Date: Mon, 18 Oct 2004 22:07:31 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: Four The Same, Part Two

FOUR THE SAME    by Pete Brown    petebrownuk @
yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part Two

I was of course intrigued to hear about the
circumcision - I was done as a baby, as so many, many
men are, and so had no direct personal experience of
the operation.  But I do not need to bore my readers
with the tedious details that the slave narrated to
me.  Suffice it to say that he was, at the time, so
very, very unhappy about it.  Not only did the
operation itself hurt him physically (it was
considered a "simple" one, to be performed quickly,
and so no money was wasted on anaesthetic), but
emotionally he felt as if some part of his being as a
man had been stripped away.  It was explained to him,
he told me, that all his master's slaves were 'skinned
as not only was this the general custom for males in
this country, but that his master did not anyway agree
with the concept that a slave could have the right to
hide any part of his anatomy from his master:  the
dick head therefore had to be visible at all times.
It was also universally considered there that a slave
whose usage was to be primarily sexual needed
'skinning as it gave the dick a generally sleeker,
more "modern" look, that was generally more attractive
when the dick was not fully erect,  and so it was in
the best interests of those who would use him, and the
slave himself.

In any event, the slave was not allowed to rest after
the operation as his training had to proceed, along
with that of his companions, as their master had set a
very tight time limit for it to be complete.  They all
started exercising therefore with two of the slaves
wearing just a small surgical plaster on their dicks,
and all were otherwise totally naked.

It seems that there was a brutal regime in force to
ensure that the slaves worked hard - guards and
overseers watched the slaves intently, and at the
first sign of any slacking, canes and lashes were used
to "encourage" the sweating men.  They raced around an
oval track for hours, with the guards "moving them
along" at the chosen pace, and then, when leg muscles
were totally exhausted, the slaves were allowed to
rest briefly before being moved on to the upper-body
strengthening programme.  It was, he told me, fairly
standard - heavy weights to be lifted, rowing
machines, push-ups - almost like at his sports club
back home, except for the ever present canes and
lashes to ensure that the pace was maintained.    The
slave confessed to me that he had never known that he
had the ability to exercise so hard for so long,
"encouraged" as he was by the use of physical
chastisement.  He had been "in shape" before, and had
thought that he had stamina and the will to push his
body to the limit;  now he knew that he had been
wrong, and that there was a limit that the body can go
to that is beyond anything that the brain can drive it
to;  only the application of hard, physical punishment
could push him through the barrier and on to a higher
plane of activity and fitness.

He told me that at the end of the first day they were
totally exhausted, tired in a way that none of them
had ever known, or had even imagined, before.  In
addition to the constant complaints from every muscle
in their bodies, there was a background of agony from
the almost first-degree burns from their skin, where
the fierce sun had struck them.  And, of course, as if
all that was not enough, they had weals and abrasions
from the canes and lashes that had driven them on and
on.  They were simply at the end of their physical
abilities, and the guards had to cane them further to
make them eat their evening's ration of slave chow -
all they wanted to do was to slump in total
exhaustion, but, of course, their master required them
to eat in order to give them fresh reserves of energy
for the following day, and to provide nourishment for
the new musculature they were building.

As they lay together that first night they no longer
cared about being naked with each other, even though
they were in a closeness which in their former lives
they would all have found repellent.  Each man was so
wrapped up in his own world of pain that the presence
of another naked guy, or a guy's cock, made no
difference to him.

This training regime was in force for around three
weeks, he told me, and at the end the "shaping" and
toning that had gone on, coupled with the action of
the sun in turning them an even shade of dark brown
all over,  had finally turned them into almost
identical clones of each other.  "Indeed", he said,
almost proudly, "We were as alike as four identical
quads from the same parents.  Our owner had really
succeeded in his plan, even though it was very, very
hard on us.  And, of course, it continues - we all
have to work out every day, have to keep ourselves
tanned, and the slave boys keep us all completely
hairless, as you can see".

Whereas the slave seemed happy to talk about this
gruelling physical training, I was more interested in
hearing in the other important aspects of his life:
all the way through his narrative so far he'd been at
pains to emphasise how he was "straight", and
exhibited almost a revulsion at the thought of proper,
man-to-man, sex!  He seemed so focussed on telling me
about the women he'd fucked, about how he'd even
avoided looking at the bodies of other men in showers
at his sports club, that I wondered how on earth he
had been changed so radically.  Having fucked him, and
having had him ride my dick, I could tell that he
actually enjoyed proper sex:  this was no slave who
was pleasuring me because he feared punishment the
following day!  No, this was a man in the prime of his
life using his body to bring joy to another, but at
the same time revelling in the experience for its own
sake, and enjoying it almost as much as I was.  I
questioned him about this, and I think it is easier if
I continue to pass on to you his words almost verbatim
- many years of attending meetings with important
customers have given me the power of almost total
recall of conversations, and this is proving useful as
I now record this material.

THE SLAVE'S STORY CONTINUES

Well, we got used to the unrelenting physical
training, and that, coupled with the feeding of the
slave chow, gave us all that same "look", the body
you're experiencing now, sir.  We'd all got used to
being totally naked all the time, too - it's hard at
first, you know:  not only do you not like other men
looking at you, but there's a problem when you're
running and stuff as your balls bounce up and down and
slap against your thighs.  Even though  I was a
sportsman, I was used to wearing a jock or shorts with
built-in supporters, and until you get used to being
totally naked at all times, it hurts!  There was also
the problem of our hair re-growing:  The young boys
continued to work on us in the showers, and every two
or three days we had to contend with the utter
humiliation of standing there as they again turned our
stubbly pits, pubes and asses into perfectly smooth
flesh.  Mind you, if you have ever shaved your hair
off, particularly the hair in your ass, you'll know
that re-shaving it is no bad thing - when it starts to
re-grow, the stubble digs into the other side of your
ass, and it can be at first painful and then
constantly itchy, so I suppose I'm glad that I'm kept
this way, really.

At night the four of us could now huddle together
without embarrassment, and we'd got used to seeing
each other with erections, and even to jerking
ourselves off with the other guys there.  Well, I
mean, we were always together, without a scrap of
privacy, so if you didn't jerk off with the other guys
there, you'd never be able to do it.  And, well, you
know, I'm only twenty-two, and a guy my age likes to
jerk off a lot.....  I don't think we thought much
about it, actually:  one you're used to being nude,
and being with other guys all the time, it kind of
gets natural to do everything that you previously
regarded as intimate - like crapping , for example  -
in plain sight of your fellows.  The guards didn't
seem even to look as we crouched there over a shit
pit, and I now know that it's because they don't
consider us as men - we are slaves, and slaves have no
rights, no need for privacy, no requirement to do
anything at all out of sight of free men.

All four of us were straight guys, though, and we'd
never had sex with another man before.  So, O K, now
we saw each other jerking off, and occasionally we
couldn't help our dicks brushing against another guy's
body, but we never made a big thing of it, never did
it deliberately, never tried to feel another guy's
private parts.   No, we were straight, and we'd live
like that until we escaped or were rescued, we
reckoned.

In the fourth week, though, there was a change in our
routine. Instead of being taken out to the exercise
track or the gym, we were taken up a floor in the huge
building and into a room that was vaguely
"comfortable" - I distinctly remember the strange
feeling of carpet against my bare feet.  The lighting
was soft, and in the middle of one wall there was a
large conventional double bed, with snowy-white sheets
on it.  The guards fussed around and cuffed our wrists
behind our backs - not with conventional steel cuffs
as you see the police using, but with bands of soft
leather that went around our wrists and which then
clipped together with a steel snap fastening. We all
stood there, gently tugging at our bonds, and it
seemed that the intention was to keep us completely
restrained without there being any risk of us injuring
ourselves by straining at bare metal.  Having done the
job to their satisfaction, the guards then led us over
to one wall where there were four hooks at
approximately waist level, and our cuffed wrists were
attached to the hooks so that we were standing against
the wall, unable to move, but to observe whatever
happened on the bed.

We stood there for I don't know how long, and of
course we'd long since learned not to speak to each
other at times like this (the only times we could
speak were, basically, when we were w in our cell at
night.  At all other times there guards were
listening, or there were hidden microphones.)  So we
just stood there, shuffling our feet gently to keep
the circulation going, and wondering what was going to
happen next.

The man who came in was an American, as was obvious
from his accent as soon as he wished us all a "How you
doing?" in a deep, confident voice.  Now I'm six two,
but this guy was bigger by an a couple of inches at
least, and he was proportionately large, with a
massive chest and arms that looked as if every muscle
had a life of its own.  He was wearing a checked shirt
and Jeans, which revealed leather boots as he strode
across the room towards us.

"Right, you boys", he told us.  "I'm employed by your
owner to teach you boys a thing or two about the way
men have fun together.  Under my expert guidance,
you're going to learn how to be experts at man to man
sex - all aspects of it.  And lesson one, this
morning, is about cock sucking.  Now, how many of you
have sucked cock before?  You may speak, even though
you're slaves."

We all shook our heads, and Marc, who can be a bit of
a hot head, said "No way, we're all straight..."

The guy strode over to Marc and slapped him, hard,
very hard, on the face.  I saw Marc's flesh redden
under the impact of the blow, and the guy said "Now,
boys, there's lesson one for you.  You're fucking
slaves, right?  And slaves keep a civil tongue in
their head.  Free men, like me, are always referred to
as 'sir' or 'master', and you answer questions
politely, without any stupid displays of emotion as we
just witnessed."

"Now, I asked you if you'd ever sucked cock before
I'm not interested in whether you're straight, gay, or
if you like fucking sheep!  I'm just interested to
know if you've ever had that most sublime part of
another man between your lips before, or do we all
start at ground zero in this....?  Well, all except
for me, that is!"

He glared at us as he said this, and we all kind of
muttered "No, sir."

"So have any of you ever taken a man's dick up your
ass?"

Another chorus of "No", this time, probably a little
louder.

"So have any of you studs ever fucked a guy's mouth,
or his ass?"

Again, no.

"Finally, then, have any of you ever wanted to do any
of those things?  Or were you just scared about what
your buddies might say if you told them you'd like to
know what it felt like to have a big juicy man dick to
play with?"

We all almost shouted "No, sir" this time, and he
smiled.  "Well, boys", he replied, "You're in for
interesting times, then."

He looked us all up and down, and mused to himself
"Well, they're all so alike, I suppose it doesn't
matter where I start.  So let's have this one...."

He came over to me and my cuffs were unhooked from the
wall, and the motioned for me to move to the centre of
the room, and then curtly told me to kneel.  When I
hesitated, only just for an instant, he slapped me
hard on first one side of the face, and then the other
- my head reeled from the force of the blows.

"Listen, you young fucker, when a man, a real man,
tells you to do something, you obery, and you obey
instantly.  Or there'll be more of that, understand?"

I didn't realise I was meant to reply, and two more
blows sent me staggering.  I recovered, and said "Yes,
sir."

"Right, boy, on your knees then...."

I knelt there, and felt rather stupid kneeling on the
carpet.  The man came over and stood right in front of
me, then reached down and pulled my head into the
crotch of his Jeans.

Now I've smelt my own clothes before, and sometimes,
like all guys do, have sniffed at my underwear when
I've been wondering whether there's another day's wear
left in them.   The whiff I got as his strong hands
held my head there was like all of that - piss, sweat,
and something more, some indefinable essence of
maleness.  He held me, and there was no way I could
pull away, even had I wanted to - I just had to
breather in this heady mixture of man scents.  At the
same time, I was very aware of "something" against my
cheek, pressing in to it through the Jeans.  It could
only be his dick, and the longer I knelt there, the
more prominent it seemed to get - oh, sweet Jesus...
he was having an erection, and didn't mind me knowing
it!

He rubbed himself against my face, continuing to press
my nose into his crotch, and I heard him saying "You
like this, don't you, boy?  You like a real man to put
his scent on you, to make you worship his cock..."

I knew he wanted me to reply when he pushed me
backwards and slapped me hard on the face again.  "The
next time you don't answer me, boy, I'll whip you.
Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

As I knelt there, helpless to do anything against this
big guy, cuffed as I was, I saw him undo his belt and
push down his Jeans.  Underneath he was naked, and his
cock was a large and substantial as the rest of him.
I'd never been this close to another man's cock
before, and I was surprised at the scent of it that
wafted towards me, that smell that I suppose I'd
smelled on myself when my crotch was hot and sweaty,
but which I'd never considered might be common to all
men.  I was almost hypnotised as he stood there in
front of me, his cock gradually swelling, as he took
the wide leather belt out from the loops on his Jeans.
 He wrapped one end of it around his hand once, and
muttered, as if to himself, "I think this one's
probably going to need a little encouragement!", and
he vaguely swished it through the air.

He was fully erect now, and to my horror I heard "Cone
on, boy, come and kiss my cock..."

"Please, sir, please don't make me do that.  I'm not a
fag, sir, I don't go with other men...."

"Boy, you have ten seconds, before you feel this belt
on you.  I don't care if you're a fag or not.  I don't
care if you don't go with other men - you do now!
Now, come here and kiss my cock.  I want you to
worship it.  I want you to taste my manhood...."

He'd raised the belt in a very threatening way as he
spoke, and I just knew that either I'd better do as he
said, or he'd beat me, and then I'd have to do it.
Very reluctantly, my stomach protesting and almost
making me want to throw up as I did so, I leaned
forward towards him.  His cock seemed to become the
sole focus of my life as it loomed in front of me, and
with a lot of hesitation I finally pressed my lips to
his cock head.

Actually, you know how it is - a man's cock is so warm
and soft that it comes a a surprise, doesn't it?  I
mean, you don't think it's going to be like that at
all, do you?  It's rather like touching a snake, only
in a different way - you expect it to be all slimy and
cold, whereas it's dry and warm.  At the same time, I
was now so close to him that this man smell was
completely overpowering, and my nose was assailed by
the scent of his sweat and his pheromones flooding
from the sweat glands in his crotch.  I pulled my lips
away, surprised at what I had been able to do.

"Good boy!  Now, again, kiss my cock again, worship
it, let your tongue play over it.... And boy, when
you're worshipping cock, it's polite to look up at
your master to make sure it's pleasing him...."

I did as I was told, staring up at his eyes as he
towered over me, and starting, hesitantly at first,
and then with more confidence, to lick at first his
head, and then his shaft.  It felt so odd to have a
man's wiry pubic hair scraping my nose as my tongue
ran up and down his shaft, and the closer I got to
him, the more I was turned on by his powerful scent.

"Good boy.... You like that, don't you....."

I managed to mutter "Yes, sir...." And he responded by
reaching down and pressing my head close in to him
with his massive hands.  His cock was pushed against
the side of my face, and he moved my head up and down
slightly so that I almost massaged him with my cheeks,
and at the same time my nose was buried deep in to the
area between his cock and his balls.

"Good boy..... Now take your master's cock in your
mouth, and suck...."

The pressure of his hands relaxed, and I opened my
mouth and let the warm, moist head in between my lips.
 Almost as if some strange instinct was driving me, I
ran my tongue over the head as it was inside me, and
as the tip of it probed at his piss slit, I got that
first exotic taste of pre-cum as he started to leak
slightly into me.

"Good boy...", he was crooning.  "Keep looking at
me.... And really massage my cock with those lips and
that tongue of yours.  And keep your teeth well away
from it, boy, unless you want a thrashing...."

With his cock in my mouth I couldn't reply or even
acknowledge his command, and he didn't seem to expect
me to.  His hands now rested on my naked shoulders,
holding my body still as I knelt there, and he started
to gently thrust his cock into and out of my mouth.  I
kept my lips locked around his cock as it as it
pistoned in and out, and had that wonderful sensation
of the meaty flange pushing against the inside of my
mouth before thrusting in again.   I suppose I was
enjoying it, until he started to thrust in too deep
and I just couldn't take the thickness and the length
- I started to gag and choke.

He stopped at once, pulled out and let me recover,
then said, calmly but insistently,  "Go down on my
cock again, boy.... Please me.... Tease me.... Down on
my cock, boy...."

I leaned forward more eagerly this time, and bathed
his cock with my spit as my tongue raced over it.
Then, almost greedily, I started to take it in my
mouth to suck it, nibble gently at the flange, and
tease the piss slit with my tongue tip.

"Good boy... You're a real young cock sucker, aren't
you....? That's right.... Please your master...."

I tasted again that odd taste of pre-cum:  not sweet,
not sour, not anything, really.  And all the time I
was aware of his sheer presence, the power of his body
towering over me, his male scent driving me on.

Then he pulled out, quite suddenly.  "Good progress,
boy!  But you may be too good - I don't want to cum
yet.  Now stay there...."

He bent down to take something out of the pocket of
his discarded Jeans, and came back.  Reaching down, he
started to fasten something around my neck.  "Keep
still!", he snapped as I instinctively moved back as
something cold touched my flesh.  "This is a training
collar.  We're going to move on to cock sucking stage
two, and normally a boy has a head of hair I can grab
hold of to guide him.  But as you're shaved smooth,
this collar does the job, as well as looking rather
erotic.  See, it's quite soft, so it won't mark
you.... Not too tight, is it?  I need you to be able
to breathe well..."

"No, sir."

"Good.  Well, here's what we're going to do.... Come
over onto the bed, and lie on your belly, boy."

He himself went and knelt on the bed, and positioned
me to lie in front of him so that I could easily reach
his cock.

"Now, boy, you're going to go down on my cock again.
But a moment ago you started retching and heaving when
I was barely half way in, and a boy has got to learn
to take all his master's member deep down into his
throat.  So we're going to practice....  You're going
to put your mouth around my cock, then I'm going to
press it in, all the way.   You'll try to resist, to
jerk away as your gag reflex cuts in, but you won't b
able to - you're lying on your belly, cuffed, and I'm
going to be holding the handles on your collar and
holding you in close to me.... Now I've done this to
boys lots of times before, and they all wriggle and
squirm as if their lives depended on it, which is what
their body is telling their brain!  But be careful,
boy.... No teeth..... I had one boy so desperate once
that he bit down on me, and I then had to rip his
balls off....  So struggle all you like, choke, gag,
vomit, even (although you'll be made to eat it up if
you do) - I've got you held tight by the training
collar, and it won't do you any good...."

"Get on my cock, boy.....", he commanded, and I
shuffled forward slightly on my belly, dreading what
was to come, and feeling my own cock, which
unaccountably had started to go erect as he spoke,
scraping across the surface of the bed.   It's funny
how you remember something like that, isn't it?  The
feeling of the rough material of the bedcover against
my own cock head.

I closed my lips around his cock, and started to tease
the head with my tongue, as if I could in some way
postpone the evil moment.  But he was pushing
relentlessly inwards, and I tried to move my head
back, only to find that the man's strong hands
gripping the collar around my neck prevented it.

"Easy, boy... .take it down... Take it all the way
down....."

His cock head touched the back of my throat and I
started to gag.  But there was no relief.  I couldn't
get it out.  I couldn't back away.  My body started to
thrash around on the bed, tossing up and down, as my
lungs tried to force air out, my throat was
contracting, and my whole brain went into spasm as
those primeval instincts to clear the throat of an
obstruction came into play.  I thrashed around harder
and harder.  Somewhere, at the back of my brain, I
knew that my whole body was covered in a sheen of
sweat, that now felt icy cold.  My eyes were
streaming.  There was a rushing and roaring in my
ears.  My voice was making utterly incoherent
strangling noises.  I was futilely tearing at the soft
leather cuffs at my wrists, desperate to get my hands
free so that I could tear at the man who was choking
me, but it was no use.

And then it was over.  I was gasping, choking,
sobbing, as I lay there in front of him.  My lungs
heaved as I sucked huge draughts of air in.  I was
gagging, and thick, slimy mucus was filling my mouth -
 a mucus that, another part of my brain reported, was
covering my master's dick still held inches from my
face. Tears were streaming down my face.  I was
sobbing, and then I heard the fateful command "Go on,
boy, back on my cock... Back on my cock, boy...."

And it began all over again.  The terror. The spasms.
The thrashing and writhing. The sobbing. The
choking..... And then the blessed relief as I sobbed
and moaned and sucked air, before I was again
commanded to go down on him again.  And all the time I
was helpless.  I couldn't move away as my master's
firm strong hands were holding the handles on the
collar around my neck.

Again and again the awful process went on, until I did
actually pass out.  Instead of letting me recover, my
master held my face pressed tightly into his crotch
with his huge cock rammed deep down my throat.  I was
long past panic.  I thought I was dying.  I'd stopped
choking and spasming as my body fought for air.... And
then, nothing.... Until I was again lying in front of
him, coming around - helped by the strong, hard slaps
to my ass that he was administering with his open
hand.

"There, boy.... Come on, boy.... Get back on my
cock...."

I managed to splutter "Please, sir, no..."

"Back on my cock, boy....."

And there was no choice, as he hauled my head back
down onto him.  But this time he didn't force himself
all the way in, and I was allowed to lick and suck at
him for several minutes, tasting my own phlegm on his
cock.   He got more and more excited, and began to
mutter  "Good boy, suck me..., yes.... oh yes...
Good boy... Come on..... Yes...."

And then his whole body went rigid, and my mouth
filled with the hot, wet, salty, sweet taste of his
cum.

He knelt there, his cock in my mouth, breathing hard,
as I lay there in front of him, tasting for the first
time another man's cum.  Or, rather, tasting cum for
the first time:  to tell you the truth, I've always
been slightly repulsed by the smell of cum, so I'd
never even tried my own.  But now I had a mouth full
of this guy's emission, and I didn't know what to do.

He rested for a few moments, then pulled himself out
of me.  "Good boy!  Now, swallow your master's gift,
and clean my cock...."

He saw the look of terror cross my face at the thought
of having to do this vile thing, and he went on
"Swallow, boy, unless you want the strap...."   And so
I did, and, of course, it wasn't terrible at all.

Remembering to look up at him, I licked at his rapidly
detumescing cock, now not minding at all the coating
of his cum that I licked off it, and as I did so he
gently rubbed his hands over my head, saying, quietly,
"Good boy, good boy,  well done for the first lesson."

Hew stood up then and led me back over to the wall and
re-attached my cuffs to the hook, then unhooked one of
my colleagues and took him to the centre of the floor,
to kneel in front of him.

"Right, boy, you've seen how it's done... We're going
to start gentle, then I'm going to give you a real
throat fucking, and then I'm going to the extreme -
I'm going to block your throat with my cock until you
pass out from lack of oxygen.  Most of the masters you
service won't want to do this, but you need to know
what happens..... Now, let's get started.... Kiss my
cock, boy, worship it....."

For the rest of the morning I stood there, watching as
all three of my companions went through the same
dreadful training as I had experienced.  It was a
relief that, in the afternoon, we just had to exercise
hard - the canes and lashes of the trainers were mild
in comparison to what we'd  gone through in the
morning.

That training went on for four days - there's nothing
you can do if a master does completely block your
throat, of course:  you will pass out eventually, and,
I guess, die if he continues.  But you can train
yourself to overcome your gag reflex, and on the last
few times we did it my hands were uncuffed.  The
American trainer guy said that he liked the way we
scrabbled at him, trying to hit his body and fight him
off as he asphyxiated us with his cock - he'd made
sure our finger nails were trimmed right down before
that lesson, so that we couldn't scratch him as we
fought futilely against him.

I've never forgotten those lessons, although,
fortunately, most of the men that I'm required to
service now don't go that far - I can take most men's
cocks right down without gagging, and it's only an
exceptional man, like you, sir, that's big enough to
cause me a problem.

Of course, if I'd have known then how terrible the
training we were to receive in fucking was to be, I'd
have been really scared.  But that was to come in the
next week, and the big American's long, fat cock was
to haunt my brain as much as it violated my ass.

End Of Part Two