A kinky story written by Pete Brown | Chapter 20

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

It wasn’t a very pleasant journey back home.  If he spoke at all, the nigga was almost unintelligible as what small amount of English he had was made impossible to understand by his very coarse accent. And the Scot sat there in sullen silence – or, rather, he sprawled as best he could all over the back seats as his bum was so sore from Dave’s vicious caning.

I tried talking to him, but I reckon he was from Glasgow or somewhere like that, as his wasn’t the gentle burr of softly-spoken Scots English that you get from the cultured folk of Edinburgh, but the harsh almost nasal twang of that urban less refined city. So it was hard to understand what he said, too, and almost every second word was “fucking”, as that seemed to be the only adjective he knew, and he used it totally indiscriminately.  Not that he was all that communicative, seeming to prefer to answer my questions with “Fucking yes” or “Fucking no” in a way that bordered on being openly insolent.

By the time we’d got back to our place I wasn’t therefore totally pleased, and when Dan came over to inspect the purchases and began to go on at me for wasting our money, I almost lost it. “You know we don’t do niggas, Steve”, he started.  “They’re too much trouble, and it causes all kinds of problems with the other slaves.  And this one is not even very good looking – that vile scabby stuff on his pecs…. And that tight mass of curls around his cock is repulsive….”

“Dan, shut up, will you, and think!  First, there aren’t a lot of niggas in the shows, probably because the type of people who want to go in for showing slaves like to use nice whiteys, men like themselves, but younger and fitter – and there’s much more variety there as they can do Meditteraneans and Nordics and whatever.  So if we start to show a nigga, there won’t be much competition – so we’ll be even more likely to win.  And you know that the equal opportunities people came down on Crufts a couple of years back as they were paying bigger prizes in the whiteys classes than for niggas, as they said it was grossly discriminatory and made the niggas into some sort of inferior breed. So they equalised the prize money – less competition, same prizes.”

“Secondly, stop looking at the surface of this one, and consider his basic body.  Look at his legs, and his bum, and the way he’s the classic ‘triangle’ of wide shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, then the flare of that bum… And the thighs seem to go on for ever.  His skin tone is amazing, too, and once you make allowances for the radical differences between niggas and whiteys –  the nose and the lips – I reckon he’s more than just good looking:  most would call him handsome.   He’s no slouch when it comes to his cock and balls, either:  with the lights turned out so you couldn’t see the colour, you’d think you were feeling a real stud!”

“And thirdly, I agree with you about his body hair – it’s something where a lot of niggas fall down.  But the breed rules say it’s perfectly acceptable to have them totally clean shaven, so once Julie’s gone over him and we’ve oiled him properly, I reckon he’ll be amazing.”

Dan could see that I’d thought the whole thing through, but he’s a bit like me and he doesn’t like to lose an argument.  So as he couldn’t now find much else to criticise in the nigga, he turned to the Scots boy.

“Drop those shorts and strip off that T so I can get a good look at you”, he commanded.  And when the Scots lad muttered “Fuck off –  I ain’t stripping for a fucking poofter to look at me….”, Dan turned on me in anger, not to the lad, lad as he should have done.

“So what’s the excuse for this rubbish, then?”, he almost snarled.

“Well, I admit he’s not show material, but he was very cheap.  Very cheap indeed….”

“I should think so too!  Cheap, and foul mouthed, from what I can hear.  And disobedient.  A complete waste of money, or a huge diversion of our resources.  What the fuck persuaded you to buy him?  It’s not even as if he’s your type – you like a lot more muscle than this pathetic skinny creature’s got…..”

“Fuck you, mate. I’m not pathetic….”, the lad burst out.

Dan now did get very angry indeed, and snapped “As Steve’s been stupid enough to buy you, I guess we’re stuck with you at least until we can find someone even more stupid, to buy you from us.  But understand this:  if you ever speak to me like that again, I’ll have you caned, or whipped.”

“You don’t scare me!  I can take a caning…. ask your mate….”  the lad retorted.

“Steve, you bought him knowing he was so disobedient he needed caning?”  Dan sounded almost incredulous now.

“Look, Dan, Dave did start to thrash the hell out of him.  And, OK, I felt sorry for him, I admit it.  But I did get a good price – he and the nigga were a package and didn’t cost a whole lot more than the nigga alone.  And I reckon we can get really useful work out of him – he can help the cook prepare the food, so we can buy in raw vegetables rather than some of it coming pre-prepared from the catering suppliers as the cook just doesn’t have enough time to prepare everything from scratch now we’re full – that should save a fair bit of money.  Then we can get him to take care of all the laundry for the other slaves, running the washers and dryers which means they’ll have more time to exercise….. And other stuff like that – I bet we can find a whole lot of things a lad like this can do to make the place run smoother, and at less cost.  He’s a potential good investment, too – he’s only just turned sixteen, so we’ve got lots of years of useful service if we choose to keep him.  And you’ve forgotten that although he’s not, as you say, my type, some of the slaves in training do like a nice younger bloke for a bit of relaxation – that will make  them happier, so they’ll work harder after they’ve fucked the boy.”

“No blokes going to fuck me!”, the young Scot screamed.  “No fucking way!  I’m not a poofter, and I don’t go with blokes….”

“That’s it!”, Dan shouted.  “I’ve heard enough!  I told you  that if you spoke out of turn, you’d be punished.”

“And I told you that I can take any fucking caning you want to hand out….!”, the lad retorted instantly, only adding to Dan’s anger.

“Steve, strip him and thrash him!”, Dan told me.

Look, Dan and I are partners, right?  And usually matters involving slave training and discipline are left to me.  I don’t like Dan interfering in my work, and I certainly don’t like him ordering me around – well, I suppose it stirs memories of when I was his slave.

“Dan, cool it, will you?  He’s only a kid – do you remember how you were at sixteen?  And he’s been thrashed once already today, and I don’t want to hurt him….”

“Stop making excuses, Steve!  You bought rubbish, and you don’t want to admit it.  Steve can never just say ‘I was wrong’ – no, you have to keep circling around it, trying to avoid the issue, trying to change the subject.  It’s really quite simple  – this piece of trash is rude and defiant, and I wanted you to punish him.  And you choose not to…..”

“Get off your fucking high horse, for Christ sake, Dan!  I discipline the slaves around here, and, yes, he may be rude now, but he’s potentially a good buy. So go back to your office, and leave me to get on with my work.”

Dan turned and stormed out, and I felt really bad.  He and I just don’t quarrel about business matters, as we have our “spheres of interest” and are wise enough not to intrude too much on the other.  I wondered why Dan had reacted so uncharacteristically angrily about this slave, and felt uneasy: maybe there was more to this than there seemed to be.  I hated arguing and quarrelling with Dan – w e had little enough time together as it was, and such time as we had ought to be spent making love, not in arguing about some fucking slave.

Well I expect you know how it is…. I was angry now, angry at Dan, and a bit angry at myself for letting matters escalate.  But Dan wasn’t here and the Scots lad was, so he became the object of my anger.  He stood there, a faint smile on his face as if he was glad to have been the cause of an argument.

“You were told to strip off”, I snapped at him.  Now do it.”

“And I told your mate I didn’t do that for poofters to be able to take a look….”

He never got to the end of the sentence as my suppressed fury at having quarrelled with Dan boiled over, and I gave him a big back hand slap across his face.  The sound of the slap was like a minor explosion, and he staggered sideways with the force of it, crashed into one of the bunks, and half fell, half stumbled, to lie on the ground.

Joe came running in – he’d had the sense not to get involved between Dan and me, but hearing the slap and the crash, thought there might be problems.  He’s a big softy at heart, in spite of his awesome appearance, and he rushed over and bent down by the kid who was lying sprawled there, blood trickling from his nose.  “Easy….”, Joe said calmly.  “Lie there, quite still, and get your breath back before you try to move….”

As he said this, Joe turned around and looked up at me, almost accusingly.  “He’s only a kid, sir….”

“A wilful, disobedient, foul-mouthed kid, Joe!”  My anger was cooling now – it’s quick to flare up, but once it has, it tends to go away equally quickly. Unlike Dan, who will brood for days over some trivial incident.

“Get to your feet!  And get naked!”, I commanded him again, and when he just glared at me and shouted “Go fuck yourself!”,  even Joe was horrified – well, after all, the slaves we had in for training were mostly very well behaved from the outset.  And Joe himself could just not conceive of speaking like that to a master.

Joe didn’t seem to know what to do, but then he reached down and grabbed the kid’s arm and half helped, half hauled him to his feet.  “Now, come on, do as master Steve commands”, be began.  “Master Steve doesn’t want to have to punish you….   What’s your name, anyway?  I’m Joe…”

“Angus.”

He stood there, glaring at me, and still making no move to get naked.  I thought he needed to be taught a lesson that it was the master who controlled things, so I said, quite calmly and quietly, “I don’t like the name Angus.  So as you’re  a Scot, we’ll call you Andrew, or Andy for short.”

“You can’t change my name….”

“Listen, boy, I can do whatever I like to you.  I own you, and I own you totally.  You no longer have any free choice in things, and if I say you’re called Andy, then that’s what you are from now on.  And, if you want to avoid a whole lot of very unpleasant things happening to you, I’d make up my mind that ‘Andy’ will co-operate and be a good slave, and leave all the swearing and disobedience behind with ‘Angus’.”

“Fuck you…..”

That was too much.  “Joe, strip him!”, I commanded, and Joe, even though he didn’t really want to, did of course obey me.  He grabbed the lad’s left bicep, holding him tight, then as the kid started to thrash around at kick at him and fill the air with expletives and threats, Joe calmly and deliberately reached down and undid his shorts, and pushed them down over the kid’s snake-thin hips.

It was almost as if having his cock exposed to us made the kid stop his wild antics – well, I suppose he was aware of it bobbing up and down and thrashing from side to side as he struggled with Joe.  Joe then almost briskly gripped the bottom hem of the kid’s T with both hands, and in a single, smooth effort pulled it up and over his head, letting it drop to the floor.

Andy stood there then and, unlike a lot of sixteen year olds, he made no effort to conceal his cock from me – I reckon that a lot of the “meat” that ought to have gone into his body must have ended up in his cock, as it was really on a heroic scale.  Or, more properly, it was, I suppose, average size.  But on his small, scrawny body it looked huge.  Joe dropped back to stand respectfully away from the kid, but as he did so caught sight of his bum and couldn’t help giving a low whistle and murmuring “Fucking hell!  Who did this to the lad?  Some fucking sadist…”

“Joe, I will not have you speaking like that!  The slave dealer needed to discipline this unruly slave, and that’s just a few cane strokes….”

“But his bum’s bleeding!  And there are scabs, and weals….”

I took a closer look at Andy, and saw that what Joe had said was true:  I knew about the caning, of course, but he’d been fitted with a heavy iron slave collar, one of the cheap ones they import, like almost everything else, from China.  They are just not finished off properly so the rough edges lie on the slave’s skin on top of the shoulders and really rub it raw.  It’s very painful, as I know from personal experience, and it only goes away when you’ve been wearing the collar for some months, so horrible hard patches of scabby material form.  The pain from this can’t have been helping with Andy’s undeniable foul mood.

him, and bring him back so I can give him a nice chain collar that won’t be so painful.  And get some of the antiseptic cream and analgesic salve from the first-aid chest, and rub it into his collarbone and his bum – try to make the kid as easy as possible.”

I turned to Andy and went on “And you behave!  You’ve been spared another caning tonight as your bum’s in such bad condition.  But any more terrible behaviour from you and I’ll do it anyway.  Now, go with Joe….”

As it turned out I got caught up in a few things, then had dinner with Julie and Joe, and so it wasn’t until quite late that I got back to the stables.  Joe was waiting patiently for me with the lad, who stood there looking totally bored.  Joe handed me the collar, muttering “I though you’d like to collar him, sir….”

I did want to do it of course, as it’s an important part of accepting the life of a slave for a man to have his collar fitted, and I do believe that he has a greater respect for his owner if it’s his owner who does it.    “Kneel, boy”, I commanded, and Andy hesitated, as if he was thinking about defying me.  “Get down!”, Joe hissed at him.  “Remember what I told you!”

I wasn’t certain that I liked having the lad obey Joe when he had almost defied me, but he knelt there in front of me, totally naked.  I took the fairly chunky chain Joe handed to me and put it around the lad’s neck, then snapped shut the fastener.  “This is your collar, boy”, I intoned.  “You wear it as a symbol, to show others that you are a slave.  And as a reminder to yourself of your status.  When you feel the weight of this collar pressing into your skin, remind yourself that you are a lowly slave, and that you belong to me.  When you are collared you no longer have responsibility for your actions providing you are obeying me:  a slave does no wrong, other than if he disobeys his owner.”

I turned away and Andy scrambled to his feet, saying to Joe “Where are those fucking shorts, then?”

“Stay naked, boy!”, I snapped.  “You have your collar, and that is all you need.  A slave should feel no shame at displaying himself for his owner’s pleasure, even if he has a body that is as puny as yours is.   A slave, wearing his collar as a symbol of his servitude, is always wearing sufficient.  You are no longer a man, but an animal, a beast in my service, and animals have no need of a covering for their nakedness.”

I looked at Joe and went on “Keep an eye on him for the next few days, Joe.  He’s to work for the cook in the kitchens, but he’s just stupid enough to believe that he might be able to escape.  So perhaps you’d better put a shackling chain around his ankle when he’s at work, and lock him up at night…. At least until we’re sure he’s accepted his status.”

“Where’s he going to sleep, sir?”

“Lock him in the punishment cell, I suppose.  That way he won’t run off during the night.”  (Part of our new extensions, to include the slaves’ kitchen, included a small space with a barred gate where any slaves who might prove violent could be locked).

“Sir it ‘s so small!  It’s designed to be uncomfortable, as the  slave can’t lie down fully stretched out, and can’t stand upright….. It’s a punishment cell, sir…..”

“Well that’s all there is.  He’s not so big that it will be as tough for him as for some of the slaves….  All the beds here in stables are full, as you know.”

“He could sleep in my bed, sir….”

“I hadn’t planned to take you in to my room tonight, Joe.”

Joe seemed to hesitate, and blush.  “It would be OK for him to sleep with me, sir.  As you say, he’s not all that big, and he could curl up against me…. There’d be enough room….”

Joe was almost stammering by the time he got to the end of this sentence, and I looked at him long and hard.  “I always thought you liked proper men, Joe…. This is only a boy!”

“It’s really no problem, sir…. I like women, if you remember…..  The boy will be safe with me.”

“No fucking of him, Joe!  When his bum’s healed a bit, it’s going to be me that takes his cherry.  It’s important for a slave to know who his owner is….”

“I don’t fuck blokes, sir!”

I shrugged.  “Be especially sure you don’t, Joe.  I want this boy to know what it’s like to feel my cock as the first one up his arse.”

“No-one’s going to fuck me…”, Andy began, and Joe put an arm around his shoulder and made “Shhh….” noises.

” You’d better start to teach the boy to behave, Joe. Any more outbursts like that and I will cane him, sore bum or not.  And you, boy….. Well, you’ve got something to look forward to in the next week:  proper sex, sex with a man.  You’re going to ride my cock, whether you like it or not.”

With that, I turned and went into my room before the boy could say anything else that would force me to make good on my threat to punish him.  I’m not gratuitously cruel to slaves, as you know, and I really didn’t want to have to cane the lad – well, not for something relatively minor.  I didn’t doubt that he’d have to be thrashed at least once more before he understood that lesson that all slaves must learn – failure to obey results in physical punishment.

I turned on the TV monitor to take a look back into the barn once I’d shut the door, and saw Joe leading Andy towards his bed.  Joe stripped off as Andy looked in amazement at his big muscular body, now liberally covered with Joe’s thatch of hair (well there was little point in insisting he shaved himself now we were no longer showing him, was there?), with the big tattoos standing out starkly.  Joe gestured to the bed, and when Andy shook his head and evidently said “Fuck off” or something similar, Joe grabbed his arm. At once Andy began to struggle and hit out and kick at Joe, who therefore simply picked the lad up and almost threw him into the bed.  Some of the other slaves had evidently heard the commotion, as they came and stood around laughing and evidently making ribald suggestions about what Joe was going to do, as he climbed in behind the lad and spooned up to him, throwing his arm over Andy’s skinny body to prevent the lad from escaping.

Well it was all very well for me to order Joe to take the lad into his bed, but that left me at a bit of a loose end.  I couldn’t hope to spend the night with Dan, of course, and whilst I could have used one of the other slaves from the barn, it’s a lot of trouble.  Frankly, having Joe as a fuck toy was convenient – I liked his big muscular body next to mine, and especially the feeling as I slipped my cock between his solid bum cheeks, and of course Joe knew what I liked.  I only needed to make a few gestures or grunt a few words at him as I fucked him to have him move to make it more pleasurable for me, and we were even used to doing quite complicated things when I felt like it – I could begin by fucking him on his hands and knees, and then with my cock still buried in him, we could roll onto our sides and right over so I was doing a classic “missionary” job.  None of the other slaves would know all my little likes and dislikes, and, anyway, some of them wouldn’t be particularly clean as they would not have been expecting to receive my attentions, and that would not make it so pleasant for me.  So I decided to lie there and just wank, and even that’s not as much fun when you know the cum’s going to shoot all over the bed and will feel damp and slimy as you roll over – it really is so much better to have another bloke to catch it in his mouth.

I don’t know what it was that made me do it, but at some point in the middle of the night I woke up.  I don’t usually do this as I’m a pretty sound sleeper, but I’ left the TV monitor on and as I lay there I couldn’t help seeing the slaves all asleep in the barn – some of them having decided to sleep together as you’d expect, but the majority, exhausted after a day of hard training, just sleeping alone quietly.  As I moved the control, I got a view of Joe and Dan – Joe was no longer spooned up against Dan, as the they’d moved so they were face to face.  The kid seemed to be lying with his head on Dan’s big furry pecs, and had his arms draped around Joe’s neck.  I could almost imagine the feeling of their cocks nestling companionably close together, and somehow I found myself feeling jealous – and not certain whether it was because I was missing Joe, or whether it was because I wanted to feel someone so unconsciously hugging me, as  Andy was.  I longed for Dan, to be so close to him.

The next morning I went and showered with all the slaves as I sometimes do, just to remind them that not all masters are pale, weak creatures.  Andy seemed to have calmed down considerably as he stood there, next to Joe, and followed the big man out of the showers to breakfast.  As it so happened it was the regular day for Dan and me to have our “review” meeting – we saw each other a lot, of course, but had long ago decided that a formal meeting where we reviewed the progress of every slave would be a good idea as it would prevent things from “falling through the cracks”. I reminded Dan, for example, that one of the slaves needed to have the vet called, and that he needed to get the owner’s permission for the money to be spent. That sort of thing.

As A result of the meeting going on a bit, I didn’t get out to make my inspection until about half past eleven, and then I went via the kitchens to see how Andy was doing.  The kid was sitting there in shorts and a T chopping carrots, and he and the cook seemed to be getting on all right  as they had the wireless on and both evidently liked the same raucous rock music.  I was incensed, however, to see that Andy was not shackled to the floor as I’d ordered, so went to the door and shouted for Joe to come over from the course.

He arrived panting as he’d already been working hard and he knew from my tone that I wanted him urgently. “I told you to have this slave shackled when he was working!”, I snapped.

“Sorry, sir, but I thought it would be OK.  He’s calmed down a lot since he arrived, and he’ll be no trouble….”

“Who asked you to think?  I told you to have him shackled, and you disobeyed me!  If you were any of the other slaves and you’d so flagrantly disobeyed a direct instruction, you’d be whipped.  Now, go and fetch a shackle chain, and chain him to that waste pipe over there.”  “Sir, there’s really no need….”, Joe began, and Andy cut in “I ain’t’ going nowhere, honest….”

“Shut the fuck up, both of you!”  I shouted.  And then, looking at Joe, I went on “How is the lad ever going to learn total obedience when he has you as an example?  Now, do as I fucking well tell you!”

I thought for a moment that Joe was actually going to carry on arguing with me, and his body language said he was almost in “fight” mode, but, inwardly fuming, he turned and stalked away.  As my blazing anger cooled, I wondered why this meant so much to me:  was it because Joe could have so quickly got to having this simple, loving relationship with Andy – for, looking at how they acted together, this is what it must be – whereas Dan and me were still so far apart even after such a long time?

Later that afternoon when I was next passing the kitchen I was gratified to see that Joe had actually obeyed me – Andy was securely chained to the cast iron drain pipe by an ankle manacle, and was working away under the cook’s direction at hacking a huge hunk of beef into small cubes with a very sharp knife, as we were evidently going to have a casserole that evening.  He saw me watching him and bent to his work, but was glaring as he did so.  I suppose I felt a momentary twinge of unease at seeing his attitude, given that he did have access to the very sharp knives, but it was only for an instant – he’d soon come to see that I’d done him a real favour by buying him, I thought.

For the next few days whenever I went out on to the course it seemed to me that Andy was there – I saw him shinning up ropes, as agile and as quick as a monkey almost, and then positively racing along the swaying aerial walkway, and making record time along the horizontal pole where you have to hang from your hands.  Mind you, he was useless at getting over the three metre wall, and some of the other exercises, and when Joe saw me looking at him he commented “He’s so light that all the rope climbing and stuff is a lot easier for him than it is for the others.  But because he doesn’t have the power they have, there’s some stuff he’s much worse at, too.”

“Shouldn’t he be in the kitchen, or the laundry?”

Joe looked a bit embarrassed, and muttered “The cook said we’re having roast tonight so there’s not so much work to be done….”

He saw my look of faint disbelief on my face and went on “Sir, Steve, look, it’s important for the lad… All his life he’s not been good at anything, and people have ignored him, or treated him badly.  Here he’s actually good at something, and the other blokes all accept him, and actually help him with the ‘power’ stuff – it’s making him feel like a proper human being.  I reckon it’s better for him to get more self confidence – he’ll work all the harder in the kitchen….”

I was a bit cross that Joe was talking to me like this – I know he had permission to call me “Steve” when we were being very familiar, basically, when I was fucking him, but this was a different situation. “I’ve told you before not to think!  I want him back in the kitchen, now!”

Joe called for Andy, and the lad almost leapt from the aerial ropeway and trotted over to us.  He was actually smiling, something I’d not seen him do before, as if he was expecting to be praised for running the course.  Look, you may think me harsh, and might actually be siding with Joe at this point, but you have to remember that Andy was a slave.  “Back to the kitchen, boy”, I commanded, and looking at Joe, added “And you go with him and manacle him.”  “But sir….”, Andy burst out, and I snapped “Shut your fucking mouth, slave boy.”

“At least let me finish this round….”, he continued.

“It seems to me that you’re able to do all this exercise quite easily.  So presumably your bum has healed now?  Let’s see, shall we – drop your shorts!”

Most of the other slaves had finished the course now and were clustered around waiting for further instructions from Joe.  Andy stood there as if frozen – why, I can’t imagine, as all the slaves had seen him naked in the showers;  but then, some men are funny about stripping off outdoors.  “Get those shorts off now!  Do I have to issue every order twice?”

I saw Joe nodding at the lad, and reluctantly, he reached for the drawstring of the exercise shorts they all wore out on the course, and the shorts dropped to the ground.  I ran the palm of my hand over his skinny buttocks, grasping each globe as I did and squeezing it to feel the power of the muscle.  “Yes, you seem to have healed – so tonight we’ll confirm you as a slave.”

I looked at Joe, and went on “Clean him out properly Joe, you know how I like you – make sure he’s the same.”

“Please, sir….”, Joe started.

“You too, Joe?  Making me give every fucking order twice?  What’s happening to this place?  You all seem to have forgotten that you’re slaves, and slaves obey.”

With that, I turned and walked away, but a few minutes later I saw Joe leading Andy towards the kitchens and the big man had his arm around Andy’s shoulders, and his head was bent low as if he was comforting and consoling the lad in some way.

I lingered over supper deliberately that evening, and even persuaded Dan to open a second bottle of wine, so I was pleasantly mellow when I walked back to the barn later on.  I knew it might be a difficult time, and I thought that another glass of alcohol might help me keep my temper – I really didn’t want to get to the point where Joe’s behaviour would be such that I’d have to order a major punishment for him in order to maintain my position.

You may think that it would have been best for me to simply take Andy into my room and fuck him – after all, although he was likely to struggle and resist, I’m an awful lot bigger and more powerful than he is. But I’d been watching how Andy followed Joe around, both physically and with his eyes when they were in the same room, and how Joe seemed to have taken the lad “under his wing”:  not only on occasions like that afternoon when he was taking him to the kitchen, but they seemed particularly close in bed with the lad huddled close to Joe, and Joe almost wrapping himself protectively around.  It appeared to me that it would do Joe good to see that Andy was only a slave, nothing special, and that he should therefore be there when I took the lad’s cherry.

Consequently I opened the door into the main barn and told Joe and Andy both to come in, and I could see most of the other slaves sitting up in their beds, watching expectantly to see what would happen next. They were to be disappointed, as Joe obeyed, almost pushing Andy ahead of him, and then I shut the door.

I’d already taken my shirt off and now I pushed my jeans and boxers to the floor and went and sprawled on my back on the double bed.  “Come on, kid – come and lie beside me”, I told him, stretching my arm out over the pillow next to me, and indicating I wanted him alongside me with his head on my arm.  “And you, Joe, get on the other side of him.”

We lay there side by side, and I began to play with my cock, getting it hard.  Andy’s head was somehow hot and sweaty on my arm, and I turned to him.  “See that? It’s my cock, and it’s going up your arse.”

He dared to look away, at Joe, who shook his head a little, as if warning the lad not to do anything foolish.  “Yes, Andy”, I went on.  “Right up!  And it’s your first time, isn’t it?  You’ve not taken cock before?”

“Sir, please, no…. Of course I haven’t…. I’m not a poofter….”

“If you ever use that word again, Andy, I’ll have you flogged.  It’s grossly derogatory to men who enjoy fucking other men.  It implies they’re somehow different, or effeminate, or weak – whereas, as you can see, Joe and me are big and tough and strong. It’s perfectly natural for men to have sex, as you’ll find out – the male arsehole seems to be designed to accommodate a cock, and you’ll soon learn to like it. Not that it matters – as a slave, you do as you’re told, and if I choose to use your arse, I will.  Joe used to hate me fucking him, but now he enjoys it, don’t you, Joe?”

Joe just muttered quietly, totally without enthusiasm, “I suppose so, sir.”

This was beginning to look interesting.  “Now, Andy, the problem with cocks and arseholes is that they work better together when they’re properly lubricated.  We could just use that old standby, spit, but for a first timer, I think it’s better to use something a bit more slippery.  So why don’t you start wanking…..  And Joe…. You get that little dish there on the bedside table and be ready to catch the cum when he shoots.”

“No, please…”, Andy started, and I stopped him.  “Do as you’re told, boy!  Or else I’ll have Joe wank you forcibly….”

As I watched with interest, and Joe watched with a look of sadness, Andy’s arm reached out and he began to play with his cock.  I’ve told you that he was well built there, and once he was erect he wasn’t all that much smaller than me – and it was nicer for him to wank, of course, as he’d still got his ‘skin and as the pre-cum started, his slimy cock head kept peeking out at us.

The kid’s breathing quickened and his hand went faster and faster up and down his cock, and I sensed he was on the point of cumming.  “Get ready, Joe!  Catch every drop…..”, I ordered.

The problem with young blokes wanking, as you all may remember, is that you shoot a long way!  Joe and I shoot with a lot less vigour (it happens, with age), and a little fountain of cum shot right down the bed initially, before Joe reached across and made Andy’s cock point downwards so he could catch the rest of the cum in  the small dish.  It didn’t matter, actually, as there was still a lot there.

I rubbed my fingers through the cum, the propped myself up on one elbow so I was looking down at Andy. “OK, now I’m going to start stretching and lubricating you – I’m not going to hurt you, and in fact, the reason I’m doing this is to avoid hurting you!  But it will feel strange at first….”

I reached between his legs and there was no problem at all in finding his arsehole – he’d only got skinny little buttocks, with almost no arse crack, and I’m used to dealing with much bigger blokes.  He moaned as my finger first touched his pucker and began to work its way in, and I saw him turn his head and look imploringly at Joe, as if about to beg the big slave to make it all stop.  Joe gave him a look I can only describe as one of reassurance, as if they’d talked about this beforehand, and Joe had been pointing out that this was going to happen.

Well, Andy was all right with one finger, and with two, and although he whimpered and cried out as I got three in and began to really use the mechanical advantage I then had to stretch him wide open, all seemed to be going well.  But when I pulled out of him and began to stroke my own cock, lubing it with more of the cum from the dish, he began again to say “Please, sir, no… Please don’t sir….”

I moved down the bed, my cock bobbing up and down, and said as gently as I could, as I was getting excited now, “OK, Andy…. Let’s get your legs up in the air….”

“NO!”, he shouted,  “No fucking way!”, and sat upright, and then tried to scoot away across the bed to get away from me.

“Grab him, Joe”, I snapped, and, almost to my surprise, Joe his put his arm around Andy’s thin body and held him there.

“Well, I thought this was going to be relatively easy”, I said, calm now, “But perhaps not.  So Joe – please lay Andy on his back and then hold his arms above his head, and hold them there tightly.”

“Steve, please….”

“Joe, there are a lot of liberties I allow you when we’re in bed together, but in some things, I will be obeyed.  Now, do as you’re fucking well told – it will be better for the kid in the long run, you know.”

“Andy… It will be OK”, Joe muttered.  “Remember what  I told you….”, and he pushed Andy down, on his back, then went and crouched by the lad’s head, holding his arms down as I’d ordered him to.

I picked up Andy’s legs and pushed them forward and apart, and, gripping his ankles, shuffled forward so my cock head was positioned at his pucker.  It felt hot and sweaty to me, and you know how it is – however calm you mean to be when you start, once your cock gets  the feel of an arsehole, there’s no stopping, is there?

I pushed forward and really enjoyed the resistance the kid was offering, and the way he began to try to squirm away (utterly futile, with Joe holding his arms and me gripping his ankles), and to shout out, begging and imploring me to stop.  Then I was in, and, not wanting to hurt the kid, I deliberately stopped for a few seconds, before moving forward,  inexorably, until my cock was completely buried in him.

It wasn’t a great fuck, actually – I like a lot of good muscle around to really slam into, and the kid’s skinny body didn’t make for an erotic time – although the way he continued to try to resist, and the noise he was making, was a bit of a turn on, I suppose.

I know that in all the stories you read about this sort of thing it’s meant to be so amazing that you can’t help shooting after five or six strokes, but real life isn’t like that, even when you’re fucking a great arse, is it?  I read some statistics somewhere that said that the majority of blokes don’t actually come in the arse at all.  But I worked away until, frankly, I was bored – I was close to cumming, but thought it would still take a bit of time, so I did the thing that I find almost as satisfactory – I pulled out of the kid, then quickly stroked my cock to climax, making sure it was pointing directly along his body so that my cum made a long streak from his navel towards his pecs.  Then, taking most of my weight on my knees and elbows as otherwise I’m sure he wouldn’t be able to breathe, I stretched my body over his so I could bite at his neck and ears, and whisper  “There! You’re really mine now, Andy.  A lot of other men may fuck you in your life, but you’ll always remember me, as I was the first.”

I could feel his chest heaving as he breathed deeply, and his heart was racing.  “Bastard”, he muttered at me.  “Fucking bastard!”

“That’s disappointing, Andy!  I was really gentle with you – some owners would have raped you!  I wanted you to enjoy your first experience of cock.  Still, let’s see how you get on now.”

I sat upright and rocked back on my haunches, and looked at Joe who was still holding the kid’s arms above his head.  “Right, Joe.  Your turn now.  He’s good and stretched, so I want to see a good, hard fuck, as I hold him down for you.”    

To be continued …

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