Date: Fri, 2 Apr 2010 15:58:07 -0700
From: bamaboi2serve <bamaboi2serve@charter.net>
Subject: Slave Sketch 4 -The Recorder Slave

     These short sketches of slaves are being submit once a week to Nifty
for five weeks (originally it was 4, but I've expanded it by one). Next
week's will be the final one .
     When that sketch is posted, I'll ask you to vote on  the one you like
     the most (some readers have already done so!). The story that receives
     the most votes (presuming there are enough to make it worthwhile) will
     be turned into a complete story.

(bamaboi2serve@charter.net)

Sketch #1   /nifty/gay/authoritarian/gallery-display-slave
Sketch #2   /nifty/gay/authoritarian/training-the-new-slave
Sketch #3   /nifty/gay/authoritarian/special-duty-slave

and now, Sketch #4,
The Recorder Slave

     If I try really, really, hard, I can picture myself from before...a
boy of just 22 who had never had the slightest skin problem. No pimples or
other troubles...just somewhat dark, beautiful, clear, smooth skin. I was
virtually hairless except for my pits, my crotch, and my legs, and even
there it was only a light covering of fine black hair. That's common for
Asians like myself.
    Then my parents got into deep financial trouble. My Dad has borrowed
money from a loan-shark, and some thugs came to collect. First they
threatened to disfigure my mother, to cut off her breasts or even her ears,
and they refused my Father's offer of himself in her place. Then I stumbled
into their hands when I returned home that day after classes at the
University. They seized on me, saying they would consider the debt paid if
I were go agree to go into service to their gang for five years. I readily
agreed, despite my parents protests, and I was carried away to the mob
bosses enclave.
    The very first week, the mob boss had me carried to a nearby business
where the gang's symbol was tattooed on my chest, right between my nipples,
three inches high and in thick, deep black Chinese characters. Then the
nipples were pierced, and thick black metal rings were soon a part of my
life. They pulled my nipples downward, stretching them by weight alone.
    I quickly found out why I had been accepted as a substitute for my
parents debts The gang boss was gay, and my slim, somewhat delicate figure
appealed to him. I had always considered myself bisexual, so his demands
were not completely foreign to me, and every-time he fucked me or had be
rim him or his gang thugs, I remembered it was for my parents. He had me
grow the head on my hair very long, and liked me to wear pink or white
frilly girls panties and little else inside his compound.
   Within just a few months, though, the boss man grew tired of me and
started bringing other, fresher boys in for his pleasure.
    It was then that he was struck by an inspiration. One night, he had me
tied to a St. Andrew's Cross in his bedroom to witness the other boys
giving him pleasure. My own cock was locked in a metal cage, preventing me
from even growing fully erect. The only time I came was when I had a wet
dream at night, a more and more frequent occurrence. But starting that
first night on the cross, when Sir fist-fucked a young white boy as I
watched, a new routine began.
     As the boy was being carried away, the tattoo artist who had marked me
with the gang's symbol came in.
    From now on, Master told me, the names of each boy Sir used, and their
age, was to be tattooed on my body. He had not promised my parents anything
other than to return me in five years, so he felt free to use my body as a
record of his sexual conquests, or in any other way that pleased him.
     The young American was the first: "Bobby, 16", inscribed on my
forehead, Two years later he would be back again to serve Master, and that
time would be remembered on my right ass cheek as well, as "Bobby 18".
     In between there were many dozens of others: Arron 19, and Samuel 20
(a beautiful black youth from Nigeria who Sir allowed me to rim as a
birthday present), there were many Asians like myself too, Aakar 24, who
later learned to love Sir's piss so much that he went through his
inheritance paying Sir for it. There was "Avinash 18" (who was not as his
name meant, indestructible) and Rikiya, indeed a strong one. His name and
age now graces my right leg in bold red letters.
     I became so used to the artisan's needle that I could read as he
worked, used to the pain, unconcerned about how my body was being marked.
     Once, when Sir had taken in an especially beautiful black-haired Greek
boy, he had Demetri 18 needled onto my cock. There was no reading for me
that day.
     Now and then, when Sir lacked the funds to pay for the tattooist's
work, he provide my body in payment. After they had finished the latest
inscription, I would be carried to the tattooist's basement playroom, where
he and his friends would use increasingly large dildos on me and invent new
ways to clamp my no longer tender tits. Only once did Sir complain, when
they returned me with my hole gaping wide open from the insertion of a
metal baseball bat into my ass. Sir complained that the stretching made it
difficult to read the "Edward 17" tat directly above the hole. After that,
the tattooist's crew always waited several hours for my ass to close up
before carting me back.
    At the end of my five years service to Sir, he prepared to return me to
my parents. But I was 27 then, my Father had died, and Mother was living
with my sister. I saw no reason to expose her to the canvas her only son
had become. Instead, I offered to continue servicing Sir. I had no more
clear skin to offer him, but my peculiar appearance promised little luck
finding a job out in the world. Instead, I became a tool for him to use, to
help soften his boys up for their own service, licking them, letting them
fuck me endlessly, telling them in great detail about each boy recorded on
my skin, letting them read my body, turning them on, preparing them for him
to ravage as he desired.