A kinky story written by Pete Brown | Chapter 7

Click here to see all published chapters | Illustration by Theo Blaze.

When the slaves expressed themselves as satisfied with their work on me, they had one more thing to do:  they told me to bend over, and I saw them get a tube of lube and approach my ass.  I told them to fuck off, but they said “Hey, Steve, don’t give us a hard time…. It’s orders – all slaves have to be lubed before presentation to the master for the first time, in case he wishes to fuck them.” 

“That won’t happen to me!”, I said confidently. 

“Steve, do you want to get us whipped?  If Straughan found out that we’d skipped part of the preparation, that’s what would happen….” 

Even though it was totally stupid, as there was no way my uncle was going to fuck his nephew, I could see their point.  So we compromised, and they let me grease my hole myself.  Even that was bad enough – it’s hard to bend your body to get your finger right up, isn’t it?  And, of course, even though I’d experimented with fingering my hole when jerking off, that had been in the privacy of my room as a young guy, before I’d started fucking the female slaves, and here I had to do it with the slaves watching me. Still, it was better than having another guy’s finger up there!

Finally, they dressed me in one of the tiny loincloths that house slaves sometimes wore – I looked at myself in the mirror, and felt totally in control:  those days of work had toughened my muscles, my belly had really flattened and was starting to show signs of an interesting six pack, and the hot sun had burned my skin into a wonderful deep tan all over.  I looked the very picture of a perfect specimen of manhood, and I really hated the loincloth:  I wasn’t ashamed of my dick, and it seemed almost stupid to cover it up!  In fact, in some respects having this tiny piece of fabric doing a very inadequate job of concealing my dick and balls if I moved at all was much worse: naked, I was a proud man, unashamed of his body. Covered like this, I was some sort of sex object. 

I did wonder why they made me dress like this, as surely it would have been more appropriate to give me boxers, slacks, a shirt and proper shoes before I had my reconciliation interview with my uncle.  But I thought that my uncle must have some scheme for getting me back into circulation properly, avoiding a scandal, and perhaps that meant going in as a slave, then “reappearing” some time later as his nephew and heir. 

It felt very odd going through the corridors of the house almost naked – public near-nudity for free men was of course out of the question when I was living there, and I even had to put a bathrobe on over my Speedos if I changed in my suite and wanted to go down to the pool.  After all, if free men started going around almost naked, how would it be possible to distinguish slaves?  I wriggled my toes in the luxurious pile of the carpet, marvelling at how long it had been since I had felt anything other than concrete and straw under my feet.  The air conditioning made me feel slightly chilly, as working naked I guess  I’d got used to the feel of the sun and the humidity which we were plagued with in the south –  it was perhaps the dryness of the air in the house which made the difference.  And then there were the smells – all those civilised smells of  the polish on the antique furniture, the flowers artfully arranged everywhere, all overlaid by the faint scent of my uncle’s cologne which he had specially mixed for him and which he said he’d give me the formula for one day. 

One of the house boys – I’m sure it was one I’d fucked recently, but he didn’t dare speak – led me to the door of my uncle’s study, and opened it.  I knew that my uncle couldn’t be there as otherwise the slave would have been whipped for not knocking and waiting, and we went in.  Everything was the same – the dark panelling, the books, and the leather chesterfields where my uncle and I had spent many a happy hour talking.  The only change was that they seemed to have rearranged the furniture a little, as the precious antique flogging horse was no longer in the corner but was more prominently placed in front of the fire – as usual, there were real logs burning in the grate, battling the air-conditioning for control of the room’s temperature. 

The slave whispered that I was to wait, and advised me to assume the “display” position for when my master entered.  But as soon as he left, I sprawled on one of the chesterfields (in spite of its leather feeling clammy against my bare skin) and arranged the tiny loincloth as best I could to cover my tackle – in spite of my previous bravado about the perfection of my body, I felt somehow awkward about appearing naked in front of my uncle again. 

I sat there, drinking in the atmosphere and realising how much I had missed it, and I heard the door open. I turned, expecting to see my uncle, but Straughan was standing there.  I relaxed a little, and he snapped “It’s traditional, no, it’s required, for a slave to stand up when a free man enters the room!  And what are you doing sitting down – slaves don’t occupy the furniture in this house…. How dare you – get to your feet, at once!” 

“Hey, Straughan, hold your horses there… I’m sure my uncle won’t mind….” 

Straughan gave me one of his evil smiles, raised the small riding crop he always self-importantly carried, and brought it down hard across both my nipples.  I shrieked with the sheer unexpectedness of the pain, and leapt to my feet.  “Have you gone mad, Straughan….” 

“It’s you who has gone mad, slave!”, he retorted. “How dare you refer to me as anything other than ‘sir’ or ‘master’.  Now on your feet, and assume ‘display’ for your owner to inspect you, or didn’t they teach you that at the slave dealers?” 

“I came in here expecting to see a slave who was only partially trained”, he continued, “and I warned your owner that this might be difficult.  I never expected this degree of sheer insolence and disobedience….” He turned to the telephone on a side table, and pressed a single button on the display – the one I’d often looked at, but which we had never had to use before at the plantation as discipline was so good.  I knew it said simply “guards”. 

Within seconds there was the sound of running in the corridor, and three of Straughan’s henchmen, overseers of the field gangs, burst in.  Straughan nodded at me and they grabbed my arms, holding me between them. Straughan came and stood immediately in front of me and ripped off the tiny loin cloth, then reached down and stroked my dick and cupped my balls in his hands.  

“Straughan….”, I shouted, horrified at what he was doing to me, especially in this room. 

“You’ll do very nicely, slave, for what we have in mind, very nicely indeed, I think!  And it will do you good to remember that we have power over you, total power, using physical force if necessary, as you are about to see.”  He then snapped at the guards “On the horse with him, belly down, arms and legs secured but let the body move.” 

They pulled me roughly over to the horse, pushed me down and quickly strapped the Velcro bindings, whilst all the time I cursed and swore at Straughan, telling him how I’d have him fired for this.  Straughan just kept up the thin smile on his face, then reached into his pocket and puled out a ball gag, holding it there on its leather straps for me to see. 

He dared to slap my face as I lay there, and carried on, his blows getting harder and harder,  until I finally, reluctantly, opened my mouth so that he could slip the gag in.  As he fastened the strap behind my head my protests and shouts became incomprehensible, and Straughan just stood there looking at me as I thrashed about, futilely, trying to get free.  “I ought to send for a Malaca and beat the hide off your butt, slave!  But your owner doesn’t want me to do that – yet.  So you’re safe for now.” 

Still smiling his thin, evil smile, he turned and went out, and I was left lying there, helpless, feeling the firelight flickering on my naked skin which was now sheened with sweat.  I don’t know how long I lay there – I could hear the big old clock ticking gently as it always had done since I first came here, but could not see its face – I was in a kind of reverie, wondering what the fuck was happening:  it was obvious form the way that Straughan had acted that he knew who  I was, but was still making no overt signs, even though we had been alone together and there was no possibility of another slave hearing and spreading scandal.  And why had he gagged me like this?  Surely my uncle and I would talk, like two civilised southern gentlemen, resolve our issues, give each other a manly handshake, and then I could resume my life.  How on earth were we going to do that, with me tied down like this, and effectively silenced? 

Ultimately the door opened again and my uncle came in, followed silently and perfectly by one of the boy waiters.  As ever, he was immaculate, and as it was evening, he was dressed in his customary fine black trousers, and elegant white shirt finished off with a cravat which perfectly matched the burgundy velvet of his smoking jacket. My uncle snapped at the slave to pour him a brandy, then when the slave dropped to his knees to present it, took it and ordered the slave to leave.  He just stood there for a minute or two, looking at me.  I’d turned my head to look at him, and I just knew from the look of recognition that passed that he knew who I was. 

“So, Jon…”, he began, and I at once felt exhilarated  He’d acknowledged me, so this ordeal would soon be over.  But he continued “No, I forget myself, you’re the new slave, Steve.  You’re a willing, obedient slave, whereas my nephew, Jon, was a disobedient ingrate.  I gave him a good home, showered him with presents, loved him, gave him a good education… Then, when I wanted only one simple thing of him, he threw all that love and kindness in my face and walked out.” 

“All I wanted was for Jon to give me two sons, ‘the heir and a spare’ as I always called them, and he refused.  Now Steve, of course, would not do that – he had already fathered two sons, I read in his dossier. Even that pony I sometimes use, Blackie, has fathered two sons.  So why would it have been so hard for Jon to have done so?  It’s not as if he did not have enough fertile male seed – he was always spilling it into the slave girls and I had to have several of them aborted.” 

I started to wriggle and squirm on the horse, trying to attract his attention so that he might listen to the sounds I was trying to make, sounds of “Please, uncle, please stop this….” 

He came and stood beside me, then slapped me hard on the butt with his open hand.  In spite of being an older man, my uncle was still powerfully built and the slap echoed around the room like a pistol shot.  “Be silent!  I heard enough arguments from Jon, and I do not intend to have any from Steve.” 

As well as being physically hurt by the blow, I was humiliated:  my uncle had spanked my bare butt, something that he’d never done before, even when I was a young lad.  It was just awful that he was doing it now, to a fully grown man like me. 

“Yes, Steve, you’re a slave.  And you will obey me, unlike Jon.  That nephew of mine not only hurt me when he disobeyed my orders, but he ruined the reputation of one of the finest belles of the South: when he ran off, it was widely assumed that there must be some fault in her character, or body, or both.  The poor girl has had to move to Paris to avoid the scandal, and live a terrible life there with nothing to do all day except shop, dine, and visit museums.” 

My uncle took a deep draught of the brandy, put down the cut glass goblet on a side table, and then to my horror I felt his hands resting on my butt!  “I always liked my nephew’s body”, he continued, “but never once did he allow his uncle the privileges that one might expect.  Even though he was sixteen and fully mature when he came here, he never once allowed me to see his body naked, or came and companionably slipped into bed with me on a Sunday morning before church to discuss the day’s affairs.  No, he was always off whoring with the women slaves.  And he even protested when I insisted he wore the most fashionable and expensive hose so that prospective brides and their parents could see what a fine specimen of a man he was – he wanted to strangle and conceal his parts with a pouch underneath…. Not like you, eh, Steve?” 

I flinched, but there was nothing I could do about it, when I felt my uncle’s hands moving around on my butt,  feeling the shape and strength of my ass, and he went on “Yes, that Jon was always almost ashamed of showing his butt, even though it was nicely shaped and a pleasure to the eye – if he’d taken more time to work out properly, I think it would have been exactly like yours, Steve… although he wouldn’t have ended up with this….”  I felt his finger tracing the “S” branded into me. 

“Yes, Steve, I’m lucky, I think – I’ve now got a slave totally under my power, someone who will obey me totally, rather than throw all my love and affection in my face like that Jon did –  I think I’m glad he’s gone, as I’ve ended up with the best part of the bargain.  But you know, Steve, slaves have to understand that they are totally in the power of their owners, and perhaps it’s even more important for you than it is for most other slaves, eh?” 

>From the way he was speaking I knew he knew it was me!  This was coded messages to me telling me that I was to obey him.  I wished he’d shut up, let me go free, so that I could say I was sorry, and would do better in future.  And I guess now that I saw how serious he was about it, I’d even agree to marry Marie-Louise, if that’s what he still wanted – after all, I could always fuck Blackie when we were out. I could think of several quiet secluded spots in the woods on the plantation where we could go and make out, just as if we were both still slaves together in the stables.  I might even try to find some way of getting Blackie as my body servant, so he’d always be available in my suite – although I could just order it, I guessed that wouldn’t be popular with Marie-Louise, though. I knew that body servants for married couples were generally young females as it was considered necessary for the husband to have some means of relief available if the wife was tired or otherwise did not want her husband’s attention that night.  There would probably be some buzz of scandal if I used Blackie instead, but I had heard it was becoming more acceptable, especially in the most enlightened households,  to have young males, too.  It showed that the couple were truly “modern” and equal, in case the wife needed attention when her husband was exhausted, or drunk, or both:  mind you, even then, the slave was generally young, slim-hipped and smooth and of course had had his balls removed so that there would be no problem of possible pregnancies.  I could have this done to Blackie as he was a a “lifer” but I wasn’t sure that Blackie would like it, even though it would mean he could be with me, and I didn’t want to spoil our loving relationship. Still, I felt confident  I could work something out, once everything had been cleared up with my uncle. 

“Yes, Steve, Jon never allowed his uncle, his kind, loving uncle, to get properly close to him as families should be.  Even though he was sixteen when he came here, he never once made any sign that he and I were family, close family…  I blame my brother, actually – if he’d spent more time at home, getting to really know his son, rather than gadding off around the globe ‘doing good’ for the undeserving and ungrateful poor elsewhere, Jon might have understood that you love and respect older members of your family.  You’d love and respect your uncle, Steve, wouldn’t you, just as you love and respect your master?” 

When I just lay there, he slapped me hard on the ass with his open palm again, causing my body to convulse.  He asked me again, and, as best I could through the gag, I made noises of assent, and nodded my head. This was fucking humiliating, being spanked like this on my bare ass, but I had to go along with him – it wasn’t going to go on for ever, after all, and I might as well let him think he was in the right. 

“Good boy!  See, even a slave can have proper feelings, when a young free man, who had been given every advantage, simply ignored his duties to his uncle.  Now….” 

I heard that characteristic noise of clothes dropping, then a “clunk” as a belt buckle hit the floor.  My uncle’s hands on my butt prised my cheeks apart, then I felt something else, something warm and hard, running up and down my ass crack!  I started to buck and squirm as violently as I could, even though I was held pretty close to the horse by the bindings, but there was no way I could stop my uncle’s dick.  I was making frantic noises, too, trying to tell him to stop, but he was speaking, now… “Oh, Steve, you have a lovely ass…. All that exercise has made it lovely and firm… Better than Jon’s… Feel it, Steve, feel your master’s dick playing with you… This is how a master and slave, or an uncle and his nephew, ought to be….” 

Above the humiliation of the whole thing I have to admit that something was happening to my body – it wasn’t wholly unpleasant to have my uncle’s dick teasing the sensitive membrane of my hole.  But then I was outraged – he had no right to do this to me, he was my uncle, for fuck’s sake!  I know a lot of young guys do enjoy the company of older men, and want to be initiated into the pleasures of sex in a loving, family relationship, but that had never been me – by the time I’d come to the plantation, I was ready for fucking the women!  But even as I thought this, I realised that my uncle was not going to stop with just playing with me:  my whole body filled with the sensation of his dick head as he positioned himself squarely at my sphincter, and began to push. 

“NO!”, I was trying to shout out, as the pressure intensified. 

“Come on, Steve…”, I could hear him saying. “Open up, boy, and let me in… I’m going in there, boy, right up you, and so stop being so stubborn… You’re almost as bad as  that nephew of mine used to be, never co-operating properly with his uncle…. Now….” 

There was a momentary release of his insistent pressure, then he slammed into me, forcing his dick right in.  I gave a great shout as the pain of his member battering at my membranes raced through my body, then carried on crying out as he slowly, and without stopping, slid himself in all the way.  Thank Christ I’d had that lube!  I felt his wiry pubic hair brushing against me, and the heat of this body and thighs pushing against my butt and the back of my legs.  He leaned forward, and I felt the smoothness of his silk shirt against my sweating back.  Putting his head close to mine, he lowered his voice to a whisper and almost crooned “There, boy, now you’ve got a dick inside you.  That’s the first time, isn’t it?  I bet you had a misspent youth fucking women, just like my nephew, when you could have spent it with other guys enjoying this….” 

So saying, he started to fuck me, and this was no gentle fuck – this was more like Blackie when he was in a bad mood, as my uncle simple thrust in and out without a care for the hurt he must have known he was causing me as I had been a virgin before tonight.  I couldn’t scream, because of the gag, and all I could do was to keep trying to break free and make unintelligible noises that ought to have told him to stop.  Fortunately, though, my uncle must have been on edge himself as he quickly shot his load up in to me, then without much of an interval, pulled out and I heard the rustle of clothes as he was obviously dressing. 

My uncle sat on one of the chesterfields, looking at my body on the horse, the flames from the fire reflecting in the sheen of sweat all over me.  “So, boy, now you know that you’re totally in my power.  I possess you utterly – I own you as a slave, and my dick has taken your ass.  You will live here for as long as I choose, and you will obey me in everything. My nephew had choices, but he foolishly squandered his freedom;  you have no choices, you are a slave, and you will obey.” 

I was hurting, physically and emotionally.  I’d just been raped, and by my uncle!  Still, I thought, at least I now had some hold over him – once we got talking, he’d surely have a bit of remorse for what he’d done?  I kept expecting him to release me, but he seemed to be waiting for something.  He sat enjoying the brandy, his eyes almost never taken off me, until there was a discrete knock at the door, which opened to reveal one of the waiter slaves, who showed in Marie-Louise’s father. 

My uncle and the man exchanged pleasantries, then they both came over to me as I lay there helplessly.  “You were right about what we discussed when you telephoned”, Marie-Louise’s father said. “This slave is magnificent.  The last time I saw an ass like that was when your nephew came to our house shortly before he ran out on my daughter.  He had pulled down those display hose, and the sight was most rewarding – but this slave is even better:  hard work always does the trick for the ass and thighs, I think.” 

“Quite so”, my uncle replied.  “Anything else…?” 

“Yes, the dick.”  As he spoke, Marie-Louise’s father reached between my spread legs and pulled my dick backwards.  I could feel him stroking it, and I began to erect.  “Your nephew was well hung, just like this.  I remember thinking what a pity it was he would have an unsightly flap of skin covering his dick head, but that seems to have been remedied here….” 

I was utterly humiliated, having this man and my uncle discuss my body like this.  Then I felt his hands begin to slide over my ass, and he probed my crack, and pressed a finger into my hole.  “Ah,  dear friend”, he continued, “I sense that you have been breaking this slave in.  Young men are always a trouble before they’re properly broken in, aren’t they?” 

“Yes – perhaps if I’d taken my nephew aside when he first came here and introduced him properly to sex we might not be in this predicament now.  But I’m determined that this slave will be useful to us, and will obey me fully, and so I have learned my lesson and am now starting to train him properly.” 

“Truly a magnificent ass, as I said.  I’m most envious…” 

“Would you like a to use the slave… I could retire…..” 

“Yes, indeed.  But please don’t think you need to leave:  it’s only a slave I’m going to fuck, after all…” 

It’s bad enough being raped by your uncle, but now my almost-father-in-law proceeded to do the same thing. His dick must have been thicker and longer than my uncle’s, as I was in an agony all the time he pounded away, and he seemed to be grunting something with immense satisfaction as each stroke bludgeoned in and out of me.  Finally, as he slowed and shot his cum into me, I was able to make it out:  “Fuck up my daughter, get fucked…”, he’d been moaning.  So this was s all stage managed by my uncle – this man knew about me, too!  Now I began to get a little worried – surely it was going to be difficult to fix things with Marie-Louise now her father had fucked me!  What on earth was going to happen? 

The two men then sat together, a slave was summoned to pour more brandy, and as I still lay there,  I heard my uncle say “So are you still satisfied with our arrangements? Now you’ve seen the dick and the body, you must surely agree that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him, and we’ll be assured of a good genetic inheritance for our grandchildren….” 

“Quite so.  As soon as our lawyers have drawn up the necessary papers for the merging of my estate and your plantation, I suggest we get started:  that daughter of mine is almost bankrupting me as she ‘consoles herself’, as she says, by an orgy of shopping!” 

They went on like this for a bit, then talked, as men do in the South, about neighbours, neighbours’ business, the health of the slave trade, and so on. Finally, they stood up, and my uncle went to show Marie-Louise’s father out.  He did not reappear in the study, but Straughan did. 

He too ran his hands over my ass, then bent down and pushed his hand up between my thighs, obviously sensing the flow of cum down the inside as it trickled out of my hole.  “So, Steve…. You’re a proper slave now, ‘broken in’ by your owner.  How does it feel, boy, to have been fucked by your owner, like all the other common slaves on the plantation?”  He laughed, and went on “Oh, of course, that gag…. Still, you wouldn’t have wanted to speak, would you?  Remember, the cauteriser…. And some of the other slaves here, especially your buddy Blackie, might not be very pleased with you….” 

Still smiling, he called in a slave to bend down and undo my bindings, then led me off back to the stables.  I knew it was futile to resist, as he held all the power currently and his guards were always on call. When we were there, he had me bend down so that he could remove the straps holding my gag in, and at once I started “Please, I need to speak to my owner….” 

“Silence!  As I explained, slaves don’t speak to masters unless they’re spoken to.  I would have thought it abundantly clear that your owner does not want to speak to you!  Now, into your stall….  I don’t think you need chaining up any more, as you now know that you’re properly a slave….  There’s nowhere to run to, Steve – not with that brand on you ass and your SIN on your arm.  So you’d better learn to live life here as it’s lived on the plantation…. Well, at least as it’s lived by slaves here on the plantation. And that’s what you are, Steve, a slave!  Your owner has possessed you tonight, and you should now recognise that you are, incontrovertibly, just a slave, nothing more!” 

I could see Blackie listening to all of this and evidently wondering what it was all about, and now I was terrified that he might still find out who I was. My best bet, I thought was to play along with all of it, in the hope that my uncle would “sleep on it” and recognise the injustice he’d done me.  So I moved over to the stall, and Blackie embraced me. 

“Oh, Steve… Kneel down again”, Straughan snapped. Not wishing to be punished, as I was going to have to live the life of a slave for a few more days at least I reckoned, I did as I was commanded.  Straughan slipped the little medallion from around my neck, telling me that it was no longer needed now as my owner had taken my cherry, so it was “open season” on my ass! 

Straughan turned and left, and a huge grin broke out all over Blackie’s face.  He came and threw his arms around me, hugging me tight, and kissing me passionately.  It was kind of exciting, as I just couldn’t help responding to his kisses, and getting an erection to match his.  Then I heard him say “So, Steve, you’ve been fucked at last… Now for some fun….” 

He pushed us down onto the straw, and we rolled around for a time, each trying to get on top. But he was stronger and more powerful than me, and soon I was underneath him, and he was grunting at me “Open your legs, Steve… Time for Blackie to get some of that ass of yours….  Straughan’s taken that ‘do not fuck’ tag  off you, so I can do it at last.  Get ready for my dick, Steve….” 

I felt his hard dick sliding over my ass then slip between my cheeks, trying to find my hole.  Then I screamed as he succeeded. 

“Sorry, Steve….”  Blackie pulled away immediately, and looked hard at me.  “You’re hurting, aren’t you?” 


“Our owner fucked you too hard, did he?” 

“Yes, and the other guy, the neighbour… He had a dick thicker than yours….” 

“Hey, Steve, I’m sorry… I thought it would just be a token taking of your cherry: a quick in and out.  But they both fucked you, and fucked you hard, did they?” 

“Yes, Blackie, and I don’t want to talk about it, OK? It was pretty humiliating…” 

“Sure, Steve.   Some guys can be a bit traumatised the first time – I can’t imagine why, as it ought to be fun!  And it’s perfectly natural, after all – I mean, a guy’s ass is just right to take a dick, isn’t it? Still…. ” 

I couldn’t tell him why I was so ashamed, could I?  I couldn’t tell him it was because I’d been raped by my uncle, and by a man who I used to visit, and took tea with.  So I just had to kind of shrug, to indicate it was the physical hurt that was the problem. 

“Hey, Steve, buddy…. if you’re really sore, I’m not going to fuck you.  But we need something to cheer us up, don’t we…. Come on, buddy…. You can come and take me, again…..” 

It just goes to show, doesn’t it?  Here was Blackie, an illegal immigrant, a slave, and he was showing me more genuine kindness than these so-called “southern gentlemen” who prided themselves on their manners and their gentlemanly ways!  Blackie effortlessly rolled us over and opened his legs, and somehow my erect dick seemed to find its own way to his hole.  Poor Blackie – he certainly wasn’t expecting the pounding I gave his ass that night – something just took hold of me and I was so forceful it verged on the violent!  But my brutal taking of Blackie went a long way towards making me feel better, and it certainly did make me sleep! 

The next morning I was still sore, and so was Blackie!  So we just lay together, stroking each others dicks and generally gently fooling around, enjoying the sheer physicality of our bodies, until it was time for Blackie to be prepared for work.  The young slave who was his “groom” told me that Mr Straughan had said that I was to be got ready as well, and so Blackie and I had the added pleasure of being able to shower each other.  Afterwards, I stood and watched as Blackie obediently knelt down so that the lad could insert the bit and muting plate into his mouth, then tighten the strap around his shaved head that held it in.  The lad then put on the cap thing made of thin leather straps, fastened Blackie’s collar around his neck, and tightened the strap from the back of the cap to the collar so that Blackie’s head was pulled right back. 

As I think I’ve mentioned to you, the lads never got this right, and when Blackie used to be brought around, I always had to adjust the tension in the bit strap so that poor Blackie’s mouth wasn’t hurt – or, rather, so that he could be more sensitive to even small pressures on the bit.  I’d never managed to get it done right by the slaves, in spite of the most dire threats of punishment, and I saw that poor Blackie was still suffering.  I simply went over, slapped the lad’s ass, and loosened the bit strap slightly, then in fact tightened the head strap as Blackie’s head was not held far enough back.  Without thinking, I then did the other thing I’d always enjoyed doing to Blackie – my hands slipped around his neck, and my fingers caressed his Adam’s apple and the strong muscles in his neck, just for an instant:  I always thought that this showed him that his owner cared about him, and I anyway enjoyed the sensation of having this powerful male body under my complete control.  But now I saw some glint of surprise and curiosity in Blackie’s eyes as he knelt in front of me as he had done so many times before. 

I don’t know what would have happened if Straughan hadn’t come in at that moment and ordered me to kneel, too.  He put a leather collar around my neck, then ordered Blackie in to the shafts of the one-man rickshaw, and attached a chain from the back of it to my collar.  Without another word he snapped his riding whip lightly on Blackie’s butt, and he set off, with me jogging along behind, chained to the rickshaw just as if I was a dog or something being exercised. 

We ran along, and it wasn’t so hard – although I’m glad I used to work out regularly before I was illegally enslaved, and I wondered how much harder it must be for Blackie who had the weight of the rickshaw to pull (even though, when I’d bought it, I’d ordered a specially light weight “racing” one).  I was used to my dick and balls bobbing up and down now, and, frankly, I suppose I’d got mostly used to being totally naked.  One thing about being a slave is that it actually does make things like that easier:  If someone had suggested that I run along the public highway nude when I was “free”, I wouldn’t have done it, as I’d have been embarrassed and ashamed.  But once a master orders a slave out in public without even a shred of clothing, it’s not the slave’s problem, is it?  The master has taken all responsibility and the slave is only obeying orders. They always say that a slave should have no pride, no shame, no modesty, and once you’ve had every element of your personal freedom stripped away, including your clothes, it is easier to think and act that way, actually. 

To my surprise we stopped at the veterinarians, and I felt relatively calm – there wasn’t much more they could do to me now, after all, as I’d been branded, ‘skinned and tattooed!  I didn’t even worry about the possibility of being gelded, as there was no chance that my uncle would do that:  either he was going to forgive me at some point, and he wouldn’t want a eunuch as a nephew;  or I was going to be kept as a slave, in which case my uncle’s “trading” instincts would never allow him to lose thousands off a potentially valuable property by having its balls sliced off!  Still, I was surprised when Straughan led me into the veterinarian’s office, leaving Blackie standing in the shafts outside, head bowed and hands neatly clasped behind his back which was how I’d taught him to stand when not running – it was good to know that my training of him was holding. 

I wasn’t particularly worried  either when the veterinarian told me to sit in his big hair, then pulled the Velcro bindings around over my chest, arms, wrists and ankles to hold me securely there. 

“I see I did a nice job on this one”, he said casually to Straughan, as he picked my dick up as if it were just a piece of meat and probed around on the shaft to feel the tissue.  “No scarring, nice tight cut…” 

“Yes, yes – as always, excellent.   But this other matter we discussed – time is pressing, and I have a hundred things to do today….” 

The veterinarian snapped “Open your mouth, boy”, then, when I hesitated, his fingering  of my dick stopped and he squeezed my balls, which caused me to give a shout of pain.  The moment my jaws parted he slipped in some kind of clamp, which he then screwed open so my mouth was pulled wide apart.  He then pulled the headrest up from the back of the chair, and fastened my heads securely to it with another Velcro binding around my forehead, and a pair of pads that pressed against my ears and which were tightened by a screw thread. 

“This is going to hurt!”, he told me, then, turning to Straughan, he went on “Are you sure you don’t want to pay the additional twenty for proper anaesthetic?” 

“No!  He’s only a slave, and it’s time he learned that his bodily comfort is at his owner’s mercy.  He was a bit uppity and slow to respond to orders last night, and perhaps knowing that I can order things like this will make him realise a little better the position he’s now in…. Just get on and do it, will you?” 

“Well, Straughan, I can – only last month the ASPCS got a ruling from the Supreme Court that this kind of work could be done without anaesthetic, you know. They were concerned that some owners were not having their slaves looked at at all because of rising costs, and judged that it was better to declare that all work like this could be done at minimal cost in the hope that more owners would send their slaves along for treatment.  It was a case of a little more pain for some, to the possible greater good of the others, I suppose.”  Turning to me, he went on “But, Steve, I’m afraid that you’re one of the ones who is going to lose out…. Still, take heart from the fact that there are some other slave boys who are possibly profiting as they now go to the veterinarian….” 

That fucking ASPCS!  I wish they’d stop meddling! Look, I know that up until about eighteen-something they routinely used to do dentistry without anaesthetic, but having two of your back teeth pulled out without it is simply indescribable.  The veterinarian sat across my thighs to get sufficient purchase with his pliers to do it;  and always having been knocked out before, I’d never appreciated that before you can pull the tooth out you first have to push it in to the jaw to break the cement that’s holding the tooth to the jaw bone!  I don’t know which is worse – the pain when he’s pushing in, or the pain when he’s then pulling out.   Actually, thinking about it, I suppose being raped, taking it up the ass for the first time, is a bit like that! 

And afterwards, had I not already been crying, the tears mixing with the snot pouring out of my nose mixing with  the blood pouring out of my mouth, I would have done so anyway when I saw my two back teeth, two beautiful white teeth, with no fillings, lying there on the veterinarian’s table, their long roots still bloodstained. 

Before I was let out of the chair Straughan came over and slipped a pony bit into my mouth for the first time, pushing it well down into the spaces in my lower jaw left from the tooth extraction, and fastening it in place with the head strap.  It hurt like hell, as it cut down into the flesh of my gum where the teeth had been pulled, and I would have cried out in a further bout of agony had the muting plate not been holding my tongue down firmly to the floor of my mouth. 

“Welcome to your new life, pony boy”, Straughan said. “That Blackie of yours needs a companion, and you’re really going to get to know him well.”   

To be continued …

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