A story written by Pete Brown (Part 6 of 30). (Here you can find all the parts of this story.)
Look, when I was asked a direct question about what I’d been doing that day there was no way I could not tell dad about Reb, was there? I’d hoped I could perhaps wait until the martini had taken its effect, but now I had a no choice.
“Preparing for college, dad.” I hoped this might be the end of it, at least until later. But no!
“Good! It cost me a packet to get you the opportunity to pledge for my old frat, and I want you to make a real impression. You won’t believe the size of the corporate donation I got our law firm to make to the college, and how much it cost me personally to send twenty kegs of beer to the frat itself! So what were you doing – I’m usually too busy to go into detail, but I’m early today and my conference calls don’t start until nine pm.”
“I was getting ready for the frat, dad”, I said, hoping this would put him in a good mood,
OK, now or never. I could see dissembling wasn’t going to work. I took a deep breath to give myself confidence. “I bought a slave, so that I’d be the same as the other guys.”
I thought at first that I’d got away with it as dad was very quiet for a few seconds. Then he roared “Did I hear you say you’d bought a slave?” I nodded. “Do you remember all the times in this very room where I have explained that the need to monitor and control slaves is a distraction? That buying a slave is a depreciating asset, as he has a finite life? And that there were always better ways to invest money?”
I gave a little shrug. “So did you not hear me, Steve, or did you think it did not apply to you?”
There’s no answer to that, is there? Dad was using his lawyer’s tricks. “Yes, dad, but…”
“Which, Steve! Answer me! No ‘but…’. Did you not hear me, so all the advice I’ve given you has been wasted – that’s not the action of an attentive son, is it? Or did you ignore it – you wilfully disobeyed me?”
“It wasn’t like that, dad…”
“Answer my questions, Steve! How dare you ignore me, when I am asking you perfectly simple questions.” Dad had done this before, hectoring and badgering me to make me admit to all sorts of stuff.
“For fuck’s sake, dad, don’t try the lawyer stuff on me! I’m your son, or perhaps you don’t care about that? Was all that stuff at the station just talk, dad? Why won’t you ever listen to me? Why don’t you try to understand what I need…. You go on about being ready for college and making you proud of me when I’m there, and when I try to do something to further that, all you can do is rant and shout and….”
“Shut the fuck up! I will not have you using vulgar language in this house, Steve.”
I was so angry now that I blurted out “So it’s OK for you, but not for me? You still think I’m some kid, don’t you, dad? And I’m a man now, and I’ll do what I like with my own money. Now just listen will you…. Aren’t you always telling me that a good lawyer uncovers all the facts before acting?”
That got him, and he glared at me. “Look, dad, all the guys in the frat will have slaves. I know you said I can hire one from a livery, but it’s not the same, is it? I won’t be used to using a slave, and all the other guys will see I don’t usually have one, and they’ll think we’re poor. I know you won’t buy slaves, dad, but I’ve got that legacy from my aunt, and Reb wasn’t very expensive as….”
“You mean he didn’t cost a lot of money! He may still be expensive, as cheap slaves have faults and flaws, and we’ll be facing medical bills to fix them, or have to take a write off if we dispose of him as it’s too costly to fix. Be precise, Steve, and distinguish which concept you are referring to.” Dad paused for breath and went on “And it can be almost impossible to sell flawed slaves, you know – ones with limbs missing, or with ugly scarring, or constantly running noses…. Did some dealer trick you into this? Technically you’re still a minor and I can insist he backs out the transaction – who was this unscrupulous dealer, tricking an innocent guy like you?”
“Just fucking listen, will you, dad! And didn’t you tell me never to ‘stack’ questions, to get the answer to one before moving to the next?” That got dad again and he shut up so I could say “Reb isn’t flawed. He’s in perfect health – in fact, he’s really fit, and that’s one of the reasons I bought him, so he can work out with me and help me keep in great shape so I can compete in sports for the frat. And he’s a pretty handsome guy, too, in a rugged sort of way – no scarring or anything. And he did not cost a lot of money – I bargained Scabbard And Drass – they were the dealers, and they have a great reputation in the town – down to a rock-bottom price, in fact I think you’d be pretty pleased with the way I worked the deal to my advantage.”
“When a thing seems too good to be true, it generally is too good to be true, Steve! What’s the problem with him?”
“He’s only recently enslaved, and so untrained. And he’s a bit headstrong. But I’ve read a lot of books about slave training, and I’ve started, and I know I will soon tame him.”
“So you’ve got some sort of ruffian locked up outside that you hope you can train to be a dutiful slave?”
“No, dad! He’s not like that. And he’s not outside, he’s upstairs in my room.”
“I won’t have it, Steve. He is to go back. I’ll call Scabbard & Drass now.”
“You will not!”
“You’re defying me, are you? Do you remember the last time you did that?”
“Dad, I think we need to cool down. Can I remind you of a few conversations we’ve had over the years?” Dad stopped pacing around and looked at me. “When I was a little kid, a very little kid, I believed in the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, Jesus Christ…. And you let me, dad. You lied to me, you connived in it, putting a coin under my pillow, pretending that my Christmas presents came down the chimney, letting me go off and sing all those silly hymns… When I grew up and found out there was no tooth fairy, no Santa Claus, no Jesus you just laughed and said it was something all kids went through, and you were glad I’d seen the truth for myself. Then you said that the next phase of growing up was for me to see that you did really guide me and help me, that I could believe what you said, and that was great. And then when I first really argued with you – and I was right about whatever it was we were arguing about – you wouldn’t admit it but blustered around and said you knew best. And do you remember, dad, you spanked me? On the bare ass, right in this room? Do you know how fucking humiliating that was? And then you said another phase was starting, when you’d listen to my opinions, treat me seriously…. Well I reckon that phase has just stopped, now – I’ve listened to your opinions, but I’ve made up my own mind. If you see that as ‘defying’ you, rather than taking it seriously as the next step in our relationship, then so be it. But I can tell you now that there’ll be a lot of other occasions when I’ll have made up my own mind….”
I paused after this outburst, and went on “I’d hoped that we could become friends, dad. That you and I could respect each other’s opinions but see that we could have different points of view and both still be right in our own terms.”
I stopped again, and went on “So let’s look at this slave stuff coolly and rationally, shall we? Look at the facts – that’s what you’re always telling me a good lawyer does.” I started to tick stuff on my fingers: “One, it hasn’t cost you anything – it’s my legacy money. Two, it will make me look good in the frat, which is what you want. Three, Reb is in perfect health and great shape so no veterinarian’s bills or anything like that on the horizon. Four, I really drove the price down so I reckon that when I come to sell – and sell him as a properly trained slave – I won’t have to sell a depreciating asset, but an appreciated one. Five, he’s not deformed or anything, he’s easy on the eye, so he’ll always fetch at least a reasonable price. Six, he’s got to be trained, admittedly, but he’s used to taking orders as he was a marine, and I’ve started, and he understands what will happen if he doesn’t shape up.” I paused, and concluded “So you see, dad, it makes perfect sense. It’s a great deal, with real benefits.”
Dad started to smile. “Spoken like a lawyer, Steve! After college I reckon it will be easy for you to advance really rapidly in the firm – especially as I’ll be senior partner and can give you all the advantages. So I suppose I’d better see this paragon you’ve acquired.”
I went over and gave him a big hug, then pressed the button on the house intercom and ordered Reb to come down from my room to the study. Dad and I waited expectantly – I was in great spirits now as I’d won the argument – until the door opened and Reb came in. I thought he looked great, the perfect picture of a guy, his hard body displayed to great advantage in my shorts and tight T. But dad turned on me “He’s old!”, and snapped at Reb “How old are you, boy?”
“Thirty two, sir”, Reb replied respectfully.
“Jesus Christ, Steve! This slave is almost as old as me. He’s closer to my age – much closer – than he is to yours! You lied to me, Steve, you…”
“Hey, hang on there, dad! I did not lie to you!”
“You said he was in great shape. You never said he was old…”
“He is in great shape, dad. I never said he was old, as you never asked.” I paused for a moment and then went on “You’ve always taught me that as a lawyer you tell your clients only to answer the questions they’re asked – and then to do this exactly, and not volunteer additional information. You told me the story about briefing some executive or other and asking him if he had the time, and when he replied ‘yes, 10:15’ you told him he was wrong in that he should only have replied ‘yes’. So why should I volunteer to tell you Reb’s age if you didn’t ask?” I paused again, and then looked at Reb. “Take off that T and drop those shorts so that my father can see that body of yours.”
Reb stood there for a few moments, and I thought he was going to disobey me. But then, slowly and reluctantly, he pulled off his T, and finally stripped totally so he was naked in front of us.
“See, dad? Fantastic, isn’t he? Look at his flat belly, look at those strong thighs, his pecs…”
“You did say he was rebellious, and untrained…”
“Turn around”, I commanded Reb. I pointed out the red stripes across Reb’s butt. “See, dad – I’ve already started to train him: I did those with a punishment cane, when he misbehaved. But I don’t think I’ll have to do it too often as firstly it hurt him, and secondly he understands the consequences of misbehaviour now – I have a gelding and stubbing order approved, which can be implemented at any time.”
I suppose dad knew what all that was, being a lawyer. He looked at Reb’s butt and lovely tapering V shaped back, then told him to turn round so that he was facing us again. I wondered how it felt for Reb to be standing there nude in our den, in front of us both. His toes were ‘kneading’ the thick carpet in nervousness but otherwise he was trying to appear unconcerned. “He’s superficially in good shape, I’ll concede that”, dad told me. “But what about his dick – there seems to be some problem…”
“Only where I ordered him to be ‘skinned. It just looks a bit strange at the moment as there’s scabbing and so on – he’ll look great in a few days.”
There was a knock at the door and Mrs Williams came in. Reb’s hands flew to cover his dick and balls, and I have to say it was rather funny to see a big, tough grown man like him standing there desperately trying to conceal himself, and only partially succeeding as his big hands were still not quite up to the task. He looked like one of those comics you see on the old-time movies, when some guy was caught naked – I mean, it was sort of OK then, when nudity was kind of forbidden to act like this, but Reb is a slave and there’s no reason for a slave to be embarrassed about being naked if that’s what his owner wants, is there?
Still, I suppose he wasn’t yet used to being a slave, and I thought I’d be generous, so I said “You can dress, Reb.” He looked even more worried then as he realised that to reach down and get his shorts he’d have to expose himself to the three of us as we stood there. But seeing that we were all waiting and there was really no other choice, he turned around so his butt was towards us, then very quickly bent down, picked up his shorts and hopped around from foot to foot as he hurriedly put them on – but not so quickly that those of us who were looking carefully – and I think dad and Mrs Williams were – caught a glimpse of his balls between his thighs.
“I came to tell you dinner was ready, Mr Masters”, Mrs Williams told dad.
“Great! I’m looking forward to your excellent cooking”, dad replied jovially, and went out with me to the dining room.
Normally dad sat at the head of the huge table – we could easily seat sixteen for dinner – and I sat on the side of him. As we went in, we saw that there was a place laid on both sides of dad.
“I’ve set an extra place for that Reb”, Mrs Williams told dad. “Steven tried to feed him some vile rubbish today, and it’s not right…”
“I’m not happy with him eating our food. Slave chow is perfectly nourishing – the biggest producer in the market is one of my clients….” Dad replied.
“Dad, you were going on about the expense if a slave was ill or sick, well, the best way to keep him healthy is to feed him the stuff we eat.” I countered.
“Ah, you’re practising your rebuttal skills again, son. I suppose you’re right. But he can eat in the kitchen, not here with us.”
“Mr Masters”, Mrs Williams tone was now that stern one she used when she was displeased. “I have enough work to do catering for you and Steven. I really don’t want to have to start serving meals in two places!”
Dad heard the warning tone and I knew he hated to upset Mrs Williams as she was a ‘treasure’ and our lives would be a misery were she to resign. And her use of Steven again was a further indication that she was serious. So dad gave a kind of small helpless shrug, and said smoothly “I’m sorry, Mrs Williams, it was thoughtless of me. I do apologise”, and that was that.
I sat there opposite Reb and the meal was really very unpleasant for him. First of all he seemed bewildered by the array of cutlery in front of him. Then, when Mrs Williams brought in the first course – wonderful new seasons artichokes, freshly steamed, with melted butter – he didn’t know how to deal with them. He watched until he saw me tear off the leafs one by one, dip them in butter, then scrape the fleshy base off between my teeth: he got the hang of eating them but didn’t notice, until it was too late, that you have to pile up the discarded leafs very carefully or else there’s no room on the plate for them! It’s amazing how the artichoke is so carefully packed that as you unravel it the volume of leftovers is so enormous! Reb looked really embarrassed, and it got worse when he hadn’t realised that you have to scrape all the seeds off before eating the ‘choke’. And I’m sure he had never had a finger bowl before, so had no idea of just teasing his buttery fingers in it before wiping them on his napkin.
Our main course was quail, and Reb actually tried to use his knife to get the flesh off the tiny birds! We only have a single glass of wine with dinner unless dad is entertaining, and dad asked Reb if he had enjoyed the rather good Beaune served that night. “No, sir”, Rebreplied, “I think those small birds had too many of them”. Dad and I smiled at each other as we realised Reb had not understood dad had been politely asking about the wine. And then he seemed totally surprised when Mrs Williams brought cheese to the table – dad went to France with mom shortly after they were married, and ever afterwards they had dinner the French way with the cheese coming before dessert to remind them of that holiday. We only had one cheese a night now, not a proper cheese board unless we were entertaining – but Reb took a big piece as I think he was still hungry after the quail.
He was tucking into it when dad asked him if he was enjoying the brebis. “Yes, sir”, Reb answered respectfully. “It’s got a good flavour – it must be from a different part of Wisconsin…”
Dad gave a little smile. “Oh no, it’s imported from France. There are not a lot of sheep in Wisconsin, and anyway, in this country all the milk for cheese has to be pasteurised. It’s only the French who can still use fresh upasteurised ewe’s milk.” I thought Reb was going to spit his cheese out, as I suppose it had never occurred to him that it could come from anything other than cows.
He did all right on the dessert, though – he looked suspiciously at Mrs Williams’ speciality, TARTE TATIN, but once he had realised it was meant to look like that he had a huge portion, and said that it was almost as good as apple pie!
After dinner dad said he was going to watch the big soccer game from Europe, and I hate this. Although I’m in the High School soccer team, I’m a ‘doer’ not a ‘watcher’ and I want to be part of the action, not a spectator. But when dad wants to watch a match I think I ought to keep him company, even though it bores me. Dad knows this, but never says anything as he doesn’t want to let me try to talk him out of it, but I think he’d rather have a companion who is really as enthusiastic about the game as he is. So when he saw Reb standing there after dinner, not sure of what he was supposed to do next, he invited him to join us.
As you might guess, Reb really liked soccer, and really liked matches on the TV. And almost as soon as the game had started and there was a shot at goal, he leapt to his feet shouting with excitement – and dad liked this, and both of them did it a few minutes later when there was another attempt. They then sat there arguing about the merits of some player or other, until dad said “Steve, get me a beer” as he sometimes did, and I went to the fridge to get him a can. “Bring one for Reb, too”, he then added… “Watching a match is real thirsty work for men.”
I really wanted to tell dad that this was all wrong! It was Reb who ought to be serving us with the beers, and an owner shouldn’t have to do it for his slave. I also didn’t like dad saying it was thirsty work for men, as what did that say about me who didn’t have a beer?
But the two men were still arguing and shouting at cheering and stuff, and I had no chance. I sat there for the whole match hating the way dad and Reb were ‘bonding’, and I felt totally excluded, especially as dad didn’t seem to notice me except to treat me as a servant and told me to get them both another beer, then to go out to the kitchen for some snacks, and then get them another beer.
As soon as the match was over, though, dad went off to his study to start his endless nightly conference calls with clients in the rest of the world, and I told Reb it was time for bed as I needed to be up early to take dad to the station. As we walked out of the den Reb started to tell me what a great guy my dad was, and I didn’t like this at all: firstly, Reb was not supposed to start conversations, only respond to questions. And secondly, he had no right to discuss the actions or personality of a free man. He wanted to keep talking as we started towards the staircase, so I ordered him to go and find the slave’s stairs and use those, and to be quick about it as he’d better be at the top when I got there.
It was disappointing actually: by the time I’d climbed the stairs Reb was waiting for me at the top – he’d evidently run as his breathing was a bit laboured and there was a faint sheen of sweat (although this might have been from the excitement of the soccer, and the beers). I walked towards my bedroom, and then waited by the door to give him time to realise that he was supposed to open it for me. Once inside I went and cleaned my teeth, then came out of the bathroom to get into my pyjamas – yes, I know it sounds silly now, but I’ve always worn pyjamas to bed. When I was a little kid I used to love jumping into bed between dad and mom on a Sunday morning: she always had a night-dress on, but one of my earliest memories is of moving my feet down the bed and touching dad’s dick, as he slept naked. He’d pull my pyjama top up and tickle my tummy, then let me lie against his bare chest, so close. Now I wore very sophisticated things – made out of teased silk that was so soft – baggy shorts down to the knee, with a big wide fly so my dick could easily erect and be got at, and a top in a contrasting colour with mid-length sleeves, also nice and baggy. I could sense Reb watching me as I changed in to them and at first I was a bit embarrassed, until I remembered that he’d seen my butt when I’d taken my boxers off earlier.
Reb was standing around as I got into bed, and went and sat on the couch. He looked at me and said rather hesitantly “Are there any sheets and blankets, sir?”
“You’re sleeping in here”, I told him, pointing out the other half of my giant bed. I’d thought about this not in as much as being at all interested in him sexually as I’m not a fag as you know, but because I thought that at college there might only be one bed, and we’d better get used to it. Reb came over, pulled back the covers kind of cautiously, then started to get in when he saw there was masses of space.
“Get those fucking clothes off”, I ordered. “You’ve got to wear them tomorrow, and I don’t want them all creased from being slept in!”
Reb climbed out and once again I had the excitement of seeing his magnificent body revealed as he stripped, then as quick as a flash he was under the covers. “I want you clean!” I told him. “Make sure you always shower before getting into my bed. Get up and go and do it now.”
“You didn’t…. Sir” Once again that resentful tone.
“You’re a slave and you do what I fucking want!”, I told him. “Now do it.”
I watched as he sauntered across the room, then went into the bathroom and shut the door. I got out of bed and opened the door, and stood there watching him as he got into the shower. “Don’t shut the door in future – I’m your owner and I want to see your body. You have no reason to conceal anything from me – I own you, remember? And be quick about that shower as I want to get to sleep.”
It was almost as If he deliberately took a long time to soap himself then rinse off, and he stood uncertainly then dripping water onto the bathroom floor. I threw him the hand towel I’d been using and told him to make do with that to dry off, and watched his discomfort as gradually the thing got very damp with water. I got into bed, and Reb padded out of the bathroom and climbed into his half.
It wasn’t easy to sleep though as I’m not used to having another guy in my bedroom, let alone that close to me in bed. After about half an hour I decided I needed a drink – I should have ordered Reb to fetch me one of course, and this is exactly the sort of detail I was worried about in the frat, being “given away” because of little things like this, when it simply hadn’t occurred to me to give the order. As I turned on the tap to fill a glass, I twisted it too hard – fucking Reb had turned it off very tight, and in overcoming this it sort of flew open suddenly. Water shot into the basin and up in a great shower, soaking me utterly. I screamed at Reb to hand me a towel as I could hardly see, which he did, and I wiped my face. As my vision cleared, I saw he’d given me the same towel he’d used a short time before, and I’d seen him drying his body, and his ass and balls with it.
I began to scream at him telling him that I should not have been given something unclean like that for me to use, and Reb, keeping a perfectly straight face (although I could see he was enjoying my discomfort) responded “A lot of men have stupid prejudices about using another guy’s towel – I can’t imagine why, as I’ve showered so my body is clean and it’s only mopping up the shower water ….sir” Exactly the same words I’d used to him earlier. What the fuck could I say now? And my pyjama top was soaked, so I stripped it off and threw it onto the bathroom floor, and with as much dignity as I could muster went and got into bed in only my pyjama shorts.
I didn’t sleep well that night. I’d thought it would be easy to sleep with Reb on the relatively remote other side of the bed, but I’d be half awake and then move my legs, and would find my foot rubbing against Reb’s hairy leg as he’d moved right away from the edge of the bed where he’d first slept – it was somehow reminiscent of jumping in bed with dad that I’ve already told you about. And I’m used to jerking off if I wake up in the middle of the night, and now I thought I couldn’t do this – even very, very discretely – as I couldn’t be sure Reb wasn’t awake, lying there silently, and listening for any signs of me doing something like that. Any of you who have shared a room with another guy will know exactly what it’s like. Of course I knew rationally that it didn’t matter if Reb heard me jerking off as he was only a slave, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to do it physically.
Normally I wake up early by myself, with no problem, but the next morning it was the alarm that woke me. I looked at the time, shouted “Shit!” as I thought I’d be late to take dad to the station, and leapt out of bed. It was only as I was tearing off my pyjama shorts and pulling on my boxers that I realised I had a morning erection, and that Reb might be looking. I turned away half in panic, then saw that he was sprawled out there on his belly, his head cradled in his arms, sound asleep. So I pulled on my T and some sandals, and raced down the stairs just in time, as dad was ready to leave. It was stupid, though – the same as jerking off: what did it matter if my slave saw me erect? All guys get them, after all, it’s perfectly natural; and I had nothing to be ashamed of as regards the size of my dick, whether erect or not.
On the way to the station dad saw my crumpled clothes and uncombed hair, and asked casually “That slave kept you awake, did he? You’re usually pretty immaculate in the morning…. Be careful, Steve – young guys can wear themselves out with too much sex, you know.”
“Dad, don’t be ridiculous! Do you think I’m some sort of fag? There’s no sex with the slave.”
“I thought you bought him for the frat, to avoid the initiation and hazing – you must have been thinking about sex.”
“No, dad, honest. I only want to be like the other guys. Sure I’d expect Reb to take a bit of hazing….”
“Well, Steve, be sure to remind everyone when you get there that Reb was a marine – it’s normally expected that the hazed guys will take part willingly, and they may need to take special precautions with him, given his background, age, and strength.”
I wondered how hard all this could be, but we’d arrived at the station – and coincidentally so had the poor pony I’d seen the day before who was now being driven at a breakneck speed by his owner who was flailing at him with what looked more like a proper whip than the small carriage whips you use to keep a pony motivated and working hard. I said something about it and dad shrugged. “That’s the way of the world, Steve. Don’t feel sorry for the slave – he must have broken the law or he wouldn’t be there. Think about the owner who has such a disobedient animal that he has to flog him like that, and dramatically reduce the slave’s useful working life.”
Dad got out then and told me he didn’t need me on the platform, but handed me a big fat envelope from his document case. “Take this to the Post Office will you, please, Steve. And send it special delivery as we need to make sure it gets there.”
“Dad, I’ve got a busy day – get your PA to do it!”
“I don’t want the whole office to know about this, Steve, so just do it for me, OK? And make sure you do it today, as it’s urgent.”
I nodded, tossed the envelope onto the seat, watched dad go into the station, and drove home.
Once back at the house I bounded up the stairs, and there was Reb still asleep! I pulled back the covers, and stood there for a moment admiring his body as it was spread out before me – he was still asleep on his belly, but his legs was splayed casually and I could see his balls and dick against the white of the sheet – the scar looked as if it was doing OK as I bent closer to take a look, so close in fact that his male scent came to me and I found it sort of exciting. I was about to shake him awake when it occurred to me that he ought to learn not to be so fucking lazy and to be asleep when I was not, and that anyway he deserved a little punishment for the insolent way he’d been referring to me lately. So I found the cane I’d bought, went and stood beside the bed, and brought it down hard, fair and square across the middle of his butt.
Reb shouted and leapt up, and stood there in front of me rubbing his butt with his hands. It was only then as he woke fully that he realised he was standing there with a morning piss hard-on. He looked kind of ashamed of it, which was stupid. I reached forward to take hold of his dick, and Reb stepped back.
“I want to examine your scar! Stand still!”
Reb stopped rubbing at his butt and fiddled with his dick a little. “It’s OK, sir. No problems with the scar, it’s healing well…. I don’t like guys touching my dick.”
“Listen, Reb, I fucking don’t care what you like and dislike! You’re my property and I need to make sure you’re in good condition.” As I said this I reached out again and grabbed hold of him – his dick felt wonderfully warm in my hand, and I had that fantastic ‘steel wrapped in velvet’ feeling as I played with the shaft. The scar seemed to be doing OK, and I thought that it would soon be possible for me to order Reb to jerk off for me again.
I ordered Reb to follow me into the bathroom and took a shower. Reb was going to spend all day exercising and in the pool so it seemed to be a waste to let him have one, and he simply stood there and watched me. I told him to dry me as I turned the water off, as that’s the kind of thing slaves do, I guess, and it felt odd at first to have Reb drape me in one of the huge bath sheets, and then hesitantly and haltingly to move it around over my body. But it was no big deal for me, except that as Reb’s hand under the towel started to dry my dick and balls I inwardly squirmed as it’s so worrying to even think of the pain if he’d done something wrong. I went to one of the double sinks then and stood there, and told Reb to watch as I ran the water and lathered up my shaving brush. “You’ll do this tomorrow, as a slave helps his owner with stuff like this, so be sure to get it right”, I told him.
Although I like a traditional brush, I always use disposable razors and I stood there with my dick brushing against the edge of the counter as I shaved. In the mirror I could see Reb looking at me, and it was kind of exciting Then he moved and picked up the brush and another disposable razor. “Hold it right there!”, I snapped. “I don’t want to waste razors on you. You get to use mine, when I’ve finished with it.” I then finished shaving, and turned to Reb and reached up and ran my hand over his cheeks and chin – his prickly beard felt sort of exciting under my fingers as I’d never really felt a guy’s face like that before. “One day’s growth, I guess – they shaved you before they brought you in to display you to me?” I could see him look angry at the thought of what had happened to him, and the humiliation he’d experienced.
“I’ll probably want you to have a couple of day’s growth normally, as I think a slave looks more manly with a good five o’clock shadow. But today I’ll think about it, so shave, and get a move on as I want my breakfast.” I stood there then and it was really arousing to see the front of Reb reflected in the big mirror and simultaneously his back in front of me, and watch the interplay of his muscles as he shaved.
I dressed in a jock, some silky athletic shorts and a loose exercise vest, poked around in my closet and threw Reb another pair of the athletic shorts. He asked “Jock?”, and seeing me shake my head, resignedly bent over and pulled the shorts on – I thought he was getting the idea that he was going to be a bit on display, so it was a useful piece of training for him.
And certainly the shorts made him look interesting – they were fine on me, but on Reb’s bigger frame they stretched tight and the fabric emphasised his butt nicely, and when he turned I could clearly make out the outline of his dick lying under them. He stood there tugging at them, aware he was ‘on show’ probably more than he wanted to be, then realised it was doing no good, and simply shrugged. “Vest?”, he asked quietly, and shrugged again when I shook my head.
It was somehow much more exotic to have Reb nearly naked than it was to have him totally so, especially when Reb started to realise, as we went down the stairs, that he would have to appear in front of Mrs Williams like that. I always eat breakfast in the dining space just off the kitchen and Reb followed me in, almost clinging to the wall as if he was ashamed to stand in the open. I called a cheery good morning to Mrs Williams then sat down, and gestured to Reb to show him he could sit too. Mrs Williams then bustled in and put a big glass of fresh orange juice in front of me and one in front of Reb, and a cup for coffee in front of me, and a big mug in front of Reb. Seeing my puzzled look she said “Reb needs coffee, Steve, as I suspect you’re going to keep him busy today. You’re a growing boy and it’s not so good for you, so a cup is enough!”
“He is indeed going to be busy, but I’m not a ‘growing boy’, Mrs Williams…”
“Steve, you’ll always be a boy to me. Haven’t I fed you since you were a child? And you’re certainly not a real man like Reb, at least not yet: you’re definitely still growing.”
I was going to remonstrate to her about her reference to me as ‘not a real man’, but she bustled out and came back with a big chafing disk brimming with sausages, ham, hot cakes, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, and said cheerily “You boys get stuck in, and I’ll cook your eggs. Now, how do you want them, Steve, Reb?”
“Mrs Williams you’ve been feeding me since I was a child, as you said a moment ago. And you know I never eat this stuff for breakfast – I always have that imported Scots porridge, and a piece of wholemeal toast with your marmalade – all this grease and fat is bad for you. Take it away”
“Nonsense, Steve! Reb needs building up – I think they must have starved him in that dreadful slave place. And you should try something new.”
“Yes, sir”, Reb added cheerily, looking eagerly at the pile of stuff and perhaps seeing it about to disappear. “It’s really good to try new things. It keeps you active….”
“Now, the eggs?”, Mrs Williams interrupted, in that tone of hers that says she’s tired of listening to nonsense.
“Scrambled, please, ma’am” Reb at once called out, and Mrs Williams beamed at him happily.
“See, Steven, there’s one sensible person here, at least. Now, how do you want your eggs? A man like Reb needs three, how about you?”
“I don’t want any!” I snapped, recognising that perhaps I was sounding petulant, and that maybe I was being too harsh on her no doubt well-meant actions. So I softened my tone and added “But I’ll forgo the porridge, and if could please have my wholemeal toast, I’ll take some of the tomatoes on it.”
She smiled at me as she sensed she’d got her own way, and then said to Reb “Tuck in, then, whilst I cook your eggs. But be sure to leave Steve the tomatoes, if that’s the only thing he wants.”
That was all Reb needed! He piled his plate with the stuff – actually he might as well have simply shovelled the entire contents of the chafing dish there as it would have saved him having to constantly refill his plate, and sat there eating away as if his life depended on it. I ate my tomatoes on toast – and actually it was good to have a change, I suppose. I rather enjoyed seeing this big man eating so heartily and cupping his coffee mug in his hand and slurping it down so eagerly: the thought that I actually owned all this body, it was mine to do with as I pleased, that all this power and enthusiasm would soon be channelled to doing my bidding, was somehow intoxicating. It was just a s well I had a jock under my shorts, as my dick was stiffening as I sat there.
Reb politely thanked Mrs Williams for great food, adding “I’ve never had a better breakfast than when my mom last cooked me on, ma’am, not even in the marines”, which seemed to please her, and I then told Reb it was exercise time.
There’s a properly equipped gym next to the pool house, and dad had two of everything installed when it was built as he thought we’d work out together. We never have, of course, as he’s so busy – but it was useful now as I told Reb that we were going to start with running, and we could do so side by side on two adjacent machines. I like running and I thought it would be tough for Reb as a bigger body makes it harder, especially as he’d be weighed down by that enormous breakfast! And, indeed, I was soon outdistancing him, and he clearly didn’t like this and was desperately striving to keep up with me. I was sweating a bit as I piled on the pace, my athletic vest starting to stick to my chest, but sweat was pouring off Reb, so much so that his shorts were almost transparent. I stopped my machine and Reb did too, looking glad that it was all over – he thought! “Get those shorts off before we do the second half”, I ordered. “They’re soaking, and I don’t want your skin to chafe.”
“No, it’s OK, sir”, he countered, his breathing really rather ragged. I don’t want to run naked.
“I told you to strip them off, now fucking do it!”, I commanded. “Remember you’re my slave, and a slave obeys his owner.”
Reb then insolently dropped his shorts and threw them into the corner, and got back on to the running machine. He flicked at his dick to free it from his sweaty balls, then turned the machine on, without waiting for me. It was useless, of course – since I was deciding the length of the run and I am really athletic, there was no way he was ever going to beat me – I made him run fast for another 30 minutes before stopping and pointing out that I’d “gone” much further than he had. He stood there looking angry as I guess he wasn’t used to being beaten at physical stuff like this, and I noticed he was clutching his balls and rubbing them with one hand – I smiled inwardly as I realised that without support as he ran those big balls of his would have been bouncing up and down and he was now probably in some discomfort.
He had his ‘revenge’ on me, I suppose, as we then moved on to the other stuff. At each machine he looked at the settings I was using, made some comment like “OK for an amateur, I suppose. But real men, marines, like a challenge”, and dialled his machine way, way, up.
After a time I got tired of this and snapped back “There aren’t any real men, marines, around here! I’m the only man. There’s a slave, an ex-marine. But that’s different.” I was conscious that once again I’d lost out as I tried to exert my authority over him.
We went out to the pool after about 90 minutes of exercise, and now I did beat Reb again. When I’d demonstrated that I could out do him, we climbed out, I stretched out on one of the sun beds, and told Reb he could do the same – I reminded him that I didn’t like to see a slave with tan lines, so he needed to make sure he spent as much time in the sun as possible, After a few minutes he rolled over on to his front and lay there with his arms drooping down, looking utterly exhausted. I suppose I was a bit concerned as his ass was so very white and the sun was strong that morning, so I poured some sun oil on his back, then started to rub it in, moving down his back and enjoying the feeling of actually owning this body under my hands. Reb tried to stop me massaging his butt, moving his hands to try to cover it and saying politely “Thanks for doing my back, sir, but I can do this….” But I wanted to feel the power in his backside as I stroked the oil into it (it was low protection factor, so he’d still tan, but I didn’t want to have to look at ugly sunburn), so I ignored him. I couldn’t resist running my finger down his ass crack as I had the day before, and when my oily finger slid deep and finally touched his pucker, Reb called out “I don’t think there’ll be any sun getting that far…. Sir”. Once again his insolence spoiled my enjoyment, and so I stopped.
I did envy Reb after he’d turned over and lay there with one hand nonchalantly resting on his belly and the other idly toying with his dick and balls as the sun beat down on us – in my baggy swimming shorts I felt uncomfortable, and really envied him the freedom, especially as my dick was getting hard as I watched Reb’s body, and it was uncomfortable against my inner pouch.
The pool boy (I say boy, but he’s probably twenty) came around the corner and, as I usually did, I sat up to watch him as he has, as I’ve told you, got a good athletic body and he has to work hard and fast, so he’s displayed well. Reb sat up, too, and as he saw the boy jump into the water so he could scrub along the waterline, Reb got off the lounger, loped across the paved area, and got in too. He stood there for a couple of moments talking to the pool boy, then started to scrub the other side of the pool. This was the first time I’d seen something that I ultimately got used to with Reb – he simply can’t help getting involved! There’s no way that he could watch the boy at work without offering to help.
The upshot was of course that the pool boy finished well within his allotted time, and Reb brought him over to the loungers. “Thank you, sir”, the boy said to me. “Letting Reb help me sure was a help – I don’t normally get to stop at all as they schedule me so tightly.”
“It keeps you in good shape, though!”, I said, not wishing to appear impolite. I’ve often watched you and hoped I’d get a body like yours in a couple of years.”
The boy nodded. “I always was a bit of a jock – but since I was enslaved, with this work schedule…” he gestured at his body, “even I would have to say it’s doing me some good. Mind you, it may simply be that I see all my muscle now, if I get to look in a mirror.” He smiled as he said this, pointing at his belly and shaved crotch. “I used to be hairy, like you, sir, but of course they make me shave totally smooth. It’s a real bore, as they insist I do it every day.”
I nodded. He seemed to want to talk, probably because, I suppose, he always worked alone and never had time to stop. “I hope my new owners let me grow my hair again – I’d feel more like a man again.”
Reb was looking interested now and asked. “Have you been sold, then?”
“Yes. It’s near the end of the season anyway, and I’ve been doing this for three years. I was hoping to get sold to a client – they dispose of us at the end of the season – otherwise, where might I have ended up? On some labour coffle, or even down the mines? They won’t keep you more than three years doing this as they say clients like to see different faces….” He paused, and added “Although most clients only look at my body, I think – I’m easy on the eye as you can see, and I could go on for years, but the clients want change.” I felt he was in some way getting at me as he said this, as I was of course one of those clients who had focussed on his body over the years.
“So some lady client has bought you? Hey, that’s good…”, Reb added. “I suppose they appreciate a stud like you…”
“No – I’ve been bought by a client as a birthday present for his boys. They’re twins, sixteen just at the end of the season, so it works out well. He’s worried they’ll get into unhealthy habits – having sex with each other – if they’re not distracted. So he’s giving me to them to use.”
“Oh, fuck me!”, Reb sounded angry now. “A guy being used for sex by a couple of kids….”
“It’s OK, actually. Look, if a lady bought me, I’d certainly lose my balls as she’d be worried about getting pregnant and all that stuff. I’m not looking forward to getting fucked, having a couple of dicks up my ass, but it’s better to still be a real man….”
I don’t know what would have been said next if there hadn’t been an angry shout at that moment as the boy’s handler arrived, and he raced off to be taken to his next assignment.
“See, Reb”, I said quietly “That guy’s got the right idea – he doesn’t mind the thought of a dick up his ass if they let him keep his balls. You’re lucky I’m not a fag, or I might be wondering about how I might use you….”
“You seen mighty interested in me…. Sir…. For someone who’s not a fag…”
“Just the healthy interest an owner has in his property”, I countered. Then I remembered dad’s letter, and said “Anyway, I have to go into town. You’re to stay here and work on your tan, and I don’t want to find you’ve sneaked into the house to waste Mrs Williams’ time begging for food! I’m taking the shorts with me, and I know how many towels there are in the pool house – so I guess you’ll have to stay naked, and that ought to curb your enthusiasm for straying from the pool area!”