Date: Fri, 23 Jul 2004 14:29:32 -0700 (PDT)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: You Can't Be Friends With A Slave, Parts 25-26

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part twenty five

By Pete Brown  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

FUCKED!

It wasn't hard pulling master Rafe around the place,
as the area wasn't all that big.  But it did go on all
morning, as he never seemed to tire of watching the
slaves in training as they exercised, or ran around,
or were being lectured.  Occasionally he would call
one of the lads out from a group and inspect him, to
make sure all was well - that the slave was keeping
cleanly shaved all over, or that muscle was developing
properly.  Sometimes he had a whole group stand there
and jerk off, so he could see their cum - I don't know
why this was, as they were all young virile blokes:
perhaps it was to remind them that they were just
slaves, subject to his orders.

He went home to lunch, and I sat down on the back door
step to wait for him.  Luella came out and gave me
water to drink, and a sandwich!  An unimaginable
luxury, as I was of course used to eating only slave
chow.  I Looked at the thick slices of bread brimming
with cheese and ham, and my mouth drooled.  But I
remembered what happened to slaves who ate normal food
when they were on slave chow, and so pushed it away.

"Oh Steve", she told me, "You're another one of those
unsophisticated boys who believe everything they're
told!  Of course it won't hurt you - that's just a
story they put around to make sure slaves who work
with food don't steal it.  Every now and then they
give a slave a bit of ordinary food with an emetic in
it, just to make it look real, and the rest of you
believe it.  Where are you from - Hicksville?  I
thought you were a smart city type when I saw your
body yesterday... Just the sort of man I want to breed
with."

I looked at her with astonishment.  Could masters
really do that sort of things as another means of
controlling slaves?  Yes, they could, I suppose.

I saw her looking at me, and she slowly raised the hem
of her short slave smock until her sex was exposed to
me as I sat there.  "You like what you see, slave boy?
 I liked what I saw last night of you...."

My dick was instantly erect, tenting out the front of
my shorts.  I went to grab her, to pull her towards me
so I could bury my face in her sex, but she jerked
back.  "Now, now, slave boy... Patience!  Master Rafe
will decide when you're going to fuck with me, and
he'll want to watch... We mustn't spoil his fun...."

She continued to expose herself to me, but always
pulled away as I reached out for her - she was a real
prick teaser, I decided.  Master Rafe came out then,
and I scrambled to my feet, and both Luella and I went
into the "rest" position as he looked at us.  I could
almost feel his eyes staring at my tented shorts, and
somehow I knew that there would be a damp patch on
them where I was leaking pre-cum.

"So, Steve, Luella has been entertaining you, has she?
 The next time she's in heat, I think I'll invite a
few of my friends over and we'll watch you stud her -
folks around here prefer the real thing to those porn
videos, you know."

"Thank you, master", I muttered, blushing slightly.
Actually, I wasn't so sure.  She was a fine looking
woman, and one I'd have been happy to fuck when I was
a free man.  And I had been attracted by the quick
sight of her sex - but did I really want to fuck her?
Still, I wouldn't have much choice, would I, if my
owner ordered it?

"Go and get fresh shorts, Steve - some of the formal,
starched ones with a good crease.  I need to go into
town this afternoon and I want to make a good
impression as it's a bit of a formal occasion.  I
can't drive, as there won't be any parking spaces as
there'll be a big crowd, but you can just drop me off,
then come back later to collect me.  Get along - I'm
going to change, too, and I'll be ready in ten
minutes."

I jogged off to the dorm, wondering what was going on.
 I actually don't like the "formal" shorts - they
starch them so they're crisp and stand out from your
body, and that makes it very uncomfortable on your
dick:  the everyday ones, in soft, almost threadbare
cotton, are much better if you're working.  Still, the
formal ones do look smart, I suppose, and they're of a
subtly different cut - still tight across the butt, to
emphasise that, but the legs are wider and looser so
it looks as if your dick might drop out at any moment.
 It's a bit of a problem, actually, if you're hung
like me, as the legs are only just long enough to
cover the tip of your dick, and if you start to have
an erection, it can poke out (those of you from
non-slave states need to remember that slave shorts
are always cut very short and very high in the leg at
the best of times, and are not at all like the type of
shorts free men wear in warm weather.  Indeed, most
free men now wear shorts down to at least the knee, to
make it absolutely clear that they're not dressed in
slave wear).  And of course you can't sit down at all,
as you're then totally exposed.

When master Rafe came out he was dressed in a formal
suit in very dark grey and of a very conservative cut.
 He had a snowy white starched shirt on, and a black
tie.  His highly-polished shoes were black, and his
hair was neatly combed and lightly oiled.   I'd never
seen him in anything other than Jeans and a
short-sleeved shirt before and the change in him, now
that he looked like some sort of city banker, was
amazing.  It made for an even greater contrast than
usual between us - him covered and formal, and me
nearly naked and almost exposed.

He leapt into the driving seat - so unlike Billy-Joe,
who had to haul his bulk up - then told me to head for
town.  It was about the same distance from master
Rafe's establishment into the town as it had been from
the Colonel's, so it was an easy fast jog for me,
except that I noticed that we were mostly going down
hill - the haul back home was going to be much more of
a struggle, even allowing for master Rafe's lighter
weight.  Still, I was intrigued about why he was
taking me into town, and I wondered what was
happening.

There were indeed crowds - we were constantly
overtaken by cars carrying men and women who were
dressed formally as we got closer - and they'd closed
the main street, and I had to detour along a parallel
street to make my way through.  I saw how clever
master Rafe had been in using me to pull him, as most
of those arriving by car had to park a long way out
and walk through the hot afternoon sunshine to get
anywhere near the centre.  He told me to drop him off
at the church, which was at one end of main street,
and I was then lucky enough to be able to pull onto a
patch of grass by the side of it, to wait in the
shade:  if I'd been chauffeuring a car, I'd have had
to have driven away.  I couldn't sit down, of course,
as my dick would have flopped out of my shorts, but it
was good to be able to stand there in the relative
cool.

Listening to the people standing around I soon
discovered why we were there - it was the Colonel's
funeral!  He'd died a week before, it seems, from a
heart attack brought on whilst he was buggaring a new
slave, and all the local important folk deemed it
necessary to be seen at his funeral - even master
Rafe, who normally didn't seem to bother much about
life in the town.  I stood there waiting, and suddenly
it went quiet.  Then the town band struck up, and we
heard their noise getting gradually closer and closer.

The band was leading the funeral procession, playing
"Dixie" in very slow time,  and immediately behind
them was the Colonel's coffin.  It was draped in the
big flag of the south, and on top was his military hat
and sword.  The coffin was carried on what I
recognised as the estate cart, though - although it
had been swathed in black linen and decorated with
black rosettes.  The cart was pulled by the slave who
had taken over from me, and he, too, had been
decorated for the occasion:  he'd had rings fitted to
his nips since I was there, and these now sported big
black ribbons through them.  His collar was similarly
interlaced with black ribbon and his dick and balls
(as he had no shorts) were also tied up decently with
black, topped off by a large floppy bow.

Following behind this was Billy-Joe in his new
rickshaw - a huge thing, at least twice as big as the
one I had pulled him in.  It was indeed gold plated,
and was extremely gaudy and vulgar, even though the
spokes of the wheels had been interlaced with black
ribbons and all the railings similarly decorated.
Billy-Joe was in a jet black silk suit that I'd never
seen before, of a very modern, stylish cut:  it would
probably have gone down well in the sophisticated bars
of Manhattan, on a much slimmer, younger guy.  He
looked faintly ridiculous as he tried to be so "in
fashion" in our small town, with his huge body.

To pull his gaudy rickshaw Billy-Joe had two slaves,
rather than one, and his love of display was evident
there too:  from somewhere he'd managed to procure a
pair of identical twin blacks, at least six- six tall
and muscled to match.  They had been entirely shorn of
all hair, and their bodies glistened with a sheen of
oil so that they almost seemed to sparkle in the hot
sunshine.  Unlike most of the blacks who were normally
slaves around here, these two were the darkest ebony
black I'd ever seen:  there was a theory popular in
the slave dorms at the Colonel's that most of the guys
were brown rather than black as the early slave owners
had interbred to such an extent that every slave had
some white blood in him somewhere.  These two, though,
were clearly "pure" - from somewhere in Africa, like
Chad I suppose, where the whites didn't really reach
until the very late part of the nineteenth century and
no interbreeding took place.  I wondered how these two
had been imported into the USA, as slaves were of
course only supposed to be from the courts - was there
some sort of people smuggling going on?  Still, I
suppose life as a slave here in the USA, even with a
bastard like Billy-Joe as an owner, was better than
living in some hovel in the jungle.

These two had big tit rings, as I had once, and nose
rings, but the most striking feature of their dress
were the rings around their dicks:  Their balls had
been pulled right forward to lie underneath their
dicks, and then thick rings clamped tightly around
both dick and balls so that they now naturally
protruded out from their bodies even when they weren't
erect.  These guys were "in proportion" anyway, so had
really big dicks, and having them stand out like this
gave them an even greater prominence.  You just
couldn't help looking at their dicks, displayed for
you like that, and I felt an urge to reach out and
fondle them - I bet the poor guys had a lot of that to
put up with, when they were tethered outside the club
waiting for Billy-Joe.  Still, as I thought on, I
could see the sense of it - neatly cinched up like
that there would be much less movement of their dicks
and balls as they ran, and I guess once you were used
to it, it was probably a lot easier than the way I did
it totally naked, with my dick and balls flying
everywhere.

Behind Billy-Joe were all the estate slaves marching
in a column three abreast, all with heads bowed and
hands neatly clasped behind them.  It began with the
indoor servants in their tight "cycling shorts" and
brief waistcoats, and the outdoor slaves brought up
the rear - they'd all been fitted out in new black
shorts for the occasion.   To add to the spectacle,
stainless steel chains joined the collars of all the
slaves - each row of three was chained together, and
chains led from that row back to the next one.  There
was no need of any of this, of course, as the slaves
were not likely to run off, were they?  But it really
did add interest, and as a symbol of Billy-Joe 's
power and wealth it was pretty spectacular.  Bringing
up the rear was Straughan, on a jet-black horse,
holding a large whip as if to be ready to punish the
phalanx of slaves if there was any hold-up or
misbehaviour.  Chained to his saddle, and not in the
main batch of slaves, were four of the biggest outdoor
slaves from the estate, who I recognised.  They, too,
were in black shorts, and had been given black bands
around their biceps sporting large black rosettes.

The procession halted at the church doors, and, as I
watched, Straughan dismounted and led the four slaves
who'd been behind him up to the cart.  They must have
rehearsed and rehearsed, as they lifted the coffin off
smoothly, without a hitch, hoisted it onto their
shoulders, and carried it slowly up the church steps
as the band continued to play in its mournful way.
Billy-Joe and Straughan followed, and the slaves in
the procession were left standing there, chained and
in their subservient "rest" pose, the hot sun burning
down onto them.

I heard the service through the open doors of the
church - lots of hymns, lots of pious speeches about
what a good man the Colonel was, always upholding the
old traditions of the south, and how he was beloved of
his friends and slaves.  Well, I wasn't  sure that was
right - most of us hadn't wanted to be buggared by his
disgusting shrivelled up old dick, had we?  It went on
and on, and I was really glad that I was in the shade
- the poor guys waiting in the hot sun were sweating,
and some of them seemed to be almost in distress form
the heat.  But at last it was over, and the crowd
spilled out, everyone stopping to commiserate with
Billy-Joe on the way, as he stood on the steps of the
church looking so out of place amongst all the
respectably dressed local people.

There was to be a reception at the Colonel's, and
Billy-Joe set out to lead a procession of folk in
their cars back there.  I noticed that the slaves, who
had been waiting in the sun so patiently, were hurried
away and loaded into a bus, which drove off at high
speed, as presumably they needed to be there first to
hand out drinks and so on. They could have gone
earlier, but I suppose Billy-Joe wanted everyone to
see how many slaves he owned, and the fact that they
were miserable and hot under the bright sun was of no
consequence.

Master Rafe returned and told me that it was only
polite for him to go to the reception too, so I joined
in the stream of cars heading out of town.  It was
tough going - as I said, there were hills leading up
to the Colonel's, and I sensed master Rafe's
impatience as I gradually fell behind.  He shouted out
to me to speed up, but I was going as fast as I could.
 He pointed out that Billy-Joe's slaves, at the front,
were managing a much faster pace in spite of their
much bigger load, and he wanted me to keep up:  they
were , of course, being whipped heavily by Billy-Joe
(I could hear the swish of the whip and the crack as
it cut into their backs) and I remembered how
Billy-Joe always thought that you could get that
little extra out of a slave by the judicious use of
"encouragement" like that:  the poor black twins were
certainly being "encouraged" that afternoon, I
thought!

When we arrived, the long drive was lined with the
outdoor slaves at precise intervals, all with their
heads neatly bowed.  Cars were taken away and parked,
and I was led back to the familiar slave yard at the
rear.  I was really glad of a rest, and it was good to
be able to sit down at last, and have a long drink.
The poor black twins were just standing there though,
as I had been so many, many times - shackled into
their rickshaw, they couldn't sit, and as all the
slaves were attending to the throng of guests, they
hadn't even been watered!  I took the water hose over
to them and put it in their mouths, and then, as I
felt the temperature of their skin, I let some of it
trickle down over their bodies to help them cool.  I
wanted to ask them about their life, to see how
Billy-Joe had changed since I was his pony slave, but
although they seemed to understand my questions, all
they could do was nod or shake their heads.   One of
them opened his mouth and pointed in, and made cutting
gestures at his throat - after a lot of false starts I
got enough questions asked to find out that when
they'd arrived here from Africa (having been told they
were going to well-paid jobs as security guards in the
USA), Billy-Joe had had their vocal chords cut so that
they were now mute.

I felt really sorry for them - they'd been free in
their homeland, albeit poor, and now here they were,
naked, their dicks cinched humiliatingly out, and
muted, to serve as  Billy-Joe's animals.  I suppose it
was a comfort to them to be together, as twins, but I
wouldn't put it past that bastard to deliberately
separate them at some point - even though he'd lose a
lot of value as a pair is always more valuable than
two identical single items, Billy-Joe might find that
amusing.  After all, he hadn't hesitated to reduce my
value dramatically by the tattoos, had he?

It was almost dark by the time the reception finished,
and master Rafe finally came out.  It was going to be
a long journey home, and I had already done two
considerable runs that day.  And, to make it worse, I
knew that we had that big, final hill, when I would be
maximally tired.

We set out at an easy jog, though, but after an hour
master Rafe told me I had to speed up as he was
expecting an important conference call with major
customers, so I moved my pace up to a light run.
After half an hour, he was still impatient, and called
out for me to stop, and to turn around and face him.

"Steve, I think you're taking advantage of me... Those
slaves of Billy-Joe's went faster than you this
afternoon, and now you're even slower...."

"Master, I'm sorry.  But it's been a long run already.
 I'm going as fast as I can, especially as we're
getting near to the long hill before home.  And
Billy-Joe's slaves only go at that pace because he
whips them.... He's got this theory...."

"Yes, I know.  He told me about it at the reception.
He told me that you were inclined to 'hold back', to
keep something in reserve, and that he needed to whip
you to get that extra twenty percent.  Mind you, he
did say that it wasn't your fault - he believes all
slaves are like that, indeed, all men:  the body keeps
back something in case it needs an extra 'push' if a
real crisis develops.  Is that true?"

"Master, he did whip me. Cruelly.  He made me run
naked so that the whip could slash at my butt, as he
thought that that was the most sensitive part of the
rear of a slave, the part most likely to react to
punishment.  And yes, I suppose it's right - I thought
I was exhausted, but under the whip you can produce
that extra."

"I'm late, Steve.  And I need to get back.  So drop
those shorts, and toss them to me..."

"Master...?"

"You heard me!  Now, do it.  I see the whip is here,
and I'm going to put Billy-Joe's theories to the test
as I really do need to get home in time for my call.
Now, run on...."

It felt funny to be running naked again, with my dick
flopping up and down and my balls swinging against my
thighs, and as  master Rafe shouted "faster", I
increased my pace until I was sprinting along, my long
legs taking huge strides over the paved surface and my
lungs sucking in the cooling night air.  But as the
land started to rise, I inevitably slowed as I had to
start to raise the weight of the rickshaw and master
Rafe vertically.

I wasn't expecting the first stroke when it came, and,
as I had in the past, I involuntarily shouted, and
shot forward.    "Interesting!", I heard master Rafe
say, then the second blow fell, and the third....

He whipped me all the way home.  And unlike Billy-Joe
who tired easily and where the strokes tended to
decrease in intensity, master Rafe was fit and tough
so the power of them never varied.  And his aim was
deadly - I couldn't hope for the occasional lash to
catch the shafts. He also clearly didn't believe the
bit about whipping only the butt, as the lashes fell
over my shoulders, lower back, butt and thighs (where
it really hurts!).  I'd have screamed if I could, but
I desperately needed all the air I could get, to keep
going.

I don't know how I made it up the hill.  By the time I
stopped outside his house I was almost beyond knowing
where I was or what I was doing.  My heart was
pounding, I was sucking air in great draughts
(although these hurt as they came in to my lungs,
which felt as if they were on fire).  I no longer knew
where I was hurting most, as the whole of the rear of
me was one solid mass of pain.  And all I could do was
sink to the ground as cramps developed in my legs, and
just lie there, completely broken.

Richie and one of the other guards were sent out to
drag me indoors, and I needed their help to get under
the shower.  My back wasn't just sore and covered in
the red weals you expect from the whip - the intensity
of master Rafe's punishment had broken the skin all
over me, and my body was covered in a film of my
blood.  As they gently soaped me, I had fresh hurt
from the soap as it stung in the whiplash wounds, and
I cried out feebly.  Then, to my amazement, Richie had
one more thing to do - the enema tube was produced,
and he started the process of cleaning me out, that
had been so familiar in my days as Billy-Joe's
potential fuck toy.  I was too tired to protest, too
tired to resist - all I wanted to do was lie down and
rest, but Richie gently insisted that it was our
owner's orders, and that I had to go through the whole
process of four washings.

By the end I did manage to stand upright, but when  I
saw my body in the mirror by the door, I was horrified
- blood was still oozing out from all over my back,
butt and thighs and I knew it would take a long time
for the wounds to heal.  I was almost numb now from
the pain, it was so intense:  the body tries to
protect itself, I suppose.  It couldn't get any worse,
I thought.  I was expecting Richie and the other slave
to lead me to the dorm, but instead I was taken back
over to master Rafe's house, and in through the slave
door and up the slave stairs to the top floor.  They
left me standing outside the door of master Rafe's
bedroom, where I'd been before.

My owner came bounding up the stairs, went into his
room, and ordered me to follow.  He sat on the edge of
the crisp white bed and started to undress, and I
stood in front of him, trying to hold the "rest"
position whilst keeping my hands away from my stinging
butt.

"I'm not usually impressed by Billy-Joe's actions,
Steve", he said conversationally, as he sat there
undoing the buttons on his formal white shirt. "But
the idea that a slave unwillingly holds back, even if
he genuinely doesn't mean to,  and can be encouraged
to give that bit extra by the proper use of the whip,
does seem to hold true.  I saw how utterly exhausted
you were when we got back here, and even though I
think you're a good slave and genuinely try to do your
best, I don't think we'd have accomplished that run
without the pain you suffered."

"You and I have unfinished business", he continued,
rising to his feet to drop his pants. "I let you off
the formal taking of your cherry last time, as you
were so obviously terrified.  But now the time has
come - I can't have a slave here who doesn't fit in
properly, and I don't want to lose you.  So I'm going
to use a little theory of my own, based on
Billy-Joe's."

He was naked now, and erect, and he called me through
into his dressing room.  I hadn't been in there
before, but it was a large-ish space, lined with
closets for his clothes.  There was a leather
armchair, and, in the middle of the room, one of the
standard barrel-style flogging horses.

"Over the horse, Steve....", he said calmly, and when
I hesitated, his tone became firmer.  "Look, Steve,
its inevitable that you're going to get fucked.  Now,
we can do this one of two ways - I can get the guards
in here and have you forced across the horse and your
wrists and ankles manacled to the legs to hold you
there.  Or you can decide that you're a man, a real
man, a man who faces life and doesn't duck the
difficult decisions."

He was looking at me intently, hopefully, and I knew
what I had to do.  I stepped forward, and lay my belly
across the horse and let my fingers and toes scrape
the floor on either side.  Master Rafe came and knelt
down and I saw his dick bobbing up and down with
excitement as he adjusted the screws on the legs to
move my body down to a convenient height for him.

He came and knelt by my head, which was lolling down,
and raised my chin so he could stare into my eyes.
Very calmly, very quietly, in a tone that didn't seem
to expect anything other than compliance, he said "I
was proud of you this afternoon, Steve.  I was proud
at how you took that whipping, at how you gave me
absolutely everything you had, so that I could get
beck here for my important call.  I know I had to whip
you to get you to do it, but I understand that that
wasn't your problem, it's a general human reaction.  I
was proud that you chose to serve me, chose to take
it, when you could just have dropped the shafts and
run off - when master Billy-Joe whipped you he had you
manacled so that you couldn't resist, didn't he?  I
needed no manacles this afternoon, as you want to be a
good slave to me, don't you, Steve?"

I hadn't thought of it like that, but I could see the
sense in what he was saying.  "Yes, master", I
whispered, very sincerely, "I do want to be a good
slave."

"And you have been, Steve.  You work hard and well
here for me.  But we have to do this one thing, the
one thing that shows you are totally subject to my
will, that you completely accept that I have the
absolute right to do whatever I want to your body.  Do
you understand, Steve?"

"Yes, master."

"Now I know it's difficult for you.  There's something
that's got turned on in your mind that says you won't
take dick.  And we've got to correct that, haven't we?
 I can't have a slave who doesn't accept, willingly,
that I have the right to do to him whatever I want.  I
know you have no hang-ups about sex, as we have
enjoyed each other in my bed.  So we need to work on
this one thing, don't we?  You need me to fuck you,
don't you, Steve?"

I thought about this.  It was tough.  Haltingly, I
whispered "I guess so, master..."

"That's what I mean, Steve!  Listen to you.... Is that
the way a slave answer his owner?  Would a proper
slave answer anything other than 'Yes, master'?  No...
this ridiculous dick thing is poisoning your whole
life.  You'll never be a happy, totally obedient slave
until we have this fixed.  As a responsible owner I
owe it to you, Steve, to make sure you're not
suffering unnecessarily - and I think you are
suffering, even though you don't know it, because of
this flaw in your mind.  In your own interests, Steve,
I'm going to take you through this so that you come
out of the other side as a complete, whole person, not
someone who is stunted by some imagined terror of sex.
 There are too many men in America who fear proper sex
and who never even get as far as you have in enjoying
another man's body - but I want you to be happy and
relaxed.  I want you to be able to really enjoy sex,
Steve.  So I'm going to fuck you, and get you to lose
that silly inhibition once and for all.  You do
understand that I'm doing this for your benefit, don't
you, Steve?"

I thought about it again, and began to see the logic
of it.  Rather more calmly I said "Yes, master."

He ruffled my hair gently.  "Good, Steve.  I knew you
had the makings of a good slave.  Now, it's going to
be tough.  Are you man enough to take it, or shall I
lightly shackle you, just your wrists?"

"No, master:  fuck me - I can take it."

"It's not just the fucking, Steve.  I'm going to get
you to give me that extra few percent.  I'm going to
take you to that heightened state you were in this
afternoon, and then fuck you.  I'm going to have to
whip you again - well, not whip, as there isn't room
in here for a really good long shot, so I'll use a
cane - until your body is crying out for relief and
your mind has stopped holding anything physical back.
Then I'll fuck you.  Can you take that pain, Steve,
like a man, voluntarily? Or perhaps it would be best
to hold you down on the horse...?"

"Master, I took the whip this afternoon without
shackles.   Do as you must, master, please, do it."

He ruffled my hair again and I felt his strong fingers
kneading my scalp in a gesture that was both
encouraging and sympathetic, and yet masterful.

He only caned my butt and my thighs, but he had a four
foot long, flexible Malacca cane.  And as I have told
you, he was very fit and strong, and had recovered
from his exertions earlier, unlike me.  The cane
whistled down again and again, turning my already
bloodied butt and thighs  into a red pulp of injured
and agonised flesh.  I cried out initially and
screamed, so intense was the pain, but soon my throat
gave out - there are only so many screams you can make
when your voice is at full pitch - and I just lay
there moaning and sobbing.  I don't think  I lost
consciousness, although I may have, for a few seconds
at a time.  I wanted to get up, to run out of the
room, or at least to stay his hand and stop the
torture I was undergoing, and it took all my strength
of character just to lie there, my body bucking under
its own volition as the blows rained down on me.

I thought it would never end.  I have no idea how long
it lasted really.  I absolutely lost track of the
number of times the cane fell across me.  I only know
that I was reduced to a quivering, whimpering piece of
flesh, draped across the flogging horse.  At first I
had needed my will power to remain there, and now I
didn't think I could move, even if I had wanted to.
The world had gone away - all there was in my universe
was the feeling of the wood of the horse against my
belly, and the agony from my butt and thighs.  The
only sounds I could focus on were the swish of the
cane, and the sound of my owner's breath as he exerted
himself again and again.  Nothing else mattered to me
now except my master, and what he was doing to me -
every other thought, every other care, every other
feeling, vanished under the onslaught of what he was
doing to me.

And then he fucked me.

Incredibly, I felt it.  I felt his dick pushing into
my sphincter.  I felt that initial stab of additional
pain as his dick head broke through. I felt the heat
of his shaft against my sensitive flesh.  I felt the
agony as his pubic bone slammed again and again into
my tortured, bleeding, shattered butt as he fucked me.
 I felt his hands holding my back to steady himself,
hands that slipped in my blood, and sent new waves of
pain through me from my wounds.

This was no gentle fuck, no lover's mingling of dick
and ass.  This was a simple, straight forward, hard
fuck - when one man forces his dick into another, then
fucks away, concerned only for his own pleasure; fucks
hard and strong, with long, quick strokes that at once
excite, and hurt.  It didn't go on for long, though, a
master Rafe was so aroused before he started and he
simply could not hold off from climaxing.  I heard his
own great shout of "Oh yes, Steve... Oh yes... Of
Jesus fucking Christ... I'm cumming....", and then it
was over.

Fresh waves of pain went through me as he collapsed
his body forward over my beaten, bleeding back, and
his hot breath was panting all over my neck.  He lay
there like that for what must have been minutes, then
he whispered "Steve, it's over.  You did it.  Thank
you, slave..."

"Master?"

"Steve, you did it - you lay there and took it.  I
drove your brain to new areas with the cane, and then
in that heightened state you voluntarily took my dick.
 So now there's no more to fear, is there?"

He stood up and pulled out of me, then came and helped
me to stand upright.  He looked into my eyes, then
leaned forward, and kissed me.  I responded instantly.
 This was no contrivance, no artificial way of trying
to curry favour with my owner.  I responded naturally,
completely, and thrust my tongue into him, to return
his passion.

I pulled back, and knelt in front of him.  His dick,
covered in his cum and my sweat and my blood, was in
front of my face.  I licked at it gently, lovingly.
This was my master's dick, the dick that had conquered
me, and it felt right to kneel and worship it.  I
wanted to have it in me again, to hold it , to feel
it.  It was no longer a threat, it was the instrument
of my master's ownership and control over me.  His
hands ruffled my hair again as I knelt there, my arms
around his butt so that I could pull his dick and
balls close to me, and he muttered "Steve, Steve... Is
it OK?"

"Master, yes.  You are really my master now.  Thank
you, master.  Thank you, thank you, thank you....  I
now know what real slavery is, master.  Before, I just
worked hard, but now I know that you care about me,
that you want the best for me, that you want me to be
a happy, true slave.  And I am, master.  I am your
slave, in every way, master.  Please..."

"Hey, Steve, calm down... What do you want...?"

"Please, master, please take me into your bed tonight.
 Please use me, show me how you use a slave for your
pleasure.  Fuck me again, master, please.  In your
pleasure master, is mine..."

I was crying now with the released tension and
emotion.  Somehow I wasn't at all embarrassed at
letting this man see me cry.  I was his slave in every
sense now - he not only owned me physically, owned
every ounce of my flesh, but he had my devotion, my
love.

End Of Part Twenty Five.
YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part twenty six

By Pete Brown  petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

GELDED?

Even though I was covered in blood and my body was
writhing in pain, he took me into the bedroom and we
lay on the crisp white sheets - sheets that were soon
red all over from my blood.  I suppose one of the
advantages of owning household slaves is that you
don't have to bother about things like that, as
there's someone else to clear away the mess.

He didn't fuck me again that night, and I didn't fuck
him - it was almost too painful to move, let alone
engage in sexual athletics.  But we lay for hours,
kissing, stroking each others dicks, and just
generally enjoying that wonderful sensation of being
close to another man, of feeling his skin against
yours, of having his hair y body rub against your
own... Well, I suppose if I was really truthful it
wasn't all that great for me, as every time I moved it
tore at the scabs that were forming on my multiple
wounds.  But I didn't want to spoil the atmosphere, to
break away form this unique time with my owner.   He
sensed my discomfort, though, ever time my body
twitched uncontrollably, and did all he could to make
me comfortable.    And when he sucked me to climax, he
did so very gently so that the touch of his lips
against my dick head was almost like a feather.

The next morning I was in a bad way, and he wanted to
send for the doctor.  But I felt certain it was only
pain and stiffness from the beating  I was suffering,
and the blood that was oozing out from me was only as
a result of some of the scabs breaking off as I tried
to get to my feet, exposing the raw flesh once more.

When she brought his morning tea, Luella screamed with
fright, as she thought at first I had injured our
owner as his body was covered in blood, and he had to
reassure her that he was all right, and that it was my
blood.   He wanted me to rest that day, but I wanted
to work, to serve him.  And I wanted the other slaves
to see my body, to understand that this is what a
slave could take if he truly served his owner.  So we
compromised:  he wouldn't make me run, but I pulled
him around the establishment just walking (I won't
tell you how difficult that was anyway, as every tiny
movement caused waves of pain to sweep through me.
But I was serving him, and that was all that
mattered).

It took three weeks for my body to heal properly,
three weeks in which we spent more and more time
together.  At first, he only had me in his bed to
fuck, but gradually every night I would be summoned
over to his house and spend longer and longer times
with him.  By the end of that month I no longer had a
place in the slave dorm, and it was understood that I
was now master Rafe's fuck boy, and lived with him
totally.  At one time I'd have been horrified if other
men had referred to me as someone's "fuck boy", but
now I was proud, proud that my owner valued me in this
way and that he wanted to be so close to my body.
And, of course, I wasn't just fucked - we soon
discovered a mutual delight in each other, and I
fucked him just as often as he fucked me.  We spent so
much time together that even when his bruises from the
fall from is horse had vanished and the horse was
recovered too, he decided not to resume riding:
"After all, Steve, having you run along in front of
me, so I can see that body of yours, keeps me hard all
day - I keep thinking of what we're going to do once
work is over!"

I revelled in the work.  As well as pulling master
Rafe, I took classes in gymnastics and running for the
slaves, and my body was superlatively fit.  And I had
this fantastic, unbelievable, totally mind-blowing sex
every night with the man who owned me and whom I
adored.  We lay in each others arms taking about
everything, and there were so secrets between us -  I
could be totally open with this man, couldn't I, as I
loved him, and he owned me.  But somehow there was a
tension - only a slight one - but a tension
nevertheless.  It was as if master Rafe had some
secret part of him that he was holding back.

One night, at around three in the morning, I woke up
and felt that he too was awake.  I whispered
"Master.... Shall we.....", and reached out for his
dick to fondle it and encourage him to tell me what
sort of sex he'd like.  But he didn't respond, and his
dick remained limp in my hand.  I raised myself up on
one elbow to look down into his face, and with a
worried tone said "Master... What is it?  Is it
something I've done....?"

"No, Steve. Don't fret.  There's something I need to
work out, that's all."

"Master, can I help?  Please... Let me do whatever
needs to be done..."

"Steve, you can't help.  Not on this one.  It's
something I have to think through.  Now, go to
sleep..."

"Master, please, no.. .you're worried.  I can tell.
Please..."

"Steve, get to sleep!  Leave me alone.  That's an
order!"

I was shocked, as he never ordered me around in the
bedroom.  Of course when we were working, I expected
him to command and me to obey, but in the bedroom we
always treated each other just a buddies, real
buddies, and did everything together.  Well, at least,
it was often me who was in charge actually - I guess a
lot of powerful men who spend all day making decisions
really like to "turn off" in bed, and if they're with
a younger guy, or one of a lower social status, they
don't mind being told what to do in a way they'd never
tolerate in real life.  However he'd never commanded
me before like that.  But what was I supposed to do?
I spooned up against him, and put my arms around him
to try to show him I was there, that I was near. But
I could tell he wasn't sleeping, and I, too, lay awake
worrying about why my owner was so troubled.

The next night after I'd fucked him and we were in
that wonderful companionable state you get into when
you've just been totally intimate with each other, I
tried again. "Master, we've been together like this
now for six months.  I'm your slave, master, but  I
thought I was also your friend... The things we've
done, the things we've told each other... I've never
been so close to another person in my whole life,
never.  Please,  master, what's wrong?  You can tell
me, we're buddies, aren't we?"

I felt his body stiffen, as if I'd hit on the root of
the problem.

"Oh Steve!  If only you knew!  I like you, Steve, I
even think I love you.  And it's not just that love
that comes from owning you, the love that owners have
for their possessions.  If things were different...."

"Master.... Are you going to sell me?  If you are,
I'll hate it, it will hurt me, wound me... But I'll
understand... You're my owner, you do the right thing
by me..."

He laughed, and slapped my butt playfully as he liked
to do.  "Don't be stupid!  Sell you?  The best fuck in
the state?  No, I'd be mad!  And, anyway, who'd buy
you?  All those tattoos... It's only me that's learned
to put up with them in bed..."

I could tell that he was joking, and relaxed.  We
tussled playfully together for a bit, and I slapped
his butt, too.  But soon I was resting on my elbows
looking down at him, and asked again   "So please,
master, what's the problem?"

"Steve, you can't understand.  I know you genuinely
love me.  And I love you.  But we can't really be
'buddies', can we, not like two guys who find each
other at school, college, work, or the gym, start to
spend time with each other, and then realise they want
to spend all their time together?  You're a slave, I'm
your owner, and we just can't be buddies - you know
what they day, 'You can't be friends with a slave',
and I'm afraid that's true.  We can be lovers, really
close, live together.. .but friends, buddies, no.  It
just doesn't work."

"That's OK, master - I don't care, just as long as I'm
with you..."

"Sometimes, Steve, I think you really haven't adapted
to being the perfect slave you like to make out you
are!  It's OK for you, yes.  But what about me?  It's
not OK for me!  And you ought to think about that."

I sat up in bed, and looked at him.  And he looked up
at me.   What was I supposed to do?  There was one of
those agonising silences.  It went on and on.
Finally, he broke it - I think he saw there was no
solution, and he decided to try to lighten the mood.
"Well, if we can't be buddies, we can at least be
lovers....", he said as he grabbed at my dick, and we
had another great night together.

It's amazing how time passes, isn't it?  We went
along, lovers, but somehow not "buddies".  I worked
hard, I pulled maser Rafe around, and he did stud me
with Louella, too - although by then he and I were so
close that he didn't want a large audience watching.
"Steve", he told me on the day she was in season and
ready for impregnating, "I don't want the whole world
seeing that lovely butt of yours pounding away, that's
something reserved for my eyes only."

It was faintly disgusting, actually - I never thought
I'd think like that, but after you're used to the feel
and scent of a man in bed, going with a woman just
doesn't feel right.  I got it over with as quickly as
possible - she lay on the cleared desktop in master
Rafe's study, and I stood at the end and just fucked
her quickly and economically, whilst our owner watched
with a look of faint amusement on his face.  That
night in bed I was a bit rough with him as, to tell
you the truth, I didn't think he should have ordered
me to do that.  After I'd pulled out of him I
straddled his chest and made him lick my dick clean,
which I didn't usually do.  I mean, he said it was
only to get a good price for the half-breed kid, but
there are limits to what you ought to make your buddy
do for money, aren't there?

"Steve, I know you're pissed off", he said, smiling,
"But how long are you going to keep punishing me for "
  I'd moved back a bit so that my ass was over his
belly, and I was taking most of my weight on my knees.
  And as he spoke he moved his hard dick under me and
started teasing my hole with it, something I find
almost irresistibly sexy.  "You know I do need to make
a profit here, and Louella does need a pregnancy - it
doesn't do girls her age any good to go unsatisfied.
Getting you to stud her is the most cost-effective
solution, as the kid will fetch a lot more as a 'breed
than it would as a pure black.  And you always used to
tell me how you were fucking women before enslavement,
and how Billy-Joe studded you all the time..."

"Yes, master, but that's before we met, before...."

"Oh, I see!  I'm supposed to turn down profit just
because Steve's feelings might be hurt...  It's not as
if you used up all your cum on her, as there was more
than enough for me just now...  Get off me, you hunk,
and let me fuck your brains out, and then see if
you're still pissed off..."

And, of course, in the joy and passion of our love
making, all was forgotten.  Or, at least, I thought
that everything was fine.

_______________________________________


It was the evening before my thirtieth birthday.  I'd
almost forgotten what it was like to be "free" - not
that it mattered, being the slave of master Rafe was
better.   He'd been away for a couple of days on
business, visiting the slave dealers out of state who
shipped us batches of young slaves for training, he
said.  And so I had been doing a lot of running and
gymnastics with the trainees.

Richie came running up, and said that I was to go over
to the house immediately, as there was trouble!  My
heart went into overdrive, as I thought something must
have happened to master Rafe, and I literally sprinted
the distance in my anxiety.  There, standing in the
yard, was a truck from UPS, and two burly guards.

As I ran up, and began to ask what was wrong, the
first one snapped "Manners, boy!  You're a fucking
slave, aren't you?  Get to "rest" and stand there
silent, until you're questioned."

"This is supposed to be a fucking training place for
slaves", he grumbled to his companion, "And look at
how this slave who's on the staff behaves.  No wonder
the young slaves you see nowadays have no manners."

"No", the other agreed, "It was different a few years
back - young slaves, no, all slaves, knew their place
properly then."

As he spoke and I stood there, he grabbed hold of my
arm and read my SIN from my tattoo, and checked it
against the paperwork  he was holding.  "Yes, this
looks like the one."

Gruffly he snapped at me  "Are you the slave known as
Steve?"

I felt like telling him that he was an ignorant oaf,
of little intelligence.  There, across my front, in
huge letters, was "Steve".

To my amazement, he slapped my face, hard, and I had
to really restrain myself from striking him back.
"Answer me, slave!  Have you got no manners?  You'd
better learn to do as you're told when you're with
us... I see your owner lets you use a discipliner, so
you know what they're all about... But ours are set on
'high'.  Now, let's try again... Are you the slave
known as 'Steve'?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's better.  Right, shrug those shorts.  We always
carry slaves naked."

"Sir, please..."

"Yes?"

"Please, sir, there must be some mistake.  I'm a
trainer here, owned by master Rafe. He's away on
business, but he said nothing about my leaving.  I'm
sure there's been some mistake..."

The two men laughed at each other, and one said "Here
we go again!  They all think that.  Their owners tire
of them, and they can't believe it.  They always think
there's been some mistake or other, even if we show
them the movement order with their SIN on it.  They
don't seem to realise that it can save a lot of
needless stress for the owner if the slave is removed
whilst he's away.  If I'd got a slave who was big and
strong, and of whom I was tired, I think I'd have him
carted off whilst I was out of the way... Leaving the
job to professionals like us is much the best way of
ridding yourself of an unwanted slave."

Looking to me, he went on "Now, boy, let's have no
nonsense.  I don't want to have to stun you with the
discipliner.  There's been no mistake - I've checked
your SIN, and your name is Steve.  And the owner
ordering the move is a master Rafe, and the address is
right..... Now, shuck those shorts..."

I was in panic, in despair... I didn't know what to
do.  Master Rafe wouldn't be disposing of me.  Or, f
he was, he'd have told me - he was a real man, not
afraid of doing things like that if he had to. And we
were close, lovers, had been for ages.... We lived
together, worked together, joked together, ate
together, fucked together.... He wouldn't be doing
this to me.

"No, please, sir... Call the office, check...."

I didn't get any further, as the discipliner poked
into my navel and fired.  I fell to the ground,
twitching and retching (it's best not to use the
discipliner near the guts, and especially not in that
most sensitive part, the navel).  One of the guards
aimed a kick at me, and the force of his boot catching
me firmly in the butt moved me at least a couple of
inches.

"Get up, boy, unless you want more....", he snapped.

I struggled to my feet, and stood there, clutching my
stomach.

"Now, shuck those shorts, and let's get on - we've got
some other collections to do today."

It's not that I'm shy about my body or anything - how
could I be, after my life as a slave already? But it
felt odd to have to forcibly strip in front of these
two free men in their guards' uniforms.  They looked
me up and down, and one said to the other "Hey...
Fantastic.... Shall we fuck him on the way back... I
haven't had myself a white slave ass for a few weeks,
and this one is in great shape - look at his body
tone, and look at that butt....  It just begs for a
free man's dick, don't you think?"

"You're right, but we're late already - and you know
the new bonus system... If we're more than ten minutes
late, we don't get the extra five per cent.  Think you
can fuck this one in less than ten minutes?  No, make
that five, as I want a turn, too."

"No.  I need time to appreciate an ass like that.
Let's just take him as he is and deliver him, and see
if the guards there couldn't be persuaded to let us
back in when our shift is over, for a nice leisurely
evening's entertainment...."

They both laughed, and I felt sick again.  What was
happening?  Why was master Rafe doing this to me?  Was
I just going to be used as some fuck toy by these
oafs?   I realised how utterly powerless a slave was
once he was in the hands of officialdom - these men
could rape me, and no one would know, no one would
care.  I was only a slave, and I didn't matter.  No
doubt men got jobs as security guards and jailers as
there would always be a supply of fresh slave ass for
them to fuck, whenever they wanted.  What could I do?
Nothing.

"OK, boy - in the truck, and in the cage...."

I looked around, and Richie and several of the other
guards and trainers were all standing there watching.
They seemed as horrified as I was.  I thought of
calling out to them, telling them to come and
overpower these guards, to let me go free.  I'm sure
they would, I'm sure they'd see that there was
something wrong and stop it.  I was going to open my
mouth to call to them when one of the guards held a
ball gag up to me and snapped "Open wide!"

When I didn't immediately react he rested the tip of
his discipliner in my navel again, and reached down
and squeezed my balls, hard.  "Now, you fucking slave,
open your God-dammed mouth!  Do I have to give you
every order twice?"

He held all the cards, didn't he?  He could really
hurt me by squeezing my sac, and if I was violent,
he'd use the discipliner.  So I opened my mouth, he
pushed the ball in behind my teeth, crushing my tongue
to the floor of my mouth, and I felt his companion
behind me fastening the straps behind my head so I
couldn't eject it.  Perhaps it was just as well I
couldn't shout to the others - if they had done as I
asked, they would have been in terrible trouble.  A
slave revolt was always something that was feared in
the south, especially as the number of slaves began to
rise and exceed the number of free men, and any
suggestion of mass disobedience always resulted in
only one sentence for those taking part: death.  I
wouldn't want that for my loyal, hardworking
companions.

Inside the truck it was hot and sweaty, and the
interior was divided into a number of barred "cells",
some of which were already holding a naked slave,
gagged, like me.  The guard opened one of the cells
and pushed me in, then locked the door.  I could only
just stand upright, being a tall guy, and there was
almost no room to move around at all, as I am quite
big.  I stood there, and held the bars and shook them,
feeling impotent rage sweep over  me.  Why had master
Rafe done this to me?  What had I done to upset him?
I thought through all the things I'd done in the past
few months, all the conversations we'd had, all the
times I'd been a bit rough with him in bed, all the
times I hadn't immediately realised when he'd gone
from being playful to serious and so hadn't instantly
obeyed him.....

Even taken all together, they didn't justify doing
this to me, sending me away, without even an
explanation, or a goodbye.  But of course there's the
catch, that trap of slavedom.  Just thinking those
thoughts showed that I wasn't a proper slave.  A slave
has no right to expect his owner to be "fair".  A
slave shouldn't expect explanations from his owner.  A
slave just obeys, and puts up with whatever his owner
orders.  My act of thinking these thoughts showed me
why master Rafe was disposing of me:  I wasn't a
proper slave at all.  He was right to be tired of me,
right to give up on the task of ensuring I was a
proper slave.  My outward actions, in working hard for
him, and in being his devoted lover, weren't enough.
I'd failed, in spite of all my protestations that I
was a good and loyal slave, in that first essential -
I was still thinking un-slavelike thoughts.  I
instantly fell into a mood of deep depression.  All my
time these past years had been wasted.  I'd been happy
- using my body, no worries, great sex - and all the
time I'd been making master Rafe unhappy as he'd seen
that it was all outward show, that, deep down, I still
had the thoughts of a free man.  No wonder he no
longer wanted to own me.

They slammed the back door of the truck, and we were
utterly in the dark.  It drove off, and I just had to
stand there, holding the bars of my cage, until we
stopped, the doors opened, and another poor slave was
put in and caged, like me.  We could none of us speak,
as we were all gagged, but we could reach through the
bars and clasp each others hands in some sort of
gesture of humanity.

At the sorting centre it was clear that they just
considered us to be goods to be transhipped as quickly
and as easily as possible.  On arrival a guard read my
SIN and keyed it in to his hand-held PC, then took a
bar-coded routing tag from his desk, and scanned it so
that its code was associated with me.  To my shock he
attached it to my left tit - the tag had a kind of
screw fastener on the end of it, rather like on some
ladies' earrings, and he just pushed it over my nip
and screwed the end shut.  I winced, and put my hand
up to stop him as he tightened it, but he waved his
discipliner at me and told me to stand still.  We were
cuffed then, and sent to join a line of slaves who
were shuffling through the giant depot.

I suppose by their standards we were well treated.  It
was a shock to have to stand there over the open bars
of a communal shit pit again and crap along with a
load of other guys - at least when I'd been living
with master Rafe  he'd let me use the bathroom that we
shared, and even in the slave dorms there were proper
lavatory bowls (but no privacy, of course).  We were
hosed down to clean us, and then watered and fed - the
ball gags had a hole in the middle of them, and a
slave told us to kneel when we got to the feeding
station, so that he could insert a thin tube through
the gag and the slave mash could then be pumped into
us.   And then we shuffled on, all of us naked, all of
us pushed closely together so you couldn't avoid
touching the guy in front with your dick, and you felt
the guy behind stabbing at your butt with his.

The bar-coded tags routed us and gradually we were
split in to different lines - it was just like those
automated parcels sorting facilities you see the US
Mail using, except that they didn't need conveyors and
so on - the "parcels" here were capable of walking
along by themselves.  And finally I was in another
truck, in  the same type of cage, "outbound".  I stood
there, wondering where I was headed - to one of the
auction houses, probably:   although I was not as
valuable as my body warranted, because of my tattoos,
I supposed I had some value, and master Rafe had
always spoken of the need to keep the place profitable
- look at the way he'd studded me with Louella, in
spite of being his lover.

I didn't relish the thought of having to stand there
naked, my hands chained behind my neck, and my ankle
manacled to the floor, as the buyers inspected and
fondled me.  But perhaps I'd get a good, kind master -
one like I used to think master Rafe was.  I'd work
hard, I'd work intelligently - I had the capacity to
be a good slave.  But on the other hand perhaps no one
would buy me, and then I'd be sent to the mines, who
bought up job lots of otherwise unsaleable slaves:
the thought of spending the rest of my life deep
underground, crawling around on my hands and knees,
never again seeing the light of day, was too awful -
I'm mildly claustrophobic, and I didn't think I could
survive being trapped in low corridors, with the
feeling of the earth pressing all around me.

The reality, however, was worse - I was delivered back
to the courthouse, where I'd first been enslaved.  I
knew there was only one reason why slaves went back to
court after enslavement - their masters needed to get
a court order to "calm" them.  Master Rafe was going
to have me turned into a eunuch, to take my balls.

I stood there in impotent fury - it wasn't fair!  I'd
done nothing wrong!  He had no right to take a guy's
manhood.  Why couldn't he just have let me work
normally for him as a trainer, if he was tired of me
in bed?  Why couldn't he just have sold me to someone
else?  Even being sold to a male brothel would be
preferable to losing my manhood.  The bastard.  The
utter fucker.... I could have wept, I could have
screamed, I wanted to cry out at the sheer injustice
of it all, at the inhumanity of treating another guy
like this, especially one who'd been your lover for so
long.  But perhaps this was his revenge - he was going
to have me gelded and fitted with prosthetic balls so
I "looked right", and then put me back to work.  All
the other guards and trainers would know I wasn't a
proper man any longer, and they'd all laugh at me -
after I'd spent so long fucking them all, they'd
realise I was no longer a man, and would gang up on me
and simply use me as a receptacle for their cum.  I'd
become their plaything, and every night in the dorm
they'd fuck me until I was raw, and fill my throat wit
their semen.  I'd never know again what it was like to
feel a hard erection of my own, or that amazing
sensation as your cum shoots along your sick and fly
out of your dick.  And then it struck me again  - I'd
thought of myself as master Rafe's loyal slave, his
best slave, and now I hated him, blamed him.... That
wasn't right - a slave didn't do that.  If his master
wanted him gelded, why not?  His master owns his
balls, doesn't he?  But somehow I just couldn't make
these thoughts seem right.  No, I might be a slave,
but I was also a man.  And one man has no right to
order the taking of another's manhood.

The delivery driver had the court official sign for
me, just like a piece of merchandise, which, I
suppose, I was, legally.  Then I was taken down to the
holding area under the cells, as my case was not due
to go before the court until the following morning, my
birthday.  I recognised the court official - that
officer Hughes - who'd treated me so differently
before and after my enslavement, and he took a good
hard look at me.

"I remember you", he said.  "That voluntary
enslavement guy, who'd thought he could beat the
system!  Well, boy, it doesn't look as if you did too
well, does it?"  As he spoke, he ran the tip of his
finger along the brand on my butt, and then lightly
traced out my name tattooed on my belly.

"Your owner sure did want everyone to know you're a
slave, didn't he?  We hardly get any slaves branded
these days, and I haven't seen a good big tattoo like
that for a long time.  And I seem to remember thinking
what a great dick you had - did they 'skin you, too,
like all slaves are?"

I nodded.

"OK, boy, well, you're here all night, so let's get
you comfortable...."

He undid the screw holding my routing tag on my nip,
and I wanted to scream with the pain as the blood
rushed back in.  Then he undid the straps holding the
ball gag in, and helped me eject it from my mouth.

"Now, boy, are you going to be sensible?  We can do
this one of two ways - I can either leave you cuffed
all night, or I can take the cuffs off. But, if I do,
you've got to promise me you'll behave, OK?"

"Why should I?"  I was astounded at my boldness.  It
was a long time since I'd dared to speak to a free man
like that, but I had nothing left to lose now, after
all.

He simply touched me with his discipliner, and I fell
to the ground, screaming and twitching.

He stood over me, and snarled "We get a lot of slaves
like you down here - you're on your way out as a man,
boy, and you know it, don't you?  Is your master
applying for gelding, or death?  Either way, don't
think you can misbehave.  You're a fucking slave, and
you behave like one, understand."

"Get fucked!", I snapped.  What did it matter now?

"We have a way of reminding slaves brought here that
they're still slaves, even if they're about to become
none-men", he said, smiling evilly.  Now, no nice cell
for you.... Into one of the pillories instead!"

He goaded me along using his discipliner to make me
move where he wanted into the cell area, and in
addition to the normal cells with their pallets and
lavatories, there were a number of posts hanging down
from the ceiling each with a horizontal metal thing at
its end.

He stood me behind one of these, and raised its top -
the horizontal bar had three semi-circles cut in it,
and he told me to put my wrists and neck into them.
He pushed the top down, and locked it, and I saw now
why it was called a stocks - it was a modern variation
of the old way of holding a man immobile, using the
idea of suspension from the ceiling, rather than on a
post up from the ground,  so that my body was
unencumbered.

"Now, boy, you're going to see what discomfort
is....."

A set of buttons on the wall could raise or lower the
thing form the ceiling, and soon I was standing there
half bent over - there was just no way I could get
comfortable as I couldn't kneel, and couldn't stand
upright.

"Once you've been bent like that for a couple of hours
you'll wish you'd have been a bit more civil", he told
me. "And, of course, you're pretty dammed helpless".

I just glared at him, and wriggled my writsts and neck
angrily.  "Fuck you", I almost spat out.

He smacked my butt, hard.  He was a tough guy, and it
hurt as he took a big swing at me.  I jerked forward,
but couldn't really move at all because my neck and
wrists were held so tightly.
"Been spanked before, boy?", he asked casually.

"Yes, sir."  I decided to be a little more prudent.
He held all the cards.

"A long time ago, I'll bet - there's no sign of
bruising on that butt of yours."

He was right, of course.  Although master Rafe still
did use the whip occasionally to "encourage" me when I
was pulling him around and he was in a real hurry, it
had been a couple of weeks since the last time.  And
to us it had become sort of a game - a little light
whipping during the working day was a signal to me
that master Rafe wanted good hard sex that night.

At that moment another guard came in through the door.
 I'd say that officer Hughes was one of the "old
school" - he'd probably come out of the army or
something and joined the court guards as he wanted an
easier life, but still liked the uniform and so on.
This guy, though, was different - although he wore the
same uniform as officer Hughes, it somehow looked
totally different: crisper and smarter, and his boots
were highly polished.  It fitted in all the right
places, whereas Officer Hughes' kind of sagged and
bagged.  It all said "graduate hire" - straight from
some course on slave management at a fancy college,
and into the service here.  He intended to make a
career of it, and to rise through the ranks, and to
rise quickly as a college guy would expect to.  I
remembered how I'd been when I moved south after
college, and went into work every day, smartly dressed
and bright eyed, waiting to move up the ladder:  how
fucking different things had turned out.

He came over to me, and with  no preamble at all
reached for my dick and ran his hand around the flange
and the head, and stroked the piss slit, making me
squirm.  "Keep still, slave", he commanded, "Unless
you want me to stick my discipliner up your ass, on
full power."

He cupped my balls and rolled them around, and I was
terrified - unlike master Rafe, who I trusted as he'd
handled hundreds of sets of slaves' balls, I suspected
this new officer didn't really know what he was doing
and at any moment I expected to be in agony.

"Nice!", he commented to Hughes. "Is this the case for
tomorrow morning?  Do we know why he's here?"

"No", Hughes replied.  "The charge sheet didn't come
down.  I was just told to expect a slave, and the
paperwork all matches, the SIN's right, and so on.
But you know how it is - there's only one reason a
master sends a slave back here - gelding."

"Yes, a pity.  It's a long time since I felt balls
like those."  He turned to me and went on "So, slave,
what did you do to make your owner want to have you
gelded?  A slave like you, well hung, must be fun in
bed.... Or did you go after some of the women
slaves... Either way, it seems a pity to be losing
them."

I just stood there, and he went around behind me and
there was a vicious slap across my butt, causing me to
grunt in shock.  He hadn't used his hand as Hughes
did, but stood in front of me again with a flexible
leather paddle.

"Did your owner take your tongue out, slave?  I expect
a answer to my questions.  Now, did you do something
wrong in bed with your owner, or were you chasing
women?  Slaves aren't allowed to do that, you know..."

"Sir, I don't know."

"They all say that", Hughes said, laughingly.  "You'd
think we only ever gelded totally innocent slaves
here!"

"Well you will be this time!", I shouted.  "I haven't
done anything.  I'm a good slave.  I loved my owner.
I worked hard..."   My protests were cut short by two
more stinging blows to my butt.

"Shut the fuck up, slave!", the new officer snapped.
"I can see why your owner's having you gelded - you're
much too uppity.  Don't you know the first thing about
slave behaviour?  That a slave just answers a free man
simply and clearly?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then, as you know the rules, you must have
deliberately broken them a moment ago.  So I think a
little more punishment is in order.  Or should it be
pleasure? "

"You know", he went on, turning to Hughes, "I think a
man deserves a bit of fun on his last night as a
proper man, don't you?  Shall we give him a good
time?"

Hughes nodded, his big face breaking out into a grin.
The new officer pulled a coin out of his pocket, and
tossed it.  Usual way... "Heads or tails", he said.

They looked at the coin and agreed it was "heads".
Officer Hughes went to the switch on the wall, and the
bar came further down so that I was bent more than
double.  He fiddled with it a bit, raising it a
fraction then lowering it again, then came and stood
in front of me.  His crotch was right in front of my
face.

"Right, boy", he said.  " It was 'heads', so I get to
fuck your throat, and the other officer here gets to
ream your ass.  Now I want a lot of pleasure - and I
mean a lot, understand?  And if I feel your teeth on
my dick even once, you'll wish you were never born."

"Any special instructions from the other end?", he
called out laughingly to his fellow.

"Just let's get on with it, shall we, Hughes?", the
guy snapped back.  "My dick feels as if it's going to
burst, now I've seen this one's ass."

So they fucked me, together, one down my throat, one
up my ass, and there wasn't a blind thing I could do
about it.  I was a slave, I was their prisoner, I was
buried in the depths of the courthouse awaiting
gelding, and there was no one to care, no one to stop
them.  It was the ultimate humiliation, the ultimate
degradation - I had long ago ceased to be a free man,
and now I was no longer even a respected slave, I was
just a receptacle for their dicks.

And when they'd finished, they didn't even let me up
to spend the rest of the night in a comfortable
position.  I had to stand there, bent double, feeling
the officer's cum slide out of my hole and trickle
down my thighs.  When they patrolled the building, as
they seemed to do every hour or so, they even
delighted in slapping my butt as it was bent there for
them, so available, and so utterly defenceless.  I now
knew the depths of lowliness to which a slave could
sink, the totally callous way in which our society
could treat a slave:  once you were in their power,
you were theirs, utterly and completely.

End Of Part Twenty Six.