A story written by Pete Brown. (Part 13 of 21). Click here to see all the published chapters of the story.


I only wish that Master Brett had dismissed me from his office a few moments sooner, as Master Jed came in just then – as usual, he didn’t knock or anything, and I assumed that he and Master Brett had no secrets from one another.

“It’s mid-term for this slave, isn’t it?”, he asked, and, without thinking, I replied “Yes, sir, I’m half way through…”

He didn’t even tell me to shut up – just came over to me and slapped me hard across the face with all the force he could muster.  His open palm made a great slap noise, and I was almost knocked sideways by the force of the blow.  I stood there reeling, feeling the pain spreading through my head.  I almost went for him, but managed to stop my self just in time, before I punched him.

“If you’re half way through your training, slave, you should know that fucking slaves don’t speak unless spoken to, and they particularly don’t interrupt when one master is speaking to another.”

At this point Master Brett interrupted him.  “You’re right, of course, Jed.  It’s a pity, as he was doing so well – he’s well on track with getting to know all the other slaves here, and there haven’t been any bad reports on him….”

“Yes, Brett, but look at his body language – he almost went to strike me back.  And I’m also concerned about his general attitude:  you know these so-called educated slaves – college boys, like this one – it’s not just a matter of them learning how to use their bodies, but of them getting to understand that they’re no longer free to do as they used to in all sorts of things:  not free to start conversations, to express opinions, to interrupt…  I’m always concerned when you persuade me to buy a college-educated boy that this will be the most difficult part, to get them to understand that slaves don’t have choices, or free will…  Personally, I much prefer it when we buy ex-marines – we get all the advantages of a good, hard body, and at the same time the Marine Corps has already done most of the work in turning them into slaves – all that training teaches them to keep silent in the presence of officers, to only speak when spoken to, to use ‘sir’ at every opportunity, and to obey. And it’s not as if there’s any shortage of them, either – so many of them go wrong when they’re discharged and get hauled before the courts….”

“Jed, we’ve debated this so many times.  You know my concerns, that they’re trained killers….”

“Yes, but once we’ve ringed them they do go much tamer – all we need to do is strip away their pride in being men, and then they’re perfect.  And that’s easy enough to do – think of the last one, Andy… So proud when we bought him, so solid, so strong, like a great tree…. But once we’d ringed him, tattooed him and had Jomo fuck him five times, he was more like a twig that we could simply snap.   I think he’s one of our best – big, hard body, but now properly servile and compliant at all times…  A lot of marines are like that, I think:  take away their clothes and give them a good fucking, and they’re ‘lost’ and break… All that conditioning to obey orders leaves them with no reserves of inner strength.”

“Or”, he went on, “We always seem to have success with big strong blue-collar workers from construction or whatever, boys with no education at all.  They’re so used to being at the bottom of the heap, used to doing as they’re told, grateful for dead-end jobs, low wages, being bawled out by the foreman all the time…. They’re easy, too.   But no, you just want college boys…”

“Jed, we don’t really have time for this general debate on our stocking policy now.  What are we going to do about this one, though?  I think you’re probably right about him still being too wilful…”

Jed just glared at me, and snapped “Get on the horse, boy – face down – and I’ll give you a good caning to help break you…”

“No, Jed, we can’t do that…. We’ve got to get his pictures taken for the web site, and we’ll certainly want to show his ass and thighs – they’re so delightfully muscular.  No one is going to make a booking to fuck a slave who looks as if he’s wilful – the cane marks would give him away immediately as a potential hothead…. And you know how it is for you sometimes:  once you get started with the cane, you can easily go too far and the slave’s ass takes weeks to heal.”

I breathed an inward sigh of relief.  I really didn’t want to ride the horse again and have that cane across my ass – it had been bad enough when I first came here, and that was supposedly a light beating.  And I’d seen what Master Jed could do to Gary!  Still, I hated the thought of the power that these men had over me:  I hadn’t really done anything at all wrong, and yet they were discussing causing me the most terrible pain…. It was so fucking unfair!

“Well, Brett, something needs to be done!  Look, you can see the slave relaxing, as he doesn’t think we can punish him properly now!  If I was doubtful before, my mind’s now made up – we need to do some more work to break his spirit properly and make him properly submissive and subservient.  Let’s just postpone his coming on stream, so that I can whip him properly:  no slave ever wants to repeat the experience of a proper bullwhipping, and he’d be certain to break…”

“Not a good idea, Jed.  He’d be useless for another month at least – that is providing you didn’t ruin him totally!  The last one you whipped had to be sold off, as the scars on his back and belly never really healed properly, and clients started complaining that the skin didn’t feel good under their hands.  We can’t afford that, and, anyway, I really do need him working in a couple of weeks – we’ve got that big sales convention in town, and all the slaves will be booked:  if he’s not ready, it’s just profit down the drain! You know how those salesmen are – they like to boast to each other about how expensive the slaves are that they fuck, and we always get absolutely top prices during sales conventions…. I agree he needs disciplining, but do it in a way that just leaves mental scars, not physical ones, OK?”

Master Jed glared at me, snapped “Follow me, boy!”, and strode out, along the “public” corridors and through the door into the “slave” part of the operation, and Master Jed took me into our living and sleeping area.

I suppose I’d always wondered why there was a rope and pulley arrangement in the ceiling, but I’d never bothered to ask anyone – and now I found out.  Master Jed undid the ropes from where they were handing to one side attached to the cleat in the wall, attached one end to my wrist bracelets, then pulled the other end of the rope so my wrists were pulled up to about my head height, then tied the rope off neatly on the cleat so I was just standing there, relatively relaxed.

It wasn’t uncomfortable at all, and it didn’t seem like much of a punishment, and I was amazed when Master Jed strode out of the room, leaving me standing there like that – it didn’t seem much of a punishment!  Several of the other guys were around, and they started to commiserate with me, saying “Sorry, Steve, but you know we aren’t going to be able to help you, don’t you?  We’d like to of course, but then we’d get the same punishment…. So hang in there, buddy….”

I wanted to ask them what the fuck was going on, but then Master Jed reappeared.  He growled at one of the guys to take my shorts off, and I stood there naked in front of him – I suppose I began to notice that I no longer felt ashamed or worried by this as I had on my first days of slavery, so my education was clearly progressing!

Master Jed squatted down in front of me and I watched – and felt – as he cupped my balls in his hands and massaged them and stretched my sac so that both balls were pulled right down to the bottom.  I kind of shivered inwardly as you do when a guy is holding those sensitive parts of you, but Master Jed’s objective didn’t seem to be to torture my balls, so I relaxed a bit.  He reached into his jacket pocket and something cold went around my sac, and there was a brief “snick” sound as a catch activated.  I realised that a small manacle had been put around my sac, keeping my balls at the bottom – it wasn’t particularly heavy, and other than the thought that it might get painful if my balls wanted to retract, I still wasn’t unduly worried.

“Now, you fucking uppity slave”, Master Jed started, “…let’s get you in position.”

He knelt down in front of me again and was fiddling with the manacle, attaching a thin wire to it.  He went into the exercise room and came back with one of the weights that we used to hold for exercises to strengthen our forearms and biceps, and the other end of the wire was wrapped around it, leaving the weight lying on the floor.  Then he started to tug on the wire, shortening it – I felt the pressure increase on my balls, so bent my knees, and he tightened it further.  Soon I could go no further, as my arms were now right above my head, and my whole body was stretched taut.   My knees were bent so that my thighs were at about 45 degrees to the ground, and Master Jed tied off the wire and stood there looking at me, smiling faintly.

“Right, slave – there you are!  You’ll soon find that you get rather uncomfortable – your legs aren’t meant to support your weight at that angle, and they’ll begin to cramp and complain, so you’ll try to stand up to relieve the pain:  but you’re tethered down there by your balls to that weight – it’s not so much that you can’t lift it up, but if you do, you’ll get excruciating pains from your balls, so you’ll only want to do it when your leg muscles are really shrieking!  You’ll try to lower yourself as well – anything to change the angle of your legs – but you’ve got only limited play in your arms, too, and if you let your legs go and put your whole body weight on them as they’re above your head like that, you’ll find you can’t breathe properly….”

“It’s quite interesting to watch you big tough guys held like this – so simple, really, and it leaves no external marks.  The subtle thing is that it’s all up to you – you can lower yourself a bit, and stop breathing;  or you can stay where you are ,and endure the cramp from your legs;  or, when it gets too bad, you can just stand upright – if you don’t mind really hurting your balls!  The choice is yours…. Now, a four hours, I think, should teach you that you’ve got to learn to obey at all times, and be properly subservient…”

Now I understood what my fellow slaves has meant about not helping me – any one of them could easily pick up the weight that was “tethering” me down, but, if they did, they’d get the same punishment.  I tried to move down, and felt all the sinews in my arms and shoulders and chest complain;  I moved up experimentally, and that awful sickening pain you get when something’s happening to your balls shot through me – although I could tell that I could just about lift the weight, and I guessed that it had been designed so that it would do me no permanent damage if I did.  But these small movements in turn simply emphasised how bad my thighs, knees and calves were beginning to feel as they were held at that unnatural angle – at first I thought I could bear it, but gradually I began to realise that I couldn’t, and a sweat broke out all over me as I fought to get my body under control.

It was a fiendish way of punishing me.  The pain was so intense from my calves, thighs and knees after a time that so much sweat was running down my body that it actually was trickling down my dick and dripping from the end.  At the same time, it was somewhat under my control – I could provide momentary relief for my legs, but only at the expense of complete agony from my balls!  Somehow, having this measure of “control” made the whole experience worse, much worse:  I mean, if you’re strapped down to the horse and you master is beating you with a cane, it’s very painful but there’s nothing you can do about it, is there?  You just have to lie there and accept it.  But here I had a degree of freedom to “select” the punishment I wanted — legs or balls – and vary it from time to time.  Giving me this choice, so I chose which parts of myself to hurt, was far, far worse.

The other guys were as supportive as they could be, but simply didn’t dare to do anything about the weight on the floor – it would, after all, have been easy for any of them to have picked it up, then I could have stood upright for a few seconds.  But perhaps this was another part of Master Jed’s punishment plan – I knew that any of the could help me, and we were all buddies, but they in turn were too terrified of Master Jed to do even the tiniest thing to help me out.  As it was, though, they brought me water to drink, and wiped my face so that my sweat did not pour into my eyes, and these tiny comforts were much appreciated.

I don’t know how long I was there – probably not as long as I thought.  When you’re in pain like that seconds seem to stretch into minutes, and minutes into hours, don’t they?  But I guess I was like that for a couple of hours, before Master Jed came back and stood in front of me again.  “You’re fucking lucky, slave!”, he said grudgingly. “You’ve only been here for a couple of hours, and usually I leave slaves to ‘cook’ for at least four.  But the photographer has come to take some pics of another guy, and to save a second call-out fee, Master Brett wants him to do you at the same time.  Count yourself lucky – most slaves can’t walk properly for a day after I’ve hung them like this – remember, and make sure you obey completely and absolutely in future.”

I was so exhausted that I just hung there, and the next instant I was actually screaming – Master Jed had pulled back his arm and viciously slapped me across the face.  This had caused me to jerk back, and as I did so a great shaft  of pain from my balls shot through me.  I tried desperately to calm myself, and stood there, panting, trying to regain my composure.

“I don’t think you’ve really learned your lesson yet, slave!”, Master Jed snapped. “You’re  supposed to be an educated guy, not some rural hick – and didn’t they teach you to acknowledge  your owner when he speaks to you?   I’ve just told you that I’m letting you off from this punishment lightly, and you just fucking stand there like a piece of shit!  I’ve a good mind to tell Master Brett that we’ll pay another call out fee for the photographer, and leave you there anyway….”

I realised my error, and muttered “Sir, I’m sorry, sir.  Thank you, sir, for letting me off the punishment….”

“I should think so!  Let’s have a bit more of that proper slave attitude in future, boy!  Now, I’ll let you down, then you’re to go and shower and shave again – balls, ass, everything, and that face of yours especially, as you’ve already got five o’clock shadow – we want you looking at your best on the website…”

As he was speaking he went over to the cleat on the wall and loosened the rope, and I was able to lower my arms.  I sank to the floor, desperate to release the strain in all my leg muscles.  Maser Jed towered over me, looking down, and I felt myself withering under his gaze.  Sitting there with my hands still tied together held out in front of me, totally naked, with my master right there in front of me, I must have looked like one of those nineteenth century prints that were called “the supplicant slave” or some such (except that I wasn’t black, of course!).

Another great slap to my face, so hard that it almost knocked me sideways.  “You fucking slave, how dare you!  Never sit in the presence of your owner, unless he’s given you permission…. I really ought to string you up again….”

I tried my best to scramble to my feet again, my ears ringing from the blow.  “Please, sir, I’m sorry, sir, but my legs….”

“Quit whining!  You’re supposed to be a strong, virile man, not a wimp!”

I stood there then in front of him, utterly defeated. My head was bent, sweat was still pouring off me – I could feel its icy trickles down my ribs, and it was still dripping off my dick.  My thigh muscles were trembling and shaking and I was quite unable to control them, and my calves felt as if they were on fire with the cramping pain from them.

Master Jed’s face was sneering at me.  “You slaves are all the same – a bit of punishment, and you’re done in!”

I wanted to hit him, to grab hold of him, tie him up, and torture his balls.  I wanted to scream at him that he should try it, that it wasn’t a “bit of punishment” at all, it was sheer brutal torture of a guy’s most precious parts.  I felt my anger rising, my breathing deepened, my heart began to race, and as he bent forward to untie my wrists, I clenched my fists and tensed my arms….

“Easy, slave!”  Master Jed’s words stopped me for a moment.  “The last slave that hit me regretted it for the rest of his life!  After I’d flayed the hide off him, I went back to the slave court and had him certified as a public danger – and you know what happens to slaves who are considered to be dangerous, don’t you?”

My muscles were still all tensed for a fight, but I muttered “No, sir.”

“Well, boy, we have them calmed.  You wouldn’t want that, I’m sure, now would you?”  “Sir, I’m sorry… I don’t know what ‘calming’ is.

“Where have you bee all your life, boy?  The TV was full of it when they first amended the Indentured Servants Act so that slaves with a long sentence – as you have – could be ‘calmed’ if the Court judges them a danger to their owners and the public at large. They even showed the first slave who was reclassified – some roughneck in Texas – ‘before’ and ‘after’.” He saw me looking at him, still obviously puzzled, and went on “Yes, boy, you’d better learn to be very careful around here, as I could easily get you reclassified, I reckon:  they’d just take a bit of your blood in the state you’re in right now, see how full of ‘fight’ hormones it was, and it would be an open and shut case!  We’d lose a lot of money on you, as you’d be pretty useless afterwards for your job, but I could square that with Master Brett.”

“Sir, I still don’t know what ‘calmed is.”

“You’re supposed to be an educated boy, aren’t you? What makes a man a man?  What gives him the balls to fight other men, or to threaten them?  Can’t you guess….?  Why do we say a guy’s got balls to do this or that…?   Well, after calming, he doesn’t any longer – they snip those nice low hangers off you, and after a couple of weeks your hormones adjust and you’ll never even think of getting angry again.”

I stood there, reeling in horror.  Surely our society couldn’t even consider going around cutting guys’ balls off!  But then it occurred to me that it could – after all, it allowed me to be ‘skinned against my will, for holes to be drilled in me for rings, and for me to have my flesh defaced with those tattoos…

“Mind you”, Master Jed continued, “Perhaps it mightn’t be a bad idea – we could offer you as a novelty – a eunuch that could just be fucked but couldn’t cum.  I suppose we could always pair you up with another slave to provide the cum to grease your hole….  So watch it, boy!  Don’t ever show anger or aggression at me again, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”  I really tried to sound sincere – Master Jed seemed perverse enough to carry out a threat like that if he was crossed, I reckoned.

“Good!  Now, untie your balls, and get along and shower and shave….”

It was one of the thing s that I hadn’t really liked at first – losing the hair from my balls and from around my ass had made me feel less like a man, but as I’d started to have sex with the other guys I’d realised how sensible it is, really – I mean, when you’re sucking and licking a guy’s balls, if they’re covered in hair neither you nor he really appreciate the sensation and the texture, do you?  And you’re likely to get hairs sticking in your teeth!  It’s also a lot easier to get your dick into a nice smooth hole, and it somehow feels better, I always think, when you’re playing around down there – it kind of drives me almost wild when a guy runs a fingernail over my hole and down to the back of my balls, and I know a lot of other guys like that, too, and if it’s all hairy down there, you just don’t get the same reaction.  So after my initial shame at being generally tidied up like that (as well as having the length of all my pubes and stuff generally reduced), I’d come to see it was actually quite a sensible thing to do, and I sometimes wondered as I lay in bed just casually playing with my balls why I hadn’t done it before – it’s so much nicer to really feel your balls, after all.  It’s one of those things they never tell you during sex education classes in High School, and it does make me wonder why – perhaps they just don’t want guys to know how much fun it can be just to play with their balls!

Anyway, I’d been told to shave, and I didn’t want to risk upsetting Master Jed, so I went through into the showers.  All  the other guys were in the gym, so I had to call one out to help me – I know you can shave yourself down there, but it’s a lot easier (and a lot more fun) to have another guy help you, isn’t it? Then I shaved my face – it’s true, I do have a bit of a problem with five o’clock shadow as my hair grows very quickly (and I often got mild complaints from the other slaves when I ran their dicks over my cheeks during play – they told me I’d have to make sure I shaved before I went out to meet clients, or they’d be sure to complain).

Attired in a fresh pair of shorts I went along the corridor to reception and asked the slave on duty where to go.  He directed me to bedroom four, and this was quite interesting as I’d never been into one of the bedrooms at the office before – most of our clients preferred us to go around to their hotel rooms, it seemed, but it was possible to just “drop in”, choose a slave, and take him off to one of the bedrooms on the premises.  I knocked on the door, then stood there, as I’d been taught, head bowed, waiting to be told to go in.

The bedroom was just like a high-class motel room, actually – a big, double bed, a chest with a mirror over it, and through a door, a luxuriously appointed bathroom with lots of big white towels.  The only differences were that there was no TV, and the bed had a tubular headboard and footboard, from which Velcro bindings hung in case the client wanted the slave secured.  The photographer was already there ,with a big camera on a tripod, and he smiled in welcome.

“Steve, isn’t it?  Yes… I can see it is – those tattoos are so convenient!  Now, Steve, I’m here to do your pictures.  It’s in your interest to get a good set, as the nicer you look, the more clients you’ll have, and that will please your owners.  So drop those shorts, and let me get a proper look at you…”

“Please, sir, won’t you want me with my shorts on?”

“Good lord, no!  These pictures are for the website – didn’t they tell you?  And the clients will want to take a good, close look at you before making a booking, won’t they?”

“But sir, all my friends will see me…”

“Steve, haven’t they told you?  Slaves don’t have friends!  You can’t be friends with a slave, after all!  And, anyway, so what if they did?  You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of!”

“I know that, sir, I’m pretty well hung…”

“No, you idiot!  Even if you’d only got a two inch dick you’d have nothing to be ashamed of… Your owner has ordered you to be photographed naked, and for those photographs to be displayed, so why should you be ashamed?  Nothing a slave does at his master’s command should cause shame or embarrassment – those are emotions that only free men can feel, and you’re now a slave.  Now, enough of this philosophising – shuck those shorts!”

Look, I may not have ever wanted to have sex with another guy before I was a slave, but you can’t help seeing the pictures of naked gay guys around, can you?  You only have to browse the net, or even leaf through one of those glossy women’s magazines – there are pictures of big naked studs everywhere!  So I was used to the idea, I suppose, that you lie there on a bed and look, well, ‘sexy’!  Kind of innocent, and appealing, but obviously ready for sex:  sometimes on your back, on your side, resting on one elbow, then on your front so they can show your butt… It was all pretty harmless and innocuous, really.  The photographer was a nice guy, and he chatted away about this and that as he worked, and I really felt relaxed.

“There – that’s the standard ones”, he finally said. “You wouldn’t mind showing those to your own father, I bet!  And you know, Steve, I think they’re going to come out really well – you’re one of those casually handsome guys who always photographs well, and you have that kind of half smile that shows you’re relaxed, and which most guys find very appealing. Now, let’s get down to the fine detail, shall we…. Just lie there, so I can do some close-ups of your dick…”

As he spoke, he changed the lenses on his camera and now came very close indeed, pointing it down at my tackle.  Absolutely without any hesitation and certainly without asking me, he reached out and moved my dick a bit to the side, muttering “…need to get a good shot of both balls as well as the dick…”

A lot more clicking, then it was “OK, that’s good, Steve.  You did well to stay soft like that.  Now get hard and we’ll do the proper dick shots…”

I  guess she thought I was a gay guy who liked to have his dick played with, and that’s why he thought it was difficult for me to stay soft.  In fact, I really didn’t like this taking away of the last vestiges of my privacy, and I now found it difficult to get an erection – I really had to stroke and tease my dick to make it happen.  Then the snout of the camera was pushed right in again, and he was clicking away. “Nice ‘skinning you’ve had – must be recent, judging from the colour just behind the head…”, I heard him say.  Then “Now, just rest your finger tips on the head…..”

And so it went on – he must have taken hundreds of shots of my dick and balls, with it standing up by itself, with my fingers around it, with my other hand cupping my balls, and, as I guess you sophisticated guys will have guessed, with the first drops of pre-cum beading my piss slit, then a whole series of rapid shots as my cum spurted into the air, then with me kneeling there, looking down at the trail of cum from the after shock as it slimed out of my dick.

I know I’d got used to playing with the other guys and having them jerk me off and so on, but somehow this was all much worse – I was just “performing” for this guy:  there was no pleasure in it for me, as I just had to obey his instructions and handle my body in the way that he thought was most sexy.  And I really don’t even want to think about how I blushed and blushed when we went on to do my ass shots, and the way he guided the camera almost close enough to touch my sphincter as I knelt there, pulling my ass cheeks apart!

Still, you can survive anything, can’t you?  I felt kind of violated at the time, but he was only doing his job, after all, and I guess that exposing yourself to the camera doesn’t actually do any harm, does it?  And that night I was scheduled to have another session with Jomo as part of my training, and the way we had sex quickly wiped away the humiliation I had felt.

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Pete Brown – the interview with the author



Pleasure Slave (all chapters)



Overview Pete Brown stories



Kinky Art by Theo Blaze