Wickus Chapter 5 The Basement
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years.
Written by Jean-Christophe: August 2013 Read my stories t http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
The characters and ideas contained in this story belong in the writer's imagination and bear no resemblance to actual persons or events. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add other artists' pictures
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Chapter 5:
Dinner is proving a prolonged affair as my parents question me about my life at university, my studies and my social life. I try to answer all their questions as a dutiful son should but my thoughts are centered more on Wickus than on our conversation. I can't take my eyes away from him as he stands with his back to the wall in the modified display position. I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest and the quickening flutter of his clearly delineated abdominal muscles as he stands ever ready to step forward, unbidden, to serve us. Lustfully, my eyes wander slowly down to the burgeoning swelling of his cock provocatively outlined through the diaphanous material of his loincloth. And whenever, he walks around the dining-table, I am taunted by the graceful, almost rhythmic undulations of his curvaceous ass cheeks as he moves. I lust after Wickus and all I can think about is being alone in my room with him and fucking him. The tantalizing promise of that stays with me right throughout dinner with my family.
During the latter stages of dinner, as we talk over our dessert and coffee, I almost feel sorry for Gerd. His apprehension is plainly obvious in his frightened, wide eyed expression which reminds me of a doomed animal waiting for the final lunge of a hungry predator. As he pours coffee into our cups, his hands shake and I can see the uncontrolled trembling of his spindly legs. Even his ample paunch quivers with his fear. Once or twice, he spontaneously falls to his knees beside my father's chair and tells him how sorry he is and begs for mercy.
His pleas for leniency go unheeded and my father ignores him. Dad will never reverse a slave's punishment once he's ordered it; he'd see this as a sign of weakness on his part that gives the advantage to the slave. Surely Gerd knows this and understands his pleading is in vain. But I suppose his desperation blinds him to the reality of his situation and he continues with his tearful begging to be spared. Momentarily, I feel a sense of guilt that I had deliberately engineered the offence of which he is accused. But that soon passes as I recall how he'd slyly contrived to have Wickus's punishment increased in a tussle of wills with me. Quite bluntly, Gerd had misjudged me and overreached himself. He'd gambled and lost. I have emerged the winner and I have established my authority over him.
Eventually my father loses patience with Gerd and orders him to.
"Stop your sniveling and get to your feet!"
Gerd hastily scrambles to his feet and stands dutifully before his master. Much to my mother's disgust, he uses the back of his hand to wipe his nose and to brush away his tears. She reprimands him for his grossness.
"Gerd, you forget yourself! Your lack of manners in our presence shows your disrespect for us. I will ask Master Thandiwe to add two more strikes of the paddle to your punishment."
I fully expect Gerd to once more begin his begging. But strangely he doesn't. Perhaps he's finally realized the hopelessness of his situation and the futility of further pleading. He stands silently as my father orders him and Wickus down to the basement.
"Gerd take Wickus with you and go down to the basement to await your punishments. There, you are both to remove your garments and kneel naked facing a wall with your hands placed on top of your heads as you wait for our arrival. I want both of you to think about your misdemeanors and reflect on why I have found it necessary to punish the two of you. Do you both understand me?"
Both slaves acknowledge Dad's command with a simple, tremulous reply.
"Yes Master!"
I watch as both Gerd and Wickus dejectedly walk away with downcast eyes. Once more, I salivate at the sight of Wickus's retreating ass. It is an ass that I must first cane before I can claim it as my own.
In reality the basement began life as a large wine cellar for its previous but now dispossessed, white owners. It is constructed of solid stone which both insulates and sound-proofs it. Being below ground level the conditions are just right for the storage of my father's impressive cellar of expensive wines.
Dad had allocated part of the cellar to the housing of our slaves. This is where the house and grounds slaves sleep and each has his own pallet to which he is chained at the ankle by either Mandisa or her husband Uuka after my parents retire for the night. Dad always feels it is necessary to chain the slaves overnight to thwart any attempts on their part to run away.
I'd always considered this chaining of the slaves as a bit of theatrical "overkill". Should a slave manage to leave the basement and make it into the grounds of our home, he is confronted with locked gates and a high voltage electric fence surrounding the estate. The chances of a slave ever escaping from our home are therefore non-existent. But if by some miracle a slave did manage to break free and make it into the surrounding streets, he'd soon be picked up by one of the many security patrols who guard our Blacks' only, residential enclave around the clock looking for any stray whites foolish enough to venture into this "no white man's land". The penalty for such foolhardiness is mandatory enslavement as poor Wickus had found to his cost. What chance then does a naked, branded white slave ever have of escaping from his owner's home.
Adjoining the slaves' sleeping quarters is an ablution room where the slaves shower and groom themselves before reporting to Mandisa and Uuka for their daily duties. The showers and toilets used by the slaves are very basic; utilitarian is perhaps a better adjective with which to describe them. There is no hot water and the slaves must suffer cold showers all year round even in the depths of winter. Again my father regards giving slaves the luxury of a warm shower as a weakness on his part. One thing my father would never do is to mollycoddle his white slaves.
And adjacent to where they sleep, the slaves have full view of the forbidding punishment area and its grim implements of correction.
Dad had deliberately placed this area close to their sleeping quarters so that the slaves are always aware of what they call the "punishment corner". He'd reasoned this would keep them alert to the ever present risk they run of being punished for their misdemeanors. However, I'm not sure this works as a deterrent; the corporal punishment of the slaves is still a daily occurrence in our household.
As a boy, the punishment area had always fascinated me. As I'd looked at the whipping frames, the caning and paddling benches, the cages, the stocks and the varied assortment of whips, paddles, straps and canes hanging ominously on a wall-rack, I'd imagined it as a medieval torture chamber. My boyish imagination ran wild with my erotic thoughts of slaves being tortured and punished. When Dad considered me old enough, he'd insisted that I be present whenever he punished a slave.
So, in that sense, I am not a stranger to a slave's suffering and I have long lost the initial squeamishness I'd felt as a slave was caned, strapped or whipped. Now my father asserts the time is right for me to administer such punishments and it is most unfortunate that the first slave I must cane is my new body- slave, Wickus.
With dinner finally finished, my mother retires to the living-room to read and watch television which leaves Dad, Isivile and me free to attend to what she succinctly refers to as "men's business". We wait as Uuka quickly assembles all the household slaves in the basement to witness the punishments before we join them.
As we enter punishment corner, Gerd and Wickus are kneeling with their faces to the wall and with their backs to us. Once more I am teased by the sight of Wickus's curvaceous ass - this time completely naked and fully exposed to my view. Gerd's ass too is on display and I can't help but make the comparison between the two slaves' asses. The one belonging to Wickus is best described as pert. His ass-cheeks are shapely but as tight as a drum and carried high on the twin columns of his muscular legs. The cleft dividing the two orbs of his buttocks is clearly defined and its mysterious depth holds the promise of the pleasure I am soon to sample.
The other ass, the one belonging to Gerd, couldn't be more different. It is an ass that can no longer defy gravity as evidenced by his sagging ass-cheeks which are wrinkled and mottled by the layers of subcutaneous fat beneath the sallow skin. I am repulsed by its extreme ugliness.
The fear both slaves have of their impending punishment is plain to see in the trembling of their bodies and limbs. As he hears us approaching, Gerd begins to weep and plead for mercy.
Dutifully, I wait for my father to begin but he remains silent and I realize that he is waiting for me to take the initiative. Obviously, He has taken me at my word that I can both control and punish a slave and is giving me the chance to prove myself to him. I seize the moment and in my most authoritative voice, I command both slaves to their feet.
"Wickus! Gerd! Stand up and face me in the full display position. DO IT, NOW!"
Fearfully both slaves obey my order and stand at full display before my father, my brother and me.
Again, I notice the disparity between the two slaves and the difference is starkly obvious. Wickus, the younger of the two is in the full bloom of his manhood. Gerd by comparison is a sorry specimen and he disgusts me. If my calculations about Gerd's age are correct, then he is in his early forties and yet as I look at him he could be taken to be much older with his soft, bloated belly, his sagging pectorals, his slack ass and spindly limbs.
No doubt the good life he'd once enjoyed as a free man had laid the foundations of the physical wreck that now stands quaking before me. Quite truthfully, I am ashamed that such a slave serves in my parents' household. And yet his appearance does give me an opportunity to further humiliate him and to consolidate my authority over him. I decide to heap ridicule on to him.
"Dad, Gerd is the ugliest slave I have ever seen. How can you have such a poor specimen serve you as a house-slave? Don't your visitors ever comment about his sorry appearance?"
"One or two have! But when I explain the special relationship that exists between us - how he was once my workplace superior but is now my slave - they see my reasons for keeping him. Indeed, they find it amusing."
"I understand why you'd want to keep him as your slave and to humiliate him as your former boss but you have to admit he's a sorry sight. Just look at him Have you ever seen such a miserable specimen of a slave. Why, if he was put up for auction I doubt he'd attract a bid? Most probably the buyers would pour scorn on him."
"Then tell me Thandiwe, what would you have me do with him?"
"If he were my slave, the first thing I'd do is to salvage something from the physical wreck that he has become. I'd work him hard to rid him of his flab and to put muscle back onto his frame. I'd put him on a very strict, high protein, no fat diet and make sure he wasn't able to secretly 'snack' in the kitchen when Mandisa's back is turned."
"You suspect him of stealing food? What makes you think that?"
"Dad, it obvious! Just look at him. All the telltale signs are there. His thick jowls, the flabby belly and the sagging ass are all giveaway signs that he's stealing titbits from the pantry."
Of course, I don't have any proof to back my accusation that Gerd steals food from the pantry. It's all supposition on my part and it is meant to further ridicule him. As I look to see Gerd's reaction to my comments, I see the hostility he feels towards me flashing in his eyes. I sense that inwardly, he is seething with impotent rage; I have only been home for a few hours and already I have upset his cozy world, taken away his authority over Wickus and sown doubts as to his trustworthiness in the eyes of his Master.
Stung by my accusation, Gerd tries to defend himself.
"Master, it's not true! I have never stolen food from you."
In a way, I have a grudging admiration for Gerd's efforts to defend himself. It is a foolhardy thing to do and I am surprised that he has thrown caution to the wind and contradicted me. Surely he knows the words of a slave counts as nothing against those of a free man. And it would have been better for him to stay silent. His protestation of innocence provokes a furious response from my father.
"BE QUIET! How dare you speak without permission? Are you contradicting Master Thandiwe? Are you calling my son a liar?"
Poor Gerd! Trapped by his own words, he has no further defence to offer and he lapses into a sullen silence. However, my father's anger is palpable and must be assuaged.
"You've just earned yourself extra punishment for your temerity. Thandiwe, what punishment did we decide upon for Gerd?"
"There's the original ten strokes of the paddle for spilling coffee onto the table and then the two Mother gave him for his bad manners in the dining-room. That makes twelve so far."
"Then let's round it up to fifteen strokes!"
Gerd blanches at this increase in his punishment and the fear he feels is plainly reflected on his face. But as I look at the assembled slaves, I see from their sideway glances to one another and I surmise from their smirking smiles that they are enjoying Gerd's discomfiture. Obviously, the prospect of his punishment appeals to them. All of them, have at one time or another, been the target of his bad temper and the victim of his overweening need to exert his authority over them. As a slave, he wasn't allowed to administer corporal punishment to a fellow slave but that hadn't stopped him from using his position as head slave to take them to Mandisa or Uuka for punishment. Both were always happy to accept his allegations at face value and to chastise the unhappy slave irrespective of whether or not his offence was genuine or, as was more usually the case, one fabricated by the devious Gerd.
The waiting slaves, no doubt see this as long overdue retribution! For my part, I see it as justified payback for conniving to have Wickus wrongly punished; I thwarted his plan and had engineered his own "crime".
It could be said that Gerd is "hoist with his own petard".
I'd not set out to deliberately add to Gerd's punishment. That had just happened with the unfolding of events. But in a way this has helped to consolidate my authority over him. Any doubts he'd entertained about my youthful ability to stamp my authority over my family's slaves will soon dissipate as I apply the paddle to his ass. My thoughts are interrupted by my father's next comment and question.
"Thandiwe, I see what you mean, son. Gerd is a very sorry specimen when you compare him to the other slaves. What would you recommend I do with him to improve his appearance?"
"Well Dad, as you can see his body has gone to seed from soft living. Obviously he has it too easy working in the house. I suggest he needs to be worked hard outdoors to build up his stamina and strength. I think a few months laboring in the grounds would work wonders with him."
"Perhaps you're right, Thandiwe."
My father agrees with my suggestions and speaks to Uuka who is responsible for the outdoor slaves.
"Uuka, would you have a problem with Gerd working in the grounds under your direction?"
"None at all! The only problem would be in getting a decent day's work from him. As Thandiwe rightly points out he is out of condition. But that can be remedied. My litupa is a strong motivator. It can coax extra effort out of the laziest slave."
Uuka is referring to the litupa whip he habitually carries with him at all times. It serves two purposes; firstly it is the visible sign of his authority over our slaves and secondly it is used to both motivate and chastise them. And our slaves have come to fear Uuka and his whip for he is a hard taskmaster.
The litupa whip goes by several names. Originally it was called the kiboko and used by those engaged in the East Africa slave trade. Adopted by the whites, it was called the Sjambok and today it is commonly referred to as the litupa. However my father always calls it the imvubu which in our native language means "hippopotamus" from whose hide or penis the original whips were made.
The imvubu is a powerful symbol of our new order and most blacks now own one which they openly carry in public ostensibly to either kill snakes or to frighten away attacking animals with its long forty- two inch reach. However, I feel possessing the litupa for most blacks is more subliminal; it's a subtle way of demonstrating they now hold the whip hand and it shows their mastery over our former white overlords who'd used the Sjambok as means of controlling us. Surely there is poetic justice in this; the instrument the whites used to suppress us is now used by us to coerce our white slaves to work harder in our interests.
And our slaves have every right to fear the imvubu. Even its gentle caress can raise an angry red welt on the back or shoulders of a naked slave and when applied with vigor, it can cut through protective clothing with knife-edge sharpness and badly lacerate the underlying flesh of its unfortunate victim.
And it must be said that Uuka is a whip-master "par excellence" as any of our slaves will attest.
Uukas's threat to use his whip on Gerd isn't lost on the wretched slave. Like a wounded and trapped animal, his eyes dart wildly from Uuka to my father silently pleading for mercy. Stunned into silence, he begins to whimper openly in front of the slaves he'd so recently overseen and badly misused. If he'd expected any sympathy from them he is doomed to disappointment. Their smiling faces show their delight at Gerd's sorry predicament.
"Well, that's settled!" My father exclaims. "Tomorrow morning, Gerd will be put to work in the grounds under Uuka's control. However, that leaves another issue to solve. Who'll replace him as the house steward?"
"That shouldn't be a problem Dad." Isivile volunteers. "Why can't you use Wessel or Koos? Even Jacobus could do it with his eyes shut."
"You're right, Isivile. We have no shortage of capable slaves who can act temporarily in Gerd's position. Any of the three you mentioned are suitable. But the final choice must be your mother's. I'll explain to her what is happening and put forward the names of the three possible replacement slaves."
In a way, I can appreciate Gerd's plight and I feel a small measure of sympathy for him. He stands and listens helplessly as his fate is discussed; a fate in which he has no say. But this is ever the case for any slave and not just Gerd. A slave's fate rests in the hands of his owner and he has no input into his Master's decisions. Gerd must stand mute and listen as we decide what tasks to allocate to him tomorrow.
Uuka suggests that he begin Gerd's transformation with general gardening chores. However, this isn't what I have in mind and I offer my suggestion.
"Why not start him on heavy duties right at the outset? Why not hitch him to a lawnmower and have him cut the lawns?"
Our home is surrounded by several acres of verdant green lawns and herbaceous borders which are my mother's pride and joy. The lawnmowers I speak of- actually we have two in operation at all times - are especially designed to be pulled by one slave. The slave is both yoked and harnessed to the mower which he must then pull behind him.
The mower is constructed from metal and timber and is obviously very heavy. I know this because, on many occasions, I have sat in the shade of a tree and watched as the two mowers moved steadily back and forth over the lawn. It was obvious from the stressed bodies of the slaves harnessed to the mowers that they found the work extremely hard. They'd always provided me with an erotic spectacle as they strained into their yokes and harness to keep the mowers moving at a consistent speed. All the muscles and tendons in their lean bodies were stretched to the limit while their strong chests rose and fell from their laborious breathing. And most erotically, their sweat inducing labors coated their bodies in an oily sheen that glistened in the bright sunlight.
Periodically, the slaves would be visited by Uuka who'd apply his whip to their backs or shoulders to keep the mowers moving forward at the mandated speed. I'd always been mightily aroused by the sight of the mower slaves at their labors. The frightening crack of Uuka's imvubu and the resounding thwack as it laid another stripe on an exposed back were always the catalyst for me to masturbate.
Of course, I know that Gerd won't provide such a pleasing display but nevertheless he should provide an amusing spectacle as he strives to pull a mower behind him.
"To be honest with you Thandiwe, I'm not sure that he has the stamina to pull a mower. Well not yet!"
"I agree with you Uuka! And I suggest initially he be yoked with one of the other slaves until he's able to pull the mower on his own. Would that work?"
"I can't see why not! Yes, it could work by pairing him with another slave to build up his strength and to show him how it's done."
"Then let's do it! Let's get him started on a mower first thing tomorrow morning."
As I look at the whimpering, sorry wreck standing before me, I'm suddenly struck with an idea. I see the transformation of Gerd from the unfit, overweight slave that he is into one with a more pleasing appearance as a worthwhile project which will give me something interesting to do during my long vacation. As I survey Gerd, I look past the years of overindulgence and good living to the underlying foundations that can be built upon. Hard labor will whittle away the belly flab, tighten his sagging ass, build up his soft muscle tissue and put steel into his limbs. I promise myself that by the time I return to university Gerd will be unrecognizable as the miserable specimen that he is at present and he'll be a robust slave my father will be proud to own. However, there are two things that need urgent attention. The straggly, greying strands of his thinning, dirty blond hair make him look much older than his actual years. Still that is a minor detail. Tomorrow, I'll have a slave crop his hair and shave his scalp. The removal of his hair will give him a more youthful appearance. And the other detail is also easy to remedy; this is changing the putty-grey complexion which gives him a sickly appearance to a healthier one. I decide he'll work outdoors completely naked which will darken his skin to a deep attractive tan.
My mind is full of my plans for Gerd. As well as his physical transformation, I will work to alter his erroneous attitudes and to teach him his proper place in the new scheme of things. I will need to crush his residual freeman's pride and replace it with a slave's ready acceptance and submission to his owners' will. I will also crush his overweening arrogance and replace it with a slave's genuine humility.
While his physical transformation can be brought about by hard labor and the whip, his emotional one could be more of a problem. I suspect he will try and resist my efforts to "re-educate" him. In an odd way, I look forward to a tussle of willpower between us. It will be a challenge I'll gladly take up and it is one that I will win. Inevitably, he will capitulate and see me as his Master's older son and show me the respect that is due to me.
One thing I will need to impress upon Gerd is that he is no more or no less than any other of our slaves and that his position as the head steward doesn't warrant the self-importance he has assumed. I have decided that he needs a practical demonstration of his true status by having him regularly fucked by one of the younger, more junior slaves.
I can well imagine the other slaves' disgust as they are made to perform this unpleasant task on the ugly, unfit Gerd. After all, I find his sagging ass-cheeks repulsive and they must surely do so as well. Being away from home, I'm not sure what sexual interaction my father allows his slaves. When I lived at home, he did allow them some latitude in the interests of maintaining a harmonious household. He'd once told me that a sexually satisfied slave makes for a more pleasing, amenable one whereas a sexually frustrated slave becomes surly, resentful and difficult to handle.
And I don't think it would be stretching the imagination in thinking that Gerd uses the younger slaves to satisfy his carnal lusts. They'd have endured his use of them not because they wanted it but only because their justified fear of him made them submit to his unwanted attention. So in a sense I am giving them the chance for revenge. Still, I can sympathize with their reluctance to undertake so distasteful a chore.
What criteria will I use in deciding when Gerd is fucked or which slave does the deed? I could use a roster system whereby every slave has a turn. And this does seem the fairest method.
But then a wild idea formulates itself in my mind. Why not make this use of Gerd serve as a punishment for a slave's bad behavior or some other misdemeanor? I like this idea; it kills to birds with the one stone. The offending slave would see fucking Gerd as a punishment and humiliatingly, Gerd would know his ass is being used as the instrument of that punishment. The effect of this on Gerd would be devastating and rob him of his overweening pride.
Yes, I have great plans for Gerd. I will speak to my father later and ask his approval to oversee his slave's reincarnation. And one consequence of this will be that I will further assert my authority over Gerd.
However, as it happens, I won't need to ask my father's permission and his next comment confirms this.
"Well then that's settled. Gerd will begin work with the outdoor slaves at first light tomorrow morning under the direction of Uuka. And Thandiwe, given that I will be away during the day, I ask that you work in my place with Uuka in overseeing Gerd's transformation. Will you do this for me son?"
"Gladly, Dad! Do I have your authority to act as I consider necessary to bring about any changes in the slave?"
"Indeed you do Thandiwe. Tonight, you are demonstrating that you do have the ability to manage and control our slaves. This is a most pleasant surprise and one I'd hope to see. I'm proud of you son. But now let's not forget we are here is to punish two slaves for the poor performance of their duties. Let's proceed to their punishments. WICKUS STEP FORWARD!"
I watch as Wickus obeys and stands trembling before us. I see the fear in his face and the tears brimming in his downcast eyes as he waits to be strapped ass up to the caning bench. Behind him, Gerd's whimpering gives way to loud imploring begging for mercy.
To be continued......................