Date: Mon, 26 Feb 2007 11:35:17 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Slave Revolt, Part Three

THE SLAVE REVOLT

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

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

Part  Three

I worked away all day really testing my body in the
gym, as I was determined that there should be no
excuse for punishing me the next weekend when my owner
wanted me to give another exhibition for his friends.
How easily I fall into the use of the phrase "my
owner", I notice:  when I was a marine it would have
been inconceivable that I could think of another man
owning me, or even of having me under some sort of
control (yes, I know we had officers and such, but
wise officers step back when the going gets tough and
let the marines on the ground use their initiative.
You obey officers in stuff like what time to get on
parade and so on, but when it comes to really
important things, you're very much your own man
still).

By evening I was totally exhausted, and, indeed, the
swimming had made some bits of me ache a bit.  So I
decided to go and visit my buddies the drays, as one
of them had been a skilled masseur at some time in his
former life and was really good at soothing strained
muscles - a skill he frequently used on the other
drays.  So by seven o'clock when the drays had
finished work and had been fed and showered, I was
lying on my belly in the straw and was experiencing
the tough fingers of the guy really digging in to me.
I could feel his hands all over me, and was enjoying
it in spite of the occasional twinges when he dug deep
to release some intransigent bit of stiffness - it's
perhaps indicative of the way that our owner was
basically a good guy in that he made oil available to
the drays as he recognised that this massage was good
for them:  it's little things like that which make the
difference, I suppose.

He was kneeling, straddling my left leg, as he worked
away on my shoulders and back, and I was almost asleep
as his hands ranged so sensuously over me.  Some of
the other guys were laughing a bit, and I only
realised why when he finally slapped me playfully on
my butt and told me to roll over as he wanted to do
the front of me - as he went to kneel again, sort of
straddling my belly, I could see that he was erect
and, what's more, that there was a thin trace of
pre-cum drooling out of his piss slit.  "Sorry,
Steve", he said, pointing to his dick.  "But this
happens a lot when I get my hands on another guy's
body."

I didn't know what to say - I wasn't exactly pleased
to have his pre-cum mingling with the oil on my body,
but on the other hand I could hardly complain, could
I?  For one thing I wanted him to continue the
massage, and for another, I didn't want to look like
some sort of wimp to the drays.  So I just gave a
little shrug of my head and gave him a faint smile,
and let him get on with it.

It  seemed to me that he spent a lot of time doing my
pecs, and unlike previous times, he seemed to be
almost playing with my nips.  It was so sensual and
relaxing that I was drifting off into a doze, and I
realised that there were more of those "happy" sounds
from the other drays - so I opened my eyes and saw
that my own dick was now erect.  My masseur saw me
looking, and smiled, whispering "Don't worry, Steve -
that often happens, too.  Now we're both the same...."


Well, what could I do?  I mean, the other drays had
seen me with a hard on before, when they sucked me
off, so I could hardly complain, could I?  So I closed
my eyes and relaxed as best I could as he carried on,
digging his fingers into the hard ridges of muscles on
my belly.  It was really good, but then my body
started to tell me something else - my dick wasn't
just passively erect now, it was tingling and
straining with a new sensation, and I assumed that my
masseur, or one of the other drays, had bent down and
was giving me a blow job as well.  So I lay there with
my eyes closed, but heard the laughter from the other
guys starting to build.

I flicked my eyes open, and to my utter amazement saw
that the masseur wasn't giving me a blow job - no, he
was crouching over me, and had lowered his ass down
onto my dick so that I was inside him!  I went to
move, to get away, but all that did was thrust my dick
even higher up into him, and he moaned.  Then, before
I could stop him, he started to move up and down, and
I could see his superb thighs and the hard muscles of
his belly working away as he moved his big body up and
down on me.  Oh shit - what was I to do now?  The
other drays were watching me, and if I threw him off,
or shouted and told him he was some sort of pervert,
they really would think that I was at fault and not
really "one of them" - they all fucked each other, I
knew, and it was only because I was a "guest" that
week I'd spent with them that they hadn't been up my
ass.  I reckoned the best thing to do was to let it
happen - after all, it felt really amazing, and my
masseur clearly was enjoying himself, too.  So I lay
back, but then something else started to happen:  As
he slid his ass down on to my dick, I just couldn't
help but thrust my hips upwards to meet it!  It was
almost totally involuntary, and I realised it was
increasing my pleasure five fold.  Soon, of course, I
was in effect no longer a passive partner but was
taking an active part in the whole thing.

My balls were telling me I was about to fire, and I
shouted out in ecstasy "Jesus Christ!  Oh Fuck!  I'm
cumming....", and thrust my hips up in one last effort
to bury my dick as deep in him as I could.  He stopped
moving then and remained straddling me, with my dick
still deep in him.  Sweat was pouring off his body,
and he was laughing in that way that guys do after
great sex.  As I watched, he moved forward so he was
lying along me, taking most of his weight on his
elbows.  His face was right above mine, still
laughing, as was I, and he now pushed it towards me
and began to kiss me passionately!

Look, I've never had another guy do that to me.  I
mean, it's one thing to have a guy give you a blow
job, but kissing, well, it's something a bit personal,
isn't it?  But just as my body had wanted to take part
as he fucked me, so now it wanted to respond to his
kisses.  Almost without me realising  it, my own
tongue was thrusting back into his mouth, my teeth
were nibbling at his bottom lip, and my hand went up
and held the back of his head to pull him even closer
to me.

I don't know how long it was before we broke off, then
he gently raised himself off me and came and lay next
to me.  We were both smiling and laughing, and I felt
better about things than I had for a long time.  One
of the other drays came and knelt beside me and began
to lick at my dick, cleaning me off, and I called out
"No, I can shower at the big house.... The shit...."

"Steve, he's been waiting for you to come for a
massage for a long time now!  Every night in the
showers he cleans himself right out, in the hope
you'll come and he can ride you....", another of the
drays told me, and the guy with his mouth around my
dick continued to lick and suck greedily at me.

Well, this was a bit of a turn-up for the book!  Not
only did guys want me to fuck them, it seemed, but I
have to say I'd actually enjoyed it - the way that the
tight, warm ass lips gripped my dick was fantastic, so
much better than fucking pussy.  And kissing a big
strong bloke, one who thrust his tongue and down my
throat and who responded when I did the same to him,
rather than just lying there passively, was something
else.  And I liked the feel of his hard body as it
pressed and slid against mine as we let our passions
cool down - so much more exciting than the soft skin
of a bitch.  As these thoughts raced through my head
it came to me, though:  I must be a fag to enjoy this
- I mean, one guy isn't really meant to enjoy another
one like that, is he?  As gently as I could I broke
off and sat up, then scrambled to my feet and searched
for my shorts.  It was almost more embarrassing than
the time I had to stuff myself into my clothes and run
out as the husband came in through the front door!

They all wanted me to stay the night, and I reckoned
that if I did, I'd be fucking some of the others, and
I wasn't like that.... Or was I?  I stumbled out a few
words about having to be up especially in the morning
and almost staggered out of the stables, so drunk was
I on what had happened.

The next morning Rob was waiting by the pool again,
and determined not to cause any trouble, I immediately
pulled off my T and stripped off my shorts before
starting to clean the pool. He sat there watching me,
and then afterwards challenged me to another race -
which I barely won.  He had a big white fluffy towel
to dry himself, but nothing like that is provided for
slaves, of course - well, slaves aren't meant to be in
the pool at all, as I've told you, so perhaps that's
not surprising.  But you'd have thought that he might
have let me use his.  So I had to stand there in the
cool air planing the water off my body, and resisting
the natural reaction to start shivering.

"I've talked to my dad", Rob finally said, and he
agrees with me that you're not properly dressed - it's
OK when you're naked or in a G-string, as everyone can
see your brand.  But when you're in a T and shorts -
especially some of those dad lets you wear which
hardly look like slave shorts as they're so long and
baggy, it would be easy to mistake you for a free man,
especially as you're a whitey.  So you're going to
wear a collar in future."

"That will upset the gymnastics - your father said he
didn't want to see me in a heavy collar, as...."

"Shut the fuck up!  The rules have changed.  I want
you collared - dad wants you collared - and so
collared you will be." With that he opened a small box
that was lying on the table beside him and inside were
a set of thin stainless-steel collars.  "These are
thin enough not to upset that precious body of yours -
and yet they scream 'slave' as no free man now ever
wears anything around the neck.  Come over here and
kneel down."

I knelt on the tiles of the pool surround, and I can
remember to this day how the hard surface began to
hurt my knees.  He had me like that as I was now at a
convenient height for him to be able to reach out and
without stirring himself unnecessarily, to try the
collars on me - the metal was cold against the skin,
or was the chill that was running through me something
more?  Was it a grim warning to me of how my life
would be when my owner gave me to Rob?  I'd no longer
be a personal trainer, almost a buddy of my owner, but
would instead be a normal, collared slave.

The  "fitting" went on and on, and I got restive as it
seemed to me there was very little difference between
the collars he was fitting on me.  My knees - and my
toes, which were crushed a bit as I knelt there - were
 so uncomfortable that I shuffled a bit, and Rob at
once snapped "Steady!  Are you such a dumb fuck that
you can't even kneel for a bit?"

"Sorry, sir", I said, trying to sound contrite.  "But
it doesn't seem to me that there's a whole lot of
difference between these collars...."

"It's not up to you to bother about things like that -
you're not thinking like a slave, you're still a bit
like a free man. I reckon my dad's been far too
lenient with you, and that's all going to change.
Anyway,  I will keep fitting these collars until I get
one that I think is right - and you're fucking lucky
that I'm taking all this trouble.  If a collar is too
loose, it will abrade your skin and case scabbing and
dad wouldn't want that.  And if it's too tight, then
when you're really working and your neck muscles
swell, it will start to cut off the air supply:  and
we don't want your efficiency reduced!"

That sounded fucking typical of the way they treat
slaves - never mind that I might be choking if the
collar was too tight, it was my "efficiency" that was
all that mattered.  The session went on and on, until
finally he was satisfied - he ran his finger around my
collar, in-between it and my skin, and pronounced
himself satisfied.  I hated it, having him do this to
me:  feeling his finger against my neck, and knowing
he felt ownership of me as I now wore his collar. But
what was I supposed to do?

"Right, hold still now - I'm going to make it
permanent", he said.  "I just have to break this
little thingy, and the glue will seal the join."  He
was bending right over me and I could fee his hot
breath on my body as he worked away.  And as I looked,
I saw his shorts were tenting up in the front -
evidently collaring a slave, or feeling his skin at
close quarters, was turning him on.

He nodded to give me permission to get to my feet and
I stood there, half erect, and I couldn't help putting
my hand up to my neck and feeling my collar, the
symbol of my slavedom.   He watched, perhaps a little
amused, then said "I also spoke to dad about your
shorts.  He lets you wear standard slave shorts, and
all kinds of other stuff, doesn't he?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well not any more!  I told him we're wasting a
valuable asset  by having you all covered up, and so I
got these for you - here, put them on."

The shorts were white, like standard slave shorts, but
looked very small.  They were kind of stretchy, and
once I'd got my legs in I went to pull them up, only
to find that they stopped about an inch above my dick,
as they were so low cut.  I stood there, tugging at
them ineffectually, and Rob laughed.

"It's no good, Steve - they're really low-rise!  We
want to see your hipbones, we want to see the way that
lovely muscular belly is tapering down to the top of
your legs; and at the back the way the top of your ass
crack is now exposed gives us the idea  of the
excitement waiting down there...."

He watched me in my futile efforts to make myself a
bit more "decent", then went on "I reckon you'll need
to trim your pubes even more - even though you've lost
most of them, I can still see the hairline straggling
over the top.....  There's no chance that your T is
going to cover it as most of the time those shorts are
all you're ever going to wear.  And when we do let you
have a T, it's going to stop short, well above your
belly button, so we can still enjoy that six pack of
yours."

"Sir, why...?"

"Shut the fuck up, as I've told you before! It's not
up to a slave to question his owner, or his owner's
son.  We've decided we want to enjoy the sight of your
body, and that's all there is to it.  There will be
some other changes, to - on Saturday night when you're
performing on the mat, we're reducing the size of the
pouch of your G-string, so that will be another reason
why you'll need to do a bit more trimming.  And dad
and I are going to really inspect you this weekend - I
reckon it would be  a good idea for you to be totally
shaved below the eyebrows, so we can really see all
your muscles.  Dad thinks that thatch of hair on you
looks 'masculine', but I'm talking to him about the
latest fashion, and that's definitely for 'show'
slaves to be totally smooth.  So expect more
changes...."

"Please, sir, I....."

"You don't get it, do you, Steve?  I told you once to
shut the fuck up.  I told you a second time not to
question my orders.  I think it's time I taught you a
lesson.  Take the shorts off, and bend over the
table!"

Once again I found myself exposed to his gaze, as he
roughly kicked at my ankles to make me spread my legs
as I lay there.  He rested his hands on my butt, and
he told me "This is so tempting, Steve!  A big,
muscular butt like this, and inside, deep down there,
a virgin ass - well, almost virgin - waiting for me.
I'm so tempted to fuck you right here and now, but I
think I'm going to resist the temptation again as I'd
rather wait until you're totally mine.  If I fuck you
hard now, you'll be sore and then I know what slaves
do:  you'll tell dad that your performance on Saturday
was bad because of it.  Once you're totally mine
there'll be no excuses - if I fuck you until you're
bleeding, that will be my choice."

He paused for a moment, then went on "But you do need
to be taught proper slave manners, and unfortunately I
can't do what I do to my valet and take the punishment
cane to you:  the stripes on his butt after that last
over a week, as I'm something of an expert, and dad
wouldn't like it if on Saturday night his guests were
to see that you're so wilful that you need punishment.
 Dad prides himself on being a good owner, and a good
owner rarely needs to punish his slaves.  So I guess
it will have to be this...."

As I watched he slipped his trainers off and stood
there in his bare feet on the pool side.  The front of
his swimming shorts were definitely now tented.

The first blow was still a surprise:  well, I'm not
used to the idea that one guy will hit another one
deliberately, like that, with a trainer on his bare
butt.  I know I've hit a lot of guys when I was in the
marines ,but that was always part of training, or in
battle.  The idea that you might take a guy and start
to beat him with the sole object of causing pain was
alien to me.  Without realising it I'd taken another
stop on the road to becoming a "proper" slave, a slave
who could be physically punished for displeasing my
owner.  And not even my owner - I'd displeased a
sixteen year old boy, and because of that he was now
able to make me lie there bare-assed naked and be
physically abused by him.

Although it hurt, I suppose it's better than the cane
or the whip.  And Rob soon tired of taking swipes at
my butt and instead stood there rubbing his hands over
my ass cheeks, and telling me how it wouldn't be long
before I'd be lying there as I was now, but reaching
back to pull my butt apart so that his dick could go
up me.  I hated the fact that his sixteen year old was
treating me just as if I was some sort of plaything -
I was a tough ex-marine, and I didn't think he ought
to do this to me.

For the rest of the week, though, I had to exercise
and run in these tiny shorts, and in some ways it was
worse than working totally naked on the drays - at
least there I was with the other guys and we were
doing good, honest work - now, as I pounded my way
along the roads and paths when I was out running I
felt as if I was something else - an ornament, a
symbol of how one man could impose his will on another
by making him disport himself in a totally humiliating
way.

My owner came down late on Friday night, so I didn't
see him until I was waiting patiently outside the door
of the big house to see if he'd appear for his morning
run on Saturday.  He bounded down the steps, saw me
standing there, and burst into laughter.    "Steve,
buddy - you look amazing:  those shorts really look
good on you, and the collar - well it contrasts so
well with your bare skin.  Rob's done a good job,
don't you think?"

"Rob says a slave shouldn't think, sir."

A faint smile twitched at his lips.  "I take it you
are not as enthusiastic about your new costume as Rob
is!  Still, no matter.  Come on - I really want you to
make me work this morning...."

We set off and I reckoned he sometimes quite
deliberately dropped back so he could look at me from
behind - normally we ran along side by side.  At the
halfway point when we stopped so he could get his
breath, he was still smiling.  "I've never noticed
your butt before, Steve - but it is exceptional, isn't
it?"

"If you say so, sir."

"Hey, Steve, you're not going to go all sullen on me,
are you?  I thought we had one of those special owner
and slave relationships where we could both relax a
bit...."

"I thought so too, sir."

"It's the collar, and the shorts, isn't it?  For
fuck's sake, what's wrong with them?  All my other
slaves are collared, and this is a light, fashionable
one that surely doesn't interfere with you.  And as
for the shorts - well, the other week when you were
working on the drays, you were start naked...."

"So you knew I was working on the drays?"

"Yes - they sent me some pictures, and I must say
seeing your tanned body contrasting with the black of
the niggas was quite something."

"....so you knew I couldn't practice, so it should
have been no surprise that my performance was off that
weekend...."

"Oh Steve, come on!  It's not as if it was all that
important...."

"You didn't have the agony of Rob's punishment....."

"Look, I'm not going to carry on this conversation.
You're a slave, and a slave accepts.  And that's all
there is to it."

With that ,he jogged off in the direction of home, and
I had no option but to follow him.  Mind you, given
that he was  not treating me as well as he used to, I
decided to make it hard for him:  I ran ahead of him,
gradually increasing my pace, and occasionally looking
over my shoulder and calling out "Have you seen enough
of my butt yet, sir?"

He didn't want to slow down - if he had, and the gap
had been too large, I'd have slowed down.  It was as
if he wanted to "prove" himself to me.  Stupid,
really, as a guy in his fifties is never going to be
able to outperform one in his late twenties.  It
didn't stop him trying, though, and when we got back
to the house he was really exhausted.  He refused my
advice that we should both gently jog around a bit to
cool down, and stormed off in the direction of the
fitness suite, followed by me.  I was beginning to get
worried that I might have really upset him, and he
sank onto one of the benches panting and puffing, the
sweat streaming down him and soaking his clothes.

"Oh, fuck me!  Cramp.....", he finally muttered, and
started to rub his thigh urgently.

"Lie down, sir, and I'll massage you", I shouted.  I
was clearly in charge now as stuff like that is my
business.  I helped him pull his T off and then I
pulled his shorts down and led him, limping, to the
massage table.  The oil in the fitness suite smells a
lot nicer than the stuff they give the drays, I'll say
that for it, and soon I was probing his big ass and
thigh muscles with my powerful fingers.  He started to
give sighs of satisfaction, indicating that it was
working and the pain was going away.  Then I noticed
that I was in the same state as the dray who had
massaged me:  I was really turned on, and it was
almost painful to have my dick pressed against the
tiny shorts I was wearing.  So painful, in fact, that
I stopped for a moment and pulled them off - it's not
as if he hadn't seen me naked hundreds of times
before, after all.

I was kneeling over him therefore, and to my horror
realised I was dripping pre-cum onto his back.  I went
to wipe it away, but at that moment he raised himself
slightly and turned his head around.  "Ah, Steve.... I
wondered what that was, brushing against me,
occasionally - I actually excite you, do I?"

"Sir, no, sir!  It's just... Well, for some reason,
massaging your body.... I've got a hard-on.  I'm
sorry, sir."

"Carry on anyway, Steve.... It's not unpleasant."  So
I carried on massaging his back, and somehow I
couldn't resist letting mg my dick trail along his
flesh.  I was rock solid and 'skinned back, and I
suppose the first time it happened it was an accident:
 the head of my dick brushed the top of his ass crack
as he lay there, and I almost moaned with the
exquisite sensation that pulsed through me.

Well, I couldn't let it stop here, could I? Slowly,
making as if it was part of the normal massage, I
pulled his but cheeks apart and stared at the
sweat-soaked forest of his hair down there.  Then I
gradually let my dick trail up and down it, and when I
first touched his actual pucker, and he shifted and
gave a low moan, I almost shouted out, so intense was
the sensation.

I got bolder and bolder, and started to run one hand
lightly over his back whilst with the other I guided
my dick up and down his ass crack.  Then I stopped,
and nudged gently at his pucker with the tip of my
dick that was now almost running with pre-cum.  My
owner moaned and wriggled slightly, and emboldened by
this, I pushed a bit to try to force an entrance.

Suddenly the boss called "Enough, Steve!"

I pulled back, almost in terror, and the boss turned
around and sat up and patted the side of the massage
table, indicating I should sit by him.  He put his arm
around my shoulder, and with his other hand began to
idly toy with my erect dick.  "So, Steve, you like man
on man sex, do you?  I thought when I took your cherry
that you were a virgin...."

"No, sir!  No, I don't."

"For a man who doesn't find another man's asshole
exciting, you sure have an odd way of showing it."  He
gripped my dick harder and began to stroke it, and
there was a laughing tone in his voice.

"No, sir... I'm straight.  I don't like other guys,
sir... It's just that the drays you mentioned... Well,
we're sort of buddies, and last night...."

"Ah, so you've started down the path of real sex, have
you?  And look at you now..... at that moment, the
boss's attention to my dick had the obvious effect and
I pumped cum out - and when I pump, I really pump:
some of it shot across the room, and the rest lay
there in a big, white puddle on my thigh.

"I think we will need to continue your education
later, Steve!  Rob told me he thought that like a lot
of men you were actually gay, but liked to act
straight..."

"No, sir, I am straight.  I fuck women, sir...."

"...and you were in the marines, Steve!  Everyone
knows that men who have an affinity with other men
tend to be found clustered in the armed forces - where
else can you be so close to so many other men and yet
be seen as 'straight'?  All living together in the
barracks, running around half naked, communal showers,
all that sort of stuff... And, of course, the
companionship.  I read a most interesting book the
other day that postulated that most guys in the forces
sublimate part of their sex drive so that they can be
with other guys, really close, but don't have to admit
they're gay.  So you may not have actually had sex
with your marine buddies, but the experience in the
Corps was giving you something you were missing -
close companionship with other men, things like that.
Tell me, though:  there must have been men in your
barracks who actually fucked each other?"

"Yes, sir, but we didn't talk about it.  We were men,
sir, real men..."

"And you don't think real men like sex with other men?
 What about your dray buddies? Aren't they real men?"

Sir, yes, sir...."

"And they like fucking other men?"

"Well yes, sir...."

"I think that prove it, Steve!  Anyway, no time for
more talk now as I have some work to do before
tonight's little entertainment.... Which, I trust, is
going to show you off to your best advantage?"

I felt really miserable as I muttered "Yes, sir, Rob's
got me a new G-string - he says it's even tinier...."

My owner just laughed.  "That boy spends too much time
reading the slave magazines.  Still, we shall see what
we shall see....", and with that he walked off,
uncaring that he was naked.

Well my display was OK that evening - I did all the
mat work wearing the most absurdly little G-string I'd
ever seen - it barely covered me at all, and my pubes
sprayed out all around.  In a way it was better to be
naked, as I was when I did the rings and the parallel
bars and the horse routines.  There was a change from
the normal routine, though:  instead of being allowed
to go away and shower and dress afterwards, Rob told
me to stay in the room with all the other men, so I
had to stand there, my chest heaving as my lungs tried
to recover, and sweat pouring off me.  I could see
most of the men looking at me with huge interest, and
it wasn't like it usually was, that they were admiring
an athlete.  No, somehow, perhaps it was my collar,
perhaps it was something Rob had told them over
dinner... Something made them look at me more as a
sexual object. I hated it.  I mean, I'd heard that
some men bought others to use purely for sex, and I
suppose that I was a prime candidate to be used in
that way:  after all, what man doesn't want to
sexually subdue a big, strong, handsome, masculine guy
who he knows has the power to beat him to a pulp
except for the fact that he's enslaved - but my owner
had never used me that way.  I sincerely hoped that
things were not about to change.

The following morning I ran and worked out with my
owner again, and then after lunch, when he was
preparing to go back to New York, I heard him arguing
with Rob.  He was insisting that Rob accompany him,
but Rob didn't want to go, saying he wanted to stay on
the demesne and enjoy the sun, and do some revision
for some exam or other.  The debate seemed to centre
on whether it was going to be " safe" - my owner
wanted Rob to leave with him just to be sure, and Rob
was saying that the problem was over fifty miles away
and that the  National Guard had been called out and
would fix it.

Rob and his father carried on arguing as I lurked
around ,trying to look inconspicuous, and trying to
understand more of what the problem was - as a  slave
I wasn't allowed to watch the news channels on TV, and
I really did miss knowledge of happenings in the
world.  But you know how it is - when two men are
talking about something they know about and of which
you are unaware, it's almost impossible to really get
an understanding of the situation, and after a few
minutes m owner just shrugged, told Rob to take care
and to "get out if it looks as if the situation is
deteriorating", and went out into the limo to take him
to the airport.

End Of Part Three