Date: Thu, 7 Sep 2006 20:55:01 -0700 (PDT) From: Hank M <redbeardedsf (at) yahoo (dot) com> Subject: The fate of a Poor Man's Son, part 17 THE FATE OF A POOR MAN'S SON, PART 17 By Master Redbeard Serving a very different master This story involves erotic situations and actual sexual contact between males - as well as humiliation, exhibition, and much of the usual stuff for this genre. If you are not at least 18 years of age (or whatever legal age is where you are) go away now! If you are offended by the content of this story go away now! If you are in a jurisdiction in which it is illegal to read or possess such fiction stories go away now (well, it would be better if you could get the hell away from that jurisdiction). And if you are someone who cannot distinguish fantasy from reality, please go away and get some help. (Steve Masters is a creation of Pete Brown UK and appears as a special guest star in this story by permission of Master Brown.) This Chapter Moves the Plot Forward, but there is no actual sex in this chapter. Sex resumes in chapter 18. I welcome reader response (no flames). Include name of the story in title line. You can reach me at redbeardedsf at yahoo dot com. Location of previous chapters on SLAVEFUTURE 1. 1307 2. 1310 3. 1311 4. 1312 5. 1313 6. 1316 7. 1323 8. 1336 9. 1341 10. 1353 11. 1354 12. 1355 13. 1385 14. 1386 15. 1387 16. 1388 - - - - - - - - - - THE FATE OF A POOR MAN'S SON, chapter 17 By Master Redbeard (redbeardedsf at yahoo dot com) It was a whole new experience for me inside the slave cage as Master Steve drove his Jeep faster than any other car on the highway. I watched the cityscape of buildings and then the open countryside zoom by. The wind was blowing through the bars of my slave cage and across my naked flesh - and it felt good. Even as he was driving fast, Master Steve kept up a constant monologue. "You should thank your lucky stars that you were strapped securely to that whipping frame when Judge Snow had his heart attack and died. If a slave is found with the dead body of his master, no matter how faultless the slave might be, that slave is put down. And if there's even the slightest possibility that the slave may have had some hand in the death of a free person, well... seeing a slave put to death in those circumstances is not pretty. "And I just happened to be there and saw you that day because I was in the town of Winston for my standard monthly examination of slave records and slave conditions there. It's all a lot of bullshit paperwork, but it's one of the multitude of nonsense they pay me for." One of the most fundamental facts of slavery was that nothing needed to be explained to a slave. Slaves followed orders. A master did not have to give a slave any reasons for those orders and did not have to tell a slave any future plans. But my new master just kept chattering away. Master Steve told me that he had never intended to have a career as a slave cop - he was actually a slave trainer. "And I was the best damn slave trainer!" he declared. "Damn, I'm still the best slave trainer. I could break through the thickest free boy attitude and I could take a sack of shit pathetic teenage boy and turn him into prime merchandise that will get top dollar at auction." He then went on to tell me about a "stupid lawsuit" that had shut down his training operation and forced him to take a job with the slave police. I knew he was telling the truth when he told me that because of his expertise with slaves and his skills with people, he had quickly been promoted to sergeant. The man exuded confidence. If he said he was an expert you knew he was speaking the truth on the matter. "There's a reason I'm so good at training slaves," he said. But that's where his monologue stopped. He glanced at me with an enigmatic look on his face. I suddenly realized I was looking right into his face; our eyes were meeting. I averted my gaze and looked down at the floorboard of the car and mumbled an apology. There was that hearty laugh again. I'd been a slave for more than two years at that point. But I'd spent the major portion of those last two years chained inside a windowless room in Judge Snow's penthouse. Even before the judge became my master, I had rarely left the frat house when I served Master Brad at his university and my tasks at the Winston estate never required me to leave the grounds. I felt overwhelmed by all the fresh air as the open Jeep sped along, and even more overwhelmed by the openness of my new master. The Jeep slowed as we entered the grounds of what looked like a construction company. Master Steve jolted the car to a halt and honked the horn insistently. "Quit the honking, Steve! He's on his way." The voice came from a gruff older man who wore jeans with a tie and sports jacket. Just the way he carried himself told me this man was in charge here. "Wanna get my new piece of property home, Gil," Master Steve said as if this other man was an old buddy. "Holy crap!" Gil exclaimed standing right next to my cage and looking at me. "Whatever you paid for this piece of slavemeat it was too much. Steve, are you out of your mind buying something that ain't fit for a trash heap?" How could that man talk about me as if I wasn't even there? My master seemed in good cheer as he replied, "Well if I really am that far out of my mind, Gil, maybe you'll end up owning me again." The man named Gil laughed so loud and hard it sounded like a machine gun. When I looked up I realized there was a different man standing beside the Jeep. This black man seemed to be the same height and have the same massive chest and shoulders as my master. However, the black man was wearing a tight pair of black slave shorts and a white tanktop that had the name of the construction company on it. I could also see this man's slave collar and the SIN tattooed along his collarbone. From all outward appearances this black man was a slave, but he stood tall and looked directly at Master Steve as he said, "You put the cargo in the front seat? Am I expected to move the cage into the back seat?" "Well, you're the slave, Sam old buddy!" my master said in an off-hand way. There was a pause and then the slave named Sam got into the back seat of the car. Master Steve called over his shoulder, "Lazy ass slave!" with a laugh and then was speeding down the highway once again. "Thought you'd forgot about me. Figured I'd have to stay over in the bunkhouse tonight," Sam said. "Sure would'a made a lot of them bottom boy slaves happy." "Damn, Steve. You know I never manage to fuck more than three of 'em in one night... well, at least not recently." Then the two of them shared another hearty laugh. Their conversation continued but I couldn't follow all the unfamiliar names that were tossed back and forth. Also, I was preoccupied trying to figure out what was going on between these two men. It was clear that Steve was the master and Sam was the slave, but they were talking together as if they were two buddies. The Jeep pulled to a sudden stop and both of the brawny men were carrying my cage into what looked like a rustic farmhouse. As Master Steve was unlatching the lock and guiding me out of the cage I heard Sam cry out, "What the fuck kinda sick sadist did this to the boy?" "I told you about the stuff I'm digging up on that twisted so-called judge." I stood up from the cramped position and then did my best to get into a slave rest posture. Then, just as if I wasn't there, the two men embraced and kissed each other passionately on the mouth. I was so close that there was no mistaking it was a wet kiss with lots of tongue. But this wasn't a kiss as I had experienced it - a master forcing his tongue into a slaveboy's mouth - this was a sexually-charged kiss between two lovers. As if this wasn't all confusing enough, Master Steve then announced, "I'll put up supper in the kitchen. How about you getting the boy into a tub with those special powders? He's gonna need a lot of soaking for that skin." Sam took me gently by the arm and led me up the stairs. It was surprisingly difficult for me since I hadn't walked up or down stairs in such a long time. Then the big black man walked me into a nice-looking bathroom: clean tiles, shiny fixtures, and fluffy towels. This was a free man's bathroom. The black man knelt beside the tub and began running water, taking great care with the temperature. Then he pulled out a box and a container, sprinkling flakes and then pouring just a few drops of a liquid. "Hop in the tub, young fella," he said smiling at me. I stumbled out of my slave shorts and climbed cautiously into the tub. I eased myself back into the water. It felt so soothing. It felt absolutely luxurious against my bare skin. "Look at me, kid," Sam said. "With everything else wrong with you, please don't tell me you also lost your mind? Say something to me, boy. Say something to let me know that you have your wits about you." "M-master," I began cautiously. But before I could get another word out, Sam told me that he was a slave. Since he had all the outward appearances of a slave, he must have really figured I'd lost my mind at that point. There was a long uncomfortable moment of silence and then I said, "If you're a slave, how come you can talk to your master the way you do?" Sam smiled but the smile disappeared from his face quickly. "I take it from the bruises all over you that you had a master who insisted he always be addressed properly?" "Addressed properly?" I said with a weak laugh. "If I made any sound at all I'd get an extra ten lashes. Heck, I didn't even have to make a sound or move a muscle to get an extra ten or twenty or thirty lashes." "Yeah, you still do have some brainpower going for you!" Sam said softly. I took a deep breath feeling strengthened from the warm water of the tub and said, "In point of fact I would've had straight A's my final semester in high school if it hadn't been for my enslavement screwing up my last two weeks of school." I wondered where those words had come from? I had put all that out of my mind long ago. But now Sam asked me to tell him about my life in high school and I didn't even pause as I described my success on the track team and my perfect score in calculus and the girl I had hoped to fuck. Just then Master Steve called up the stairs to say that supper was almost done. Sam called back "The new boy needs another five minutes in the tub. He'll have his steak well done the same as mine." "You have the taste buds of field slaves!" came the shouted reply. Sam helped me out of the tub and dried me with a fluffy, dry towel - not a towel that had previously been used by a free man. He wrapped another very large towel around me and guided me down to the kitchen. I was getting steadier on my feet, even on the steps. In the kitchen I was guided to a corner of the room where I got down on another soft towel. There was a water bottle hanging up for me to drink from and there was a bowl on the floor. I'd hardly gotten into position when Master Steve slid some sliced up pieces of freshly broiled steak into the food bowl. He scooped mashed potatoes in beside the steak and then tossed in freshly cooked green beans. The two men, master and slave, sat at the table where each had a plate with steak, potatoes and vegetables, and each had a glass of wine. "So the boy's probably wondering," Sam began as he took a sip of the wine. "If I'm a slave and he's a slave how come he has to eat on the floor?" The master seemed too busy eating to contribute to the conversation, so Sam turned to me and continued, "When we're training and preparing a slave for resale to other owners, we have to keep the boy aware of his role as a slave. It wouldn't do you any favor to get used to sitting at a nice table with a fork and knife and then find yourself sold to a slavemaster that would be outraged at the thought of a slave sitting at his table." "Did you tell the boy our history together?" Master Steve finally piped in. "Steve and I were enslaved together," Sam said between bites of his dinner. I stopped eating and looked at my master. I hadn't noticed before that he had removed his outer shirt and was now just in an undershirt. I could see a faint mark where his SIN had been removed. "That was close to fifteen years ago when I got enslaved," Master Steve added. "Let's just say I was young and cocky and too stupid to read all the details before signing an agreement. Sam and I both ended up at the construction company. Would you believe this stupid hunk of dark meat actually thought he was gonna fuck me in the barracks? Fuck ME?" "He put up a helluva fight," Sam said laughing uncontrollably. "But lemme tell you, that sweet hard ass of his was worth it." "As I remember I got you into a hammerlock and I'm the one who fucked you that first night!" Our master announced with a big smile on his face. "Maybe the second night, Steve. But that first night it was definitely my cock that had a sweet ride. Besides, Gil had already taken your cherry on the horse." I cowered in the corner from the sudden movement. I thought the two men were really going to get into a fistfight right there in the kitchen. But they soon settled back, each smiling at the other and saying they didn't want to let the good food get cold. It seemed a very unusual relationship but it was clear from their interaction that these two men had quite a long history together. It turned out that Steve was freed from his enslavement and his uncle and cousins had then lost their freedom on charges of false enslavement. Steve had inherited this family home with many acres out back and enough money for him to buy Sam and start a business where the two of them trained slaves. But after years of success there had been some complicated lawsuit where their company had been found liable for the death of a valuable slave. Master Steve's face went red at the mention of the lawsuit. He insisted the owner had caused the slave's injuries, before the slave had been brought to their training center. "But Judge Snow was a buddy of the owner so he wasn't interested in any actual facts." So now, since the end of their slave training business, Master Steve had gone to work for the slave police and he leased Sam on a day-to-day basis with the same construction company where the two of them had originally been enslaved. I was astonished to realize that Gil, the man who had been so friendly when we stopped at the construction company, had once been Steve's master - the man who took Steve's anal virginity! I wasn't able to finish the little bit of steak I'd been given - the food was too rich after the time I'd spent on a meager diet. My supper was supplemented with enriched slave chow. I was then led to a space under the stairs that had been fixed up with a mattress, sheets and even a pillow. Sam was apologetic about placing me there. "But insurance insists that slaves need to be locked in. The only other option is if the slave is sharing a room with his master, as I do." Just as he was about to close the door I said, "Don't apologize, Sam. Heck, I was prepared to nominate the two of you for the Nobel Peace Prize for giving me a pillow." I wanted him to laugh at that, but there was a look of profound sadness on his face instead. Both Master Steve and Sam had taken the next two days off from their usual jobs to start their work with me. Master Steve showed me machines I would be using for my workouts, to build strength and muscles. The machines would be pre-set with goals. My master warned me that the goals would always be a little bit more than I was capable of doing. I would always be pushed to my limits and then more would be demanded of me. I thought I was prepared to push myself for Master Steve, but I ached all over by the end of that day. Once again I was led to a warm comforting bath and then ate on the kitchen floor while the two big men ate at the table. The following day I helped move exercise equipment out to a red pickup truck. I was barely much help, my emaciated form looking so odd between the hulking biceps of the two older men. Then I was placed in a cage and also secured onto the flatbed of the truck. Master Steve had simply told me that I was going to begin treatments for my torn-up skin. We drove through countryside, then through a town, then into a sprawling suburban area, and out into a different country setting. Finally, I looked around and saw that the truck was driving on the campus of FLIT, the Fenster-Lurch Institute of Technology. I had heard of FLIT - it specialized in biology, genetic science, biotechnology, and medical research. But as we pulled to a stop in front of an imposing old building I remembered something I'd read and a chill ran through me. FLIT used more slaves in medical research than any other facility in the Western Hemisphere. I had known two days of kindness from my new master. But what awaited upstairs in the labs of FLIT? Ten minutes after meeting Dr. Red my mind was eased. He was clearly a man who took charge, a man who knew what he wanted, a man who would brook no nonsense, but I also saw warmth in his penetrating eyes. There was a kindness in his smile - not the false smiles I'd gotten from my first master. As he examined the torn up flesh on my back, I thought I even saw tears well up in the older man's eyes. But I could tell that Dr. Red was the kind of man who would vehemently deny ever shedding tears. The medical researcher was at least ten years older than Master Steve, and his body wasn't nearly as imposing. Dr. Red wasn't much taller than me. He had broad shoulders though and an impressive chest that I could see even through his lab coat. I knew his real name only from the stencil on his office door, but he insisted that everyone call him Red. He expected proper respect from his students so they were to call him Dr. Red. As for me, I would call him Master Red. Yes, I would be used for scientific research, to try out a new treatment. But I quickly learned that Master Red's research had involved restoring skin. He believed that he could grow fresh skin - my own new skin, soft and supple, to replace the scars and tough tissue on my back, ass and thighs. Master Steve believed in Dr. Red's research, even where some scientists doubted his work. My owner knew that his medical researcher friend needed an experimental subject. "Look at me, Wally," Master Steve commanded. "Why did I choose you as the subject? There are hundreds of slaves available at any given time that have torn up backs. So why you, boy?" Master Red continued with the thought in a softer tone. "My buddy Steve knew I needed a subject who wanted to be healed, a subject who had hope for the future. Many badly-beaten slaves simply wish to die. They will blindly follow any order. Their only hope is not to get beaten further. How devoted would such a slave be to a health regimen? How hard would such a slave work on a demanding exercise routine? Science has now firmly demonstrated that a positive attitude affects health. I needed a slave who could have a positive attitude." I was stunned. How had Master Steve seen any positive attitude in me when he unchained me from the whipping frame in Judge Snow's bathroom? How could he believe I had hopes for the future when he saw me half-alive in a cell? I knew I hadn't been addressed. I knew that nobody asked me a question. But I spoke up anyway. "Masters, I will do everything in my power to see that your treatment succeeds." The two masters turned to each other and smiled. Sam showed me where all the exercise machines were set up. They were pre-set with the required specifications I was to perform, and they were hooked to a computer that would send all the details of my workout to Master Steve. It was explained that I would live here, in the professor's laboratory during the week, but that Master Steve would pick me up and take me back to his house on the weekends. Master Steve went out to buy prepared food, since there was no restaurant that would permit the two free men to sit with Sam, who was obviously still a slave. While that was happening, Master Red took a series of photographs of my wounds - he must have taken more than a hundred very detailed close ups. Then the professor led me to what had been a walk-in closet in his office. The door had been replaced with bars like the door of a jail cell. Inside, a cot was made up with clean sheets and a pillow - the cot filled most of the small space. I was laid on my stomach and then Master Red took an enormous sponge and fitted it over my entire back, buttocks and upper thighs. The sponge was saturated with a thick liquid that smelled bitter. The wetness began to seep into my flesh. At first it felt warming but after a few minutes it started to burn. Then it was tingling as if a thousand ants were crawling under my flesh. "P-please, Master," I called out. "Is it supposed to burn and tingle like this, sir?" Master Red answered in the affirmative. He did not close the bars of my closet cell. He just strode through his office to the classroom beyond, greeting Master Steve and Sam even though I couldn't see the two other men. They spoke softly, but I heard the scientist say, "If the boy can't stay still for a little tingling and burning sensation for a few hours, then you might as well take him back right now before we go further. If that sponge is moved from his back, I'll look for a new experimental subject starting tomorrow." I resolved then that I would stay perfectly still. I was still only twenty years old and I decided in that moment that the awful treatment I'd received from the twisted judge was not going to be the end of my life. Dr. Red was going to heal my wounds. I would be the perfect subject for his treatment. Thoughts began to creep into my mind asking "and then what?" If my skin was restored, my body filled out and strong again, my face looking handsome as it did before, then what? I realized I was only being restored to wholeness so I could be sold at a profit and then I would face another master. Another Captain Winston? Another Judge Snow? Or worse? I shook my head. I couldn't let myself dwell on fears for the future. At least, if Dr. Red's treatment worked, I would have a future. I couldn't dwell on fears of what would happen in that future. Hours later, after my master and his slave lover had left, Master Red removed the sponge from my back. He took a bucket with specially-treated water and softly swabbed my back with a soft cloth. His touch seemed so soft and loving. I noticed from the clock it was already after ten in the evening. I wondered whether Dr. Red had a family at home, whether he had anyone waiting for him to get home. I began to fall asleep reveling in the tenderness of the man's touch.