Date: Fri, 9 Jun 2006 22:08:49 -0700 (PDT)
From: Hank M <redbeardedsf (at) yahoo (dot) com>
Subject: The Fate of a Poor Man's Son, part 7

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, Randall Austin 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 was awoken the next morning by Rye standing at the bars of my cage
naked. His penis was hanging between the bars half hard. In a soft voice he
said, "I'm sorry, Wally, but you know what the young master ordered." It
took a moment for my mind to get in gear. I remembered everything that
happened the previous night with Brad Winston and I shuddered at the images
that came flooding back to me. Then I looked from Rye's eyes down to his
penis that he was holding up toward me. Yes, Master Brad had complained
that I needed training to drink his piss properly and had ordered that Rye
was to use my mouth every time he needed to piss. I crawled over to the
tall blond slave and opened my mouth.

"I'll go slow," he whispered looking down at me. I swallowed as fast as I
could. What choice did I have? I was a slave on the Winston estate.

Less than a week before this I had been a free boy, wearing clothes,
hanging out with friends, looking forward to my high school graduation. But
now I was reduced to drinking the piss from a slave's penis and obeying any
other whims of Master Brad. And I was already dreading my upcoming date
with Brad's father, Captain Winston, the man who had made arrangements with
my father to have me enslaved and to buy me for a period of five years and
fifteen days. I swallowed piss as fast as I could. Five years and eleven
days to go!

What would Captain Winston want to do to me? What would he want to do WITH
me? What would he make me do? Brad had been so brutal: strapping me to the
horse and then paddling me before he butt fucked me hard and fast. Would
his father be the same way? Would the captain be even more brutal and even
rougher with me? Disgust swept over me and it had nothing to do with the
piss I had just swallowed. The captain was older than my father by a
decade. He was a big man, with chest hair sticking out of his shirt collar
and a salt-and-pepper beard. It was inconceivable that a man like that
would do anything sexual with me.

As I washed out my mouth I cheered a little. Perhaps when I arrived in the
captain's room that evening, he would look up at me and recognize
me. Perhaps he would say, "Oh, Wally, you're that fine lad, so well brought
up. This is a mistake. Let's get some clothes to cover you up."

The more I thought about it, the more absurd I knew my fantasy was. But I
needed some hope to hold onto as I worked naked under the hot sun, carrying
paving stones and installing a new patio around the swimming pool. I had
been in that pool as a guest so many years earlier, when I was just a
kid. At that time I was embarrassed at seeing Rye naked - to me he was just
a nameless slave, a big guy who looked like a college athlete and the first
man-size penis I had ever seen. And now I was the naked slave sweating as I
worked and looking longingly at the cool water in the pool - the pool that
was off limits to me.

I felt certain the captain would be brutal like his son had been, beating
my ass and shoving his dick into me for release. If only it had been that
simple. Looking back on it now the ass beating had made my body ache, but
the captain had ways to make my brain and my heart and my soul ache.

The same ritual as the previous night: four enemas and a very careful,
thorough shaving. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had always been slim
and had a boyish face. My armpit hair and pubes were now completely shaved
and the hair on my head was trimmed to a quarter inch length. Except that I
was some inches taller and my penis was some inches longer, I might as well
have been seeing my image from when I was younger. I pulled on a clean pair
of the tight white briefs that had become my uniform since enslavement and
looked at myself once more in the mirror. Was it possible the captain could
be sexually aroused seeing me looking like this? My stomach churned at the
very thought. What kind of man of the captain's age could look at a boy so
slim and so vulnerable and have sexual feelings?

As soon as Rye knocked on the doors I heard the captain's voice call out,
"Enter." I followed Rye into the sitting room and stood at slave rest
position, my legs apart, my hands behind my back, my head bowed. The
sitting room was similar to Brad's, but much larger and much more
grand. There was a fire in the fireplace, even though it was a warm
evening. The captain sat on a large padded sofa holding a glass and poured
from a bottle of whiskey.

He seemed cheerful as he looked me over and dismissed Rye from the
room. When Rye paused at the door, the captain didn't snap at him, but
simply said, "It's OK, Rye. Wally's a good boy." Then the big man smiled at
me, "You'll be a good boy. You'll obey your master, won't you, little
fella?"

"Master, yes, Master," I said in a clear loud voice. This evening was
starting out on a much better note than the previous night.

The captain was wearing a dark grey suit with a white shirt and red tie. He
patted the sofa next to him. I moved cautiously and sat beside him. His
left arm went around me and he pulled me onto his lap. He pulled me close
up against his body and I could smell the booze and sweat of my master. I
was immediately aware of the long thick protuberance under my butt. I
wanted to convince myself it was just something in his pocket, but as I
felt the throbbing I knew it was the captain's erection prodding my ass
cheeks.

"Mmmmm, don't you smell nice, boy. Freshly shampooed hair. Scrubbed clean."
His nose was in my short-cropped hair. Then I felt his tongue against my
ear and I pulled away. He squeezed me tighter and said sternly, "Now, now,
I thought you were going to be a good boy, Wally. I thought you were going
to be obedient."

I was so confused I mumbled, "I'm sorry, sir."

He caressed my face with his right hand and lightly kissed me on the
lips. "Mmmmm, what a delicious boy you are. Such nice soft lips." His
fingers brushed my lips the same way he had touched them in my family's
home when he came to talk about enslaving me. So this was what he had in
mind when he touched my lips that day. I felt his cock throb under my butt
and wondered what other plans he had in mind for my lips.

The captain lifted a dish from the table to the side and held it up for
me. There were three chocolate chip cookies and a glass of cold milk on the
dish. I simply looked at it, my mouth watering. All I'd eaten since my
enslavement was slave chow. The captain nodded to me, "Go ahead,
Wally. Take a bite of the cookie. Not too big, make sure you chew it well."
I was following his instructions. "Now take a gulp of the milk to wash it
down. Not too fast, just a little bit."

As I returned the glass to the plate I softly said, "Thank you, master."

The big man hugged my face to his as he chuckled, "I like a boy who's
polite. I knew you'd be a good boy. Do you want another bite of the cookie
and another sip of milk, Wally?"

Was this a trick? I cautiously said, "Y-yes, sir. If you please sir."

He started planting enthusiastic kisses all over my face as he said, "That
'if you please sir' will take you far as a slave. You're quite right,
boy. Slaves don't have a right to want anything, except as it pleases their
masters. And it pleases your master to trade kisses in exchange for your
snack, heheheh."

That laugh! I had always heard the phrase "it makes your skin crawl." Until
I heard the captain's lecherous laugh, I didn't know what those words
meant. When I heard it - and I would hear it many more times after that
night - my skin felt like there were insects crawling over every inch. He
grabbed my face in his strong right hand and kissed me directly on the
lips, pushing his thick tongue into my mouth. I could taste alcohol and
tobacco on his tongue. His scratchy beard rubbed against my smooth face.

When he pulled his face away from me, I was once again presented with the
plate of cookies. He smiled indulgently and nodded. I picked up the cookie
in my shaking hand and took a small bite. Chewing it thoroughly I then took
a big gulp of the milk - it was so cold and so refreshing.

His right hand was now behind my neck, holding my collar, controlling me so
I couldn't move my head away. "Somebody's got a milk moustache!" The
captain stuck out his tongue and was licking my upper lip. Then he once
again began to tongue kiss me. His mouth was open so wide and there was so
much saliva all over my face and in my mouth I tried to pull away from
him. When he finally ended that kiss I turned my face away and was gagging.

Suddenly there was a hard slap across my face, so hard I fell to the
ground. Before I could regain my wits the captain's large hand was on my
collar pulling me up, and then he slapped hard across my face in the other
direction. "Does your master's kiss disgust you, boy?"

"N-n-no, Master. I'm s-s-sorry, Master."

That was followed by a hearty loud laugh as he said, "You're a bad liar,
slaveboy." He grabbed me and tossed me face down over his lap. My dick was
pressing into the soft fabric of his gray trousers. Before I could even
settle into place, the captain's big beefy hand swung and smacked my tender
ass cheeks right in the middle. I called out more from the shock than the
pain. The next smack hit my left cheek, followed by an equally hard smack
to my right cheek. I tried to stay silent, but couldn't help moaning. I
lost count of how many more times his large handprint heated my bottom. And
all this time his cock was pushing up against me through the fabric of his
pants.

Then he pushed me down to the floor in front of him and ordered me to take
off his shoes and socks. My hands were shaking as I followed his
commands. His socks stank badly. There was hair on top of the captain's
feet and on top of his toes, and there was a sheen of slippery perspiration
all over his feet. "Only one way to clean my feet after a long day,
heheheh." His feet rubbed on my face and then he ordered me "Use your
tongue on them, boy."

The smell was awful, but the humiliation and degradation were even
worse. But what could I do? I licked the soles of his feet. I licked around
the tops of his feet. Then I was ordered to lick between each of his toes
and then to suck on his toes one at a time. I don't know how long this
disgusting exercise went on. When I glanced up, I could see the captain's
penis standing upright and tenting his pants, but he seemed content to
simply touch it lightly through the fabric while I gave his feet a complete
tongue washing. While this went on, I noticed the captain refill his glass
with whiskey time after time.

Suddenly I was once again grabbed by the collar and pulled up toward the
captain's chest. He had removed his suit jacket and was now pulling off his
red tie. In a commanding voice, he said, "Unbutton my shirt, boy." I
focused on each button. This didn't seem like such an onerous task. Once
his white shirt was pulled open, it revealed a ribbed white athletic shirt
underneath. He pulled the fabric of the undershirt up above his nipples,
revealing the thick layer of fur that covered his gut and his chest. He
pushed my face down against his nipple and ordered me to lick it. "You can
even bite it if you like, boy. I can take it."

I had hardly begun licking his nipple when he pushed my face down just a
bit lower. His pecs must have been impressive when he was younger, but now
the thickly haired mounds were sagging. I had to use my tongue to lick
under the folds of flesh. Then he shoved my face right into his armpit. His
body odor was thick and manly. "It's your job to worship your master,
boy. Make sure you thank your master for everything he gives you. Tell your
master how much you worship his manly body."

As I licked the day's worth of sweat from under his armpit, I was
stammering, "Th-thank you, Master, for allowing your lowly slave to taste
your sweat. Th-thank you for allowing me to feel your hairy chest against
my face, M-master..."

He was laughing maniacally now. "As you do this every day and as you repeat
that every day it will become true, boy. Science has shown that the mind
convinces itself that what it repeats and what it hears over and over must
be true. And it will be true for you, my little slaveboy. When you serve me
in the shower and you serve Master Brad in his shower, using your soapy
hands and your sweet tongue to clean every inch of our bodies..."

My face was still buried in his left armpit, my mouth full of his sweaty
pit hair, and as he gasped I thought he was having a heart attack. Suddenly
he grabbed me by the collar. I don't know when he unzipped his pants but
now his penis was sticking straight up stiff and thick. He pushed my face
down on his hard cock so that his rod slid deep into my mouth. I couldn't
breathe. My nose was pushed into his belt buckle. My lips were pressed into
his zipper. His massive cock was pushing hard against the back of my
throat. He was pushing my head down and moving his hips up at the same
time. Thankfully it took less than a minute for the captain to shoot a load
of cum down my throat. I tried to swallow as best I could, but my throat
muscles didn't work right against the insistent pressure from the cockhead.

Finally, he pulled out of my mouth slowly and looked down at me, chuckling
softly. "Ah yes, those lips are as nice as I knew they would be. But don't
fret, little fella, your master has taken a pill so I'll stay hard all
night long. Now let's get you into the nice comfy bed."

I rose from the floor, wiping away the captain's cum from my lips. So much
was new to me. So much was frightening. But the one question I was most
aware of: Why did I have an erection? My slave briefs had been pulled down
in the back for the spanking my master had given me. But the white fabric
was bunched up in the front, still wrapped around my cock. As I rose from
the floor I became aware that my penis was totally stiff and tenting out
the underpants. I was also aware that the fabric was virtually transparent
because of the large wet spot of pre-cum that had soaked through.

Captain Winston stood beside his large bed. He was barefoot. His pants were
open, his penis sticking out of his fly, and his shirt was pulled open. He
looked at me as if I should understand what to do next. Then, his voice
filled with impatience, he snapped, "Undress your master, boy."

Dutifully, I took off his white dress shirt and folded it as neatly as I
could. Then I peeled up his undershirt and folded that on top of his
shirt. I undid his belt and then the snap on his pants. He was already
unzipped, so I just peeled the gray slacks down his legs and then folded
them neatly with the other clothes. He had pushed his large cock back
inside his white boxer shorts, but the thin fabric couldn't hide the
outline of the half-erect organ. I was about to peel down his boxers, but
he put his large hand on my wrist to stop me.

"Leave it like that, little buddy," he chuckled softly. "We can pretend for
a moment you're not a slave. We can pretend that it's just a man and a boy
who like each other together in their underpants."

What planet was the captain pretending we were on? A man and a boy who like
each other and are together in their underpants? A cute teen boy with a
hard athletic body who actually wants to be undressed for the sexual
pleasure of a man like Captain Winston? I tried to force a smile.

It was as if he could read my mind. He grinned broadly and put an arm
around my shoulders as he said, "You're thinking that if you weren't a
slave you would never want to take off your clothes and let me do these
things to your sweet body. Is that it, boy?" I just looked down at the
floor, not knowing how to answer his question. That's when he began
tickling my hardon through the fabric of my white briefs. He wasn't jerking
me off. He wasn't fondling me. He was using two fingertips to tickle my
erection - and my cock throbbed in response. Then he continued, "So if
you're really as straight as you say you are, Wally, how come you have this
stiff cock here? It's not possible that your penis is fully erect and
throbbing because an old guy like me is rubbing his bare flesh against you?
It couldn't be that you're dripping pre-cum because you're thinking about
all the sex I'm going to have with you and how you will take care of my big
cock, boy?" He laughed louder than ever, then suddenly got deadly serious
and snapped, "Answer me, boy?"

"A-answer, sir?"

"Tell me why you have a hard cock, boy. Your master is demanding a truthful
answer."

"I d-d-don't know, Master."

With that I was pushed down bent forward across the bed. My butt was
sticking up at the edge of the bed. The captain grabbed a thick cane and
smacked my ass. I yowled - it was the sound a wounded animal makes and not
a human sound. The cane struck me two more times. Then I felt the captain's
hand caressing the marks that burned into my ass cheeks.

"Your master demands an answer, boy. Why do you have an erection?"

"P-p-please, Master. I d-d-don't understand it myself. Sir, I'd answer if I
could but..."

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Three more strikes of the cane. As I was gasping
for breath, the captain leaned down so that his beard was scratching
against my neck. He licked my neck lovingly and in the softest voice said,
"Come on, little fella. Be a good boy. If you do your best to give me an
honest answer, maybe I won't have to give you anymore strokes."

"M-maybe, sir... I'm n-not sure, Master... b-but maybe I'm stiff because
I'm feeling... I'm feeling..." I froze up. Could I finish the sentence?
Which would be worse - completing the end of that sentence or getting more
slashes of the cane? I felt the soft wood of the cane lightly rubbing over
my bottom, reminding me of the stripes that were already throbbing.

With a sob in my voice I blurted out, "Maybe my cock is stiff because I
feel so vulnerable. I feel I am totally in your power, Master!"

No sooner had the captain said, "Good boy!" than he started to cane my
bottom again. This time he left four more stripes on my ass cheeks. And
this time I just couldn't control myself. I felt my balls pull up tight
against my body and I felt my cock shooting spurt after spurt of my own hot
cream. I hadn't even touched my penis but I shot a load of cum just from
having the captain rip through my ass with a cane.

"Heheheh." There was the captain's skin-crawling laugh. "You were born to
be a slave, Wally. Queer bottom boys are happiest when they're slaves. And
we both know what you are." He paused and then said, "Tell me, boy. Tell me
what you are."

"I'm a queer bottom boy, Master."

When I rolled from my spot on the edge of the bed I revealed the large
patch of cum I had shot during my caning. The captain snapped his fingers
and pointed to the wet spot. He didn't have to give me a verbal command. I
understood that he wanted me to clean it up with my tongue.