Date: Sat, 19 Aug 2006 01:58:35 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Tables Were Turned, Part Three

THE TABLES WERE TURNED

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com


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


The Tables Were Turned, Part Three


He  sprawled there on the floor, looking imploringly
at me.  "No, sir, please, don't ask me to do that...."

"I'm not asking.  I'm telling you."

"Sir, please, no, sir...."

"Look, kid, you've got to learn that when I say
something, I mean it.  And what's the problem anyway?
You've wanked for me when you first got here - oh, and
congratulations, by the way - the sample came back
from the lab and you're good and healthy:  a fine
potential breeder.  So get on with it - there's only
the two of us here, and we're both men.  And we both
know that men all wank, every one of us, so there's
nothing to be ashamed of.  It's perfectly natural."

He still sat there, looking thoroughly miserable.  I
shifted my weight so that I was to the front of the
bench, and raised my hand threateningly.  I didn't
want to actually say any more, as I've told you that I
don't think it's a good idea to "bargain" with these
kids, and I thought I'd done enough already.  He had
to learn that total obedience was required of him.

He watched my hand threatening him, and reluctantly,
slowly, as if he was fighting some sort of internal
battle to make his body respond, he reached down and
began to stroke his cock.  I watched for a few moments
as it gradually began to engorge and stiffen, then
said "You may as well learn the right way to do this
when I want to see you wank in future:  kneel, with
your knees about eighteen inches apart and your feet
together.  Then rest your bum down onto your heels,
and have your back nice and straight - that way  I can
get a good look at your cock as you stroke it.  But
keep your head bowed, as a mark of respect for me,
unless I tell you otherwise.  Oh, and you catch the
cum in your other hand.  Is that all clear, as I won't
tell you again:  the next time I tell you to wank, I
will expect you to assume that position and do it like
that, or else there will be punishment?"

He moved his body, and I was pleased to see that the
regime of good, but sparing, food, and healthy
exercise, was beginning to pay off - I felt certain
his already pleasantly muscled body was showing signs
of further development.  "Sir, yes, sir", he muttered,
and began to stroke himself.

I've no idea what he was thinking about, of course.
Perhaps he was imagining that girlfriend of his.
Perhaps he had other erotic fantasies.  But it took
him a reasonable length of time to get properly hard,
but then "nature took over", so to speak, and his
mechanical stimulation started to have the desired
effect.  I watched him slide his 'skin on and off his
moist cock head, and he was clearly an experienced and
accomplished wanker as he had a number of techniques -
like rubbing his thumb over his cock head - that he
used completely automatically as part of his action.


I could feel my own cock stiffening slightly as I
watched, as it's always erotic to see another bloke do
things like that, I find. But then he stopped, and
gave a sigh of "Yes.....", and I shouted "Catch it,
remember!", as he seemed to have overlooked that part
of the performance.

His palm filled with a surprising volume of
thick-looking cum, and he continued to kneel there,
breathing hard, as his cock spurted in one or two
"aftershocks".  He carried on kneeling there, and now
his head really was hanging down and I suspected it
was in shame, as I could see the bright red glow of
flushes of embarrassment on his face and naked
shoulders.

"Good!", I told him, encouragingly.  "That wasn't so
difficult, was it?  But now I'd like to inspect that
load you've shot - present it to me."

He looked at me questioningly, and I said "Continue
kneeling, but bring both hands together, then upwards
and forwards so that your arms are outstretched and
you are 'presenting' your cum to me.  Keep your head
bowed, though."

The kid did as he was told, although rather clumsily,
and I dipped my thumb and forefinger into the cum and
teased out a thread, complimenting him on how rich and
creamy it was.

"That's excellent!", I said.  "But I don't want it
now, so get rid of it."

He looked up then, questioningly.

"Get rid of it", I said again.  "Clean up your
hands...."

He went to get to his feet, and I snapped "No!  Stay
kneeling until you're told otherwise!  Just get rid of
it."

He looked so completely unsure of what I meant tat I
added "Just lick your hands clean."

"No!  Please, sir, no!  You can't ask me to eat
cum...."

"Boy, what di we talk about earlier?  I'm not asking
you, I'm telling you!  Now, do it, or feel my hand on
your bum again."

"I've never done that, sir...."

"Well there's always a first time for everything!  And
think how much easier it is just to lick your cum off
your hand after you've wanked, rather than trying to
catch it in a paper hanky... Or you're not one of
those disgusting kids who leaves it on the sheets, are
you?  Or in yesterday's underwear?"

"Sir, no, sir.  A paper hanky...."

"Well just licking it up is far better - haven't you
ever gone to sleep with the paper still on the end of
your cock, and then found it all stuck there in the
morning?"

The kid nodded, so I continued "Well then, this is the
proper, ecological way.  Now, come on, I want to see a
nice long slurp...."

He looked horrified, but I raised my hand again and he
almost flinched, before slowly and gingerly bringing
his hand towards his face.  I could see him wrinkling
his nose in disgust as the creamy load got closer,
then tentatively and hesitantly he put out his tongue.
 He was almost gagging as he licked at the cum, but,
like most men I've met, his look of revulsion changed
to one of surprise as he realised that it didn't taste
anything like it smelled!  It's funny, isn't it, how
you get that strange "ammoniacal" smell from your cum,
but once you taste it you find it's just kind of
sweet-sour, and doesn't taste of anything really.

I smiled encouragingly at him.  He carried on kneeling
there then, and I told him to clasp his hands neatly
behind his back.   I leaned back on the bench, pleased
with his progress, and decided to take his education a
little further.  I was half erect, and began to stroke
my cock to get the whole way.  Even though his head
was bowed I could feel him taking surreptitious
glances at me as I got hard, and my balls swung in
time to the caresses I was giving my cock.

"See, Tim, I'm not embarrassed or ashamed of what I've
got here", I told him.  "Take a look.... A man should
never be worried about displaying himself to another
man - well, not if he's got a good-sized cock, as you
and I both have.  If you'd got a tiny stub, or one of
those very thin 'asparagus' dicks, it would be
different.  But proper men, men who are well hung,
should never be worried about a bit of display."

He nodded slightly, and I continued "So come closer,
as I want you to really take a good look at my cock.
Shuffle forward, and rest your hands on my knees."

I knew he didn't want to do it, but, equally, he was
terrified of disobeying me.  So he moved forward and I
felt the light pressure of his hands on my hairy
knees.  His head was still bent, so I knew he would be
having a real close-up view of my cock that was
rampantly hard in front of me now.  I reached down and
teased my 'skin back so that he would see the head,
shiny and ready for action, from where pre-cum had
been trickling out of me.

"OK, Tim.  Now you've been good so far, so just one
more thing:  Have you ever felt a man's cock, or
smelled his crotch?"

"NO!  Of course not......  Sir."

"So another first for you!  I want you to put your
head down and get your nose right to the base of my
cock, right in down in my pubes.... There's a special
'man' scent from all the scent glands down there, and
you need to recognise it......"

He went to say "no" again, but I raised my hand again
and was very threateningly close to him at that point.
 Slowly, and very reluctantly, he lowered his head...
Then pushed forward a little.  I put my hand down on
his cropped hair and "encouraged" him down, overcoming
his resistance and getting his nose properly buried at
the base of my cock and ball sac.  I held him there,
so he had to breathe in my male odour, and whispered
encouragingly "Good boy, Tim!"

With my other hand then I took hold of my cock and ran
it lightly over his cheeks and ears, whispering to him
to feel how wonderfully warm and soft it was.  I
pushed his head back a little then, but still holding
his head to prevent protests, I ran my cock head over
the front of his face, along his upper lip, then his
chin, and finally allowing the dark moistness of my
cock head to rest on his tightly-pursed lips.  I could
see an almost imploring look in his eyes - he knew
that if he asked me to stop he might get punished, but
the act of opening his mouth would also allow my cock
in!

I did wonder if we should move on and have him
actually suck my cock, but I've found that there's
little benefit to be gained from rushing these things
- now he'd smelt my male scent and had his face
"marked" with the slimy trail of pre-cum I was
leaking, it would be better to stop:  he'd spend the
rest of the day contemplating what had happened and
worrying about what was going to happen, so he'd be in
a much more receptive mood tomorrow.

"OK, boy.  You can help me dress now", I told him.
Then I got up and tossed him my boxer shorts,
instructing him to hold them open so that I could step
into them, and then to pull them up - he needed to get
used to the feel of a man's body and not be shy.  He
similarly "helped" me into my jeans, and of course
he'd now be feeling the differences between us even
more:  he was kneeling there naked  holding my
clothes, whereas I was getting dressed as a man does.
I sat down then and made him fit my socks on my feet,
and my trainers - cuffing him lightly on the head when
he failed to tie them neatly.

Overall I was pleased with his progress, though, and
told him he could stay up with me for dinner and did
not have to go down to the cage until later.  I warned
him, of course, against attempting to run away, and he
sort of mooched around the place, looking at the
titles of my books and DVDs as I grilled a big steak
and baked some potatoes.  I only set one place at the
table, though, and I could see him wondering what he
was going to eat.  But after I'd served the food onto
two plates, one large portion for me, and a much, much
smaller one for him, I put his on the floor by the
side of my chair and told him he could eat there.   He
sat at my feet greedily cutting up his food and
stuffing it into his mouth, and after a few moments I
wrapped my leg around his naked body and roughly
pushed at him, telling him to slow down.

He still finished his meal a long time before me,
though, and he sat there with his empty plate as I
continued to cut my steak and eat it.  I knew he'd be
hungry still as I deliberately kept him short of food
so that he would appreciate what he had more.  I cut a
small piece of steak  a very bloody piece, as I like
my meat rare, and pushed the fork holding it down
towards him. "Here, boy, a treat.... You've behaved
well today, on the whole".

His hands gripped mine to steady the fork as he went
to take it, but I held on to it so that he was forced
to move his head to take the food directly off my fork
- I could see his face wrinkling with faint distaste
as he knew the fork had been in my mouth, but I wanted
him to learn a greater dependence on me, and to get to
know that there was no reason to be concerned about
any of my body fluids (spit is, after all, perfectly
sterile).

After dinner I told him we were going to watch a DVD,
and I selected one of my porn collection that began
with a conventional man/woman fucking scene - he
seemed keenly interested in this, as I noticed is cock
stiffening as the bloke really rammed it home into the
woman, but just before his climax the door bell rang
and another bloke came in, stripped off, and took
over.  As the second bloke fucked away, the first one
began to stand behind him and stroke and caress his
body as he was humping, and the guy doing the fucking
stopped for a moment, turned around, and kissed the
other guy.  The film ended with the two blokes
deciding they preferred to have sex with each other
rather than the woman, and they began to first wank
each other, then suck each others cocks, before one
vigorously and joyously fucked the other.  I like to
use this film as most of the kids I take are "straight
" and like a bit of hetero porn, but the film leads
them on to the idea that there are things that men do
together that are even more exciting!  I did hope the
lesson was not lost on young Tim.

Although I still locked him into the cage in the
cellar at night, I was pleased with his progress, and
told him so.  And I gave him another blanket as a
"reward", to make it rather more comfortable for him
on the hard concrete floor.

Over the next three weeks I continued to train Tim -
he had to work harder and harder in the "gym" every
day, and he got used to having my body wrapped around
his in the shower, and of course to me washing him -
we soon moved on to my cleaning his cock and balls
with the wash cloth, and then sliding it down his bum
crack.  And although he was almost unbelievably shy
and hesitant at first, he learned how to gently soap
his hands and wash my cock and balls, too - although
when I told him to clean between my bum cheeks, I had
to slap him once or twice before he would do it.

I liked young Tim, actually - there was something
about him that there hadn't been with the other lads.
He was certainly intelligent - he'd asked if he might
borrow one of my books to read at night in the cage
(it wasn't allowed, of course, as he had no need of
reading now), but he was the first one who'd ever
shown even a glimmer of interest in such things.  And
as he worked away on the gym machines sometimes, and
could see me at the PC, he even offered advice when I
seemed to be "stuck" - advice which seemed to be
correct.  It was a shame, actually:  I guessed he was
a bit of a "geek", who messed around with technology
and went skate boarding, but who probably didn't have
a lot of real friends:  I didn't think he'd been in a
sports team, and messed around in the changing rooms
with his team mates or anything like that, as there
was no sign of the casual acceptance of "male bonding"
I'd seen in some of the lads I'd had through here.

He was a worker, though, and it was almost as if he
was determined to show me that he could "take it" by
truly working hard at the tasks I set him:  If I told
him he had an hour to perform a set of exercises, he
had his own target of fifty minutes, and stuff like
that.  The consequence of all of this was that his
body toughened and strengthened even quicker than
normal, and I began almost to regret it as I could see
he was fast approaching his disposal date.

He'd even dared, occasionally, to ask me stuff like
"Could you tell my parents I'm OK", again.  And even
"What's going to happen to me, sir?"  I never do any
of the parents stuff, of course, and when they ask me
about their future, I just remain silent.  This gets a
lot of them really worried, as I'm sure they think I'm
going to kill them or something, but it seemed to make
Tim calmly determined, perhaps even a little defiant.

Much as I disliked it in this instance, the time had
come for Tim to go, and I spent a week or so on the PC
e-mailing my usual contacts.  I could see Tim watching
me from the "gym", but I never disclosed what it was
all about.  And, of course, when I saw the truck
making its way up the valley towards us, I took him
off the machines and put him safely down in the cage,
closing the cellar door, before they arrived.

That afternoon Tim saw the large crate standing in the
yard and asked me what it was for, but I didn't tell
him.  He looked distinctly worried, though, and he
asked again that night as he sat at my feet eating his
dinner.  I patted him on the head and told him not to
worry about stuff like that, as all he had to do was
obey me, but when I went back into the kitchen to
fetch myself another beer, he scrabbled to his feet,
ran out of the door, and bolted!

This was so totally unexpected as usually the lads are
so "broken" by this point that it no longer occurs to
them to run away.  It took me a couple of minutes to
realise what had happened, actually, as  when  I came
out of the kitchen I thought he'd gone down to the
cellar.  But no, he'd made a run for it!

I was totally furious!  For one thing, he'd now have
to be really punished, and punished so hard that it
would set my plans for his disposal back for a couple
of weeks as his body would be so battered.  And for
another, I don't like kids taking advantage of me like
that: pretending to be "broken", but really harbouring
thoughts of escape.  I had to scrabble around to find
the keys to my trail bike, and it must have been five
minutes before I roared off in pursuit of the young
fucker.

As I've told you, they normally run down the valley as
they sense that's where "freedom" is, as Tim had done
last time.  But I could se no sign of him in the
evening gloom, so I headed up the slope, and
criss-crossed some of the empty rough pasture looking
for him.  After about an hour, though, I had to admit
that he'd probably gone:  there was absolutely no
trace of him, even though I went right down to the
village, and so I had to activate my emergency plan.

I keep a small bag packed with "essentials" like my
passport and a big chunk of cash, and  I stashed all
this on the trail bike.  Then I had to stay awake all
night, scanning the road for signs of activity:  if
the police were coming for me, I'd have several
minutes notice and had a route across the fields where
the bike could go but even a four-wheeled drive
couldn't.  By mid morning the next day, though, I was
starting to relax:  but I felt really sorry for Tim,
as I thought he must have fallen or something and was
probably dead after a night out in the open, as
otherwise the alarm would have been raised and the
police would have been here by now.  I did try
searching again, driving very, very slowly up and down
the track, and even calling for him.  And I went down
to the village, too, but none of the shop keepers or
the people at the pub seemed aware of anything odd
going on, and no strangers had been sighted.

As I set off back home I was, frankly, a bit pissed
off - all those weeks of effort in locating Tim and
training him, all wasted.  It was dusk by the time I
got there, and I parked my bike in its shed and opened
the cottage door, really fed up.  As I turned to close
it there was a flicker of movement behind me, and
something sharp pricked my bum.  I went to cry out,
but felt the strength ebbing from me.  My knees
buckled, and I fell to the floor.

When I came to I went to feel my head as it was
throbbing, and found I couldn't move my arm.
Gradually the realisation came to me that my hands
were cuffed behind me!  I wriggled my body around and
there, sitting in my favourite chair, was Tim - a Tim
dressed in one of my big pullovers and pair of jeans,
and looking somehow faintly absurd as both were much
too big for him.

"What the fuck....?"

"Shut up!", he snapped.  "Now, I don't want any
trouble - I want you to get up, and go down the
stairs, and into the cage."

"Now, Tim, just let me go.  I'll have to punish you
for running away, but I'll make it minimal.  But if
you don't let me go immediately, you'll feel as if the
sky has fallen in on you..... Do you remember how
strong I am...."

He almost smiled.  "I reckon having your hands cuffed
behind your back takes away a lot of the advantage",
he told me calmly.  "And this.... A whole lot more."
He showed me a baseball bat, one of the things form my
cupboard, which I've only ever had to use once on a
kid who was particularly tough and who failed to
respond to anything other than the most severe
beating.

He got up and came over towards me, and when he was
close I jerked my body around, hoping to catch him off
guard and sweep him to the floor.  But he was fit and
strong, and side-stepped to avoid me - and the next
moment the end of the baseball bat crashed down into
my belly, completely winding me.  As I lay there
gasping like a beached fish as I tried to suck air
into me, Tim knelt down, opened the fly on my jeans,
and pulled my cock and balls out.  He tugged the zip
half way up then (trapping a bit of the skin of my
ball sac and making me cry out), and stepped back.

"Now I've got a target", he told me.  "Any more
trouble, and this bat will be heading for those balls
of yours, those balls you're so fucking proud of!"

"Look...."

"Get to your feet.... Now!", he rapped.  You're really
vulnerable lying there, if I decide to kick your head
in.... Or those balls, of course....  Or perhaps
this......"

As he said this he tapped the end of my elbow with the
baseball bat, not hard, not hard at all, really - but
why do they call it "the funny bone" when you get hit
there?  It's not funny at all - it's excruciatingly
painful, and I screamed and writhed around again,
actually managing to hurt my balls a bit as they
scraped along, unprotected, on the ground.

"Now, on your feet, and down the stairs....."  He held
the bat menacingly as he said this, and I thought it
best to play along with him for the time being.  So
with huge difficulty I got to my knees and then to my
feet, and, as he watched me closely, menacing me with
the bat, I shuffled over to the cellar and went down
the steps.

I knew it was a mistake to go into the cage, but what
else could I do?  I tried to stop, but he hit me with
the bat, and I was quite unable to defend myself - a
blow behind my knees threw me to the floor, then he
menaced my balls with it until I crawled in.  I heard
the gate slam and the rattle of the padlock as he
locked it, and then he stood there, smiling at me
faintly.

"So, what shall I call you?  After 'T', it's 'U,'
isn't it?  The only name I know like that is Ulrich,
and I don't like that name.  But perhaps you should be
an  'A', as you're my first.... Andy, Amos, Abe,
Archy....?  You can choose."

"Look, kid, I'm Steve....."

"I really ought to rename you, just as you renamed me.
 But I think Steve suits you - it's a good, strong,
masculine, hard name, just like your body is.  So
perhaps I'll let you remain Steve - but, Steve, you've
got to address me properly!  I seem to remember that
you put great store on the use of 'sir', so I suggest
you start to speak properly.  I particularly don't
like 'kid'.   So, would you like those cuffs removed
now?"

"Fuck you!", I snapped (perhaps unwisely, as I knew he
currently held all the cards).

He shrugged ,turned, and made his way up the steps.
At the top he flicked the switch that turned out all
the lights, then closed the door.

It was of course totally dark.  Totally and utterly
dark.  I couldn't see a thing.  And there I was, lying
cuffed, my cock and balls hanging out form my jeans.
I wriggled around, trying to get to my feet, and
managed to kick over the bucket that was in there to
pee in to.  And when I was finally on my feet, what
could I do?  I was completely fucking helpless with
those cuffs on.

I staggered around the cage for a bit, then finally
sat down, trying as best I could to get comfortable as
it wasn't even easy to rest against the wall as I was.

I have absolutely no idea how long I was in there.  I
realised I needed to pee, but couldn't find the
bucket, and just had to do it (I suppose it was lucky
my cock was outside my jeans).  So I was heartily and
profoundly glad when the door opened and light flooded
in.

Tim came down the stairs, smiling, and looked in at
me.  "What a fucking mess!  I ought to make you lick
that piss up!", he told me.  "But I suppose it is
difficult when you're cuffed.  Would you like me to
free your hands, Steve?"

"Of course I would...."

He turned to go up the stairs again, shaking his head,
and I added "...sir."

He stopped, turned around, and looked at me
enquiringly.  "Sir, please, sir", I managed to get
out.

"Good boy, Steve!  See, it's easy - you know the
rules, so if you just obey them properly, you'll get
along fine.  Now, come and sit by the bars, back to
them, and put your wrists out....."

The cunning bastard had thought of everything -
sitting like that I had no chance of even trying to
make a grab for his hand as he released the cuffs, and
as I scrambled to my feet, rubbing life back into my
wrists, I saw that he'd stepped far enough away so as
to be out of reach.

"Right, Steve, I need those clothes off you.  So
please strip."

"No!  Why....?"

"Steve, remember your lessons!  Never question, just
obey!  Now, get out of those clothes, and give them to
me now - or else I'll just go back upstairs and forget
you.  And who knows, Steve, I might decide to forget
you for ever.... Didn't you tell me that no one ever
comes up here, and even if they did they can't hear
noises from down here... .and I know the entrance is
concealed with that dresser... Do you want to die
alone down here in the pitch black, Steve?  Didn't you
tell me that you die of thirst, rather than hunger?
So please undress, and toss your clothes out through
the bars.  After all, it's not as if I've not seen you
naked.  And, as you keep telling me, you've got
nothing to be shamed off...."

Well, what choice did I have, really?  As Tim watched
I undid my boots and pulled them off, followed by my
socks.  Then I slipped my T over my head, undid my
jeans (wincing as the zip caught my ball sac again),
and pushed the whole lot through the bars.

"The watch, Steve.  And the boxer shorts.... When I
said 'undress', I thought you knew I meant 'undress
totally'.  'Get naked'.  'Strip'.  Or whatever."

"It's an expensive watch...."

"So?  You're not going to be concerned about the time,
Steve!  Let me worry about that, as I train you.  Now,
do as I say, or else you're down here for at least
twelve hours....."

I undid my watch and handed it to him, then, as he
watched, a faint smile playing over his face, I pushed
my boxer shorts down and stood there totally naked.

"Excellent!", he told me.  "Now, Steve, here's a
blanket.... It's bed time for you, I think, but I'll
leave a light on so you'll be able to see where to
piss."

He turned to wards the stairs, and I grabbed the bars
and shook them with impotent fury.  He laughed.  "You
told me they all did that, you know!  And now you're
doing it.  But  I could never make them move, and I
don't suppose you can, either!"

He was right - I had built the place securely.  So
after the door was closed and I had only the tiny
pilot light to see by, I tried to make myself
comfortable,   But when you're naked, with only a
single thin blanket on a hard concrete floor, it's not
all that easy.  In fact it's impossible, and by the
time the door opened and he reappeared when I thought
it must be the next morning, I was stiff, aching from
where he'd hit me the day before, and hungry, and
cold.

"You should get to your feet the moment the door
opens, Steve.  It's impolite of you to be sitting on
the floor in the presence of your master", he called
out.

"You're not my fucking master...."  I couldn't help
it.  It just slipped out.

Too late I realised my error - he flipped all the
light switches, and pulled the door closed.  I grabbed
the bar and began shouting "No, please... Please....",
but I knew it was no good.  No one could hear.  I was
totally and utterly reliant on him.  If he chose to
leave me there for ever in the dark, I'd die.   I
sank to the floor, and felt the hopelessness flooding
over me.

I reckon he only left me about a couple of hours,
though - I had quite a stubble on my face since the
last time I'd shaved, and it wasn't all that much
longer than it had been when he last disappeared.  But
the moment the door opened I got to my feet, and Tim
came down the stairs carrying a big sausage baguette.
I looked longingly at it, as I was famished, and was
about to reach my hand through the bars to take it
when I remembered how I'd made him wait, and be
offered it.  I knew the "game" then, and was
determined not to say anything out of line, so that
sooner or later he'd have to hand it to me, or know
that I'd beaten him.

He stood there looking at me, and finally said "Are
you hungry, boy?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

I sensed his annoyance building, but he went on "Would
you like something to eat, boy?"

"Sir, please, sir, yes."

He handed me the baguette, and my mouth was filled
with saliva as the savoury smell of the sausage wafted
up to my nose.  I went to take a bite, and then
stopped, and just stood there.  Finally, his
impatience got the better of him and he said "You can
eat, then."

"Sir, thank you, sir", I mumbled as my mouth was
almost full already of the crisp delicious bread and
the hot, greasy, herb-flavoured meat.

He stood watching me and after I'd finished it, he
went up the stairs and came down again with a pail of
warm water.  "You need to clean yourself, Steve.  But
first, take a piss, and a crap."

This was too much!  Sure he'd had to piss in front of
me - well, why not?  You do it all the time in public
lavatories, don't you?  But I'd always let him use the
bucket for crapping in private, over night.

"Thank you, sir.  But I don't need to crap."

"Steve, perhaps you've forgotten - but a boy in the
cage does as his master says.  Whether you need to or
not, get crouched over that bucket and crap!  It's
easy enough for me to go away for a long weekend in
London or somewhere, you know.... And lock that door
behind me."

I did my best to keep my dignity, as I turned my back
on him as I crouched over the bucket.  And I didn't
let one drop, but stayed squatting there for a decent
time before getting up.  He glared at me, and said
"Bath time, then....  And handed me the same soapy
cloth I'd made him use in the first days he was down
there.

I didn't mind so much, actually - it was good to get
the sweat and stuff off me, and I was, after all, used
to being in the shower with him.  But once I'd
finished, he went to the cupboard where I kept my
stuff and came over to the bars with two pairs of
cuffs.

"OK, Steve - against the bars, and spread your arms
out as I need to cuff you to them."

Seeing my hesitation, he snapped "Be quick!", and
knowing there was not much else I could do, I did as
he'd said.  Once I was spread out there and secure, he
opened the cage and came in.  "I need to measure you,
Steve, as I'm going to work you a bit in the next few
days, and I'd like to see how your body changes...
Now....."

He went through the whole routine with me that I had
with him, measuring my chest, waist, hips, neck,
biceps, and all that stuff.  Then, smiling, he bent
down and said calmly "Now just be sensible, Steve,
whilst I do your inside leg....."

As his hand went up between my thighs and I felt my
balls being pushed aside so he could get right into my
ass, I kicked out at him, sending him flying
backwards.  He sat there for a few moments,
recovering, then said calmly "Steve, that was very,
very bad of you.  Disobedience like that has to be
punished, as you know. And it was very, very stupid -
your legs may be free, but you're pretty helpless,
cuffed there...."

Scrambling to his feet he went out of the cage to my
cupboard, and returned holding a small leather flogger
in his hand - tapping the strands in the palm of his
hand, as if thinking.  I rarely used it personally,
but on those occasions I had I knew it could be pretty
painful on the back of one of the lads, and I wondered
how he was going to hit me with it as my back was
against the bars.

I soon found out, of course - he used it on my front!
The leather tails came down over and over again on my
nips, then on my belly, and finally, in a frenzy of
furious strokes, on the front of my thighs.  I had
begun by shouting in anger and pain, but by the time
he'd finished my throat was raw and I was just howling
with an animal cry, the cry of despair when you
desperately want something to stop, and there's
nothing you can do about it.

"Disobedience results in punishment, Steve.  You know
that.  You've told me often enough", he commented.
"Now, spread your legs, and I'll take your inside leg
measurement again.  And I'd strongly advise you to
remain still, else next time I'll pin your foreskin to
your belly, to get that cock of yours up out of the
way, and use this little thing that seems to cause you
so much pain on your body, directly on your balls."

He seemed to have a lot of determination for a kid, so
I did as I was told - well, as I said, I was used to
having him wash my cock, after all, so having his
fingers pushing the tape measure around my arsehole
wasn't all that bad, I suppose.

When he finished he was smiling as he came out and
locked the cage, then released my wrists from the
cuffs.

"You know, Steve, I really ought to take blood and
stuff from you.  But seeing you were so concerned with
my health, I reckon you probably take pretty good care
of yourself and so I don't think I'll bother.  Except,
that is, I think I'd like a semen sample - I wonder if
you really are as virile as you like to make out."

He took out one of the small glass vials from the
pocket of my jeans that he was still wearing, and
handed it to me.  "Come on then.... Let's see you in
action."

I went to turn away, and he said, chidingly, "Oh
Steve!  Surely you haven't forgotten?  The proper
position to adopt when a master tells you to wank?
And surely you're not embarrassed?  After all, we're
both men here, and we both know that all men wank -
it's perfectly natural, after all."

End Of Part Three