Date: Fri, 9 Sep 2005 06:06:21 -0700 (PDT) From: Steam Train Subject: A Middle Class Slave Revisited A Middle Class Slave Revisited By Steam Train (steam_t2000@yahoo.com) One of the most prolific and best writers of Slave stories is Pete Brown ( petebrownuk@yahoo.com ). His story `A Middle Class Slave' has long fascinated me. It can be found at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories. It ends with the principal character Steve Wright serving as a slave caddy for the Piney Hills Golf Club. I approached Pete with the idea that this story had the potential to be taken further, as the eventual fate of Steve was left up in the air at the end of what Pete had written. I asked Pete if he was interested in taking the story further but he had moved on and his imagination was not aroused by the thought of revisiting this story. He did however encourage me to write a sequel to his story if I wished. So with his permission I have made such an attempt. What follows is my own thoughts of where the story might go not Pete's. I cannot hope to write to the standard Pete achieves in the best of his stories but I hope that for those of you who have read the original story, you find something of interest in this sequel. Steam Chapter 1: Piney Hills Golf Course. My transfer as a slave from Green Bay Farms to the Piney Hills Golf Club had been one of those events in your life that looking back you realise had been a stroke of good luck for you. When I first arrived I was reunited with my slave lover Matt. He had been a slave at Green Bay Farms with me but we had been separated into different coffles and lost contact. I had thought that we had lost contact with each other for good, but he had been transferred to Piney Hills some time before I had. At Piney Hills, I was no longer constantly shackled to a working coffle where I was punished for the slightest slacking off in work effort. As a caddy at the Piney Hills Golf Course I had a lot more freedom. True I often worked 72 holes in a day and whilst this was hard work, I was very fit and out on the course carrying my masters golf bag it was pretty pleasant with only rare occasions when you received much in the way of physical punishment. Ok, it was not quite so good during the middle of the week when the course often got a lot of retired folk who could not walk far around the course and so I had to pull them around in golf carts. The older guys liked to steer you around the course by reins attached to each end of the bit. You can't speak at all, with the bit in your mouth holding your tongue down, and they even gave the masters light whips to "encourage" you. Some of the old guys are regular "drivers", and get a real satisfaction from treating you like a pony, pulling your head from side to side to steer you, pulling hard back to make you stop, and then whipping your ass to make you move faster if you're not quick enough off the mark. It was not as pleasant as carrying a golf bag but still a lot bet ter than working the farm in a coffle. I was 27 years old when I was transferred to Piney Hills. It had been five years since I had been enslaved for the rest of my natural life for intercourse outside marriage leading to unwanted conception. Matt, very early on after my transfer had warned me that whilst we remained relatively young, and kept ourselves in reasonable shape, we would probably do the caddying for quite a few years. However we had to ensure we did special exercises. Even though we did lots of exercise every day walking around the course carrying bags or pulling trolleys, with our arms chained to the side of our bodies all day, it was essential we do push-ups and stuff like that at night, to keep our biceps and upper bodies nicely firm. Matt had quickly noticed that too many of the other guys just let themselves go, and ended up with huge thighs and asses, and tiny skinny tops. He had noticed and I soon discovered he was right, that they didn't last long at the course after that.!" After only three years, Matt, myself and twenty-seven other slaves remained of the original fifty slaves that had been caddies when I was first transferred. The cold stabbing fear of what was to be my eventual end always resurfaced when one of the caddies was removed from our ranks. With our bodies tattooed and ornamented like they were, we were pretty much useless for anything else. Matt was convinced that our ultimate doom was to work in the mines till our eventual demise. This thought always sent that cold stabbing feeling right through my heart. My life at Piney Hills followed the same pattern day in and day out. It was difficult keeping track of time but the change in seasons sort of kept you in tough with where you were in relation to the year and occasionally you heard snippets of conversations between masters and very vaguely this kept me in some knowledge of the important events that were happening in the world. Over the years of my enslavement I had gotten used to many aspects of being a slave. One aspect I outright enjoyed and I was sure I would not have swapped even for my freedom was Matt. Matt was my greatest of pleasures, the love of my life. Every day as I walked the course my thoughts lingered on the evening to come and the evening just gone. I would not have known the joy of a male companion if I had nor been enslaved. I had two older brothers, Michael and William, but we had never shared any brotherly love like I had seen the two brothers who were my masters at Green Bay Farms share between themselves. There was of course still the other side of being a slave that I don't think I could ever get over. Even after all these years of enslavement I still found it totally degrading to be a naked, tattooed, ornamented animal that was kept on the course for the pleasure of the player's. These players were mostly visitors, complete strangers who would pull you around the course by your cock, given half the chance. Almost none of them would ever consider speaking to me; after all, I was I am sure in their minds nothing more than a mere dumb animal. There was the very rare exception to this rule. The masters that did speak to me were almost always from the north and the conversations were always very brief. `Slave did you see where my ball went" "Boy come here with those clubs", never anything like a proper two-way conversation. I saw occasionally my two masters from Green Bay Farms as they played the course. If they recognised me through all my tattooing and ornamentation they never acknowledged it. Once I even caddied for the younger brother, but all morning as we walked the course, he just looked straight through me as if I was not there. I of course was not permitted to say anything to him unless spoken to and I was never spoken too. Then there was Master Booth who mostly made fortnightly visits to the course. He was a man of stature. He had a commanding presence and a manner that exuded power, confidence and self-assurance. He also showed some compassion for us slave caddies. I had noticed how he often thought enough of his caddy to stand them in the shade of a tree and allowed them watering at the ninth. Over the first years of my service at the course, I caddied a few times for Master Booth. He had a great liking of taking your cock in his hand and guiding you around the course. He was gentle but persistent in this desire. If he felt me nearing an ejaculation he would ease off for a while but then when the urge had subsided he would resume his handling of my cock on his walk around the course. One day in about my third year of service as he stood looking down the 4th fairway and pondering his next club selection, he turned and asked me for my opinion. No one before him, if they had talked at all to me had ever asked for my advice. Strange, as I had never considered it, but after five years of walking the course over and over I knew almost every blade of grass, every hillock, every trap. "Master, I would suggest you lay up short on the fairway of that large tree to the right of the fairway about in line with the water trap on the left. If you do so you will have an easy chip in to the green and avoid the hidden bunkers that line the front of the green". The way he looked at me a sudden surge of fear swept over me. Had I said too much? He did ask me a question didn't he? I was compelled to answer a master's question was I not? "How long have you worked this course boy?" he asked. "Master, three years I think sir" I politely replied". "Damm, why didn't I think of this earlier, I could have saved a lot of frustration on this course if I had had good advice all these years I have been playing here". That was a statement not a question I decided, so I stood awaiting further instructions. My advice proved invaluable and soon he was see\king my advice at all the holes of the course. At the twelfth hole my new found enjoyment at being asked for my opinion after nearly ten years of mindless slavery seemed to be coming to an abrupt end. I was convinced I was heading for my worst punishment since leaving Green Bay Farms when the course Slave Master approached Master Booth and asked him if there were problems with the slave caddy. "Problems?" Master Booth asked. "Yes sir, I have had reports that this slave here has been talking to you. I apologise sir for this insolence on behalf of the club. Rest assured sir I will have his tongue cut out for this repulsive behaviour towards you sir" the Slave Master replied. My tongue! Fear gripped me. With a laugh Master Booth replied, "Oh is that all, no he has only spoken because I have asked him a direct question. Do you know, I'm having my best game ever on this course and I have played it nearly every second week for years Your caddies a goldmine of advice on how to play the course Have you ever considered training some of the caddies specifically to do this on a regular basis for the members?" "Why no sir I don't believe the club ever has, but thank you for you suggestion", the slightly flushed Slave Master replied. Obviously from his body language he was of the firm opinion slaves should be seen but not heard.' I was left on my own with Master Booth for the rest of the round. He even thanked me quietly for my assistance as he took himself off to enjoy the 19th hole. The look I received that afternoon from the Slave Master as I sat in the caddies chorale awaiting my next master was almost of hate. But he said nothing. The next morning as all the caddies were being prepared to be led out for the new day to the chorale, we were all fitted with mouth gags similar to the bits that were fitted when we pulled the golf carts. With these fitted they held your tongue down and you were unable to speak at all. When we arrived at the chorale there was a freshly painted sign clearly visible to all players near the chorale fence stating that members and visitors were reminded that slave caddies were unable to speak as it distracted them from their duties. Then to my shock it went on via words and diagrams to show how there was no need to talk to caddies at all and showed how caddies could be steered around the course by our cocks. I had been told by the Slave Master when I first arrived that part of our purpose as slave caddies was to help increase the acceptability of slavery amongst the middle-class players who visited the club from the north. This was achieved by presenting the slave caddies as 'objects', slaves that have been so dehumanised by the ringing and tattooing, that the northern visitors would find it easier to accept the concept of using slaves for menial tasks. The Save Master had obviously, like I suspected yesterday back at the twelfth hole, not liked Master Booths idea of caddies providing playing advice during the round. Two weeks later I was waiting with a Master at the first tee when Master Booth walked past the Pro shop on his way to prepare for his round of golf. As I was walking off with my master down the first fairway I saw him return from the direction of the caddy chorale, even from that distance I could see he was fuming with anger. I noticed Master Booth a few more times over the next months, but I never directly caddied for him. Then one day as we were being prepared in the morning as usual for the days caddying, there were no mouth guards for some of us. The Save Master entered and called out ten slave numbers, which included both Matts and mine. In fact most of the longer serving caddies who were in any way articulate were in the group. Fear spread quickly over me. Was this the end? Was I being sent off to the mines? I was still fit, I must only have been about thirty and I expected to be able to work as a caddy at least till I was forty. "Right, follow me" the Slave Master ordered. He led us out, down the corridor past the "infirmary and in through the next door to a small room that had a white board on a stand at the other end. Once we were all standing submissively he ordered, "Pay attention. The board of the club has decided to create a new specialist caddy type. You ten have been selected to be the initial intake. Now I will tell you right from the start I don't agree with this, but the board has ignored my advice". You ten caddies have been approved by the board to give advice on club selection and ball positioning during the course of a round however you are still strictly forbidden to speak to a master unless explicitly asked and then only to discuss matters of golf play. Is that understood?" "Master, yes sir" we all replied. The rest of that day and the next were taken up with classroom lectures on correct speech and refresher courses on proper slave behaviour as was usually applied to domestic house slaves not outdoor slaves. We also had practical walks through each hole on the course with the Assistant Professional and the Slave Master discussing course features, club selection and playing recommendations. The club board must have sensed that we would be seen by the visiting players as more than just objects or animals if we gave advice because all ten of us were issued with khaki shorts emblazoned with the Piney Hills logo and with black stripes designed to match the striping of our body tattoos. The front of the shorts though had an open pocket that allowed any master easy access to out cocks for directing us around the course if they so wished. It was the first time I had worn clothing of any sort in about eight years. It felt totally strange, even uncomfortable to have my cock and balls constrained within those shorts. It was almost a relief when some master pulled them out through the front of the shorts. The fact that ten of us now got to wear shorts didn't prove too much of a problem for the other forty caddies either. Yes they were jealous but the Slave Master soon discovered there was keen competition amongst the forty normal caddies to aspire to be an `Advice Caddy' or Alpha Caddy as we slaves named the role. The threat of loss of status to an `Alpha Caddy' was often as good a deterrent as the threat of a good whipping. The new scheme quickly proved to be a big success. Word soon spread that with the help of an Advice Caddy' your score was almost certain to improve. We could still be used as normal caddies if our expertise was not required, however as our services were so soon in high demand, this hardly ever happened to any of us Alpha Caddies. We also came at a premium price if our course expertise was being used and we had a small separated section of the caddy chorale to sit in when not being used. The next time Mr Booth came to play I was sitting in the `Course Advice Caddies Section' awaiting my next job I saw Mr Booth take out a notebook and scower the chorale. He looked right at me then his eyes moved on. Eventually he called out my slave number and asked if I was present. I stood immediately and took up my servants position, head bowed. "Come here boy," he ordered. I walked towards Master Booth and stood in my servant's position immediately before him. He reached over and removed my shorts, my cock springing out to it's usual semi erect position now free of the constraints of the shorts. I heard the muffled sounds of a few giggles from the other caddies as I was exposed. In the short time since I had been issued with shorts they had become a big status symbol amongst the caddies and having to stand there and be stripped made me blush unexpectantly. I had thought that after eight years of total nudity I was passed blushing. I learnt then how quickly you could adapt back to your old life styles of modesty if allowed. He placed my shorts over the chorale rail and pulling me by my cock led me away. I was soon fitted up with his golf bag and setting off to the first tee. "Darn if I can tell the difference in all you caddies, you all look the same. If it wasn't for your slave number branded on your arm I could never tell you apart. As to why you would cover over with shorts such a fine specimen of flesh I have no idea, you look much better this way" he stated. Again it was a statement and I made no reply though I could feel my face blushing again at his statement about my body. I also noticed the Slave Master standing to the side with a wide smirk on his face due no doubt to my obvious blushing embarrassment and taking a keen interest in my behaviour. I was very careful to do everything he expected of me and nothing more. Master Booth had another good round that day and was very satisfied with my services. Over the following months I became his regular caddy. He would seek me out and later he began ringing ahead to the pro Shop and booking my services in advance. The Slave Master did not approve of this but was not able to challenge Master Booth's obvious authority to have these added privileges. Though I was always totally naked when I caddied for Master Booth, this change in my fortunes made my time at Piney Hills even more bearable. In my own mind and my own self-esteem, it raised me up slightly from being nothing more than a naked, tattooed, ornamented animal. When you have something to aspire too, no matter how trivial, in a life of total monotony, it brings a refreshing change. This single idea of Advice Caddies by Master Booth, which he took to the Board and had approved, had much wider effects upon the lives and mental well being of all the slave caddies than Master Booth, the Club Board or any of the free members and visitors to the club could have imagined. End Chapter 1 (Part 10 Continuance of Original)