Date: Mon, 9 Jan 2012 07:12:41 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Steve Buys A Slave, Part Five

STEVE BUYS A SLAVE
A story by Pete Brown (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)

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

PART  FIVE

"So, are we going to race again, now that you're not handicapped by those
shorts?" Reb demanded.  "...or are you now going to say that it would be
unfair and you'd probably lose because of the drag through the water caused
by that 'skin of yours?"

I could tell he was mocking me as he knew he would certainly win because of
his greater endurance, and I only had myself to blame by arrogantly
believing that I could swim faster than him just because he was an older
guy.  But what was I to do now?  I didn't want to lose face by admitting he
was best and not racing, or by racing and losing.  So I tied bluster,
instead.  "How dare you!  Give me my shorts back, you fucking slave!", I
snapped.

Reb took a couple of steps towards the pool edge, hauled himself out to sit
there, held my shorts out towards me, and taunted "Come and get them, if
you dare, ...sir."  Again, the way he said 'sir' showed he was deliberately
being insubordinate.  Stupidly I lunged towards him tying to grab my
shorts, and all Reb did was raise his arm so they were way up out of my
reach as he sat above me.  I jumped to try to grab them, and of course he
simply moved his arm, and I was now so pissed off that I jumped again, and
again.  Then I misjudged it, and sort of fell into Reb.

Our naked bodies were together for a few instants, and then my belly slid
over his naked dick as I slipped down into the water.  I regained my
balance as best I could, but when I stood upright I realised to my horror
that I'd started to spring a boner.  I tried to hide my embarrassment by
shouting very angrily "Stop that, and give me my fucking shorts!  I'll cane
you good and hard later...."

"Can't take a bit of hazing?" Reb responded, smiling all over his face.
"You're like a lot of the young guys who came in as new recruits - can't
take a joke or a bit of manly fun.  How's it going to be at college, in
that fancy frat, ...sir?"

"Well we'll soon know, as one of the reasons for having a slave is that
it's he who gets hazed! I don't expect you'll find it funny then, as I
gather some of the stuff is really severe and humiliating now.  And give me
my shorts - I've got to shower and then go and collect my dad from the
station."


Reb deliberately stared at my dick so that he knew that I could see him
doing it, and this made me start to blush.  "Give me my fucking shorts" I
now screamed at him, angry at my reactions.

Reb held them out to me and this time I could tell he was doing it
properly, and I took them.  But then what?  It's really hard to pull stuff
like that on when you're standing in the pool, so I had no choice but to go
over to the edge and haul myself out - making my hard dick wave around, of
course.  And pulling shorts on over an erection isn't easy and makes you
look stupid, too.  Reb seemed to think the whole thing was funny, though,
and finally, as he stood up, idly scratched at his balls as if he as
totally alone, he came and stood next to me and told me "Actually, sir,
you're not a bad swimmer - it's just you go for speed, not endurance.  I
think I said before that it's a problem with young guys - and not only with
swimming, but with sex: always racing to get to the finish. I could give
you a few tips if you like...."

What the fuck did he mean by that?  Was he offering to teach me about sex,
or something?  I could hardly admit that I'd never done it, could I?  So I
decided to ignore the second meaning and said, calmly, now "I want to win
proper races, not demonstrate I'm some macho hero who can hold out...."

Re shrugged in that way I was beginning to see he had.  "Well, the offer's
open...."

"You don't 'offer'.  You're a fucking slave.  You do whatever I tell you,
and if I want advice I'll get it from my coach, not from a slave.  Now, I
need to shower."

I stalked off towards the pool house, and Reb followed me.  Inside I turned
on the shower and then, seeing Reb looking at me, thought that I'd shower
in my swimming shorts.  But then I remembered that at school we used to
call the guys who didn't get naked in the showers wimps, and taunted them
as we said they must have small dicks.  So I pushed my shorts down and
stood under the hot water.

It's a kind of communal shower in the pool house - not a big one like at
school, but room for two or three people.  We never used it like that as
there were never a lot of people swimming and it was easy for me to wait
whilst dad showered, and dad used to joke that it never would be properly
used until I brought a girl back and wanted to get my hands all over her -
fat chance in today's social climate!  But now Reb stepped in and came and
stood next to me, and asked me to hand him the soap - soap that a few
moments ago had been around my pubes!

"Want me to do your back", he asked casually.  "We always helped our
buddies out in the service, as otherwise the smell of the chlorine hangs
around."

Well I didn't want his hands on me, but I also didn't want to appear as if
I was scared or anything, so I muttered "Thanks", and turned around to let
him do it.  Well I don't know what he and his buddies did, but this was
more than just washing the hard-to-get-at bits in the middle of my back -
he started at my shoulders, then rubbed all down my spine, and even brushed
his hands lightly over my butt.  I felt myself starting to bone up as I
remembered how I had 'inspected' Reb's body at Scabbard And Drass - my
hands had been all over his back just like this, and I think my body was
remembering how it felt when triggered by his actions.

"Your turn now", Reb called above the noise of the water, and I realised he
was expecting me to do the same for him.  Well that shouldn't have been a
problem, except that I'd need to turn around - and he'd see my erection.  I
desperately tried to will it to go down, but that never works, does it?  In
fact I reckon the harder you try, the worse it gets.  But I couldn't stand
there and do nothing, so I thought I'd brazen it out and pretend not to
notice, and turned and took the soap from him.  I just knew he saw it,
though - well with a big dick like mine it's hard to avoid, especially when
you're next to another guy in a small shower.

I started to wash his back and now I really was in trouble as this was so
much like the inspection I'd done earlier.  I couldn't resist not just
running my soapy hands over his back: t began to slide my hands down his
sides, letting my fingers feel his rib bones and my thumbs press into his
spine.  And I did his butt, too - I feel sure the stripes across his white
skin were slightly raised, and it had never occurred to me before that when
you cane a guy you might not only see the effects, but feel them,.

"Hey", Reb called out.  "You were supposed to be helping me get the
chlorine off, not starting that fucking inspection you did this morning all
over again.  Is that why you boned up...., sir?"

There it was again - that insolent way he used the 'sir'.  And he ad his
buddies may have joked about boning up, but I was acutely embarrassed, and
was now angry that he'd mentioned it.

"If I want to inspect you again, I will.  Your body belongs to me,
remember?  In fact I didn't finish properly this morning...."  As I said
this, I turned off the water so it went quiet except for the dripping of
the shower head.  "Face the wall.  Put your hands flat on it.  Move your
feet back, and spread them."

As Reb slowly obeyed, taking the weight of his body on his arms and causing
the muscles in his back to flex, I realised I'd been hot-headed and overly
hasty again.  Here I was now, not able to hide my dick as I had this
morning, but stark naked and boned up.  But I couldn't back down, could I?
"Keep facing the wall!" I snapped as I saw him start to turn his head to
see what was going on.  "In fact there's part of the inspection I didn't do
properly this morning, so now you mention it, I think I will."

I slid my hands down the muscles of his back again, and this time I really
felt the powerful muscles of his butt, grasping them with my hands and
digging my fingers in as hard as I could so that I could feel the sheer
power there.  Then quite slowly and deliberately I started to move a finger
down his crack, as I had done before - but this time it felt kind of
'ordinary' - simply wet from the shower, not that different kind of wetness
you get from male sweat: it was a bit disappointing, really.  When my
finger touched his actual pucker Reb flinched slightly.  "Did your buddies
go up there", I asked.

"No way!  We were marines...."

I leaned close to him so I could say quietly "So fucking what?  You hear
all kinds of stories about what goes on in barracks.  So didn't you ever
let one of your special buddies fuck you....?  He shuffled uneasily, and I
went on, determined to show him I was a man of the world,.  I leaned even
closer, really close, to his ear and whispered "Or perhaps it was the other
way around, Reb?  That dick of yours up a buddy?  They said you were always
chasing women, and I guess a male asshole isn't that different from a
bitch's.... so did you never try it, Reb?"

He suddenly threw himself upright, and spun around.  He was angry: "Listen,
I'm not a fag!  And neither were any of my buddies...."  He stopped, as we
both realised that as he'd moved so violently his body had brushed right
against mine, and my erect dick had kind of 'snagged' on his tackle as he
turned.  I stood there, and felt my face start to glow bright red.  And at
the same time I knew my dick was now straining upwards, even harder than it
had been before, almost painfully so - why the fuck has that momentary
touch of his skin against my dick head caused that to happen?  Reb
deliberately stared at my dick and could clearly see my total
embarrassment.  He sneered "But what about you, sir?  You look like the
kind of guy whose dick knows what it's about...."

I decided I wasn't going to answer - of course I had never had sex with a
guy; but I hadn't done it with a girl, either.  So should I lie about my
experience, or admit to him that I was a virgin?  If I lied I imagined he'd
say some more stuff about fucking bitches, and I'd probably be found out.
So I decided that the only way to get out of this was to simply stop it, so
I stalked out of the shower, picked up one of the fluffy white towels, and
started to towel off.  Reb came over, and went to do the same.

"Wait until I've finished, then you get this towel", I told him.

"There's plenty here...", he grunted.

"I said to wait!  You're my slave, and slaves don't get fresh linen.  A lot
of men have stupid prejudices about using another guy's towel - I can't
imagine why, as I've showered so my body is clean and it's only mopping up
the shower water!"

He scowled at me, and then deliberately stood watching me as I dried myself
- I had to wipe all over my stiff dick (although it was subsiding a bit),
but to make him uncomfortable in turn I spent a lot of time pulling the
towel up and down my ass!  Finally I tossed the damp towel at him and said
"Get a move on", as I pulled on my polo and chinos.

Reb went to put my boxers on again, but that was stupid.  "They're all
sweaty after what you've been through, and your body's clean now.  So stay
naked.  We'll go up to my room and I'll find you some stuff until we go to
the slave shop tomorrow."

"Sir, what about Mrs Williams? If we're going through the house...?"

"I reckon she'd like to see a hard slave body like yours.  But then again,
perhaps not.  Wrap that towel around you."

Reb did as I told him, but it was one of those really big towels - they
call them bath sheets, I think - and I always reckon guys look stupid when
they wrap themselves in one of those as the thing reaches almost down to
the floor.  So I picked up another, clean, towel, and tossed it at him.
"Here, use this instead."

We only have two kinds of towel in the pool house, it seems - the big
sheets, and ordinary hand towels.  So Reb tried to drape the thing I'd
given him around him, but it really only partially concealed him - almost
all his right thigh and was bare, and it was only just long enough to hang
around his waist and reach down to the tip of his dick: it was really sexy,
actually, to see such a big hunk of a man so scantily covered.  He stood
there, tugging forlornly at the thing, and went to say something to me -
presumably to ask for the sheet instead - but I pre-empted him.  "That will
keep you halfway decent for Mrs Williams."

"But it's fucking humiliating, sir!  I've got to clutch at it to hold it
on, and I reckon..."

"If you think it's humiliating, try the other option - stay naked! Now,
come on....", I snapped, secretly pleased that he was not comfortable with
the way he was.  I didn't give him time to reply and turned and walked out,
along the path and towards the big French doors that lead in to the formal
drawing room.  I deliberately didn't look back to make sure he was
following me as I've told you it's part of an owner's training of a new
slave to get the slave to see that his owner expects automatic obedience.

When we got to the big heavy sliding doors I stood and waited.  "I care
about the planet", I said, "So I don't use the electric openers.  I usually
heave the door open myself, but that's one of the kinds of things a slave
does.  So open the door for me."

Reb came up and pulled on the handle, but, as I've said, they're really
heavy: triple-glazed, fifteen feet long, plate glass... Reb needed to get
both hands on the handle and really heave.  And as he did so, as I'd been
hoping, the insecure little towel slipped off his hips and he stood there
naked again - it would do him good to know that as a slave obeying my
orders was more important than his own modesty.

I stepped into the drawing room and thought about ordering Reb to use the
slave entrance through the kitchen, but decided it would be good for him to
really appreciate just what a great house we had.  So I motioned for him to
come in, then enjoyed watching his muscles strain and flex as he pulled the
heavy door closed behind him.  He stood there fiddling with his towel again
then, trying to make it more secure, and I smiled inwardly as I knew it was
futile.  I could see his toes wriggling in the deep pile of the drawing
room carpet, and I'd swear that his nips were bigger as his skin reacted to
the chilled air of the air-conditioning - dad keeps the drawing room at
about sixty, too cold to sit in comfortably, so we light the fire when
we're in there - he wants to show our guests that he can easily afford the
utility bills, I think.  The though also struck me that for Reb it would be
very strange - it's one thing to be nearly naked with another guy
 around the pool, and in the showers, and quite another to be standing
there in a luxurious room, starting to chill from the cold, with the other
guy properly dressed.

I considered continuing to savour the moment by sitting there and reading a
magazine or something whilst Reb shivered, but there were other things to
do (and I made a mental note that it was an experience he would certainly
have at some time in the near future).  So I strode across the vast room
and out into the hall.  I was just about to start up the left hand side of
the big double staircase (we always seemed to go up on the left stairs, and
come down on the ones on the right wall, if we didn't use the elevator),
when Mrs Williams popped out of the kitchen.

"Your dad's office called - apparently he had a big breakthrough in the
case he's running and the other side collapsed and gave in.  So he's
decided to leave the office early, as he's been there so very late recently
- he's catching the four thirty from Grand Central.  The PA said that if
you were busy he would order a cab to be waiting for Mr Masters, but I told
him that you were around and that you'd want to do it yourself, as normal."

"Thanks, Mrs Williams.  You're right, as usual.  You know us so well. Of
course I want to collect dad."  And I did want to, really want to - the
journey to and from the station isn't long, but quite often it's the only
real time that dad and I spend together.  I used to get up really early,
drop him off at the station, then come back for breakfast before going to
High School, so you can tell how keen I was to be with dad: how many high
school students willingly get up early?  But not today!  I'd been hoping
that dad would arrive home at his regular late hour - he usually didn't
catch a train much before eight, and then he was tired out.  So not only
would I have had more time to think about what I was going to tell him
about buying a slave, but he's also be less inclined to shout and argue as
he'd want dinner.  It looked as if things were not going well for me.

I started to go up the stairs again when I noticed that Mrs Williams was
staring at Reb.  "He's a handsome brute, isn't he?"  I said casually - she
and I had sometimes stood in the kitchen window watching the contractor
slaves mow the lawns and so on, and I'd learned that she had a keen eye for
the attributes of slaves.  "I reckon I got a good buy."

As I said this, I went and stood by Reb, who was still clutching at the
ends of his towel around his hips, seemingly terrified it would slip off
again.  "Do you want to take a proper look at him?"  I reached out and
grabbed at the edge of the towel where it was exposing his thigh, and
pretended to give a little tug at it.  I was gratified to see how Reb's
hand tightened his grip on the towel as he was so scared of exposing
himself.

"Oh no, Steve.  I think men look better when all their parts are not on
view - it gives me something to think about..  But I agree with you - from
what I can see of him he is pretty special. I like the way he's got such a
flat belly, and the 'V' of his torso forms such strong lines downwards to
his tackle...."

"You wouldn't have been appreciating that as much, Mrs Williams, if I
hadn't had him clipped and trimmed - all that area was almost like a forest
and he couldn't really wear anything very low-slung."

I could see Reb flushing with embarrassment now as we talked about him like
this, and I decided to add to his humiliation by continuing "Of course you
can see that he used to wear shorts and stuff - look at the tan line, so
high up.  And his butt is as white as the towel.  But I'm going to have him
tanned evenly all over, so if I want him in a G-string or anything, there
won't be that unpleasant contrast...."

"You must do as you thing fit, Steve.  Personally, I like to see a bit of
contrast between the 'public' parts of a man and the 'pubic' parts, as you
might say.  It makes me think I'm getting something special, something that
only I get to enjoy if I do get to see the entire man.  Still, perhaps I'm
being old fashioned!"  She gave a little laugh as she said this, and went
on "But I mustn't stop here chattering - even though he's very easy on the
eye - as I'm in the middle of preparing dinner, and as your father will be
early.... Any idea what time I should serve it?  Perhaps you'd like the
usual time, as you and your father will have a lot to talk about?"

"Oh, no.... About an hour after he gets home?  There's nothing special we
need to discuss...

"As you said, Steve, I know you and your father well.  I'd think there
would be a lot to discuss when you tell him about buying Reb here!  Hasn't
he always said that owning slaves is a distraction as they have to be
looked after and monitored, that it's a waste of capital that could be
properly invested, that...."

"Enough!  There's no need for you to go through all the arguments that dad
will use, Mrs Williams.  It's not going to be a problem as dad needs to
understand that I'm a man now, a man who's capable of making his own
decisions.."

"Well let's hope your father sees it that way, Steve - your eighteenth
birthday is still a few weeks away...."

"Thanks, Mrs Williams.... Didn't you say the dinner needed preparing....?
I bounded up the stairs as I said this, to shut her up as I knew dad would
take that line, too.  Fuck me, this could be difficult - he might, as I've
told you, even still consider me to be a 'kid' to the extent of spanking me
- or at least trying to!  I was so intent in running up to stop the
conversation that I'd quite forgotten that I'd intended to make Reb go up
in front of me - I was wondering what his ass and dick and balls would look
like up under the bottom hem of the towel.  I remembered that I'd seen a TV
programme a week or so ago about 'the sixties' in 'swinging London' and how
young women had stopped using the upper deck of the buses as their
miniskirts were so short that they thought men would be looking up them on
the stairs. This thought had hung around and I'd been looking forward to
kind of 'testing' it on Reb, to see if it was true or just another of those
old
 wives' tales.  Still, I could always do that another day - it's one of the
advantages of having control of a man like Reb.

I continued my training of Reb as I stopped and waited outside the doors of
my bedroom so that he could open them for me.  I usually only open one side
but Reb threw both of them wide as if he was a bit pissed off at having to
do it.  Even though there was plenty of room for us both to enter,
therefore, I deliberately brushed against him so that the towel fell off.
He bent down to pick it up and I told him to leave it - Mrs Williams never
came into my room, so there was no reason why he should cover himself.

He stood there for a few seconds taking it all in - well, I have got a
pretty good room, I suppose.  There are big windows looking down over the
grounds, a huge bed, a couple of couches for me to relax on, my desk with
it's communications, a big 3-D TV, and all the other stuff you'd expect in
the suite of a wealthy young man.  The bathroom's through a door to the
right, and it's got a proper walk-in shower and a bath, and plenty of space
- that's what money ultimately buys you in a place, I think - space.  I was
going to go straight over to the wardrobes and find Reb some stuff to wear,
but to my annoyance he went over to one of the couches, threw himself down
on it, picked up the TV remote and started fiddling with it.

The TV flashed on, and to my horror I saw that it was showing the porn film
I'd downloaded the previous evening.  Look, when I accessed the electronic
programme guide it had looked like regular porn - a young, lean bloke with
a big dick and a bitch with big tits soon got down to business: there might
have been some element of wish fulfilment in it as the guy was probably
only a couple of years older than me, and his body was not unlike mine; and
the bitch was the sort I usually fancied, and she'd given the guy a really
good sucking before he threw her down onto the bed and thrust into her.
I'd been sitting there playing with my dick as I watched, but then the
bedroom door in the movie had opened and another guy came in - an older,
bigger guy.  He'd pulled the young guy off the bitch, then stripped off his
clothes and began to fuck her.  The young guy, instead of standing there
and watching, had kind of joined in - he and the older guy had played
 around a bit and they got both their dicks into the bitch, and as they
stood close together, their arms intertwined to hold themselves steady,
they'd started to kiss - kiss passionately, tongues and all!  They soon
pulled out of the bitch and had proceeded to almost ignore her as they
rolled around on the bed together, and I'd just got to the point where the
older guy, having had the younger one suck him off, was about to start
fucking him, when I'd had to go to the station.

It was these scenes that Reb was now watching, and he looked up at me, as
if he was sorry for me.  "So, you like this stuff, do you?  Is that why you
bought me - because you're a fag and you want a big older guy to dominate
you?  Am I supposed to fuck you, then?"  He was stroking his dick as he
said this, and it was rock hard.  I could see the angry scars of the
'skinning on the shaft.  He got to his feet, and took a step towards me,
holding his dick in his hand and continuing to stroke it.

"No.  I'm not like that.... That film's a mistake, it's proper porn
really...."

"Sure.  Proper porn, proper porn where two guys are messing around with
each other... Proper porn, for fags!"

He was standing so close to me now that I couldn't help seeing all the tiny
details of his body - it's surprising, isn't it, how at times of stress
your brain can focus down on to one trivial thing? - I was fascinated by
the little ring of dots around the edge of his dark brown aureole. He saw
me, and reached up wit his other hand and sort of outlined his tit between
his thumb and forefinger.  "So tits turn you on, do they..... Sir?"

"On bitches, yes!"  I reached for the remote, intending to go back towards
the front and show him the bitch, but I hit the wrong button and it went
into fast play forwards - as we stood there, the screen flashed the frantic
movements of the old guy's butt as he pumped up and down on top of the
young guy, then the next moment the positions were reversed, and the young
guy had the older ones ankles around his neck as he thrust deep up his ass.

"Ah, turn and turn about, eh.... Sir?  They both seem to be enjoying it,
don't they?"

"No!  I'm not a fag."

Reb smiled that big, lazy grin of his.  "Well I'll believe you for now,
sir.  Thousands wouldn't, having seen what you watch on TV."  As I took a
step backwards to get away from him he stared down at my crotch.  I knew I
was hopelessly erect, and that the front of my chinos were tenting out.  "I
suppose you need to piss then, sir?  That's a piss hard-on down there?"  He
smiled again.

Blushing scarlet now, and very confused, I went over towards the
closets. "We need to find some clothes for you....", and as I regained a
little of my composure I snapped "And stop playing with your dick!  The
scar's still forming, and you're not supposed to do stuff like that for a
couple of days, that guy Jacob said."

"Easier said than done, sir" - there was that easy smile again, as if Reb
was completely at ease with talking about stuff like this.  Even with my
best buddy Bobby we couldn't do this.

I found him a pair of those grey 'knitted' exercise shorts from last season
- the fashion then had been to have them low-slung as you were supposed to
show the waist band of your expensive underwear out of the top - and threw
them at him and told him too put them on. He stood there tugging at them,
trying to get them to go higher, but with his body being a couple of inches
bigger than mine, they were very low indeed and his 'V' down towards his
pubes was really emphasised, although it was a pity about his tan line.

"Aren't I meant to have underwear?", he asked as he gave up the struggle to
get the waistband to go higher, and when he saw me shaking my head he added
"..or even a jock?"

There was one thing wrong with the shorts, though, and I remembered
something Jacob had told me.  So I ordered him to take them off - which he
did, looking pleased as I think he thought that I'd changed my mind - and I
took them into the bathroom and used my nail scissors to cut about eight
inches off the legs.  As free men's shorts they'd come down to just above
the knee, but now they were very short indeed and when I told Reb to put
them back on again (and countered his objections with a "or stay naked,
then") they only reached down to just below his dick.  They were perfectly
respectable wen he was standing there, but I wondered what it would look
like when he sat down.

I then gave him one of my athletics vests, but when it was stretched tight
over his torso I though it kind of looked wrong as there was no 'movement',
and, anyway, the dark yellow and dark green of the school's colours were
all wrong for a slave to be wearing indoors. So I ordered him to take it
off, and got that exciting glimpse of his ribs and pits as he peeled the
thing up over his head - in the locker room I always looked out for the
other guys taking their Ts and stuff off like that, as when it goes over
their heads you can take a good hard look at their torso without them
seeing you do it.  The only other thing that I could find was an ordinary
plain white T which would contrast well with his tan, but before I gave it
to him I used my scissors to slice off the whole of the right sleeve and
some of the shoulder.  When he pulled it on the asymmetric nature of the
thing drew your eyes to his bare shoulder and upper arm, so that the livid
red of his
 healing brand was emphasised.

He stood there looking at himself in the mirror, and was scowling slightly.
"You look good", I told him, "Perhaps I won't go to the expense of slave
clothes - we'll sort out some more of my stuff and I'll adjust it: the
rough edges make you look kind of rugged, and sexy. Mind you, the sooner we
get rid of that white skin, the better - it looks kind of stupid on your
legs now you're wearing proper 'slave shorts'."

I looked at my watch and went on "In fact I need to go off and collect dad
now.  Go out to the pool and strip off and start to tan... All over!  And
when the sun's gone down, go in through the kitchen and ask Mrs Williams to
show you the slave staircase to get you back up here.  Then wait here for
me until I call and tell you it's dinner time.  Oh... And when you are back
here, you can watch that video, if you want.... Or at least the first part,
and you'll see what I mean."

As I turned to go, he asked quietly "Don't I get any trainers or anything?"

"You've got big feet, and I don't think my old ones will fit.  Anyway, I
think bare feet on a slave look good - it kind of emphasises your status."

__________________________

When I got to the station there was the usual chaos as there was never
enough parking space.  When dad had bought me the car and I'd started to
take him (he used a taxi service before) he was really annoyed about the
fact that we ended up a long way from the entrance.  He complained to the
station staff, who basically ignored him - never a good thing to do with
dad!  He got his people working away, and found some sort of obscure city
ordinance that said animals were not allowed in the station forecourt.
When the station staff still ignored him, he bought a case against the city
as he said he had been 'affronted' by the animals when he went to and from
his train.  They'd defended themselves - with public money, of course,
which annoyed dad even more as he was paying very high city taxes - and his
people (dad couldn't waste his time appearing in person, obviously)
countered their arguments, that there were no animals there, by finding
several obscure
 precedents that clearly showed that slaves were classified as 'animals'
and could not therefore be allowed to stand in the forecourt in their
traps.

Things had slipped a little since then and some owners did now expect their
ponies to be waiting outside the station doors, but these were mostly the
very big, very expensive "four wheelers" pulled by a team of ponies, and
not the simple one-slave two-wheeler sort.  Dad had had the thing looked
into, and had told me that the owners thought it was amusing, and simply
paid the fines on those occasions when the police ticketed them.  Still, it
did mean that when we drove up, if there were no spaces and one of the
ponies from the small traps recognised up, he'd pull out and leave the
space for us.  Tonight, though, most of the spaces were occupied by cars or
the big four wheelers, and there was only one space with a two-wheeler in
it - I drove parallel to it, and honked my horn, but the pony paid no
attention.

The train was almost due and I like to be on the platform to greet dad, so
I got out and went and commanded the slave to move.  He must have been new
as he didn't know the rules, and at first he didn't understand what I was
saying - and then I realised he was probably not a native English speaker,
so I told him again, in simple English, to fuck off and make way for a free
man.  I couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him as he dragged his trap
away, though.  He was some sort of Scandinavian, I reckon, as he had that
rich honey-coloured tan all over him, and very blond hair - well, all the
hair that I could see: on his head his owner had grown it long so it
flopped kind of agreeably over his forehead, and was clearly going to be a
mane down the back of his neck in due course.  But everywhere else he had
been shaved - totally shaved.  He was wearing the smallest pony pouch I'd
ever seen and it was almost transparent: it started just on top of his
dick,
 and his big dick and massive balls strained at it and were almost bulging
out of the sides - I suppose they could get away with it as he had no
pubes.  To emphasise his colouring the thin silk of the pouch was held by a
really fine golden chain; that must only have been prevented from falling
off totally only by the fact that it could not get past the bulge of his
dick - but I did wonder how it must feel to have such a thin chain cutting
into your ass as it went down underneath to come up through his ass crack!
What the fuck could a guy like that have done to be enslaved, I wondered.
And how must he feel to be on show like that?  Frankly, it would be less
humiliating to be nude, I reckon, as the way he was 'dressed' was simply
designed to draw attention to him.  But the big problem was his back and
his butt - they were criss-crossed with scars, and scars of various ages
ranging from old ones to new ones which had hardly scabbed over as they
were
 leeching blood.  Clearly his owner whipped him, and whipped him with a
proper whip not one of the light ones you use to 'encourage' a pony.

What a waste, I thought, to damage such a superb animal - dad would say
that the owner must be off his head, to lower the capital value like that
as his resale value must be almost nothing.  Still, he was a fine animal in
every other respect - I particularly admired the long thighs that are so
desirable in a pony as they give him both speed and stamina, and the fact
that he had been well trained, as far as I could see: even though I was
shouting at him he stood there with his head bowed, his legs at the
regulation foot apart, and his hands gripping the shafts (I do like to see
ponies holding the shafts, and not being manacled to them because they
cannot be trusted).  But as I looked I saw that the pony was held there in
an even more diabolical way - they'd had holes drilled through the palms of
his hands, holes that were lined with 'sleepers' rather like you see with
pierced ears, and these holes were slipped over bolts coming up from the
shafts, and a
 nut screwed down so he could not move his hands at all!  Even with
manacles a pony can move his hands a little, but this guy had absolutely no
freedom whatsoever - he'd have to stay locked to the shafts until someone
freed the nuts.

I was starting to feel sorry for the pony standing totally helplessly
there, as he must be hurting from the whip lashes, and with his hands held
rigidly he couldn't even brush away the flies which were clustering on the
blood on back.  "Please, sir....", he muttered in a very strong accent "If
I not here, my master whip me."

Well, what was I to do?  I didn't want dad to have to walk to the car, and
anyway the train was almost due as the bell on the crossing gate was
clanking.  I reasoned that the pony's owner whipped him anyway, so told him
again to fuck off out of my way.  After all, I thought, he must have done
something wrong to get enslaved in the first place, so I shouldn't have too
much sympathy for him - criminals need to know that the law will punish
them.

I just got on to the platform in time and raced along to where the
executive coach stops.  The platform was not as busy as it often was when I
was there as it was still relatively early, but there was the usual cluster
of slaves at the far end where the slave wagon stopped, and some free
people waiting by the first, second and third class areas - it's one of the
things that dad's mean about, actually: if I want to go into the city
(unless I'm with him) he won't let me pay the hefty premium for the
executive coach, and I have to go first class: dad says it's inappropriate
for a young guy to be in 'executive' as it devalues the experience for all
the other riders like him who have earned the right to be there.

There were a couple of slaves waiting near me for their owners, and I
thought one of them had a particularly neat-looking uniform: dark green
tights emerging from mid-calf soft black leather boots, a thick black
leather belt, and a sky blue top, all topped off with a jaunty little
peaked cap to match the blue of his shirt.  The owner was clearly very
proud of his slave's body as he'd given the guy extremely tight clothes -
they looked as if they were from some sort of stretch fabric as they were
moulded so close to his body.  But then the slave turned towards me and
something moved in his crotch area.  I took another look and realised that
it was his dick moving as the slave was entirely naked, and that these
'clothes' were in fact body paint!  All of it - except the cap, that is!  I
wondered how Reb would feel if I decided to have him painted like that, but
then decided that it was impracticable as for the effect to work as a
stunning piece of trompe
 l'oeil the slave's body had to be shaved totally smooth, and one of the
reasons I liked looking at Reb was the pleasant thatch of hair on him.

I smiled inwardly to myself at having made the mistake about the slave, as
there had been an error involving me some moths before.  I'd been waiting
on the platform for dad when an old guy - expensively dressed as he looked
as if he belonged in the executive area - had come up and casually reached
out and felt the bulge in the front of my chinos.  I shouted out for him to
stop that, and he'd instantly reacted and slapped my face - hard - shouting
at me to "Show some respect, boy".  I then realised that he's used 'boy' in
the sense of speaking to a slave, not like speaking to a young free guy
who'd lost my cool.  "You fucking pervert!", I'd screamed at him.  "Trying
to feel a guy's dick!  And treating me like a slave...."

This totally unexpected commotion in the 'executive area' resulted in the
station master scurrying over, and the guy started to demand that he "Eject
that slave from where free men stood, after giving me a good spanking for
my insolence".  Fortunately the station master recognised me as I was a
'regular' meeting dad, and told the guy he was wrong.  I then demanded an
apology, but the old guy was reluctant to give it, as he said that "I
should expect that if, as a good looking well set-up young man, I wore
tight clothes and stood in a place where you would only expect wealthy free
men to stand" then I should take the consequences.  "After all", he'd added
"Any man would want to own a slave like you."

It was useless to argue that using the phrase "a slave like you" was still
wrong, but the train was approaching and I did not want any more upset as
dad had enough stress at the office.  Still, it did make me think - how
easy it could be for mistakes like this to be made, and after all it wasn't
all that unusual to see guys of my age as slaves - as so many of us were -
because of the strict enforcement of so many of the laws that young guys
are inclined to break.

The train slid in silently, and dad got out and came over and hugged me.
The other passengers from the executive car handed their briefcases to the
slaves who were meeting them, and I was proud to take dad's.  He put his
arm around my shoulders as we walked along the platform, and dad as usual
was saying "Steve, you don't know how much it pleases me to have you come
and meet me like this.  The other guys in the executive car have to buy
slaves to meet them, but I've got my son - and he's not like a lot of
fathers' kids who laze around all day - you actually bother to come to the
station.  I'm a lucky man, Steve."

I should have told him then, of course.  There wouldn't be a better time,
probably, and on the station he almost certainly wouldn't rave and shout,
or even try to spank me!  But dad was in such a good mood as he started to
tell me of his latest corporate coup, how he had utterly destroyed their
case with his incisive arguments and intelligence, and how he was looking
forward to the law firm's partners' meeting the next week as he was
planning to stage a coup to become managing partner.  "The current managing
partner has lost it", he was telling me "He's past directing the firm.  He
wanted to turn down the case as it was too risky, he said.  I had to argue
and argue to be allowed to take it, and it was pretty divisive amongst the
partners, I can tell you. The current guy is always going on about risk,
and I say that you need to take risks in order to progress.  I got my way
in the end, but I have to tell you, Steve, that if we'd lost he'd have
forced me
 to resign.  As it is, the fees from the client will add about ten percent
to each partner's profits this year, and next week it will be me who's
forcing him to go."

Dad carried on like this all the way home, and so I never got the chance to
tell him about Reb.  As we drew up in our parking I was hoping and hoping
that Mrs Williams wouldn't come out and say something, and that Reb had
stayed in my room, as I'd commanded.  It would be pretty disastrous if Reb
came down the stairs as we went in!  My luck seemed to be holding, though,
as dad bounded up the stairs to change as soon as we came in, and I went
into the den and started to prepare him a martini - I was really careful to
chill the glass, and the shaker, and get the gin from the freezer, and when
dad did come in dressed casually I handed him the frosted drink.  He took a
big sip, then ruffled my hair affectionately (I was reminded of how I had
done that to Reb at the slave dealer), and told me that I could always get
a job as a bartender - except of course that all those jobs were done by
slaves now!

"So, Steve, how was your day?  Done anything exciting?"  There it was.  The
question I was dreading.  How could I not tell him now?

End Of Part Five