Date: Sun, 27 Jun 2004 22:58:51 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: You Can't Be Friends With A Slave, Parts 17-18

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part seventeen

By Pete Brown  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

EXPOSURE

When Charlie and Coon prepared me for my evening with
Billy-Joe that night they didn't give me the usual
slave shorts to wear afterwards.  Instead, they pulled
out another of the tiny pouches, and they commiserated
with me as I had to stuff my dick and balls into it
and stand there in front of them.  They were told to
stand outside the room again, and I went in alone.

Billy-Joe was slouched on the couch again as usual and
the faithful Grunt was kneeling as he often did. with
a beer held up for his owner.

"Ah, Steve!  Glad to see you still like your new
clothes.  I bet it makes a difference, doesn't it?  Is
it a lot cooler?"

"Billy-Joe, how could you do this to me?  It's not
right, is it, doing this to your old friend?  It's bad
enough all the other stuff you've done to me, but this
is taking it too far.  Look, I could even accept that
you want to keep me for a slave for a bit, but do you
need to humiliate me like this?"

"Steve, watch your language!  It's not up to you to
'accept' whether you remain a slave or not.  You
belong to me, remember? And I'll keep you a slave for
as long as it suits me.  And if you want me to be in a
good mood about it, I'd advise you to watch your
attitude.  Now, come and sit down here by me...."

"I'd rather not..."

"Fucking slave!  Do as you're told, before I get those
two guard slaves in here and make you."

I lowered myself down onto the couch as gently as I
could, because my butt was so incredibly tender after
the constant whipping he'd given me.  But however
careful I was, I couldn't help wincing as the cold of
the leather touched my delicate skin.  Billy-Joe
didn't notice, or didn't seem to notice, or pretended
not to notice, then he  sort of sidled up to me as I
sat there.

"Now, Steve, I do like to see you like this", he
commented.  "Look at how good that scrap of white is
between your bronzed thighs.  It makes you altogether
more exciting, you know.  Somehow, having that tiny
scrap of cloth attempting to hide your tackle
emphasises it in some way.  So, tell me, how is it,
now that you're not soaked in sweat all the time?"

"Billy... Master - look, I've told you that it's
fucking humiliating!  I'd rather take a risk with damp
shorts, than appear in public like this.  Can't you
see that?"

"Steve, you really don't understand, do you?  You're
my property, and I don't want you damaged.  And it's
for your own good I have you dressed like this - it
would be awful if the insides of your thighs got all
chapped and the skin started to flake.  It wouldn't be
good for you, and it wouldn't look nice.  I do think
about your welfare, you know.  Now... Come here...."

He put his arm around my neck, pulled my head towards
his and I got the reek of the stale beer fumes from
his breath as he went to kiss me.  At the same time he
reached down and started to fondle my dick and balls
through the pouch - or, rather , he started to wriggle
his fingers down inside it, prodding and probing at my
dick and balls.  I hated it - it was bad enough when
he did this to me when I was naked, but somehow having
him groping me through the fabric was even worse.  And
there was no way he was going to kiss me!  I tried to
push him away, and that really upset him.

"Steve, that's not the way a slave behaves when his
master is paying him the compliment of caressing his
body!  You should be pleased.  Now, get up, and go and
bend over the arm of the couch, as I think you need to
be reminded of your real role, by a little lesson..."

Well, the lesson was that as I bent there, he clapped
my butt with his open palm, several times, very hard.
There's two problems with that - firstly, it's fucking
humiliating to have your former best buddy spank you;
and secondly, it hurt like hell!  The big, open-handed
slaps interacted with the weals and sores from his
whipping to make me really be in agony.

When he allowed me to and up I was flushed with anger,
and pain, and humiliation.  I stood there, my limbs
almost quivering with my pent-up anger and
frustration, and Billy-Joe looked at me and said "Wow
- fantastic!  You look really roused, Steve.  Now,
kneel down, butt in the air, and let me fuck you."

I don't even know why I bothered.  There was no way he
was going to fuck me. But I knelt there obediently,
and glanced at him as he dropped his boxers to reveal
his flabby body.  He knelt between my legs and ran his
hands all over my back, up and down my ribs, grunting
and groaning with the pleasure it gave him:  I was
repulsed by it.  Then he bent right over me and
whispered in my ear "Now for the best bit, Steve - I
get to undress you,...."

The stench of his beer-laden breath was dreadful.  And
he fumbled at the knot holding the strings of my pouch
together on my thigh - he seemed to be in almost a
fever of impatience to undo it, and he couldn't.  So
he pulled the string down instead - it was reasonably
tight in order to keep the thing on, and it really
hurt as it scraped over my sore butt.  And then, of
course, as he started to fuck me, I reacted violently.
 And it was really violent this time, extremely  so -
I reared up and almost threw him onto the ground, then
fucked him as hard and fast as I could.  Poor Grunt
just knelt there watching - he didn't know what to do.
 Should he try to help his owner, or call the guards,
or what?  But I knew he could see that Billy-Joe was
enjoying it really - it was as if all the humiliation,
all the spanking, all the attempts to fuck me, were
just to incite this rage in me, so that I would use
him, use him hard, use him just as if he was some
piece of  male flesh I'd picked up in a brothel.

When I'd finished, as usual he told me to get out,
but when Charlie and Coon collected me, instead of
taking me to the slave dorms they instead took me and
put me into a tiny individual cell, with a small thin
mattress on the floor, and a threadbare blanket to
cover myself with.  "It's Mr Straughan's orders,
Steve", they told me.  "He and Master Billy-Joe don't
want you fucking the other slaves.  Master Billy-Joe
has decided that he wants you kept fresh for your
studding work.  So you're going to sleep in here in
future."

"What a waste!", I said.  "I don't think it's anything
to do with the studding.  I think he wants to keep me
'fresh' so that I can f...."

"Hush, man!", Coon cried, almost in alarm.  "Don't
even whisper it.  You never know, walls have ears."

I lay there and pulled the blanket up over myself, and
 pondered what was to become of me.  I was beginning
to think that Billy-Joe would never release me, and
that I'd be a slave for the rest of my life.  And how
long could this cycle of mutual 'abuse' go on for?
There was  no way I could fuck Billy-Joe any harder
that I was already doing, and yet there was  almost no
limit to the way in which he could continue whipping
me, was there?  After the tawse he now had this evil
stinging carriage whip - but suppose he decided to
move up a notch, and start use a whip that caused the
skin to break and the blood to flow?  What was going
to happen?

I must have drifted off to sleep, but came awake as
there was a noise at the barred door of my cell
Charlie and Coon were outside with Grunt, and they
held their fingers to their lips to indicate that I
should be silent.  They unlocked the gate and Grunt
came in.  I was standing up now, and the boy almost
threw himself at me and wrapped his arms around  my
body and hugged me.  He was kind of half sobbing as he
pressed his head into my chest, and I could feel his
dick brushing against mine as we were so close.  I
rubbed my hand up and down his back, feeling the
spines on his backbone through his skin - none of us
slaves were overfed, and so there was absolutely no
fat on him at all.  Over his body I saw Charlie and
Coon locking the door again, and going away, still
making the little "quiet" gestures at me.

I gently pushed Grunt away from me, and said "Hey,
what's all this....?"

"Oh Steve, it's terrible... When you left, Master
Billy-Joe started to slap me and hit me - he caned my
butt, and then he paddled me with a flat leather thing
until I was bawling.  I couldn't help it, honestly,
Steve.  I'm not as tough or as brave as you, and I
couldn't keep quiet as he continued to hit me.  And
the more I cried, the more he seemed to like it, and
the more he hit me.  And then he fucked me, as he
usually does - but my butt was so sore that as he
slammed into me I kept crying out.  And that excited
him, too - the more I shouted, the more he fucked.  As
you know, he's got a big thick dick anyway, and it
always hurts when he goes into me;  but tonight it was
really dreadful..... "

"But why are you here?"

"Master Billy-Joe told Charlie and Coon to put me into
the slave dorms, and you probably don't realise it,
but a young guy like me gets fucked over and over
again in there:  I'm supposed to go with the other
indoor slaves and I can mostly hold my own against the
waiters and so on.  But tonight Master Billy-Joe told
them to put me in with the outdoor slaves - all the
big tough guys like you, Steve.  So I knew what would
happen - I'd have to take a whole lot more dick, and
I'm just too sore...  Charlie and Coon saw how upset I
was, and they're risking punishment themselves by
putting me in here with you.  I can stay, can't I,
Steve...?"

It was a silly question really, wasn't it?  We were
locked in.  We had no choice.  He was with me, whether
I liked it or not.  Then I looked at the tiny thin
pallet on the floor, and wondered where and how we
were going to sleep.  Grunt solved that, though - he
put his arms around me again and almost pressed me to
lie down, and then he snuggled himself in next to me -
I was lying facing him, and instead of "spooning"
himself into me with his back to my front, he kept his
face to me and again put his arms around my neck and
pulled himself towards me.  I could feel his legs
scrabbling around, and he succeeded in getting one of
his in-between mine, then a little shuffle and we were
in contact along almost all our bodies.  I could feel
him get an erection - his strong, young lad's dick was
virile and strong as it stabbed into my belly and
dick.  I found myself responding - I mean, when
there's an erect dick thrusting at yours, how can you
prevent yourself from getting an erection in return?

It was actually uncomfortable trying to lie there on
the narrow pallet with our erections thrusting at each
other's bellies, and then a thrill ran through me -
Grunt's long fingers curled themselves around my
shaft.  I went to protest, but it actually felt good.
The lad seemed to have relaxed, and I didn't want to
upset him, so I let him continue.  He carried on
playing idly for a few moments, then wriggled his body
a bit so that our dicks were close together.  Then he
wrapped his fingers around both shafts, so I could
feel the heat of his dick pressing all along the
length of mine.  It felt fucking great!  There's
something about the sensations your dick sends you,
isn't there?  And when what's causing that is another
dick, well....!  And then he started to jerk us off,
running his hand up and down our two shafts as they
were pressed together.

In spite of having fucked Billy-Joe only about half an
hour before, I just knew I was ready to cum again. But
this wasn't right, was it, having a young lad jerk me
off?

"NO, Grunt...", I whispered, but he murmured back
"Yes, Steve!" And carried on.  What was I supposed to
do?  Of course I was stronger than him, and I could
have pushed him away.  But he'd been hurt and abused
already this evening, and had been terrified at the
thought of having the outdoor slaves use him as a fuck
toy - if I were to use force on him, it might
traumatise him.  So I let him continue, and I felt
myself almost groaning with the pleasure and
excitement of it.  I'd never realised that jerking off
could be so much fun.  Not only was it the other dick
against mine, but it was having another guy do it to
me:  I'd never done any of this stuff at high school
or college, never played with my buddies' dicks, never
even thought of joining in the circle jerks that were
rumoured to go on at High School.  Jesus, I though,
look what I've been missing - I could have had all
this fun with my buddies.

In some way, having such a young guy as Grunt made me
think of myself at that age, and all the guys I'd
known then in my football team - it made me start to
think about young manhood.  And, perhaps if I had been
more responsive then instead of always pretending not
to be interested in the other guys, Billy-Joe might
have turned out differently.  With a bit of real sex
with his buddies, Billy-Joe might have worked it out
of his system and might now be properly married,
instead of fucking young lads, and making his  old
buddy fuck him!

We both shot at the same time.  I could feel his hot,
wet semen spurting out onto my belly, and mine did the
same to him.  He pulled himself closer to me as our
erections started to subside, and I wondered what we'd
be like in the morning - with all that semen sticking
us together, it might be really painful to break apart
as our pubic hair would be stuck down!  But who cared?
 It felt so good to have a warm, lithe body pressed
into mine, to feel his warm breath against my skin,
just to have his "presence" next to me.  I began to
feel a bit guilty that this was a young lad and it
might be seen that I was taking advantage of him - but
I guessed that as he'd been enslaved at sixteen and
was probably now eighteen, he knew what he was doing -
he'd evidently had lots of experience already, as he
hadn't invented that "dick to dick" jerking himself,
had he?  It was him who'd seduced me, not me him.

We slept. But I wasn't used to sleeping with another
guy, only wit h my girl friend.  And there's a
difference - women are somehow more rounded, and
softer, and Grunt was muscular and bony.  We kind of
drifted in and out of sleep throughout the night, and
whenever we were both simultaneously awake, I could
see a flicker of a smile on Grunt's face.  He sighed
in his sleep once, and whispered to me "Steve,
thanks... It's really good to be with you, Steve.
Steve... I love you..."

"Hey!  Stop that!  Cut that nonsense out!  You can't
love me!  You don't know me!  And, anyway, I'm a guy,
like you.  Two guys can't love each other."

"Of course they can, Steve.   It's natural.  I wish I
could stay with you like this for ever.  I wish we
could just stay here, in this bed, and forget about
the rest of the world.  Forget about master Billy-Joe,
forget that we're slaves.... If we were free men,
Steve, we could go away together, live together..."

"Don't be silly, Grunt!   If we weren't slaves, we'd
never have met!  And if we weren't slaves, there'd be
no way that I'd be in bed with you. I don't have sex
with other men..."

"You do with Master Billy-Joe...!"

"That's different.  That's not sex, that's.... well,
punishment.  I'm punishing Billy-Joe for the way he
treats me, and you,...."

"I don't understand, Steve.  How can you punish a man
by having sex with him?  Isn't it meant to be good,
and fun?  Like it was with us, just now?"

"Yes, sex is meant to be fun.  It's the best thing two
people can do together. But it depends on why you were
doing it.  Like... well... what we just did, when you
jerked us both off, that was good.  We both liked it.
It caused us both a lot of pleasure.  But when
Billy-Joe beats you and then fucks you, that's not
fun, is it?"

"No, Steve.  But is it fun when you throw the master
over and fuck him hard, so hard he's almost crying?"

I was at a loss, now, because of course for Billy-Joe
the rough, hard sex I did to him was fun.  But what
about me?  I really enjoyed the way that Grunt had
played with my dick.... but, actually, I hadn't
enjoyed it as much as I had enjoyed showing my
superiority, my power, my dominance, my control, over
Billy-Joe.  Unable to answer him, I just lay there,
silent.

"Steve... Will you fuck me, fuck me properly, in the
way that's meant to cause us both a lot of pleasure?"

Oh Christ!  Where was all this leading?  What was I
supposed to do?  I didn't want to turn the lad away,
as he needed some human contact, some warmth, some
companionship.

"No, Grunt.. It wouldn't be right... "

"Please, Steve.  Don't you like me?  Is it something
I've done?  Is it because Master Billy-Joe has already
fucked me, so that you don't want me now?"

I could hear a muffled sob coming from him, and I
didn't want to upset him any more, so I sort of
whispered "No, it's not that...."

"So please, Steve.  Please... I want to be close to
you, that special closeness that you only get when
you're locked together fucking.  I used to do it with
some of the other slave lads when we were being
schooled before I was first auctioned, and it really
did feel good.  I really enjoyed it.  I loved those
other  slaves, and wanted to stay with them for
ever... But since I came here, all that's happened is
that I've been beaten and used.  I want you to show me
how two guys can be real friends, Steve, show me how a
proper man like you can love me.... It was great with
the other slave boys, but we were only sixteen, and I
want a proper man to love me, Steve.  Please...."

As if to settle the matter he turned over so that his
butt was pressing into my pubes.  He wriggled and
squirmed, and the motion of his butt against my dick
stated to get me aroused again.  This couldn't be
happening, surely?  I couldn't be getting turned on by
the attentions of another guy, and a really young one
at that, could I?   But I was, especially a Grunt
continued to wriggle himself and try to get my dick
down between is young, muscular butt as he pressed
himself against me.  I could feel him lifting his leg
- the cool night air came in under the blanket - and
pulling his butt apart.  I don't really know how he
did it, but as we lay there side by side he managed to
get my dick positioned on his hole, and kind of half
slid his asshole over me.  He was half-twisted around,
almost lying in my arms and he reached backwards with
his head, trying to kiss me.  His neck and shoulders
were right up against me, and I couldn't resist
sinking my teeth gently - so as not to hurt him - into
his flesh: I didn't break the skin, but wanted him to
know that I had him so close to me and that I could
control him.

He was moving himself now, my half-buried dick almost
coming out of him, and I couldn't help it - I kind of
thrust myself forward as best I could to stay inside,
so incredible was the feeling of having his young guy
really wanting me inside him.

I don't know how long it went on for.  It's not the
easiest position to fuck in, is it?  But this wasn't
really fucking - this was having my dick in Grunt's
ass, and having him massage it with his ass muscles
whilst he himself moaned and groaned at the pleasure
it was causing him.   I did cum eventually, and then
Grunt could relax - he lowered his leg, and snuggled
back against me.  I put my arms around him, and then
his hand guided mine down to his dick, which was erect
again:  I suppose you expect that from young guys, as
they're always horny.

I'd never really jerked anyone else off before, but as
his hand almost made mine circle his dick, it just
felt right, felt natural, felt as if it was what I
wanted to do because I would enjoy it, and because I
knew Grunt would, too.  I stroked and caressed his
dick gently, and my other hand (he way lying on my
outstretched arm) couldn't help but make small
circular motions over his nips.  As I did so, I could
almost literally feel his dick stiffen and begin to
jerk under my fingers.

And after he'd shot his load, we slept.  We both slept
the sleep of the utterly exhausted, the utterly
content.

Charlie and Coon had to shake us awake the next
morning, and they were grinning hugely as they saw our
two naked bodies twined together in that abandon of
sleep that only two lovers really achieve.  And Coon
held up the blanket, and pointed at the pallet, which
were both covered in our dried cum.  He and Charlie
"high fived" each other, as if to celebrate something
really good.

That was to be the pattern of our lives for the next
two weeks.  It was almost surreal - running as a pony
for Billy-Joe most mornings, then being taken off by
him to "stud" in the afternoons: he must be making a
small fortune from me, I thought:  as one local farmer
used me and told the others how good I was at fucking,
the others wanted me, too, and I'm sure Billy-Joe
charged them more and more. Then, in the evening,
Billy-Joe's increasingly crude sexual advances at me
that caused me to erupt and fuck him, followed by the
eager wait in my tiny cell at night for Charlie and
Coon to bring Grunt in to me, so we could have
passionate, loving sex.
Under Grunt's eager tutelage I learned to truly
appreciate how two men can enjoy each other's bodies.
We jerked each other off, then Grunt taught me the
pleasures of mutual sucking.  I fucked him on his
knees, on his back, side by side... And towards the
end of the two weeks I was even getting used to having
his dick play around my pucker - he was gradually
working me towards the idea that I would like to feel
his hard, warm dick inside me, just as he did mine.
And I think I'd have let him, too, until everything
changed.

Billy-Joe decided to go back to the city for a couple
of days, and so I was returned to working on the
estate cart - probably just as well, as some of my
upper body muscles were not getting properly exercised
with just pulling the rickshaw.  There was one
difference, of course:  unlike every other of the
outdoor slave on the estate, who were neatly and
modestly dressed in their plain cotton shorts, I had
only my tiny pouch to wear and my butt was totally
naked  (although it was much less "obvious" now, I
suppose, as the sun burned it to the same rich brown
as the upper part of my body, and my legs).
Unfortunately, though, my return to 'normal' work
meant that I had to spend my nights in the slave dorms
like all the other outdoor slaves, and of course Grunt
was locked in with the indoor servants.  I just
couldn't get to sleep without his body around me,
without him tending to my physical desire for sex.  It
wasn't the same, of course, but I have to admit that I
did do the obvious thing - I used some of the other
guys to satisfy me instead, but as I fucked them, I
always thought of Grunt and how I could almost imagine
that it was his firm young butt that I was pounding.

I was glad when Straughan came to the slave shed one
day and told me to get the rickshaw out again - that
must mean Billy-Joe had returned, and so, hopefully, I
would be back to being able to be with Grunt at night.
 It was with a happy heart, well, almost, that I stood
at the foot of the steps waiting for Billy-Joe that
morning.

He came out as usual, looking cheerful, and as soon as
he came close he immediately snapped my cuffs closed,
to lock me wrists to the shafts.  "Hey, Steve, good to
see you again.  You sure are looking good - that sun
has done wonders for your butt, you know.  That dark
tan really suits you."

Actually, I think it was the absence of whipping for a
couple of weeks that had really done wonders for my
skin - without the disfiguring weals and marks, it
looked smooth and firm and masculine, and it made me
feel good, too.  Still, I decided to say nothing, and
just stood there.

Billy-Joe went on, and I could hardly believe the good
news he was giving me:  "Steve, you were right.  You
said that pouch and the string and stuff was
humiliating, and I can see that, now.  'Modern Slave
Owner' had an article this month on the subject, and I
can see now that I was treating you wrongly.  A slave
shouldn't have to have his dick and balls all confined
like that.  And did the string make your pucker sore?
The author of the article said an owner needed to be
really careful..."

"Yes, Bill..  Master.  It is a bit irritating."

"It's not right that you feel humiliated, Steve.
'Modern Slave Owner' says that a slave should just
feel that he's doing his job, that he's serving his
master properly through hard work, and that
humiliating the slave is only something that the
'nouveau riche' would do, not something that a real
gentleman would contemplate."

Billy Joe came around to the side of me, and fumbled
at the knot holding the string around my waist.  He
undid it, and pulled the pouch away from me.  Then,
and I wished he hadn't done this, he gently teased my
dick away from my balls, where they had been stuck
together by their close confinement - I mean, it's OK
to do that for yourself, isn't it- you can even do it
in locker rooms if you take a tight jock off - but
it's not something you want another guy to do for you,
is it?  Still, I wasn't going to let anything spoil my
mood of good humour - I was going to get decent slave
shorts again, and I was looking forward to Grunt that
night.

"Yes, Steve, I have been wrong.  In 'Modern Slave
Owner', they were pointing out that slaves who work in
mines, or in factories, go entirely naked - no, I mean
without clothes.  After all, a slave's only function
there is to return a profit for his owner, and even a
scrap of cloth costs something, doesn't it?  And it
needs laundering occasionally, and so on.  And the
same is true for all slaves, isn't it?  I mean, I had
to spend about twenty bucks on that silly pouch, and
then you didn't like it, and it potentially damaged
you.  So I'm going to do what 'Modern Slave Owner'
recommends, and let you run proud and free, with
absolutely no restrictions, nothing to chafe, no costs
for me..."

"Please!  Billy-Joe, you can't be serious!  You can't
be planning to make me run naked...!"

"Steve, you don't listen, do you?  You don't
understand the subtle differences in these things.
The slaves in the factories and mines aren't naked,
they're without clothes.  A slave in our society can
never be naked, now can he?"

As he spoke, Billy-Joe reached up and ran his finger
along the inside of my slave collar.  It felt like a
warm, wet slug to me, and I almost jerked away from
his touch.

"See, you've got your slave collar on.  All slaves do.
 A collared slave is never naked, by definition.  He
may have clothes, or not, but he's not naked.  And you
forget another thing:  your silly inhibition about
appearing without clothes is a result of you still
thinking that you're a free man:  only a free man can
feel shame at being nude, and it's completely
inappropriate for a slave.  A slave is, after all,
just a piece of his owner's property, just as a pet
dog is, and we don't dress our dogs up in fancy
clothes, do we? There can be no shame for a slave to
appear nude, if that's how his owner wants to present
him to the world.  So start thinking properly, Steve -
I thought you were adapting well to the life, but
sometimes I have my doubts!"

"Billy-Joe, please don't do this to me..."

"Steve, shut up, and stop whining.  I really don't
know why you are concerned.  As I've explained, you're
not naked - everyone can see your slave collar, so
they know you're a slave, so there's no shame in not
being clothed.  You're being triply foolish, anyway:
you're so well hung that even if you were a free man
you ought to be proud to have that dick and those
balls of yours on display;  and a whole lot of the
people around here have seen you unclothed anyway-
think of the number of times you've 'studded' now -
they not only see all your body, they see you doing
things in public that free men only do behind closed
doors!  So now, let's hear no more of this foolishness
- jog on!"

He was after even more sensation, of course.  After
his triumph with being the first one with a rickshaw,
he'd had to have me in the tiny pouch to boost his ego
and make him special when other rickshaws started to
appear.  And now he needed something new, something
different,  so having me pull him totally naked - I
don't care about semantics here:  I was naked, in
spite of what Billy-Joe said about collars - was the
way to go.

Have you ever tried running without anything at all on
you to constrain your dick and balls?  They kind of
fly around all over the place.  And it hurts!  Your
balls aren't used to banging from side to side against
your thighs, and your dick isn't used to bobbing up
and down with no control.  You never exercise like
that, do you?  I mean, at school and college you
always wear a jock, or running shorts with inbuilt
support.  I know they say the Ancient Greeks used to
do all the early Olympic stuff totally naked, but I'm
inclined to disbelieve them - it's just too fucking
painful.  On the other hand, though, most of the guys
in those old statues are not particularly well hung,
are they?  Even big tough-looking guys seem to have
little boys' dicks - so for them it probably wasn't so
bad.  But for me, with my low-hangers and proper
man-sized dick, it really hurt.  By the time I was
racing down the main street I'd almost forgotten my
shame and embarrassment at it as the constant nagging
ache from my balls spread through my body - even the
stinging of the whip into my naked butt couldn't take
my mind off that.

And when we got home, and I'd been "prepared" and
taken naked to Billy-Joe's suite, there was something
even worse.

End Of Part 17


YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part eighteen

By Pete Brown  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

SERVANT


Billy-Joe was slumped on the couch as usual in his
loose T and boxers.  He was chugging away at a beer,
but instead of Grunt holding the bottle out to him on
a silver platter as he always had been before, the
bottle was parked on the floor between gulps.

"Hey, Steve.... Come on in.   You're looking great as
usual, and without that silly pouch thing you really
look the business:  those guys who write for the
magazines really know what they're doing, I can tell -
it's much better for you to be like that, isn't it?
No sweaty clothes restricting you.  You can run free,
uninhibited."

"Billy-Joe, please!  Please don't make me go on like
this.  It's not right - a man has a right to have even
a a scrap of cloth to cover him, otherwise we're no
better than animals...."

"I keep telling you, Steve... It's only men who have
rights.  Slaves have no rights, they're just there to
obey.  And it saves me money not to have to buy you
clothes, and it lets me get a better look at you, and
I get the pleasure of seeing how my old buddy has been
turned into such a perfect specimen of male flesh by
all the effort we've put in to feed you properly, and
make sure you exercise.  Now, stop being silly about
this - as I've explained, you're not naked really,
you're just without clothes;  that collar tells
everyone you're a slave, so it's OK."

He sat up, finished his beer, and handed me the empty
bottle.  "Go and get me another beer from the fridge."
   No  "please" or anything - just a curt order, to a
slave.

There was a tiny kitchen area off the main room behind
a door, not big enough to do any serious coking in,
but large enough to enable the waiters to re-heat
food, or to put it onto the elegant china plates that
I'd seen around from the containers that carried it up
from the kitchens.  I went in, found the fridge, and
got another beer.  I had to search for the opener,
then carried it back into the main room and handed it
to Billy-Joe.

He didn't immediately take it, but looked at me and
said "Don't you know how to serve a beer?  Didn't you
see how Grunt used to do it?"

Grunt hadn't been there as I'd gone in, and now
Billy-Joe's use of language alarmed me.

"Billy-Joe, what do you mean?  How he 'used to do it'?
 Where's Grunt, anyway?"

"Not that it's any concern of yours, Steve, but I'll
tell you anyway.  I've sold him."

"What?"  My exclamation came out loud, and sharp, and
reprovingly.  I was horrified.  What had he done to
the lad?

"As I said, I've sold him."

The realisation struck home.  I'd probably never see
Grunt again.  And now that we had become - well -
lovers, I felt devastated.  I think that's the first
time I'd accepted that I could feel something for
another guy, really feel something, love him, I
suppose.  And now it was being torn from me.

"Sold him?  To who?  Where?"   I don't know why I
bothered to ask, as there was nothing to be done about
it, was there?  Even if he'd been sold to the next
estate, there was absolutely no prospect of being able
to see him, to have his body next to mine in bed, to
be in him, to have him in me, to do all those things
together that had so transformed my life.  I was
breaking up inside.  I wanted to cry, but men don't do
that.  I was clenching my fists by my side in impotent
fury, and if the consequences would probably not have
been so dire, I would have leapt on to Billy-Joe and
punched him senseless for what he'd done.

"Steve, you've probably forgotten the realities of
life, living this cosseted existence you have here.
You don't have to worry about money, worry about how
you're going to pay the bills, worry about where the
next dollar is coming from to enable you to keep up
standards.  I have a position to maintain, you know.
I'm a gentleman, and a gentleman has standards, and
they can be expensive to maintain - not that you'd
know much about that anyway as you never did bother
much about having the right clothes, or the right
after-shave, or the latest shirt style, or going to
the right restaurants with the right people:   no, you
just came down from the North and slopped around in
casual clothes, didn't bother how you looked going to
the office, and ate at the fast food places.  Well,
it's not like that for a gentleman.  And it's got even
easier for you since you came here - nothing at all to
worry about, everything found for you, no bills to
pay, no need to save for the future....  As usual,
you're incapable of thinking about others, about
thinking about how it is for me, needing to keep a
certain position in society."

The arrogant fucker!  If he thought I led a cosseted
life he should try running under the hot sun, dragging
his fat body behind me, and getting lashed with that
fucking whip of his!  But he was still speaking, and
although I could feel my anger rising, I struggled to
keep myself under control.

"You probably don't know, because you wouldn't even be
interested in trying to see how things are for me - so
much for supposedly being my buddy - but things aren't
going well between me and he Colonel.  He doesn't want
me to spend any time in the city, making my own
career, and he wants me to spend my time here running
this fucking place.  He's suggested that I 'work
under' Straughan to really get an appreciation of
estate management, so that when my time comes I can
maintain the family tradition and settle down here,
marry a proper southern belle, raise the next
generation, and keep this place up in 'the way our
family always has since the civil war'.  Well, it's
not for me, Steve.  I will do the marriage bit and the
kids and all, and it will be good to have this place
as somewhere to come to at weekends.  But I like city
life, and there's no way I want to be buried here
raising crops, disciplining the slaves, and all that.
So things are tough.  And the Colonel is making it
hard for me by cutting off my allowance - I've had to
let the city apartment go as there was no rent money.
He wouldn't even help me pay for the Jaguar, and he
made me get rid of that, as you know.   And now I'm
stuck here - but I've still got expenses, you know:
the tailor, the shirt maker, the boot maker, the
barber, all that sort of stuff.  As I said, a man
needs to maintain standards."

"Yes, but what about Grunt...."

"Steve, that's what I mean!  You ought to be focussed
on me, your owner, not on some slave boy.... I was
telling you about my problems, and you ask about a
fucking slave boy that I sold?"

"But Grunt was my friend, my lov....  Well, he and I
were really good friends, we...."

"Steve, you go on and on, making more and more
mistakes, don't you?  Didn't anyone ever tell you that
you can't be friends with a slave?  That's true for
free men and slaves; and it's even more true for
so-called friendships between slaves.  Slaves don't
have friends - they should be totally concentrating on
serving their owners.  I thought that Grunt was
falling off a bit in the performance league recently,
and now you tell me that you and he were so-called
'friends'... Well, perhaps that explains it.  So it's
just as well he's gone.  It will make it easier for
you to concentrate on serving me."

"Please, Billy-Joe, tell me where he's gone..."

"I don't know really.  I was talking to one of the
other young blades at the club and we got on to how
difficult it is to ever please your dad.  He'd got a
big problem in that it was his father's seventieth
birthday coming up, and he really wanted to give his
dad a special present, something he'd really
appreciate.  And before you know it, it was obvious -
a nice, eager, virile, lithe young slave, properly
trained in personal service, was just the thing.  We
finished our drinks and went straight around to the
biggest dealer in town, but there  was nothing:  lots
of workers, lots of muscled studs, plenty of older
guys trained in service, but absolutely nothing that
fitted the bill that we'd talked about.  Well, I
couldn't not help out a buddy, could I?  So we went
back to his place and connected to the Internet, and I
logged in to our management system here - yes, I do
know something about running the estate -  opened the
inventory files, and showed him Grunt. Along with my
personal assurance that the lad was properly trained
in all aspects of personal service, it was clear that
this was the ideal present.  So we did a deal, and the
transporter came and collected Grunt this morning.
The money will be really helpful - I went to my tailor
and ordered a new formal suit at once:  I really need
something new, as you can't keep wearing the same
clothes, can you, even though they're not worn out?
And the Colonel refused to pay for things like
that...."

"Yes, but where's he gone, what's going to happen to
him, how...?"

"How the fuck should I know?  And I don't care,
either.  I sold him, I got the money, the new owner
collected him.  What more is there to say?"

"But he was your slave for two years.... Didn't you
even like him?"

"Of course I did.  And I liked my Jaguar.  And I like
my clothes.  And I like my watch.  But if I want to, I
sell them.  There's always another one, after all -
although the dealer didn't have any serving lads of
the right kind this week, there's always a fresh
supply on the way - some family or other falls on hard
times, and sells their sixteen year old son... And
it's not hard to train them at that age to serve
properly.  And, you know, taking a new slave's cherry
is part of the fun... as you may remember....
Anyway, I've no idea where he's gone.  I expect it's
to some estate like this, or perhaps my buddy's dad
has a city apartment...  actually, I hope it's an
estate, as it's so much better for slaves to live in
the country, as when his owner has tired of him he can
always be put to work in the fields.  But don't you
think it's a good idea?  I hope that when I'm seventy
someone thinks to give me a nice young lad with a
firm, virile, lithe body, something that's really easy
on the eye and that might stir an old dick into life?
And a slave with a good fuckable butt and a willing
mouth, who'll minister to my every need?  No, it's the
ideal fit, the more I think about it, a really
inspired choice of gift.  Grunt had it too easy here,
dealing with me - it will do him good to have to
service an old man, someone who knows what he wants,
and is used to getting it.  He'll have to work really
hard to excite the guys' dick into life, or he'll be
punished - that's the normal way of these things.  But
then, he's young, he's strong, he's virile, so it
ought to be relatively easy for him. "

I stood there, and if I hadn't needed to appear to be
strong, I'd have wept.  My anger that had swept over
me had passed, and now all I could feel was utter
despair, and resignation that what had been done had
been done, and that there was no changing it.  I was
just a slave, Grunt was just a slave, and we were
powerless to affect our own lives.

Billy-Joe looked at me then, and said "Anyway, there's
a few changes for you, too, Steve.  I've decided not
to buy another lad to replace Grunt as I'd rather keep
the cash for living expenses, at least until I manage
to charm the Colonel a bit!  But I do need someone to
look after me, someone to serve me, someone to keep my
clothes in order and so on, and you're not fully
occupied:  I usually only need you for a trip in the
rickshaw for two or three hours, unless I'm studding
you.  So you've got lots of free time, and it's a
waste having a good-looking guy like you dragging that
farm cart around.  So I'm going to use you as my body
slave as well as my pony - when you're not out pulling
, you'll live here, in my quarters, so you're always
on hand to serve me."

"Billy-Joe, I'm not your servant, I was your buddy,
this voluntary enslavement thing wasn't meant to be
like this..."

"You're right, Steve!  You're not my servant!  You're
my fucking slave, and the sooner you properly realise
that, and start thinking and acting like a slave, the
easier life will be for both of us.  Now.... that
beer.... all this talk's made me thirsty!  But we'd
better start the way I intend to continue.  Go back
into the kitchen and find the sterling silver serving
salver, then come back, kneel down, and present the
beer to me properly, as you saw Grunt doing."

"Billy-Joe, please...."

"Right, Steve.  That's the last warning.  From now on,
I want you to act completely like the slave you are.
If you ever call me anything other than 'master'
again, or if you ever disobey me, I'll have Straughan
take you outside and flog you - he's bought a nice new
bull whip, I suspect in anticipation of you turning
into a renegade.  You'd better make up your mind,
Steve:  are you going to be a proper slave, or do you
want to be flayed on the whipping frame?  You never
recover from that, you know -  it's not just that your
skin is shredded and you're scarred for life, but it
does something to your brain:  all the slaves I've
ever seen who've been bullwhipped are somehow
different - their eyes are 'dead', they don't have
even a shred of independence left in them;  all they
can do is obey, totally and utterly and absolutely.
In fact, I'm not sure that that isn't what you need,
and having you 'broken' like that might be the best
thing for you.  But I do like to see that body of
yours, and so I'll hold off for the time being.  But
this is your last warning, understand?  I'll give you
an order, and I'll be obeyed.  I'll explain about how
I like things done, but I'll only explain once, and
after that, you do them my way, or else!  Now, do you
understand and accept, or shall we just call the whole
thing off and I'll hand you over to Straughan?"

Well, it wasn't much of a choice ,was it?  I could
believe what he said about a flaying with a bull whip,
and I had no desire to suffer the pain, or to lose my
independence, such little as I still had.  So I
muttered "Yes, Master."

"Louder!"

"YES, MASTER."

"Good, Steve.  Now, I like my beer served on a silver
salver, and don't forget it.  Go out and find it, then
come and serve me properly."

I went out, found the salver, came back in, and
remembering how Grunt used to do it, I knelt by
Billy-Joe, and held out the salver in front of me.
There was an evil glint in Billy-Joe's eyes as he took
a big chug of the beer, then he put the bottle back
onto the tray that I was still holding out in front of
me.  You can't imagine how difficult this seemingly
easy operation is after a bit - apart from the rich
Chinese silk rugs on some parts, the floor of
Billy-Joe's apartment was solid oak planks, polished
to a gleaming brightness by generations of attention
from slaves, and as I knelt there my knees began to
hurt, and my toes, being kind of bent, ached. The
strain in my arms was considerable, too - I suppose
that having heavily muscled arms makes them heavier,
so having to keep them stretched out in front of me
was a real strain.  I don't know which was worse - the
muscle strain in my arms and shoulders, or the pain
from my knees and toes.

I tried to shuffle around a bit in the hope of getting
more comfortable, but the moment I moved Billy-Joe
snapped "Keep still!  You're meant to be a side-table,
and side-tables don't wriggle around.  Can't you do
the simplest things properly?"

I only got relief when Billy-Joe suddenly said "The
football's about to start - turn the TV to channel
sixteen."

It was another aspect of personal slavery that I
hadn't thought about - if you have a slave to serve
your every whim, why should you even bother with a TV
remote?  It must be a huge boost to your ego to be
able to order a guy to change the channel for you,
something that was so absolutely trivial, and which
therefore enabled you to show your total domination of
him.  Still, I thought, at least I could watch the
football!  I liked that, as you know, having been a
really good player myself.

Incredibly, it was not to be.  Billy-Joe sprawled on
the couch to watch the game, but he made me kneel at
the end of it, with my head away from the TV.  He then
used my bare back as a rest for his feet!  I could
feel them scraping around on me as he watched, and it
must have been a good game as he did all the stuff
real men do when they watch - shout out, jerk around,
and sometimes even almost scream with excitement.  His
feet sometimes pounded up and down on my back as this
was going on, but it meant nothing to me - you can't
really follow a football game just from the
commentary, can you?

When the match was over it was supper time.  Two of
the young indoor slaves - waiters - came in to the
apartment to serve Billy-Joe's dinner.  They were
dressed in their waiters' uniforms of short, tight
black Lycra shorts, and a kind of waistcoat, also in
black, without arms and which was open at the front
and reached down to about their navels.  Clipped to
the front of their slave collars was a black bow tie.
They went to set up a small table and chair, but
Billy-Joe told them to stop - instead, I was ordered
to change my kneeling position  so that I was kneeling
in front of the couch, and the waiters brought a big
tray over that had two spring-loaded clips underneath
it.  The tray was placed on my back, and the clips
gripped at my ribs to give it some stability.  I then
felt a cloth being put on the tray, as its edges hung
over and almost tickled my bare flesh, and then I
heard the sounds of the cutlery and glasses being laid
out.

Billy-Joe dined off my back, but I wasn't forgotten -
the last things the waiters did before retiring to
stand neatly by the wall, in case Billy-Joe wanted
anything else, was to put a small stainless steel bowl
down on the floor in front of me.  Inside was my
evening's ration of slave chow, but Billy-Joe told me
I was to leave it alone for the time being as he
didn't like the motion of a slave's body as he ate the
chow causing ripples in his wine glass.

I could hear Billy-Joe scoffing his food and making
slurping noises as he drank the wine - the waiters
came over several times to re-fill his glass, and I
just had to kneel there.  Was this going to be my life
from now on, acting as a fucking piece of furniture?
How much more could I be expected to take?  I felt
like doing something dramatic - standing up so all the
food and china and glass would go everywhere, and
pummelling Billy-Joe into a heap of bleeding and
broken flesh.  But how would that help?  They'd then
only do the same thing to me.  Something inside me
said "Hold it.  You can do this.  You're a tough guy,
with a mind of his own.  This can't go on for ever.
Things can only get better.  One day you'll come out
of this, and you want to come out of it with your body
and mind intact.  So hang in there...."   Well, all
these "self help" thoughts must have had some effect
as I stuck it out, then ultimately the tray was lifted
off my back.

"OK, Steve, your dinner time now...", Billy-Joe told
me, and I knelt upright and went to pick up the bowl.
I was really hungry - the morning and evening rations
were adjusted, as I've told you, so there was only
just enough food to maintain my body mass and required
energy output.
"NO!", Billy-Joe snapped.  "Did I give you permission
to get up?  Back down on elbows and knees, and eat
your chow out of the bowl on the floor.  It's time you
learned some proper humility, and maybe you'll think
more about your station in life if you eat off the
floor."

So I had to try and get the chunks up into my mouth
off the floor, and if you've ever tried to do that,
you'll know that it's really difficult - you have to
make all kinds of movements with your head and your
shoulders, and that makes your whole body wriggle
around if you're kneeling.  Billy-Joe seemed to get
some amusement to see my antics, as I could hear him
almost giggling to himself as I struggled to get my
food down.

There was more TV after that, but Billy-Joe was not
watching anything in particular.  So I had to kneel on
elbows and knees right in front of the TV, and
whenever Billy-Joe called out, reach up with a hand
and press the "channel up" and "channel down" buttons.
 It's irritating enough, isn't it, when someone else
is channel-hopping and you can't watch what you want,
but it's even worse when you can't actually see the
screen yourself!  All I got were the snatches of
dialogue or the sounds of the adverts, as my head was
below the bottom of the screen.

Billy-Joe ordered me to follow him into the bathroom
when it was time for bed.  He stood there and raised
his arms in the air, and looked at me expectantly.
"My body slave helps me undress, Steve.  Take my T
off", he commanded.

I pulled his T up over his head, and, looking around
to see if there was a linen box or anything, just
dropped it onto the floor.

"Hey, Steve!  Treat my property with some fucking
respect, will you?  That's a thirty dollar T you've
just dropped on the floor!  You fold all my clothes
neatly, even the dirty ones, understand?"

I nodded, but he snapped "...and when your owner
speaks to you, you always acknowledge it respectfully.
 A nod isn't good enough!  Understand?"

"Yes, master."

"Right... Carry on...."

He stood here, and I realised I was supposed to help
him out of his boxers.  Fuck me, was there no end to
the humiliation a slave could be put to?

He gestured, indicating that I was to kneel, and then
I had to ease his boxers down over his hips and help
them down his big thick thighs.  He stepped out of
them and stood there idly scratching at his fat belly,
as he watched as I folded the boxers and put them on a
small shelf.

He walked over to the toilet bowl and hosed a big
stream of piss down into it, letting out a fart as he
did so.  Evidently you could do that sort of thing in
front of slaves - when we'd been on the football team
I had of course seen him piss in the communal urinals,
but no guy would fart in front of the other players.
I remained kneeling as he brushed his teeth, then he
was standing in front of me, his big thick dick right
in front of my face.  There was a drop of his piss
still in his piss slit, and I got a faint whiff of
urine.

"Right.  I shower in the morning, so it's time for
bed.  You use this same toilet bowl as I do, but I
never expect to find any traces of you in there,
understand?  No small drops of piss on the floor, no
skid marks from your crap in the pan, and no smell.
You use it after I've finished, and you make sure it's
spotlessly clean.  Understand?"

"Yes, master."

"Right.  You have two minutes.  Then come to the
bedroom."

I didn't need to crap, but desperately needed a piss.
Billy-Joe didn't want me to leave any small piss spots
on the floor, but he had:  there were a couple of
small ones where he'd dripped as he finished.
Gritting my teeth to force myself to do it, I tore
some toilet tissue and scrubbed at them to make the
marble floor clean, then flushed it all away.  I got
up, and walked into the bedroom, feeling my dick
bouncing up and down in front of me.

Billy-Joe was standing by the huge double bed,
fiddling with something.  He indicated one of the
narrow, thin sleeping pads lying on the floor at the
foot of the bed, and said "This is where you normally
sleep, and make sure you don't sleep too deeply in
case I wake in the night and need something.  But
tonight's a bit special - your first night as my body
slave, so I'm going to break you in, as you might
say."

He pulled aside the blanket and the crisp white sheet
on top of the bed, and motioned for me to get in.  I
did so, and lay there, looking at him.

"Fucking marvellous, Steve!  That tan of yours against
the pure white of the sheet.  I never though all those
years we roomed together that I'd ever get you like
this.... But we both know there's a problem, don't
we....  Now, listen carefully:  things have changed.
I used to have Grunt to fuck after you'd left, but now
yours is the only ass around for me to fuck.  So
fucked you're going to be.  And we both know you're
not going to like that, and how you usually react. But
that's not acceptable now - the things you could do
when you weren't round all the time are no longer
acceptable:  a body slave has to be truly subservient
to the needs of his master. So no more fucking of me,
only me fucking you. Understand?"

Jesus... He wasn't going to fuck me, was he?  Yes,
somewhere inside, I knew he was.  What could I do?  I
started to panic, feeling my heart rate rise into the
stratosphere, and the sweat to break out all over me.

"Understand?", he asked again, somewhat peevishly.

"Yes, master."

"Look, Steve, I know this is going to be difficult for
you.  So if you've ever doubted that I'm a good
master, looking out for you, trying to make life
easier, remember this moment...  Now, hands above your
head, there's a good boy..."

My whole body was now trembling, but I raised my hands
and laid them on the pillow above my head.  What
Billy-Joe had been fiddling with turned out to be
leather cuffs.  He put them around my wrists and
tightened the small buckles holding them on, all the
time feeling with his fingers to make sure they were
not too tight, to cut my circulation, but not loose
enough to be able to slip over my hands.  The chain
joining the cuffs was only about a foot long, and he
opened a small concealed panel on the bed head, and
slipped the middle of it onto a hook that was in
there, closing something on top of the hook to make
sure the chain would not come free.  As he'd been
doing this, he'd had to lean over me and I caught a
whiff of his beer and wine stinking breath, and felt
his dick drag over my chest (presumably wiping the
drop of piss off onto me!).

That done, he pulled the sheet and blanket over me,
and went around the other side of the bed and got in.
He heaved himself across its vast expanse until he was
lying next to me, then put one leg down between mine,
and kind of hauled on my shoulder to make me half-turn
to face him.  His perspiring face was now so close to
mine, and the stink of the beer and wine was really
strong.

"So, Steve, this is nice, isn't it?  Two football
players really close together in bed.  You can't know
how many nights I went to sleep thinking about this...
I used to jerk off, wondering what it would be like to
be close to you in bed as we are now... And my dick
knows what's expected... Feel? "

As he said this he wriggled his hips a bit, and I
could feel his big, fat, now erect dick stabbing and
thrusting itself at my pubes, at my belly, at my body.

"But I don't have to jerk off, thinking about you, do
I?"   I could tell this was a rhetorical question, so
I didn't even attempt a "yes, master."

"No, I don't need to jerk off thinking about Steve
ever again.  Whenever I want to, I get to enjoy the
real thing...."

As he spoke, he started to play with my left nip,
rolling it around between his thumb and his
forefinger.

"Jesus, man, you've got a nice body", he whispered. "A
really great body to admire, and to play with.  I'm so
lucky to own a slave like you, Steve.  We're really
going to have some fun times together.... And do I
detect that you might be feeling the same way...?"

No he fucking well didn't!  I hated his great fat body
next to me, hated his alcohol-fuelled breath breathing
in my face, hated the feel of his dick rubbing all
over me.  But his hand was on my dick, and I couldn't
deny that he might have got the wrong impression, as
I'd sprung a huge wood:  you know I've got this nipple
thing, and as he'd been gently playing with them, I
just couldn't stop myself from getting boned.  But I
didn't say anything.  Billy-Joe wasn't really
expecting an answer.  Like a lot of guys, he just
liked to talk in bed, to add to his own excitement.

"OK, Steve.... Now let's get down to the serious
business.... Over on  to your belly...."

His hand was gripping my balls now, and with my hands
cuffed above my head, there was absolutely nothing I
could do, was there, so I rolled over.

Billy-Joe hauled his body so he was kind of crouching
over me, then he reached under my belly with both his
hands, and hauled me up into a semi-kneeling position.
 I could feel his hot flesh all against me, his wiry
pubic hair and his hard dick pushing at my butt.  Then
his face was on my back, and he rubbed the stubble on
his chin up and down my spine as he crooned "It's
almost time, Steve... Almost time for you to feel your
owner possessing you again.  You've only had my dick
once, haven't you?  Well, tonight's the start of the
new regime, when you get to take it all the time....
Do you want my dick, Steve?  Do you want to feel your
ass forced wide so that it takes my dick?  Are you
ready to give your owner the ultimate pleasure, the
feel of your ass caressing my dick....?"

I wasn't sure whether it was the unpleasant scratching
sensation, or the terrible words that he was using,
that caused a shudder to go right through me.  His
hands left my belly and I felt him grab my dick.  "Ah,
Steve... Your body is betraying you!  You think you're
not going to like getting fucked, I know,  but you're
hard as a rock... So, Steve.... Did you let young
Grunt up there?  Do you think I didn't know what you
did to him every night when I'd finished with him?
Well, now let's see if he got around to teaching you
how to take dick...."

End Of Part Eighteen