Date: Fri, 25 Jun 2004 13:21:01 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: You Can't Be Friends With A Slave, Parts 15-16

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

ON SHOW

I was already naked, so I just stood by the huge old
antique bed, then slipped between the sheets and lay
there.  It felt so odd to be in a proper bed again -
with room to move, rather than in the narrow space in
the slave dorms.  And having the luxurious linen
sheets over me was also odd - we weren't provided with
blankets or anything on the estate, and it takes some
getting used to the idea that you can sleep without
anything covering you.  But I was used to it by now,
so having sheets and blankets on top of me, especially
these cool, smooth ones was such a difference.

Billy-Joe came in and stood looking at me.  "Jesus,
Steve, you look so fucking desirable.  The way your
bronzed skin is contrasted against those white sheets
- you're so, well, so rugged - the outdoor life suits
you - and the sheets are so smooth...."

As I watched, Billy-Joe pulled off his T, and dropped
his boxers.  His body was pasty white, and his gut
stood out.  But I couldn't help looking at his dick,
the dick that was going to be forced up my ass.  It
was dark against the rest of his white body, sticking
out rigidly from his big untidy patch of pubic hair.
He stroked himself suggestively, and his tongue was
running along his lips at the same time.  His eyes
were staring, and he seemed to be really turned on.

"Move over...", he muttered, and lifted up the sheets
to slide in next to me.  Now that was one order it was
easy to obey - I really didn't want his body touching
mine.  But in a bed there's no escaping the other guy,
is there?  As he moved closer to me I kind of shuffled
backwards, but soon felt myself on the edge.
Billy-Joe reached out and put one arm around my
shoulders, then I felt his legs kind of wrapping
around mine and somehow one of them got in-between
mine, and he pushed his thigh upwards so that it was
pressing into my ass.  With his other hand he reached
down and casually took hold of my dick.

"Hey, Steve, this is cosy, isn't it?  You can't
imagine how many times I wanted to do this when we
were roomies... Now..."

He carried on stroking my dick and fondling my balls,
and in spite of myself I was erect.  Billy-Joe moved
his head towards mine, and went to kiss me.  At the
same time his fingers left my dick and started to
grope towards my hole.  I couldn't bear the thought of
him pushing his tongue into my mouth and his dick up
my ass... I lay, trying to take no part in it as he
made these move on me, and suddenly I snapped.

In an instant I was on him - straddling his belly, and
pressing my hands on his shoulders to hold him down.
"Listen, you fucker", I snarled.  "Enough is enough! I
think you tricked me into this slavery thing so you
could take my ass.  You've had me stripped in public,
collared, branded, 'skinned, fucked... I've had to
work away on this fucking estate, and now you've got
me acting like your fucking pony!  Well enough is
enough, Billy-Joe.  No more, OK?  You carry out our
agreement, and you free me... We'll go to the lawyers
tomorrow..."

"Oh Steve, when you're angry, you're even more fucking
desirable...  No way am I going to let such a lovely
piece of manflesh get away from me!  I love watching
your body work, love to see the play in your muscles
as you jog along in the rickshaw.  And having you in
my bed like this..."

He reached up with his hands and grabbed hold of my
nips and started to play with them.  My erect dick
felt as if it was about to explode.  Somehow having
him pinioned under me and being teased like this was
doing something to me.  But it wasn't right, was it?
I've told you I'm not a fag, and I shouldn't be
getting enjoyment from this.  I only fucked the other
slaves as I needed sexual relief, and something to do
in the long nights in the slave dorms - no way was I
going to get turned on to all of this.

"Billy-Joe, stop that, you bastard.  Swear you'll free
me tomorrow..."

"Hey, Steve... You like this, don't you....  Is that
pre-cum I see drooling out of that dick of yours over
my chest?  Is this how you fuck the slaves, Steve? I
know you do, as Straughan reports to me on your antics
in the dorms.  You get really turned on by their
lovely hard muscled bodies, then you start to play
with them, then you start to fuck them...."

I was so angry now that there was a kind of red mist
forming in front of my eyes, and I was in a total
rage.  But Billy-Joe didn't stop.  He went on "So the
big cocksman at college, who was always chasing pussy
and screwing away, the football captain who worked his
way through the entire cheer leaders troupe... So now
he likes proper sex, loves fucking man ass.  So you've
learned one thing at least as a slave, Steve - you're
disrespectful to your owner, but you've discovered sex
at last...."

That did it.  Reminding me that I used to be the
captain, and that I was now his slave, pushed me over
the edge.  I threw my leg off him, flipped him over
onto his belly, hooked my arm around him at his waist,
and hauled his ass into the air.  He started to
protest now, to make feeble efforts to stop me, but
although at one time he might have been able to, now
he was flabby with rich living, and I was hard and
toned from my life of unrelenting work.  He started to
shout, calling for help, so with my other hand I
slapped his butt hard, several times, and he lost the
ability to form words as he cried out in shock
instead.  It was easy to get at his ass as his butt
offered little resistance, and I threw myself around
so I was kneeling between his legs.

"Now, Billy-Joe, this is what it feels like to be
force fucked by your buddy..."

His shouts had subsided to kind of choking sobs now,
and I used my other hand to position my dick at his
pucker.  I was absolutely leaking pre-cum everywhere,
and I did at least take a moment to wipe my dick up
and down over him a bit - I was in such an intensity
of frenzy that there was no way I was going through
all that stretching stuff.  Then I thrust forward,
hard, no, very hard, and forced my way in to him.  He
gave a shout as I overcame his pathetic efforts to
clench tight and stop me.  And then, as you all
probably know, once you're in there's that magic
feeling of the guy's ass gripping you, and you know
that there's nothing he can do about it - he's
skewered on your dick, your body is on top of his, and
there's no way he's going to get free - and the
inevitable need to complete the job, to take him
utterly, to totally fuck him, takes over.  I thrust
and thrust, not caring about Billy-Joe at all, only
wanting to feel the power of my dick as it mastered
him.  I was in some sort of far off place, where the
only thing that mattered was the feel of my muscles as
I powered in and out of him, and the incredible
sensation coming to me from my dick:  this was all
that mattered, this is what a man did, this is what I
was for.

Somewhere in the back of my brain something else was
telling me that this was wrong - but how could
something that was so much a part of being a man be
wrong?  A man is meant to take charge, to dominate and
control, to utterly vanquish his enemies, isn't he?
So I quashed the thought and carried on fucking him.
But another thought now came into view, and this one
wouldn't disappear - it was the one that said "now
you're in big trouble!  What's he going to do to you
when this is over?"

I should have stopped, should have been really scared
about the consequences, but it's not like that, is it?
 When you're utterly fulfilling yourself as a man, and
your most primitive urges are in control, you just
don't care.  I was approaching my climax now, and
there was nothing going to stop me.  I felt it coming,
felt the new sensations as my balls readied - and then
it was me who was giving a great shout as my head went
back, and my body bent into an arch as if it was
trying to get the last millimetre of my dick into his
ass.  I felt waves of power going through my whole
body, and I kind of shuddered as my seed pumped up
into him.

And then it was over.  I pulled my arm away from under
him and let him collapse flat on to the bed under me,
and my body fell forward to lie on top of him.   He
seemed to be sobbing, crying... But his head was half
buried in the bed.  Now the reality struck home to me
- I was in big trouble!  They kept talking about
losing your nuts, and I knew he had the power to order
that doctor to castrate me; oh, sweet Jesus, was I
going to have to spend the rest of my life as a
eunuch?  As all this went through my brain I knew my
dick had shrivelled up instantly, and I pulled out of
Billy-Joe and kind of crouched there.  The smell of
his shit came up to me, and I almost choked.  I got
off the bed and went into the bathroom and washed my
dick, then came back.

Billy-Joe was still lying there, motionless, head
buried in the mattress.

"Billy-Joe, look, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to....
But when you started to play with my nips... Look,
Billy-Joe.... Please...."

"Get out, Steve!  Get out!"

I backed away, and wondered what to do.  I went back
into his living room, leaving him there, and just
stood.  Then the door opened and Charlie and Coon came
in - I suppose Billy-Joe had telephoned or something.
They led me out, and back towards the slave quarters.

"Man, you don't look as if you've been fucked...",
Charlie started.

"No!  It's me that did the fucking... I'm in big
trouble...."

At once Charlie and Coon pressed their fingers to
their lips indicating "say no more".  They led me down
into the dorm area, then went along looking into the
dorm rooms.  Charlie then unlocked one of them, and
called out and a big slave came into the corridor.  He
led us back into the general area, then, looking
nervously around, whispered "Steve, never say a word
about what went on in there.  Not to us, not to
anyone.  Meet Randy - he was Grunt's predecessor as
master Billy-Joe's valet and personal servant."

I'd never seen this slave before, as he was one of the
indoor servants, but he looked a nice enough guy -
about the same age as me, well built, black.  I think
I recognised him, vaguely, from seeing him when I'd
been here on my social visits."

"Show him, Randy", Coon whispered, and the guy dropped
his shorts.  He turned to face me, and lifted his dick
up - and there was nothing there!  He had no balls.
Charlie gestured, and I bent down and took a closer
look - there, running down from the base of his dick
towards his asshole was just a scar, well, more of a
dark line on the skin, really.

"Now", Charlie went on, his voice even lower.  "..
Randy used to be master Billy-Joe's servant.  He
performed certain services, shall we say, for his
master.  It was all fine, until one day he told one of
the other slaves about it.  And master Billy-Joe
happened to overhear.  The slave who had been told was
at once sold to the mines, where you never hear of
guys again.  And Randy was taken straight to the
doctor and gelded, and muted."

"Muted...?"

"Yes.  They had his vocal chords cut, as well as his
balls taken off, so that he could never speak of it
again.  That's right, isn't it, Randy?"

The slave nodded at Charlie.

"He's kept around here as a reminder of the
punishments that can be handed out.  So take care,
Steve."

"Look", he went on, "I think master Billy-Joe likes
being fucked, and that's OK providing it's only him
and the slave know about it.  But if anyone else finds
out, then it's a big problem - masters are meant to be
in charge, to be on top.  They do the fucking.  They
don't get slaves to take their asses.  So if anything
happened in there tonight, don't tell anyone.  Don't
tell me, don't tell Coon... You put us in danger too,
understand?"

I nodded, silently.  And, actually, I began to get a
bit more cheerful - if this had happened before, and
if Billy-Joe liked being fucked, then perhaps he
wouldn't have me castrated for what I'd done.
Nevertheless, I didn't sleep well that night, and
several times I woke up in a panic sweat, as I dreamt
I felt the gelding sheers approaching me.

The next morning, Sunday, I was outside as usual,
slightly cold.  The estate limousine came and parked
behind me, and soon Billy-Joe and his father came out,
both immaculate in pearl-grey suits, shining leather
shoes, gleaming white shirts, and expensive silk ties.
 Billy-Joe helped his father into the limousine, and
it swept off.  He then came up to me, and I wondered
if I should say anything - but Billy-Joe just said
"Off to church, Steve!  Have to be seen to be doing
our duty to preserve standards, don't we?  It's a load
of rubbish, of course, but it does what it always has
- helps to keep the poor folk subdued by promising
them a better life in ju-ju land above the clouds,
rather than becoming envious of us rich and powerful
here on earth.  It's really amazing how the Christian
myth has worked so well over the centuries."

Without another word he got into the seat, and issued
me instructions to head towards the gate of the estate
towards the town.  I kind of assumed that when we got
there the limo would be waiting and Billy-Joe would go
on with his father, but, no, as we approached there
seemed to be no sign of it.  Billy-Joe did however
command me to stop, and then got out of the seat and
came up to me.

He pulled something out of his pocket, and there was
something cold around my wrist.  I looked down and saw
he'd slipped a handcuff on me, the other end of which
was attached to the shaft.  He trotted around and did
the same to my other wrist, saying "Sorry, old boy,
but you know how sensitive the Colonel is about slaves
leaving the estate - he insists they're properly
restrained.  So if I want to take you to church, I've
got to attach you to the rickshaw like this.  It's not
that I don't trust you myself - why would you run away
when I'm going to give you your freedom anyway?  But
the Colonel's rules are the Colonel's rules."

He hauled himself back into the seat, and gave me the
order to jog on, and I left the estate for the first
time in weeks.  It felt odd jogging down the county
road, and the occasional auto that passed us clearly
thought so, too, as some of them almost swerved off
the road in surprise.  And I could see faces peering
out of the back windows, as they strained to get
another look at me.  I hated being attached to the
rickshaw, too - although I hadn't found pulling it so
bad, now I felt as if I was somehow "part of it" -
what little freedom I had left had been taken away, as
Billy-Joe had successively converted me from a free
man, to a slave, to part of his carriage.

As I jogged down the main street it was even worse -
the passers by, who were themselves mainly heading to
church on foot, were staring in amazement and pointing
to me.   And when Billy-Joe stopped outside the church
then casually used a short length of chain and a
padlock to hold the rickshaw (and hence me!) to a
sapling in the grounds, a small crowd soon gathered.
Look, in this rural backwater slaves were common -
most families had one, I suppose.  But they were
almost all blacks, or Hispanics, and they all did
"real work" - cleaning, yard work, cooking, that kind
of stuff domestically; or they worked in gangs in
construction, or road cleaning, or whatever, for the
municipality.  Billy-Joe was probably the first person
to publicly display a slave in this way - a pure-bred
white, being used for something utterly useless, and
something so totally humiliating.  It was a display of
wealth, power, and sheer arrogance, that most of the
townsfolk couldn't match (and probably wouldn't want
to).

I just had to stand there whilst the service went on,
unable to move away from where the rickshaw was
tethered.  Thankfully the sapling provided me with a
bit of shade, but the flies were a real problem -
without the free use of my hands there was just no way
I could brush them away from me.  And the news had
spread - all those who weren't in church seemed to
find some reason to pas it that morning, and I could
hear little kids asking their parents why a man like
me was standing there like that.

Straughan rode up on one of the estate's magnificent
horses just as the service was ending, and when
Billy-Joe emerged he tipped his cap politely to him.
He asked Billy-Joe if I was performing well, and was
told that I was, and that Billy-Joe was pleased with
the whole idea, and that Straughan was to be thanked
for thinking of it.

"Can I ride back with you, sir?" Straughan then asked,
"As I'd like to assess the slave's performance
personally."

"Certainly, Straughan.  There's room on the seat for
two.  Tether that horse to the back of the rickshaw,
then release the chain holding us here, please."

As he said this, Billy-Joe heaved himself into the
seat, and a moment later Straughan was undoing the
chain connecting us to the sapling, and joined him.
Actually, on the level, smooth roads in the town it
wasn't so much of a problem pulling them both -
Straughan can't have weighed more than 140 pounds -
and it was almost as easy as coming in.  But the
estate was on a small hill, basically - not so much
that you noticed normally, but enough when you started
to move loads around:  those of us who pulled the
carts were well aware of whether they were going
"uphill" or "down hill" as even a slight slope makes a
difference with a heavy load.  The same was true
making our way back home - You'd hardly notice it
normally, but pulling the rickshaw with the combined
weights of the two men was actually quite hard.  I
kind of remembered something from High School maths
about the effort required to pull something along an
inclined plane being the same as raising the stuff the
vertical distance anyway, and I was therefore in
effect lifting Billy-Joe and Straughan. I'd started
out at quite a fast jog, but I'd slowed down as it got
tougher and tougher, as my lungs were beginning to
strain, my heart pound, and my legs had to really work
to take up the load.

"Get a move on, slave", Straughan called.  "I want to
see you maintain a good, even pace.  A proper rickshaw
slave moves his master around evenly, and doesn't vary
the pace to suit himself!"

I tried, and put a huge effort in, and managed to
maintain it for another ten minutes or so before I
began to slow down again.

"I warned you, slave", Straughan shouted, "And I don't
give orders twice!"

"Please, sir", I managed to gasp, "It's the hill - I
am working as hard as I can..."

I heard Straughan say something to Billy-Joe, and his
reply:  it sounded as if they were in agreement about
something.  Then there was a sharp "crack" and pain
exploded across my shoulders - Straughan had lashed
out at me with his tawse!  I leapt forward, almost as
if by reflex, and the whip hit me again, and again.

For the rest of the journey every time I showed any
signs of flagging or slowing , the tawse cracked out
and as it stung and smarted on my shoulders, back, and
thighs, I did find, from somewhere, the additional bit
of energy to speed up, and make it stop.

When we got back to the house Billy-Joe and Straughan
got down and came to look at me.  Straughan ran his
fingers lightly over my aching shoulder and down my
smarting back, as I stood there, my whole body heaving
as I desperately sucked in air and tried to calm my
pounding heart.  I was covered in sweat, and huge
drops of it were falling off my brow onto my nose.  My
shorts were absolutely saturated, too, and felt all
cold and clammy against me.

"See", Straughan said to Billy-Joe.  "No permanent
damage - I haven't broken the skin.  But did you see
how that little touch of pain caused him to react?  A
slave may genuinely think he's working as hard as he
can, may truly believe he's doing all that he can to
please his owner.  But the body betrays him - it tries
to keep something in reserve, tries to hold back some
part of his effort in case an emergency arises.  A
little 'encouragement', pain applied scientifically
and properly, can release that additional effort, can
get the slave to give you that extra ten to fifteen
percent of his energy that you need for proper
performance."

"Yes, I saw that", Billy-Joe responded
enthusiastically.  "It's rather like when I slip the
gear box from 'normal' to 'sports' mode - there's a
big kick in performance.  I never thought that slaves
would react in the same way.  I must say, Straughan,
you've taught me something about the management and
control of slaves that I really didn't know.  Thank
you."

"It's a pleasure, sir.  I hope you will take it to
heart, though - it's not good for discipline if the
other slaves see this one taking it easy.  You let him
jog too slowly around the estate, and it would be an
enormous help to me if in future you made him really
run - he's a big, strong slave, with long legs and
hard muscles - this jogging is too easy, and a proper,
racing run would show all the other slaves that you,
too, expect hard work from everyone here.  And, you
know, it's good for him."

"How so, Straughan?"

"It will tire him, and tax him.  A slave who's
properly tired at night doesn't cause mischief in the
slave dorms, and this one has been a bit too vigorous
recently in fucking the other slaves:  if you worked
him harder during the day, it would wear him out and
give the other slaves a little more chance to rest.
And, you know, a big buck like this one need
stretching, he needs to keep his body in the absolute
peak of condition - aren't you studding him?"

"Yes, I have, and I've been thinking of doing it again
- the Colonel's keeping me a bit short of money, you
know."

"Well then, you want him in peak physical condition to
attract the best stud fees, don't you?  Owners
planning to breed from him want to see a well muscled,
hung, stud, so that they can see what they're breeding
into their flocks.  Yes, from every point of view, it
would be sensible to work him very hard, and the only
real way of doing that is to get him to give that
extra effort, all the time."

"You mean whip him constantly?"

"Basically, yes, when he's between the shafts of your
rickshaw.  It creates more of a spectacle, too,
doesn't it?  When you drive him into town the crack of
the whip will show all the ordinary folk that you not
only have a prize possession - a white buck - but that
you understand how to treat him properly, how to
really manage a slave like that.  Your reputation will
be enhanced, no doubt of it."

"Thank you, Straughan.  I'll think on about what
you've said.  I can certainly see that he's worked
hard this morning - look at his shorts: wringing wet!
 Anyway, it's almost lunch time, and you know how the
Colonel hates to be kept waiting after church.  So I'd
best go in...."

The two men mounted the long white steps, leaving me
there, completely exhausted and worn out.  I just
couldn't help myself - I sank to the ground, totally
exhausted.  Billy-Joe hadn't even had the sense to
release my hands from the cuffs, and so I had to sit
there in the dirt with my arms almost above my head.
I was desperate for something to drink, too - the hot
morning and the sweat had left me with a raging
thirst, but he didn't even seem to think about that.

Fortunately some of my fellow outdoor slaves,
gardeners, came past and they had a can from which
they were watering the ornamental flowers that lines
the steps.  Seeing me sitting there they looked around
nervously to make sure they weren't being observed and
came over and offered me the spout of the can.  I
sucked the water in desperately - man, it was good.
You don't know just how good cool, fresh water can be
until you're parched and overheated.  They
commiserated with me having to sit there chained to
the rickshaw - at least working as gardeners they had
some element of freedom left to them - they could walk
around!  They had to leave me soon, though, as I knew
that if they were late for their next assignment
they'd be punished.

There was nothing for me to do but sit there, and
after a bit when I was recovered I thought about
moving off into the shade - if I kept a careful eye on
the front door, it seemed to me I could be back at the
foot of the steps if Billy-Joe came out.  So I
struggled to my feet, and moved off under one of the
huge limes that lined the drive.  Another problem now
caught me, though - after drinking all that water, I
desperately needed to piss!  You know how it is - once
you've thought about it the pressure starts to build,
and all you can think about is the pain in your
bladder;  you become obsessed with the need to get
your dick out and start pissing.  And I couldn't do
that - cuffed to the rickshaw, I was stuck.  It got
worse and worse.  If there had been any other slaves
about I would have called out to them and asked them
to slip my shorts down, I was so desperate.  But they
all seemed to have moved off to other jobs, and
finally,  I could stand it no more.  I just had to
piss as I stood there, feeling my hot urine soak my
shorts then start to run down the inside of my thighs
and over my knees and calves.  I felt utterly
humiliated - I hadn't pissed in my pants since I was a
tiny kid - and I hated the feeling of the warm piss
running over me and forming a pool by my feet before
it soaked into the ground.

When it was over I moved away to the next tree, hoping
to get rid of the piss off my legs by shaking them as
I moved, and getting away from the pool of stuff where
I had been standing.  But what about my shorts?
They'd been saturated with my sweat when we got back
from town, so they couldn't be wetter, but  I started
to worry that my piss would have left a big yellowing
patch on the front:  you know how it is, if you wear
white undershorts, the natural leakage always leaves
faint yellow stains?  Well, would my slave shorts now
be very yellow, I wondered?

When Billy-Joe did come out I almost missed him, and
had to run over to him as he came down the steps.
"So, Steve", he called out cheerily, "Had a good rest?
 I tell you, you're jolly lucky not to have to eat
Sunday lunch with the Colonel. He gave me a good
talking-to again about my career prospects and
everything!  And you could just relax out here,
enjoying the fresh air under the shade of the trees -
yes, I saw you... But don't worry, as long as it's
just you and me, that's OK.  But, you know, if
Straughan had been here.... For your own good, you
might want to think about just waiting patiently."

"Still", he went on, not at all interested to even
think that I might have something to say, "The Colonel
seems to have relented a bit.  He's agreed to pay off
the bank, provided I sell the Jaguar and spend more
time down here.  That will be a relief, I tell you - I
was getting worried that they might start to complain
about missing payments and so on.  But now the
Colonel's paying them off, I'll be happier - giving up
the Jaguar will be tough, but I suppose it's worth
it."

"Billy-Joe.... Master....  If the bank loan is paid
off, you'll not be using me for the collateral.  And
I'm sure Chantelle isn't still after me....  Couldn't
you let me go free now, as you said you would?
Remember, the 'voluntary enslavement' was only until
Chantelle went away...."

"Hey, Steve, don't you like it here?  It's better for
you working away with your body, you know, rather than
being stuck in that office.  And Straughan has told me
you get lots and lots of sex in the slave dorms.  A
lot of guys would pay big money for that, you know -
the chance to work out all the time, keep a properly
buffed body, and have as much sex as they wanted....
So quit complaining ,eh, buddy?  Don't you think I'm
looking after your interests properly?"

"But Billy-Joe, I just want to go back to being a
regular guy.  I don't..."

"Steve, stop it!  I've told you before to stop being
so fucking selfish - all this 'I want' and 'I
don't'...  Think about me for a minute, will you?  If
I'm going to be stuck down here for most of the summer
then I'm going to need to go out, visit the
neighbours, go into town... All that sort of stuff.
And you've shown me you're really good at pulling this
rickshaw - how would I get about without you?  You
know I don't like horseback!  Now, if you really are
my buddy, as you used to be, you'd think about that
and would stop whining.  I tell you what - I'll think
about it when Autumn comes, or if the Colonel lets me
go back to the city  a whole lot more.  Now.... Jog
on...."

"No!", he continued.  "Remember what Straughan said
about setting a good example to the rest of the
slaves... RUN on!"

To my astonishment, before I'd even had time to really
make a move and get under way, the tawse came down and
hit my shoulders, and I started forward.

"Billy-Joe, what the fuck....?"

The tawse fell again, now in the small of my back.

"Steve, I don't like to have to keep telling you this,
but you need to keep a civil tongue in your head.
'Master' is what you call me, OK?  And I don't think
it's right you should be trying to talk whilst you're
running - I'd like all the effort to go into pulling
me, please.  So shut the fuck up, and just get a move
on, will you - I've had a call from the Hendersons who
saw you in town this morning, and they've offered me a
very respectable fee to stud you - as the Colonel's
keeping me short, I need a bit of extra cash for
life's little luxuries.  Now, run on!"

End Of Part 15

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

By Pete Brown  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

HOT WEATHER

Billy-Joe did have some sense that afternoon, though.
I ran hard away from the house, and of course it's
mostly down hill, and he only used the light lash
occasionally on my shoulders to keep me going.  But
once we pulled out of the gates and were presumably no
longer concerned about Straughan, he allowed me to
slow to a reasonable jog.  As he explained, "I don't
want you totally exhausted when we get to the
Hendersons - they want a good show out of you as a
stud, Steve!"

I was going to argue with him, tell him that he
shouldn't subject me to this humiliation, but what was
the point? I was cuffed into the shafts, and he had
the lash ready and waiting.

When we arrived Billy-Joe was greeted by the owner of
the place, and I was led around to the back by one of
the slaves.  I stood there in the yard, and was
brought fresh water to drink, and I really needed it.
I was almost panicking about my shorts now, as surely
someone would notice the piss stains on them.

They didn't use a blindfold here, evidently, as when
I'd finished drinking the slave pulled a loose hood
over my head - it was an easy fit, so that my
breathing wasn't restrained or anything, but I
couldn't see - it almost fell down on to my shoulders.
 I stood there, cut-off from the outside world, then I
heard Billy-Joe and someone else come up.

"Excellent", I heard the second person say.  "I was
really impressed when I spotted him from the church
steps this morning, Billy-Joe, but close-up he's even
more spectacular.  Where did you get him?"

"Oh, the slave auction, in the usual way."  Liar, I
thought.

"The Colonel must be doing pretty well then to let you
have a slave like this - I certainly couldn't afford
stock like this with the agricultural prices so low.
All we have here are blacks and Hispanics.  And I've
even thought of buying in some Indians or Asians to
cut costs further - there's so many of them that the
prices are really low, and even though they're not big
like this guy here, I'm told their little wiry bodies
can be lashed hard to make sure they do an acceptable
day's work."

"Oh, I don't know", Billy-Joe responded.  "I
understand little of these business matters it - we
leave all that sort of stuff to Straughan."

"Yes, and that's a mystery, too - I don't know how you
afford an overseer, either.  The Colonel's place and
this one are about the same size, but I certainly
couldn't afford to employ a free man to manage it for
me.  I suppose that, as a professional, Straughan can
probably squeeze a few extra percent out of the place,
but hardly enough to compensate for his own costs.  I
guess the Colonel must almost be subsidising the
operation from his private fortune...?"

"Don't know, sorry!  The Colonel never talks about
money, as he says it's un-gentlemanly.  But we've
always run the place this way, for as long as I can
remember.  Now, shall we get on with it....?"

"Sure.  But although he's magnificent to look at,
isn't he a bit... well, 'high'?  You know, some of the
ladies might want to come and watch, and this slave's
a bit rank...."

"Oh it's the sweat!  He's been running a lot today.
But you can have one of your slaves clean him up if
you want to..."

"No, perhaps not.... My wife's been giving me a hard
time lately, and perhaps if all these male pheromones
drift through the air towards her, she'll get a little
roused...."

The two men laughed, and I felt Billy-Joe snap open
the cuffs holding my wrists to the shafts.  But it was
only a momentary freedom - I had to put them behind
me, and they were cuffed together.

I didn't know who it was who pulled my shorts off then
- Billy-Joe, Mr Henderson, or another slave, but they
fell to the ground, wet and clammy, and I was standing
there blindfolded, helpless and naked.  A hand grabbed
my dick, really roughly, and reached around and
caressed my balls.  "He really is amazing, Billy-Joe",
I heard Henderson say.  "If I could breed tackle like
this into my slaves I could sell them for a fortune
into the brothels!"

Look, I know it's good to be well hung, and I know
that having other guys look at you in the showers and
being envious of you when they see your dick makes you
feel good, but  when it goes beyond this, and there's
someone actually feeling your dick and talking about
using you as a slave in a brothel, then it's gone too
far.  I felt utterly wretched, and it wasn't helped by
the thought that I was going to have to fuck some
woman whilst a whole lot of others watched:  can a man
really sink lower than this, than to be used in this
way?   But what could I do?   Any protest, any
rebellion, and the cattle prods would be out at my
naked body, I knew.

It must have been Henderson who put his arm around my
shoulders to guide me to the studding room -
Billy-Joe wouldn't have wanted to risk getting the
fine silk of his shirt covered in my sweat.  I
flinched as the arm toughed me as my shoulders were
really sensitive, and I think that Henderson must
basically have been a kind guy as he said, softly,
"Sorry, slave!  You look really red there - I should
have thought", and the pressure eased.

Well, when you've fucked one woman when blindfolded
and cuffed, the second time it's easier.  There was no
Craig to guide me into her cunt this time, and I think
it was Henderson who stroked me hard, then inserted
me.  I just stood there, hips bucking, forcing myself
in and out.  The sensation's good, of course, but now
I was a bit more discriminating - after all, I'd now
had a lot of asses to compare it with.  I was no
longer certain of something that I'd thought I'd known
all my life: that fucking a woman is the greatest
thing a guy ever does.  It's amazing, isn't it - my
mind started to wander as I fucked away:  at one time
I'd have been totally focussed on this, every fibre of
my being feeling, sensing and completely involved in
what I was doing.  Now it was almost as if I was
detached from it - I almost found myself floating high
above the scene, and looking down at this big muscled
guy standing there, his ass and thigh muscles flexing
and contracting, as he pumped his seed into some slave
woman, watched by a small but interested audience.  I
didn't even know whether the woman was a black or
Hispanic - or, perhaps, even a white, like me - it was
that impersonal.

I shot eventually of course, then was led back to
where I started and the hood was pulled off me.  A
black with a hose stood there and I was allowed to
wash myself, crudely, before I pulled my shorts back
on - mercifully they'd fallen into a patch of dirt, so
they were mud-stained as they'd been wet to start
with, so I no longer had to bother about the
embarrassment of the piss stain.  Billy-Joe then
appeared with Mr Henderson, and I saw a lot of dollar
bills changing hands.  He came over to me, gestured
for me to get into the shafts, snapped the cuffs
closed over me, and we set off home.

He was in a really good mood when we arrived back, and
he didn't even make me run hard towards the house -
not that I think I could have, even if he'd whipped
and whipped at me.  The morning's run to and from the
town, then the run to the Henderson's and the
"studding" had left me totally exhausted.

As he got down from the rickshaw Billy-Joe turned to
me and said "You did great today, Steve" (it was so
unfair - he couldn't even get his grammar right!).  "I
think you deserve a treat.  There's football on TV
tonight, so I'll have them prepare you, you can come
up to my room, we'll watch it, and, who knows...."

I hated the whole enema thing, and even though I had
been  done several times now, it never really got any
better, even though Charlie and Coon were generally
very supportive.  They took me along to Billy-Joe's
suite, and again were left standing out in the
corridor, as Billy-Joe did not let them in.  He was in
a loose T and boxers, as that seemed to be his usual
dress when he wasn't showing off to the world, Grunt
was kneeling, totally naked, holding his beer for him,
and he told me to take my shorts off and sit beside
him on the couch.  I really hate the feeling of a
leather couch on my naked back, ass and thighs, and as
I sat there I said "Billy-Joe, why do you make me
strip to watch a football game?  Couldn't I keep my
shorts on?"

"Oh come on, Steve!  You don't hear Grunt complaining,
do you?"  As he said this, Billy-Joe reached out with
his leg and casually tickled Grunt's balls, which were
hanging low as he knelt by us, with his bare foot.
"I've been busy all day, you know - going to church,
having to have lunch with the Colonel, all that
crap... And I deserve a bit of pleasure.  All I see
most of the time is your back and your legs, you know
- and I do enjoy seeing your dick!  After you kept it
hidden from me for all those years I feel you owe it
to me now - and you've got nothing to be ashamed of,
have you?"

So saying, he reached over and casually grabbed my
dick, just as if he owned it (well, I suppose, in a
way, he did!).  He started to stroke me, and said
"You're so much better 'skinned, Steve.  Look, I can
play with your flange without any effort..."  He
casually pinched the heavy rim of my dick head between
his thumb and forefinger, and I let out a little yelp
as it was so unexpected.  His other arm went around my
shoulders, and he started to squeeze my muscles there,
which were very sore due to his constant use of the
tawse - and I almost leapt out of the couch when he
raked his finger nails across my sensitive skin:  you
know how it is when you've had a beating, or even just
got bad sunburn - anything sharp on your skin, and you
really feel it.

"Oh stop complaining, will you?  I'm only playing!",
he went on, completely oblivious to my discomfort and
the humiliation he was causing me.

His hands now moved up to my nips, and he was idly
rolling my teats between his thumb and forefinger.  My
nips at once went stiff and hard, and he looked
closely at me, grinned, and commented "You like this,
too, don't you Steve?  Look... As I play with you,
your dick's getting hard...."  And it was, too. All
the time he was continuing to squeeze and scrape my
shoulders, which are quite sensitive anyway,  aren't
they? Actually, for me they're a bit of an erogenous
zone:  if a guy bites my shoulder muscles, it's a real
turn on (although I didn't know this at the time), so
I suppose his gentle abuse of me there was doing
something to me too.

"Now, Steve, seeing you fucking away this afternoon
quite turned me on to your ass.  Watching your butt
thrusting in and out made me really horny - and you
don't like sitting here naked, so you?  So kneel down
on the floor, put your shoulders down, and get your
ass in the air so we can really play...."

I thought about disobeying him, but I knew that
Charlie and Coon were outside and that it would be
easy for him to call them in and force me to do it.  I
knelt there, and the next moment Billy-Joe was
kneeling beside me, and I felt the palm of his hand
stroking my butt.  He carried on, almost crooning at
me in pleasure, then his finger slipped down the crack
on my butt and played around idly for a moment or two,
before starting on down again to reach my hole.

"You're ready for it, aren't you, Steve?  I can feel
your pucker contracting as I touch it...."  And it
was.  I tried to clench my butt tight, but his finger
was in there, probing away.  "Do you want me to fuck
you, Steve, or shall I have Grunt do it?  Or perhaps
it might be more amusing to have those two black
guards come in and have one take your ass, and the
other rape your throat?  Yes, that might be more of a
spectacle.  Or perhaps I'll have one of them ride you,
and the other ride Grunt, and we'll see who finishes
first!  Yes - that would be different..."

He snapped "Grunt - down on the floor, and kneel next
to Steve.  Get your ass in the air like his..."

The boy obeyed, and his shoulder pressed close to
mine.  I looked across and he was looking at me, but
his eyes seemed somehow vacant and expressionless.

"Yes", Billy-Joe went on, "Two blacks fucking you two
- it's better than watching the football."

He flicked the TV off, and as I kept my face pressed
down into the rug, I saw Billy-Joe's boxers fall to
the floor.  He knelt between my legs, and went on "But
before that, I think you need your owner's dick again,
Steve.  The blacks can finish you off, as they did
before..."

I felt his fat fingers prising my butt apart, and then
that tingling sensation from my pucker as his dick
head touched it.  And then I got that same sensation
as I had had before - that rage, that all-consuming
anger that I was about to be used just like some
animal for his pleasure.  It's one thing to be made to
fuck a woman in front of an audience, but, somehow,
being made to take dick was utterly wrong.  Before he
could do anything, I'd reared up onto my knees and
swivelled around to face him.  I saw his look of
complete bewilderment as I pushed him down, onto his
back, and then, as my anger and fury and excitement
built, I picked up his feet, forced his legs apart,
shuffled forward and stabbed my dick at him.

Grunt was watching all this with a kind of fascinated
horror.  I suppose he though that Billy-Joe would call
out for help, and then he'd better do something.  But
instead I ordered him to bend down and position my
dick for me - when you've got a guy's legs opened like
that, you need him to guide you into him, don't you,
as your hands are full?  And whilst Billy-Joe was not
crying out for me to stop, he wasn't exactly
co-operating either.

Grunt did as I told him, and I felt his wiry fingers
grab my shaft and move my dick head around a bit. I
got that exquisite sensation you do when your dick
touches a warm pucker, and the moment I felt it, my
whole body jerked forward, pushing me into him.

Well, I don't need to tell you the rest, do I?  I
fucked Billy-Joe hard again, and without a whole load
of lube it wasn't all that pleasant, either for me,
or, I guess for him.  But he didn't cry out or call
Charlie and  Coon in, so I guessed he must be
savouring the experience.

When I'd shot I fell forward onto his body, although
it made me feel slightly nauseous to know that it
could have been like mine, hard and lean, rather than
fat and flabby.  My head was right on top of his, and
I kept my legs locked around his.  "The only ass
that's going to get fucked around here, Billy-Joe, is
yours!", I said defiantly.  "I told you, I don't take
dick.  But you do, don't you?  The reason you were
turned on this afternoon was that you saw my dick
going into that cunt, saw my butt muscles fucking
away, and you thought how it would be if it was my
dick fucking you, your ass.  I'm right, aren't I?"

He just looked away, saying nothing, so I reached down
and gave his balls a good hard squeeze.  "Answer me,
fucker, if you don't want more of that..."

"Get out of here, Steve.  Get fucking out of here,
before I lose my temper.... Do you want me to call
Straughan and have you locked up and carted off to the
doctor tomorrow...?"

His threat struck home, and I let go of him, climbed
off  him, and with as much dignity as I could, given
that my dick was covered in his shit, walked to the
door.  As I went out I saw him lumber up onto poor
Grunt, who was still kneeling there, and I knew he was
now, in turn, going to fuck the ass off the poor lad.

Charlie and Coon  just really didn't want to know.  I
remembered what they'd said, and didn't say anything -
it was a bit like being in the US forces, I suppose
-"Don't ask, don't tell" - but they knew what had
happened as the smell of Billy-Joe's shit from my dick
was really strong, and, of course, if Billy-Joe had
made me fuck Grunt, it would have been perfectly clean
as, like all indoor servants, daily enemas before duty
were compulsory.

The next day Billy-Joe said nothing as he mounted the
rickshaw, but the moment we started off the tawse
started to fall all over my shoulders, back, and
thighs.  It was as if he couldn't punish me the
previous night for fucking him, and so was taking his
revenge now, in a way that was appropriate for a
"gentleman" to treat a slave:  a "gentleman" owner
couldn't punish a slave for fucking him, as he ought
to have controlled the slave properly, but certainly
could do so for some small failure to perform his
normal duties properly.  By the time we got back at
lunchtime, therefore, I was bright red all over my
back, and was extremely sore.

His behaviour continued for most of the afternoon,
except that he was half drunk after his lunch, and so
his strokes did not hit with the force that they had
previously.  And then that evening, he pretended to
prepare to fuck me, and goaded me until I snapped and
gave him a good seeing to.

This pattern of destructive behaviour continued all
week - his constant beating of me as I dragged him
along got steadily more prolonged and more severe.  My
fucking of him at night got harder and stronger.  I
don't know what would have happened had he not
suddenly left and gone back to the city for a few days
- my life could then return to relative "normality",
as Straughan returned me to the farm cart and I could
at least then work hard, without being subject to this
capricious and continuous punishment.  Mind you, I
found that I couldn't fuck my fellow slaves at night -
my forcible taking of Billy-Joe and my subsequent
"punishment" seemed to have almost conditioned me to
not want to fuck guys, and in spite of a lot of the
other slaves almost throwing themselves at me, I
contented myself with masturbating myself to sleep
every night.

When Billy-Joe did return I was once again ordered by
Straughan to wait at the front steps of the mansion in
case Billy-Joe wanted to go anywhere.  I stood there
in the cool air of the morning - far too early, as the
lazy fucker never emerged until at least 10:30, and I
was there by 07:30, and jogged up and down on the spot
for a bit to get warm:  even on summer days it can
start off cold, can't it, especially when you've only
got a pair of thin cotton slave shorts on?

He came bounding down the steps at last, and tossed a
package at me - one of those expensively gift-wrapped
packages that the big city stores do for birthdays and
so no.  "Here, Steve, this is for you - something
that's really going to make life better for you."

He watched as I held the thing in amazement - I wasn't
used to getting presents wrapped like this even in my
"real" life, and I'd never got anything at all since
I'd become his slave.

"Open it up!", he said, and as I started to pull open
the ribbons he continued "In the current issue of
'You And Your Slaves'  there was a really good article
about the problems you guys face in the hot weather.
All that sweat, and with our humidity down here it
doesn't really evaporate,  and it makes your shorts
all wet and damp.  I've seen that on you, Steve, when
we've come back from even a short run.  The author of
the article asked us owners if we were really doing
the right things by our slaves - it can't be at all
pleasant to run with that damp fabric clinging to you,
and there's always the potential problem of chafing
and soreness.  It really made me think, I can tell
you, and I'm sorry if I've inadvertently caused you
problems in the past.  But this should fix it - I'm
really glad to be doing the right thing for my old
buddy - you're more than just an ordinary slave to me,
you know that, don't you, Steve?  And I want to make
life as good as I can for you here on the estate."

My hands had now got the box open, and I tore aside
the layers of thin white tissue paper.  Inside was a
scrap of silk, and some string.  I pulled the thing
out and saw that the silk, which was white, was
roughly triangular, and the string was in fact very
thin straps of silk, attached to each corner.  I just
looked at it.

"Well, go on!", Billy-Joe said eagerly.  "Come on, I
want to see you in your new summer  clothes.  I had to
go to a lot of trouble to get his for you, make a
special trip to the slave department of the store.
You might at least look pleased."

"Sorry, Bil... Master.  What the fuck is it?"

"It's a thong, Steve.  Sometimes known as a posing
pouch.  You'll be much cooler in that as there won't
be a lot of fabric clinging to your thighs and butt,
so the sweat will be able to run away.  Now, just slip
out of your shorts and put it on, will you, and let's
go for a run and see how you get on."

What was I supposed to do?  I could hardly disobey a
direct order, could I?  So I dropped my shorts and
kind of held he triangle in front of me.

"The longer edge goes on top, Steve... Put the strings
under your pubic bone, take them around the back and
tie them above your butt, so that it doesn't slip
down."    I did as I was told, feeling the thin silk
straps gently pressing into the flesh at my sides.
One string was longer than the other, so when I went
to tie it I found I could do so with a bow, on my left
side.  My dick and balls hung there, with the thin
silk flapping on top of them.

"Are you stupid, or something?",  Billy-Joe went on.
"Isn't it obvious what you do next?  Take the bottom
string down  under your dick and balls, make sure
they're tucked in nice and snug, then bring the string
up your butt crack and tie it at the back to the waist
string."

Again, I did as I was told, feeling the thin silk
scrape over my pucker as I pulled the string tight.  I
felt completely ridiculous.  In spite of having my
pubes cropped and mostly shaved off, the tiny triangle
was so small that wisps of my hair protruded above the
top.  And the silk was so thin that the outline of my
dick and balls were clearly visible - looking down I
could even make out the thick flange around my dick
head.

"Good!  Wow, Steve, that really suits you.  It really
helps define your body.  And I'm sure it will be
easier for you, as 'You And Your Slaves' says.
There's only one problem, and we'll soon fix that - I
really don't like to see the change of colour all over
your body - that dark tan all over your chest and
legs, then the white band around your butt:  I'll have
to get Straughan to do something about that next week.
 Now...."

He came up to the rickshaw and kicked the empty box,
which I'd dropped in surprise, away, along with my
shorts.  Then he reached down and snapped the cuffs
closed over my wrists.  "That's another thing,
Steve....  'You And Your Slaves' made me think that
I've not been treating you right about this, either.
It says that slaves like consistency, to know where
they really stand with their owners.  And if sometimes
I leave your hands free, and sometimes have you
cuffed, then you don't really know where you are.  So
as I have to have you cuffed sometimes, when we leave
the estate, it will be better if I have you cuffed all
the time."

Well, what was I supposed to say?  "Thank you master
for keeping me chained up like some sort of animal?"
I just gritted my teeth, and said nothing.

Billy-Joe hauled himself up into the seat, and said
"Jog on" to me to get me started.  But no sooner than
I'd gone a couple of steps he called "Whoa!" In the
traditional way drivers all call to make their charges
halt, and got down.

"Wait there, Steve.  I bought myself a little present
whilst I was in the slave supply department too, and I
forgot it.  It's designed to complement your new
summer uniform."

That was typical of Billy-Joe, telling me to wait
there.  What the fuck was I supposed to do?  And what
had he bought himself to complement this obscene
little scrap of stuff I was supposed to wear?  He'd
look ridiculous himself if he tried to wear this, with
that great fat belly of his.  I stood there, and then
a good thought came to me - at least dressed like this
I wouldn't have to go into the town any more, so I'd
be saved that dreadful uphill pull back to the estate.
 I could manage easily around the estate with its
relatively gentle slopes, but that town run made me
absolutely exhausted.

Billy-Joe came back down the steps, almost tripping
over himself in his eagerness and excitement to get
going.  He told me to jog on, whilst he sat there and
opened another big gift-wrapped box - who the fuck
buys gifts for themselves?  After a few minutes he
told me to move my pace up a notch, to a fast jog,
then to a trot, and a run, and finally to "gallop".
It was, I suppose, interesting to hear that he now
used those sort of words to describe my running - it
showed what he was thinking about in his brain, I
guess - that I was now no more than some sort of
animal as far as he was concerned.

Look, I honestly did think I was running flat out -
after all, I knew I was only going to be used around
the estate that day because of the silly pouch thing.
But then there was a kind of "swish" noise, and the
next instant I leapt forward, as something horribly,
viciously, sharp hit my butt and caused it to sting as
if I'd been scalded.

"This is it, Steve - my present that perfectly
complements yours", Billy-Joe was chortling.  "You get
a summer costume that makes it easy for you to sweat,
and I get something to make you sweat; you get your
butt exposed, and I can whip your butt. Do you like my
new carriage whip?  It's especially long, flexible and
springy so that when I need to encourage you, you get
a really short, sharp shock.  I'm tired of wearing
myself out lashing away at your back and shoulders
with a tawse, and the slave store assures me that his
is a much more precise means of control: no slave
likes the feel of this on his butt, and I can tell
that you certainly don't."

"You know", he went on, "I wish that someone had told
me about this before.  Not only can I control you
better and get that little extra out of you, but I get
two more benefits - in that little string thing, I get
to see your butt properly at last.  I can see how your
slave brand moves as those big strong butt muscles of
yours pound away:  I've always wanted to see your butt
in action more, and the occasional views when I'm
having you studded just aren't enough.    And the
second benefit is that the thin end of this whip
leaves a really visible mark on your butt - I can see
exactly where I've struck, and with a bit of practice,
I bet I'll get to the point where I can even make
patterns in your skin!"

I was sweating away so much now that I couldn't even
be bothered to try to shout a reply to the fucker.
And I don't suppose he would have cared, anyway.  I'm
not sure that the one hard cut with the new whip
wasn't better than the constant battering from the
tawse, anyway - Billy-Joe had, as I've told you, got
really bad recently as he punished me for fucking him,
and I fucked him harder and harder to punish him for
the way he was treating me.

There was something funny about our route, though, as
instead of going on a vaguely circular tour of the
estate, Billy-Joe was heading for the gate that led to
the road to the town.  Yes-  there it was now, ahead
of me.  Surely we weren't going out, with me like
this?  But yes, we were - Billy-Joe gave me a little
sting of encouragement with the whip to make sure I
accelerated smoothly through the gate, and then we
were on the town road.

I've told you what a sensation Billy-Joe caused when
he first used me as  a pony to pull him through the
town in just my shorts.  Some of the excitement had
worn off by now as people were used to seeing me, and,
indeed, some of the other younger guys, like
Billy-Joe, had started to appear with rickshaws of
their own:  although they were always pulled by big
blacks, not by whites, like me.  I'm still not sure
whether it was the shock of seeing a guy used as a
pony that made such a stir those first few times, or
the fact that Billy-Joe was using a white guy so
profligately.

Well, whatever it was, it was certainly a sensation
all over again as I ran down the main street.  Folks
literally stopped what they were doing to marvel at my
muscular body, now almost totally exposed, as it
pulled Billy-Joe along.  I hated it.  I hated the
comments I could vaguely hear, I hated the way they
all stared at my butt, and at my dick - the silk was
drenched with sweat anyway now, and it was
semi-transparent so making me very obvious to the
crowds.  And I hated the way Billy-Joe whistled his
whip in the air to make a show, and just occasionally
let it caress my butt - not hard, not like when I was
running, but enough so that the eyes of everyone were
drawn to it, and they could look and see the marks
that were on there from his earlier efforts.

Billy-Joe stopped me outside his favourite bar - the
one used by all the younger guys who fancied
themselves as the "in crowd", and as usual he
"tethered" the rickshaw to a convenient sapling.  He
sauntered indoors, and I was left there to be looked
at, stared at, admired, and pitied by the passers by.
On a previous occasion when I'd engaged the folks in
conversation, thanking them for their compliments
about my physique and so on, Billy-Joe had been
furious and the kiss of the tawse had been even harder
than usual on the way home.  I knew better , now, and
suspected he was just inside the bar listening to what
was being said.  So I stood there in a slave-like
attitude - I couldn't clasp my hands behind my back,
of course, but I spread my feet, gripped the shafts
lightly, and bowed my head.  I found that with my head
bowed like that and making no eye contact with the
passers by it was easier to avoid conversation, and
somehow it made it easier to bear for me too: when I
couldn't see the people who were commenting on my
butt, or remarking about the size and shape of my
dick.

I don't know how long  I waited, as I had no clock, no
watch, or anything.  But Billy-Joe did eventually
emerge and got back into the rickshaw.  "Now, Steve, I
want you to put on a bit of a show for the folks as we
leave town", he told me.  "I want to see you really
high-stepping - we'll not go fast, but I want to see
your knees coming right up to your belly.  Nice, even
strides, with the knee raising to the same height, OK?
 I don't want to have to encourage you to do this too
much, as if I use the whip too much in town people
will think I'm some sort of sadist.  But, remember,
there will be plenty of opportunities when we're
alone, so behave nicely, and give them something to
look at.  OK then.... 'step out'."

I did try, really I did, but it's really unnatural to
half walk, half run like that.  Funny ways of walking
have been used by dictators through the ages to
regiment and control their men, haven't they?  Look at
the famous Nazi "goose step" - you can tell those
soldiers were properly under control.  Well, Billy-Joe
was doing the same to me now, using his power to
control me in a new, different, way.  I suppose I did
it satisfactorily, as once we'd left the main street
Billy-Joe told me to start running normally, and to
pick up speed.

He couldn't resist using his new toy, could he?  As I
tried my best to run as fast as I could up that
killing hill back home, the whip rose and fell
frequently onto my butt.  It really did sting -
literally, just like that, being stung by some huge
insect.  And very time it hit I couldn't avoid crying
out, so harsh was it.  It didn't seem to matter how
much I maintained the pace, how hard I even tried to
increase it, Billy-Joe always wanted more.  He was no
longer trying for that "extra few percent" from me -
he wanted it all, he wanted me to be totally and
completely exhausted by my efforts, with absolutely
nothing left in reserve.

One surprising thing they don't tell you about
G-strings - the tiny thin silk strap running up under
my ass ran straight across the middle of my pucker,
and as my butt and thighs moved to drive me along, the
string kind of "sawed" across it.  It started to turn
me on, and before I could help myself, I was getting
an erection.  I had to work hard to avoid being erect
when wearing my shorts as I didn't want people to see
my hard-on tenting them up, and I mostly managed to
succeed.  But the extra stimulation of my hole by the
string made it totally impossible - my dick was hard
and stiff, and was pulling the tiny covering right
away from my body.  I've never felt so fucking
humiliated in my life - I mean, you have erections in
front of your girl friends, and now in front of the
slaves, and Billy-Joe, when I was about to fuck.  But
you don't do it in the street, do you?  And even if
you do, you try to arrange your clothes so that it's
not obvious to all the other guys.  Well I couldn't do
any of that here - there wasn't really any "clothes"
to arrange, and, even if there had been, my wrists
were cuffed and I couldn't do it.  So I just had to
run along with the scrap of silk tenting out in front
of me, and I just knew that in addition to all the
sweat making it semi-transparent, there'd  now be lots
of pre-cum adding to it.

Actually, as well as being stimulating, the string
made me sore!  I now know that it's really important
to have the underneath string relatively loose,
otherwise it causes worse chafing than damp cotton
shorts ever did.  So when we finally pulled up I was
in a lot of discomfort - my sore hole, and the
incredible continuous smarting and burning from my
butt where Billy-Joe had constantly whipped me.  As
luck would have it, Straughan was waiting for us, and
he saw my butt, and the whip Billy-Joe was holding.

"So, sir, you've decided to take this slave in hand
properly, I see.  That's a fine whip - is it a
Theakston & Collins, by any chance?  They're the
finest, you know?"

"No, Straughan, I just can't afford those fancy prices
with the Colonel keeping me so short.  But it is a
good make, and it's really well balanced.  I'd never
thought that the feel of a whip could make such a
difference - I like the control I have as it flies
through the air, and I swear I get some tactile
feedback when it hits his butt.

"Yes, sir, I always think that it's wise to invest in
the best possible tools.  May I try it?"

There was a lot of general swishing around in the air,
and that "cracking" sound a whip makes as the tip goes
very fast and changes direction.  "Excellent!",
Straughan said.  "May I...?"

Billy-Joe must have nodded or something, as there were
a few more cracks and then it hit my butt again,
unbelievably sharply, and I leapt forward in the
traces, and the two men chortled with amusement.

"Indeed, a fine instrument, sir", Straughan said.
"Now, sir, may I suggest that you be most diligent in
using it?  This slave is still rather above himself
generally, and he needs to understand that he's here
for only one purpose - to serve you."

End Of Part 16