A story written by Pete Brown (Part 9 of 30). (Here you can find all the parts of this story.)
I drove home, very conscious of the fact that I must smell of sex – I wasn’t particularly worried though, as Mrs Williams would be in the kitchen preparing dinner and the wonderful smells that emanated from there would certainly mask it. I could shower before I needed to collect dad, and if Reb realised what I’d been doing, so much the better.
Reb was lying by the pool, and I was gratified to see that he was lying there naked and had respected my desire to start to eliminate his tan line. “Come with me – we need to find you more suitable clothes for this evening.”
I walked off as you know it’s part of my strategy to do so without waiting or looking back, as it ‘conditions’ the slave to understand that I have an expectation of his obedience. I was annoyed therefore when I got to the rear entrance to see that Reb was not ‘at heel’ as he’d run into the gym, and was now emerging wearing the shorts I had given him. As I’d said I was going to find him more clothes he need not have done that. He saw me waiting for him and instead of running over he merely strode at his normal fast pace. “I did not say you should waste my time dressing. Drop those shorts, and follow me.”
“But sir, Mrs Williams…”
“You’ll have to take your chances on being seen. Do as I tell you!”
Very reluctantly, Reb let the shorts fall to the ground. Now I decided to make it more difficult for him by deliberately going slowly into the house and across the hall – Reb was covering his dick and balls as best he could with his hands, and having to stoop slightly to do this. I thought he looked faintly ridiculous. I almost decided to command him to use the slave staircase but that would require him to go into the kitchen, and whilst I was prepared for the possibility of Mrs Williams seeing Reb naked accidentally, I knew that if I had made Reb go through past her she would be angry and would complain to dad. I weighed up the benefit of having Reb totally humiliated as a means of continuing to reinforce his new role as a slave, against the extreme displeasure of dad if Mrs Williams complained, and decided that Reb could trot up the staircase with me.
He still hadn’t got the idea that he was supposed to open the bedroom door for me, and stood there clutching at himself and listening intently for any possible sounds of Mrs Williams in the vicinity, and I had to order him to perform properly and to get the door. He seemed to visibly relax once we were inside and the door was shut, and I left him there in the middle of the room in his splendid nakedness whilst I looked through a few of my closets.
Last season the fashion had been for jocks like me to wear big baggy T-shirts quite long, hanging over the outside of our shorts, and I still had some of these lying around. I found one in snowy-white cotton, and tossed it to Reb to put on. It was an excellent fit for my purposes – not tight over his torso and loose enough to hang over his butt, and it hung down to a few inches above his knees. I stood there looking at him critically and reached down and ‘measured’ the hem approximately, with my fingers.
Reb stood there expectantly, and finally asked me for some shorts. “Give it back to me”, I ordered “I need the sleeve to cut off so we can see your brand.”
Reb scowled at me as once more he got naked, but I suppose he thought that I was going to do the same as I had before and basically hack off one sleeve. In fact I did more than that, slashing at the neckline and cutting off both sleeves, so that the thing was held up by a thin ‘strap’ of the original material across his chest: both shoulders were totally bare, and the T now really ‘started’ just above his nips – I’d seen pictures of Greek slaves from olden times wearing stuff like this, and I was pleased with the result. There was further cut to do, though – using my fingers as ‘measure’ I sliced off a lot of stuff from the bottom hem.
I tossed the shirt to Reb, who reluctantly pulled it on. He still stood there expectantly, and then asked again “The shorts, sir?”
“That’s it. That’s all you get. I think you look fine like that.”
Without asking permission, Reb went over and looked in the mirror. “Fucking hell!”, he exploded. “I’m not wearing this! I look like some fag boy with my shoulders all bare like this.” He moved to take another look, and shouted “And it’s obscene – it only just covers my dick… I’m nearly naked! I can’t go around like this!”
When he’d complained at having to wear my tight boxer shorts I had told him he had an alternative – to go naked. But I was not going to give him that option this time as I wanted him to feel the humiliation that this skimpy costume would cause him. “You need to remember, Reb, that you wear clothes that please me. And that ‘tunic’ does – it shows off your thighs perfectly, in a way that shorts don’t.”
“And it shows my dick, and ass, if I move! I won’t wear this…. It’s fucking humiliating.”
“You forget two things, Reb: Firstly, I don’ t care if it does. You’re a fine-looking slave and I’m rather proud I had the good sense to buy you, and I might want to show you off to my friends. And secondly, how can it be humiliating for you to show your dick and ass?
You’re not a man, Reb, you’re a slave. Slave’s should have no stupid thoughts of modesty: they should simply obey their owners.”
I could see him inwardly fuming with anger, and decided to goad him further. “Walk up and down, as I’m not sure I got the length right. I want your dick head concealed when you’re standing still – but only just – and for it to be exposed if you walk – but not totally: we should see glimpses of it.”
Reb just stood there, looking defiant. I couldn’t allow that, could I? I remembered everything Jake had said about not allowing the slightest deviance from my orders and knew I needed to act – in fact I should have done so when Reb had not followed me in from outside, but I had been weak and had not wanted a confrontation. I did need to do something now though, as otherwise my authority would always be at risk of being undermined. “When you were a marine, before you were enslaved, I would imagine that you obeyed your officers’ orders, even if you did not like them? And if you failed to do so your would be found guilty of insubordination, and punished? What were the punishments for disobeying an officer, Reb?”
“It depends, sir. It could be loss of privileges – not allowed off the base for a week, for example. Or forced drilling or route marching with a heavy pack. Or, if it was really bad, time in the cells…”
“I have a simpler system, Reb. If you disobey, you will be caned. I had already decided to give you one stroke for your unenthusiastic response out by the pool, and for failing to remember to open the door for me. So now I will add another, for your current attitude towards the tunic I have decided you will wear.”
“That’s not fair, it’s…”
“Silence!”, I shouted at him. “What’s ‘fair’ got to do with it? You’re a slave, and I’m your owner, and you can’t seem to grasp that fact. You obey – it’s that simple, and there is no concept of ‘fairness’ that applies to slaves. Now, unless you want even more strokes, bend over the edge of the bed.”
Reb just stood there. I knew I was about to lose control. So I said quietly “I think you need to consider your position, Reb. I bought you and saved you from the mines, and the stubbing and gelding Court order. Now, if I can’t rely on your total obedience I may as well sell you… And I wonder who would buy a rebellious slave, unless there was a quick and easy way of calming him – using an existing Court order?” I was going to add something like ‘So it’s up to you, Reb…’ then thought that this was exactly the wrong thing to say, as the idea was to get it into his brain that nothing was his choice any longer. So instead I simply repeated “Bend over the bed.”
Another long pause, but I determined to keep quiet as I could see that Reb was trying to make a decision. Then calmly he walked over to the bed and bent down on to it so his ass was handing off the edge and his feet were firmly planted on the ground. I walked over to him and pulled the T, which was still half-covering his butt, up onto his back. I wanted him to know I was looking at his butt, so I told him that I was pleased with the way his tan was progressing, and that the previous cane strokes were disappearing. “Such a pity you need to have more, Reb – when you’re watching TV with my father tonight he’s almost certain to see them and will know that you are wilful and require punishment.”
Reb’s face was half covered by the sheets as his head was pressed down, and he mumbled quietly “But sir, surely tonight I’ll have some shorts…?”
I laughed. “Of course not. As I’ve said, I’m proud of your body, and I want people to see as much of those thighs of yours as possible.”
“Please, sir, don’t make me do that.”
“I don’t ‘make you’ do anything, Reb! You do things because you’re a slave, and slaves know that all they do is obey orders. Now, before I start to punish you, spread those legs as I might as well see how the scar is coming along.”
Reb slowly spread his feet apart, wriggling a bit to get as comfortable as he could. I reached between his thighs for his dick – it was so exciting to be feeling him so intimately, and I enjoyed seeing his body move to try to relieve the pressure as his dick slightly crushed his ball sac as I pulled the dick backwards and upwards. I ran my thumb quite roughly around the scar and Reb wriggled some more as presumably he was not comfortable with me doing this – good, I thought. His dick was swelling slightly, as I continued to stroke it under the guise of examining the scar thoroughly. “Are you turned on, Reb? I’m surprised that a man like you enjoys another guy touching your dick.”
“NO”, Reb almost shouted. “No, sir, I don’t, sir. But what can I do….?” His tone became more muffled, as if he was ashamed of what he was saying. “If I don’t let you feel my scar, you’ll cane me. If I try to stop you, or try to stop you caning me, you’ll sell me…”
I was so pleased – Reb was starting to see the essential facts of life as a slave. Much as I wanted to, I decided that I would not cane him. It was difficult to desist, and I even picked the cane up and slashed at the air once or twice, enjoying the ‘swish’ sound it made – and revelling in the way Reb’s body tensed and his buttocks clenched as he heard it and thought the stroke would land on him. But I remembered good old Pavlov – you don’t simply punish when there’s disobedience, but you reward when there’s compliance.
I’m not certain that Pavlov would have seen the rescinding of a punishment decided upon as a reward, but slaves are more complex than dogs, I suppose. Reb was aware that he was due to be punished, in a way that a dog wouldn’t, so probably he would associate its avoidance with his current attitude.
I slapped his butt quite hard, but nothing as bad as a cane would, as a sort of reminder to Reb of how vulnerable he was (and anyway I enjoyed the sensation of the tingling in my palm after it had contacted Reb’s hard muscle), then said “I’ve decided not to cane you now, Reb, and if you continue to behave I’ll forget it. But I want proper behaviour tonight – no disobedience, no improper behaviour.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And, in any case, I might want to exhibit you to my father again, and if he sees fresh cane marks he will understand that you’re not making good progress.” I liked the use of the word ‘exhibit’ as all words like that serve to emphasise to Reb that he’s more of an animal than a man.
Just at that moment my cell buzzed and dad’s PA told me he was about to leave, so I needed to shower quickly before setting off for the station – I don’t know if Reb would scent Jake’s body on me, but I was going to take absolutely no chances with dad doing so.
It’s amazing really how after being so totally intimate with Jake I no longer felt even the slightest trace of embarrassment as Reb watched me in the shower. I told him to dry me, then snapped at him because he came towards me with the towel still wearing his ‘tunic’. “Listen Reb, as I’m only going to tell you this once: in future it is not satisfactory for my slave to be wearing more than I am. If I’m showering or something, you strip off too, even if you’re not getting in with me. In fact that general principle applies all the time – I always expect you to have fewer clothes on than me, as a mark of respect: so even when your tan is complete, if I’m in swimming shorts, you will be naked. Do you understand?”
I reached over and tugged at the small strap of cloth holding Reb’s tunic on, pulling it off over his head in one swift movement. “See, Reb, another advantage of this new outfit of yours – it’s really easy to strip it off, so whenever I want to show you to my buddies, there’s no zips, buttons or anything to stop me. Just a tug at it, like I just did, and there you are, for everyone to see.” Reb nodded, but he didn’t look very happy.
It was good to have him kneeling in front of me towelling me off, and I couldn’t help remembering the sight of Jake like that. As I looked down at Reb I wondered how soon it would be before I could risk fucking his mouth if I wanted to, and the thought of this started to make me hard. For a moment I began to panic inside, worrying about what Reb would think. Then I calmed myself: I’d just been dick to dick with Jake, so what was the harm if Reb did see me erect? And I know I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of in terms of size. And anyway Reb was my slave – if a man can’t be totally free in front of his slave, then who can he be like that with?
I told Reb to go and see if there was anything he could do to help Mrs Williams with dinner, and once again he asked me, but now very quietly as if he had no chance of success, if he could wear ‘proper’ clothes rather than his tunic. “Of course not”, I told him, and then to add to his sense of discomfort I added “I don’t want you upsetting Mrs Williams, so be careful! Providing you don’t stretch to reach anything from a high shelf, and providing you don’t make any sudden movements, you’re perfectly decent in front of her – actually, if you think about it, Reb, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be totally naked as you’re a slave. But Mrs Williams is of an older generation, and she probably does not like seeing dicks and asses, so be careful! If I get back and find her embarrassed, I’ll cane you, there and then, right in front of her.”
“No danger of that, sir! Do you think I want to go around exposing myself? I’ll be really careful.”
The smug sounding bastard, I thought. He needed another reminder of his vulnerability. “Oh, and be careful about bending, Reb – unless you want people to see your ass. If you’ve got to pick anything up you’d better learn how to do it like those bargirls do, who ‘bob down’ to stop guys peering down their boobs. And finally – I know Mrs Williams likes to give you a mug of coffee, but be careful there, too: it’s easy to slide into a chair when you’ve got a coffee, and the moment you do that that tunic’s so short that you’ll be fully exposed.”
Dad actually sounded interested in how my training of Reb was going, and I felt bad about having to lie to him as I could hardly say I’d spent all that time having sex with Jake, could I? So I just said something like “as well as can be expected”, and dad smiled at me. “Spoken like a lawyer, Steve: it seems to say everything, but in fact says nothing.” Mercifully, though, he didn’t press me, and only asked me to make sure I left his Post Office receipt in his study.
When dad came downstairs having changed out of his suit and I handed him his martini, I was amused that his normal lawyer’s poker face actually slipped for a moment when Reb came out from behind one of the couches where he had been standing and stood there in front of us barefooted and wearing only the tunic. “See, dad, Reb’s learned not to sit on the furniture – he was standing politely even before we came into the room.”
Dad gave me a little wink as he replied “Standing politely…. Rather than sitting immodestly in that thing?”
“It’s good for slaves to stand rather than sitting around, dad, and that’s part of his training. And come on over here – I want to show you something”. We went and stood on either side of Reb, and I told him to put his hands behind his head. He did so, and of course moving his shoulders up to do this also caused the hem of his tunic to rise. “See, dad – I don’t even have to order him to strip in order to show you progress: look at where I had him ‘skinnned: almost totally healed. And round the back here you can see that I’m getting him tanned so that when he’s with free men in a locker room or the dorm there won’t be any doubt that he’s a slave as he’ll have no white bits.” As I said this I pulled up the back of the tunic to show dad, and I could tell Reb hated it from the way the muscles in his legs flexed and his toes curled in the pile of the carpet.
At that moment Mrs Williams came in to tell us dinner was ready, and Reb instantly dropped his hands in spite of not being told he could, so he could frantically tug down the hem of his tunic. He was in confusion when we went to sit down in the dining room, too – he waited until Mrs Williams had left the room before sitting on is dining chair, then he hurriedly arranged his napkin over his crotch – the whole of the sides of his thighs were exposed, though, and I made sure Reb knew people could see this by explicitly calling dad’s attention to the change of colour along them because of the tan lines. It clearly didn’t escape his attention that if dad and I could see them, so could Mrs Williams.
It’s no important what we had for dinner, although I do remember being concerned that instead of Mrs Williams’ usual fine French cuisine we had rather boring stuff – salad, steak, baked potato, apple pie, that kind of ‘homestyle’ food. Reb seemed much less ill at ease than he had the previous night, in spite of his near nakedness, as he knew how to eat all this stuff, and could select the right cutlery. I resolved to get dad to talk to Mrs Williams to tell her that he and I wanted our regular fare, and that she was not to make ‘concessions’ for Reb. But dad actually complemented her about how good it was to have real American fare for a change, and that annoyed me.
After dinner dad wanted to watch the match as usual and invited Reb to join him. Reb stood there as dad slouched on one of the couches, and even when dad told him to get them beer from the fridge, Reb simply handed it to dad, then stood awkwardly there. I watched from across the room as I knew Reb would not sit and expose himself, and he was learning another valuable lesson. I soon realised dad wasn’t enjoying the match as much as he usually did, though – I suppose he felt pretty silly leaping up from the couch when there was nearly a goal: it was OK when he was there by himself, but with Reb standing around, unable to join in it probably seemed wrong.
I’d put the little ‘gift’ that Jake had given me with the advice to make Reb wear it into my pocket, and now as the boring match went on I got it out and looked closer. I fiddled around with it to understand what it did, then at half time – as dad now handed Reb another beer, which pissed me off as he shouldn’t do things like that, especially when he didn’t offer me one – I said “Reb seems uncomfortable in his new clothes, dad – it seems to be spoiling your enjoyment of the match. Is it OK with you if I give him something else to wear, something more relaxing? ”
“Of course, Steve! Why do you even need to ask? Mrs Williams has gone home and we’re all guys together here – what would it matter if he was stark naked?”
“Would you rather be naked, Reb?”
“Sir, please, no, sir… The tunic’s fine.”
“No, Reb. It’s stopping you enjoying the match. And that’s stopping dad enjoying the match. Here, put this on instead.” As I said this, I tossed the ring and fine chain across to him. He caught it with his usual athleticism (causing the tunic to ride up, of course), then stood there looking at it dumbly, as if he didn’t understand what it was.
“It’s a special slave costume, Reb, for places where public ordinances specifically prohibit total nudity. When we go for Spring Break down to Florida with the rest of the guys from my frat, it will be OK for you to wear that” I turned to add for dad’s benefit “There was a big legal case last year brought by one of the hotel chains when they realised business was falling off as guys didn’t want to go there without their slaves. The courts decided that slaves were not totally naked wearing a jockstrap, or a thong, or – for ponies – a pony pouch, or one of these. Mind you, Modern Slave Owner says that sophisticated owners only like to see their slaves ‘dressed’ like this on the beach as the fashion is for tunics, like Reb’s but by proper designer names of course, elsewhere. But you don’t mind if Reb is a bit out of fashion, do you, dad, and we have Reb wear it now?”
“For fuck’s sake, Steve, do what you like – the game’s about to start soon.” That was so typical of dad, not to take any real interest in anything I said, even when I tried to make it interesting for him by including some legal stuff.
“OK, Reb , off with your tunic”, I called out. “Remember what I said – one swift movement.” Reb looked helplessly around, hoping that dad might in some way ‘rescue’ him, I suppose. But dad was starting to look irritated, so he did as I had commanded, although he turned away from dad to hide himself a bit.
I went over to do the rest of it then – for those of you who have not bought your slave a costume like this – they call it ‘The ring’s the thing’ in the advertisements, but the readers comments column in Modern Slave Owner always has us guys referring to it as ‘The ring on the thing’ as a sort of in-joke – I’d better just briefly describe it. Firstly there’s a very fine gold chain that you sling around the slave’s middle, as low as you can get it. I guess they always come in gold as it goes well with a well tanned whitey, or on a nigga. As I knelt there adjusting the length I realised it looked a bit insipid against Reb’s white patches, but, no matter, time would soon fix that. The first time you do it that’s the fiddly part, as you want the chain to hang as low as possible – certainly well below the hip bones – but for it to be in no danger of it slipping off. In Reb’s case his well-rounded butt made this unlikely, but I could see that on those slim slave boys with ‘snake hips’ it might be a problem. You can then cut the chain to length, or, as I did in the case of Reb, let the ‘tail end’ slide down his butt crack – I had to pull Reb’s butt apart a bit to get it to hand down in there, and he shuffled nervously, clearly hating it.
Once you’ve got the main chain in place, you get the ring itself – well, actually, it’s more like a cylinder, about an inch long, and slide it over the slaves dick. It comes in various diameters as in general you don’t want to prevent the slave from having an erection and so it needs to be a loose fit when he’s flaccid – I wondered how Jake had known that Reb needed a really large size, but perhaps most of the slaves he deals with are like that. The ring has two little fastenings on opposite sides of it, and you attach two short lengths of the fine chain to these, then take them up and fasten the other ends to the piece around the slave’s middle. If you get the lengths right the ring is then suspended there in the middle of the slave’s dick, with a nice piece of shaft exposed above it, and the head end appearing from the lower end. The chains are so fine that it only works well if the pubes are really clipped right down, but they’d done that at S & D of course, so that was no problem for me.
It’s a nice piece of dress wear for a slave – as he moves around the ring slides up and down his shaft somewhat. If he has to run, his dick can fly all over the place and the ring will fly with it. And if he erects, all that happens is that the suspending chains go slack. The thin chain around the slave also tends to emphasise the butt and flanks nicely. In their adverts the makers say “Naked slaves are dull. Turn your naked slave into a nude, it’s so much more exotic.” I could see what they meant, as Reb stood there looking in disbelief at the thing – there’s a big difference between naked and nude; from being exposed but ‘natural’ and being consciously made to wear something that deliberately focuses the attention on your dick.
Reb stood there looking absolutely horror struck. He reached for his tunic that he’d shed before I fitted his ‘ring’. “No – you didn’t like the tunic earlier, so now you’ve gotsomething more comfortable to wear, leave it off.”
“I can’t go around like this – it’s obscene….”
“Reb, you’re a slave. Nothing your owner orders you to do can be considered obscene. You may find it humiliating, but that’s your own problem as you have not properly understood that as a slave anything your owner commands you to do is your duty.”Reb started to pull on his dickto get it out of the ring. “I’d rather go naked!” he snorted.
“Your wishes are of no concern. You will continue to wear that interesting jewellery until I choose otherwise, or else I will punish you.”
Reb stood there, his hands hovering in front of him as if in some way he could cover his embarrassment and shame. The match was about to start, and now dad snapped “Reb, if you don’t stop fucking around, you can get out – you’re disturbing the match.”
I was worried then that I might be spoiling the only bit of fun that dad had, and told Reb to go and sit back on the couch next to dad and watch the match. I even went and got them each a beer, as I thought that Reb would find his humiliation increased as he sat next to dad in his jewellery doing a ‘guys’ kind of thing, whereas my father was immaculate in polo and chinos.
It was really interesting to watch Reb climb the stairs up to my bedroom at the end of the evening – I suppose he’d got used to the feeling of the ring sliding up and down his dick as he moved, but as he climbed the stairs the movement made the ring rise and fall more: I’d anticipated this and hadn’t made him use the slave staircase. He was downright surly and stomped around until finally he asked “Can I take this thing off now…. Sir?”
“No, Reb. I don’t see why. I think perhaps you should wear it all night to get used to it. Who knows – I might want to lend you to a frat brother who has an interest in jewellery and would enjoy an ornamented slave in his bed…”
“No way is that going to happen! I’m not going to be used by a fag!”
I let that piece of bravado go, as I think Reb knew that it was just that, and it was entirely possible he’d be displayed and maybe even ‘used’ when I got to college. I continued with my nightly routine and slipped in to bed in my special shorts and T, but it was hard to sleep as my dick was aching so much. I still wasn’t experienced enough as a slave owner to order Reb to suck me off, or even simply to jerk off myself with him lying there. I know we say as owners that slaves don’t count when it comes to privacy and a guy should do whatever he wants to do in front of a slave, but saying it and actually doing it are two different things.
When I got back from taking dad to the station the next morning Reb was still fast asleep, as he had been the day before, and again I woke him with a sharp stroke of the cane. We showered and shaved, I dressed, and Reb went to pick up the boxer shorts I’d been wearing the day before – it was good that he was learning that this is what he could expect to wear.
“No – I think I want to see you wearing that ‘ring’ all day.” I turned to go, and Reb just stood there
“Please, sir, Mrs Williams….”
“I think it’s time for Mrs Williams to get used to having a slave around the place who dresses as his owner commands. Now, come on, breakfast’s ready….”
“No… I can’t, sir.”
I was in a dilemma now. I couldn’t have Reb defying me, couldn’t let him get in to the position of making choices for himself. But on the other hand Jake was coming along and I was going to fuck Reb, so perhaps it would be a good thing if he hadn’t eaten breakfast, and would be weakened at least a little. Such are the unexpected decisions of slave ownership!
“You mean you won’t, Reb! So stay in this room until you change your mind. You’ll get no breakfast. You may drink the water from the bathroom, but that’s all.”
I went down to breakfast and Mrs Williams fussed around giving me mine and worrying about Reb. I told her he did not want breakfast, and was unlikely to want lunch either, and at first she thought he might be sick. So I explained that Reb was staying in the bedroom until he obeyed my orders, and her attitude changed a little. “I feel sorry for Reb, Steve, as he’s such a nice man. But now he’s a slave I suppose he has to learn to modify his behaviour. I was going to slip him a sandwich or something via one of the maids, but I can see that if you think he’s being wilful, this would be wrong – it would be doing Reb no favours in the long term.”
“Quite right, Mrs Williams. Indeed….” I didn’t finish the sentence as the intercom from the gate buzzed, and on the screen I could see Jake. I rushed to open the gates and let him in, telling him to come up to the front door.
I pulled open the door, eager to greet him, and to my surprise he was still some distance away. When he eventually did arrive he sounded almost angry. “Why didn’t you tell me you were such a fucking long way from town? I’m almost worn out from the walk.”
“You never asked… I assumed you’d get a cab, I suppose: that’s what dad does to and from the station when I’m busy…”
“You rich boys, Steve, you don’t understand, do you? Still, I’m here now. Where’s the slave?”
I told Jake then about the morning, and he quickly said “Breakfast? I don’t suppose there’s any left?”
Some of Mrs Williams’ disappointment at not being able to cook for Reb disappeared when I introduced Jake. And soon he was tucking in to the same huge pile of stuff that Reb had. I was seething with impatience to get started, and, fortunately, Mrs Williams had to leave as she had a hair appointment or something, or otherwise I think Jake would have sat there all day with his food and coffee. He didn’t seem to understand how much I wanted to get on with breaking Reb – but then, after all, I suppose he works with slaves all the time, and anyway is experienced with sex. So I tried to calm myself, tried to appear as unconcerned about what was going to happen as he was, but I’m not sure I succeeded.
Jake had a bag with him and he thrust it at me to carry up the stairs, just as if I was a servant. In my room he stood for a minute looking around and gave a low whistle. “Fuck me, Steve, this one room is twice as big as my whole place… And all the stuff you’ve got….” He went over to look at my big 3-D entertainment complex and picked up the remote as if to start to play with it.
“Yes, a lot of stuff. Including a slave. Can we get started, Jake?”
Reb had been standing there his hands hanging down in front of him, and seeing this Jake ordered him to stand with his hands behind his head. He reached out and took hold of Reb’s dick, and idly played with sliding the ring up and down it a few times. “He’s not getting hard”, he commented. “Did you let him jerk off last night?”
First of all I was surprised that Reb let Jake take his dick like that, not pulling away even the slightest as he had when I did it – I was reminded of once being on a farm somewhere as a kid, and watching the farmer’s slave collecting eggs: the hens made no attempt to stop him reaching under them and taking the eggs. I tried it, and the hens at once turned on me, pecking. The slave – he was a much older guy, probably now only useful for light work like this – had told me in a not unkindly voice that it was all a matter of confidence. If the chickens knew that you knew what you were doing, they didn’t react. So perhaps Reb sensed Jake was used to handling dick, whereas I clearly as not: confidence clearly carried you a long way.
But then I snapped back to thinking about Jake’s question of letting Reb jerk off. Of, fuck me! Something else I had no idea I was supposed to do, controlling Reb’s access to sex. I could easily have become known as the guy who didn’t control his slave properly at college, and it’s those sorts of things I really needed to watch out for. But, strictly speaking I suppose I was not lying when I told Jake I had not ‘let’ Reb do it: I hadn’t said anything at all, and it’s entirely possible he could have done it when I was chauffeuring dad, or having my breakfast. Fortunately Jake hadn’t had the legal experience that dad has – he would have picked up on that at once, and asked me further questions about exactly what I did tell Reb he could and could not do.
Jake opened his bag and got out a thick leather collar, then commanded Reb to kneel. Reb looked as if he was going to disobey, but both he and I noticed that Jake had a prod hanging from his belt, and as Reb hesitated ever so slightly, Jake’s hand went to wards it and Reb got to his knees. I was expecting Jake to put the collar around Reb’s neck, but he handed it to me to do: “An owner collars his slave, Steve, like a man always feeds his own dog. The collar reminds Reb of his slavery, as well as being essential in a few minutes, and it’s important for him to associate you with it as his owner.” I enjoyed the feeling of Reb’s hot skin as I bent the collar around his neck, but my hands were trembling a bit with excitement and so fastening it was not easy – especially as I thought Reb was staring at my crotch as he knelt there and I moved around, and he’s know I was erect.
It was quite a high collar, and Jake told me I was to do it up tight, so tight it almost restricted Reb’s breathing. “It will make him think twice about a lot of violent activity if he starts to choke”, he said cheerily. “Position it so that one of the rings is at the front, and one at the back in the middle of his neck.” I didn’t understand why, but in this I assumed Jake knew best – and perhaps this was another sort of thing ‘everyone’ did with slaves.
When he stood up I have to say I thought Reb looked much more subservient wearing a collar, and I began to regret my decision to go for a brand rather than a permanent collar. I mentioned this to Jake, and he made me feel very unsophisticated when he replied “…and the reason he can’t have both is..? You’re his owner – have whatever YOU like on him.”
Jake then got out four leather cuffs, tossed them onto the floor and ordered Reb to cuff his ankles and wrists. Reb glared at him and had to kneel down again, then fiddled around fastening the buckles holding the cuffs on to him. Jake still rested one hand lightly on his prod, so I suppose Reb knew he had no choice.
“Kind of interesting isn’t it, Steve – Reb doesn’t want to disobey as he’s not sure what‘s happening. But he’s doing those things to himself anyway, moving himself further into salvedom.” Reb glared at Jake as he said this, but continued to fasten the bands of leather around himself.
“OK, boy, hands behind your neck” Jake commanded as Reb finished, then I watched as Jake quickly clipped the fastenings on the wrist cuffs to the ring of Reb’s collar, and tugged and pulled at them to ensure they were secure. “Always make sure the slave’s secure, Steve”. He looked at me deadly seriously and continued “This is not play, remember. Not a bit of bondage free men excite themselves with: Reb’s a strong, potentially dangerous animal and you need to ensure he can’t break free. And slaves can be cunning – did you see I needed to test the buckles he had done up, to make sure he did them properly?”
I nodded, and Reb got out of his bag a steel bar with fastenings on either end. From some of the porn I’d seen I knew this was a stretcher bar, and Jake told me to fasten it to the cuffs on Reb’s ankles. As I bent to do so, Jake pulled me to my feet quite roughly. “Never kneel before a slave, Steve! It puts him in a dominant position.” I groaned inwardly – how many more of these mistakes would I make?
I watched in fascination as Jake ordered Reb to lie on the floor, and then to raise his legs up so that Reb’s ankles were at a convenient height for Jake to attach the bar. “Nice muscles he’s got, Steve – did you notice how his belly contracted as he raised his legs? It promises to be interesting.”
Jake told Reb to get to his feet, and it was interesting to watch how his big strong muscular body was able to do this – it’s not easy when your hands are not free and your legs are forced apart, but Reb’s athleticism meant he could do it and I was proud of owning such a slave.
“OK, Steve, we’re ready, I think.
“I know there’s a lot of porn and stuff with guys all restrained with cuffs and stuff, why…?”
“This is not play acting, Steve! It’s real life. Reb’s a strong guy – what do you think will happen when you try to fuck him?”
“Well, I know it will be difficult. But I thought we could cane him if he didn’t behave. And he knows I’ve got that Court order. And that I could sell him down the mines as a stubbed gelding… So that will control him – after all, I did make him wear that ring thing….”
“You really don’t know anything, do you, Steve? You’re not just fucking Reb – he’s never been with a man, never had a dick up his ass. He’s strongly heterosexual. So you’re not simply fucking him, Steve – if Reb was a free man, we’d think you were about to rape him. And no man can stop himself fighting that, however much he might worry about the consequences, even if it is gelding and all that stuff. Deep in his brain some primitive thing will be saying that he’s a man, a man who’s about to be raped. And that will trigger devastating efforts to stop it. At that primitive level the brain doesn’t think about ‘consequences’ – it simply acts to keep the core of itself alive: that feeling of being a ‘man’, not some cringing raped beast. So that’s why you need to secure him like this – and even then I suspect we’re in for a lot of physical resistance from a man like Reb.”
“Now you put it like that… Rape…. Perhaps we shouldn’t….?”
“It’s a really good thing I’m here to help you, Steve! Don’t you remember? We’re creating a slave: stripping him, shaving off his pubic hair, ‘skinning, branding…. They’re all steps on the way to turning a free man in to a slave. Surely you’re not going to give up on the final stage, when he learns that his body is there for what YOU want?”
I nodded. But I wasn’t sure that it was what I wanted. I started to worry that I’d not perform properly, that I couldn’t force my dick in, and that Jake would therefore think I was a wimp. Jake saw me hesitating, and put his arm around my shoulders and kissed me lightly. “Don’t worry, Steve! I’m here to help you. I reckon, from what I saw of your performance yesterday, that once your dick feels Reb’s ass, there’ll be no stopping you!”