Date: Sat, 3 Jun 2006 18:34:30 -0700 (PDT)
From: Hank M <redbeardedsf (at) yahoo (dot) com>
Subject: The Fate of a Poor Man's Son, part 5

I was turned on to this universe by the writing of Pete Brown UK. Heated up
by some stories from Steam Train. These two authors directed me to the
works of Richard Davies, One Ring, Total Reform and others. This story is
set in a near-future world in which enslavement is the norm. 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.

_____________________________________________________________
By Master Redbeard (redbeardedsf at yahoo.com)


I remembered Brad Winston as a nasty young teen who enjoyed being cruel and
lording his power over others. For years, I only saw Brad at a
distance. During the previous two years, he had been away at a university
and only returned to the town of Winston for school vacations. But I'd
heard he was a star on his school's soccer team. And seeing him around town
in a tanktop I knew he had impressive shoulders and chest.


Everything had progressed as usual when I got back from school that
afternoon. I even tolerated Rye's shaving me and giving me an enema much
better than I had before. After all, he had a job to do. Maybe I was in
better spirits because I hadn't earned a paddling that night. When I was
brought back to my cell I opened my chemistry book to study for my final
exam the following day.


Rye remained looking at me for a long moment. Then he said, "You do know
how to address any of your masters properly?"


I looked up at him. "Masters? More than one? I thought the captain was my
master?"


"The captain's sons are also your masters." Then he continued, "And if a
free man comes into your presence you will immediately stand up and assume
slave rest position. You do know that, don't you?" He actually seemed
worried about me.


I smiled up at Rye and said, "Would you stop fussing. Of course I know all
of that."


Another hour passed and I was intently reviewing my chemistry book when
suddenly the door at the far end of the hallway opened and Brad Winston
strode in. He stood in front of my cell. As fast as I could, I pulled a
piece of paper to use as a bookmark, and then I rose to stand at slave rest
position.


"What the hell is this?" the blond college athlete snarled.


"S-sir? I mean... M-master? I don't understand the question, master."


Once again I heard his cruel, mocking laugh. "And my father thinks he
bought a smart slave. I suppose you're as stupid as you are slovenly,
slaveboy." I suppressed my urge to speak. I had gotten straight "A" grades,
while everyone knew Brad had always struggled in school with "Gentlemen's
C's" - the grades that were given to the dimwitted sons of wealthy donors.


Enunciating each syllable very loudly, Brad shouted, "The an-swer is YES,
MAS-TER!"


"Y-yes, master," I repeated, shaking with fear now.


"And when your master comes in to inspect you, you present yourself
totally. How dare you cover yourself in the presence of your master? Give
me those shorts, boy."


I peeled down the white briefs as quickly as I could and then followed his
orders and handed my young master the one garment that had covered me. He
unlocked the door of the cell and ordered me to step out so he could
examine me all over.


As he prodded at each of my muscle groups, he continued berating me, "Also,
when your master enters you stand and assume a respectful pose
instantly. How dare you make a free man wait while you find a bookmark."


Each of his hands was gripping one of my nipples. He twisted and pulled
them so hard I thought he would rip them off. I groaned with pain as I
answered, "Yes, master. I'm sorry, master."


Then his hands were down at my genitals. He tugged hard on my penis and
then declared, "This foreskin will have to go. We can have fun taking it
off." I shuddered with horror. Then Brad's fingers moved down to my
balls. He tugged and twisted and I nearly doubled over. He slapped my face
so hard I fell to the ground.


"You're not doing a very good job of maintaining slave rest position, boy!"


Scrambling to my feet, I wanted to ask how I could be expected to maintain
the proper pose when he hurt my testicles and knocked me to the ground. But
I knew that would only make matters worse. I looked down at the ground and
said, "Yes, master. I'll try harder, master."


"Now there's some nonsense about letting you attend school during he day,
slaveboy. My father is too softhearted with the likes of you and your
family. He's left certain instructions. While you're still attending school
he doesn't want us to leave too many marks on your body. Also, while you're
still attending school he doesn't want you used for sex - well at least not
for real sex."


My mind was reeling. What did that last remark mean? "Soon enough we'll
have you here on the estate for good and we can start using you as a proper
slave should be used." With that, Brad unzipped his tan slacks, opened the
belt, and let them fall to his knees. He pulled his long penis out of his
boxer shorts and stroked it a few times. There was a bead of wetness at the
tip of it.


When he saw me looking at his cock he remarked, "But that's OK with me. For
old time's sake I'd enjoy just getting a handjob from you, Wally. Yeah, I
think we're gonna keep Wally as your slave name. I like the sound of
it. Remember when I said to you, C'mon Wally, just put your hand on it and
stroke it up and down. But you wouldn't do it. You acted like you were too
good to touch my cock. Now look at you."


The command was implied. I wrapped my fingers around his erection and began
slowly stroking. Brad grinned broadly. "That's it, Wally. Take care of your
master. It's good to serve your betters, boy. Hot damn, I wish we could've
enslaved you back then, back when I had you in the poolhouse. Think of all
the years of fun I would've had with you. And all the fun my dad would've
had with you. By now you'd be so well trained we'd get a great price from a
boy brothel for you, Wally.


I closed my eyes and tried to convince myself that Brad was making all this
up just to upset me. The captain had been so nice to me - no way would he
use me for sex. And as for Brad's implications, everyone knew that sex was
only legal once a slaveboy had turned eighteen. Sold to a boy brothel? The
captain had an agreement with my father to keep me for household uses.


Brad had continued holding my white slave briefs in his hand. He groaned
loudly and then pressed the small bit of white fabric against the head of
his penis. I felt the rod pulsating under my stroking hand. Brad was
shooting a big load of spunk into the pair of briefs.


When he was catching his breath, he handed me the briefs and told me to put
them on. "B-but, master, they're all messy from..." Once again he slapped
me hard across the face. This time I just managed to maintain my balance.


"Do you think your master is so stupid he doesn't know that his cum is on
your slave shorts? Instead of whining about it, you should be thanking me
for honoring you with my semen."


I hesitated just a moment before saying, "Th-thank you, master, for giving
me this honor."


Brad suddenly shouted for Rye. The tall blond servant appeared in the room
instantly. Apparently he'd been right on the other side of the door,
waiting his master's bidding. Brad instructed Rye to attach my wrists to
the bars on the top of the cage, up high and spread apart. I was facing the
cage and my toes could just barely touch the floor. Then Brad asked for a
very specific cane.


Rye was back in a flash, his head bowed, holding out the cane to Brad. Then
in a quiet voice, Rye said, "Master Brad, forgive this slave for speaking
but your father's instructions..."


"My father didn't want any permanent marks left on the new slave. You know
that with this thicker cane the marks will fade in three days. And besides,
this slave is my property and not my father's. It's his gift to me and long
overdue if I say so myself."


"Yes, master," Rye said as he backed away.


I heard the swish of the cane through the air and kept bracing myself for
the feel of it on my flesh. Just when I finally relaxed and wasn't ready
for it, I felt the cane slice down across both buttocks. This would not be
the last time I'd receive a punishment from Brad. I would come to
understand that he enjoyed teasing and taunting. He enjoyed having a slave
anticipate a strike that would not come, and then raining down a powerful
series of blows on a slave's body just when the victim was unprepared.


Master Brad did not confine himself to my butt. I felt the cane across my
back and across my thighs as well. Twenty blows altogether. I was shaking
and could barely stand when Rye uncuffed me from the bars of the cage. Rye
quickly whispered in my ear, "Thank master for helping to correct you and
make you a better slave."


My lips moved as I tried to form the words, "Th-thank you, master, for
correcting me and... and for making me a better slave, master."


Then Rye instructed, "Get down on the ground and kiss his shoes." I did as
the tall slave said and heard Brad chuckling.


As I rose to my feet Brad was still chuckling. He said, "I'll tell you
what, boy. I've thought about you having to put on those briefs with so
much of my sperm all over the fabric. It might be too uncomfortable for
you. So, before you put them back on, you can lick off any excess sperm."


Brad whispered in my ear, "Don't hesitate, you little fool."


I stuck out my tongue and was licking away at the white fabric. Just a few
days before, the captain had ordered me to taste my own spunk from my
hand. Now Brad, the captain's son, was taking this a step further. At his
command, I was licking Brad's semen from the fabric of the underpants I'd
be forced to wear. It had been odd enough tasting my own cream. Now I was
tasting the cream from this nasty college jock.


The following morning, the remnants of Brad's cum had dried and discolored
the white fabric of the briefs. I begged Rye for a clean pair. He simply
said that he could not go against direct orders from our masters. I had to
go to school to take my chemistry final exam. I knew I'd do well on the
test. I ran quickly and got to school just as the bell was about to ring. I
moved fast and crouched down on the floor of the classroom, hoping nobody
would notice what my briefs looked like.


It was the group of freshmen boys who made a loud fuss about the cane marks
on my exposed flesh and the cum stains hardened on my white underpants. One
of them called out, "Look what the slave did to his tighty whities!" The
others all laughed as a boy turned to my little brother and said,
"Damn. You used to share a bedroom with him. I bet it stank from semen." My
brother spoke up loud and said, "That was before he was a slave. It's only
after they become slaves that they start getting all perverted." I ran down
the hall not wanting to hear anymore.


I did well on the chemistry final and then got my slave chow and reported
to Coach Baker's office. Once again he took me into the equipment
room. This time he wasn't so interested in using my hand to get off. I was
made to lie down on a mat. He pulled off all his clothes. He had an
impressive body for a man of his age, though most of his broad, defined
chest was hidden by a thick covering of hair. He climbed on top of me and
immediately started grinding his hard cock against me. His hands moved all
over me roughly.


Remembering how gently the ugly hulk of a slave had touched my body out in
the school's slave shed, I felt growing resentment for the Coach. This was
a man I had respected and trusted. I thought he really cared about me
throughout high school. But now that I was a slave, he seemed intent on
hurting me. After he spermed all over my belly and my chest, he picked up
my white briefs and used them to wipe up the mess. He gave an evil grin and
then said, "A little bit more won't make a difference."


Well, that extra semen did make a difference. It was still wet as I left
the gym. And that was the moment the principal decided to call me down to
his office. I stood at slave rest position while he fiddled with papers in
a file cabinet and said his piece. "First off, we can't have you receiving
the award from the physical education department at graduation. We can't
have a slave parading onstage. And when we gave it due consideration, we
just couldn't have a slave wearing a cap and gown and sitting with the
other students.


"Eddie from the football team will be getting the award in your place, so
at least you know it's going to someone deserving. Also, since you're so
good at words, I've given Eddie a copy of the little speech you wrote. I'm
sure he'll give a good rendition."


It was then that Mr. Tucci turned from the filing cabinet, holding my file
folder in his hands. That was the first time he actually looked at me since
I entered his office. He began shouting about the stains on my white
briefs.


"P-please, sir, I didn't put these stains on it. It's not my fault, sir."


"Just like a slave! Passing the blame. Nothing is ever your fault, is it?
You and all the other lazy sex-obsessed slaves!"


Mr. Tucci made a phone call, not to my father but to my owner's house. He
ended up talking to Brad and telling him that I was being sent home and
that, while he understood the owner's prerogative to dress his slave, I
would only be permitted at school with clean garments. When Mr. Tucci hung
up the phone he said that I had twenty minutes to get back to my master's
house or else I'd be punished.


I ran from the school so hard and so fast I thought my heart would burst. I
was only five minutes late, but this time my punishment would be
administered by Master Brad. After the paddling, Brad was on his way out
for the evening, so I breathed a sigh of relief and tried my best to sleep
wearing the clean pair of briefs that Rye had given me.


The next morning I woke up ready to go to school, when Brad strode down the
hall in just his plaid boxer shorts. He stopped at the bar of my cage and
whipped his cock out of his underwear, placing it between the bars.


"I have to pee," he said laconically.


I just looked at him, not clear what his statement had to do with me. He
got an odd look on his face and snapped, "You don't expect your master to
go all the way to the bathroom, do you? Get down and take it in your
mouth!"


My mind screamed, "No way!" but I fell to my knees. What could I do? Brad
would give me another beating for sure. I closed my eyes and opened my
mouth and he placed his limp penis on my tongue. He growled, "You'll have
to wrap your lips firmly around it. Make a seal. Your master will be very
unhappy if you spill even a drop, slaveboy."


I tried to do as he said. I gulped and swallowed the first few drops of his
piss. But then my senses rebelled. His penis was flooding my mouth and
throat and the fleshy tube fell from my lips. Brad just kept peeing all
over me. His urine was in my hair, dripping from my face, down my torso,
and it had soaked through my white briefs and made them transparent. I had
tried to comply and follow my master's command, but now I was in worse
shape than I would've been with a beating. Brad barked, "I expect you to
lick up every drop that's spilled. Only then can you go to school." The
young master then called for Rye to enter the room.


Looking down at the ground, I stammered, "B-but, I'll have to shower and
put on a clean pair of..."


Brad cut me off even though he was addressing Rye. "This boy really has no
conception of his role as a slave. He showers when I want him to shower. He
gets a change of clothes when it pleases me. If he wants to go to his damn
school then he can go just as he is now." Brad strode out of the room, but
then opened the door once more to add, "And if he doesn't go to school he
will be put to work on the grounds."


An hour later as I was working naked with Rye weeding a large flower patch,
Master Brad came along and sniffed, "That slave stinks. Hose him down." Rye
turned the cold water hose on me as Brad began to walk away. But then Brad
turned back toward us (I think he considered this a dramatic move) and
grinned. "I spoke with the principal of the high school, slaveboy. He has
spoken with all your teachers. They all agree it would be best to give you
final grades of 'P' for pass, instead of actual letter grades. That decided
you don't have to return to the school at all." My mind was racing and
shouting with the unfairness of it all. I had worked so hard at school. I
was set to earn almost all "A's" for my final semester. I would have had
one of the highest grade point averages in the school. But now the records
would just show I had passed the classes. Of course I gritted my teeth and
remained silent.


Brad took another more meaningful pause. "That means you're through with
school as of today, Wally. All those things my father didn't want done to
you until you were through with school..." His grin got so wide. Then he
nodded to Rye and said, "Have the boy ready by 8 tonight. I've been looking
forward to this for a long time."