-in-the-wall kind of
place for sex, does he?  No, he wants to be able to
call a respectable company, one where he feels
comfortable if he comes through the doors, and know
that he'll get the very best.  And, of course, it's
his company that pays - our fees are just a drop in
the ocean, compared to all the other expenses of these
guys."

He finished this exposition with such an air of
certainty, that I knew that it must be mostly correct.
 Anyway, I guess his whole business plan was
predicated on those assumptions. But there was still
something I didn't understand, so I asked "But sir,
why guys?  Surely most of these men are straight...?"

He just laughed at me.  Then, continuing to smile, he
said "You really are the innocent, aren't you, Steve?
Look, all men really want to fuck other men, it's just
that old-fashioned ideas hold them back. Men all want
power, and the ultimate exercise of power is to fuck
another guy, right?  So when these men have sat in
meetings all day, where they've had to negotiate and
maybe give way on things, can you imagine how great it
is to get back to their suite, and then be able to
exercise total domination and control over another
guy?  Millions of years of human evolution have taught
men that the proper, manly thing to do is to be top,
the leader, the boss man, the guy in charge - you
can't just sweep aside all that history that's
programmed into your genes:  men need to dominate
other men."

"But they must be married, surely...?"

"Of course they are, mostly, Steve.  Our society is
still very odd, in that executives are supposed to
have a nice wife, and two point four children.  So the
wife sits at home in Scarsdale, the guy can brag about
her, show that he's struggled hard enough to be able
to provide her with the mansion, the cars, the maid,
and probably a slave or two....  That's another reason
for him needing to relax in the natural way, with
another guy - he can give up for a few hours on the
need to keep struggling to make more and more money
for the wife:  guys are much more likely to accept
other guys for what they are.  And then think about
the wife:  what are her needs?"

"I really don't know, sir!"  And I genuinely didn't.
This all sounded so bizarre, but I couldn't pick holes
in it, as it all seemed to hang together.

"Well, if you're the wife, there in Scarsdale,
wouldn't you worry that your man might go off on one
of these trips and find another woman?  Before you
knew where you were there might be an unwanted
pregnancy, or divorce....  So they're much happier if
their man is fucking another guy - no possibility of
disruption to the lifestyle, and, of course, the man
comes home properly satisfied... You'll learn that
only another guy can properly satisfy you in sex:
after all, what can a woman really know about how a
guy's dick feels?  It needs another guy to know that.
And then, too, a lot of these men probably have slaves
around the house anyway, and it's only natural to dick
your slave for a bit of fun, isn't it?"

I wanted to ask another question, but he hushed me,
and went on "Don't interrupt a master, when he's
philosophising, Steve!  Most of your clients want to
talk, as well as fuck.  That's why we have premium
class man flesh, like you.  After all, if these men
just wanted an ass to use, it is available a lot
cheaper elsewhere - they can just hook up with another
guy in most cities, via the Internet.  But then, of
course, they'll never know what they're getting, and
it might be a wasted evening - some pitiful inadequate
who doesn't really know about sex, a guy who can't
string two words together properly, disease.... It
might all be a trap, even, and they'd get robbed.  A
lot of these men travel with bodyguards, you know, and
they can hardly have them stand around whilst they
fuck some cheap rent boy from the gutter, can they?
So they come to us, their company pays the money - or,
rather, Uncle Sam pays a lot of it, as it's a business
expense, off the profits, - and they get a
good-looking guy, who can hold a good conversation if
they want, and who's been properly trained to give
pleasure!  And, of course, you're tested constantly,
so there's no risk of them catching anything..."

"But sir, I still don't think I can do it..."

"Nonsense, Steve!  We train lots of guys here, and
some of them have the same odd ideas about real sex as
you when they arrive.  But they all soon learn to be
natural, to let their bodies do the thinking, rather
than silly social conditioning.  Some of the guys who
enjoy sex most - and I mean real, proper, man-to-man
sex, came in here initially as rabid heterosexuals.
You'll soon learn the error of your ways, and get to
enjoy what a man's body is designed for - sex with
other guys."

I went to say something else, but his mood changed,
and he was much harsher when he said "I've warned you
once - don't interrupt a master when he's speaking!
The horse is always looking for another rider,
remember!  Anyway, what you think, what you want, what
you believe, doesn't matter, does it?  You're a slave,
remember, and for the next ten years you'll say, do
and think what I and master Jed want you to!  Now,
time's money, as they say, so let's stop wasting it
and start the first lesson."

As he said this, he put his arm around my shoulders,
and pulled me to him.  I could feel the rough, scratch
hairs of his tweed jacket on my naked body.  I
stiffened my muscles, to resist.

"No, Steve, that's not the way... When a master pulls
you to him, don't even try to stop him. Help him. Move
closer.  The horse, remember?"

Well, what was the harm, really, just sitting close to
another guy?  I relaxed, and let him pull me close to
him.  But then his hand came up, and he took my left
nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

I've always had sensitive nipples - in the winter,
especially, I have a lot of problems with my running
vest scraping over them.  As his fingers touched, I
made a little involuntary noise, tried to pull away,
and put my hand up to take his off my tit.

"NO!", he snapped.  "Look, I'll not warn you again
about interrupting a master!  Do you want another ride
on the horse?  And, if you were a trained slave and
did what you just did, I'd actually schedule you for a
whipping. A slave never, I repeat - never - touches a
master as you just tried to do, in order to prevent a
master from playing with the slave's body.  Now,
relax..."

His fingers returned, and he started to gently pinch
and stroke my nipple, which responded, of course, by
going hard.  And I also felt my dick beginning to
erect: I don't know why!    But as he continued to
play with me,  I felt his other hand touch my belly,
lie there for a few moments as his fingers explored my
muscles, then slide down to my crotch, over my shorts.
 I was almost panting with apprehension as his warm
fingers slid over my skin - what the fuck was going
on? And I could feel the weight of his hand lying on
tip of my hard dick, crammed into the shorts.

"Ah", he murmured. "I like that in a man.  It often
happens - a guy with sensitive tits, as you have, I
can feel, often has a direct line between them and his
dick!  Play with his nipples, and his dick goes hard."

As he finished speaking, he plunged his head down and
took my right nipple in his moth.  I felt his warm,
wet tongue start to flick at it and tease it. It
looked so odd, as I could see the top of his head as
he sucked at me, but what he was doing to me was
definitely having effects  on me - my whole body
tensed, I sort of thrust myself towards him, and I
heard myself moaning and groaning, with enjoyment.

He carried on toying with one nipple and sucking the
other, but now his hand was worming its way through
the open fly of my shorts.  I felt his warm fingers
touch my dick - something I'd never experienced before
- and he fumbled around a bit before managing to
extract it through the fly:   actually, it was a real
relief, as it had been straining away against the
fabric of the shorts, and having it loose was much
better.

He broke off, and sat up.  He was smiling as he looked
at me, and he stared into my eyes as his fingers ran
lightly up and down my dick.  But it hurt, and I
winced.

"Oh yes, of course, we had to have you 'skinned,
didn't we?  That's kind of what our clients expect, as
most of them don't have foreskins and they want their
pleasure slaves to look the same.  And, of course,
it's nicer:  although we keep you clean, and always
prepare you properly, if there's a lapse of a few
hours whilst you talk or play cards or something, any
pre-cum you leak can start to smell bad even in that
time, if it's trapped under a 'skin."

Oh, so they'd cut me like that, taken away part of my
body, just to please their clients!  It was awful - I
realised now, as he was doing these things to me and
speaking like this, that there was more to being a
slave than just losing some of my freedoms, and having
to work hard:  this guy really could control me.

But he went on "I can feel some of the scabs still,
and I guess you're still a bit tender and painful down
there?"

"Yes, sir..."

"Well I usually like to get straight on with
introducing a new slave to the pleasures of being
jerked off by another man, but we'll keep that for
later.  So let's skip forwards, to cock sucking 101.
But you're still tense and nervous, and I don't want
you to do anything that would mean that I absolutely
had to order a punishment for you, so for your own
good, I'm going to take a few precautions."

Turning aside, he said, quietly and authoritatively,
"Gary - clip his wrists.  And put the training handles
on."

Gary came up to us, and I saw that he, too was erect -
well, I mean, I couldn't help noticing:  his dick had
burst out through the open fly of his shorts, and was
sticking straight out in front of him like some sort
of handle!  He took my left wrist and raised it, with
only a bit of resistance from me, at which he shook
his head a little to show me that I must not do it,
put it behind my neck and I heard a "snick".  When I
tried to move, I realised that the wrist cuff had been
attached to my collar, and as I was understanding
this, Gary was raising my other hand, and did the
same.  As I sat there, my hands both now behind my
neck, immovable, he went to the desk and came back
with two leather things - they looked like quite big
circles of stiff leather, with short chains attached.
He deftly snapped the ends of those chains to my
collar, one on either side, and the leather rings hung
down, brushing my shoulders.

"Right, Steve.  Now, don't panic.  Just relax, and
you'll enjoy the whole thing, believe me!".

As he said this, Master Brett put his hand behind my
head and started to pull me down towards him.  Even
with my hands cuffed, I could easily resist as I've
got a strong body, but he whispered "No, Steve.... Let
go... Do what I want you to, don't try to fight
it...."

He pushed my head down into his crotch, and the rough
tweed of his trousers started to tickle my face.  I
caught that smell of stale piss that always clings to
trousers - how ever careful you are, there's always
some leakage, isn't there?  And I knew that my own
trousers always smelled faintly of piss, even after
only two or three days of wear.  There was nothing I
could do about it, though - the firm pressure of his
hand on my head was keeping my face pressed firmly
down, and so I had to breathe in the scent of him.
And then I felt something else - his dick moving
around through the fabric, as it evidently got hard.

End Of Part Five.