MY LIFE AS A SLAVE. PART 5

By Pete Brown. Petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all Pete Brown's stories in group petebrownseroticstories on
Yahoo! Groups

MASSAGE MEETING

The following morning I was waiting for my package of slave meal to
be thrown through the door when instead it was brought in by two
young guys - about 23, I would guess. They looked identical.

"Hi, I'm Bill", said one.

"And I'm Tom", said the other almost in unison.

I was so surprised about seeing someone other than my master that I
didn't reply, and I was so hungry I took my packet of slave meal from
the one called Bill, tore open the foil packet, and eagerly stuffed
the bland nuts into my mouth.

"Hey, dude, slow down", the one on the left said. "That's no way to
greet guys who have come to give you a day's training and a bit of
fun!"

I'd emptied my mouth now, and my meagre breakfast was finished - no
more food until that evening, I knew.

"Your master has sent us here to train you in massage techniques",
the one on the right, Tom, continued. "And we find the best way of
doing this is by example. So we're going to spend the day massaging
you, and with you massaging us. It's usually a lot of fun."

"Yes", Bill continued. "We usually only get to massage old, soft
creeps, and it's not often we get to play with a stud like you in
prime condition."

"Hey, this is some place!", Tom continued. "Your master obviously
cares a lot about his body, to pay for all this space in the centre
of the town, and to have a slave like you to help him."

"Give us the tour first, then we can get started. And, look, I've
told you I'm Bill and my brother's Tom - but you haven't told us your
name - when we were hired for the day we only heard your master
telling ours that you were a marine slave."

"Yes", Tom chimed in "We thought you spent all the time at the sea,
and we couldn't understand it as we're right inland here. Then we
realised they were talking about an ex-Marine, and we got really
excited! We were used as part of the support crew at the slave
games earlier in the year and they had some captured marines fighting
in the nude for the pleasure of the crowd: we were the official
masseurs, to help out with muscle sprains and bruises, and it was
really something. You should have seen those guys when they first
had to go out naked into the arena and fight their buddies - they
were so shy at first, but they soon warmed up when they realised that
it was inevitable that one of them had to win through to the end of
the competition."

"Look", I cut in, "I don't know what all this is about. Yes, I was
in the marines, and yes, I am here as the sort of work-out buddy for
my master. But he said nothing about massage."

Then I realised something truly awful: in all my months of slavery
no one had ever used my name. In fact, I had almost forgotten it,
and the whole concept of names. To my master I was just "slave",
or "marine", or "marine slave", and to me he was just "master". I
did not even know my master's name. This was truly the ultimate in
depersonalisation - I was just a chattel, not a person, to the system.

"I'm Steve", I went on. "I'll show you around, but tell me what it's
all about".

Whilst I was showing the guys the complex, with its changing rooms,
showers, squash court, gym and pool, they told me their story. They
were identical twins, from Manchester in the North of England.
Although their family was not well off, they went to Loughborough
University, famous for its focus on sports, to study sport
management. They had both always been keen sportsmen, but knew they
were not good enough at anything to make a living as a professional
player. So they had determined to do the next best thing by doing
sports management at university, so they could take up jobs as sports
centre managers, or in sports administration. Whilst they were there
they had found it impossible to get part-time jobs to pay for their
living expenses as the area around the university was not
economically very prosperous and there were too many students chasing
too few badly paid jobs. So they had hit on the idea in doing a
course in massage primarily intended for physiotherapists, then going
each weekend back to Manchester and offering "sports massages" to the
city's gay and bi community.

After university they looked for jobs, but there are not that many
opportunities in sports management - especially as they were
determined to work together, so they needed two jobs with the same
company, or in the same town. They had seen an advertisement
offering jobs in a sports complex in Bahrain that was intended for
the foreign community, and had applied. They'd been interviewed
extensively, flown out to Bahrain to see the complex, but, at the
last minute, were turned down. A week later, going back into the
tiny apartment they shared, they found three men there who
overpowered them and drugged them. The next thing they knew they
were being sold on the slave market!

"I guess it was all a set up", Bill said. "They interviewed us, did
medicals, took pictures, got all our details, everything. We even
told them we had no next of kin as our parents had died in a car
crash in our second year at Loughborough. So they had our complete
backgrounds, and knew that we were unlikely to be missed if we
disappeared from England. And even people who might miss us had
heard us talking about a foreign job, and would probably just assume
we had taken it."

"So here we are", Tom went on. "We were not actually auctioned, as it
seems we were 'taken to order' by our master. He used the Bahrain
jobs as a front to identify potential slaves, then sent in the
enslavers when he found suitable candidates. We work in a place
called 'The Pleasure Palace' where the locals come to relax: there's
a big gym, restaurants, pool, and cinemas all in a complex where the
rich guys can meet their friends in privacy and seclusion. We are
part of the 'offering' of the place, so a client can get a
professional massage either as part of a gym session, or as general
relaxation."

"We're actually quite lucky, in two ways", Bill continued - and I
noticed that there was hardly a pause between one stopping and the
other starting - they were obviously so close that they had similar
thoughts, and could almost complete each other's
sentences. "Firstly, we're not one of the crowd of fuck slaves that
are on the complex's staff, so clients don't expect to be able to
fuck us: they may come to us for a massage either before or after
using one of the fuck slaves, but they generally don't thrust their
cocks up our asses. Of course they could, as we're slaves, but the
complex's management generally makes it obvious that the trained fuck
slaves are there for that sort of thing. We get to wank a lot of our
clients, and some like us to suck them off, but that's all part of
what being a male masseur for male clients is all about, and I guess
we'd do that if we were practising in England anyway. But generally
they don't fuck us."

"And secondly, we actually have a better life here than in England,
even though we are slaves. Tom and I have always been together, as
we're identical twins. We are of course lovers, and we've never
really wanted other men, although we have tried out lots of other
guys as you do when you're going through your teens, and at
university. But we're so close, and have been all our lives, that no
one else can be as good a lover for me as my brother is. In England
we had no money, and it looked as if we were going to have to live
apart. And even though being gay and having gay sex is perfectly
legal for men over 16 in England, it's still a crime to fuck a close
family member, like your brother. So we were constantly worried
about where the next meal was coming from, where we were going to
live, and whether we could find a job. And there was always the
suspicion that if we turned down the offer of sex from a guy we met
in a club, he might rat on us to the Police who would take a harsh
view of 'brotherly love'."

"Here we're well fed, we get to exercise and play in the best
facilities, we do a job we've been properly trained for, and we have
absolutely no worries - life's really very good. And we get to stay
with each other: there's almost no chance any master would buy us
and split us up, as we're far more valuable as two absolutely
identical twins than we would be as two separate male slaves. Even
though we're very good looking slaves!", he finished, with an
infectious smile on his face.

"But let's get down to business", Tom said as I'd finished showing
them around. He reached down and undid the drawstring at the top of
the exercise pants he was wearing, and shucked them to the floor; he
has not wearing anything underneath them. He reached down and pulled
the tight T-shirt up over his chest and head, and as he did so I got
a good look at his body - a lot of guys in changing rooms take their
Ts off first, before their pants and boxers, as they know that when
they pull a shirt over their head they're effectively blind for an
instant and other guys can take a good hard look at them with no
chance of being observed. But Tom was obviously not at all
embarrassed about his body, and I could see that he had no reason for
being so.

Bill had similarly stripped off almost exactly in unison with Tom,
and the brothers stood there next to each other. They really were
identical twins: same height, about 5'10, same nicely-muscled but
not overly-developed bodies, neat nipples, cut cocks in proportion to
the rest of them held on top of high-riding balls so that their cocks
stuck out a bit, and dark blond hair on their heads, cut at around
half an inch all over. Looking at them - and I admit I was by now
staring - I could see absolutely no difference between them, and
their similarity was heightened by the fact that you could see all of
their bodies - apart from the small covering of hair on their heads,
they were totally smooth: not a bit of hair anywhere, and their
skins had a sort of dull sheen, as if they had been oiled but then
buffed up.

Bill saw me looking, and said "Yes, we see a lot of guys looking at
us like that the first time they see us. We really are identical -
always have been, and always will be."

"And I can see you wondering if we're naturally smooth: the answer
is 'no' - we'd normally have a nice crop of hair, like you. The only
down side of being a slave masseur is that our master insists we
shave all over, every day. He thinks that clients like a totally
shaved masseur, as then there's no possibility of any of our pubic
hair dropping on to the client. We've suggested we might wear a G-
string or something, but hat's just not an option: male slave
masseurs are always totally naked here. I think not having a proper
bush around our cocks makes us look much younger than we are - we're
actually 24 and look about 19 - and we really miss the sheer pleasure
of having hairy arms and legs to wrap around each other when we're
making love. But we've got used to it by now."

"Come on, Steve", Tom interrupted. "Shuck those shorts off so we can
get started."

"Fucking Hell!", he said as my shorts dropped to the floor and my
beaten ass was revealed. "You poor guy - having a master who bought
you so he could indulge his pleasure in punishment. There are some
of the fuck slaves we massage in the complex who naturally seem to
attract the brutal element in the clientele, and we have to do our
best to relieve their suffering with analgesic massage oils."

Bill had moved closer to me and was lightly running his hands over my
backside. They felt cool and soothing, and I suppose that knowing
that he was a masseur meant that I wasn't embarrassed or outraged at
being felt in this way.

"I'm not sure, brother", Bill said. "Look, the skin's not broken.
Steve's been beaten, but not permanently damaged. I don't think his
master wanted to scar him permanently, and it's not like what some of
those bastard clients in the complex do to the slaves we treat."

"Actually", I said, "This week was the first time my master has ever
beaten me. He was under a lot of stress when he came in, and when I
failed to please him and was disrespectful, he just snapped. I don't
think it's his natural way at all - previously he'd just used me for
what I am, his work-out buddy. And other than the fact that I could
always do with a good meal, I get treated very well, for a slave."

"Hmmm... Well, in our experience, even 'good' masters can change.
Once they get a taste for beating and torturing slaves, there's no
stopping them. Let's hope your master is an exception. But enough
of this: lie face down on the massage table, and let's get started",
Bill said.

I went and lay down, and the leather was cool against my naked
body. "Good - he seems to know lesson 1 already, doesn't he, Bill?"

"Yes, Tom. Steve, Tom is talking about the first rule of massage -
if you are to be massaged, you accept whatever is offered on the
table - leather, bare wood, or a towel your master has already used,
damp with his sweat. If you are massaging your master, you will of
course always place s spotlessly clean towel on the table first for
him to lie on. Although actually that's the second rule: the first
is that you always get out of your clothes before your master does -
it would be quite wrong for a master to be naked, with a slave
clothed."

I grinned to myself, as I new that this was the root cause of my
problems as master would not have beaten me that first time had I
just thought the thing through. But it didn't matter, as one of
them - and I simply couldn't tell whether it was Bill or Tom - had
started to rub oil into my left leg, moving his hands expertly and
sensuously from my ankles to my ass.

After a moment the other one started on my right leg, and the
sensation of having two pairs of hands on me in this way was
indescribable.

After a few minutes, they stopped and one of them said "Now its your
turn, Steve."

I lifted my head from where I had been cradling it in my arms, looked
at the two naked brothers, who were grinning with pleasure, and saw
that I was meant to get up, which I did.

"Which one of us do you want to practice on first?", one of them
asked.

I really couldn't tell them apart, and said so, which caused them to
grin even more. One of them took my place on the table, completely
disregarding the slick of my sweat that was there, and his brother
then gave me a complete lesson in how to do leg massage, showing me
by example on his brother's left leg whilst I did the right one.

Then the brothers changed over, and I had to massage the second
brother whilst the first one watched, passing critical comments if I
failed to do properly any of the things that I had been taught.

Then it was on to the ass, and I was taught how to really knead the
big muscles there to give complete relaxation, and then move on to
the lower back and shoulders.

Somehow having three totally naked guys massaging each other, all
with good-looking bodies, was quite exciting. I'd been naked with
lots of guys before, but I'd never seen identical twins in the nude.
And, of course, I'd never run my hands over other naked male
bodies.

"OK, Steve", my instructor said as I had finished the shoulders of
his brother. "Now it's my turn. But I'm going to teach you a
different technique for massaging Tom" (I now knew it was Bill who
was speaking!).

"Up until now, you have been massaging from the side of the table.
But one of the best ways of massaging a master's back and shoulders
is by kneeling between his spread-out legs. That way, you can use
both hands with equal pressure and take long, slow strokes up the
whole length of the body from the shoulders, over his ass, and to the
top of his thighs".

Bill had climbed off the table, Tom had replaced him, and had
obligingly parted his legs.

I went to get on the table and kneel between them as I had, I suppose
instinctively, when I had first tried my inexpert massage on my
master. But Bill stopped me. "No, Steve. There's something you have
to do first."

"What's that?"

"Wank yourself. Or jerk off, as you'd say, being an American."

"Jerk off? What the fuck do you mean? Why should I need to do that?"

"Look, you're going to be kneeling stark naked between your master's
legs. As you lean forwards and backwards to run your hands up and
down his body, your cock will be hovering over him and may well touch
him from time to time - and, if it doesn't, you might want to thrust
your hips forward a bit so that it does - a lot of masters find the
feeling of the tip of a slave's cock lightly running over their bums
and backbones to be very sensual."

"But you'll almost certainly get an erection, and you might well
start to leak pre-cum: you'd not be a proper man if the sheer
pleasure of feeling an oiled, warm body under you didn't turn you on,
after all. So do you think it's nice for a master to think you might
also be spraying him with pre-cum whilst you're massaging him? It
might not matter on his back, but he'd almost certainly be upset when
you came to do the front of his body in the same way. So the easiest
way is to wank first, so you will have at least have a few minutes,
however virile you are, before you start to leak pre-cum again.

"Of course, in your case, with that long foreskin, I suppose your
master could always insist you used a clip to hold the ends together
tightly to avoid the possibility of anything leaking out. But
wanking is probably easier, and certainly less painful!"

I could see the sense in what he was saying, and as he was speaking
he had simply started to jerk off - totally unembarrassed by the fact
that I and his brother was watching.

"Come on, Steve, we haven't got all day", he continued, as I stood
there doing nothing. "Get stuck in. You're not shy, are you?"

It was really difficult. I'm not used to jerking off in front of
other guys. I was shy. And at that time I also found it difficult to
do it standing up - like most American men, I usually jerked off in
bed, or sprawling in an easy chair. But I saw that Bill had shot a
big load, catching it neatly in the palm of his left hand, so started
to try to make myself cum so that he would not think that I was some
sort of wimp.

Just as I was about to shoot, Bill said "Remember to catch all your
cum neatly. Not only do we not want it all over the floor, but we
might need it."

Bill and I stood there, each with a handful of jism, and he said to
his brother "Do you prefer the oil or the slave-cum for your massage,
master?"

Tom was grinning as he replied "The cum, of course, slave! I find it
makes my skin so beautifully soft!".

Bill turned to me and said "Look, there's a serious point here. Some
masters do like to be massaged with your cum, so you should ask. We
do it all the time, routinely, but I guess you can find out your
master's wishes once and then do the same every time. But even if he
does not want you to use your spunk, you should still wank for the
reasons I gave you."

Bill then got between Tom's legs, and started the sensual strokes
along the length of his body, with his hands sliding over the slick
of jism that was spreading over Tom's skin. The overpowering
masculine smell of jism filled the air.

I though I would do the same massage next, but after Bill had
finished, Tom turned over and said "Use your load on the front of my
body, using the same long, sensual strokes."
I replaced Bill between Tom's legs, and started to do as instructed.
But again, just as I had with my master, I allowed my thumbs to bump
clumsily into Tom's nipples and I felt his body arch slightly under
my hands.

So then Tom and Bill changed places, and Tom gave me a detailed
lesson in nipple massage, showing me how essential it was that I was
gentle with my master's nipples, whilst at the same time pleasuring
him so that they rose up stiffly.

After further detailed lessons on massage of the feet and hands, we
stopped and went for a swim.

It was absolutely great to be racing up and down the pool with these
two young athletes - I always enjoyed swimming competitively against
my master, but was always scared about either winning by too large a
margin, or of being found out when I deliberately "pulled" my
strokes. Either way, my master could be displeased - he would appear
not to be as good a swimmer as I in the first case, and would not
like me to be patronising him in the second. But with Bill and Tom
there were none of these inhibitions, and I was able to revel in the
unrestrained pleasure of using my body to its maximum potential. It
was really good to be able to race against them using everything I
had - although I could swim by myself any time I wanted during the
say, it's not the same when there's no one to compete with.

As the three of lay on the pool side, chests heaving with exertion,
one of the brothers (I had lost track of which was which again)
said "So we've done almost all the lessons. That just leaves the
cock and the ass. Let's get started on those. But it's great out
here in the sunshine - let's not go back indoors."

And as he was speaking, he got to his knees, knelt over me, and
gently lifted my cock off my balls. Using little gentle, fluttering
strokes, he began teasing my cock to start an erection.

I didn't known what to think - other than when I was sold and had
been examined at the slave centre, I'd never had another man touch my
cock. Even my master did not do this, as he seemed to have no
interest in using me sexually other than to suck him off. I could
feel the blood pounding inside my ears, and the outside world almost
cut off as my mind raced through all the things I'd been taught
throughout my life - "Don't touch your little friend like
that", "Keep away from your team mates in the showers, as we don't
want homos in this school". "Only fags touch other guys'
dicks", "Soldier, if you want to feel that guy's dick, you're not the
sort of soldier we want here", and so on. And now, here I was, being
handled sensuously by this young guy who, frankly, I found very
attractive. What should I do?

My mind was made up for me, as I got the hard-on to end all hard-
ons. Either Bill or Tom stopped stroking me, and said "Master, would
you like me to masturbate you with my hands to full climax, would you
prefer to be taken by mouth, or does master wish to fuck me?"

Then, in a different tone, "Steve, you should ask. Some masters like
being wanked, some want to be sucked off, and some may have in mind
to face fuck you, or fuck your ass. And some strange ones, of
course, might not want anything - but I don't think that's very
likely when there will be a really gorgeous, drop down dead handsome
hunk like you asking them!"

I started to blush - I had been thinking that I found the brothers
attractive, and here was one of them thinking that I was the sexy
one! Looking back, I realise now that my self image had been wrong
all my life. I was always "Steve who's too big", "Steve who's got
the muscles, not the brains", "Steve who can't go with that cheer
leader in case his big body crushes her", "Steve who hasn't got a
small, tight ass and a pigeon chest, like the current pop singers the
girls all seemed to fancy." And, once I was in the Marines, you just
didn't think about your body as being attractive to your fellows - it
just wasn't done. But, actually, most guys would give their eye
teeth to be made as well as I am. And the regular exercise, the near-
perfect diet, and the complete lack of stress had turned my above
average body into something really special, I realised.

I told him I wanted to feel his mouth on me, and, for the first time
in my life, I had a blow job from another guy. Of course Bill (or
Tom?) was a real expert, and most of my earlier experiences had been
with somewhat reluctant girl friends, who did it whilst being almost
ashamed of taking my dick in their mouths, and tried to get it over
as quickly as possible. Now I had this fantastic guy taking me slowly
and very assuredly, clearly enjoying the pleasure of my dick, and
determined to give me pleasure in return.

I wanted it to go on for ever, but my excitement and the sheer
sexuality of the scene overcame me and I shot my load very quickly.
Then there was absolutely exquisite agony as Bill (or Tom?) continued
to suck at me after I had shot - I cried out with a mixture of
pleasure and pain, involuntarily arched my back in ecstasy, and half-
heartedly put my hands on his head to make him stop.

"Hey, Tom, Steve's a real sensualist!", Bill said as he finally took
his mouth off my dick, turned, and, to my utter astonishment, kissed
his brother full on the mouth. I could see their tongues
intertwining, and knew that Tom must now be sharing my jism. He
broke away, and turning to me, said "There are two types of guys in
this world. One kind, you can suck and suck after they have shot and
there's absolutely no reaction. The other kind, their dicks get
incredibly sensitive and if you carry on sucking, you don't know
whether it's pleasure or pain you're causing them! You're the second
type, I see: was it right for you? Did I go on sucking enough so
that it was more pleasurable, rather than more painful? It can be
difficult to get it right the first time. How has it been in the
past with other guys who have sucked your cock?"

"Look, Bill, no other guy has been down on my dick before. I've only
ever had girls sucking me off, and they always stopped as soon as I
started to cum - most of them didn't want to get my jism in their
mouth!"

"Oh Steve, you don't know what you've been missing! That's why Tom
and I are so fortunate. Ever since we got sexually mature, we've had
each other to suck off and we know each other's cocks as well as we
know our own, and know exactly how the other likes to cum. But now
you need to return the favour - and I'll tell you in advance that I'm
incredibly sensitive - once I cum, please stop sucking else I will
freak out!"

It all seemed so natural, so right, when I sat up and leant over him
and took his dick into my mouth. It was warm, and rapidly went rock
hard as my tongue moved over the head and flange. I could taste the
faint taste of chlorine from the pool overlaying the delightful
natural flavour of his skin and sweat. I was proud that I could take
his whole length into my throat without gagging, although it seemed
strange when my nose touched his totally smooth pubic area - my only
other experience was in having my master's wiry pubic hair against my
nose at that point.

He came remarkably quickly, and I tasted for the second time a man's
jism: I actually quite liked it. Remembering what he had said, I
stopped sucking on him, and sat up grinning at him. Tom at once
knelt over Bill's dying erection and gently licked at his brother's
dick head, and lightly kissed the detumescing shaft.

"Steve, you're meant to be giving pleasure here!", Bill commented a
few moments later. "The actual sucking was great, and you've
obviously been training your throat - else you're a very good liar,
and you've had lots of cock down there! But you took me too
literally when I said to stop when I came. Although I didn't want
you to go on sucking hard, as I'm so sensitive, did you see how Tom
was able to continue to give me pleasure? Remember that next time -
not only would a master appreciate the little fluttery attentions Tom
was giving me, but some masters would anyway like to continue to see
a slave 'worshipping' their cock in that way."

"But I think that's enough on sucking. I think it's time to show you
how you can add pleasure to your master's experience if he chooses to
face fuck you."

Tom stood up, and said "Steve, assume position four and get your
mouth open".

I did as he said, and watched as his brother quickly jerked Tom's
cock a couple of times to get it erect, before he stood in front of
me.

Almost before I knew it, he was ruthlessly thrusting his cock down my
throat, smashing his bare pubic bone almost painfully into my nose.
I could smell the sweat on his body as my nose was rubbed against
it. His hands were behind my head, pulling it down on to him and
holding it there. I felt certain he was about to cum.

But then he pulled out.

"Now, Steve", Tom said, "Before I start again, a few instructions.
Even though your master has chosen to face fuck you, you're not
supposed to kneel there like a statue! You are supposed to heighten
his pleasure!"

"As he thrusts away, show you are appreciating the experience. Allow
yourself to moan slightly. Rub your hands passionately up and down
the backs of his thighs. Don't rely on him pulling your head into
his crotch - grip his ass, and pull him down on to you."

"Really show your master that you are enjoying the experience, by
participating in it in those sorts of ways."

"Now, I'm going to start again. And remember what I said!"

He again thrust into my mouth, and, as he did so, I reached out and
did as he had suggested. It was actually great to feel the strong
muscles in his thighs ripple as he thrust backwards and forwards, and
as I sensed his climax approaching, I did fold my arms behind his ass
and pull him into me so he couldn't move backwards. His hot jism hit
the back of my throat, and, involuntarily, as I was not faking it, I
moaned deeply with pleasure.

"Steve, you're a real champion", Tom told me a moment later.

"Hey, Bill, did you ever see a slave enjoy a face fuck as much as
Steve did?"

"No. He was really good. He's got a lucky master, if that's the
standard he's going to deliver every time."

I was thrilled to hear these two experienced men praising me in this
way, but, in truth, I didn't care: I really had enjoyed the feeling
of subjugation as he had thrust into me, whilst knowing that I had
retained control in some way by my efforts in pulling him towards me.

"Now, Tom, shall we go onto the last lesson - anal massage, and real
fucking?"

"No, Bill, if you remember, our orders are that Steve is to remain
totally virgin: we are absolutely forbidden even to rim him, as his
master wants to keep him 'pure' until he decides to take his cherry."

I didn't know whether to be pleased or scared by this. Enjoying the
feel of a guy's body, and even sucking his dick, seemed natural. But
having a dick stuck up my ass - no way! My master couldn't mean for
that to happen to me, so that's why he must have told Tom and Bill
not to go there.

We spent the rest of the afternoon swimming, and gently massaging
each other. It was really good to seethe way that Tom and Bill were
completely unselfconscious about their bodies - they were so used to
touching and fondling each other, and this naturalness spilled over
into the way that they dealt with me as we swam and then relaxed.
Quite causally they would touch my body, or lean over me if I was
between them so they could kiss each other. On one occasion Bill
leaned over to say something to Tom, and his dick scraped across my
belly. It made me have an erection, as the sensation of the warm end
of his dick against my six pack, especially as it crossed my treasure
trail, was so erotic. I've never felt so close to other guys before,
and I was really jealous of the life they had: I wish I had had a
brother, let alone a twin, who would have taught me how to deal so
gently and lovingly with another guy. And they were together, whereas
I realised I was so totally alone, stuck here in the gym complex with
only the daily short visit from my master.

As we lay there soaking up the hot sun, Tom commented about the noise
that we could hear faintly over the high wall that cut off the far
side of the pool from the outside world. Bill reminded him that as
they had entered my master's house they had seen the high blank wall,
and that it was across the street from the American embassy. "Funny
isn't it", Bill said, "that just over there are four armed marines
manning the embassy entrance, with the poor guys sweating it out
under the sun in their dress uniforms. Whilst just a few feet away
you are able to lie here, relax, and soak up the sun!"

Well, that was one way of looking at it. But, thinking about it, I
would willingly have swapped places with any one of them. I wished
now I had stayed in the marines, but also that I could have done so
knowing now what I did about the ways guys could act towards each
other.

Just as I was thinking this, Bill leaned over and started to suck me
off again, whilst Tom knelt behind my head and leaned over me to
gently massage my pecs and nipples. The sheer eroticism of what they
were doing with me drove the thoughts of the marines out of my mind.

But just after I had cum, and was looking forward to returning the
pleasure to Bill and Tom, the door opened and my dinner package was
thrown in. Bill and Tom said that they had been told that they must
leave when that happened, as my master might return at any time after
that.

We showered together, and it was good to see the way that they washed
each other so naturally - it really didn't matter to them who soaped
which part of either body. And then I watched as they pulled on
their T-shirts and training pants, not caring whose was whose: I
suppose that growing up with an identical twin, you never care about
things like that, as you share everything so totally.

Then they left, and I have never felt so utterly alone. I pulled on
my gym shorts, and sat against a wall, waiting, for my master -
indeed, I was desperately hoping that he would come that night and
not be held at the office, as I craved further human contact, even at
the level that I was allowed to do it with my master.

A REVELATION ABOUT MY MASTER

My master did arrive, at about the regular time, and we went through
our usual ritual of working out. At the end, when he would normally
be making preparations to leave and was stripped before the shower,
he turned and said "Well, marine, are you now properly trained as a
masseur?"

I had of course stripped before he did, as I now knew a slave must,
and replied "Yes, master, I spent a most instructive day."

"So let's see you in action. I need relaxing."

He turned, and went to lie on the massage table, but remembering my
lesson, before he could lie on the bare leather, I managed to cover
it with one of the fluffy white towels.

As respectfully as I could, because he had not first spoken to me, I
said "Master, do you want the whole body massage, or do you just want
me to concentrate on one part?"

"Forget the feet and hands, just a little on the arms and legs. But
my shoulders, back and ass need attention - I have been sitting at a
screen all day, and I can still feel knots of tension in there in
spite of the workout".

Again remembering the lesson, I stood there and started to jerk off.
My master watched, and as I spurted into my hand, he praised
me. "Good, marine. I see you learned your lesson well. I always
like masseurs to empty themselves before starting on me, as it's not
good to have flecks of pre-cum all over me. But I want massaging
with oil, not with your cum. I don't really believe that shit they
tell you about it softening the skin."

I realised then that Tom and Bill had not told me what to do if I was
not going to use my cum as a massage lotion: here I was, standing
with a palm full of my jism, and nowhere to put it. I went to wipe
it on a towel, but my master at once rapped at me "Disgusting slave!
How dare you even think of soiling the towels with your semen! Their
lessons were obviously not sufficiently comprehensive, and I will
call their master tomorrow and have them beaten. Just swallow it
down, and don't keep me waiting here all night!"

I was revolted. The thought of licking the glob of my own jism from
my palm seemed perverted somehow. But there was nothing else to do -
after my master's anger the previous days I did not want to provoke
him to beating me further, so I slurped it up from my palm, then
licked my palm and between my fingers so they were scrupulously clean
with not a trace of jism remaining. After all, I thought, although I
usually jerked off into the previous day's boxers when I was at home
or in the marine barracks I had read that a lot of guys always jerked
off into their palms and then swallowed it. It couldn't be harmful,
and I was used to the taste now after having had my master, Bill and
Tom all cum into my mouth.

Massaging my master was quite different to doing either Bill or Tom.
Their flesh was younger, and totally smooth. Although my master had
only a few hairs on his shoulders and his back was mostly clear, he
had one of those little tufts of hair at the base of his spine, at
the top of his ass crack, that a lot of guys had. And his ass cheeks
were quite rough with a lot of short hair over them. But as I ran my
hands up and down his body with the slick oil under them, I also
remembered my lesson and allowed the tip of my foreskin to trail over
his body: Bill and Tom were obviously right about some guys liking
this, as my master was soon giving little sighs of contentment.

Then he turned over, and I massaged his chest and belly. As he
looked at me, he started to talk.

"I have had good news today, marine. My oldest and closest friend is
coming back to the city."

"We first met when his father was the US ambassador here, and we went
to the same school aged nine. When his father 's tour of duty ended
and he was posted to Washington, it was time for high school and my
father sent me to live with them there so that I should have an
American education and truly perfect my English." 
"All through high school we spent all term time in Washington, and every holiday both of us flew back here at my father's expense. We were as close as
brothers."

"When we were 16, his father asked him if we shouldn't spend
Christmas with them in Washington, but my friend said that he thought
I should go home to my parents, and it wasn't fair to make me travel
alone. In fact, he really wanted to come here at every opportunity
because we had such an excellent fuck slave. My father gave us the
slave when we were 14 and he knew we were just jerking off, as he
wanted us to get used to sex properly. My friend and I shared the
slave, and he taught us everything we wanted to know about sex. Even
when we were 16 he was still the best and most expert fuck slave
around, and we never tired of using his body. He truly enjoyed sex,
and his enthusiasm communicated itself to us. I often wonder what
happened to him - when I was 19, he just wasn't here any more: I
expect my father tired of him, and sold him on. But I've never had
such good sex, or so much sex; but then, perhaps it was because I
was in the prime of my youth. They do say that the human male is at
his most fertile at 16, and perhaps that had something to do with it."

"We both went to UCLA and were room mates of course, but after we
graduated I went to the Harvard Business School, but he went to read
law at Cornell. We sort of drifted apart."

"I went into investment banking, and at last have managed to get
posted back here to run the bank's Middle Eastern operation.
Frankly, I could have advanced even further had I stayed in New York,
but the constant need to find suitable men to fuck was getting me
down. I tried having a slave sent over to live in my apartment, but
it wasn't a success - he attempted to escape, and it took a lot of
work from our guards at our embassy to the UN to subdue him and
dispose of the body. I decided that it was s easier to stick with
rent boys, but some of them had such attitude: you would have
thought that it was them calling the shots, not me, who was paying!
Still, some of them learned their lesson - I passed their contact
numbers on to the enslavers, and they found life a lot less pleasant
when they were brought back here and sold."

"My friend followed his father into the State Department, and has
been working his way around the world in different posts. He has of
course had to marry, to ensure he gets proper advancement, but he has
at last managed to get a posting here. We have only occasionally met
in the past six or seven years, but we always fall into bed and it's
just as if the intervening time doesn't exist. I guess the friends
you make as a boy, and the way you learn about their bodies, are the
ones who truly last."

"I feel sorry for him, really, stuck with that wife of his in various
houses and apartments around the world. She does the usual charity
stuff that embassy wives do, and looks after their three children -
although they're mostly away at college now."

Seeing me look a bit surprised, he continued "Does that surprise
you? That he should have children? Why ever not? Proper sex, for
pleasure, is of course with your male companions. But you do need to
breed to continue your line, so some sex with a woman is required. I
myself have four wives, as is allowed here, and I have bred from all
of them. Of course I have more flexibility, so any daughters were
aborted so that only sons were born - one from each wife, to give a
good spread of my genes. My eldest is 18, and the youngest 14. We
are a very close family, and my sons all love their father, and their
half-brothers. It has been good to be able to initiate them all
properly into sex as they grew up, as my father did me, and as I hope
they will with their sons in due course. Of course, with the
advances in artificial insemination, they may not have to go through
the messy business of fucking the mothers, as I had to."

"When my sons are home from school and college - I send them away for
a proper Western education, as I had - they will attend the gym here
with me and you will have an opportunity of seeing what a fine crop
of men I have raised. I expect my eldest will be able to beat me on
the squash court the next vacation, and I will have to pay the
penalty!"

"Penalty, master?" I dared to ask.

"Yes - I have told all my sons that they are not real men until they
can beat heir father at squash. And when they succeed, at the end of
the game they can fuck me. They have all been wanting to do that for
years of course, but I don't believe in it - a son shouldn't fuck
his father just because he's old enough to have an erection: it
should be something to look forward to, something to be fought for,
something that's a real prize."

"As they have been growing up I have only let them masturbate me and
suck me off, and they are all looking forward to fucking me one
day. They're fully experienced, of course, because of the ready
access to fuck slaves here at home, and the usual brotherly
intercourse. But when a man first fucks his father, that's something
special."

The casual way that he spoke of fathers and sons fucking each other -
or even just jerking each other off - amazed me. I realised what a
different kind of life he must lead, as I couldn't imagine my old man
ever even allowing me to touch his dick, let alone suck it!

"Anyway, my friend arrives next week, and I have told him about my
new gym slave and your excellent body. I have promised him a welcome
present, which is why I have not fucked you. He's never had a
marine, especially a virgin marine, and he's really looking forward
to going up your ass for the first time."

"We had a video conference call only this afternoon, and as I
described your hard flat belly, your delicious bubble but, and your
puckered virgin ass to him, he was completely overcome and had to
jerk off there and then: it was just like old times, when we used to
tease each other with erotic tales, to see who could induce who to
cum!"

Up until then I had been interested in my master's story, as he never
usually spoke this much. But now I felt suddenly sick with
apprehension and fear: I was going to be fucked. I was to be given
as a "welcome gift" to a guy so that he could fuck me! I hated the
idea of being fucked, and even though I was becoming accustomed to
thinking of myself as an object not as a man, being given as
a "welcome gift" was simply outrageous.

I think my master sensed something had happened, probably because
there was a change in my muscle tone and he could feel it through my
hands. He snapped "Enough of this! Come and shower me, as I am now
late and do not have all night to spend here."

When he had gone, I sat here in the dark and thought long and hard.
After my introduction to sex with loving, expert men, I had begun to
really enjoy it. But there was no way I was going to have my ass
fucked - it was just too far for me to go.

ESCAPE

I determined to escape, but knew it was very risky. At the slave
training they had impressed on us time and time again that the
penalty for even trying to escape was castration - gelding, to calm
you down, they had called it. And if we succeeded, and were caught,
the automatic penalty was death.

But Tom and Bill had told me that he American embassy was only just
across the street, on the other side of wall at the back of the
pool. Surely that would be easy - all I had to do was to just get
there, run into the embassy, and I would be safe.

The next morning after my breakfast, I started to size up the task.
I first thought of going out through the door of the gym, and pushing
my way out of my master's house. I decided I would first of all do a
brief reconnaissance by looking to see what was actually on the other
side of the gym door. Tentatively I opened the door, and looked out
into an empty corridor beyond it. I took a step into the corridor,
and at once sirens started to sound, two grills dropped from the
ceiling blocking each end of the corridor, and guards with machine
pistols came running to line up outside the grills.

A guard in a major's uniform shouted at me to get back inside the
gym, and close the door. The chip inside me had triggered the house
alarms, and they could not be reset whilst I was still there.

I went back inside, and now knew I was in deep shit - my master had
beaten me for just a tiny transgression of his own personal rules.
What punishment would he have lined up for a slave who deliberately
disobeyed orders and looked as if he was going to escape?

There as nothing for it - if I was going to escape, it had to be
today. The die was cast!

The only other way out was over the wall at the back of the pool. The
wall was very high, but I was resourceful, strong and athletic after
all. I dragged the equipment out of the gym, the massage tables and
benches out of the changing rooms, and built a high ragged-looking
pile of it against the wall. I knew there was no chance of being
seen, as master had told me that he liked privacy in the gym, and so
there were no security cameras in there.

As I climbed up the pile towards the top of the wall, it suddenly
occurred to me that I was still naked after sleeping - why hadn't I
just pulled on master's shorts from yesterday? I thought of going
back down and doing so, but the pile seemed a bit unstable and I
thought that if I went down, then back up, it might collapse. So I
went on up, in the nude, until I could see over the top of the wall.

And Tom and Bill had not been bullshitting - there was a large solid
building, in stone, with a sight for sore eyes - a big American eagle
sitting proudly over the door. And, just as they had said, four real
marines were standing there on guard. Nothing had ever looked so
inviting.

So I heaved myself up, sat for a moment on top of the wall, heard the
alarm sirens start to sound again as, presumably, my chip went out of
range of the house security system, then lowered myself down until my
arms were at maximum stretch and let myself drop into the street.

It was still quite a fall, but I picked myself up and ran across the
street. But I couldn't get into the embassy - the marines stopped me!

"Hold on, fella!", one snapped. "Let's see some ID!"

"Look, shithead, I'm naked. What ID do you think I have? I'm an
American citizen. I've been captured and made a slave. I have
escaped, and they are after me. Let me in to the fucking embassy!"

"Sorry, sir, orders are orders. No ID, no entry." He had been
trained to be polite to strangers, when they were rude to him.

"Look, I'm an American! I demand the right to go into the embassy.
I was even a marine, like you, once. I know orders is orders, but
please get your lieutenant out here so I can explain."

"No can do, sir. The lieutenant gave strict orders not to be
disturbed this morning as he has to write up reports on all of us for
our yearly appraisals. If we disturb him, he'll surely mark us down"

"I don't give a fuck whether you grunts are marked down or not. If
you don't let me in, those guards I see approaching will take me
back, and I'll be killed. Now, marine, PLEASE!"

I think it might have been me calling him a "grunt" that did it, as
he thought that perhaps I had indeed been a marine, because after a
moment's chat with his buddies, two of them marched me into the
embassy and left me in a small waiting room.

After a few minutes, the lieutenant did appear and started to
question me. I thought I was used to being totally naked, but in the
presence of a marine in full kit, inside a building, I again began to
feel humiliated and very conscious of my nudity. Although I had no
ID of course, I was managing to convince him I was a US citizen and
an ex-marine: I told him so many details of my life in the marines
that he admitted I couldn't possibly have made them up.

But just as we were making real progress and he had sent someone to
find me some clothes, as he said it wasn't right for an ex-marine to
have to sit bare-assed naked, the door opened and my master came in,
together with a distinguished-looking older American in a formal suit.

"Ah, ambassador, it's just as I explained to you on the phone. This
is indeed the slave that has escaped from my house, so if you will be
so good as to allow my guards into the embassy for a short period,
they will remove him back there."

I went to speak, but my master shouted "Silence, slave!."

Of course it was stupid of me to shut up, but something in my
training and conditioning made me accept his order for a moment.
Perhaps it was because after my months of slavery I had become
totally accustomed to obeying him unquestioningly.

"Mr ambassador, sir, I think this man is a US citizen", the
lieutenant said into the silence. "He says he's an ex-marine, and the
details he has told me about his training, and about the San Diego
base, convinces me that he's not lying. If he is a slave, he's been
wrongly and illegally enslaved, and we must offer him the protection
that all US citizens deserve."

My master looked at the ambassador and spoke quietly. "This slave is
known to be a fanciful liar. He was a slave to the local company
that services the marine barracks here at the embassy at one time,
and I expect he heard the men talking about all these details your
lieutenant finds so convincing."

"That's a lie!", I cut in.

But master snapped again "Silence!", and it had the same power over
me to cause me to shut up.

He went on "Can I remind you, ambassador, that you and I have spent
several hours recently working on the details of the financing
arrangement that my bank is putting into place to help support the
dollar? If you believe this slave, and think I am lying, how can you
continue to do business with me? We will have to call that deal off,
and I don't think the state Department or the US Treasury will be
very pleased with your performance."

The ambassador thought for a moment and replied "Sheikh, of course I
don't doubt your word. But I'm in a difficult position here. Let us
agree that you are of course correct, and the man is a slave, whether
or not he may have been a US citizen at one time. But he is now on
US territory, and slavery has been illegal in the USA for a number of
years - we fought our civil war about that, as I'm sure I don't need
to remind a man with your excellent education. So I can't easily
release him to you."

My master was a man who clearly had a subtle mind, and who was a
skilled negotiator, as he had presumably worked his way up through
the ranks of his bank to get a position of power at a very early
age. He said to the ambassador "I think we simply have a problem of
semantics here."

"Let's not call this a 'slave'. Let's call it a piece of my
property, which has inadvertently found its way onto the embassy
grounds. If I left a coat here after one of your excellent
receptions that you so regularly invite me to, then you would return
it to me. So please simply return this piece of my property to me,
similarly."

"I can clearly demonstrate this property is mine. It is marked with
an inventory number."

He reached into his jacket, flipped open a cell phone and barked a
few words of Arabic into it - I had never heard him speak Arabic
before, only English. He listened for a moment, then said to the
lieutenant "Would you be so good as to lift up the left foot of that
property, please. I think you will find that there is an eight digit
SIN tattooed there. Only I could know this, if it really is my
property. I can have the actual eight digits retrieved from my
inventory files, if further proof is necessary."

The lieutenant came over to me, and said "You heard what the man
said, fella. Lift your foot!"

With a sick feeling, I knew what was coming. I was being stitched up -
they were fixing a solution that both my master and the ambassador
could agree to, without either losing face, and without jeopardising
some major deal between the US and my master's country.

Of course they all saw my SIN tattooed on my insole, and the
ambassador said to the lieutenant "Please tell your men to let the
Sheikh's guards in so they can take control of his property. I don't
think you need to write up this incident into the official log - it's
a trifling matter of returning lost property to a distinguished local
citizen."

"Sir, yes, sir!", the lieutenant said, and saluted the ambassador
sharply.

My master's guards came in, and led me away, back to his house. What
the fuck was going to happen to me now?

End of Part 5. To be continued.



MY LIFE AS A SLAVE. PART 6

By Pete Brown. Petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all Pete Brown's stories in group petebrownseroticstories on
Yahoo! Groups

PUNISHED

The guards half pushed, half dragged me back across the street and
into my master's house. Instead of going on in through the courtyard
to the gym suite, I was roughly manhandled down a staircase into the
basement. We went along a bare concrete corridor past several locked
doors that were store rooms and wine cellars, then they unlocked a
door and thrust me into a room at he farthest end of the cellar.

Inside the walls, ceiling and floor were all of concrete, and there
was a "dead" sound as there seemed to be no outside noise getting in
to it. Along one wall were a set of prison-like cells - small
spaces, about seven feet by five, formed of floor to ceiling bars
with barred doors on their front. In the middle of the back wall was
a very small set of bars, whose purpose was not immediately clear
until the guards pushed me into it.

I was forced into the barred space that was only just big enough to
take the width of my body from the waist up, but which was wider at
the bottom. The guards made me hold my arms high above my head,
spread my legs wide and clamped my ankles to the side of the cage at
the bottom, and then shut the barred door on the front and locked
it. There was so little space that I could not lower my arms, or sit
or even squat down: I was rigidly upright in the cage, arms
overhead, legs spread uncomfortably wide.

The guards went out, turning out the light and locking the door
behind them. It was absolutely pitch black, and my terror at what
punishment my master was going to mete out got worse: I knew that
they had said that the punishment for escape was death, but they
didn't mean that, surely? And if they did, wouldn't they do
something like shoot me, or decapitate me? They wouldn't leave me
here caged in this incredibly confined cage to starve to death, would
they? Would they?

I started to shout for someone to come, but I could hear my words
falling dully on the concrete walls and thick door. I doubted that
even if there was someone in the corridor they could hear me.

I don't know how long I stood there. Totally in the dark and
silence, unable to move, your mind starts to play tricks on you. Did
I sleep? I don't know. What I was very quickly aware of was the
pain coming from my calves and thighs, and from my arms. I know they
say that standing with your legs a little apart is easier than
standing rigidly to attention, but my legs were quite wide apart and
every muscle in my legs was complaining. Likewise my arms and
shoulders - the human body isn't designed to be left with your arms
vertically upwards for long periods, and things like the blood
circulation to your hands starts to slow and you get excruciating
pins and needles.

Was this my master's punishment? Or was I left here to die? I
didn't know, and, after what seemed like more hours, I began to wish
for death as there was no end to the persistent pain I was in. My
head had slumped forward against the bars in front of me, and that
had only made the pain in my arms worse. I had had to piss, because
my bladder needed relief, and the smell of my urine added to the rank
smell of the stale sweat that was all over my body.

I had a dreadful thirst, and really wanted water. I couldn't even
continue shouting, my throat was so dry.

Suddenly the lights went on, and my eyes smarted from the sudden
light after the pitch blackness. I lifted my head off the bars, and
saw my master standing in front of me.

"You stupid fucking marine!", he started. "You were told that the
penalty for attempted escape was gelding, and for an actual escape
and recapture, it was an automatic death penalty. Why didn't you
believe that we were serious?"

"I've had you caged here in this transport cage and we're only
waiting for the freight company to come and move you to the public
executioners. I have to send you there now, as private individuals
are no longer allowed to execute their slaves. It's an additional
expense on me, and you've cost me a lot of money already - you were
an expensive slave to buy in the first place, and now you have no
scrap value other than the few coins that I will get when they sell
your flesh to the pet food plant."

"Many of my house slaves have always thought I was too lenient with
you, allowing you the freedom of my gym complex, and perhaps they
were right. I always thought we got on well together, I treated you
well, and you seemed to be accepting your slavery as you ought. And
this is how you repaid my many kindnesses to you: were you ever
starved, or unjustly punished? No! I even let you have the pleasure
of servicing my cock, and didn't insist that you yourself were
celibate, as some masters would: you could jerk off whenever you
wanted. So why did you try to escape?"

"Well, it doesn't matter. Your ingratitude will make it easier for
me to give you one final punishment before the freight truck comes,
and it will serve as a lesson and a warning to all the other slaves
in my household who may be thinking of ignoring my generally liberal
regime."

"The gelding or death will, in your case, be gelding before death.
I'm going to cut those balls, of which you are so inordinately proud -
yes, I've seen you stroking them when you thought I wasn't looking -
out of their sac. I'll send you to the executioners with them
hanging raw between your thighs. If you thought you have screamed
with pain before, believe me nothing has prepared you for the anguish
of having your balls torn loose and left to swing free of the
confines of your sac."

I tried to say something, but my dry throat caused me to choke on the
words. I was going to tell him to fuck himself, and that I wasn't
afraid. I had made my bid for freedom as any marine would, and, like
a proper man, would take the consequences. But as I tried to
articulate the words, he snapped "Stay silent, you have nothing more
to say. One word from you and I will first slice through your vocal
chords."

With that, he snapped some commands in Arabic, and the guards brought
in a small table with a leather box on top of it, that was positioned
just in front of my cage.

Master flicked open the box, to reveal a set of shiny steel
instruments - there seemed to be scalpels, those wire things that
dentists use to probe between your teeth, and others for which I had
no name and whose purpose I could only guess.

"This is my grandfather's slave punishment kit", master said, holding
the instruments up one by one. "Scalpels for slicing a slave's nose
or, in your case, his balls off. Probes for pushing into the teeth
or up the piss slit - have you ever had something pushed right the
way up there? I'm told it's very painful. Punches for making holes
in the nipples, septum, cock or ears before fixing rings. And this
small curved scalpel is, I'm told, to slip around behind the eyeball
so you can cut the optic nerve and blind a slave. They were harsher
times in my grandfather's time, and we find the remote controlled
pain device rather simpler and more humane. I don't think this kit
has been used for 10 years, and I really didn't expect ever to have
to use it myself."

He snapped more commands at the guards who came over and pushed a set
of stainless steel rods between the bars of my cage from one side to
the other, so that as well as being unable to move my body up and
down I was now totally unable to move backwards and forwards either -
the few inches of freedom I had had were now gone, and I was rigidly
fixed in the cage.

Master selected a thin metal spike from the kit on the table, and
approached me. He lifted my dick up and pulled my foreskin forward.
I absolutely could not move away from his hands, and was powerless to
do anything but give a muffled shriek when he pushed the spike right
through my foreskin and then, pinching some of the skin of my belly
between two fingers, skewered it through there so that my cock was
fixed rigidly upwards pointing towards my navel.

"That's out of the way now", he said. "Don't get an erection,
marine, else you'll tear your foreskin off or damage the flesh on
your belly, or both. Not that it matters much, of course, given that
you'll be dead in an hour or so"

He then approached me again, carrying one of the scalpels which was
glinting in the harsh overhead lights.

"I'm going to cut right around your ball sac, not too deeply so that
I cut through into the ligaments and blood vessels that support your
balls, but just enough so that the flesh of the sac itself falls
away. That will leave your balls handing there, totally exposed, and
absolutely unsupported. There will be a lot of blood, but not
enough so the loss kills you - well, not before the executioner gets
to you, at least. You may find they hurt a lot as you stand there,
but, believe me, when they pick up the crate and load you onto the
truck, then drive you to the executioners, it will be complete agony
as they swing backwards and forwards. You'll be glad of death."

"Do you know how we execute slaves? We use a variation of the method
we use to kill sheep ritually according to our religion. They simply
turn your cage upside down so you're standing on your head, then they
slit the arteries in your neck. It takes about four minutes to die
that way, from blood loss. Unless, that is, they are inexperienced
and cut too deep, then you drown in your own blood. The sheep they
slaughter this way all scream the whole time - that method of
slaughter has been banned in slaughter houses throughout the West as
being inhumane, and only a small number of animals that temples are
allowed to kill are done that way in cities like London, Paris and
New York. But we've kept it for slaves!"

"Do you have any last words, my marine? I ask now, as you're going
to be completely occupied with screaming in a few moments and this is
your last chance to get those precious last words out."

"As the marines say, Fuck you, Sir!", I managed to get out.

Master laughed, and hefted my balls into the palm of his left hand.
Looking in my eyes, he brutally squeezed them, causing me to cry
out. I would have vomited, but there was nothing in my stomach to
throw up. As it was, my body tried to spasm but there was no actual
movement because of the confines of the cage. I could see him smiling
as he said "Just a foretaste of what is to come".


Then he pulled my balls outwards from my body, and rested the tip of
the scalpel on top of them, close to my body just underneath my dick.

"Here goes!", he said, and I braced myself for the pain that I knew
was inevitable.

But as he was about to slice, there was a brisk trilling noise - his
cell phone was ringing! How often have we all cursed cell phones
going off at the wrong moment. But to me this was another few
moments when I would still be a complete man and not a howling
animal. It's clutching at straws, I know, but when all hope is gone
you're grateful for anything.

He talked rapidly in Arabic, and although I couldn't understand what
he was saying, the conversation seemed to be very important, and went
on and on. His tone changed from surprise, to pleasure, to anger, to
pleading, back to anger, then to resignation and finally ended up
sounding quite cheerful.

He came back to me, but placed the scalpel back in its leather case.
He withdrew the steel pin from my foreskin and belly, wiped away the
blood tat was on it using the flesh and hair on my thigh, and put it
away, snapping the box lid closed.

"Well, marine, a reprieve. Saved by the bell, as they say!"

"That was my oldest friend, the one I was telling you about only
yesterday. He was calling to tell me his arrival date, but when I
told him what I was doing, he pleaded with me to save you - he has
had such fantasies about fucking a marine, especially as he has seen
pictures of you that I sent him on the Internet, that he is
determined to have you. No other will do - it's your ass he has
become fixated on. He has called in a favour I owe him - a very big
favour, that does not concern you. In spite of losing face with the
house slaves here and with my many friends and acquaintances in the
city once it is know I cancelled the executioner, I have no choice
but to honour an old commitment like that."

"So you must be especially grateful to my friend when he arrives, and
serve him with more than the respect you would of course give any
master, as you owe your life to him. But unfortunately for you I
cannot just let the matter rest there. You committed one of the
gravest crimes a slave can commit - attempting to escape from his
master - and you must be punished. You need a punishment that you
will remember for the rest of your life, a punishment that will
spring to the forefront of your mind should you even start to even
consider doing such a thing again."

"Taking your balls off completely is out, as my friend wants to
experience you with the full power of your manhood. Amputating a
limb, or a hand or foot, would impair your performance. If I have
you blinded you could still serve entirely satisfactorily as a sex
slave, but a master's enjoyment could be slightly blunted as
sometimes it is good to stare into a slave's eyes and speculate on
what he is thinking behind them."

"So all that's left is whipping. But the whipping must be so severe
that its memory persists in your brain. I could administer that
myself, of course. But the power of the whipping I have in mind for
you is such that your flesh would be shredded if it were to be
administered by anyone other than a complete craftsman. The only
think that's saving you from a permanently tattered and scarred
ass, back and thighs is my own requirement to continue to get some
value from my investment in you - only masters with slightly unusual
tastes like fucking a slave when there are ridges and scars all over
his body, and both my friend and I like to feel smooth skin under us
when we are taking a slave's ass."

"So I will order you to be taken to the public flogging centre, so we
can add to your humiliation by allowing the audience - who are
usually idlers and riffraff - witness the public whip master
administer what I have in mind for you."

He turned to leave, and, as he went out of the door, called back to
me "Just hang around whilst you're waiting or the transport. Don't
go away!"

What a bastard.


PUBLIC FLOGGING


Two men with a portable moving device like you see in DIY stores to
move heavy sacks eventually came, manoeuvred the cage onto the
wheeled dolley, and moved me along the corridor and out onto the back
of a truck. We drove through the streets, and the pedestrians
barely turned to look at me, even when we were stuck at traffic
lights. Surely a caged, naked man was something unusual, even for
this city?

I had lost most of the feeling in my arms when they finally released
me from the cage inside the large building we had arrived at. And I
couldn't stand, as my leg muscles had turned to jelly on their
release. But after they picked me up and threw me into a cage
of "proper" size (well, at least, big enough for your average slave,
but at seven feet by seven, a bit small for a big guy like me), I
started to recover.

In spite of the pain, I massaged my arms, ran on the spot, and tried
to do push-ups, all to get life back into my muscles. What ever this
flogging had in store for me, I was determined that I would bear it
bravely and give my master nothing to sneer at and no excuse to
comment unfavourably about marines.

I was sat in the corner of the cage, just waiting, when a guard came
over and, unexpectedly, gave me a foil pouch of salve meal. "Your
master has postponed your flogging until tomorrow, as he has a dinner
engagement this evening. So he has told us to feed you. That's
unusual -most masters allow their slaves to starve as they're only
here for a few days and it's a little extra punishment."

Could my master still care about me after all? No, I thought. The
bastard just wants me in good shape so I can take even more
punishment.

But I swallowed down the food greedily, as I was famished as usual,
and tried to sleep the night out on the hard concrete floor - slaves
in the punishment centre were obviously not judged to need blankets.

I was fed again the following morning, and about an hour later four
guards came and unlocked my cage. "Right - we're going to start
processing you through our system now", one said. "Any resistance,
and you get 'tickled' with our cattle prods. Do you know what they
are?"

Of course I did, so I said, sullenly, "Yes".

The next instant I was writhing on the floor in agony, as the guard
had simply reached out and touched me with his "tickler".

"Yes, master!", he snapped. "No wonder you're in here to be
punished, if that's the way you respond when a master asks you a
question. Mind your manners, and remember your training, if you
don't want another shot from my little toy".

They led me off into a tiled room with a hole in the middle of the
floor. There was a horizontal bar, supported on two uprights about
four feet high, to one side of the room. A big muscular negro slave,
totally stripped of all body hair and with his skin glistening with
oil, stood by the bar.

"Bend over the bar, and grip your ankles", the guard ordered, and I
obeyed, realising I was powerless to do anything else.

The big black slave placed one hand firmly in the centre of my back
to hold be down, and I felt the other probing between my ass cheeks
and then at my ass hole. I went to try to stand up but he hissed at
me "Don't give them a chance to 'tickle' us both! I'm only putting a
bit of lube up your hole."

In spite of my instincts, I calmed down - I didn't want to get this
innocent guy into trouble as well - and I felt his finger just enter
my hole and slide in and out a little. If it hadn't been for the
utter humiliation of having my anus fingered by a slave whilst four
guards looked on, it wouldn't actually have been such an unpleasant
experience.

The slave then went away, telling me to stay bent over, then I felt
something else probing at my hole, something cold and hard. With a
little push, whatever it was went in, then I felt something start to
flow into me.

"OK. Now stand up, and bend backwards over he bar", the slave said.
As I did so, I saw that there was a thin rubber tube running up into
my ass. Seeing me looking, the slave said "It's only an enema tube -
don't worry. This isn't the punishment!"

Only an enema tube! Only! I'd read about enemas of course, but I'd
never had one. Now I could feel the water running into me and
because I was leaning over backwards, I knew it must be flooding my
guts. Then the cramping pains that I'd read about started, and,
seeing my evident discomfort, the black rested his huge hands on my
belly and gently massaged it.

"Easy", he whispered. "There's a long way to go yet. Just try to
relax, and it will be easier for you."

After a time, I was told to bend over the other way again, and he
tube, which had a stainless steel nozzle which is what I had felt,
was withdrawn.

"Stand-up now, and jog on the spot a bit", the black slave told me.
I felt completely bloated and heavy, and it was as if my insides were
made of lead. But I shuffled up and down a bit, and suddenly had a
completely uncontrollable urge to void my bowels - you know, like
when you have chronic diarrhoea and just have to shit within the next
3 seconds, but a hundred times worse.

I just made it to the hole in the floor before I let fly, and gallons
of dirty brown water sprayed out from me. The guards were all
laughing at my humiliation - I guessed they had seen it all before,
and knew exactly what was coming! They held handkerchiefs to their
noses, mocking me further, as the room was now full of the smell of
my shit.

Then the black called me back to the bar, and the whole cycle was
repeated.

I was flushed out four times before the negro led me over to a shower
in one corner, and started to wash me all over. By his time, I was
past caring about the shame and humiliation I was experiencing and
having my body cleaned by the black was the least of my
problems. "Don't worry", he told me as he soaped my chest, ass, back
and legs "it will hurt like hell and you'll scream in agony, but it
will soon be over now. I expect they'll start the flogging soon, as
we clean you out thoroughly just before and they don't want there to
be any time for new shit to accumulate. Most guys can't control
their bowels when they are being flogged, and the crowd doesn't like
to see the slave's legs covered in his shit."

"Make sure you piss now", he went on "Don't mind me, I've seen it all
before"

So I did, and the smell of my piss mingled with the warm steam of the
shower.

There were no towels or anything, but the black rubbed his large
hands all over my body to plane as much of the water as possible off
me.

The guards led me out, along a corridor, up a short flight of steps,
and out onto a platform in the centre of a courtyard. There was a
crowd of about 100 men, and a few women, standing around, and as we
appeared they gave a little cheer.

On the platform there were two stout vertical posts, about nine feet
high and six feet apart, with a cross piece on top holding a
pulley. A rope over the pulley was attached to another cross piece,
which could slide up and down between the two posts.

The guards led me over to the posts, positioned me between them,
spread my legs slightly, and manacled my ankles one to each post.
They ordered me to raise my arms, then lowered the sliding cross
piece. It split in half, and my wrists were pushed into two
depressions in each half before it was snapped together again. My
wrists were held securely, with my hands sticking out of the top,
about four feet apart. My whole body was now an 'X', with the front
of me completely exposed to the crowd.

One of the guards went to the side and started to turn a wheel - I
could hear the click, click of a ratchet mechanism as he did so, and
the sliding bar went higher and higher until my arms were high above
my head.

My body stretched taught as the guard continued to wind in the rope,
and as the bar continued to rise, I tried to pull my legs together to
be a bit taller, but of course I couldn't as they were securely
attached to the side posts. So I raised myself up onto my toes.

The guards were watching intently, and just as my toes were going to
have to leave the ground as the bar continued to rise, they stopped
turning.

I soon realised what a terrible position I was in. With my legs wide
apart, standing on my toes was painful after a very short time. The
muscles in my calves and thighs were complaining, and crying for
relief. But if I lowered myself onto my feet ever so slightly, my
outspread arms pulled my shoulders and rib cage upwards, and I
couldn't breathe. Of course my gym training would normally allow me
to pull myself up by my arms, but only when your arms are together -
spread out, you just can't do it, irrespective of your muscular
development and strength. My only options were to alternate short
periods of cramping legs with even shorter periods of acute chest
pain and the inability to breathe.

The crowd obviously understood the dynamics of this evil method of
stringing a guy up, as they made appreciative noises each time I
tried to shift position. I heard them discussing my body, saying how
infrequently it was that a really muscular, good looking slave was
flogged, and what a treat it was for them to see a slave like me
rather than some of the skinny guys, or the tubs of lard, that they
sometimes had.

Then I heard a catcall from the crowd "Show us his cock, then!" And
when the guards did nothing, the cry was soon taken up by several of
them. "Show us his cock. Show us his cock" they went, on and on.

Finally the youngest guard came over, pulled on a leather glove, and
standing to the side of me so that the crowd's view wouldn't be
disturbed, reached down and started to jerk me off. In spite of my
pain, and the acute embarrassment of being there naked in front of
the crowd, just as it always did my dick sprang up after a few
strokes. The crowd roared its approval, and the young guy continued
to stroke me.

When I was completely rigid, he stroked my foreskin back completely,
so the crown could see my dick head, and there was more cheering.

Surely this had to be over? But no - the crowd started
shouting "Cum, we want cum!".

After a few more minutes of gently playing with my dick, pushing it
down between my thighs then letting it go so it flew upwards,
flicking it from side to side, and making me squirm by brushing the
leather thumb right over my dick head, the crowds shouts of "We want
cum" became even more insistent.

With a shrug of his shoulders, the guard stopped playing with me and
just started to jerk me off, and with all the foreplay that had
already gone on, I was unable to prevent myself shooting a big load
in spite of the humiliation I felt at having so many people watching.

I knew that this must be some part of the punishment: being used
just as if I was some sort of circus side-show, to amuse the crowd.
But it's not right - a man, even if he is a slave, needs to be able
to have some measure of dignity and having your cock head exposed,
and then being made to cum for public entertainment just isn't right.

I suppose I was stretched out for over and hour, and by the end of
this time I was in serious difficulties with the pain. In spite of
myself I was moaning gently deep down in my throat, trying not to
shout out or curse with rage at my plight. I don't know how much
longer I could hold it, when my master, accompanied by a big muscular
man, came on to the platform.

The man accompanying my master was a giant - I'm tall, but he was at
least three inches taller than me. Even under his sweat shirt and
training pants you could see he had big, well developed muscles. He
had that sort of rugged handsomeness that some guys get when they are
in their mid to late thirties, and his tanned skin was complemented
by dark blonde hair cut short on his head.

My master said to him "Twenty five strokes, evenly distributed over
the back, ass, and thighs. No two consecutive strokes to land on the
same area, so he is always wondering where the next one will fall.
And, remember, I want no permanent damage to the flesh. He is to be
in agony from the flogging, but I do not want him permanently
disfigured."

"Certainly, sir.", the big man replied. Then he came over and looked
all over me, front and back. He said something to the guards, and
the rope was lowered a bit so that although I was still tightly
stretched, I was now able to stand a bit more comfortably on the
balls of my feet.

I felt his hands running over my shoulders, then down over my back
and ass, to finish with the thighs. Then he came around the front,
and ran them over my ribs and belly. I heard him say to my
master "There should be no problem, sir, as his flesh is in excellent
condition. I've told the guards to lower him a bit to relieve the
pain in his body - we want him to focus on the pain of the whip now,
rather than that he was getting from his tortured muscles. We need
to wait for a few minutes, though, to let things settle down again
and for his muscles to adjust - I need to get the tension in his body
right, so the whip has maximum effect. But if the body is too loose,
reflexes will cause it to twist and turn, and that's when the skin
can get broken and torn if the whip does not land evenly."

It was interesting to hear this big guy calling my master "sir". I
thought he must be a free man, not a slave, but a manual worker
rather than a director like my master. Then my master started to ask
questions of the guy. "I suppose this is an adaptation of the idea
of crucifixion", he said.

"Yes, sir, the stretching of the body like that makes it impossible
to breathe so you have to push up with your feet. But when you do
that, the legs hurt. Because the arms and legs are splayed out, even
a slave like yours, with truly excellent musculature, if I may say
so, can't do anything about it. I can guarantee that he has been in
considerable pain, if not outright agony, since a few minutes after
the guards strung him up. And it's really interesting - did you
know that all the time he was hanging there, the guards had to keep
racking him a little higher - it's quite amazing how the human body
and joints have so much 'play' - he grew by about two inches,
although of course that will shrink back very quickly now."

"How can you be so sure about all of this?"

"Well, sir, naturally I tried it. After I saw this job advertised
and was interviewed and accepted, I knew it was necessary to go
through the whole experience so I really truly understood what's
happening to the slaves. And not just physically, but mentally.
Once I had started, I had told my predecessor he was not to stop,
even though I was a man and not a slave. I took twelve lashes from
him."

"Where was the job advertised? How long have you been doing it?"

"In the local paper, actually. I'm a trained doctor, and was working
for one of the oil companies out here - you know, they bring out
everyone they need and we mostly live in enclaves of their own. But
I was bored with the work - wives with petty complaints mainly
brought about by boredom, guys who drink too much and eat too much
because there's nothing else to do, then wonder why they're
breathless. I was going to quit totally and go back to England, but
I love the life out here - the wonderful desert air, the sun,
everything."

"So when I saw this job, I jumped at it. I can use my knowledge of
anatomy to make sure the slaves suffer as little permanent damage as
possible. I've got the time to write papers - something I never had
time to do in general practice - and I've got quite a reputation now
for being an expert on the causes of pain. And, of course, I'm well
enough paid to be able to own slaves of my own. That's something I
could never do as a general practitioner back in the UK. So I've got
everything I want - an interesting job, leisure time, money, slaves."

"However I think, sir, that the slave is almost ready for
punishment. Just one more thing - I need to brush him."

"Brush him?", my master asked.

"Yes. I go all over the areas to be flogged with this stiff wire
brush, giving several quick strokes up and down at right angles to
where the lash is going to strike. It scratches the skin open with
the wire bristles, but dramatically sensitises the nerve endings. So
when I then do the whipping, the pain is even more intense."

As he was speaking, he started to stroke harshly up and down my
entire back, from the tops of my shoulders to my knees. I could feel
it scratching like a thousand sharp pins being dragged all over me.
Then he came around the front, and continued "Here on his chest and
belly it's not really worth brushing all over, as there are fewer
nerve endings except in specific areas. All the brushing would do is
cause a lot of blood to weep out, and it takes a week or so to heal.
So I just do this..."

As he spoke, I howled out with the sheer unexpectedness of the pain
that went through me. He had simply hit out at my left nipple with
the wire brush - very hard. As I was gasping from the shock, my
right nipple got the same treatment.

"See, sir, how the blood is starting to weep out. And I think you
heard how effective it is at starting to raise his sensitivity to
pain."

"Now, I'm ready to begin. It was 25 strokes, wasn't it, sir."

"Yes."

He bent down and slipped off his trainers, then dropped his workout
pants to the ground. To my astonishment I saw he was naked
underneath them, and as he then pulled his sweat shirt over his head
I could see his magnificent body totally. The crowd cheered when
they saw his body, and I heard him say to my master "The crowd always
likes this bit - I think they like to see the naked slave and my
naked body at the same time to make a comparison. Of course normally
the slaves aren't in such perfect condition as your one is, so they
don't usually have such a double treat."

He was obviously completely unashamed at appearing naked, which I
thought strange in a society that usually regarded public nudity as a
sign of slavery. But he was holding himself with such pride and
confidence, that I doubted that anyone would mistake him for a slave,
clothed or not. After all, slaves soon learn to go around with their
eyes cast down and a generally submissive pose.

As he was speaking, he had been rummaging in the pocket of his
workout pants, and had come out with a tiny white silk G-string. He
stood there, balancing on one foot, as he slipped on the G-string and
settled his giant cock and balls snugly in to it. It was very thin
silk, and it did little to hide the outline of his tackle. And it
was so small that his pubic hair, dark blonde to match the hair on
his head and the small patches in his pits, bushed out over the top
of it.

I saw my master admiring the perfection of this man's physique, and
the man was in turn fully aware of my master's gaze. "Please don't
mind me putting this string on, sir", the man said. "I don't want to
appear disrespectful to you - I saw you looking at me, and I would
not want you to think that I am covering myself to prevent you doing
so. But I find that I am able to focus on the strokes better if my
tackle is snug and secure - if my cock is flying around and my balls
are bouncing up and down, it distracts me from my work. I suppose I
ought to put the string on under my workout pants, but it makes me
all hot and sweaty and I really don't like the way the string slices
into my anus. In some ways it would be more sensible to wear briefs,
but I think the crowd enjoys the spectacle more if it can see my ass
muscles in action as I lash the slave."

"Quite so", said my master. "You obviously take care of yourself.
Work out regularly?"

"Of course. A man needs to take care of his body. I work out at
least twice a day, and I find it helps me to focus on my work: I
always come back to my research and writing with a clear mind after I
have had a hard session in the gym."

"Where do you work out?"

"In the gym here at the correctional centre - they maintain one here
for the members of staff like me who do the physical work. But it's
a bit basic, and it's somewhat inconvenient as my office is on the
other side of town."

"Do you have a work-out buddy?"

"No - I usually exercise at such irregular hours, that I can never
satisfactorily hook up with another guy."

"Look, I have a complete exercise suite in my house, and I think it's
just around the corner from you. I'm sure I've seen you in the
streets, near the American Embassy?"

"That's right, sir."

"So why don't you come and use that one? This slave used to be my
work-out slave, but obviously he won't be any use to me for three or
four weeks after this lashing. I hate working out alone, and whilst
I know you won't always be there when I am, you might be at least
some of the time. And, if I may so, you're very easy on the eyes!"

"Well, thank you, sir. I would like that. I can see you're in good
shape yourself, and if you bothered to have a good piece of man flesh
like this as your work-out slave, you must be serious about it. Can
we discuss the details later - I really ought to start, as the crowd
seems to be getting restive."

"Of course. Let the slave's punishment begin."

It seemed astonishing to me that these two men could be discussing
details of their work-outs whilst one was almost naked, I was strung
up totally naked, and there was a large crowd watching. But I
suppose that being a master, you are used to arranging your life the
way you want it, and you care little for other people.

The man bent down and picked up a large leather bull whip, and
cracked it experimentally once or twice in the air, much to the
amusement of the crowd. I was horrified, as the whip was about five
feet long, and the man was so tall, and so muscular, that it was
obvious that it was going to be used with tremendous force.

He took up position at the side of me, and I heard a swish before the
world exploded into pain as the first stroke fell across my
shoulders. I had determined to remain silent and take my punishment
like a man, but I heard a howl of anguish break from me quite
involuntarily. Then before I could recover, the second stroke fell
across my ass, and I howled again.

During the twenty five lashes, I think I passed out at least twice,
and was brought back to consciousness by the man holding some foul-
smelling chemical under my nose. I was choking, my eyes were
streaming from my tears, and my face was streaked with the snot that
was pouring out from my nose. I could no longer feel any part of the
back of my body as an individual entity - it was just a single,
throbbing item of pain. A pain so intense that it filled my whole
brain, and I could think of nothing else.

The man and my master stood calmly by, looking at my wrecked body,
and I heard the man say "As you're so interested, sir, can I show you
one of the innovations I introduced to reduce damage to the slaves?
Look at the way his arms are clamped - when I came here, the wrists
used to be shackled to the bar with ordinary handcuffs. But the
slaves are so desperate to try to get free that they pull down,
involuntarily, with all their strength - and when the body knows it
is being damaged, it can force power from the muscles that just isn't
available normally. Wrists were being ripped and torn, and it could
lead to very unsightly deep scarring that would never go away. But
with this method of clamping the wrists as if they were in one of the
old-style stocks, the damage is much reduced and the value of the
slaves is preserved."

He went on "Now, sir, do you really want me to continue with the
special strokes? This slave looks almost past it, and I am concerned
that if he is put under too much more stress his heart might stop, or
he might simply go into madness from which he will not recover.
Twenty five strokes is a lot, even for a strong, obviously virile fit
slave: usually, they only get 12."

"Nonsense", I heard my master say. "He's a proud ex-marine, and I
feel certain he can take more punishment."

He came over to me, pulled my head up from where it was lolling
forwards onto my chest, and said "Well, my marine, are you man enough
to take the second part of your punishment? Admit to me now that you
were wrong and ungrateful to try to escape. Beg for my forgiveness,
and plead with me for the punishment to stop, and it will."

I could barely think straight as every nerve cell in my back sent
constant waves of pain to my brain, but I was a man, not a whipped
animal. I still had some spark of free will. Drawing on every ounce
of inner resource, I managed to summon some moisture into my mouth
and spat a gob of spit straight at him, hitting him squarely in the
face. "Fuck you!", I managed to gasp.

Surprisingly, my master did not react with violent rage. Instead he
took out a silk handkerchief and delicately wiped my spit from
him. "So you still have some spirit. It was that spirit that made
me buy you in the first instance when I first saw you at the slave
market. But you have to be broken. I cannot have you attempting
escape again. You have to accept that you are my property, and that
you do exactly as I require."

"I'm truly sorry, my marine. But if you think you now know what pain
is, the second part of your lashing will teach you otherwise. I had
hoped to avoid this, but I can see we must continue".

Then to my astonishment he leaned forward, put his hands behind my
head, pulled my head towards his and kissed me squarely on the lips.
His thumbs bit into the angle of my jaw bone so my mouth was forced
open, and his tongue delved in and lashed mine. Almost as instantly
as it had started, the kiss was over. He stood looking at me a few
more moments in silence, then turned to the man and said "Continue,
as we agreed. Three strokes on each of his most sensitive areas."

The man was obviously worried, as he said to my master "Sir, let me
caution you again. Your slave is exceptional to have come through 25
lashes already - most slaves get only six or 12. I'm not certain he
can survive three on each of his pain centres. Should I just do one,
as a warning to him?"

"No. I know this slave. He has inner reserves of courage. But he
must be broken. Three on each. Begin!"

The man picked up a second whip, and through my bleary eyes I could
see it was longer and much thinner than the bull whip he had started
with. Licking his lips nervously, the man said "Sir, let me remind
you again about the power of this whip. As I explained when we were
setting up this punishment, I can't guarantee not to break the flesh
with it - with the bull whip, I can inflict pain without permanent
damage quite easily, but with this one, if it lands obliquely because
the slave moves, it will cut in. Although I can have the guards
winch him extremely tight again, the muscles can twitch
uncontrollably and spoil my blow. I must ask you to confirm that you
understand that the slave may be left with permanently disfiguring
marks, in spite of my best efforts."

My master came over to me again, looked at me and said "I think you
heard that, marine. Show me what a man you are - stand perfectly
still and take what's coming to you.". Then turning to the man, a
simple "Start!".

The whistle of the whip through the air was much shriller than that
of the bull whip, and the next instant it was just as if someone had
poured molten lead into my left armpit. I saw the man run his
fingers along the whip and scrape off some hair - I realised that the
long, thin lash had landed across my shoulders and then the tip had
curled around under my arm to strike that incredibly sensitive area
right in my pit. As it flew back out, it had torn out some of my pit
hairs.

The man went to the other side of me, and the next instant my right
pit was on fire, too.

Three lashes to each pit was almost more than I could bear. Whereas
the bull whip had left deep, hard pain, these strokes left fiery hot
pain. I can't describe it right even now that I can look back on it
without shaking - something I couldn't do for the first few moths.
There are just no words to describe sensations so intense. My whole
conscious being was blotted out, and all my body was saying was "stop
it, stop it, stop it."

My master appeared before me again, coming as if out of a
fog. "Enough, marine? Would you like this to stop?"

This time I only just summoned up enough strength to whisper "Fuck
you!".

When the next lash curled around and bit into my left nipple and
aureole, I thought the world was going to end. I tried to vomit, but
couldn't. And the right one was equally bad.

And after the three strokes on each of my tits, the whole centre of
pain had shifted - I was no longer conscious of the agony from the
back of my body, so centred was I on the fire consuming my chest.
For some strange reason I was aware that I had a huge erection, and
guessed it must be to do with this ultimate stimulation of the
pleasure and pain centres in my tits.

I was sobbing unashamedly and uncontrollably now. I just couldn't
stop myself.

My master was again in front of me, and calmly said "Don't make me
order the next stage, marine. You are being punished by our best whip
master, and he has assured me that each stage is a new level of pain -
your pits were worse that the conventional whipping of your back.
Your tits are worse than your pits. And we have a further level for
you to experience.... Unless, that is, you admit your error and beg
for my forgiveness."

I couldn't even whisper now, and had to just shake my head.

I could see my master talking to the man, and he in turn went to the
guards. My arms were being lowered! Could it be over after all?
No - the guards lowered me enough so that I did not fall over, and
then spread my legs much wider by shortening the shackles holding my
ankles to the side bars. Then the bar raised again, so I was again
stretched out rigidly but with my legs almost as wide apart as they
would go.

The man came over and stood in front of me, reached down and took my
dick in his hand. I was still massively erect, and he said, in a
kindly tone, "Easy there, slave. I don't want to damage you or hurt
you unnecessarily. Just relax that cock of yours."

Of course I couldn't, but it didn't seem to matter as he reached
around my waist with a thin leather string, pushed my cock behind it,
and tied it tightly so that my cock was held up against my belly. He
bent down, made a sort of loop from another leather string, and
slipped it over my sac. Pulling the noose tight, he hiked my balls
up and to one side, fastening the loose end of the string to the one
around my waist holding my cock up.

"You've got a considerate master, you know", he said with a faint
grin. "Although this is the ultimate punishment, and I have only ever
administered it once before, your master was concerned that your
tackle should not be damaged and asked me to tie you like this. It's
not many masters who would make such a request for such an ungrateful
slave."

He stepped back, and stood directly in front of me rather than to the
side. He raised his arm with the whip, and cracked it. The thin tip
of the whip, flying at very high speed, hit my ass hole fair and
square.

I was gone. It was as if I was not there. I heard a voice
screaming "Nooooooooo......" And realised it was mine. I continued
to scream and was unable to stop. Even the crowd, who had been
cheering each previous stroke of the lash, had fallen totally silent
at this extreme brutality. My uncontrollable animal-like howling was
the only sound to be heard in the courtyard.

I passed out when the second stroke hit, and the man again had to
revive me with the foul chemical under my nose. I saw him speaking,
with urgent gestures, to my master, who evidently ignored what was
being said because he came back in front of me.

"Hold in there, slave", he whispered so that only I could hear. "I
begged him to let me stop now, but he wants to go on. Last one.
Don't give up on it - I don't want the death or insanity of a brave
guy like you on my conscience".

Then he raised his arm and struck, and a great black wall of pain
crashed down on me again.

I was simply sobbing and shaking uncontrollably all the time while
they lowered me to the ground and released my wrists and ankles from
the frame. I was absolutely incapable of walking, or, indeed, of any
conscious act. I couldn't stand or even sit. I just lay there like a
bag of bones, on the ground, and even in my wrecked state was ashamed
to see a small stream of piss leaking uncontrollably from my dick. I
couldn't move, and just had to lie there as it flowed towards my body.

The guards came over and started to drag me to my feet, causing new
agonies to sweep over me. But the man came over and told them to
stop.

He stooped down, and ever so gently moved me around so that he could
get his arms around me. I'm a big, heavy guy, but as I have said, he
had three inches at least on me and was even more muscled. Even so,
I was amazed when he managed to lift me up and I felt a very strong
emotion sweep over me as he half raised me to my feet, put his
shoulder into my belly, then stood up so that I was lying over his
shoulder. My head was lolling on top of his naked ass, and he had
one arm around my legs to prevent me falling off. He walked off the
stage, to the astonished silence of the crowd, carrying me as if I
was a fallen comrade that he was lovingly removing from the battle
field.

What did I feel about him? He was so big, strong and manly - I'm not
used to thinking of other guys that way, as it's usually me who is
the big, strong one. But yet he was so gentle - the way he had
lifted me, doing everything possible to avoid touching my most
sensitive areas. And yet, at another level, he had utterly conquered
me - I knew I could endure no more pain. He had stood up for me,
trying to get my master to allow the punishment to be stopped - he
was on my side. And deep down, there was some strange primitive
emotion at work brought on by being carried, naked, across his
shoulder: this was the way that primitive man captured his women,
that Roman gladiators carried their dead foes out of the arena, that
the Vikings carried captured villagers.

The guards wanted him to put me back into a cage, but I heard him
say "No. This slave is too badly injured. He'll die in a cage. I'll
take him to my rest room."

It must have taken almost super human strength to carry me up a
flight of stairs, and then we were in some sort of room furnished in
conventional Western style. "This is my dressing room - or, should I
say undressing room", he said with some sort of attempt at humour.

He bent his knees so that my feet were on the ground, then being
careful to touch my body as little as possible, left me bent over.
But helped me to raise my arms so that my hands rested on the back of
a big chair, to give me some support. "Hold it like that - don't try
to sit, stand up, or move", he said.

I heard water running, then he was back and ever so gently bobbed
down under my bent body again so he could again carry me over his
shoulder.

"Just one more bout of pain", he said. "I'm going to lower you into
this hot tub. Although I have the temperature adjusted to body heat,
it will either feel boiling hot, or freezing cold, or both at the
same time. As the water reaches your pain cells, they'll all fire
again and the agony will come back. But it is the best treatment for
you now. So scream if you have to, and I expect you to pass out.
There's nothing to be ashamed of - no other slave I have ever
punished has ever stood what you did today. Now, are you ready?"

I moaned something in reply, and he started to lower me into the
water. I did pass out. I don't remember if I screamed.

The foul chemical brought me around again, and he was beside me in
the hot tub. Reaching down, he pulled off his G-string. "Good, now
we're both guys together", he commented. "Other than those rather
nasty lash marks, if someone came in, how could they tell who was the
slave and who was the free man?" Another of his attempts at a joke.

I noticed that my erection had come back, and he saw it too. Then I
saw his giant dick starting to rise under the water. "Infectious,
isn't it?", he grinned at me again.

Very gently he reached down and started to jerk me off. "Believe me,
slave, this will help take your mind off your pain".


End of Part 6. To be continued.

MY LIFE AS A SLAVE. PART 7

By Pete Brown. Petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all Pete Brown's stories in group petebrownseroticstories on
Yahoo! Groups


FIRST AND SECOND CUMING, ON THE ROAD TO RECOVERY


When I came the cum of course went into that stringy mess it always
does in warm water, and the gently swirling of the currents in the
hot tub carried it around so that it dissipated as a kind of dirty
white scum. The guy didn't seem a bit perturbed by this, as it
swirled around his body, too.

Grinning at me with that nice smile of his he asked "Feeling better
now?"

"No. I still fucking hurt all over. I can't move my back at all.
My tits are on fire. And I can't tell you how bad my ass feels. I
can't stop this terrible trembling all over my body, and..." I had to
stop, because it was too painful to breathe deeply enough to be able
to speak for long.

He watched me struggle to regain control of myself, and I went on "I
was going to say I can't breather properly. My teeth are
chattering. I....."

"Shhhh. Calm down, slave. What do you expect? Believe me, you're
lucky to be alive. If he hadn't had you whipped like this, your
master would have had you executed. I've done many, many punishments
of slaves here, and yours is absolutely the worst I have had to give.
I was seriously worried that you wouldn't pull through at all. But
you did - and I think that says something about your stamina,
resilience, and sheer downright guts and courage."

"So don't throw it all away and give up! Hang in there - it can only
get better, although it will take several days: believe me - as
well as being the best whip master in the city, I'm also a trained
doctor. There's no irremediable damage to you, and you can pull
through out of this if you want to. But you've got to try - you've
got to make yourself come out of the other end of this experience."

"Why should I. I'm only a fucking slave. There's nothing left to
live for"

"Don't be suck a fucking wimp! Even as a slave you have lots to live
for. You can revel in using your body to pleasure your master - and
you've got a fantastically superior body, after all, and that's worth
considering. You can have lots of sexual excitement with your master
and those who he instructs you to pleasure. Your master may allow
you to breed, so that you can pass on your genes to the next
generation. And, who knows, you might actually meet the love of your
life!".

"So", he went on, "Snap out of it. Did you give up when you were in
the Marines? Weren't there ever times when you needed to find that
extra ten percent from somewhere deep inside you just to get through
and survive? Well, this is one of those times. Close your eyes,
reach down deep inside you and say 'I will do it. I'm going to get
through this, even if it's only to teach the bastards a lesson in
what a man can do'."

I just stood there for a few minutes, dark thoughts swirling inside
me But I suppose I knew he was right. What would be gained if I
just gave up and let my life slip away? But the pain was just so
fucking dreadful, it made rational thought impossible., I couldn't
focus on anything other than the sensations flooding in to me from
all parts of my body. Don't let anyone tell you that there's only so
much pain you have to endure, and after that there's some cut-out
mechanism in your brain: if enough nerve cells have been stimulated,
that cut-out may be so high as to be not worth while.

"Look", the guy went on, "Just stand there in this warm water for a
few minutes whilst I attend to a few things. Try to focus yourself
on just getting through the next minute, and then the next one, and
the next."

And with that he put his wrists on the edge of the tub and pushed
upwards so that he was sitting on the edge, then in the same fluid
motion brought his feet up to the edge and snapped to full standing
up. Through my half-closed eyes and blurry vision I could see what a
fantastic body he had, and as he stood there rubbing roughly at
himself with a small towel, and then pulling on a tiny pair of
exercise shorts that, if anything, made him look even more masculine
and desirable than he had when he was nude. I saw how completely at
ease with himself he was. I used to be like that, I thought. I used
to enjoy the feel of a towel over me after a good soak. I was happy
once. Perhaps I could be again.

But it was all too much effort to think like this, and the totality
of my pain washed over everything again.

I came to because he was back beside me in the water, holding a phial
of that foul chemical under my nose.

"OK, marine. Now you've got to be really brave. I've got to get you
out of this tub, as you've soaked long enough and it's done all the
good it's going to do. I have spoken to your master, and told him
that I think I can salvage you - I do have special medical skills in
the treatment of slaves in terminal pain, after all - if he lets me
take charge, and if I can convince you that you should live. But
that if he simply takes you off back to his house and cages you,
you'll give up and die."

"He said something about not wanting his investment to be wasted, so
I have two weeks to get you back in shape. But I can only do that if
you want it. And you should know that it's going to hurt."

I made up my mind. I was going to live. Not because of my
master's "investment", but because even a slave has a right to try
to get as much out of his life as he can. I managed to mumble "You
mean more than it hurts now? Don't piss me around - nothing can hurt
more than it hurts now."

"OK, good. I'm making progress. Now this is what we're going to
do: I'm going to let the water out of this tub, and as the level
falls, you'll get a different kind of pain from your back - but no
worse than you have now. Then I'm going to pick you up and carry you
over my shoulder again out to my truck: you know that you can
survive that, as you have already. I'll do my best not to hurt the
back of you, but there's nothing I can do for your nips that will
inevitably press into my back. The truck journey will be a trial for
you, but I only live 10 minutes away - you can lie on your stomach so
your back isn't in contact with anything, but you'll just have to
endure the nipple pain again. Then when we get to my house, I'll
unload you and carry you up to a bed, across my shoulder again. OK?
Question?"

I managed to mumble something like "Well fucking get on with it,
then."

And the guy said in that awful hearty way that doctors tend to have
with patients "Good! That's the spirit!"

He was right. It did hurt in wholly different ways as the water
level fell and my tattered nerve endings were exposed to the air. He
stayed with me, helping me to remain standing as I lost he water's
flotation, and as soon as it was down below waist level, knelt down
and as gently as he could nudged his shoulder into my belly and told
me to fold over him.

Even for a big strong guy like him, it must have taken every ounce of
his strength and determination to carry me up out of the tub, down
the stairs to the ground floor of the punishment centre, and out to
his truck in the parking lot. Obviously he had not even attempted to
dry me, as there was no way I could stand having a towel rubbed over
me. And he, too, was soaking wet as there had been no time to
attempt to dry himself once he had started to pick me up.

It must have looked like a scene from a Roman gladiator film, or
some second world war navy movie to anyone watching: a big totally
naked guy carrying an almost equally big naked guy across his
shoulder, both dripping with water, one smooth, golden, and tanned,
and the other bright red, bloody from where the brush strokes were
still causing blood to weep out, and covered in the unmistakable
lines a whip leaves on a man's flesh.

He was right: my nips hurt like hell. I had no strength in my arms,
which just hung down over his ass and thighs. I couldn't even try to
stop my chest pressing into his hot, smooth back. But as we were
half way down the stairs, something even worse struck me, worse even
than the incessant shrieking of my pain receptors.

I could start to feel my dick going erect. It was pressed into that
little hollow between the top of his shoulder and his breast bone,
just above his heaving pec. I could feel the heat of his body
pressing against my dick, and it felt moist from the bath water, and
supremely comfortable. As soon as I felt it start, I knew it wasn't
going to stop. Oh, shit - it was bad enough having my dick pressed
against the body of another guy. But if I had an erection, what
would he think? I didn't want him to think I was some sort of queer,
who was turned on by another guy's body. I desperately tried to will
my dick to stop it, but that's never been very successful at the best
of times - and I didn't have very much will to spare on this
occasion.

So I was ramrod hard within seconds, and as he negotiated the stairs,
my dick was rubbed up and down between his body and mine. I even
felt my foreskin pull back I was so hard, and that only made matters
worse - like all uncut guys, my dick head is supersensitive once it
comes out to play, and the continuing friction of it against the
guy's warm, moist body sent waves of pleasure through me.

No - this couldn't be! It always takes me at least two minutes to
cum, even if I'm really turned on and am beating away at my dick with
all the skill from years of practice. But within a few seconds more
there was that jerking, reflex shudder and that fantastic sensation
as a load of cum shoots out of you. Oh, fuck! He carried on moving,
carrying me out of the building, so my dick head continued to rub
against his skin. And I'm supersensitive after cumming - as well as
everything else, this was a whole new set o sensations. You can
always stop jerking yourself if you're as sensitive as I am, or just
stop fucking the woman. But here there was no stopping the friction,
and as he strode along each stride caused me to have a new shooting
sensation from my dick. I moaned, in ecstasy, rather than with the
agony I had been crying out from up until now.

I guess he must have thought I was in some kind of new pain, because
he stopped momentarily and I hear him say "Sorry... But you'll just
have to hang in there. We're almost at my truck now".

There was a mattress in the back of the truck, and after he had set
me down, he helped me to lie down on my stomach.

"I thought it was going to be your nips we had problems with, but it
looks as if your cock is going to give you a few problems too", he
had said as he had gently pulled it, still erect, down and out
between my legs.

I had my face to one side, and to my horror saw him reach up to his
shoulder and rub his fingers into the liquid he found there. He ran
his fingers under his nose, then did another of those little grins I
had seen several times before.

"Well, I can see you're going to make it! I only jerked you off
about 25 minutes ago, and you've just cum again, spontaneously!
You're a sexy guy, aren't you? I suppose that's why your master
wants you back - a slave who can cum twice in 25 minutes when his
body has been through what yours has must be dynamite when he's in
peak condition. I bet you're one of those slaves who would make a
good porn star back in 'real life' - you can cum almost continuously."

Continuing to laugh, he got into the driver's seat, and we drove
off. I noticed he made no attempt to wipe away the remains of my cum
from his shoulder and pec.

AT THE DOCTOR'S

I survived the journey - just. At the other end, he left me in the
back of the truck for a moment as, still naked, he raced into his
house and I could hear him shouting commands at people. This guy was
amazing - he didn't seem to be at all concerned that there had been
passers by watching as he had run in - he was so intent on getting
the job done, that that was his total focus.

He came out a couple of minutes later, and he still hadn't taken the
time to dress. He picked me up again and carried me in. As we were
going up the stairs, I heard his attempts at humour again: "I'm
carrying you over my other shoulder this time as I don't want your
bush getting stuck into that cum you left all over the other one.
And if you're going to cum again, can you just wait a minute?", he
joked.

Very, very gently he lay me down on one side of an enormous bed on my
front, then came back a moment later with a couple of strips of foam
rubber. Lifting me up gently, he slipped the strips under my chest
so that my nips nestled in an empty space between them, and for the
first time, I felt the pain from them lessen a bit.

He got up onto the other side of the bed and sat almost cross-legged
near my head. I couldn't help but see his big dick and low-hanging
balls as they were right at my eye-level. I've seen a lot of sets of
tackle, but these were amongst the best. And the bush of curly dark-
blond hair set them off well. I saw that he was tanned all over - he
obviously never wore anything to swim in. But what did surprise me
was that he obviously shaved his balls - mine were shaved of course,
because I was a slave. But he was a free man.

No - I couldn't be thinking like this. I didn't even notice other
guys' tackle normally - and here I was, running some strange kind of
beauty pageant in my head! What was coming over me? It was only
physically that I was suffering, I hadn't had any damage to my head,
surely?

But he began to speak and I started to listen to his low, calm,
strong, confident voice.

"Well, you've survived so far. So I think we can say you're going
to make it. Now all you have to do is sleep, and you'll be amazed
at how much better you'll feel in the morning - you'll probably be
able to tolerate me examining you properly then in case there is any
hidden damage to that body of yours."

"I can't cover you up, as that would be torture on that back and ass
of yours. So I've turned off the aircon in this room so it will be
hot. I've had it sprayed, so there should be no bugs to bite."

"You may wonder why I just don't give you a shot for the pain. Well,
I suppose I could, as I've got a complete medical kit here at home.
But it's not good for you, you know, for two reasons: firstly, you
can get to rely on it all too easily, and I may have to give you
another tomorrow, and another the day after.... You can easily get
hooked. But secondly, and most importantly, from my experience I
know that you will heal more quickly, and more completely, if you go
through the natural cycle of pain. If you have a shot, you'll lose
the sensation from all those muscles and your skin, and it is there
for a purpose, you know. By hurting like hell if you so much as
move, your natural tendency is to keep still so recovery can
continue. Without the pain, you'd be moving about, however slightly,
and that would slow recovery."

"So I think we'll just have to let you get on and continue to conquer
your body yourself, as you have done so far. But you must try to
sleep - again, I wont give you anything, as if you sleep too deeply
you might start to move and undo any healing actions. Natural sleep -
and there won't be much of it as you'll only drift into a low
drowse, if anything, will stop instantly if any muscle movement
causes a change in the pain level."

"OK?"

I didn't think so... All this "I think we'll let you go on
tolerating...." It was him doing the thinking and me doing the
tolerating! But he seemed to know what he was talking about, and he
was so confident. I managed to croak a "Yes, I guess so.",
then "Water....".

"Of course, how stupid of me! You've sweated gallons during the
whipping, and lost a lot of blood."

With a bound he was off the bed, and was back a few moments later
with a tube that he gently pushed between my cracked lips. I felt
warm water flow into my mouth, and as I was having difficulty in
swallowing, he stopped and said "Now just lie still. Your master
said you could control gagging. Let me slip this tube down your
throat so I can re-hydrate you directly into your guts."

He held my head so masterfully and was so gentle as he threaded the
tube in that I felt certain I could have taken it from him even if I
had not had the anti-gagging lessons.

But afterwards, when he probably had pushed a lot of water down into
me, I started to panic: I now desperately needed to piss. There was
no way I could get up off the bed - and I didn't know where the
bathroom was anyway. Earlier I had just let the piss dribble out of
me, as I had so little control of my body. But I didn't want to do
this here on this lovely soft bed - it was probably the guys' own
bed, and what would you think of a guy who pissed all over your bed?

Still naked, he was sitting in a chair by the side of me now, reading
a book. With a huge effort of will I managed to sort of scrabble my
fingers on the bed cover. At once his whole attention focused on me,
and he got out of the chair and knelt down so that he was close to my
face. I couldn't help noticing how graceful all his movements were -
he had been sitting with one foot firmly on the floor, the other
casually crossed over the thigh of the first, holding his ankle with
one hand: the typical way guys sit when they're utterly relaxed. Of
course my eye-level view had thus been afforded a great view of his
cock, balls, and the perineum leading down towards his ass hole.
There was no struggle to stand, just a smooth, continuous motion from
sitting to kneeling beside me- clearly, this guy was in complete
control of his body.

"Are you in more pain?" He asked.

I managed to croak a "No."

"So what's the problem...?"

What could I say? You can't tell another guy you're about to piss
all over his bed! But the urgent insistence of my bladder forced me
to croak

"Got... to.... leak..."

"Ah, of course, after all that water, you need to piss!" He said
without a trace of embarrassment. "Well, we can't move you. Hang on
a minute."

A few moments later I felt his hands on my dick, which he had
carefully drawn down between my open legs as he lay me down on the
bed. I felt something being slipped over my dick, and he leaned
forwards and whispered "Piss away, marine".

And then, of course, I couldn't. I'm not usually piss shy, and have
never minded being in communal urinals with my mates. But the
intimate closeness of us two naked guys, in a bedroom, just made it
impossible for me to perform. Has I been capable of blushing, I knew
my skin would have been flushing bright cherry-red by now.

"Don't worry", he whispered again as he saw my obvious
embarrassment. "I'll wait.."

And, of course, a couple of moments later I was able to release a
great stream of piss. Man, it felt good.

When I had finished, I was amazed when he did that most intimate of
things for me - I could feel his thumb and forefinger massaging my
dick to expel the last traces of piss from it, then continue on to
make sure it all came out from under my foreskin. This was a man who
was not only in total control of his whole body, but clearly had no
inhibitions at all about handling another guy just as he would
himself. I don't think I could have helped another guy piss in the
way that he did.

"Don't want you spoiling my nice new bed cover!", he said, laughingly.

Then I saw him looking at my piss that he had collected in a large
glass bottle. I suppose it's all right for a doctor to do that sort
of thing, but the thought of looking at another guy's still-warm piss
revolted me.

"That's another good sign", he said. "No blood in here at all, so
your kidneys are probably OK".

I drifted off into sleep some time after that.


LESSONS ABOUT THE MALE CONDITION

I really didn't sleep at all, just drifted into and out of
consciousness. It wasn't that sort of fitful tossing and turning you
do when you can't sleep normally - it was much too difficult and
painful to move at all. I just lay there, and at some times my eyes
were open and I was seeing, and at other times they weren't. I had
no way of knowing the passage of time through the long night.

At some point during one of my waking spells I became aware that the
doctor guy had joined me on the bed. His tall, muscular form was
laid alongside me, and I could hear his gentle breathing because his
head was close to mine.

I could only look. I saw his tanned silky-smooth skin, his
magnificently proportioned sculpted muscles, and, as he had remained
naked, his magnificent cock and balls. His jaw was firm and his
mouth slightly open to show his white teeth, and I was close enough
now to see how long his eye lashes were - being dark blond like the
rest of his hair, they were easily missed at a casual glance.

Throughout the night I saw that he was a perfectly normal guy. I
could see his eyeballs fluttering behind his eyelids as he went up
and down the levels of sleep and had dreams. And of course his dick
was often rampantly erect, probably in response to the dreams he was
having. He gave those lovely quiet sights and moans sometimes, as
guys do when their dreams are particularly vivid. And he showed he
was truly a man, because occasionally there would be a gentle farting
noise as his bowels continued to work for him. As he breathed out
his warm breath I was close enough to get little drafts of it across
my face. There was no trace at all of any bad odour or staleness
from him. I was used to sleeping in the barracks, surrounded by
other guys, so I was used to hearing these masculine sounds and found
them comforting. But in the marines none of my buddies had ever been
closer than the next bed, at least three feet away, and here I felt
that if I could only stretch out just a finger, I could be in
intimate contact with him.

I was so entranced at being able to observe this example of true
masculine perfection at such close quarters, and so amazed at how a
big tough guy like this could appear to be so innocent when he was
asleep, that I longed to be able to reach out and touch him to make
sure he really was there. I wanted to run my hands over his body. I
wanted to riffle my hands through his short blond hair. I wanted to
run my tongue gently over his taught skin, so I could see if the
taste of his sweat was as good as the rest of him looked. And, in
spite of my convictions that any kind of sex with another guy was
somehow wrong, I desperately wanted to take his erect dick in my
hands and run my fingers around the thick shaft just under the
jutting dick head. He was all the more desirable because I sensed
that he had given up a proper nights sleep to lie along side me in
case there should be some sudden worsening in my condition - he had
only met me that day, and yet he was prepared to do the most intimate
things for me, like shake the last drops of piss out of my dick, and
to sacrifice his night's comfort for me.

It was good to know, too, that this essence of manly perfection was
human. His gentle farts were just the same as all sleeping guys
make.

I knew I was erect, too, because I could feel my dick pressing down
into the sheets. Why was this? Surely it couldn't be because I was
turned on by this guy? I've known a lot of good-looking, virile guys
in the marines, but none of them had ever caused me to have an
erection! I didn't fancy men, so why was the presence of this
slumbering naked giant next to me such a turn on? Especially when I
was powerless to even reach out a hand and actually touch any of his
perfect flesh.

I must have dozed for quote a long time at some point, because I
gradually came awake to see the previously gloomy room bathed in
bright sun light. The doctor guy was now siting next to me again,
still naked, with one leg stretched out and the other curled up under
him. As I focused my awareness, with a huge effort of will, I almost
cried out - he was jerking himself off!

He was rubbing his left hand up and down his rampant dick with long,
slow strokes. Thinking about it, I shouldn't have been surprised
that he was left handed - the majority of really decent, clever,
sensitive guys are. I could hear the sound of flesh on flesh, as the
edges of his hands caught on the prominent flange around his dick
head, and he was breathing in time to his strokes, making a tiny
sighing sound that gradually got a little louder as he approached his
climax. Although I was watching him, he was not aware that I had
woken, because I could see that is eyes were closed and his head was
tilted slightly backwards, as if he was close to ecstasy.

I noticed a trace of pre-cum start to appear from his piss slit as
his hand continued to jerk up and down, and then, just as he came, he
put his right hand in front of his dick and caught the stream of cum
that spurted out - I was especially aware of it as I was so close
that that wonderfully evocative male scent wafted into my nose.

He gave a sigh, stopped jerking himself, opened his eyes, and then to
my astonishment raised his hand to his mouth and licked all his cum
from it.

As he finished cleaning between his fingers with his tongue, he
looked down and saw I was awake.

"Hey, marine. You're back with us! Congratulations on surviving the
night! You're probably still hurting like hell, but I can give you
the good news - I've never lost a slave who lasted the night after
one of my whippings, so you have 100% chance of recovery! Welcome
back to the world."

I just lay there, not moving, and not saying anything.

"Come on, slave, say something! What do you want for breakfast? No -
don't answer that! Your master was most insistent that you be fed
only regular slave meal. So I'll have to mush it up and feed that to
you through a tube. But it's another lovely day out there - this is
the first day of the rest of your life, as the greetings cards say!"

"I know, you're dry. I'll get you a drink".

He bounded off the bed, in a single sleek movement, just as if he was
a graceful panther, or a ballet dancer, and returned a moment later
with a bottle of water with a tube attached.

He gently fed it into my mouth, saying "Don't think it needs too go
down to the stomach today - just try to swallow."

I did, and found the exquisite pleasure that can only come from truly
simple things like cool fresh water when you are completely parched
and your mouth is bone dry.

After I had drunk, I managed to stammer "You were jerking off!"

"Yes, so what? You make it sound like some sort of crime!"

"But I was lying right next to you, and could see."

"Yes, I knew you were awake, but I always toss myself off this time
in the morning. So what?"

"But guys don't jerk off in front of each other"

"Oh, marine, where have you been all your life? Do you know what
percentage of men between the ages of 14 and 34 shoot semen at least
once a day? No, don't answer that - I'll tell you the joke answer:
110%. Everybody does it. You do it, and I do it, and all your
marine buddies did it, and the man next to you on the train does
it..... Film stars do it, paupers do it, every one does it."

"So since we all do it, what's the harm of doing it when another guy
can see you? There's nothing to be ashamed about doing something
that's completely normal and absolutely natural, is there? It's part
of being a man."

Somehow I couldn't find any arguments to use against him, so I
changed tack. "Yes, but you licked up your own jism!"

"So what?"

"But guys don't do that!"

"Wrong again, marine. The smart ones do! If you don't, what else is
going to happen to it? Have you ever had to sleep in a bed where a
guy has just let it fly all over the sheets? It makes for nasty hard
patches when it dries, and the next night the sheets are all scratchy
against your body."

"If you use one of those disgusting cum-rags, or yesterday's boxers,
you have all that semen lying around next to your bed: in a country
like this, where ants are a real menace, you don't want to do that,
believe me - they search it out!"

"And don't tell me you're one of those guys who uses toiled tissue or
paper handkerchiefs! They go to pieces if you cum a lot. And have
you ever seen the embarrassment on a guy's face in the showers, or in
a urinal, if one of the bits of shredded paper is still adhering to
his cock head? And most guys who use paper simply forget about it,
and it lies around under their beds, or in the corners of the room.
I once went back to a guy's place and we were so passionate that we
rolled around on the floor, as we couldn't wait to get on to the bed -
but when I saw all his old screwed up bits of cum-soaked paper under
there, I went right off him!"

"Taking your own jism back is much the easiest and most hygienic way
of dealing with things. And, in any case, it tastes good, and
reminds you of the last guy you sucked off."

"Any way, I see you've got a hard on - shall I toss you off to give
you a bit of relief - you won't be able to do it yourself today."

"No!"

"Aw, come on, marine. What's the matter now? I tossed you off
yesterday, what's different about today?

"Well.... I wasn't able to do anything about it yesterday. You
didn't ask, and I was in no state to refuse."

"Look, marine, you seem to think that there's something wrong in some
way with another man tossing you off. You do it to yourself - we
have already agreed that all young virile men do it all the time. So
what's the problem with another man doing it to you? I know another
man is never as good as your own hand, as however good he is at sex,
he just doesn't have the same years of experience as you yourself do
at knowing how hard, how fast, what length of stroke, and so on you
yourself like. Wanking another guy is probably the only bit of man
sex that is not quite as good as when you do it yourself.... But I
bet I'm at least 98% as good as you are yourself."

"Well.... It's just that guys I met, before I was enslaved, just
didn't touch each other's dicks."

"Aw, come on, marine! You spent all those night s sleeping with your
buddies in communal barracks, and you didn't have mutual jack-off
sessions, or those 'circle jerks' I keep reading about in those gay
stories on the net?"

"No. We didn't. Sure, everyone jerked off all the time, but you did
it in your own bed, by yourself. And even if the guy in the next bed
was doing it, and you knew he was doing it, and he knew you knew, you
never referred to it."

"What a wasted life! All that prime marine meat all around you, and
you never experienced it! Are you really telling me that your first
time with another man is when you were enslaved?"

"Yes."

"So you never enjoyed another man's cock down your throat, never
shared cum after you had sucked him off in a long, deep kiss,
never..."

"Fucking hell, no!"

"Look, marine, I think there's some basic problem you have here.
The violence of your replies seems to suggest that there's something
wrong in jacking another man off, or in taking him down your
throat...."

"You're sure right there is!"

"What?"

"Well, the bible says that men and women should go together, and that
a man taking another man is an abomination."

"Ah, come on! We're in the 21st century! You're not serious, that
some weird prohibition written centuries ago by a few so-called
prophets, who were probably high at the time, makes you feel guilt
about truly enjoying all the pleasures your body can give you?"

"Look, master, the bible says it' s wrong, and that's God's word..."

He started to laugh, and when he stopped, continued "Look, marine,
let's start again. Firstly, I'm not your master - you only have one
master and he has entrusted you to my care. You could call me 'sir'
as I'm a free man and you're a slave, or 'doctor'. But I prefer my
name - call me Mike."

"OK, mas... Mike"

"Good. What's your name? I can't keep calling you 'marine',
or 'slave'. I wouldn't want you to forget your true status, but
whilst you're here, let's treat each other like men."

"It's Steve, Mike."

"Well, Steve, I see you need some serious re-education. That guilt
trip they've laid on you has prevented you from having some really
great fun in your previous life! And I'm concerned that it might
seriously hamper your life as a slave - a master can sense when a
slave is not really entering into the spirit of their sex games,
however perfectly his body goes through the motions mechanically.
Now you say the bible says that sex with men is wrong?"

"Yes, of course it does, Mike."

"But isn't there a prohibition in there somewhere, too, about not
spilling your seed on the ground? That's usually considered to be a
prohibition on masturbation. You do masturbate, as we know. So if
you are happy to dispense with one prohibition in the bible, why not
all the rest, too?"

"Well..."

"The other thing you have to remember is that the bible was written
in times that were very different. Men died at an incredibly early
age, and so had to marry young and keep fucking women, so the race
could continue to reproduce itself and grow. There's no word from
a 'God' in there, just practical rules made up by men who saw that
one of the ways they could defeat their enemy was simply to out-breed
them! Things are different now - we have more than enough people.
We live a long time. We have almost totally perfected reproductive
medicine, and child care. So you don't need to keep fucking women in
order to keep the race growing. Men are free to enjoy what they have
been given - their bodies - amongst themselves."

"Come on, now, Steve... Your master tells me you trained yourself to
take him down your throat after he had forcibly face-fucked you the
first time. You're not telling me you did that because you loved
your master - didn't you do it because you were excited by the feel
of his cock between your lips, on your tongue, down your throat? So
will you admit to being just a little bit excited? Or even that it
was not totally repulsive?"

I thought on about the tingling sensation of my master's pubic hair
in my nose, about his smell, and the taste of his flesh. How it had
been strangely erotic, but only a bit disgusting, as he had thrust
into me. And then, with Bill and Tom, how I had actually wanted to
take their dicks into my mouth. And how I had been so jealous at the
way at which they were so confident in enjoying each other's bodies.

"Well, Mike... It was quite good."

"So... What would turn it from 'quite good' into 'utterly fantastic'?"

I wanted to blurt out that being able to take his superb dick into me
was what would do it. There it was, right in front of my eyes. So
close, yet so unreachable.

"No - it's wrong!"

"Oh, Steve. I credited you with some intelligence! Don't you have
to take an intelligence test to get into the marines? Isn't it the
cream of your fighting forces?"

"Of course you do. All the guys in the marines are clever. You go
in to the infantry if you haven't got good SATS scores and a high IQ."

"So, Steve, you're an intelligent guy. You admit to being able to
pick and choose the bits of the bible you are going to implement in
your own life. Or do you have some other rationale for ignoring the
Bible thing about jerking off, but going along with it about cock
sucking?"

Put like that, of course, there was no possible answer. He was
right, I guess. But it needed thinking about, so I remained quiet.

"One thing I don't under stand, Steve, whilst we're thinking about
what a clever guy you are. You'd been told you'd be executed if you
escaped, right? You were naked and unarmed, in the centre of an
utterly foreign city, right? You didn't have a bad life - enough to
eat and drink, good housing, able to work out, no stress..... Why
did you think you could escape? Why did you want to escape?"

"Well, put like that... It does seem risky, and a bit unnecessary.
But it wasn't like that... I had to get away because of what they
were going to do to me!"

"What were they going to do to you? Your master has a reputation
for treating his slaves well, and he was unlikely to do serious
damage to a valuable property like you. You didn't have a lover, did
you, and they split you up and sold him off?"

"No, of course not!"

"'Of course'? Why 'Of course'? Quite a lot of slaves are allowed to
have one-on-one lovers my their masters, as it makes them more
content. And two slaves can share the same bed, and so on, so it's
cheaper to house them. And you're much less likely to run away, or
disobey, if you know that your master will whip your lover's body, or
take his balls, rather than yours."

"I think your 'of course not' means you think that loving another man
is somehow wrong? It's that stupid Judaeo-Christian ethic again,
isn't it? Let me tell you, it's only the Jews and Christians who
invented this silly concept of only allowing a man to fuck a woman:
the Greeks, the Romans, all the civilisations before that thought
that man to man love was the highest ideal you could aspire to. In
the ancient world, women were for breeding with, but it was your men
friends with whom you shared the real joy of sex."
"Look, Mike.... I don't know how to put this.... well it's not
the 'love' thing - I've had a lot of close male friends who I've
really liked. And you get really good buddies in the marines. It's
actually being fucked by another man that I can't bear thinking
about.... My master was saving me for a 'welcome present' for a
friend of his, who was going to fuck my ass. I couldn't allow that
to happen. I can't let another man's dick go up my shit chute. It's
wrong. And, anyway, according to all the stuff I've read, it hurts
like hell. So when I knew that was the plan, I just had to get away."

"Oh, Steve! You really are screwed up! I really wish these
religious people would confine themselves to themselves. Just
because they don't want to fuck other guys, they try to make out it's
wrong for everyone to do it. They've probably caused more misery,
and prevented people from having more pleasure, by their antiquated
attitudes to the human body than any other single philosophy in the
history of mankind. They seem to think that just because they have
vague folk memories of some prophet or other, and have some bits
of 'bible' that are only loosely based on ancient texts and are
mostly mistranslated anyway, that they have some divine right, some
supreme moral authority, to order the world the way they see fit."

"Now, Steve, let's start again. You agree you can disregard the
bible, because you like jerking off, right?"

"Yes, I guess so, Mike."

"So you can disregard it in all other matters relating to the way
modern men have sex, right?"

"Well, put like that, I guess so."

"So there's no reason why you shouldn't enjoy another guess's body,
right?"

"Well, I suppose there isn't."

"Have you ever seen another guy who really turns you on?"

By now I was so confused, in such turmoil, that I no longer wanted to
hide my true feelings.

"Yes, Mike..... It's you."

"So.... I thought I saw you reacting 'properly' to me - a lot of men
take one look at me and are desperate to get me into bed, so I pick
up on their reactions and body language pretty quickly. But that's a
real revelation for you, isn't it, Steve?

"Yes, Mike".

"So what do you want to do with me, once your body has healed a bit?"

How could I say this? I'd never put it into words before. I'd never
confessed to feeling anything for a man before.

I stammered "I want to run my hands all over your body. I want to
feel the warmth and the texture of your skin. I want to smell your
sweat. I want to wrap my arms around you, lie with you on a bed, and
wrap my legs around you."

"Do you want to jerk me off? Do you want me to jerk you off with my
strong hands around your dick?"

"Yes, Mike. Both of those."

"And will you want to taste my cum? Or do you want me to massage it
into your skin?"

"Both."

"And will you take my cock into your mouth, and let me cum down your
throat?"

I thought of Bill and Tom, and how perfectly they enjoyed each other,
and went on "Yes, Mike, I will. And I want to feel your lips around
my dick. I want your tongue to play over my dick head, I want your
fingers to slide my foreskin back."

"Good, Steve. You've never told anyone things like that before, have
you?"

"No."

"It was easy, once you were started, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Easy, and exhilarating, and I guess.... liberating".

"So are any of those things 'wrong' when two nice guys who like each
other do them to each other?"

"No, Mike. How could they be?"

"So why are you worried about another man's cock up your ass?"

"Well... It still seems... Wrong somehow. I don't know why. It just
does."

"Look, Steve, two guys fucking together is just the most marvellous
thing in the world. You don't really know another man until you've
plunged your cock right up his ass. And when you're lying close
together, after you have shot your load into him, it's the most
fantastic ally intimate feeling in the world. How can you get
closer to another man than that? Two guys really demonstrate they
truly like each other when they fuck. How can that be wrong?"

"And, what's more, think of the anatomy! ", he went on

"What?"

"A guy's dick is just the right size for an ass hole. I suppose you
know that although there's a big variation in the size of unaroused
cocks - you and I are both lucky, in having nice big ones - there is
a much smaller variation when they're erect? We both don't grow as
much proportionally when we have a hard on as a guy with a little
dick does. So most hard cocks are in quite a small size range -
especially in the diameter. There has to be a reason for that,
doesn't there? And that's because they're designed to fit into the
average ass hole, which, too, shows remarkably little size variation
between big guys and small guys."

"Aw, come on, Mike, you're making that up! You're telling me that
the biggest guy with a huge dick can fuck a little shrimp with a
small ass! It will never fit!"

"Well, Steve, you're not the one to talk, as you say you're a virgin
and have no experience. But I'm big, and I've been up scores of men
from nice big guys like you, down to small scrawny boys. And I've
never had any problems in getting in. You're forgetting how the ass
hole can stretch - think of turds!"

"Think of turds?"

"Yes. Most guys shit turds of all sizes - some big, some small. If
we ever measured them, I bet we'd find that the average size of your
turds is about the same size as the average for all guys. So all ass
holes have to accommodate quite big turds, right? So if they can
accommodate big turds, they can take big cocks! Simple - Q.E.D. -
ass holes are made to be the right size for cocks!"

"But, Mike, I once read a gay story in a porno mag - I picked it up
and rushed out of the shop not realising it was a gay one, because I
was after something with women in to jerk off to - all the guys in
the story were being raped, and screaming about the pain. That
proves it's not right!"

"When you go to the gym, Steve, do you warm up? What happens if you
don't?"

"Of course I do - warm up is essential before hard exercise.
Otherwise your muscles cramp."

"Well, it's the same sort of thing before you take a guy's cock up
you for the first time - you need proper preparation. The guy should
lube your ass hole, then gently stretch it with a finger, then two
fingers. It can be a very exciting part of foreplay. "

"Then if you're inexperienced, and your ass isn't used to
accommodating a dick, he should enter you slowly at first, very
gently, nice and easy, a few millimetres at a time, to get your ass
used to it. Then he can speed up a bit, and can work up to the long,
hard thrusts that most guys - both the one fucking and the one being
fucked -find most satisfying."

"Those 'rape' stories you read are just that - a brutal entry,
without lube, with no preparation, and going hard at it from the
first moment. Of course it hurts! Think of any muscles that would
be subjected to that."

"I wish I could teach you the joy of fucking, but your master is
indeed saving you for his friend. And, remember, it's that friend's
intervention that saved your life. Aren't you grateful to him for
that? Don't you want to give him your body, wholly and completely?
Even if you never get fucked by anyone else, you should really want
to give your master's friend the experience of a lifetime: you owe
it to him."

"Of course, it might hurt - but I thought you were supposed to be a
marine. And we know you're capable of enduring terrible pain, so you
can take it like a man anyway. He's bound to be excited at the
prospect of taking a virgin ass that he's been thinking about for
weeks, so he won't necessarily be as careful as he should the first
time - I expect he'll probably be quite unable to control himself,
and it will be all over after a few quick thrusts as he won't be able
to prevent himself from shooting almost as soon as he's started. But
when he's had time to recover, I think he'll probably be a good and
experienced lover and he'll really show you what pleasure can be."
I thought on. He obviously knew what he was taking about.

"But Mike, it's this whole 'slave' thing. I was a free man. I was in
the marines. Now I'm just an objet owned by my master."

"Don't talk such crap, Steve! You were never free! You always had
to work to buy food and a place to live. You had to do as you were
told, and, I suspect, you secretly want to be dominated, even if you
don't admit it to yourself. After all, you joined the marines."

"You may have rationalised that to yourself by saying you were
joining a bunch of brave, free men, fighting for what is right, or
whatever. But in any military group you are subject to discipline -
much more discipline than you would ever encounter anywhere else in
the job market. Can you imagine that entrepreneurs, or people who
get to be captains of industry, would ever join something like the
marines? No - they want to lead, to command, to take control. And
you, secretly, even though you don't admit it to yourself, want to be
led."

"In you and your master we just see opposite ends of the human
condition. Your master is a strong, powerful man who dominates and
controls everything he does. He is almost at the top of one of the
largest banks in the world - and it's not because of his background
or family connections, as his family is comparatively poor. No, he
clawed, struggled, and fought his way up there because he is a
dominator."

"You think you are in a big powerful force of strong men, but in fact
you were a very small cog in a mighty machine. You were taught that
a marine always obeys orders. And, I think, you actually liked it,
didn't you? No responsibility, just obey."

"So now you're hung up on some sort of 'master' / 'slave' thing -
whereas in fact you and your master are just acting out your normal
roles, in just a little more extreme fashion than you were used to
before."

"Just accept that you are a slave - you almost were before. And
you'll be a lot happier. Learn to love your master, and obey him
because you truly want to, rather than because you think you are
afraid of him."

He paused for a minute, after this long exposition.

"Look", he went on, "Let's talk about this again later - just think
on about what I have said. Look inside you, and try to uncover your
real feelings, not just those you think you ought to have because
that's the way society has so far conditioned you."

"Now, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to hurt you a bit as I need to
do a preliminary examination. I want you to move your legs apart as
far as possible."

He went to the foot of the bed, and gently helped me to move my legs
apart. Then I felt him cradle my dick in his hands and ever so
gently push it back up under my belly. This time, his touch seemed
much more natural to me - I liked the feel of his warm hands on my
slightly cooler dick, and the way in which he was so careful when
moving my balls: he knew that every man feels ultra-worried when
someone else is touching him there!

I wanted to scream out as he gently pulled my ass cheeks apart - any
pressure there caused waves of pain to come back over me. But I
wanted to show him I was brave and strong, and bit down into the
covering of the bed, gripping it so hard between my teeth that I
could feel all the veins in my neck and temple stand up.

When his finger touched my asshole it was like pushing your hand into
boiling water and holding it there deliberately - the agonising,
fiery hot sensation went on and on.

But then it was over, and the pain started to subside.

He came and sat down by my head again.

"You're a lucky man, Steve. Lucky to have me as your whip master. I
don't think there's anyone else here who could have given three
lashes to your ass hole without tearing the skin. You probably know
it's some of the most delicate and easily torn skin in the whole
body - and if it had ruptured, and had to be sewn up, your value as
a fuck slave would be much reduced. However carefully you sew up a
ruptured anus, there's always some scarring and most masters like to
see a perfectly natural, smooth, sensitive hole if they bother to
examine you in detail before fucking."

Then, in a different tone, he went on

"So just lie there for a few minutes, whilst I go and fetch our
breakfast. Then we'll plan how we're going to start your recovery."

I think I slipped back into sleep.

End of Part 7. To be continued.


MY LIFE AS A SLAVE. PART 8

By Pete Brown. Petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all Pete Brown's stories in group petebrownseroticstories on
Yahoo! Groups

RECOVERY BEGINS

I woke up some time later to find Mike again sitting by me, his
casual leg-bent stance still letting me look at his great tackle. He
was eating a big bowl of that fancy muesli cereal, and had a big
glass of fresh orange juice by the side of him.

"Hey, Steve!, awake again. Ready to eat?"

I sort of grunted yes, because in truth I had managed to conquer the
pain from my aching body enough that the rumbling and churning of my
empty stomach had become noticeable - remember, I had been kept
on "just enough" rations for a long time now, so that any loss of a
meal was more important than it would be to a guy who had some
reserves.

"OK, boy. I'll feed you. I've mashed up your normal slave meal with
some water, and I'm going to squirt it down your throat directly - I
don't think you should try to chew whilst you're lying flat out."

And he went through the process again of oh so gently feeding the
plastic tube down my throat, just a he had done when he had given me
water that first time. As his strong, subtle hands were working away
and his eyes were completely focused on the task, he started to talk.

"I'm sorry I can't give you this delicious breakfast I'm having, and
whilst you're here you won't get any other of my food, either. Your
master has said that you are to continue to be fed the slave meal.
He's probably right - once you get accustomed to the bland nature of
that, you'd probably get an upset stomach if we loaded a whole lot of
new flavours and spices in to you."

"But you're not missing out, you know, except as far as flavour is
concerned - the slave meal is specially formulated to give a slave
absolutely everything he needs in terms of proteins, carbohydrates,
essential oils, and vitamins and minerals. The only difference
between it and 'real' food is that it is made to be deliberately
bland - they used to manufacture it with several different flavours
at one time, but most masters bought the 'neutral' one, so they
discontinued the rest. Your master isn't alone in feeding the slave
meal exclusively: as well as being a lot easier as there's just a
big sack to buy every week, there's no preparation, no waste, and no
need to clear the dishes away afterwards. And many masters believe
that by deliberately taking away other sensations like the taste of
food, the slave's whole sensual system is more sharply focused on
sex."

"And had you ever wondered why it's so hard to chew? After all, as
you can see, it's perfectly easy to make it into a paste that would
be a lot easier. Well, I'll tell you. It's a twofold thing again:
by being dry and hard, there's less weight to have to carry and
store - compare the weight of a sack of dog chow with the weight of
the cans containing an equivalent amount of meat and gravy. And then
there's the health thing - by making you chew it long and hard, you
keep your teeth in better shape, and you build nice strong jaw
muscles: I can see that in you, where you have those good, long,
stringy muscles on the sides of your face which are emphasised by the
lack of fat on you."

He carried on squeezing the bottle, then, after telling me I had had
enough for one meal, he gently drew the tube out.

"Here's what we're going to do for the rest of the day", he went on.

"I'm going to get showered and go off to the office - I've got a
couple of whippings and a couple of geldings to do this morning.
When I get back at lunch time, we'll try to wash you, as you are
starting to smell a bit rank! And it will be time for you to start
to move properly again - until then, lie still."

"Do you need to piss before I go, do you think, or can you hold it
until lunch time? You ought to be all right, as you haven't had much
to drink and that drink last night would mostly be used in replacing
the fluids you'd lost."

I felt OK, so I half nodded.

"OK, then, just continue to lie quiet."

With his usual panther-like grace, in one fluid movement he got up
off the bed, and crossed to the bathroom.

There was no door to the room - just a wide arch giving on to a
conventional western-type lavatory, a big tiled area with a shower
head over it, and a sunken bath tub.

He stopped to piss into the lavatory, and in profile I could see the
thick, insistent stream of piss hose out from his dick - either he
was completely oblivious to the fact that I was watching, or he
didn't care. Its funny really - I'd noticed some of the other guys
in High School, and a lot of guys in the marines, didn't like you to
see them piss. They weren't worried about their bodies or anything -
they were happy enough to be naked in the communal showers with you -
but if they wanted to piss, even if it was before or after a shower
and were buck naked anyway, they actually still hid their dicks and
wanted to use the toilet bowl privately. And as for crapping in
public - well, I don't know any guys who will do that.

Mike then went to the shower head, turned on the water, and then I
almost jerked with surprise when he shouted, at the top of his
voice, "Kev, get in here!"

The bedroom door opened and a young guy - I guess he was 16 or 17 -
ran in. He was wearing a loose white singlet - rather like a running
vest, cut with wide arms so that you could see his ribs beneath his
arm pits - that was just long enough to reveal his cock and balls,
and, as he ran past me, I could see that it was hanging loosely on
top of his ass. I supposed that if he was standing still he might be
completely covered, but any movement at all would expose him totally
to the world.

He scampered into the bathing area, and in one swift movement pulled
the singlet over his head and dropped it to the floor, to stand there
naked next to Mike.

What a contrast between these two - in his mid to late thirties,
Mike was in the prime of his manhood. His 6'6" body was tanned a
golden brown, emphasising the dark blond hair on his head and in his
pubes. Every muscle on his body was properly defined, and as I have
already told you, his cock and balls were exceptional: big, of
course, but perfectly in proportion to the rest of his manly frame.

The young lad - "Kev", I supposed he was - was obviously gong to be a
real man when he had matured. But he still had some of the body
features of a youth: his musculature was of course not as well
developed, there was a little sign of a layer of puppy fat still on
his belly and around his waist, and his aureoles and nipples still
hadn't taken on that much darker shade that they do as guys mature -
they were still relatively light against his smooth skin. He was
around 6', but standing beside Mike he of course looked much smaller
than he really was. You could tell he already spent some time in the
gym, as his biceps were a good size, but the rest of him still
looked "youthful", rather than "manly". Looking at his head and his
pubes, it was obvious he was a natural redhead, and his skin was that
really porcelain white that goes with real carrot-tops who don't
spoil it by going out in the sun and going red and getting covered in
freckles.

The lad at once went to work on Steve, soaping him down just as I had
been taught to do to my master by him, and then helping him rinse
away the soap. Neither Mike nor Kev seem concerned about having the
youth's hands all over Mike's body, and his careful washing and
rinsing even extended to Mike's dick and balls, and up between his
ass cheeks!

But then something even more astonishing happened - whilst Mike
continued to stand there, Kev opened a cupboard and brought out a
shaving bowl, brush and cut- throat razor. With them both obviously
used to a certain routine, Mike moved his arms, body, ass and thighs
around so that Kev could first of all cover them with a coat of
shaving soap, and then use the cut-throat razor to whisk it all away
slickly and smoothly. Kev then knelt down, Mike held his dick up and
out of the way, pressing it lightly into his belly, whilst Kev soaped
and then shaved Mike's sac. Mike then turned around, bent over from
the waist and pulled his ass cheeks apart, and Kev shaved between
them!

A final quick rinse under the shower, and Mike swiftly ran one of the
small towels I had seen him use before all over him to roughly dry
himself.

Coming back into the bedroom, he started to pull on a pair of
training trousers and a sweat shirt as I had seen him wear the day
before, then rummage in a drawer to bring out one of the small silk
pouches, which he stuffed into his pocket.

"It's really a bore to have to get dressed like this for the office",
he said to me. But you saw how the crowd liked to see me strip.
Somehow, there's something much more erotic in having a man take off
his clothes in front of you than in having him stark naked all the
time - I think a lot of masters overlook that, and just go for the
total nudity in their slaves all the time."

"Personally", he went on, "I'd much prefer to be naked all the time.
That's the way we were meant to be. But I don't like to irritate
the crowd. And, I suppose, your cock and balls swinging around all
the time can be a bit irritating - I remember leaping into the truck
in a hurry once, and trapping my balls between my thigh and the
leather seat as I threw myself in: never again! But you'll always
see me naked here at home, whether I have company or not."

"It won't do for everyone, of course - all those utterly gross fat
men, the downright ugly, men with little cocks, and men who are so
old that everything's flagging should keep their bodies covered to
stop the rest of us feeling ill. But when you're well built, and
handsome, like you and me, then what's the point of covering it all
up? Give everyone a treat, that's what I say!"

"And you probably saw me being shaved: I've decided that in this
climate, when you sweat such a lot, it's nicer to be smooth. And as
a doctor, I don't want to risk dropping hairs into my patients'
wounds - if I wasn't almost totally smooth, I'd have to put all those
surgical gowns and things on, whereas like this I can operate after
just a quick antiseptic shower."

"I haven't reconciled myself to doing the total nude thing, though -
you see I've kept a bit on my head - I don't like those guys who look
like billiard balls on top. And after I shaved all my pubic hair
off, I thought it made me look a bit like a young schoolboy. So now
I just have this little patch immediately on top of my cock, and I
keep that trimmed short."

"But I must rush - almost late! I've told Kev to keep an eye on you
until lunch time. But watch him - he's sex mad! He'll be after that
cock of yours if you give him the slightest encouragement - if you
want, let him jack you off, or suck you off: it won't hold up your
recovery, and it will be something for him to do - I suspect he gets
a bit bored all alone here most of the day."


He went out, slamming the door behind him, and I could hear him
shouting some instructions as he moved through the house, and then
the roar of the truck's engine.

The lad Kev had been leaning out of the window, watching, then came
over and sat on the bed just a Mike had. He had put his short "tunic"
on again, but as he sat there it of course did nothing to hide his
dick, and I could see the carrot red of his pubic hair on top of a
long, thin-ish dick: like Mike, he was obviously a subscriber to the
school of shaved balls and a small patch of hair on top of the cock,
trimmed down to quite a short length.

"So you're Steve, the ex-marine, who managed to survive the worst
whipping that a master had ever ordered Mike to give!. He told me
last night, whilst you were asleep, what an amazing guy you must be.
Is there anything you want?"

I mumbled "No."

"You're very lucky, you know", he went on. "When Mike saw the list
of punishments and operations for yesterday, he cancelled his plans
and did your whipping himself - he says that even thought the other
people at he punishment centre are good and experienced, when there's
a real 'special', like you, he likes to do it himself to minimise the
damage and suffering to the slave."

Well - if that was "minimising the damage and suffering", what would
the others have been like? And if this was "luck", what would "bad
luck" be like?

"And he's decided to manage your recovery himself - he only does that
for very few. It'll be a lot quicker than if you were just left to
do it naturally, as he knows exactly how far he can push the process -
of course, it hurts a lot more his way! But he says he only picks
the brave guys for his personal care, so they can all take it. Do
you think you will be able to?"

I mumbled something noncommittal - I wasn't sure I could, but would
of course not say so to this lad.

"Well, we're in for a few turbulent days. I hate it when there's
screaming and shouting in the house - it ruins my concentration, and
I have to stop working."

"Screaming and shouting?", I managed to gasp.

"Yes, you'll be doing the screaming as he forces your body back to
peak fitness. And Mike'll be doing the shouting - he's like a drill
sergeant with the slaves he's working on, forcing them to go hat
extra mile by the power of his personality and the loudness of his
voice!"

There was a pride in the way that Kev had been saying all this, as if
he admired - no, worshipped - Mike. As the food gave me back a
little strength, I was feeling a bit more lively and managed to
say "Are you his son, or something?"

Kev leaned back to make himself a bit more comfortably on the bed.
He pushed a couple of pillows together, and lay full length, his body
half-upright. His tunic rode right up, and I could see his belly,
starkly white and without the six-pack proper men develop as they get
a bit older and work a bit harder. As he cradled his head on his
hands his pits, with their neatly trimmed patch of hair, were
displayed to me.

He was obviously completely at his ease, and not at all ashamed at
showing off his body to a mature man like me, as so many lads are.
It's been my experience that boys are usually all right at being
naked with their fathers or brothers until they are about 10 or 11,
and then as their dick-hair starts to grow, they always hide
away. "Guys only" parties to the beach on hot summer nights, or
the "men only" nights at the local pool, are no longer treats.
They're OK at school in the communal showers and so on, but they
generally don't like to be seen by mature men, I've found. It's not
until they're 19 or 20 that they want to start behaving naturally
with other guys again.

But Kev was different - he just lay there, completely unconcerned,
and started to talk.

KEV'S STORY

"No, I'm not his son. Or is nephew, or any relation. You've seen me
with him just now - how could you think I was related to him? We're
not into incest!"

"When my mom first started going out with my stepfather, he seemed
nice enough. And all the time before they were married he treated me
like a son - never shouted at me, included me in their outings, and
even took me by himself to things mom didn't like, like soccer
matches."

"Mom talked to me one day and said that she and John were thinking of
getting married, and did I mind? Mind? I was really glad for her
and for me. John would then be a proper father, something I never
had before as my real father died when I was eight months old. I
couldn't wait for them to be married, in fact, as I really wanted a
dad who would do the things all the other dads did at the school, and
so on."

"But once they were married, things started to change. He no longer
called me 'Kevin' as he had before, but started snapping at me and
calling me 'Boy', as if I was his servant or something. I was having
a perfectly reasonable argument with him one day about a newspaper
story we had both read about the news from the Middle East, when
suddenly he lost his temper, shouted at me not to dare to contradict
him. Then when I said 'But dad, I was only having a different point
of view....' He screamed at me to stop cheeking him, that he was in
charge in the house, and then, before I could stop him, he smashed me
across the side of my face with his open hand. The blow was so hard
it knocked me off my chair."

"I was going to run and tell my mom, but he told me not to: if I
snivelled to her, he said, she would get a couple of the slaps I had
just had!"

"It was as if once that first slap had been administered, a dam
broke. He became a quite different person to me, and before long he
was lashing out at me at the slightest opportunity. And he imposed
rules - petty rules- that I had to obey: all my food had to be
chewed exactly thirty times. My toothbrush had to be at a defined
angle on the bathroom shelf. My shoe laces had to be tied with
exactly three inches of lace left lose at the ends, and so on. And
if I failed to do any of that shit, he screamed at me, and then hit
me."

"One day I went into the bathroom, that was unlocked, and he was in
the bath. He had an erection, so his cock was poking out of the bath
water. He told me to come over to the bath, then take his cock in my
hand and wank him. I knew it was wrong, so I told him to fuck off,
and went back to my own room. The next minute he was in there, wet
and naked. He smashed at me with his forearm so I was thrown back on
to the bed, then he leapt on my and knelt over me with one leg on
either side of my ribs. His big naked cock was just in front of my
face, and he said he was going to give me a lesson I'd never forget.
When I refused to open my mouth even hough he slapped me a couple of
times so hard that it made my nose bleed, he simply forced my mouth
open by pressing at the corners of my jaw with his big, strong hairy
hands."

"He was just positioning his cock with his other hand and I knew he
was planning to piss into my mouth, when mom came in and screamed at
him to stop. Later that night I heard him screaming at her that she
was a silly cunt, and knew nothing about raising men. She had
mollycoddled me since my dad's death, and he was going to make a real
man out of me. This was the way his father had treated him, and it
hadn't done him any harm, had it?"

"I heard her start to say something, then the unmistakable sounds of
him hitting her, and her screams. I rushed out of bed and into their
bedroom, and threw myself on him. But all I got for trying to help
mom was a broken rib, when the force of his first blow at me threw me
across the room, and bruising all over as he then came over and
repeatedly punched me. Then he did the same to mom."

"They had to take me to hospital, and he told me, in the ambulance,
that if I didn't ay it had happened when I'd woken up in the dark and
fell down the stairs on my way to the bathroom, he would lay into mom
even more."

"So, of course, I lied at the hospital. And they were so busy, no
one took the time to notice my story was a transparent lie. And
after that it got worse and worse for me and for mom, if she ever
tried to stop him or say he was wrong. I was fifteen then, and
decided to run away - without me there, perhaps mom and he would get
on again."

"I'd only got a bit of money saved, but it was enough for a bus
ticket to London from Liverpool, where we lived. I knew that in
England now lads of 15 can't hitch long distances - everyone is so
aware of runaways and child abuse that they call on their mobiles and
tell the police. I thought it would be easy enough to get a job
somewhere, because I was young, fit, strong and intelligent."

"But it's not like that in a big city, especially London. Of course
I couldn't work - it's not legal until you're 16. And living is
fantastically expensive there - I couldn't even get a room. I spent
my first night in the corner of a waiting room at one of the big
stations, and, hungry now, went to do the same thing on the second
night. But in the middle of the night I heard the police doing a
sweep, looking for runaways, so ran off before they got to me. As I
was pounding along, I was joined by another lad in the same
predicament."

"Joe - that was his name - had run away from home, too, and like me,
was 15. But he was much more worldly - he slept in the station
because he didn't want to spend the money, not because he had not got
any, like me. He had enough to eat, and when he saw I was hungry,
took me to an all-night burger bar and let me fill myself up.
Afterwards, as we sat there with a couple of shakes, he said 'Kev -
you stink! We need to get you cleaned up, too.' I blushed and
looked down, and saw he was right. Since leaving Liverpool I hadn't
been able to bath or shower, and I was still in the same clothes. I
could smell myself, so I guess others could, too."

"Joe took me to the Oasis, a big public swimming pool in the centre
of London, for their 'early bird special'. I didn't like going in to
the pool in my underpants, but it was only for a few moments, then I
could get out and shower. But I saw some of the men in the changing
room looking at the wet cotton of my pants - you know how it clings
to you, not like proper swim shorts - and being white cotton, my pink
skin and red pubic hair was showing through as the cotton goes
translucent when wet. But by eight o'clock I was at least clean
again after showering, and minus my wet underpants, we left."

"I stood around wondering what I was going to do for the rest of the
day, but Joe took me to a cafe around the corner, on the way down to
Covent Garden, that was serving breakfasts. We sat there eating,
and Joe was eyeing up the men that came in - a lot of them seemed to
be coming out of the Oasis, as we had."

"There was obviously something going on, some code or other that I
didn't understand, because Joe suddenly told me to wait, and he went
out to the lavatories at the back. He was back a few minutes later
with a grin on his face, saying 'well, we can relax this morning,
then'. We spent that morning with him showing me some of the sights
of London - we spent a lot of time in the British Museum, when it
came on to rain."

"Joe said we should eat something at lunch time, and I told him I had
no money. 'I know', he said, 'but we can soon fix that. I got
twenty this morning. It's easy.' "

"'Twenty what?', I asked - I really was innocent."
'''Twenty pounds, you idiot, in the cafe after we swam.' When he saw
me still looking in incomprehension, he said 'It's well known. A lot
of those early morning simmers are single men, or married men with
an unhappy home life - who else would be swimming at seven in the
morning? They're desperate for a bit of sex, but too afraid to find
a gay partner if they're single, or to force fuck their wives if
they've been turned out of bed. So if a nice young lad offers to
suck them off, they're happy to pay twenty quid for it. But that
bloke this morning didn't even get my lips around his chopper - I
just wanked him.'"

"Joe went on to tell me he made as much money as he wanted that way -
there were a lot of men in London who just wanted a nice young lad to
wank them, or to suck them off. And he also let men fuck him, but
that was a lot more expensive."

"'So come on', Joe said, let's go down to Leicester square. There's
a corner there called the meat rack where lads like us hang out and
the blokes come and pick out the one they want.' I told him there
was no way I was going to do that, and he said 'Suit yourself. But
this morning you were dirty, and starving. What are you going to be
like tomorrow? Or do you want me to suck and wank a lot of men, and
have me keep you as my pet, or something?' Put like that, what
choice did I have? So I went with him."

"I'd decided that I would only wank the men, and not suck them off.
But even that was terrible the first time. You had to stand there
with the other lads, and there were always about 10 to 15 of us, and
watch as these old blokes eyed you up and down. You never saw
attractive, healthy looking young men there - just old, fat, ugly
ones who couldn't get off any other way. Some of the lads were
pissed off when Joe first took me there, as the 'new meat' apparently
attracted most of the trade. And indeed it was only a few minutes
before this fat bloke sidles up to me, and told me to follow him."

"We went into he public lavatory in the Square, he pushed me in to
one of the cubicles, opened his fly and got his cock out, then told
me to wank him quick. I'd never touched another cock before, and
this big bloated guy disgusted me. I said no, and the next minute he
slapped me hard across my face and called me a little cock-teaser.
Then he told me to do it, unless I wanted to get hit again. So I
did. He only paid me ten pounds, as he said he had had to make me do
it and I didn't really deserve anything."

"So that was my life a for a bit - I soon found I had to suck guys
off if I wanted to get any money, as after all the 'regulars' had had
me wank them as a new boy, they were no longer interested. I hung
around with Joe, and we were good mates - he looked after me, and he
even showed me some of the other places, like that caff in Covent
Garden, where you could pick up men at odd times with less
competition."

"But after about three months, it got harder and harder to find
trade - it was the summer, and a lot of men were away. And a lot of
new boys flooded into London in the summer, as it was easier to sleep
rough for the first few nights in the warm weather. I ran out of
money, and so did Joe."

"We were both pretty miserable, and had split up to prospect for
trade one night. The following morning we met for breakfast, and Joe
had eighty quid! I asked him how he found that much trade, and he
told me that one of the men who he had been with a few weeks ago had
given him a number to call if Joe was desperate - so he'd called it,
and been invited around to the man's flat. The man wouldn't pay to be
wanked or sucked, but only to fuck Joe. So Joe let him."

"He said he was really sore up his ass, as the man had been quite
rough with him. After that, Joe did well: the guy introduced him to
others who liked underage lads, and Joe was fucked at least once a
night. I didn't want to do that, and was really scraping along on
the bottom, but Joe was really good to me - he always 'loaned' me
money, as he was always really well off now."

"He'd had a persistent, runny sort of cold for several weeks, and Joe
was pissed off because it was affecting business - his men didn't
want to fuck a lad who was constantly blowing his nose. Joe decided
enough was enough, and after spending a fortune on cold remedies and
so on from the chemist, one night went to the casualty department at
St Thomas's and queued to see a doctor. They gave him something, but
insisted he had a blood test, to see if it really was just a cold,
or some persistent virus."

"The blow fell a week later. Joe came to me, stunned. He had AIDS.
They routinely screen for that at St Thomas's whilst they're doing
other tests. Joe told me they had booked him for counselling, and
that it was going to be OK - they has said with modern drugs he could
expect to live for many years. But I don't think he believed them."

"They had of course been appalled at a young lad like him with AIDS,
and had when they wanted to speak to his parents. But Joe refused,
and had said he was living by himself, 'at no fixed address'. One of
the doctors asked him about his sexual partners, as they ought to be
traced, and Joe had finally told him he couldn't even name one
percent of them - there were so many anonymous men he had been with.
And, of course, as a rent boy - because that's the term that
accurately describes what we were - the men wanted to fuck him with
out any protection. They all wanted to bareback a young lad."

"They were really good to Joe. Got him in to a centre out in
Hampshire that really looks after young lads like him, and gives them
a fresh start in life. But I couldn't go there, as I wasn't infected
and there were few enough spaces as it was."

"Having seen Joe's example, even sucking another guy seemed a huge
risk, especially as they always wanted me to swallow their cum. But
what could I do? No way was I going back home. I couldn't get
a 'real' job, and earning money from sex was all that was open to me."

"As I got more and more worried, I became surly, and less and less
appealing to the men. So I had fewer customers, and made less and
less money. Within a month, I was broke again, hungry, and starting
to smell."

"It was all too much. I was sitting on a bench in Hyde Park one
night with no money and nowhere to go, and I just started to cry. I
couldn't stop. The joggers, dog walkers, and strollers just passed
me by - in a big city, you don't want to get involved."

"Then I was aware of someone standing in front of me - a really big
man. He was in one of those satin running vests, showing all his
shoulders and big arms, and tiny running shorts revealing big, long
muscular legs. All his clothes were stained with sweat - he must
have been running for hours. He asked me what was the matter, and I
couldn't say anything. 'Come on with me', he said."

"So I told him I didn't fuck. Even really broke and down and out, I
wasn't going to bareback and end up like Joe. He just looked at me,
and told me again to follow him."

"We went in to the Royal Lancaster Hotel, and I could see the
reception staff look a bit funny as this big, sweating man, who had
obviously been exercising hard, waited for the lift with this skinny,
dirty, smelly, crying 15-year old in tow. But none of them said
anything."

"In his room, he told me to strip off. 'Look, mister', I
said, 'There's going to be no fucking. I can wank you or suck you
with my clothes on. He went into the bathroom and I could hear the
bath running. I thought about simply running out of the room, but
where else could I go? He seemed a nice enough bloke, and perhaps if
I had to be fucked, he would be a good one to start with."

"He came out, and told me again to strip off. When I started again
about keeping my clothes on to wank him, he simply picked me up,
carried me into the bathroom, and dropped me into the bath full
clothed! He stood there laughing as I floundered around and tried to
sit up in the bath - it was a hug one, as he had a big suite, and
this bath was one of those 'whirlpool' things that could easily take
two."

"He told me now to take a proper bath and get clean. I was furious
and was telling him he'd ruined my clothes. I knew some really choice
words from my life in the past few months, and I was screaming them
all at him. But he didn't seem phased - he just stood over the bath
and said that if I didn't shut the fuck up and get on with bathing,
my dinner would get cold, and he went out."

"It was great to get clean, and I took all my wet clothes off and
really enjoyed the hot, scented water. Then I towelled myself dry,
and put on one of the hotel bath robes and went outside. He'd
ordered a dinner from room service, and told me to eat - I was so
hungry, I literally was cramming the food down, but he didn't eat and
just sat there and watched for a bit. As I went on eating, he went
in to the bathroom and I heard the shower running, and he came out a
few minutes later in the other bath robe the hotel provided in this
big room. I could see muscular, tanned legs poking out, and even his
feet seemed muscular, with long, flexible toes and beautifully cut
nails."

"The guy was of course Mike, who was in London on a business trip
addressing some medical symposium or something. He sat on the sofa
next to me, and the robe was really only intended for a normal guy -
it sort of fell open over Mike's much bigger body. I could see that
big cock and balls of his, and naturally I though he wanted what all
the other men I had been with wanted. So I slipped off the sofa, got
on my knees, and went to suck his cock."

"But he pulled me back on to the sofa. And he asked me why a young
lad like me was trying to go down on a man's cock. And so I told him
all about what had happened to me in the past few months, and when I
got to telling him about having Joe taken from me to go to the
treatment centre, I was crying. And he put his arms around me and
hugged me so tenderly, I knew it was going to be all right."

"He simply picked me up and carried me into the bedroom, stripped off
the covers, lay me on the bed, pulled off the robe, moved the covers
back up over me, and sort of tucked me in just like my mom used to
when I was a little child. Then he slipped off his own robe, and got
in beside me. I thought he was just going to lie on the other side
of the bed, but he sort of shuffled over the bed until he was right
up against me, and was 'spooned' into me. I could feel his cock
against my bum - although not up my hole. A big arm went across me,
and it was all warm against my chest. I thought he was going to fuck
me - that's how guys start off, I thought, pressing their bodies
close to yours and then letting their cocks go up you."

"I'd never been that intimately close to anyone before, let alone a
big virile man like Mark. It felt fantastic. I'd never had another
body pressed against mine - even in the last few months with Joe,
when we had occasionally shared a bed to save money, or huddled
together on a bench to keep warm, we always had some clothes on. I
loved the feel of him against me, and somehow it was so comforting.
I never knew how wonderful it was to feel someone else's skin pressed
into mine. I realised I had an erection, and Mark knew it, too,
because he moved his arm down my body to get a it more comfortable,
and his hand sort of bumped into my erect cock."

"He told me that I should jack off if I wanted to sleep - it was
natural for men to do that before sleeping, he said. And it didn't
matter if my spunk went all over the sheets - this was a hotel, and
they changed the sheets every day. He said that hotel maids got used
to seeing semen stains everywhere, and I shouldn't worry. So I did.
That was the first time for months that I had been able to jack off
in warmth and comfort, and having Mark's body pressed against me just
made it fantastic."

"I turned over then, and went to wank him - after all, I'd wanked
scores of men by then, and I thought all grown men liked being wanked
by a young lad like me. But Mark gripped my wrist the moment my hand
touched his cock, and he told me to stop. 'Just go to sleep, will
you?', he said."

"It was the best night's sleep I had had for months, and in the
morning when I woke up, I thought I must be in heaven or something -
warm, safe, secure in Mark's arms. And I loved the feel of the
stubble on his chin against my shoulder, and the feel of his warm
breath against me as we lay there. I was also excited because I
could feel that Mark had an erection, and this monster cock was
pushing at my ass cheeks."

"But then Mark woke up, and although he wasn't in the slightest bit
embarrassed about having an erection - in fact, he wanked himself
there and then - he didn't want me to help him out at all, in just
the same way that he had turned me down the previous night. But he
couldn't stop me rolling over into the pool of his warm spunk on the
sheet, so I felt I had got a bit closer to him."

"He ordered breakfast, and again he wasn't at all embarrassed about
lying there, obviously naked under the covers with a young lad like
me, when the waiter brought it in. He saw the waiter - quite a nice
looking guy of about 22 or 24 - looking at us, and said 'want to join
us, boy? If not, stop looking!'. We both laughed when he had gone."

"After we had showered, and Mark had shaved - I hardly needed to
then - he found me some of his clothes to wear. Just sweat pants and
a sweat shirt. They were the only things of his that could even
vaguely be bunched up enough so they did not slide off me, and Mark
apologised for them being a bit sweaty as he had worked out the
previous afternoon before he had gone for the run, when he had seen
me. But I loved being wrapped in them, surrounded by Mark's
delicious scent."

"Then we talked. He was very worried about me, and even though he
was prepared to give me a big chunk of money, he didn't want me to go
out on to the streets again. He knew I would quickly spend however
much he left me with, and he was worried that I would soon have to
start barebacking, just like Joe, and probably end up like him. So
he said he would bring me back here and he would see that I was well
looked after for ever."

"He was completely honest with me. He told me that I would have to
become a slave - not just a 'pretend' slave to him, but a real
slave. That's because here it's just not done for an older man to
live with a young boy. Of course an old master can have a slave of
whatever age, for whatever purpose he likes. But a free man can't
live with another free man permanently, especially not one who's only
young, like me, without causing a lot of gossip and comment. So, Mark
said, I should be enslaved. And if anything happened to him, I would
still be looked after as I would be sold on to a new master when his
estate was disbursed."

"So here I am. Mark's slave. Look at my number!"

He rolled over onto his belly, and reached down and pulled his ass
cheeks apart. Deep down in the crevice I could see he had a SIN,
just as I had on my foot.

"I've been here for about a year now, and it's a great life. I do
chores around the house, and, as you saw this morning, Mark lets me
wash him and shave him. I really enjoy being able to perform
services like that for him - there are not many lads of my age who
get to be so intimately close with a stud like Mark. And since I've
been his slave, Mark has let me suck his cock and he also lets me
wank him sometimes, when he hasn't got friends around to do it for
him. And if it's not too late when the friends come, and I haven't
gone to bed, he sometimes lets me join in their evening's
entertainment. He really does know a bunch of fantastic people here,
all of whom are kind of like Mark: interested in keeping their
bodies in great shape in the gym, and in keeping sexually virile by
having recreational sex every day."

I couldn't believe this - the lad was only 16 and was sucking and
wanking grown men. That wasn't right! So in spite of my pain, I
said "But don't you mind being a slave? Don't you mind having to
suck all those dicks and jerk off those guys? It's disgusting -
you're under age!"

"No I'm not!". He sounded quite cross. "You forget that I'm British,
and our age of consent is 16. So I can fuck whoever I like."

"As for minding being a slave, of course not. I have a great life,
as Mark is a good, kind considerate master unlike that bastard of a
stepfather. If Mark hadn't enslaved me in London, I'd probably be
beaten up, or a rug addict, or have AIDS, or something. So what's
wrong with being a slave, when I'm well looked after, well fed, well
housed and, frankly, loved by my master?"

"Mark would be everything I want, except for one thing - he won't
fuck me!"

"You mean he's never raped you up the ass?", I asked.

"No, it wouldn't be rape. I really want to experience Mark
completely. I want to have his cock thrusting in to me - it would be
the best thing I could imagine. I want to be even closer to Mark
than I am now, and what better way can you think of to be really
close to another guy? But he has promised me that he will, one day."

"One day - you mean when you're 21?"

"No, don't be silly! It's a reward I'm going to get. And I've told
you that that 21 stuff, or 18 stuff, is a load of crap for British
guys. You know how some dads buy their sons cars when they pass
their exams, well Mark has promised to fuck me when I pass my exams -
he insists I study for them every day, and I spend a lot of time
doing it remotely on a PC - and when he says my body is sufficiently
well developed."

"You mean when he thinks your ass is big enough?"

"No! Don't you know anything? My ass hole could easily stretch to
accommodate Mark now, and it would be fantastic for both of us as I
would be so tight. I'd get a great sensation, and having a really
tight ass gripping his cock would be really nice for Mark, too. In
his playroom downstairs there are a lot of dildos, and I've been
practising stretching, and training my ass to grip, so that when he
takes me, it will be a night to remember for both of us."

"What he means is that he wants me to work on my body generally - he
knows I don't like spending time in the gym, and he says he won't
fuck me until my biceps, chest, waist, ass and thighs all grow to a
certain size. I have the measurements taped up in the gym as a
target, and, as usual, he's right: looking forward to having Mark up
my ass is the only thing that keeps me at it. I don't find a problem
with doing the school work on the PC, but I guess I'm lazy and would
otherwise find it too easy to skip the gym stuff."

"Mark wants me to be well educated and have a nice body. He reckons
that with my bright red hair, the combination would be irresistible
to any master. He says that he'll be able to sell me as some rich
man's confidant, personal assistant, and bed slave, and that that
will be a great future for me."

God! Was this kid stupid? That Mark had obviously sold him a real
line! "You mean he actually plans to sell you? And you don't mind?"

"No, Mark has explained it all. He has to go back to England one
day, as he is only allowed to work here for so many years. When he
does, what's going to happen to me? He can't own slaves in England,
so I'll have to be sold here. He wants to make sure I have a full and
happy life, and so he's making sure I have the best possible training
so that I will fetch a really high price with a master that truly
appreciates what he's getting: he expects me to have a university
degree, a really great body, and to be completely skilled at doing
everything two guys can do together in bed. I think the last of
those will be the easiest - with a teacher like Mark, how could I
not learn those lessons?"

"And of course he's also making sure I get Arabic lessons every day -
he says that when I'm so fluent I cry out in ecstasy in Arabic when a
master fucks me, that will definitely secure my future: there aren't
too many redheaded Arabic speakers able to fully participate with a
master in his pleasure."

"Look, Kev, that's a load of crap. Why couldn't Mark just take you
back to England as a free man, like him?"

"Well it wouldn't be right. Mark says, and I believe him, that after
I have been his slave for another five years before he has to go
back to England, I will be so used to being his slave and he to being
my master, that it just wouldn't work right if I was free. Although
he's not demanding, he is my master, and I do have to obey. I know I
can only go so far with not working, or in not doing as he says first
time, before he takes me across his knees and spanks me. And once or
twice, when he found I was neglecting my lessons in the early days,
he took a cane to me and I couldn't sit on my bum for a week. It's a
real incentive to study - something I never had in England - if you
know your master will cane you if you fail to keep an 'A' average in
all your assignments."

"Mark says that as a free man, in my early twenties, in England I
would soon forget he was master and get disrespectful. He would have
to beat me harder and harder, and then one day I would just walk
out. And when I did that, I might fall into all sorts of bad habits
again, and before I knew where I was, I might be dead. He likes me
too much to want to take the risk of that happening, so it's better
for me to stay here, with a master who can keep control of me and I
can live a full, happy life."

"So he beats you now, does he? Has he ever whipped you?" - I
wondered if Mark's "professional" life leaked back home.

"Well yes, he does beat me occasionally, but only with a light cane.
He mostly smacks me very hard on the ass with those big hands of
his - with his power, it really hurts! And although he's very even
tempered and calm, he can lose it sometimes of course, like all
masters, and then he might slap my head really hard and send me
reeling. He's never taken the whip to me yet - but I think he would,
if I did something sufficiently bad. Just two weeks ago I thought he
really would, he was so cross. But instead he dragged me down to the
gym and stood over me whilst I did endless press-ups, jumping jacks,
and leg presses. It went on for two hours, with him slapping my ass
every time I was about to give up: I really don't want to be
punished like that again, as I was sore for days!"

I remembered a number of sergeants in the marines who used that
method of punishing men, so I could sympathise. "What did you do to
deserve that?", I asked.

"Well, you know how I want Mark to fuck me. So he'd come home from
work one day, and was so dammed tired he barely had time to shrug off
his clothes before he collapsed in to a big leather armchair, and
then fell asleep. He had an erection, of course, and I went over and
though I would give him pleasant dreams by sucking him off - I
thought it might help relieve the tension and tiredness in him. But
then I had a better idea, so I raced upstairs to get a tube of lube,
really lubed up my ass, then went back and ever so gently, to avoid
disturbing the deep sleep he was now in, lubed his cock. I was
careful to warm the lube in my hands first, as you know how cold it
feels at the best of times, and I didn't want to wake him. Then I
stood astride him, and lowered myself down towards his lap, guiding
his cock into my hole."

"It was just as I always thought it would be - his cock was so
fantastically warm when it touched my ass hole, and I almost stopped
there, it was so exciting. But I kept on, and I lowered myself so
gently down so that it would slide in slowly. I'd read on the web
that you're supposed to make like you're going to take a shit, to get
the sphincter to open, and it worked - almost before I knew it had
happened, his cock head was inside me and I was inching downwards to
take all of him. Then his mobile phone went off, he woke up, and
found me squatting there on his cock!"

"He wasn't just cross, he wasn't just furious. He went fucking ape-
shit as they say in the American films. He raged at me about
deliberately disobeying his orders - he had said he would fuck me
when he judged the time was ripe. What I had done was almost like
rape, he said: I was trying to have sexual intercourse with him
without his consent. Not only should a slave never to that, neither
should anyone else!"

"And as well as the punishment session in the gym, he wouldn't allow
me to sleep in his bed or shower and shave him for a week. I had to
lie on a camp bed by the side of his bed, so I was deprived of his
body totally. And of course as we are now proper jerk-off buddies,
and he also allows me to suck his cock, I was very deprived."

"At the end of that time he told me he hoped I realised how serious
it was to disobey a master. He warned me that the next time I tried
anything like it, he would indeed whip me as he felt I was old enough
to take it."

"But of course he's going to whip me one day anyway. He's actually
going to do it, no mercy to be shown, at the punishment centre, in
public."

"What?"

"Yes. Mark says that I need to understand what it feels like to be
whipped. And what it feels like to be publicly humiliated by being
whipped naked in front of an audience. That way I will always be
especially careful never to displease a future master, so that he
never orders me to be whipped. Mark is an expert, and says that his
whipping me one day 'soon' might well mean that I don't get butchered
by an 'amateur' whipper later on in my slavery. It shows you the
kind of man he is - always thinking ahead, always planning, always
trying to do the best for people."

I think Kev and I could have gone on talking for hours, except that I
was too dammed tired to contribute much. But It was good to learn
more about Mark. I probably would have fallen back into sleep, but
Kev got up and walked around the room where my eyes couldn't follow
him and I didn't want to turn my head.

YOUNG WANKER

Then I felt his hand on my dick - he was trying to jerk me off !

I wanted to cry out, as I didn't want a young lad doing this to me,
but could only protest feebly.

"Aw, come on, Steve. It's not hurting there, is it? I don't believe
Mark would have touched your cock with his whip - he was aiming for
your ass, I believe!"

I tried to protest again and all I got was "What's the matter,
Steve? Aren't you a real man? Can't you get it up, then?"

That was far from the truth, and he knew it, because he had only
touched me and started to stroke gently and I had sprung to a full
erection.

"Hey, Steve, your cock likes me! I'm glad, as Mark tells me you're
going to live here for the next week, whilst you recover, and you'll
need lots of relief. Although I really like Mark's cock, every man
needs a bit of variety sometimes, and it's a long time, back in
London, since I've had a cock to play with that's topped with a nice
foreskin like yours."

"One of the only problems here is that Mark is cut, and most of his
friends are Arabs who are all cut at birth. And those that aren't
Arabs are Americans, and they're all cut, too. I can only wank you
now because I can't get my head down under you without you moving,
and I know that will be painful. But when I was sucking cocks in
London, I sometimes felt like letting a guy with a really cute uncut
cock off paying - one where the head popped out all dark and shiny,
so that there was a lovely moist surface to play my tongue over.
Don't get me wrong - I like cut cocks as well. But a man needs a bit
of variety!"

He had carried on jerking me off all the time he had been talking,
and I could feel him deliberately slipping my foreskin back. Then he
brushed his thumb over my moist head, letting the edge of his nail
snag into my piss slit. As I've told you, I'm super sensitive in
this area, and I moaned and went to jerk reflexively - which caused
me such fresh agonies of pain from everywhere else on my body that I
really howled.

At once Kev was back by my head. "Oh Steve, mate. I'm sorry. I
should have thought. I know uncut cocks are sensitive, and usually
I'm trying to give the bloke an extra shot of sensation. I should
have thought of what it might do to you!"

He went back, saying "I'll be really careful", and just jerked me
off, slowly and carefully, until I felt my load shooting out. What a
good job he stopped stroking me as soon as I shot my load - I don't
think I could have stood it if he'd carried on, and that fantastic
mixture of pleasure and pain an uncut guy gets after ejaculation had
taken over.

He was back sitting by me a moment later, and held his hand in front
of me. I smelt that familiar odour of cum, and saw his palm was full
of a pool of what could only be my jism.

"Do you want it?", he asked.

I mumbled "No.", and the next moment he raised his palm to his lips,
and slurped my jism down.

"See, that's what good training gets you", he said proudly. "Always
ask the client if he'd like to eat his own spunk before you lap it up
yourself."

Just then, the door opened and Mark came in. In what I recognised as
a characteristic movement, he shrugged off his sweat pants and sweat
shirt so he was naked, and smiled at us both.

"Had a nice morning, guys? I can tell from that hint of something
in the air that someone has been cumming. I don't suppose it's Kev,
as the smell is so strong there must have been a lot of cum, the sort
a real man produces. And as you, Steve, are in no shape to wank
yourself, I suppose young Kev has been doing his favourite exercise
on you!"

He walked over to Kev, put one of his big arms around the lad's
shoulders, and gave him an affectionate squeeze.

"Good boy. Steve needs relief like that - it's bad enough he's in
pain from the whipping, without him getting pains in his balls from
lack of exercise!"

He came over to me, and crouched down so he was at my level.

"I hoe you don't mind - but the boy loves cock so much that one like
yours was too much for his to resist. But he shouldn't have done it
without your consent - are you sure you agreed to it, as you're
pretty helpless, lying there. The boy has a tendency to take sex
without asking first, and if he's done it again, I will need to very
severely punish him, as I have told him I will."

Remembering what Kev had said about his attempt to take Mark's cock
up him, I knew that if I told the truth that would probably trigger
the whipping."

So I managed to mouth "It's OK."

I saw Kev looking at me, and the poor boy looked so relieved -
perhaps Mark wasn't so kind as was made out, after all!

"Now", Mark said, "We have to start your return to fitness. I'm
going to get you into the bath, then you're going to spend the rest
of the afternoon standing up, at least, if not exactly moving
around. I have a buddy coming by this evening, so you'll have to
sleep on the floor by the bed tonight as we'll be using it, and it's
still too soon to move you right out in case I need to attend to you
in the night."

What was this? Was I going to have to lie there later whilst Mark
and his friend did whatever they did together? I could only think
that when any friend of Mark's and he got together in bed it could
only result in long, vigorous, joyful fucking, with a lot of noise.
I doubted I would sleep much that night!

End Of Part 8. To Be Continued.















