Date: Wed, 23 Jun 2004 12:27:01 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: You Can't Be Friends With A Slave, Parts 13-14

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part thirteen

By Pete Brown  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

I DON'T LIKE OLDER MEN!

The Colonel then suggested Straughan joined him for a
drink, and the two men sat there amicably chatting
about matters affecting the running of the estate,
just as if nothing special was going to happen.  I
was, in turn, furious, and worried - a four foot
Malacca cane did not sound very pleasant.  But how
could these men just carry on as if nothing had
happened, when they'd casually decided to punish me, a
naked man, standing there in front of them?

I could tell by the slap of naked feet on the veranda
that the slave had returned, and heard a dreadful
"swish" noise as Straughan evidently tried out his
technique in the air.

"Excellent, Straughan!", the Colonel remarked.  "Those
Malaccas have just the flexibility one needs for a
proper punishment, and I know that you're no stranger
to the proper use of one."

"No indeed, sir.  I don't get many opportunities to
use the cane since I started work here as our slaves
are so well trained and disciplined.  But at my former
place, one of the mines further upstate, they were a
lazy, slovenly lot forever failing to make their
production targets, and there was lots of opportunity
to refine my technique."

"Now", he went on, "Shall I have the slave removed to
the barn and carry out the caning there?  As you say,
it is almost time for lunch, and I would not want to
spoil your appetite."

"Not at all, Straughan!  Do it here.  I haven't seen a
good caning for a long time.  All I get to do myself
these days is the odd paddling or slippering of the
house slaves, and it just isn't as satisfactory as
seeing a big, muscled, mature slave like that one
properly punished.   My father, the old Colonel,
always used to punish the slaves here on this veranda,
and I've kept the punishment horse he used as a
memento of him..."

"You..."  The Colonel's tone changed, and I knew he
must be addressing the slaves "...drag that horse over
here, where I can see properly, and where Master
Straughan has room to work."

I heard something being dragged across the floor, then
Straughan ordered me to turn around.

Since coming South I suppose I'd adsorbed a lot of
general background about the practice of slavery, so
I'd seen punishment horses on display in the stores.
As you're probably aware, the modern ones are mostly
made of aluminium and tubing, to make them easy to
fold and store in today's smaller houses.  You could
see at once that the modern ones simply mimicked the
form and function of the Colonel's father's horse, and
the platform, shackling  points, and adjustment wheels
all seemed basically the same as those you find today.
 This one, though, was in fine old walnut, and I
supposed generations of slaves had kept it lovingly
polished as it stood there, as it gleamed softly in
the morning sunlight.

"Get on it, slave!", Straughan ordered, and when I
hesitated, not really knowing what I was expected to
do, he took hold of me and almost forced me down onto
the plate - he was a strong man himself, and his
fingers dug into my biceps as he manoeuvred me into
position.  Rather than the modern Velcro, this horse
had basic leather straps with brass buckles  to hold
me, and these were soon cinched tight around my waist
and shoulders.  A quick "snap" on the cuffs and my
arms were immobile, and then Straughan told one of the
house slaves to use the wheel to raise my butt up to
the right position.

It felt terrible, lying there helpless and immobile,
and the blood rushed to my head as it was lower than
my butt - the horse was adjusted so that my legs were
basically straight, then my body angled downwards so
that maximum exposure was given to my butt.  Straughan
casually kicked at my ankles, making me move my legs
open a little, and I heard two more "snaps" as the
ankle restraints then held them there.

Straughan rested his hand lightly on my left butt.
"Very fine, Colonel, don't you agree?  A good skin
texture - soft, yet manly.  And no layer of fat at all
- the cane will strike directly into the muscle."

Straughan's hand moved over my butt, almost caressing
it, as he continued to point things out to the
Colonel.  "See, very strong clenching of the cheeks
together - the slave hasn't been properly broken into
fucking - he's only had the usual introduction from
his owner - and there's absolutely no slackness here
at all.  I think Master Billy must have had a real
problem when he took the slave's cherry - I wonder if
he used a spreader, to make entry easier?"

"So the slave's no longer a virgin?", the Colonel
asked.

"No, sir.  Master Billy-Joe carried out the usual
ceremonial fuck a couple of weeks ago - he had planned
to leave him a virgin, but it was causing too many
problems:  some of the other slaves were beginning to
think that his one was being treated very differently,
and didn't know whether he was truly a slave, or some
sort of almost-free man - it doesn't make for good
order, you know:  slaves need to know that life is
simple and uncomplicated, and that there are only two
classes:  slaves, and free men.  So I advised Master
Billy-Joe to take his cherry, so that then he would
fit in properly with the others.  Mind you, since then
there's been a lot of disturbance at night in the
slave quarters - I think the others tried to fuck this
one after Master Billy, but he fought them off."

"Interesting", the Colonel commented. "His owner has
taken his virginity, and that's as it should be.  A
slave understands more of his role when his owner has
fucked him.  But since then, nothing, you believe?
Still, no matter... Get on with it, Straughan."

I lay there, utterly immobile and totally helpless.
Then I heard a sinister "swishing" noise in the air -
Straughan was evidently making practice swipes in the
air.

When he first hit me I thought I would scream out -
there's something about a Malacca cane that makes it
at once a terrible ordeal for the slave who's
receiving it, and a pleasure for the master who's
administering it.  The combination of the length and
flexibility makes the master feel that he is totally
in command; and the weight, and the speed with which
the cane is moving, means that when it strikes the
slave the shock of pain that courses through him is
truly terrible.

"Well done, Straughan!", I heard the Colonel shout.
Somehow in spite of all my senses being on fire the
old man's voice sounded clear and sharp. "But more
effort next time - the slave did not scream out.  I
could see his whole body move as you hit him, but
there was no sound.  I think we have a stubborn one
here - one who's determined to show that he can take
whatever you have to administer.  Try again!"

The second stroke was worse than the first, probably
because I now knew the effect it was going to have on
me.  But still I kept my mouth firmly closed, and did
not give them the satisfaction of crying out.  This
must have infuriated Straughan, as numbers three and
four seemed to be even more violent, even more fierce
than the first two.  As the struck, I couldn't help
but make sharp sounds - I really couldn't, I just
wasn't that much in control of my body.

Straughan changed tactics for numbers five and six.
Instead of aiming the Malacca into the tough, strong
muscles of my ass, he struck at the flesh of my thighs
as they were exposed to him. If I'd been in pain
before, no I was in agony.  I just couldn't help
letting rip with huge howls of pain.  The Colonel
seemed pleased by this, as he clapped his hands in
excitement, and almost shouted "Go to it, Straughan!
You've got the young thug worried now!"

Could I hold out?   My entire ass and legs needed
relief.  It was if a fire had been lit in my muscle,
and nothing could put it out.  In spite of what
Straughan had said about numbers seven and eight
creating greater "symmetry", I just couldn't see it -
now there was no feeling of sensation at all in my ass
and thighs - just an overriding, terrible hurt that
throbbed and throbbed.  I wanted to break free, I
wanted to throw myself into cold water to try to take
the pain from my muscle.  I wanted to shout, to rage,
to defy them - but what was the point?  I wanted to
take Straughan's scrawny body and punch him, to throw
my big muscled hands into his scrawny frame and beat
the shit out of him, to show him the agony he'd caused
me.  But it was no use, was it?  I was a slave,
strapped to a punishment horse, and receiving a
punishment that had been decreed, however unjust that
might be.  There was no escape, no justification, no
retribution, that I could bring.  I was a slave, and
all I could do was lie there and take what they chose
to meet out to me.

"Very satisfactory, Straughan", I heard the Colonel
say.  "Look at he was you've managed to place those
stripes so perfectly across his ass and thighs - it's
almost as if you managed to measure the distance
between them with a ruler."

"Thank you, sir", Straughan said deferentially.  "Do I
have your permission to put it back to work now?
There's always more to be done on the estate, and this
slave is our cart puller.  Without him, a lot of other
projects get halted, or more work results."

"Yes, Straughan.  Quite so.  Work must come first.
But now that you've tenderised his rump, so to say, it
seems a pity to waste it.  You say that my son has
taken his cherry?"

"Yes, sir, followed by one of the guard slaves, as is
customary."

"Good!  Then have him prepared for me, and in my
chamber this evening.  It will be amusing to see how
he reacts when that tenderised ass is fucked."

"Sir....", Straughan began.  "I would remind you that
he is master Billy-Joe's slave.  If you want to take
pleasure form another slave on the estate, let me have
him brought here and 'tenderised' as I have this one.
I'm not sure, sir, that master Billy-Joe would approve
of the slave being taken, even by you, sir.  He may
have other plans..."

"Nonsense, Straughan.  How could my son possibly
object to me using the slave?  It's not as if there's
any permanent damage, after all.  You've caned this
boy for his insolence in a way that doesn't leave
permanent marks, or scars;  well then, a little
fucking of his hole will be just the same.  Indeed, if
we didn't tell my son about this, he probably would
never know.  So let's hear no more of this nonsense -
have him back working, by all means, but have him
properly prepared, and in my chamber this evening."

"Yes, sir", Straughan said, as he obviously realised
that arguing with the Colonel was futile.

When I was released from the horse my first problem
was trying to stand upright - my skin and muscle
seemed to have somehow almost solidified into the
bent-over punishment position.  And when I did force
myself to straighten up, fresh waves of pain went
through me - waves that continued as I had to jog back
to my cart, and start work.  Straughan let me put my
slave shorts back on, but they were so short in the
leg that the big, angry, red marks across each of my
upper thighs was clearly visible.  The slaves in the
work gang who saw this evidently commiserated with me,
but of course  dared not say anything, or try to help
me in any way, as the supervisors were particularly
vigilant for any signs of potential rebellion that
afternoon.

After work I was showered and fed as usual, but
instead of being put into the slave dorms was taken to
the preparation area as I had been before.  All my
plans for taking a nice vigorous slave and fucking the
daylights out of him evaporated;  now it was going to
be my ass that was  going to get it again.

Charlie and Coon were waiting for me, and as well as
the preparation that had gone on for my evening with
Billy-Joe, they were even more attentive to make
certain that I was in the peak of condition for my
encounter with the colonel.  In addition to the enema
and the re-shaving to make sure I was completely
smooth, they trimmed my nails, probed my nostrils to
make sure there ware no unsightly nasal hairs, and
finally spend even more time trimming around the edges
of my aureoles so that my tits had huge prominence on
my chest.  I'd often seen adverts and stuff for women
- and men - going off to spas and such like where they
could also have "beauty treatments" - it's always
presented to you as if it's the height of luxury.  But
let me tell you, having someone else cut your nails,
and probing your nose for hairs and such, is fucking
humiliating.  But then, perhaps it's different if
you're paying for it, rather than being made to have
it done.

"There", Charlie said finally.  "We can be proud of
you, Steve.  There's not many slaves get the attention
of the Colonel these days - frankly, he's mostly past
it - can't get it up, can't keep it up.  You must have
excited him hugely to get to this point."

Some fucking compliment, and the sort of ability  I
wished I didn't have.  I don't want to be a sexual
attraction for guys - especially not older guys!

"Charlie, you seem to know the routine around here...
Tell me, is the Colonel, well, does master Billy-Joe
take after him?  Is the Colonel as big and thick as
master Billy-Joe is?  I don't think I can stand
another dick like that up me - I'm still very sore."

It was Coon, unusually, who spoke out. "Steve, in his
younger days the Colonel must have been a real
stallion.  You can tell he was massive.  Even bigger
than master Billy-Joe".  I gave a shudder at the
thought of a dick like that forcing its way into me,
"But he's an old man, and it's all shrivelled up.
It's probably a miracle that he can get an erection at
all.  I bet the local pharmacy  has been called in to
provide some kind of performance enhancement, to make
sure he can at least remain hard...."

"But Steve, be careful!", Charlie interjected.
"Whatever you do, don't laugh at the Colonel's
shrivelled dick, or his old man's body - he has a
terrible temper, and if he thinks you're laughing at
him, or, even worse, pitying him, then the
consequences for you are likely to be castration."

"He can't do that - I don't belong to him."

"Hey, Steve - face reality, will you?  If he orders
Straughan to take you off to the doctor, and then
tells the doctor to snip your balls off, will either
of them refuse?  And when master Billy-Joe next comes
here, what's he going to do?  He can't reverse your
castration, can he?  And he's hardly likely to sue the
Colonel through the courts for damage to his property
- especially as the only income he now has is the
allowance that the Colonel pays him every month!  No -
be on your best behaviour, be on your guard.  Don't
cross the Colonel, as he's on a short fuse, and it
will be you who suffers if it bursts into flames."

With that the two slaves had no option but to lead me
through the house and up the grand staircase to the
family bedrooms.   The Colonel's was even bigger and
more traditional than Billy-Joe's.  In addition to the
antique furniture, the enormous bed piled high with
comforters and pillows, a huge fireplace on one wall
burned giant logs ,the sparks crackling up the chimney
- the air conditioning struggled to keep up with it,
and maintain a comfortable temperature in the room.

As ever,  there was a profligate use of labour.  One
poor naked slave knelt right close to the fire - I
think he was one of the waiters normally - and his
only job was to keep it fed with the logs that us
outside slaves cut so profusely.  It must have been
very unpleasant for him to be kneeling so close to the
fire, as he was covered in rivulets of sweat , and I
marvelled that he wasn't getting radiation burns form
the heat.
Another  naked  slave was kneeling by the Colonel's
chair, and his horizontal, broad back provided a
convenient table to hold the Colonel's reading
glasses, today's newspaper, and a big mug of some
still-warm milky drink - the sort of night-cap
favoured by the old, I suppose.

Several others were posted along the walls, poised,
waiting.  It was as if they knew they must react the
moments the Colonel called for something.

The Colonel himself was sitting in a big,
old-fashioned armchair quite close to the fire.  He
was wearing  a Paisley-pattered silk dressing gown,
and where his scrawny legs emerged from this there
were high, soft, elaborately embroidered felt
slippers.

He turned his rheumy eyes towards me as Charlie and
Coon led me in, and said, as if to himself, "Ah yes,
that uppity slave I ordered Straughan to cane this
morning."  He turned to me and at once his tone of
voice changed.  "Come over here, boy, and let me
inspect Straughan's  handiwork."

I approached and stood in front of him, and he seemed
intensely irritated. "Drop those shorts, at once, boy!
And turn around so I can see Straughan's marks on
you!"

Look, it's bad enough when a man is inspecting you
who's a proper man - the same age as you, and with
some sort of life in his body. But when you have to
strip in front of a wizened really old guy, and when
that guy makes you turn around and show him your ass,
then that's something completely different.  I almost
felt like vomiting as the Colonel's claw-like hand
moved over my butt and down my thighs.:   even though
Billy-Joe's hand was hateful to me as he prodded and
probed my flesh, then at lest he was young and fit.
Somehow, having this wizened claw rubbing me,  tracing
the lines of my cane marks, and almost drooling as he
sensed my revulsion (which I was trying to hide,
remembering what Coon and Charlie had told me), was
even more humiliating and distasteful.

The Colonel gestured, and two of the slaves standing
by the wall came and helped him up out of his chair.
They were almost identical in appearance - about six
feet, twenty years old, probably, neatly clipped hair,
attractive lightly-muscled bodies, well-proportioned
dicks over low-hanging balls that were clearly visible
through their clipped and trimmed pubes - I wondered
what jobs they normally fulfilled on the indoor staff.
 Then, as the Colonel raised his arms slightly, they
removed the heavy silk dressing gown that he had been
wearing, to leave him standing there in just the
embroidered slippers.

The contrast between the two young men and the Colonel
couldn't have been more extreme. They were fit,
strong, vibrant, young and at the start of their
lives, and he was old and feeble, and probably near
the end of his.  His turkey-red face and neck
contrasted with the sickly-looking bluey-whiteness of
the flesh of his body, a body ornamented here and
there with straggly clumps of white hair.  Even when
seated the Colonel seemed to be a big man, and you
could see that in  his young days he was probably
"well built" and "solid".  Now this largeness
manifested itself as huge, sagging tits - yes, that's
what they were, tits:  not pecs any more as they
sagged forlornly downwards - a bulging belly that was
so huge and sagged so low that it almost obscured his
dick, and thin, spidery arms and legs unpleasantly
streaked with blue veins.  If his dick had ever been
as big as Billy-Joe's, then it certainly had
shrivelled, and I wondered if that would, one day, be
my fate, too.  No, I'd never let my body get into the
state the Colonel's was in:  even as you get old,
surely you can carry on eating moderately and
exercising?  I know there are some basic things that
happen, like your skin loses its elasticity, but you
don't have to get obscenely fat like the Colonel was,
do you? Mind you, I'd watched my dad once:  he'd taken
a bit of skin on the back of my hand and pinched it
lightly an d lifted it away from the hand, then let it
go:  it snapped back;  then he'd done the same thing
to his, showing me how it almost sagged back, and that
vitality of youth was no longer there - and dad did
look after himself.  I wondered if there were other
ways in which old men were different from young men
like that.

I wondered if the Colonel felt embarrassed, or even
ashamed, at the state of his body?  How could he bear
to strip, ready for bed, day after day, with all these
great-looking young guys standing around and watching?
 He seemed to be irritated by me looking at him,
though - I'd forgotten that a slave is expected to
keep his eyes down-cast - and my eyes had raked over
his body, and perhaps I couldn't disguise my feelings
of revulsion.

"Get your body draped over that chair, boy!", he
snapped.  "I've had you caned once today for insolent
behaviour, and if you continue, I'll have Straughan up
here and we'll see how a few more cane strokes suit
you:  doesn't my son teach you anything, that a slave
knows his subservient position and keeps his eyes
down?"

"Sir, I'm sorry, sir..."  I was worried about what
Charlie and Coon said, and had decided I'd really
better act humble.

I looked at the big armchair, and the Colonel, with an
almost impatient flip of his hands, indicated that  I
should waste no more time.  I went and lay across the
thick, heavy upholstered arm of he chair, and at once
my nose filled with a horrible smell - that sort of
"old man" smell, a body smell, of all sorts of strange
things that came up to me from the upholstery.  I
guessed that the Colonel used this chair every
evening, and it was simply impregnated with his
essence.  It almost made me feel sick, and I had to
fight to control a slight retching sensation in my
throat.

The Colonel was standing behind me now, and I could
feel his great while belly touching me - not
intentionally, but casually, as if he'd forgotten how
much of it there was and he couldn't manage his space
properly, rather as people with backpacks tend to
forget and strike you when they turn around -  as he
ran his hands over my back and down my butt.  His
fingers seemed to linger over the weal marks on my
butt and thighs, as if he was savouring the idea that
he'd been able to order this done to a fit young guy.
I could hear him breathing heavily, and as his body
moved close to mine I got a rank, sour smell of his
sweat:  surely, with all those slaves he would at
least be clean and fresh?  But perhaps old men always
smell like that.

I felt utterly wretched, utterly humiliated - but what
could I do?  This was the man that held all the cards.
 As I'd seen, he could certainly ordered me to be
caned again;  I didn't doubt that he could, as Charlie
and Coon had said, order me to be castrated; and if he
told Billy-Joe I couldn't stay on the estate, I'd be
sold like a common slave, and never regain my freedom.
 I knew I just had to lie there and take whatever he
chose to do;  surely that wizened cock wouldn't be a
big problem for me, if, indeed, he could even get it
up?

The Colonel now came and stood by my head and casually
riffled his fingers through my cropped hair, and on
down my backbone.  His huge flabby butt was so close
to me now that I caught unpleasant body odours all the
time.  He snapped his fingers, and one of the two
near-identical serving slaves who had been waiting
patiently knelt down in front of the Colonel, right in
front of my head, and started to jerk himself off.
The old man's breathing became heavier as he watched
the lithe figure jerk away. But he was impatient -
he'd carried on stroking my head as if I was some sort
of pet animal, and suddenly he stirred into life and
told the poor slave to get a move on, else he'd be
punished!

I really felt sorry for the poor guy - it can be hard
to cum when you're jerking off sometimes, can't it?
You need to be in the right mood, even if you're
really virile.  I know from experience that if
something happens like the phone going, you tend to
lose focus and your dick goes a bit limp.  Well, far
from helping the slave to cum quicker, the Colonel's
interruption had quite the opposite effect, and I saw
his stiff dick going a bit limp. He was obviously
terrified of the Colonel, though, as he seemed to
tighten his grip on his shaft and beat away more
furiously - he was probably going to have wank sores
tomorrow, I thought.  I could sense the Colonel
getting more and more impatient, and I knew the slave
must be feeling the same thing, as he became more and
more frantic - and, I guess fortunately for him, he
suddenly started to cum: not a big, vigorous, shooting
spurt as you get when you're really hard, but that
sort of dribbling flow when you're not right on the
edge.  He caught it neatly in his other hand, then
cupped both hands together and, still kneeling, raised
them up and out, towards the Colonel, as if he was
proffering some precious gift to his master: I was
reminded of all those scenes in those "old master"
paintings where wise men and people are kneeling and
holding up offerings like gold, and frankincense and
myrrh.

This was another step on the road to my fucking, I
guessed.  At least I was going to be lubed!
The Colonel moved away from my head - at least that
was better - and the young slave followed.  I soon
felt his fingers prying at my butt, and then doing
what I had become accustomed to now - trying to slide
into me, succeeding, slipping in and out to spread the
semen, then another go, with two fingers, and finally
stretching and manipulation to try to get me relaxed.
 Well, it's all relative, I suppose - my hole might be
more relaxed, but my whole body wasn't.  I was
dreading this,  in a way more than when Billy-Joe had
first started on me.  It was somehow just so
completely disgusting, to have this old guy, who was
probably old enough to be my grandfather, about to
attempt to fuck me.

The Colonel snapped his fingers again, and it was as
if the two slaves knew exactly what to do.  First,
they came and gently pulled at my waist to make me
move backwards a little - I had been close up  to the
arm of the chair, with my belly pressing in to it. Now
it was in the middle of me, and my head was  resting
on the other arm.  My arms and legs were hanging over
the second arm, and I could scrape my fingers on the
thick pile of the carpet - evidently they were not
going to tie my hands down:  they knew I had
submitted, surrendered, understood the power that they
had over me.

One of the two slaves now slipped into the space
between my legs and the side of the chair.  He scraped
around a bit, then I felt the warm wetness of his
tongue and mouth as he took my dick into it.  I'm not
a fag, as I've told you, but I just couldn't help
reacting to this, and I was as hard as a rock within a
few seconds just from the sheer sensation that he was
giving me.  But he had another function, too - I could
feel his arms go up and around my thighs, then the
fingers of each hand probing into my ass crack, and
pulling my butt apart.  So that's how the Colonel was
going to get access to me - I hadn't thought him
capable of reaching down and opening me up.

By craning my head backwards as far as I could I saw
that the Colonel was having the same thing done to him
as "my" slave was doing to my dick - the other lad was
on his knees in front of the Colonel and his head was
pressed right in, under the huge overhang of the
flabby belly.  I knew he must be trying to excite the
Colonel into action, and if his technique was as good
as his companion's was on me.... well, he'd probably
succeed.  It must be disgusting, I thought, to be
pressed into all that flesh, with that old man smell
all around me.  The slave sucking at me at least had a
good, clean, fit body to play with.

The Colonel snapped his fingers again, and the slave
moved away from him.  I sensed his approach to my ass,
and the pressure from "my" slave's fingers to pull my
butt wide open increased.  The other slave dropped to
the floor and was pushing my ankles apart, trying to
help. I felt the presence of the Colonel's huge body
between my thighs, then with an almost sickening kind
of slap, his belly fell onto my butt.  The slave who
had been pushing my feet apart now wriggled around to
join his companion underneath me, and I just knew -
perhaps it was from feeling two things trying to get
into my hole - that he was attempting to move the
Colonel's dick into me.

I'd once been to a stud farm in Kentucky and did one
of the guided tours.  They showed us a stallion
"covering" a mare, and the interesting thing was show
all the stable hands had their part to play in getting
the stallion properly positioned, the mare opened up,
and then getting the huge horse dick into the mare so
that he was tempted to begin.  What was going on now
was just like that - I was the helpless mare, and
these two slaves were helping the "stallion" to do
what it knew was right and natural - except that this
was no "stallion" - this was a gross, overweight,
tired, old man.

The slave must have managed to get the Colonel's dick
into me, as I could feel the Colonel's obscene body
moving around on me, and there were feeble attempts at
thrusting in and out.  He went at it for a minute or
two, making snorting noises and his breathing getting
deeper and deeper - he sounded all rheumy and
congested, and I was worried that he was going to die
with his dick inside me!  I could hardly feel a thing
from my ass, but the sensations of his white, flabby
flesh on me were awful.

He pulled out, and stood there, gasping for breath,
and the slave holding my butt open let go.  I just
didn't believe he could have cum - even I, when I was
desperate for it, never shot that quickly.  But the
two slaves were making little congratulatory noises,
and one had a big snowy-white towel with which he was
wiping down the Colonel's huge back and flagging butt
and thighs.

I went to get up, but one of  the slaves quickly
pressed down on my shoulders and shook his head at me,
to tell me to stay put.    The Colonel waddled towards
my head, lying there on the arm of the chair.  He came
closer and closer, then almost straddled me - my head
was right between his vile white thighs, and now there
was no escaping his rank, sour smell.

"Clean my cum off my dick, slave!", he said.  "I like
the slaves I've fucked to have a taste of my cum, and
know that I have therefore baptised them at both
ends."

He couldn't be serious, could he?  I wasn't expected
to take his dick in my mouth?  But he was - he almost
squatted down over me, and his rank odour flooded
through me and I felt like gagging and vomiting.  I
was aware of his tiny, shrivelled ball sac somewhere
my nose, and his little dick was hovering above my
mouth.  I had to do it.  I'd gone this far, hadn't I?
What would be the point at falling at the last hurdle?
 I reached out with my tongue and let it slide around
the dick - I tasted cum and sweat, but my only
consolation was this wasn't the Colonel's cum:  I just
didn't believe he'd been able to shoot, and what I was
getting was the residual traces of the slave's cum
from my lubing.  Oh, Jesus... was I becoming so
depraved that I was actually glad that I had a nice
young guy's cum on my tongue?

This all seemed to be part of some sort of sordid
ritual, though, as almost no sooner had I started than
the Colonel manoeuvred himself off me.  At once the
two slaves were fussing around him, and put his silk
dressing gown back on.  I was at least now spared the
horror of having to look at that vile body.

The two slaves then came and, by gesture, told me to
get out of the Colonel's chair and kneel on the thick
rug in front of the fire.  I was hot already, but the
heat from the flames and embers made me feel almost
giddy, and the sweat started to roll off me.  A slave
brought the Colonel a fresh drink, that was placed on
the broad back of the "table" slave, and he grunted an
order to the slave tending the fire to throw another
log on.  The thick curtains were shut, the lamps cast
a low glow over the room, and with the fire roaring
away it was almost as if we were in one of those
scenes from a movie set in Winter in one of the North
Eastern states - any minute now, the hero and heroine
were going to make sizzling love in front of the
flames.

But there was no heroine - I was the next scene in the
film.  The Colonel flicked his fingers again and one
of the two slaves came over and  pushed at my arms,
indicating that my shoulders were to go right down
onto the rug.  My butt was now high in the air, and I
then felt his naked legs pushing against mine as he
needed me to open up so that he could get between
them, and as close to me as possible.  Just as Charlie
had been, he was a s gentle as he could be when he
fucked me for his master's amusement - or was he just
reliving the "tradition" that Billy-Joe had told me
about?  The old man sat  there, his warm drink in his
hands, a smile of amusement and interest on his face.
How many other men had been subjected to this, here in
this very room, on this very rug, I wondered?

The slave finished very quickly, and as I still knelt
there.  I heard the Colonel say "Well, boy, now you've
really experienced our good old southern ways!  When
you came here before with my son, you spurned us, and
were extremely rude as you ignored our traditions of
hospitality.  We laid on a slave for you, and you
ignored him. The boy who served you your morning tea
and opened the curtains was not allowed to enter your
bed and ease your morning erection.  You would not
allow the bath slaves to wash and caress you.  That's
not the way that southern gentlemen expect to have
their guest behave:  when in Rome, do as the Romans
do, as my father used to say.  So I'm glad to have
been able to show you what real southern hospitality
is all about, and how I can go out of my way to make a
guest feel at home, and how a gentleman behaves in his
own bedroom."

I felt like shouting out in rage.  The hypocrite knew
he was lying and wrong.  But I just gritted my teeth
as I knew he was only doing it to provoke me, and
there was just no point.  My body couldn't lie,
though, could it, and I felt sure he saw all my
muscles tense as he spoke.

"Well, slave, if you don't want to engage in
conversation with your host, it again shows that you
northerners have no manners.  I can't therefore be
bothered to entertain you more, as I consider I have
done all that a dutiful host should."

His voice changed tone, and he snapped "You two -
guards - take this back to the slave quarters where he
belongs.  He's no gentleman!"

End Of Part 13


YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part fourteen
By Pete Brown  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

ANOTHER NEW JOB!

So The Colonel didn't think I was a gentleman!  But I
was enough of a man for him to want to fuck me, to
possess me.  And if that was his idea of Southern
hospitality, give me the North any time!   Still, at
least I seem to have escaped with my balls intact, and
was still on the estate.  Now all I had to do was to
get Billy-Joe to give me back my freedom.

I was so depressed that night when I was put back into
one of the slave dorms by Charlie and Coon that I
couldn't even be bothered to drag one of the slaves
out of a bunk and make him sleep on the pad in the
middle (as it was generally accepted that I was the
biggest, toughest slave on the estate now, I did have
some privileges):  I just lay there myself and didn't
even jerk myself off.

Straughan saw me working away as usual the next
morning - I think I was straining away hauling a load
of sacks of slave chow from the truck stop at the
entrance up to the house.  He reigned in his horse,
and sat there looking down at me.  "So, Steve, you
survived the Colonel.  I thought you might have lost
your temper, and then he'd have told your owner to
take you away.  Perhaps you are learning the right
attitudes after all.  However your owner is expected
for the weekend, and I thought I'd give him a little
surprise.  Get that cart over to the house, then
report to the stables."

Oh, fuck me - a nice surprise for Billy-Joe almost
certainly meant something less pleasant for me, I
thought.

I did the best I could to drag the heavily-loaded cart
to the house so that it could be unloaded into the
slave quarters, then ran around to the stables.
Straughan was already there, pacing up and down, and
tapping his crop in his hand in impatience.  "The
Colonel, and his father before him, used to ride
around and inspect the estate, and take an active part
in the management", he began, "but master Billy-Joe
seems to show little interest.  He does not, I think,
like horseback all that much.  So I have decided to
try to get him to go out more, and start to face his
responsibilities - all this will, after all, be his
one day."

As he was speaking Straughan led the way into the
stables, and, as you would expect, all inside was in
perfect order:  the magnificent hunters and smaller
hacks in their individual stalls, fresh straw
everywhere and very little trace of manure.  A broad
passage ran down the centre, and it looked freshly
scrubbed, and there was a fresh smell of disinfectant
rising from it.  A slave, presumably one of the
grooms, was working on one of the horses, combing it
down, and as soon as he saw Straughan he stopped and
rushed over.  "Get back to work!", Straughan snapped,
and the slave did as he was told.

I'd not been in this building before, but to my
untutored eye it looked even better kept than when I'd
paid that visit as a tourist to one of the big
Kentucky stud farms - the horses must be lucky to be
kept in such a place.  Straughan reached the end of
the broad passage and led me on through the tack room
- all the bridles, saddles, harnesses and so on were
all neatly arranged on fittings on the wall, and they
all gleamed in the light coming in from overhead - all
the metal shone, and all the leather was freshly
polished.  Another slave was standing at a bench doing
this polishing, ad I could see why everything was so
immaculate - the man's body was positively glistening
with sweat from his exertions with the polishing
cloth, and the waistband of his shorts was damp from
where it had rolled down his chest and back and
started to soak in.

Straughan opened a door at the end, and we were in
some sort of large store room.  There. Right at the
back, was what I can only describe as a rickshaw - a
light, two-wheeled cart carried on very large diameter
bicycle wheels.  There was a simple leather bench for
the driver, and two wooden shafts came forward, for
the puller.  I'd seen picture of rickshaws in places
in the Far East , and this seemed to be an "American"
version - a bit sturdier, more rugged, and without any
decoration like dragons and stuff.

"I want to see this properly cleaned and sparking",
Straughan said to me.  "It hasn't been used since the
Colonel's wife died, as she used to like to ride out
on it.  You clean it up - really thoroughly - and then
tomorrow, after breakfast, I'll see if I can tempt
master Billy-Joe to a trip around he estate."

I felt affronted!  I was the top dog here, the slave
who did the hardest, most difficult, most taxing work
of pulling the cart.  I wasn't some cleaner.  Choosing
my words carefully I said "Sir, please... Wouldn't it
be better to get the slave who is cleaning the tackle
out there to do this - he'd be better at it?  And I
would be better employed for the estate dragging the
cart around... not everyone can do that, but most
people can clean and polish."

Straughan glared at me, and said "You are going to
clean this rickshaw for precisely the reason you have
just demonstrated:  you still think of yourself a s a
man, capable of making decisions or suggesting
actions.  You're a slave, and slaves just obey.  I've
noticed that now you've discovered the joys of sex,
proper sex, that is, with other men, you've started to
act with all the fervour of a Zealot and are using the
other slaves as your fuck toys - you think you're some
sort of top dog as you are the cart slave, but you're
not, Steve, you're no more, and no less, than any
other slave here:  you're just here to obey.  So it
won't hurt you to learn a little humility, and do this
job a young lad could do.  And there's another reason
- you're going to pull this rickshaw for your owner,
and a slave who's doing that needs to take a certain
pride in his equipment:  you'll be more careful to
avoid getting it scratched, or very dirty, if you know
it's you who's going to have to clean it up."

Straughan's words struck me like a hammer blow - not
the stuff about being top dog and all of that:  I was
the best, and I knew it.  But having to pull my old
buddy around in this thing?  It was awful - I used to
be the captain of the team, and now I was going to be
used as some sort of draft animal by one of the
players.  I tried again.  "Please, sir... Wouldn't it
be better to get one of the other slaves to pull
master Billy-Joe and let me concentrate on the really
hard cart work..."

"No!", Straughan snapped.  "I won't tell you again not
to question orders or make suggestions. Your whole
attitude says that you are not yet thinking like a
slave.  Now, get to work.  The slave out there will
give you all the equipment you need.  And when I come
back to inspect it later, I want to see it absolutely
sparkling!"

He strode out, and I took a closer look at the thing -
it was actually well made, with the appearance of
strength without being heavy.  I tugged at one of the
shafts, and the thing seemed light and manoeuvrable.
I stood there looking at it for a bit, but I knew
there was not much point in postponing the inevitable,
so I went and borrowed some polish, and metal cleaner,
and a wire brush and cloths, from the slave in the
tack room.   He was one of the slaves I'd fucked, and
he grinned at me almost affectionately, but he seemed
surprised that now I was doing the same work as him.

"I've seen that rickshaw, Steve", he told me, "And
it's pretty filthy.  If I were you I'd take you shorts
off when you're working on it - if you get them very
dirty with rust stains, and polish marks, Mr Straughan
will be displeased and has been known to use the
tawse... It's easier to get stains off your skin than
it is to get them out of the shorts."

Actually, there's a certain satisfaction, isn't there,
in doing a job like cleaning something realty well?  I
won't say I enjoyed polishing my car, but once I'd
started I always took pride in how it looked when I'd
finished and somehow it felt better.  It was like that
with the rickshaw - buckets of soapy water to clean
off the dust and dirt, then a good brushing with the
wire brush to remove lose bits of rust, metal polish
painstakingly applied everywhere - the spokes of the
wheel were a real sod - and then the polishing and
buffing of the leather of the seat.  And, yes, I did
slip my shorts off - it was hot and humid in the
stables, and it was actually easier.  And I suppose I
did enjoy it, actually - it really did make a change
to be working away at something at my own pace, as I
wanted to do it, without the thought of a tawse
striking my shoulders every time I slowed down in the
cart.  Even Straughan seemed impressed that evening
when he came to inspect progress, or, rather ,he
couldn't find anything to criticise even after he'd
run is fingers everywhere over the rickshaw looking
for any  tiny nooks and crannies that I might have
missed.

It can be cold in the south in the mornings and
usually when us slaves came out of the slave shed we
were glad to get off to work - a jog to the site of
the day's activities, then getting down to it
immediately does at least get you warmed up.  But
Straughan insisted that the next morning I wait at the
bottom of the front steps of the house, in case master
Billy-Joe should emerge unexpectedly early.  Fat
chance, I thought to myself, as he was never known to
stir until ten at the earliest - but it was typical of
Straughan's thoroughness and attention to detail to
think that this morning, uniquely amongst all others,
he might.  So I stood there and shivered!  I did a few
exercises to try to warm up - jogged around the big
circular drive, then some star jumps, and was just
beginning to feel better when Straughan came down the
steps and seemed almost incandescent with rage.
"Suppose your owner had come out and seen you jumping
about,  or not in the shafts as you were chasing
around - the surprise would have been lost!  All he
would have seen is an empty rickshaw, and not the
combination of the rickshaw and you, waiting to serve
him!  Now, get back between the shafts, and wait!
You'd better get used to waiting, as that's what
you'll be doing a lot of the time as your owner
carried out his inspections on the estate."

So I went back and stood there, hoping that the
morning sun would creep over the trees and help me.  I
suppose Straughan had had me out there around 06:30,
and I finally began to feel warm about 08:30.  And by
the time Billy-Joe did come out, at around 11:00, I
was totally bored!  Have you ever tried standing
mostly in one place for hours, with absolutely nothing
to do?  I watched the birds hopping around, I saw my
fellow slaves going up and down the drive and lawns
going about their business, and I saw the occasional
truck making a delivery heading down towards the
unloading dock - but that was it.  I'm an active guy,
as you know, and this waiting around was just awful -
and I also knew that for the rest of the day I
probably wasn't going to be working very hard anyway,
as compared to the cart, the rickshaw was absolutely
no challenge for my body.

Billy-Joe was suitably impressed when he and Straughan
did eventually appear.  No, he was delighted.
Straughan had understood him well, and jus as he had
been with his Jaguar, Billy-Joe was pleased to be the
first in the area with a "new toy", pleased to be the
first to set a new fashion.  He ran his hands all over
the rickshaw with evident delight, stroking the metal
framework, running his hand appreciatively over the
shining leather, and then almost doing the same to me.
 "Fuck me, Steve, but this is the life, eh?", he said
"Magnificent!  This rickshaw's just the thing a man
needs to be ecological - no waste of the earth's
resources here, so the Colonel will be pleased.  And
having you pull it is really neat - I think most folk
around here have forgotten that I'm one of the very
few who has a pure-bred white slave.  I'm going to
enjoy the rest of the year.  It looked pretty grim, as
the Colonel has insisted I sell the Jaguar as he
doesn't approve of the gas consumption - he even paid
off the bank because I didn't get very much for it.  I
wondered how I was going to get about when I was down
here - you do need something special to impress the
local yokels, don't you?  And now I've got this, and
it's a good reason for them to see my slave as well.
Perfect, Steve, we're going to have a great time this
summer."

"Master, Billy-Joe, please... You said you were going
to release me 'soon'.  Please don't make me wait all
summer...  You said you had to keep me as a slave
because of the bank guarantee for the car loan...
Well, that's paid off.  You could release me know,
Billy-Joe, as you said you would... Come on, buddy,
please....."

"You always were impatient, weren't you, Steve?
Couldn't wait to do things at the right time. You call
me 'buddy', but you don't mean it - a real buddy would
think about his friend's needs, too, you know....
Since you've been a slave I've found it really hard to
be friends with you, and you don't make it any easier
for me, do you?  Come on, Steve, stop being so fucking
selfish and think about someone else for a change.
Let's enjoy the summer - you wouldn't want to be
cooped up in an office when there's this glorious
countryside, would you?  And then we'll think about
your release later in the year."

"But Billy-Joe..."

"Hey, Steve, I don't want to hear any more, right?
And remember your manners - although I try hard to be
your friend, I'm your owner.  You ought to be glad
that we're able to spend more time together this
summer - real buddies would enjoy that.  I guess it's
true what they say, that you can't really be friends
with a slave.  But I do try, you know.  Now, let's go
for a little ride..."

He hauled himself up into the rickshaw, and said
almost lazily "Just a jog, Steve - you know Straughan
likes to see slaves moving at a reasonable pace - so
just a jog around the estate generally first."

So that was it - my first time being used as a pony
for my owner.  I gripped the shafts of the rickshaw,
and set off - where it was "natural" for my hands to
fall I could feel the slight indentation in the oak
and I had noticed when I was cleaning it that the wood
was a different colour there.  It wasn't made that way
originally I felt certain, and I wondered how many
slaves like me had gripped in the same place,
gradually wearing the wood away and staining it with
their sweat.

I went from being chilly and cold to "operating
temperature" almost immediately now I was working.
With Billy-Joe on the seat, the rickshaw was harder to
pull, but less work than the cart, and we bowled along
merrily.  We visited most of the work sites on the
estate where the outdoor slaves were toiling away, but
Straughan's plan didn't seem to work - Billy-Joe
wasn't really interested in what the were doing, and
never got down to go and have a closer look.  All my
fellows saw me, though, and event hough they weren't
supposed to stop working, I knew they managed to sneak
glimpses of me as I jogged past - I wondered what
they'd say that night: I knew I wouldn't be respected,
 as I was when I was straining in the shafts of my
cart.

There is something different about pulling your owner
around compared to working really hard with a delivery
cart - what little freedom you have as a slave is
further eroded.  When I was carting I could at least
choose which of the many pathways across the estate
I'd take.  But now Billy-Joe totally dictated
everything, calling out "left" and "right" as the
fancy took him, and "slow down a bit" or "jog on" as
he made all the decisions.  Sure, it was easier
physically, and there were no passing guards and
supervisors to strike out with their crops and tawses,
but that's not the point, is it?  I had little enough
room for manoeuvre in my life, and now, being totally
under Billy-Joe's control, I had none.

He left me standing at he foot of the steps at
lunchtime, saying, cheerily, "You lucky dog, Steve, at
least you don't have to have lunch with your father!
Now, wait whilst I try to make conversation with him -
it really is tough, you know, as all he wants to talk
about is the estate, and to complain about me!  I like
a leisurely lunch but he manages to ruin it, with all
the talk of business.  Still, I've got something to
look forward to - an afternoon with my old buddy - so
be patient."

He almost waddled up the steps, and I saw that the
football player I had known was turning into a typical
suburban guy - out of shape, twenty pounds too heavy,
and just not in good condition.  Even Billy-Joe's
immaculately cut clothes couldn't disguise the
thickening around his waist, and the effort of
pretending to run lightly up the steps evidently left
him out of breath at the top.  I didn't envy him at
all... Except that at least he probably got to sit
down and eat, whereas I just had to stand there, and I
wouldn't get any food until tonight -and then only
slave chow.  I thought about sitting on the steps, but
Straughan appeared from time to time on his "rounds",
and so that wasn't a good idea.  I just had to stand
there in the hot sun, and brush the flies off me all
the time - when you're only wearing shorts, and
sweating, they seem to get particularly attracted to
you:  I suppose it's the salt and the water.

I don't know how long I stood there, really - without
a watch or anything it's hard to keep track of the
time.  But it was probably a good two hours -
Billy-Joe, when he did appear, was carrying a sports
bag, and said cheerily "Well, it wasn't as bad as I
thought:  the lunch was quite quick, so I had time to
talk on the phone to the guys in the city about next
week's party."  Fucking typical - he could, after all,
have come out and sent me back to the slave quarters
for an hour or so, but, no, he just let me stand
there.

Billy-Joe hauled himself aboard and told me to jog off
to the swimming hole.  I remember this from when I'd
been here as a guest - Billy-Joe and I had jogged
together then across the estate to this mini-lake:  it
was fed from a spring or something, and although the
water was cold it was pure and clear, and the banks of
the thing were grassy and sloped gently down.  A small
jetty had been build where a row boat was moored, and
this also made an ideal point to dive from.  On a hot
day, like this one, it had been really great for us to
swim together.  Now, of course, it was only me
jogging, and pulling my old buddy behind me.  And when
we got to the swimming hole Billy-Joe left me standing
there whilst he went around behind some shrubs with
his sports bag.  He emerged a couple of minutes later
in long , loose swimming shorts, down to his knees,
then pranced along the jetty and jumped in.

This really was getting stupid - changing like that
out of sight of me.  Had he forgotten we were in the
football team together and I'd seen him naked lots of
times before (and when he fucked me!).  But was he now
so ashamed of his body that he didn't want to reveal
it to me?  He swam up and down slowly for a bit, then
kind of floated on his back (yes, his belly was
getting big).  Then he paddled back to the shore, and
hauled himself out of the water.   He picked up his
towel and walked back towards me, and as he got close
he told me "Man, that was great! It really is hot and
humid this afternoon.  It's good to have a dip like
that in these conditions:  it really cools you off."

"Billy-Joe.... How about me?  Don't you think I'd like
to cool off, too?  I've been doing all the work here -
dragging you to this place..."

"Hey, Steve, you can't.  You've got no swimming
shorts, and Straughan would be cross if you swam in
those slave shorts, and, besides, you'd have to pull
me home wet then as there's no way they'd dry out."

"I don't need anything!  I like swimming naked,
remember - the last time we came up here we both did.
And you said how much better it was, too, to have the
water running around your dick and balls.  So what's
changed?  Why have you got those ridiculous shorts on?
 And why didn't you invite me in?"

"Steve... Look, you still don't really get it, do you?
 I'm a gentleman, a respected figure around here.  And
you're, well, you're my slave.  A gentleman just
doesn't go around in public naked - he's always
concerned for his grooming and his appearance. And a
gentleman doesn't consort socially with a slave,
especially not one he owns, in any way.  So there's no
way I can swim naked now - suppose someone were to
see?  And, likewise, us two swimming together just
isn't on.  Just try to understand, will you, that
things are different now.  And, Steve, this is the
last time - for your own good, get into the habit of
always addressing me properly.  If you don't, then one
time when other people are around you'll forget to
call me 'master' and you'll ruin my reputation -
people will think I'm soft on my slaves.  I'll have to
have you punished to show them I'm not.  I'm only
thinking of you, Steve - it's in your best interests
really."

"OK, Billy-Joe, but can I swim alone?"

"Steve!  That's it!  If you do that one more time, I
will schedule a punishment for you with Straughan -
better to get it out of the way so that it's only you
that's punished, and not my reputation that suffers as
well.  Now, try again...  And apologise!"

Fuck me, it's not right, is it?  We used to be
buddies, and now I'm having to call him 'master' and
apologise for just speaking to him like another human
being.  Should I just tell him to fuck off?  Should I
just run off in the rickshaw and leave him here like a
great beached whale - it would fucking well serve him
right!  But just as there was no point in crossing the
Colonel as he held the power to kick me off the
estate, whereupon Billy-Joe would have to sell me; and
no point in crossing Straughan as he was eager to hand
out punishment;  so there was no percentage in it for
me in antagonising Billy-Joe:  I wanted him to make
good on his promise to free me, and he was only going
to do that if he still liked me, wasn't he?  So I
gritted my teeth, and, almost in a parody of the way
some slaves talk, said  "Master, this slave is sorry,
master.  Please, master, could this slave be allowed a
quick swim in the lake, master, as it's very hot and I
have been working hard for master?"

"Very well, Steve, but, as you said, lose the shorts
first, OK?  And five minutes only."

I dropped my shorts - I wasn't ashamed of my body, and
didn't much care who saw it - and ran off and executed
a perfect running dive into the water.  The cold hit
me instantly, but it felt great.  I did a fast crawl
up and down the length, then hauled myself out and
planed the water off my body.  It had released all my
cares and tensions, and I stood there in front of
Billy-Joe as he lay there still, smiling faintly.

"You're still a jock, aren't you, Steve?  You actually
enjoy exercising, don't you?"

"Yes, Bil...  Yes, master."

"Let me see you jog around the lake - no hurry."

I went to pull my shorts on, but Billy-Joe said
quietly "No, Steve - you're still wet.  Just jog
around bare."

It was easy - it wasn't all that far, and it was good
to run on grass rather than on the gravel and dirt of
the estate roads:  it wasn't so much the soles of my
feet, which were by this time covered in a hard
callous of dried skin all over, but the fact that it
was springy and made the steps fun.  I could see
Billy-Joe following me with his eyes as  I jogged
around, and wondered why he seemed so keen to watch my
ass as I went away from him, and then stare so
intently at my dick as I came back - after all, he'd
seen my ass and my dick hundreds of times when we'd
been rooming together.

Billy-Joe again went into the bushes to change back
into his slacks and shirt, and, as if to emphasise how
silly that was, I sat there naked until he emerged,
then stood up, flicked at my dick to kind of ease it -
you know how you do - then pulled my shorts on still
facing him.  Billy-Joe had me jog back to the house
pulling him then, and directed me around to the rear
entrance, opposite the slave quarters.

He got out, and came and stood by me.  "So, Steve, I
hear you're quite a changed guy - Straughan tells me
you like the boys now, and that you fuck around..."

In spite of having nothing to be ashamed of, as all
the slaves basically indulged in man to man sex, I
felt myself blushing.  Somehow this reminder from
Billy-Joe, who used to know me when I was a ladies
man, made me feel odd. I stood there, shifting
uneasily from foot to foot.

"Answer me, boy!", he snapped.

Now I didn't like Billy-Joe calling me "boy" - it was
so fucking demeaning  Somehow even being referred to
as "slave" was better - slaves were men, after all,
whereas "boy" was something else. I managed to control
my anger, though, as I wanted to get on the right side
of him and ask for my freedom soon, and said "Well,
yes, Bil.... Master.  Yes, I suppose I do kind of,
well, you know, kind of use my dick on some of them.
But there's nothing to it... It passes the time, and a
man needs a change from jerking himself off..."

"Quite, Steve.  I feel the same way myself.  Watching
your ass this afternoon made me think about how it was
when I fucked you.  Now that you're into men, as we
might say, perhaps you and me should fuck again...
Yes, I'm not doing anything tonight, it's a Saturday,
the traditional night for the American male to fuck,
so I'll order them to get your ass nicely cleaned
out..."

"Master!  Please.... No..."

"What?"

"Master... Well, I do go with men now... But I only
fuck them.  I don't take dick.  I guess it's OK to
fuck, as it's quite like fucking properly with  woman.
 But I'm a man, and I don't take dick.  Please,
master, please, if our friendship means anything to
you... Please don't force me to that humiliation and
degradation by making me take your dick..."

"Oh Steve, you've still got a long way to go, buddy.
It's not humiliating or degrading to take your
master's dick.  You should be pleased, and proud, to
do it.  What greater service can a slave be to his
master than to provide him with stimulation and
pleasure, and to offer his body in total surrender to
his master's desires?  Haven't you learned anything
about slavedom, Steve?"

"Yes, master..."  I wanted to tell him I'd learned a
lot.  That it wasn't right to treat men this way, that
you shouldn't whip them, 'skin them, brand them, and
use them as sex toys, that... But what was the point?
I'd only make Billy-Joe cross, and I guessed have ways
of making it even worse for me tonight.

"Good!  Well, I'll see you later, then."

So I had to go through all the plucking and cleaning
and washing out, and Charlie and Coon were as
considerate as they could be.  Coon rolled his eyes
and said "It's real good of you, Steve, to take on
Billy-Joe!  Charlie and me get really fed up with his
dick - at least tonight we can probably enjoy each
other without being sore from his monster..."

"You mean Billy-Joe fucks you?"

"Of course.  You don't think we're kept just to do
this kind of stuff, and to handle unwilling slaves, do
you?  A slave has to fully earn his keep, you know,
and if a free man wants us, we have to give."

Look, I hadn't really thought about it.  I'd always
assumed Billy-Joe was "straight", as I was.  But had
he always fucked ass?  I'd kind of thought that when
he took my cherry it was part of a ritual, and that he
didn't really enjoy it either.  But...  So I said "How
long has he been fucking you?"

"Oh, ever since we were bought.  And it's well known
that he started into the slaves here as soon as he was
capable of getting an erection... Ask any of the older
slaves... They all remember him coming home from
school and wanting to fuck before he settled down to
his work assignments!"

Oh shit - I'd been roommates with a fag and never
known.  All those times I casually walked through from
the bathroom with just a towel around me - and
sometimes around my neck, not around my waist!  He'd
have been staring at me and thinking about fucking me.
 And that first time he wasn't just acting out a
ritual - he was actually fulfilling his desire to fuck
me!  A horrible thought struck me - had he engineered
this whole "voluntary enslavement" thing just so he
could fuck me?  He'd know that I'd never let him do it
any other way.  Somehow, knowing he enjoyed it made it
seem far, far worse.

Billy-Joe told Charlie and Coon to stay out side in
the passage when they delivered me to him.  He was in
his boxers and a T, watching TV again, and when I came
into the room he took his feet off Grunt's naked back
where he had been resting them and got up to his feet.
 He actually took me by the arm, and guided me over to
the couch, and sat me down and sat net to me.

"Now, Steve... Last time.... It was all rather shall
we say 'forced', wasn't it?  You had to be tied down
to the punishment horse, and I don't think either of
us enjoyed it.  Now you've seen how much fun dicking a
guy is, shall we be sensible about it and do it
properly?"

"No, please... Billy... Master.  Please don't."

"Look, Steve, I know you're nervous.  I've had Charlie
and Coon wait outside, and I'll send Grunt out too.
It will just be you and me, and we can pretend we're
roomies again - a couple of horny guys hanging out
together.... We'll watch a bit of TV, then we'll go
into the bedroom, but instead of us getting into our
own beds as we used to and jerking off, pretending the
other one didn't know, we'll get into the same bed,
and I'll show you just how good it could have been.."

"No, please..."

"Well, suit yourself.  If you want to be strapped to
the horse again, I don't mind.  I've got a light cane
here and I'll tenderise your rump, then I'll fuck you
anyway.  One way or the other, Steve... What's it to
be?"

One half of me wanted to tell him that he'd have to
have me tied down and helpless.  Another part of me
said "look, it's inevitable.  Why make it worse for
yourself?"  I know that in fiction a man would always
choose the first one - he'd cling to the belief that
he was a man, being forced to do something against his
will.  But this was real life, and I was tired of the
tawse and the cane.  So I just looked at Billy-Joe and
said "OK, you win!"

"Hey, Steve.. That's not the attitude!  We're supposed
to be having fun!  As we said earlier, I know you like
dicking ass now - shall we get in the mood by having
you fuck young Grunt here? I know he'd like to feel
that big dick of yours inside him..."

"No, please, master.  Look, if you're going to fuck
me, can we just get it over with, in private, as
quickly as possible?"

"Hey, Steve!  Come on!  Is that the way to look
forward to getting closer to your old buddy?  Now I
want proper participation in this... a bit of
enthusiasm.   Try to be a team player, Steve, and stop
thinking just about what Steve wants, what Steve
likes, what Steve's getting out of this, will you?
Have a bit of consideration for others, for a change!"

I felt like taking him by the throat and stuffing his
words back down it. He was the most uncaring, arrogant
pig I'd ever met.  How could I ever have been friends
with this guy?  But what was the point - he owned me,
and I wanted out, and for that he had to release me.
So, with a heavy heart, I stood up, and made for the
bedroom.

End of part 14