Date: Fri, 16 Mar 2012 05:23:11 -0700
From: Randall Austin <randallaustin2011@hotmail.com>
Subject: One Step Behind You - Part 6

One Step Behind You

Part Six

By Randall Austin

This story is erotic fiction meant for mature readers and should only be
read by adults over the age of eighteen years old. Please do not use my
stories without my permission and please forward all comments to
randallaustin2011@hotmail.com

Randall Austin's Archive Group:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Randall_Austin_Stories


In high school we were taught that the reason the
United States of America never had a so called "great
slave revolt" when slavery was reintroduced, the way
Europe did, was because we never really had all that
many slaves per capita.  Because our society has
always tended to regard slaves as luxury items, the
economy followed suit and therefore slaves were always
quite expensive.  Thus slaves have remained a
relatively small percentage of the population. Also,
our society, unlike Europe and especially England,
was not rife with homosexuals and pedophiles and so
there was not the driving force of perverse desire
added to the general desire for the reintroduction of
slavery.  So with the high price tags on slaves, there
have never been enough slaves in a given area for
enough of them to get together and be a force to be
reckoned with.

Slaves in the United States are still very expensive.
And while the price is coming down gradually, and
despite President Tom Hank's campaign promise that his
administration would usher in an era that would see `a
slave in every household', slaves are simply still
beyond the reach of the vast majority of Americans.

So that fact tends to make me stand out whenever I go
out on errands with the Falkenberg's.  Even in high
class Collingwood only a relatively few households own
slaves.  I am something of a status symbol for Mr.
Falkenberg, and he admits it.  I am less so for Lang
because he grew up having a house slave around, and he
takes a slave's presence for granted.  When I go out
on errands with Mr. Falkenberg he likes me to stand
out and be proper in every way.  He usually makes me
wear my blue outfit.  The trousers are blue
`spankers', trimmed in gold embroidery.  The outfit is
completed with a white puffy sleeved shirt, matching
blue bum warmer jacket and bellboy hat, both trimmed
in matching gold embroidery, and black shoes.

I am totally embarrassed when I go out with him; even
driving in the car with him gets me stares.  One of
the hardest parts of my slavery for me is the fact
that I am owned by someone in the same city I grew up
in.  I live in dread of running into old
acquaintances.  While it has never happened, and our
city is just too big for that to be a common occurrence,
I nevertheless am always ill at ease on public outings
with my owners.

Mr. Falkenberg wants me well-behaved and following
strict decorum on our outings.  I have to walk to his
side, but always about two feet behind him.  I have to
keep my head held up high, and maintain a cheerful
disposition, and must appear eager and pleased to
follow out his every request.

One of my worst experiences occurred when we were in
the city's large and famous department store.  Mr.
Falkenberg asked me to go back to the entrance and
fetch a shopping cart.  As I was about to do so I saw
three students who were underclassmen at my school,
and I was too embarrassed to have them see me, so I
sort of stalled.  "Mr. Falkenberg said, "What's the
matter, boy?"   I told him I could hold his purchases
in my arms, and he told me he planned on buying a lot
and that I was to hurry and fetch a cart.  So I went
off, and purposely side tracked myself over to the
women's cosmetic's department where I could hide out
until the underclassmen stopped their chatting and
left.

When I returned with a cart about 4 minutes later, Mr.
Falkenberg was furious.  He grabbed me by the arm and
said, "Come along with me."  He took me into the men's
restroom.  It had about 15 urinals against one wall,
and against the opposite wall was a row of 15 sinks
and a giant mirror spanning the entire wall above the
sinks.  The restroom was very busy at that time of
day, with constantly moving traffic.  Every urinal was
almost constantly occupied.  The majority of people
using the urinals were students, taking advantage of
the `back to school' special sales.

Mr. Falkenberg led me to a sink, and immediately
started to unbutton the rear flap of my spankers. He
lowered my flap, pulled my undies down underneath my
bubble and told me to bend over the sink.  I was numb
with humiliation and acted slowly.  As he took out the
short tawse he always carried with him when I was
along, he said, "Do it now or you'll get double."  I
grabbed the sink and leaned over, cleanly exposing my
butt for him.  I could see in the mirror that every
guy standing at the urinals had turned his head and
was watching Mr. Falkenberg and me.  Once a guy was
finished peeing and zipped up, he would turn and
either fold his arms or put his hands on his hips and
just stand there and watch.  And the new guys entering
the restroom didn't even go to the urinals, but
stopped in their tracks, surprised, and watched me get
it.  The restroom was soon packed full.

Mr. Falkenberg began swinging the tawse.  I was
determined not to cry in front of everyone.  What was
a horrible moment for me was obviously a good bit of
unique entertainment for everyone else.
There was much laughter, as if it was funny to see
someone getting punished and humiliated.  I finally
started to howl.  The restroom echoed and amplified my
screaming.  I heard the voices of some younger kids,
"Hey, a monkey boy is getting a spanking."  Some of
them imitated my cries.  The laughter and interest and
talking grew louder along with my wailing.  When it
was over and I was getting my rear flap buttoned up
one child started playfully spanking his younger
brother and aping Mr. Falkenberg's words to me; "When
do you intend to stop acting like a free boy, young
man?"  "Do you need to spend some time in diapers?"
"I paid a lot of money for you, and I intend to get
every penny's worth out of you!"  The room was howling
at the antics of the children as Mr. Falkenberg led me
out of the restroom.

###

During most of my first year of enslavement I had a
sense in the back of my head that punishment was not
inevitable.  I tended to do what I was told and carry
out orders with the same frame of reference I had as a
free boy.  And even when I knew I didn't do things
quite the way the Falkenberg's had requested, I had a
naïve belief that whatever I did was no big deal, and
they certainly would let me off the punishment hook
and not nag me if I explained myself.

I have since learned that the rules of my life have
changed.  I know now that if things are not done as
ordered I get punished, and there is no way out of it.
So I now act always with the thought in my head, 'is
this exactly the way the Falkenberg's want it?'

When I'm in my room looking out on the street, and I
see all the free boys passing by, either walking,
riding bikes, or driving cars, life seems unfair as I
watch them and think, `They don't have to suffer
physical punishment for normal human failings, why
should I?'
`Why am I 'owned', and they are not?'  `Why can't I
walk on that street, happy, free to go wherever I want
to?'

I am finally beginning to accept the fact of my new
reality, and it is that I am simply locked into this
life.  There is no way out.  I am a slave now.  I
cannot escape it.  No one is going to come and rescue
me.  I am going to be getting spanked and punished
whenever my owners judge that I need it for the rest
of my life.  I have no life of my own, but have to
build my life around someone else's life.  I cannot
follow my own desires and dreams, and never will be
able to.  I have to obey.  I have no right to
anything.  I have no right to privacy.  I have no
right to not be humiliated and demeaned.  My role is
to serve, and only serve.

###

On the weekends Mr. Falkenberg and Lang are usually at
home all of the time, and that means I have to be
available for whatever they want.  The things they
have me do are not especially difficult, they don't
load me down with mountains of work, and they aren't
ordering me around every second of the day.  But the
very fact that if they do call for me I have to get
hopping highlights for me in dramatic terms how my
life has changed.  I used to love the weekends as a
free boy because they meant I could do whatever I
wanted to do.  Just knowing now that I have to do
whatever the Falkenberg's want, that I will never have a
weekend to myself like I used to, is not only a
bummer, but is humiliating to me.  It's humiliating
for me to think of my family and friends thinking of
me, knowing that I never get a day off, that I'm here
and have to do whatever I'm told to do while they are
enjoying their weekends off the way free people do.

If anyone were to drop in on a weekend, most of the
time they would see what looks like a perfectly civil,
even ideal, bit of family life. The Falkenberg's often
treat me like a family member; they chat and share
things with me.  But just as it begins to seem like
they really respect me for who I am and that I am an
important and loved member of their family, they find
some fault with something I did.  Then they suddenly
start lecturing me, talking down to me, and perhaps
even order some kind of punishment.  But because just
seconds before I was beginning to feel like a family
member, with some dignity having returned to me, their
lectures, put downs, and calls for punishment are all
the more humiliating.  And once they decide that
punishment is needed, they then start treating me in a
most patronizing manner, like I am the bumbling family
mascot who was inevitably going to fuck-up and now
finally did.

One Saturday afternoon Perry and Tony called and asked
if they could come over.  Mr. Falkenberg said it would
be okay as long as they didn't stay too long.  When
they arrived the Falkenberg's and I were sorting
through family photos and arranging them for placement
in various photo albums.  We were just finishing up,
but Perry and Tony got to see the Falkenberg's treating
me like a family member, explaining each photo to me,
who all the people in the photos were, the
circumstances of the photos, and sharing tidbits of
personal family history.  And my friends got to see
that Mr. Falkenberg and Lang were genuinely interested
in my comments.  They may have begun to think my life
wasn't so bad after all.  At one point I took a pile
of photos Mr. Falkenberg had given me, looked through
them, and had gotten them out of the order he had put
them in for placing in the album.   When he noticed I
had gotten them out of order, he was frustrated and
said to me in front of my friends, "Shit Billy, you
little kazoo head!  Look what you did!"   When I am
demeaned in front of friends in such a way my shame at
such moments is overwhelming.

And when one of the Falkenberg's admonishes me, the
other one inevitably joins in the put down.  Lang's
comment, "Shame on you Billy?  Are we going to have to
keep an extra close watch on you today?" was typical
of the way I was treated.  It was the way I was never
spoken to as a free boy.  As a top honor student I was
used to being treated with respect and dignity.  And
Perry and Tony knew it, and now they got to see how I
am treated in my new life; like a bumbling loser who
is lucky to have the Falkenberg's keeping me in their
control and watching my every move, making sure I
don't mess up.  At that moment I wanted to run to my
room, escape the humiliation, lock the door, and cry.
But I didn't do that because I had already done that
twice before in the past, and I didn't want another
paddling like the ones I had gotten when I ran to my
room and shut the door.  So I had to just sit there
and take it.

And there is no point in my trying to offer any
comeback, or refuting what they say.  It will just get
my face slapped or a stroke of the flip whip or tawse
across my trousered leg.  The only course of action
that keeps me out of any physical punishment is to
just remain silent, show that I am hearing what they
say, and indicate that they are right, and that I need
to get on the ball.  So to Mr. Falkenberg, and in
front of Perry and Tony, I said, "I'm sorry Mr.
Falkenberg.  I wasn't paying attention.  Can I help
you put them back in order?"

"No Billy, you'll just make matters worse.  But you
watch yourself today.  You're getting awfully close to
another strapping.  Why don't you go and get your
friends something to drink, and then take them out
into the yard where you can chat."  As I went off to
get the drinks I heard Mr. Falkenberg continue talking
to Perry and Tony; "Would you boys help keep an eye on
Billy for us?  He's a good boy, but he tends to slip
back into bad free boy habits if he's not being
watched."

In the back yard the mood was effectively strained by
the Falkenberg's put down treatment of me.  It was
hard to get on talking about old things.  Perry and
Tony were sympathetic, but I could feel that they
would rather be someplace else, and I didn't blame
them.  So I said, "Fuck man, there's nothing you or I
can do about it.  I'm a real slave now."  Tony said,
"Fuckin bummer man!  Don't put up with the way they
talk to you."  I answered, "Do you know what happens
if I offer the slightest resistance?"  There was
silence.  We were not having a good time.  It made me
wonder how much longer my friends would be interested
in coming around to visit a slave and see his dreary
life.

So we just sat out in the back yard, sipping our
drinks and taking in the sun.  Eventually we got back
to a mood where we could play some lighthearted catch.
After an hour or so an almost normal mood had
reasserted itself.  Then Lang appeared on the deck,
clapped his hands and called us all over.  "I'm glad
to see you're all having a good time.  We need to take
Billy on some errands with us this afternoon, but I'm
wondering if I could ask you, Perry and Tony, if you
would be interested in helping me out by doing a big
favor for Billy before you boys leave here?"  They
both replied with an eager, "Sure!"

Lang sat down on the deck floor, with his feet hanging
over the edge.  We all joined him.  "This is really
great that you boys can help out.  This should be a
real bonding experience for you.  Billy, like all
slaves in Pennsylvania, maintains a punishment
account.  The state recommends that all slaves
maintain at least one level one and one level two
punishment in their accounts.  After a year Billy still
has no level two punishment in his account.  I was
just thinking this would be a good time to take care
of that matter, what with everyone in a good mood and
all.  The whole idea of the punishment account system
is so that slaves like Billy never get punished in the
heat of anger.  Punishments are simply drawn from the
account if there is any tension between owner and
slave."

Tony was getting angry, "Why are you asking us to help
you punish our friend?"  Lang was calming, "Hold on
there, Tony.  This really isn't a punishment because
Billy hasn't done anything wrong.  It's a chastening
procedure and is something that has to be done, no
matter how you, Billy, I, or anyone else feels about
it.  I hate it more than you do, because Billy is my
slave, and I love this guy."  With that Lang threw his
arm around me, and with all the conflicting emotions I
was feeling I knew he meant it.  "But I just thought
that if you really cared about Billy, if you really
were his friend, then your presence as holders for his
whipping would offer some solid support for Billy,
would be a real balm.  For level two punishments it is
preferred that there be witnesses, and at least one
other person is needed to assist to hold Billy down.
Billy is going to get it whether you help out or not,
but I just thought it would make things easier on my
Billy if you could be there for him."

Strange the power of an embrace, Perry and Tony, by
Lang's hugging me, suddenly seemed to accept, or at
least put up with, the presence or necessity of the
slave `system', and all its laws, protocols, and
customs.  They agreed, but looked questioningly at me.
I was confused, because I was scared of a level two
punishment, and as frightened as I was, the presence
of two of my closest friends was something that
perhaps could help.  As I was led to my room where I
was to be whipped, I started crying. Lang told my
friends, "Don't let that bother you. Everything is
going to be all right. It won't be that bad. Slave
boys cry a lot just before a punishment. It's what
they do."

Lang told us to go to my room and for me to strip. As
I removed my clothes in front of my friends, no one
said anything. Lang came in carrying a flip whip just
as I pulled off my undies, and ordered me to lie on
the bed on my tummy.   As he cuffed and tied my ankles
to the bed, with my legs spread out, he noticed Perry
and Tony looking apprehensively at the whip. "Now
don't you two free boys be afraid of this.  This is
what's called a `short' or `flip' whip.  This is
nothing like the bullwhip, which is used in level 3
punishments.  There is no comparison between the two
whatsoever!  This thing stings like a swarm of
hornets, but is guaranteed not to break the skin so
long as it is not used on the same spot more than
three times."

"State guidelines for a level 2 punishment using the
flip whip are twenty strokes moving gradually down the
entire length of the naked backside. So you two boys
sit on each side of Billy's head and hold his arms
above his head.  You each take one of Billy's arms and
use both of your arms to hold him.  Get a firm grip,
because the moment the first stroke lands Billy will
be bucking and screaming something awful.  Just be
prepared for it.  Get a good grip."

Each of my friends held one of my upper arms with both
of their hands.  And as Lang instructed, I could feel
all four hands getting a very firm squeeze on my arms.
Lang came and stood alongside the bed, "That's good.
Now what I'll be doing is starting at the upper back,
and with each stroke I'll be moving slowly down his
back side, ending up with the last swats on his lower
legs.  If I get down there and still haven't used up
all twenty strokes, I'll apply any remaining strokes
to his buttocks."  My mouth was dry, I was breathing
heavy.

Lang swung back the whip, as if about to start, and then
stopped.  "Okay Tony, be careful about leaning over
Billy too far and getting in the way of my whip.  This
special whip delivers a horrendous sting that no free
boy like you and Perry should ever have to feel.  The
sting this thing delivers was intended for slaves. It
speaks the language they understand.  And I want to
warn both of you that when the first blows are
delivered you will probably be shocked at the way
Billy will start violently bucking, humping, and
screaming.  You both need to concentrate on your jobs
of holding Billy down securely so we can get this over
as quickly as possible for Billy's sake."

Lang retook his position, "Are we all ready?  This is
going to be hard on the both of you, but I think
you'll prove yourselves!"

When the first stroke landed I screamed and bucked so
much that both Perry and Tony, keeping their grips on
my arms, stood up and used their entire upper body
weight to lean onto my arms and keep me pinned down.
Lang said, "Good move.  We've got him now."

As the whipping began, and as I yelled and cried and
screamed, "No, Oh No!  Please!  No More!" I could hear
both Perry and Tony breathing and exerting as much as
I was.  And through the intense pain I felt envious of
the free life that Perry and Tony had.  I envied their
free hands holding me down, helping ensure that I take
and feel my punishment.  I envied their free muscles,
their free voices, and their free smell.  It seemed unfair
that I had to get whipped and they did not.  We were
no different.  Once.  Now we were very different, and
I wanted to be free the way they were.  Free to leave
the Falkenberg's and go home.  To some home.
Somewhere.

When the twenty strokes were over, I felt Lang uncuff
my ankles, and then rub a portion of my legs.  He told
my friends, "A gentle rubbing will feel soothing to
him now because the skin is not abraded."  I could
feel Perry and Tony start rubbing my back with both of
their hands.  And as they rubbed me and helped to take
away my pain, a new pain seized me as I lay there
crying; the pain at the unfairness of life.  I just
had to endure extreme physical torment, while everyone
else I knew was having weekend fun.
I had just received a bare-naked whipping across my
back, ass and legs, while two of my best friends
watched and held me down.  Why should Perry and Tony
not have to get a whipping?  Why should they be free
and not me?

I didn't talk to them; I just stayed there on my belly
with my head hidden in my folded arms.  As Lang left
and said he was going to record this in the punishment
account he told me to look at the bright side of
things, "If an entire year went by without you ever
having needed a level 2 punishment, that bodes well
for you Billy.  It's probable you may not need another
whipping for quite some time."  That actually made me
feel good, but not good enough to be able to want to
talk to Perry and Tony.  I thanked them for "being
there for me", and told them I wanted to stay in bed.


As they were leaving the room they ran into Lang in
the hallway.  He stopped them, "Thanks for helping
out.  Billy owes you one!  If you guys need any odd
jobs done, or have been putting off some shit job,
don't hesitate to ask me.  I can let each of you have
Billy for an afternoon."

"And don't you two go worrying about Billy.  Most
slaves are a little moody after a whipping.  We're
going to let the little guy rest up for a bit, and
then we're going to take him out to get a haircut and
then go shopping for some new clothes for slave
school.  And don't you forget Billy's school play is
coming up real soon.  He'll want you all to be there."


###

One evening I walked into Lang's room without knocking
to prepare his bed and I found him in bed with a
woman.  I said, "Oops", and immediately backed out,
but he called me, "Hey slaveboy, get in here!"  Lang
and a very pretty raven haired girl, who seemed closer
to my age than Lang's, were cuddling together naked
under a sheet cover.  I was jealous.  "Kate, this is
my little slave boy, Billy."

"Hi Billy, how you doing?"  "I'm sorry to interrupt, I
just saw you in the backyard, Lang, and came in to
prepare your bed."

"As you can see, Billy, it's pretty well prepared!"
We all smiled.
I said, "Yes it is, you are very lucky, Lang."  Kate
thanked me for the compliment, and asked, "But don't
you have a girlfriend, too?"

Lang answered for me, "I don't think Billy likes
girls."  I blushed.   Lang called me over to the side
of the bed.   Kate asked what I did for fun.  Lang
answered for me again, "Everyone knows what slaves do
for fun.  They masturbate.  Masturbation is the chief
recreation of slaves.  That's what they all do.
Little Billy is no exception."  He reached over and
rubbed my head, "Our little guy here is in his room
tugging away at it every night.  Right Billy?  That's
why we call him 'Billy the masturbator.'"

I stood there and blushed and Kate said, "Well he's
cute.  I bet he had a lot of girls after him and
what a totally cool outfit."

Lang asked her, "Do you think I would look good in
it?"  Everyone laughed.  Lang told me he wouldn't need
me anymore that night, and we all wished each other a
good night.

I went to my room, and thought of Lang and Kate
rolling around, and I was envious and jealous of Lang.
I love him, yet he gets to slap, spank, tawse,
paddle, and whip me whenever he thinks I have it
coming.  And he could have that power over me for as
long as the rest of my life.

Lang was almost 26.  He had already experienced more
of life and its pleasures than I ever would.  I turned
19 during my trial, and now was almost 21 years old.
I had a depressing feeling that life certainly
wouldn't be offering me any more of the pleasure that
Lang was indulging in right now.  Even simple things I
took for granted as a free boy were no longer mine;
choosing the clothes I wear, styling my hair the way I
want it, decorated my jacket with a hiking club tag,
twittling sunglasses and trying to look cool.  Would I
ever have a chance to be `cool' again?  If I tried to
twittle sunglasses in my servant uniform of spankers,
bum warmer jacket, and bellboy hat, I would be the
opposite of cool.

Lang was right. I ended up that night jacking off,
alone.  Just like slaves do everywhere. I thought of
Lang's muscled armpits and silky cock, his Nordic
chest and beautiful eyes.  And as I came I thought of
the warmth of his right hand as it spanked my butt,
and the pull of his left hand as it tugged my balls to
hold me in place on his lap.  I was a lonely slave
boy. Nothing but a lonely jerk-off, with nothing to
do or look forward to except play with myself.  I was
nothing but a typical wanking, jacking, slave, and
would be that for the rest of my life.

###

One day I made the mistake of walking in on Lang while
he was with two of his acquaintances who supplied him
with weed.  Roger and Dimpo were two guys Lang
wouldn't normally be seen in public with, but when
they were over to the house doing a transaction, the
three of them always shared a joint.  For some reason,
Lang wanted to show his dealers who was boss.  "Billy.
Why didn't you knock before entering?"   "I'm sorry
Lang.  I didn't know you were in here!"

"Duh!  Of course you didn't know.  That's why you are
always supposed to knock before entering a room with a
closed door."  I knew Lang was in some weird mood, so
as I backed off closing the door behind me, I said,
"I'm sorry, Lang."

"Hold on just a minute.  Did I say you could go?"

"No sir."

"What in the hell's going on with you?"

"Nothing sir."

"What kind of wise ass answer is that?  Get over
here!"

Roger was stoked, "How fuckin cool!  Man, that's hot
watching you keep that slave in line."  Dimpo filled
Roger in, "That's nothing!  You should have seen him
when he used to paddle the ass of his last slave,
Joey. It was totally hot!"

Lang stood and rolled up his sleeves, "Well, you two
just hold on, because Billy's got one coming for
backtalk.  Billy, take your clothes off."  I tried to
protest, "I didn't backtalk, Lang."

"It wasn't just what you said; it was your attitude,
man.  Now run and get a paddle, on the double, and get
back here and take your clothes off!"  There was no
point in arguing, since I knew Lang wanted to get off
on being a real tough slaver for his friends.  When I
returned with the paddle all three of them had faces
with hungry looks and evil grins.  As I started to
remove my clothes, Roger and Dimpo exchanged comments,
"This is fucking awesome man!"  "Fuck, a goddamn naked
slave about to get punished."

Lang came and grabbed me, led me over to a high top
desk, and shoved me against it.  He grabbed my balls
with his left hand, told me to grab on the desk, and
with his right hand wielded the paddle.  When the
first blow hit and I yelped.  Roger let out a loud,
"Whew!" Roger and Dimpo high-fived.  "Fuck man; lay it
on that fucker's ass!"
Lang swung again.  "Holy fucking shit.  Paddle that
fuckin monkey boy's ass harder!"  "Yeah, Lang, you are
one super ace stud, dude!  Way to go!"

Their words encouraged Lang.  "Lay it on!  Harder,
man!"  I was screaming.  "Listen to that fucker scream
his slave head off!  Serves you right, you fuckin scum
slave."  Lang continued swinging hard, as his friends
kept up the encouragement.  "You can be sure that
fucking slave deserves everything he's getting, I'll
tell you that!"

I struggled to get away, but Lang let go of my balls
and gathered my arms behind my back and pinned me
against the table while forcing my arms up tight and
high against my back.  He used his body weight to lean
into me, and his right hand was free to paddle.  "Look
at Lang hold that slave down for punishment.  You can
tell he's been beating slave asses for most of his
life!"  Lang, inspired, gave me a super swat, and I
did a high pitch yelp.  "Listen to slaveboy sing!"

Lang continued to concentrate on the paddling, while
his dealers continued with the commentary:

"Holy humping shit!  This is hotter than fucking teen
pussy!"

"Hell man!  This even beats fucking pre-teen pussy!"

"Look at that slave's pecker slapping his belly.
Fucker's got a hardon!"

"What a fuckin scuzzbag pervert!  Lay it on harder,
Lang!  It feels fucking good to see the shit whipped
out of a pervert slave!"

"Fuck man!  I'd love to piss on that turd's face."

My mind did summersaults trying to think away the
pain, but suddenly the paddling stopped. Lang,
breathing heavy and sweaty, laid the paddle down.

Dimpo wiped his brow, "That gave me a fucking hard on,
man!"

All three guys were breathing hard and I was afraid.
But from the conversation that followed I could tell
Lang wanted to be alone with me now.  He told them he
was late for a class.  As he led them out, Roger
shouted at me, "Hope you learned your lesson, you
worthless fuck asshole scuzz shit!"

Lang came back in the room, shut and locked the door,
and immediately dropped his trousers, took off his
shirt, sat on the couch, put his arms behind his head,
and, indicating his exposed pits, ordered me to get to
work on him.  I had never seen him so horny.
I worked on his pits for only a minute when he could
take no more and forced me to get to work on his cock.
It was fast, but intense. When he came he was totally
exhausted.  He told me to remain with him, as he
collected his breath and himself.

Two minutes passed.  Then he put his hand on my head
and said, "I'm sorry about that, dude.  You really
didn't deserve any punishment.  Bring your punishment
book over here. I want you to know I'm putting this
paddling in your punishment account, and I'm
calling it a level two."  I thanked him and started to
cry.  "Don't be a crybaby, because you really are a
brave little boy."

In the past whenever Lang, just a few years older than
me, called me a `little boy' it would not only
humiliate me, but also it would piss me off.  And
there was never anything I could do about it.  After
all, I have to take whatever the Falkenberg's dish out.
But now, suddenly, it didn't piss me off.

###

How many times I have said to myself after an
especially difficult day, "Oh well, at least things
can't get any worse!"  And how many times I have been
wrong!  One morning as I was about to serve the
Falkenberg's breakfast as usual when they came down,
they asked me to remove my entire uniform, including
my shoes, and to serve them naked. It was awkward,
but they seemed pleased.  When they left for the day
they told me I could get redressed.  The same thing
happened two more times that same week. One more
time in the morning, and another time when they came
home in the late afternoon, they asked me to serve
them in the nude.

Then one Sunday afternoon shortly after that
experiment they called me into the den.  They had a
bottle of champagne opened and three glasses on the
table.  Mr. Falkenberg told me he had some very good
news for me.  "Billy, you've been with us a year and
10 months now, and you know what?  We like you.  You
are the best damn slave we've ever owned.  You're
smart, bright, attractive, a good worker, a great
cook, you are clean and neat, we never run out of
supplies, you handle our phone calls like a pro; your
handling of my schedule has been flawless.  And since
you've been around taking such satisfactory care of my
personal needs, I've been able to stop wasting my time
trying to find a woman."

Mr. Falkenberg stopped talking and filled the three
glasses with champagne.  Lang picked up a camera that
was on the table and snapped his dad filling the
glasses with me standing beside him.

Mr. Falkenberg, handing out the three glasses to each
of us, continued, "Billy, Lang and I have been up late
for several nights this past week.  We have some very
special news for you.  We have decided you are going
to be `our' slave.  For life!  We are just so
delighted in your work, your attitude, your
intelligence, that we believe you are the right boy
for us, permanently."

I was actually very happy to hear that.  We raised our
glasses and toasted.   "But that's not all the good
news, Billy.  When Lang and I decided that you were,
indeed, the boy for us, one thing led to another, and
so we decided to make some changes around here in the
way you'll be serving us.  The first thing we decided
was that we are going to have something very special
done to you.  This is something we could never do to
any of our previous slaves, although we wanted to,
because it would have affected their resale value.
But since we do not intend to sell you, we are going
to do something that will make you ours in a very
`family' sort of way.  We want to show the world that
you belong to us, that you are our property,
exclusively, and that we are all committed to each
other."

"Across the top of your right shoulder, to prove to
you and the world that we have made a commitment to
keeping you for life, we are going to have tattooed
the words, "Property of Enar and Lang Falkenberg."
Think how proud Lang and I will be when we see that on
you!  Not many slaveholders can afford to have their
slaves personalized.  But we are so convinced that you
are the little boy for us that we are going to go
ahead and have it done!"  We all took a sip our wine,
though the Falkenberg's smiles were broader than mine.

"So then Lang and I were thinking, 'How is anybody
going to see that tattoo if Billy wears a shirt all
day long?'  So that, of course, led to discussions
about the slave tradition in the American Southwest
where slaves are kept naked all the time.  It's not,
of course, all that uncommon.  It is actually the
general practice for high class households in all of
Eastern Europe for slaves to serve naked, and that
tradition is moving to higher class estates in Europe
and the US Eastern seaboard states as well."

"The more we thought about it, the more that seemed to
make sense for our household.  Because we are just so
proud of you, Billy, we want to show you off more, and
show more of you off!  So Billy, starting in a few
weeks you will be working around the house naked for
most of the time, and when we have guests, and then nudity
will be mandatory."  Mr. Falkenberg was genuinely
excited and happy as he talked. And Lang, too, was
beaming the kind of smile adults beam when they have
given an especially large birthday present to a child,
and are eager to see the child's reaction.

"As I have told you, Billy, you are not only a beloved
family member now, but you are also a prized
possession.  You are a status symbol, and you should
be as proud of that fact as I am.  And if I can be one
of the first slaveholders in the State to import this
sophisticated mode of service into my household, then
that is just an extra feather in all of our caps. I'm
sure all the local news media will be eager to get a
story on this when word gets out."

My head was welling with mixed emotions. I finished
my glass of champagne.  Mr. Falkenberg refilled my
glass, and continued with his good news; "So then,
Lang and I got to talking, and we wondered, 'If Billy
is going to be naked and on display all the time,
maybe we should have him prettied up.'  A lot of slave
magazines run articles about beautifying slaves, and
so we decided that it was the way to go with you, and
now was the right time to go for it.  We just want to
make sure that everyone is envious of our property."
He smiled at Lang, Lang smiled back, and both of them
smiled at me.  "It will be so very special for all of
us!  I think you'll like what we have planned."  Mr.
Falkenberg gave a happy nod and raised his glass to
Lang and me.  Lang raised his glass in return.  I just
drank.

"Billy, we have decided that we are going to have your
body decorated with a design motif derived and
influenced from the American Southwest.  The tattoo
artist we consulted with, and who will be doing you,
specializes in slaves, and he assured us that your
designs will be classic, so they will not be going out
of style with changing fashions.  And it will all, of
course, be very subtle."

I finished my glass, and refilled it myself.  Then,
suddenly remembering I was a slave and not just a
design piece, I topped Mr. Falkenberg's and Lang's
glasses as well.

"Your front and back will be similar, and all designs
in Southwestern art are symmetrical.  Tasteful
swirling curlicues will encircle both of your nipples.
These will swirl off into the center your chest where
they will join, and lead into a single line down to
your belly button, which will be the center of a
beautiful flower.  The same design will be on your
back, with your shoulder blades encircled by the
swirling curlicues.  And the flower on your back will
be located just above your ass crack."

"On your lower portion a swirled line on your thighs
will go across and down the front legs and disappear
in back of the legs just above the knee."

"For your buttocks, something very special!  Two large
concentric circles, known as the `spanker's target'.
They are traditional in South America, and add a
playful note.  For special events when you are serving
me and my guests, you will apply either rouge or body
paint in the form of a one-inch dot in the very middle
of each circle.  The bull's eye is both whimsical, and
a public statement that you want to be on target for
obedience."

"On your penis we are going with a design pattern that
is called the "The Bandit".  It is a tasteful filigree
of repeating vortices; again, it derived from
Southwest Native American Art.  I am sure you will
like it as much as everyone who sees it will."

"As a highlighting touch to your decorated penis we
have both decided, and we are very excited about this,
to have your scrotum dyed a permanent nut brown, to
add a tinge of Mediterranean allure. With your light
coloring and size, a brown colored bag should stand
out very nicely and will make you one very desirable item!
Guests will not be able to refrain from giving you a
tug as you serve them, I assure you."

"And of course, all of this means that you'll have a
lot of shaving to do each morning.  You'll have to
keep your face, chest, nads, ass, and pussy nice and
smooth for Lang and me from now on."

"And then, as Lang and I explored other options, we
decided that since we are going to be using you in an
older and more stylized type of domestic service
around the house, we would go ahead and have you
ringed through the head of your penis so we could
attach an elegant silver slave bell to it.  Its
gentle tinkling as you scamper about the house will be
a constant delight to both Lang and I.  It is not to
monitor you, of course.  It's more of a tasteful
stylization, intending to recall an earlier, a more
genteel, time when slaves really were monitored by
bells hanging from their penises.  It will be
especially important that you have your bell on when
we have guests."

"I'll be honest with you Billy; you are a status
symbol.  Having a personalized slave scampering about
the house naked with the traditional penis bell
tinkling, a brown ball sack swinging, and buttocks
sporting two playful bull's eye targets as you serve
us, will make me the envy of everyone.  And with
Lang's and my name on your shoulder the world will
know we take pride in our ownership of you, and you
should be honored.  We are proud of you Billy, and we
want to show you off to the world."  Mr. Falkenberg
grabbed my head and kissed me.  Lang snapped a
picture.

"I can't tell you how much I am looking forward to the
day when we have our first big event here with you in
your new mode of service.  With you proudly serving
everyone, scurrying from guest to guest to tend to
their needs, naked and decorated, with your dark ball
sack jiggling, and your wiener bell merrily tingling."
Mr. Falkenberg was truly elated.  He hugged me.
"Billy, it will be so special."  He called Lang over.
"Lang get over here, it's time to for a hug."  The
three of us were tied in one big hug.  We had become
quite a family.  In our hug, with our arms encircling
each other, Mr. Falkenberg spotted his wristwatch; "Oh
my god!  We better get a move on it. Billy has his
first appointment with the tattoo artist in just 45
minutes."

I started to cry, and Lang asked what was wrong. "Mr.
Falkenberg, please don't do this to me.  I don't want
to be tattooed.  I don't want my nut sack dyed and my
penis to have tattoos on it."  The sense of violation
was total and absolute.  To know that you are going to
be modified and decorated to suit the whims of someone
who has enough money to own you sent shivers through
me.  Mr. Falkenberg merely looked at me like I was
being a nuisance.

"Please, Mr. Falkenberg, I, I, I --", and I had no
words to really say so I just started crying some
more.  Mr. Falkenberg came over with the rest of the
champagne and poured more into my glass, "Finish this
bottle up.  You'll feel better!"