A story written by Pete Brown. (Part 19 of 21). Click here to see all the published chapters of the story.


I knew I was completely at Rob’s mercy.  Nothing I could do would make my life any better.  If I disobeyed him in even the slightest regard, he’d cane me.  And I knew that if I resisted his physical chastisement of me, he’d call the SP and have me bullwhipped.  And if I tried to stop him from doing that, then sooner or later I’d be in even worse trouble as there was no way I could escape the apartment with my ankle chained so securely to the floor.

Like so many things, though, the more Rob did to me, it seemed the more he needed to do to me.  So after a time he tired of just fucking me (however inexpertly that was done), and tired of having me suck him.  He started to piss into my mouth instead of just being blown, and as you’ll all surely know, this is really vile if it’s the first piss of the day when it’s been “fermenting” in the bladder overnight!  And one night, when he was particularly drunk, having rammed his dick into me and then lost his erection, he stayed in there and pissed into my gut.  There was hell to pay after that, and Rob rained the cane’s blows down on me as if he was a madman – I mean, when your gut’s full of piss, there’s nothing you can do to stop some of it dribbling out, is there?  When he’d pulled out of me I tried to get to the bathroom, but on the way left a small trail of droplets from my ass over the carpet, which, in spite of my best efforts, I couldn’t entirely clean off.  Every time he saw the faint marks he used it as an excuse to beat me, not that he needed one anyway.

I’d sit there most days in absolute despair after I’d done my chores, just staring our of the windows at the glorious scene below.  Even the slaves pulling the haulage drays that I could see on the street  had a better life than me – their drivers might be “encouraging” them with the lash as I watched, but I guessed that at night they’d at least be locked away together and could chat with each other, or just enjoy their bodies.  I tried to think of how to make Rob behave better, but  nothing was any good:  however perfectly I ironed his clothes, however much I cleaned away every speck of dust in the apartment, he could always find some fault.  And it was all made worse, much worse, as Rob drank more and more.  He now never came in sober, and the alcohol seemed to fuel his temper and anger.  To make matters worse, I know he was supposed to be wealthy, but he was losing large sums at cards at the Friday poker sessions – indeed, it was difficult to avoid the impression that some of my old friends were now just coming along in order to make a nice, regular income as Rob’s standard of play was so bad as the alcohol fired him.  The more he lost, the worse his temper got.

A month or so after that first time he’d “lost” me as a gambling debt and my supposed friend Greg had fucked me in front of the others, I was again kneeling with my head bowed just inside the living room, as Rob opened the apartment door for one of the sessions. There was a voice I didn’t recognise, but I didn’t even think about looking up to see who it was, as that was precisely the kind of thing that Rob would pick on as an example of my “poor attitude to slavery”:  he wouldn’t do anything at the time as he didn’t want to appear sadistic or anything in front of his friends, but I knew that later that night he’d use it to “justify” beating me.

It was only when they were all seated around the table and Rob ordered  me to get up and fetch the drinks that I saw who the stranger was – well, I didn’t know exactly who he was, other than that he was a cousin of one of the guys who was in town for some business, but I recognised him as the cowboy who had inspected me so thoroughly when I was first being sold, before Slaves For Your Pleasure stepped in and outbid him.  I don’t suppose he recognised me, as a guy like that would, I thought, have handled hundreds of slaves since then, but I did thrill when I heard him say to Rob “That’s a fine piece of slave flesh you’ve got there…. A man who owned that is surely lucky – and rich!  I’ve been trying to buy a strong, hardworking slave to help me out of my ranch for some time, but the prices just keep going up and up, especially for good-looking bucks like that one.”

“Yes, he’s good to look at, and he fucks well”, Rob replied.  “But he sure is uppity.  I have to punish him almost constantly – you can see the cane marks all over his butt if you look closely.”

“Perhaps he’s not been properly trained – I think slaves are like horses, you know:  train them properly, then treat them fairly, and you don’t have any trouble.  Like a horse, a slave needs to know that his owner will behave consistently and fairly – if they break the rules, you punish them, but if they work properly, you reward them.  I always keep a few carrots or apples in my pockets when I’m working my horses… How do you reward the slave?”

“I can see you don’t own slaves!”, Rob said, rather nastily.  “You wouldn’t be speaking like that if you did… They’re not like horses, who understand and respect their owners.  Slaves just expect everything to be run for their convenience – they want to be housed, fed, clothed.. but they’re always trying to duck out of working hard in return…  You must be soft, rewarding ‘proper’ behaviour, instead of just punishing them when they don’t obey completely….”

“Well, you obviously don’t need to spend much on clothing this one….”, the stranger said, trying to turn the whole thing into a joke, and moving my loin cloth to one side.  I think he sensed this conversation was going places he didn’t want to go, and was trying to turn it.  Fortunately all the other guys started to laugh, and the mounting tension broke.  Rob split  open a new pack of cards, and the game got underway.

The pattern was much as usual – most of the guys had two or three beers, but Rob drank continuously, and soon started to lose.  The stranger hardly drank at all, sipping sparingly at his can and making one last a very long time, and after a couple of hours, hours in which Rob got more and more frantic in his efforts to win, he soon had a massive pile of chips in front of him.  Inevitably, I suppose, they got to some sort of showdown and the stranger kept raising Rob until Rob ran out of chips.  Then his friends all reminded Rob about what had happened before – he’d had to bet the use of my ass to stay in the game: personally, I think they all just enjoyed watching Greg fuck me, and had seen that the stranger had a good body with nice slim hips, and were looking forward to seeing him pound into me.

The stranger wasn’t interested, though.  He looked at Rob straight in the eye and said “I don’t care what you guys do here in the city, but out where I come from, men don’t fuck men.  So I’m not interested.  So are you folding, because that means I scoop the pool…..”

He reached out with his arm to gather in the huge pile of chips in the middle, but Rob snapped “Not so fast. I’ll bet the slave.  The slave against everything you’ve got there…”

“Hey, Rob, that’s too much – I’ve been trying to buy myself a slave, and I know that prime beef like that is way, way more than this pot here…. I’m a guest, and I don’t want to take advantage…”

“So you’re chicken, are you?  Scared of losing those dollars?”

I saw the guy tense all over as Rob called him chicken, but he kept his temper – he was obviously a very nice guy.  “I’ll forget that”, he said quietly, but menacingly, “…as you’re my host tonight.  But if you had said that down where I come from, you’d be minus a few teeth by now!  As I said, I don’t want to take advantage of you… I’m an experienced player, and….”

“Fuck you!”, Rob almost screamed.  “Isn’t my money good enough for you, country boy?  I’ll bet the slave against your remaining chips…. Or, if you really want to make it ‘fair’, and bearing in mind that you’re going to lose, if it will make you feel better you can toss into the pot all your clothes, and the use of your ass!”


“You heard me.  Now who’s really scared?  If you lose this hand, you’ll have to strip naked as a jay bird, then me or one of the other guys, or all of them, perhaps, will use your ass….”

“You’re insane!  I don’t mind stripping, but fucking… No!”

The whole room was tense now – you could hear a pin drop in-between the spats of conversation from Rob and the stranger.  But I saw some of the guys looking at the stranger with renewed interest – perhaps it wouldn’t just be Greg who was going to do a public fucking!

“OK, then – you’ll strip naked, then kneel on the table here, and jerk off for us.  Or are you one of those guys with a tiny dick, who finds it hard to cum anyway….?”

I really thought the stranger was going to hit Rob then.  His whole body was tense, and he half rose to his feet.  “You don’t deserve the courtesy of having another man not take advantage of you!”, he barked. “So I’ll accept – all my chips, stripping, and jerking off for you, against the slave.  And should I lose, I don’t think you’ll find anything lacking in my equipment!”

All the time I’d played in these games when I was a free man, and all the times I’d watched them since becoming Rob’s slave, I’d never felt so tense as when the two men then laid their cards down of the table. This really mattered to me – this was my only chance of getting away from this hell-hole, from Rob.  It didn’t matter what the stranger did, nothing could be as bad as being a prisoner in this luxury apartment. And it couldn’t be all that bad – after all, he’d said he didn’t fuck guys:  maybe I’d be going to a proper job, where I could just work!

Considering how important it was to me I don’t actually know what Rob and the stranger had in their hands!  Judging from the shouts of triumph when Rob put down his hand, though, it must have been pretty spectacular.  All the guys were on their feet, jostling for a good view, and as a slave I had to stand back and just wait for this thing that was going to affect the whole of the rest of my life.  Then there were gasps of astonishment, followed by a lot of whistles, then applause, as the stranger put down his.  Rob just turned, and walked into his bedroom.

The stranger came over to me  – I was stunned, I guess, but I just stood there, head bowed.  “Come on, Steve – I guess I own you now.   Go and get some clothes on, and let’s get out of here…”

So that was it!  Lost on a hand of cards.  At one level, I felt pretty demeaned, but at another I was delighted to be getting out of this apartment, and away from Rob.   And being owned by a guy who didn’t fuck butt – well, that must be like slave heaven!  But there was a problem:  “Please, master…. I can’t leave… You’ll  have to ask Master Rob for the key to this shackle….”

“Yes… The bastard kept you chained up like this all the time, I guess… I don’t even do that to my horses!”   He turned and strode into the bedroom, without knocking, and I heard raised voices.  Rob came out, followed by my new owner, who looked pretty cross, and Rob fumbled in a chest in the hall, then threw a key onto the floor.

The stranger lithely stooped and picked up the key in a fluid motion, then came over to me.  “Put your foot up on the chair, Steve, and I’ll soon have you out of this…”, he said with a caring tone.

I was amazed – I mean, you’d have expected that he’d just have given me the key and told me to do it myself, wouldn’t you?  But he gently undid my ankle shackle, then ran his strong, tanned fingers over my skin, feeling and testing.  “You’re OK – no abrasions or scarring.  These metal shackles are really inhuman….  Still, pick up some clothes, and let’s get out of here…”

“Master… I don’t have any, other than this loin cloth.  Master Rob kept me naked, all the time.”

“Hey, lend me some old slacks and an old shirt for the slave”, my new owner called to Rob.  “I’ll post them back to you as soon as I can buy him some new stuff…”

“No way!  I don’t want a slave inside my clothes. Take him naked – it’s late, and if you’re quick no one will notice you breaking the city ordinance about naked slaves here in the city centre!”

“It’s minus ten out there, and I’m parked three blocks away… He’ll freeze his bollocks off…”

“Well that’s your problem…. Now the party’s over…. Time to go….”  Rob was in that kind of truculently assertive mood that drunks can have, and no one seemed to want to argue with him, so we all went to the door.  Other than when I came in first, I’d never actually been right down by the hall door, and it seemed so strange to be looking  back at that room where I’d been imprisoned for so long.  And now I was out of Rob’s influence, some of my old friends seemed to be responding properly to me again, as in the elevator that were saying things like “Hey, Steve, I never really liked Rob treating you like that, but you were his slave, so I couldn’t really say anything….”  and  “Steve, congratulations – only a few more years now, buddy, and you’ll be back with us properly…”   I didn’t think all that much of these expressions, as if they’d really been my friends I think they ought to have worked on Rob a bit;   still, it did make me feel better when they offered to stay with me in the lobby whilst my new owner went to fetch his car – they kind of clustered around me, so that the other residents coming and going didn’t get to complain to the concierge, who would probably have made me go and wait outside in the bitter cold had they done so.

We were all looking for a car, and my new owner had to honk the horn several times to attract our attention – we’d kind of assumed that the really beat-up old truck outside belonged to the Hispanic gardeners, or something:  yes, it was that old and decrepit!  When I saw my owner waving at me, though, I sprinted across the forecourt, dick and balls waving, and threw myself into the passenger seat, wincing as the icy cold plastic of the seat was pressed into my butt and back.  My owner tossed me an old blanket, and said “Sorry, Steve – this is the best  I can do.  Wrap yourself in this that I keep in the back to wrap cargo, until we can find an all-night store…”

“Thank you, master…”

“Hey, Steve – I’m not really into his master and slave stuff.  I’m going to call you Steve, and you can just call me sir, or boss….”

“Thanks, boss!”

“Right – I was going to stay tonight at my cousin’s place, but now I’ve got you, I’ve decided to run for home.  We ought to make good time at night…. But it’s about six hundred miles.”

It felt really odd to be wearing clothes again – my new owner, who it turned out was called Hank – bought me cheap work jeans, a jacket, and a work shirt.  With some socks, a pair of cheap trainers, and a baseball cap, he didn’t spend more than fifty:  I had to wait in the truck, and when n he came out he said “These ought to be OK – you’re just a bit bigger than me, and they’re a loose fit on me, as I tried them.  Now, get dressed, as you’ll need to drive in a couple of hours as I’ll be falling asleep at the wheel….”

“Boss, I think that’s illegal – slaves aren’t allowed to drive….”

“Well watch out for the Highway patrol, then, and make sure your driving’s perfect!”

“But boss, if they stop us, and find me driving, they’ll cite you and you may get a period of temporary Servitude – and believe me, slavery’s not fun….”

“Let me worry about that, Steve!  If the worst comes to the worst, I can always offer to bribe them – they always say that the guys in the Highway Patrol are after a fuck, and I have got you to give to them, remember?”  He was grinning as he said this, so I don’t think he meant it, but before I could say anything, he went on “But just be careful, OK?  And keep your shirt on – literally!  If we just look like a couple of ordinary guys, two co-workers, or buddies, even, they’d never think you were a slave unless they could see those tattoos of yours….  But just to be safe, so we don’t look all that different – take those jeans off….”

I looked at him, but he was my owner, after all, so I didn’t argue and dropped my jeans, standing there in the cold with my ass and balls really feeling the chill.  To my utter astonishment he did the same thing, and handed me his jeans, as he went to pull on the ones I’d just been wearing.  They were all warm from his body as I pulled them on, and yes, they were quite tight on me and you could see my dick and balls outlined as I stood there.  It just shows how my life had changed – at one time there’s no way that I’d have worn someone else’s clothes, especially without having them washed first, and certainly not when they were still warm from his body!  And even if I had thought about it, it would only have been a sweater, and not jeans, and not jeans worn commando!  It was interesting, though, that he hadn’t bought me any underwear – I’d wondered why, but now knew:  he didn’t wear it himself, and had been as naked as I was during the change over.  He’d got a nice dick, I now realised, and, like me, good low-hangers.

“Good”, he said, adjusting the belt on his jeans, “Now it doesn’t look as if you’re all in new stuff, and I’m all in worn stuff – I guess those Highway Patrol guys would have a problem in thinking one of us was a slave now:  they might have thought it was me before, after all, in those scruffy work clothes!  Now, let’s be on our way again….”

It was a really long drive, and we changed over several times to share it.  Hank liked to listen to country music on the radio, and we made stops for coffee and food from time to time – although the places all had separate facilities for slaves, as you’d expect, Hank just took me in to the main dining room.   Mind you, he didn’t let me look at the menu or order – when the waiter came, he just ordered for two of us, so I had to eat what he liked.  It was fantastic to have real food again, though, after all the slave chow!  “Don’t get used to this, Steve”, he cautioned, “I’m flush after that win at poker, but money’s tight and I quite often eat slave chow myself as it doesn’t cost much.  And it’s easy – when I’m dog tired after a day on the ranch, it’s easy just to munch a handful of chow and know I’m getting all the nourishment I need.  Still, with you around, there’ll be more time, I suppose – but then there’ll be a lot less spare cash, as I’ll have two mouths to feed.”

Although we sat there looking rather like two buddies, dressed similarly, both looking as if we did good, healthy jobs, we did occasionally hear comments from some of the other customers wondering if a slave had been allowed in – I guess there must be something about a slave, some way that you can pick up on the fact that a guy’s lost his freedom, his will to act – or perhaps it was my very short, cropped hair:   this style was distinctly out of fashion for young free guys, it seemed.  Still, Hank just ignored it all, and kind of muttered at me “It’s all fucking stupid, this separation of slaves and their owners.  Sure, if I was the boss of a heavy construction crew I wouldn’t want those brutes feeding with me, but then, if I’d stopped here I wouldn’t have them in the buildings at all – they’d be kept chained to the truck, and I’d just break out a bag of slave chow for them.  But when a guy has a well behaved, easy on the eye slave like you, where’s the harm in having him in here?   I mean, what’s wrong with you eating alongside me – you’re going to be doing that all the time at my place, after all, as there’s no facilities for a separate slave quarters – it’s too small for that!”

That got us talking about Hank’s place, and we carried on as we went back to the truck and resumed the journey.  He’d been brought up in a small town in Wyoming, he told me, and was lucky not to have “gone bad” and ended up as a slave for some offence or other.  His father had walked out when he was only three, so he didn’t really remember him, and his mother had had a hard time bringing Hank up as there was very little money – she’d had huge problems finding work, as most of the unskilled stuff she could do was now done by slaves.  He’d been only average at school, and wasn’t going to get a scholarship of any kind, either academic or for football or anything like that, to go on to college.  By the time he was fifteen he was regularly ducking out to go and spend time helping out at a ranch on the outskirts – although it was mostly staffed by slaves, the overseer there, a childless man, had sort of befriended Hank and let him do odd jobs around the place.

“It really opened my eyes, I can tell you, Steve”.  He was talking on in a kind of stream of consciousness way as we drove through the night. “A lot of the kids at school were experimenting with drink and drugs then, but I’d seen what happened to them if they were not careful –  a couple of minor offences, then under the ‘three strikes and you’re a slave’ laws, that was it!   And seeing how the slaves were treated on the ranch, even though the overseer was a really nice guy, there was no way I wanted to go there!  I loved the life on the ranch, though – for a free man, it’s great:   the wide open spaces, the variety of things going on, and, of course, the horses.  I vowed to myself then that I’d become a rancher, and raise horses.  But for a kid without money, it looked like an impossible dream. I wasn’t even sure that I wouldn’t rather be a slave on a ranch, rather than spending my life in some dreary office – but of course you can’t guarantee that, and I could have ended up as a slave in the mines, or factories, or somewhere.”

“I was feeling it was all pretty hopeless, and I saw what a good time most of the other kids at school were having, partying, fucking…. You know how it is, when you get to fifteen…. And I was really tempted sometimes not to go to work on the ranch at weekends, but to go partying.”

“When I left early one Saturday and was feeling too ill from the drink to go on Sunday, the overseer harnessed a couple of slaves and drove to our apartment – it caused quite a stir, I can tell you: we were definitely ‘on the wrong side of the tracks’ and people who could afford carriages pulled by slaves were not normal in our street:  when he came and banged on our door, demanding to see me, quite a little crowd gathered and stood there looking at the slaves as the sweat dripped off their bodies.  There were even some guys who felt sorry for them – some of our neighbours had been enslaved for a few years and were now free again, and were starting to mutter about the way that the overseer had clearly been working them too hard on the journey, as you could see the marks of the carriage whip still all over their naked asses.  Still, they didn’t want to cause too much trouble, as if the overseer had called the cops, they’d have been enslaved again as a released slave isn’t allowed to criticise the system…. Or perhaps you didn’t know that, Steve…. You’d better watch out, when you get free again!”

“Anyway, my mom answered the door and he just strode past her, came into my bedroom, and hauled me out of bed.  I’d managed to get my clothes off when I got back from the party, and I remember feeling really embarrassed as the overseer stood there, gripping my arm – I’d got a hard-on:  you know how it is, when you wake up!  He stood there and told me to pull on my jeans and a T, then hauled me out and into the carriage, telling me that I’d agreed to work that day, and that I was fucking well going to do so!  I’d never actually been in a carriage before, and even with my splitting headache it was pretty exciting – I think it is for everyone, the first time:  seeing the male frame working hard, doing what it’s supposed to be doing, is pretty exhilarating.  And you get a lot of sweat, or the smell of sweat, coming back to you as you race along.  The Overseer was a really experienced driver, and he used just the right amount of whip on their backs, butts and thighs, which were naked so that he could do it, to keep them working at maximum pace as the road out to the ranch wound up and down small hills.  It really excited me, and he even let me have a go, holding the reins to steer them.”

“Well, after that, I really didn’t dare not go every weekend, as I knew he’d come for me.  But it wasn’t that difficult, as I liked the work – helping out with the horses, even exercising some of them by riding out with them, all that kind of stuff.  The overseer was pretty kind to me, and taught me a lot about horses – and slaves, I suppose:  there’s not a whole lot different about their management and training, you know, except that you mustn’t whip the horses so much as they don’t forgive you and can get vicious, whereas most slaves need a good whipping every now and then to keep them in check.”

I shuddered as he said this, and he saw me do it, and laughed.  “But don’t worry, Steve – these were the kind of brute labourers every place needs, shovelling the manure, hauling the feed in, all that kind of stuff:  it was a big spread, and there was a lot to do.  You only get the best out of slaves like that with a fairly heavy hand on the whip.  My place isn’t like that – much, much smaller, and I specialise in breaking and training horses, so there’s not all the grooming and stuff…. So don’t worry – I expect the work load will be well within the capabilities of a big guy like you, so I won’t have to use the whip to discipline and encourage you.  Well, providing you behave, that is…!  And, anyway, I prefer the cane: it’s so much more intimate!”  He smiled as he said this, so I knew he was joking.  I liked this guy, and I didn’t doubt that we could work well together, anyway.

As he’d gone silent, listening to a song on the radio, I ventured “So, boss, how did you get started…?”

“Oh, well, as I said, the overseer there kind of liked me and found me the interesting jobs to do, and for the next year I went absolutely every weekend, and for all the school breaks, too.  Mom didn’t mind as she was always out working to pay the rent and stuff, and was glad I was keeping out of mischief – and the overseer would give me a few bucks every week, that paid for my clothes and lunches and stuff.  Then, the weekend after my sixteenth birthday, he told me I wasn’t going home that Saturday night, and called my mom and explained we were going to have a special celebration.”

“I’d never been inside his cottage on the ranch, but after I’d finished work that day he took me over there, and told me to get myself cleaned up (I’d been sweating a lot as I worked, and my shirt was wet with it).  I told him I didn’t have any clothes to change in to, and he just laughed – he just pushed me into the bathroom, and told me to shower.  I didn’t like it, it seemed odd, but even though I was maturing well and was fit and strong for a guy my age, he was much more powerful, and I really had no choice.  I locked the door, stripped, and started to shower, but just as I was finishing I saw the handle turn, and he just walked in.  He told me he’d gimmicked the lock, and stood there as I dried myself.  Look, I was no stranger to showering and drying in front of other guys, as even though I wasn’t a real jock at school, I still enjoyed the gym and games.  But you’re with your peers then, aren’t you – other guys the same age?  And here was this big tough guy in his forties standing there, watching me.  I went to wrap the towel around my waist when I’d done, but he just pulled it off me. ‘Boy, what are you worried about?  You know I see lots of naked guys all the time – look at most of the slaves around here!’, he told me sternly.”

“He said he had a special sixteenth birthday present for me, and he had – his dick!  He led me into his bedroom, pushed me onto the bed, then as I watched, really scared and worried about what was going to happen, he stripped off, then came and lay beside me. It was kind of comforting at first – without a dad, I hadn’t had a mature guy that close to me ever, and I guess he was about the same age my dad would have been, in his early forties.  But when he started to kiss me, it was really repulsive at first – I mean, I’d kissed girls and so on, but then I always took the lead, and now it was his thick, hot tongue forcing itself down my throat!   And when he reached down and took hold of my dick, I thought I was going to freak out and started shouting.”

“The next moment he had me over his lap.  I remember feeling my dick touching his, and the utter humiliation as he held me down by the scruff of the neck with one hand, whilst he spanked my ass with the other – boy, did it hurt.  But I think it was my pride that hurt most.  When he’d given me six hard ones, he let me up and sat me there on his lap, one arm holding me close to him, and the other stroking my body. ‘Now, Hank, that’s what you get if you’re disobedient’, he told me.  And when he started kissing me again, it felt somehow OK – the warmth of his hairy body against me, the comforting feeling of his arm wrapped around my body, and the sensation of his dick against my thighs as it kept jutting into me as he was so erect.”

“Once I’d calmed down, though, he pushed me back onto the bed, turned me onto my belly, spread my legs, and fucked me.   You probably know better than I, Steve, that the first time isn’t all that much fun, especially as I was a young guy still with a relatively small hole, and he had a massive, real man’s dick.  But over the next few weeks I got used to it – he made me stay over every Saturday night, and used to like to fuck me before going to sleep, then wrap his body around me all night, so that the moment he woke up on Sunday morning with a hard-on, he could fuck me again.”

“Actually, after the first couple of times I got to like it, as you do.  There I was, a country boy, poor, without a father or any other males around, and there he was – a big, tough, virile guy who really took an interest in me.  I got to love the way he wrapped me in his arms, the way he slid his dick into me, the way he kissed me and stroked my body.  And I could talk to him about stuff I couldn’t talk to my mom about – sex, and all that.  He knew I was missing out on the girls by working all weekend and vacations at the ranch, and one weekend he therefore hired a young slave girl from a brothel in the town and spent Saturday night teaching me how to fuck her – he’d take her, then I had to do as he’d done, and so on.  It was a lot of fun, and I only wish I’d had a real dad who could have done all that stuff with me.  He really cared about me, and wanted me to be properly educated.”

“The next weekend he lined up several of the young bucks from the ranch and then I had to fuck them as he watched:  it was different from the slave girl, but on the whole I preferred it.   Well, you know how it is – it’s great to be all guys together, even if some of them are slaves.  Men have a fundamental understanding of each other, don’t they, even if some of them are free and some are slaves?”

“Well, after that, it was great:  he never allowed me to fuck him, but if there was a slave I fancied whilst I was working, I could order him to the cottage for the night and then fuck him, or the overseer would fuck him, or we both would, before sending him back to the slave quarters so we could kiss and cuddle all night.  I really got to like him, no, to love him – he treated me just like a son.  He was the father I’d never had, and I was the son he’d never had.  We’d have been together to this day except for the accident .”

“I was eighteen by then, and was talking to him about my future.  We thought it would be good for me to go into the marines for a spell, to see a bit of the world, and to meet other guys, and then afterwards we’d buy a spread together… He had some money saved, and he pointed out that marines don’t get badly paid, and provided I stuck with fucking my buddies and didn’t go off to bars and brothels, I ought to be able to save a bit, too.  And, of course, I could spend all my leaves with him… and bring any special buddies back to the ranch if  I wanted to.  I was quite looking forward to it – I’d never spent a lot of time with guys of my own age, never been outside the USA, and so the prospect of travel to foreign parts and spending a lot of time with guys you could get really close to was pretty exciting.”

“But then there was the accident.  At the inquest they said he’d been travelling far too fast – he was late, and so he’d been whipping the slaves too hard, and they’d lost their powers of concentration as the lashes rained down.  The carriage went off the road into a tree, and his skull was broken.  He’d left me his savings, though, in his will – not all that much, but just enough to put a down payment on a small place:  I’ve got a big mortgage, and it’s been really tough for the past few years keeping it going:  there isn’t all that much money in horse breaking.  And without a slave to share the work, it’s especially hard – and lonely.  It will be good to have you there, Steve:  not only do you have the kind of body that looks as if it can work and work, but it will make the nights a lot less lonely, too.  I’m looking forward to seeing if you’ve got any special tricks that you used with those fancy clients of yours before that Rob bought you…”

“Boss, forgive me for mentioning it, but you told Master Rob that you didn’t fuck slaves, you turned down the possibility of fucking me if you won a hand…. I thought you were shy, or something.”

“Who, me?  Shy?  I’ve been fucking in front of other guys – admittedly, mostly slaves – since I was sixteen, as I’ve told you.  No, Steve – I’m a pretty good poker player, right?  And I needed a slave.  I wasn’t going to let that creep Rob off with the possibility of just losing a use of your ass for a few minutes, fun though that might have been.  I saw that if I refused, he wouldn’t back down… And, as I said, I need a slave.”

“But boss, you might have lost… Have had to strip, and jerk off with them all watching…”

“So?  I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of – I work hard, and my body shows it.  I’ve got a good dick, even though  I say it myself.  And what’s wrong with jerking off?  All guys do it, don’t they?”

I would have asked more, but just at that moment we turned off the main highway, and he leaned forward in anticipation of being close to home.

[columns] [span3]


Pete Brown – the interview with the author



Pleasure Slave (all chapters)



Overview Pete Brown stories



Kinky Art by Theo Blaze