You Can't Be Friends With a Slave

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part twenty one

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

GAMBLING DEBTS

You would have thought that Billy-Joe would have been satisfied to have me so constantly publicly humiliated, but he still seemed to be deeply unhappy. He was now spending more and more time at his club in the town, and staying later and later. He came out lurching and staggering, as he drank too much, and had he not had me manacled into the rickshaw I could at least have helped him. As it was, he often forgot to untether me from where he'd had me chained, and then he had to clamber down laboriously, and then attempt to heave himself back up into the seat. That all made him very foul tempered, and on the way home he'd simply slash and slash at me with the whip, irrespective of how hard I was already running. Still, in his drunken state his aim wasn't very effective, and a lot of the time, fortunately for me, the whip struck the shafts rather than my naked butt.

At the estate there were slaves waiting to help him down, and up the stairs to our rooms. But once the door was shut, it was me who had to help him undress - well, as a body slave I suppose I'd have had to do that anyway, but with him mostly drunk, it was me who had to do all the work: pulling his pants off, unbuttoning his shirt, and all that kind of stuff, with Billy-Joe all the time sort of flopping around, swearing and cursing, and generally being unpleasant.

It didn't seem to matter how drunk he was, though - he always remembered to shackle my hands to the hook in the headboard, or, as a variation, sometimes I had to lie on my belly and then a short chain was used to hold my nose to a ring in the base of the bed. Lying there like that, my butt exposed, I was expecting Billy-Joe to start his old game of fucking me, but the extreme amounts of alcohol he was now drinking had brought on a severe attack of brewer's droop, and he just couldn't get his dick up! It was faintly ironic, I suppose - Billy-Joe was mostly incapable of getting an erection, and I spent most of my time erect because of the action of my tit rings in stimulating me.

Both of us slept badly - Billy-Joe because of the alcohol, that made him sweat, and toss and turn, and me because with his big flabby body thrashing around next to me it was almost impossible to sleep. In the mornings he was in a foul mood too because he was hung-over, and I had to endure endless curses and complaints as I tried to do the morning ritual as best I could. He'd be in a foul temper, and shirt after short would be tossed onto the floor as he tried to decide what to wear, and I saw the work piling up for me as I would have to re-iron it all as he lay supine throughout the afternoon.

I knew it was no good asking him for my freedom again - most of the time he was too drunk to really think about it, and the rest of the time he was in such a foul mood. I don't think relations with the Colonel were good, either, as he was chronically short of money. I know, from listening to his phone calls, that he tried to arrange studding for me to bring in cash, but everyone seemed to be refusing him: somehow having me inked and ringed had turned potential clients off. Obviously it wouldn't affect me sperm or my kids, but it sounded as if they didn't want to see a big naked guy with these huge tattoos performing in front of them: half the "sport" in a studding, it seemed, was to enjoy seeing the man mount the woman, and that was effectively destroyed with my appearance now.

Billy-Joe went down to breakfast with the Colonel one morning in a really foul mood, and I didn't think it would be a very happy meal. In spite of all my efforts to get him properly showered and cleaned up, Billy-Joe looked dreadful with bags under his eyes from not sleeping, breath foul from all the alcohol, and pasty white skin from his general dissolute behaviour. The handsome football player who'd been my roomie at college had long since disappeared under the weight of his appalling life style.

As usual I went down the slave staircase, and now I hardly cared about my fellow slaves: they'd started to treat me almost disrespectfully after it was clear I was no longer "top dog", because my having to take the new cart slave's cum had been reported. And when I appeared inked and ringed - something none of the others had as the Colonel liked all his slaves to be blemish-free (except for their obligatory brands!) - I was considered a freak, an oddity. And they somehow seemed to suggest it was "my fault" for allowing it to happen. I crossed the yard to the carriage shed to get the rickshaw out, but Straughan was there, and he said "No, not this morning, Steve...."

"Sir?"

"No, you won't be using the rickshaw again. Put your hands behind your back..."

I did as I was told, and felt the cold steel of cuffs going on. I wanted to ask Straughan what was different about today, but I knew he hated slaves questioning things, and that all that was likely to happen was that I'd get a cut across my butt, or even my chest if he was in a particularly bad mood, from his riding crop. So I just stood there, as a slave should, waiting for developments.

They weren't long in coming! A flatbed truck came through the gates, made its way up the drive, and stopped in the courtyard by us. On the back there was one of the standard slave transport crates - you know the kind, about four feet long, a couple of feet wide, and about three feet high. The driver got out and exchanged a few words with Straughan, and then they went into the office to do paperwork.

At the same time, Billy-Joe came out of the rear entrance of the house and came over. "Good luck, Steve....", he said in a tone that tried to be cheery.

"What do you mean, master?"

"Oh, you can drop that, Steve, I'm not your master now..."

"You mean I'm going to be free...?"

Billy-Joe actually had the grace to look embarrassed, to shuffle his feet a bit, and to mumble, "Well no, actually not. But you've got a new master now."

My first thought was that I was now "officially" on the estate staff, and my hopes began to rise - at least I might get a "proper" job again, and not have to act as his maid.

"Look, Steve... Well, I've been gambling. And, well, I think the other guys took advantage... I mean, I do like a drink.... And, well, my losses have been quite heavy. I've got to pay back a lot of the guys today, and I haven't got the money. And that's awkward for me, you know, I mean, a gentleman has to pay his debts, doesn't he? We put a high value on that in the south, a gentleman behaving properly to his friends. So I tried to borrow the money from the Colonel this morning."

"But instead of helping me, it just made him cross. Crosser than he's ever been before with me. I don't think he liked me losing so much money, and he went on and on about me being the ruin of the estate. He's worried that if I keep on gambling, I'll gamble away my inheritance. So he refused to lend me the money. But you can't expect a gentleman not to pay his debts, can you? I mean, Steve, what would they say at the club if I didn't pay up? So I've had to sell you. You were the only thing left that I've got worth enough to make a difference."

"Billy-Joe! What the fuck....? Sold me? You were supposed to be going to release me, as soon as you had enough money, now that the threat of Chantelle seems to have gone away. I was your buddy, remember? You suggested this voluntary enslavement thing to get me out of the hole I was in, and you were supposed to free me! If you've fucking sold me, how am I ever going to get free...? Billy-Joe, get on the phone and call it off, you stupid fucker...."

"Steve, you keep on about us being buddies, and if you were really my buddy you'd be more understanding. Look, I've explained it to you: I'm in debt, and I've got to pay it. A gentleman always does down here, or he's finished. And I don't own anything other than you, Steve. So what am I supposed to do? You tell me, mister clever! Do you want your old buddy to suffer for the rest of his life, an outcast, because he couldn't pay his debts? People around here don't forget you know, and even though I can pay one day, it will be too late..."

"Billy-Joe, fuck your suffering - that's just a social thing! You've sold me so I'll always be a slave. What about my suffering? What about the rest of my life? I'm supposed to be free...."

"Oh, stop exaggerating. You like being a slave, actually, I think. And it's not that hard for you. I keep telling you that you don't realise the benefits you have: free food, free clothes, free lodging, no stress, no worries, plenty of exercise, everything mapped out for you... You'll probably live a lot longer than I do...."

"Billy-Joe: the food' slave chow and it's crap; I don't have any clothes - look at me; the lodging is a tiny narrow pallet in the slave dorm if I'm lucky; and as for the stress and worries, you try thinking all the time about when the next whip stroke is going to fall...."

"Oh Steve, there you again, emphasising all the negative points and not thinking about the benefits - lots of sex, good fresh air.... Anyway, I haven't got time to argue. I guess this is goodbye, old buddy - even if I do see you in future, I won't acknowledge you or speak to you: it isn't the done thing for a man to have known a slave as a friend, you know."

"Billy-Joe: please! Cut out all this crap. Get on the phone and call the deal off! We could work something out about the debt, I'm sure.... Don't sell me. You can keep me for a year or so then free me. But if you sell me, you're dooming me to a life of slavery..."

"Steve, shut up. I've sold you, and that's that. A deal's a deal. A gentleman can't go back on a deal he's made verbally, can he, otherwise he's not a gentleman? And sometimes a man has to make tough decisions, you know - in effect you'd rather have me mess up my reputation as a gentleman, rather than have you live the rest of your life as a slave. Frankly, Steve, it's not much of a choice, is it? I mean, if you'd been a bit better as a buddy all these years, or even if you'd tried to be a good slave, it might have been different. But, no, the decision's made, and there's no more to be said."

"Yes there is! There's a whole fucking lot more to be said...." As I screamed this at him, I moved forward, my head down, as if to butt him. And then I was writhing on the ground, looking up at the driver of the delivery truck, who was holding one of the discipline goads that had been used on me initially, but which I had forgotten about as they were not in use at the estate.

"Hope you don't mind, sir", the driver said to Billy-Joe. "But he looked as if he was going to turn vicious. We often seem to get that when we're transporting slaves - a lot of them seem to get upset a the thought of a change of ownership, so I keep this handy. He won't be permanently harmed..."

"Thank you! You'd never think, would you, that this used to be a buddy of mine who I helped out of a real hole? We've looked after him, and he's not a bit grateful..."

"Well, you know what they say, sir, you can't be friends with a slave..."

"Yes, you're right. I used to think I could, but I see that what the writers of the slave ownership manuals say is correct: it's in everyone's interest to have a firm discipline, and a proper understanding of the role of the master, and the role of the slave. Trying to do the right thing by an old buddy screws up that nice clean relationship, and it just doesn't work."

"Quite so, sir. Look, the slave's getting pretty foul mouthed... Shall I gag him?"

"That's probably best... Yes... There's no point in having more distress caused, and I don't want to hear any more of his churlish ungratefulness..."

As I was trying to recover and was still almost twitching, the driver stood over me and snapped cuffs on, then he pulled one of the rubber bits out of his pocket, aimed a light kick at my balls so that I opened my mouth to scream, and popped it in, deftly fastening the straps behind my head in one smooth motion - he was obviously used to doing this to the slaves he moved around.

"There, sir. That's fixed him. Once they're cuffed and gagged, most of them calm down, especially when they know I won't hesitate to use the discipliner on them. I'm sorry if that distresses you sir, especially as you used to know this slave, but, believe me, it's in his own best interests - I mean, if he'd struck you, sir... think of the consequences."

"Anyway, we're all done here, I think, I've got all the paperwork", he continued, "So now all I need to do is load the goods, and I'll be away."

So that's what I was now - just "goods" to be transported around, a piece of merchandise, where the paperwork had to be right. Oh, fuck me, what was going to happen to me now? It was bad enough being Billy-Joe's slave - I mean, I thought I knew him, thought he'd look after me, and look what had happened. What would it be like with a new owner, who knew nothing about me other than that I must have cost a lot of money? He'd want "value for money", wouldn't he? And what would he make me do? I threw one last, imploring look towards Billy-Joe, but he just turned away and went back into the house.

The driver waved his discipliner generally in my direction, and said "Now come on, boy, let's have no more of your silliness... I've got work to do, you know... Get up on to the truck, and into the transport crate."

When he saw me hesitating, he said, in a more kindly voice "Look, I know it's tough, to leave your old buddy behind, but that's life, especially for a slave.

Now I don't want to have to hurt you again, but I do have my job to do... I've got a quota of deliveries, you know, and schedules to keep - and if I fail, I don't get my bonuses and then my wife complains.... So help me out here, will you? Sometimes I don't think you slaves know how lucky you are not to have all this sort of crap to contend with - you can just get on and work, eat and sleep."

Well, what was I supposed to do? Billy-Joe had gone in. The guy had a discipliner and he knew how to use it, and I was cuffed and gagged. I understood the helpless lot of the slave, who simply had to obey, or be punished, and who had no control over his life.

I struggled to get on the back of the truck, then the driver opened the lid of the crate, and I got in. You know how those travelling crates are - they're just long enough so that with your back at one end and your feet at the other, your knees have to be bent upwards.

Then as he pushed the lid down, I had to bend right over and almost put my head between my knees to be able to fit.

"You're a big boy, aren't you?", the driver commented. "You really need the super size crate, but you're only going about thirty miles, so you should be all right. Now, if you need to piss, just do so - your dick's hanging down there between those thighs of yours, and no harm will come as the piss will just roll off the truck. It's different if I've got several layers of crates - I always ask the lads on top to try not to piss, and ask them to think of the guys underneath, but it often doesn't seem to work and we have to clean up all the slaves when we get to the depot."

He pushed the bolt holding the lid down, and there I was inside the mesh crate, bent double, just peering out. I tried to move to make myself more comfortable, but it didn't make much difference. The driver seemed to have verbal diarrhoea, though, as he carried on babbling "We don't get a lot of call for private deliveries like this, so it makes a nice change for me. I don't often get to use the discipliner as most of my work is between the dealers and the auction houses, or the mines. When the slaves are in those places they're much better behaved - they don't try any of the nonsense you just did. No wonder your owner is selling you, if you're that disobedient and difficult! I wouldn't tolerate it in my own slaves, and they're just bottom end of the market left overs who can still do a bit of work around the house for me. I certainly wouldn't allow a magnificent specimen like you to be as insolent as your owner did, before I stopped him!"

With that he left me, and went and got into the cab, and drove off. I didn't feel anything on the journey - well, the obvious physical things, like the wind licking around me, of course. No, what I mean is that I was kind of inwardly numb - I didn't care that I was being carried totally naked through the streets caged up, as I'd got used to public nakedness by now. But the shock of being sold, of having lost all hope of ever being freed, had almost anaesthetised me. Even though Billy-Joe had been cruel to me as a master, and had taken a delight in punishing and humiliating me, at least I could console myself with the thought that one day, sooner rather than later, with luck, I'd be free. Billy-Joe would make good on his promise to free me, and I could pick up my life where I'd left off. But now - well, who knows where I was going - I don't suppose Billy-Joe cared at all about which new owner he's sold me to, he'd only think about how much money he'd have got. And to pay off gambling debts - that was almost the worst part of all! He'd been totally self-indulgent and stupid, and it was me who was going to pay for his selfish and indulgent actions. How would I fare as a slave for the rest of my life? Where would I end up? Was I going to be sold as a sex toy to some old guy, and made to suck his shrivelled dick all day? Or was I being sent to the mines, or to a brothel, or even to the organ banks? I wouldn't put any of this past Billy-Joe, as he tried to grub as much money as possible for me. A wave of despair flooded over me, as I realised, as if as never before, the complete powerlessness of the slave to influence his own life in any way.

I sat there, as I say, almost frozen so deep was my misery at what had happened. How had I ever got into all of this? Why hadn't I just gone back up north when the whole business with Chantelle had started? It's easy, isn't it, to see how you should have done things differently, with the benefit of hindsight? And now it seemed I was totally screwed, my life was effectively over. Life as a slave with Billy-Joe had been bad, but now "real slavery" loomed for the first time - I had no idea about my new life, my new owner, or anything; and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. A slave is an object, a mere possession, that can be bought and sold at his owner's whim, and that is what had happened to me.

The truck eventually pulled in through elaborate gates, and drove up a long drive where the grass on either side was neatly trimmed, the picked fences gleamed with fresh white paint, and everything said "slaves used here, lots of slaves, to maintain this perfection." Had I come to another estate like the Colonel's? No, as we got to the end, I saw there was a kind of office block - tasteful in red brick and smoked glass, and a little further away, a neat row of huts, rather like the barracks huts you see on army bases. The truck drew up, the driver went into the offices, and came out a couple of minutes later clutching a sheaf of paper - presumably, the documentation relating to my shipment. He hauled himself up on to the back of the truck and unbolted my crate, and told me to get out. I stood up with difficulty as my muscles were stiff and it's hard to get to your feet from that position with out your hands to help you, as mine were still cuffed behind me.

The driver gave me a hard slap on my butt and said "Into the offices - your new owner wants to inspect the goods!" I was still trying to get the cramp out of me, and when I didn't immediately move, there was another slap - harder this time - on my butt. I hated the way that men thought they could just use my body like that.

I jumped down, and shouldered my away through the door, and at once was cold - the building was air conditioned! Because of the Colonel's crazy ideas about ecology there was no aircon at his estate, and at times in the slave dorms at nights in the summer it could be unbearably hot. So I hadn't felt the dry cool of aircon since I was enslaved, and in response, my skin started to come up in those "goose bumps" you get when you feel cold.

There was a young receptionist sitting at a desk in the hall, a pretty girl, whose collar told me she was a slave like me. Her eyes raked my body, and she said "Hi, handsome! The master's waiting for you - go right in." I hated the way she looked at my nakedness, but what could you do? Still, she was in a tight, low-cut dress, so perhaps they believed in clothing slaves properly here!

She pushed a button and a door slid open, and I went into a large office with a very distinguished look: the whole room was plainly but expensively furnished in dark oak pieces. The carpet felt rich and luxurious under my feet. - behind the desk was a good-looking man in his early forties

"Ah, so you're the slave I won off Billy-Joe last night! Turn around so I can see you better."

There was no point in getting off to a bad start, was there? So I rotated in front of him. "You're called Steve, I see. I like it - a good, masculine, virile name. And, anyway, I guess I can't easily change it, given that he's had it inked all over you. Now, I suppose you're a pretty violent guy, given that you've been cuffed and gagged. So what am I going to do with you?"

I shook my head as he spoke, and he looked at me again. "So you're not violent? Well, I suppose it can't do any harm to try you out - there's enough guards around here, and they can be in here quick enough if I call...."

He got up from the desk, and I saw he was a big man - six foot, probably - and for someone his age he seemed to be in good condition physically. You could of course tell that he had a body slave as his clothes were immaculate - his silk shirt had not a crease or blemish, his tan slacks had knife-edge creases, and his desert boots in dark suede were brushed so that there wasn't a mark anywhere to be seen and all the suede was smooth and even. He came around behind me and undid the straps holding the gag, and pulled it out of my mouth. He held the strap almost distastefully, as he wanted to prevent my spit that covered the bit part from going anywhere near him.

"Thank you, master", I said. After all, I'd better try to get of to a good start with this guy who held the key to my future, hadn't I?

"Ah, so you can be respectful when you want... Why did Billy-Joe have you gagged?"

"Because I was furious with him, master, for selling me, because..."

He slapped my butt hard, and snapped "He was right to get rid of you then, slave! How dare you stand there and say you were upset by something your owner did! Nothing an owner can do ought to upset a slave. You're there to obey your owner, to serve him, don't you know that?" His mood had changed from interested affability to hard businesslike briskness in an instant.

"Yes, master."

"Well, then, let's hope you do really understand. I won't tolerate any disobedience or bad behaviour from the slaves here, and I have a personal whipping frame always ready, do you understand?"

"Yes, master."

"Well, you seem nice enough - I can't understand why Billy-Joe had you disfigured like that. He's taken all the value out of you. A big handsome white slave like you, in the prime of life, ought to fetch top dollar... But like that... Well, he's cut your value in half by at least half. Now, I'm going to uncuff you so that I can inspect you. I'm somewhat of an expert at this, and if I detect any resistance, and act of wilfulness on your part that means that you object to this in any way whatsoever, I'll need to consider your future very carefully, do you understand?"

"Yes, master". Well, here seemed to be a no-nonsense kind of guy, someone who knew what he was doing, someone who treated a slave as a slave because that's how their respective positions in life were, not because of some petulant desire to humiliate an old buddy. I resolved to try hard to get through this examination, as being a slave for his master would, I thought, be the least awful of the myriad possibilities that must exist if I was sold on. And, for some reason, I kind of felt myself beginning to like him, or, at least, to respect him.

He uncuffed me, and I went respectfully into the "display" position that I'd seen other slaves assume - my feet spread, my hands clasped behind my neck, my head bent submissively, and my chest thrust forward and my butt tightly clenched to emphasise my back musculature.

He was an expert indeed - his hands explored every part of my body. He squeezed my shoulders to feel the power locked up there, ran his hands down my back, squeezing my ribs, then down, over my butt, to feel my thighs and calves. Then around to the front to repeat the process. He tutted to himself as his fingers dug into my pecs and the rings in my tits interfered. He ran his palm over my flat belly, then put his other hand in the small of my back as if feeling the thickness of me.

"Nice!", he said as if to himself. "Not a trace of fat. Beautiful muscle tone."

He raised his voice slightly and commanded "On your knees, boy", and I obeyed. He examined my head in detail, feeling all over my cropped hair as if testing the outlines of my skull. He pulled at the corners of my eyes so he could stare straight in to them. He put his hands behind my ears and felt the glands in my neck. Then he told me to open my mouth, and I felt his fingers probing around my teeth - I could taste the lemon-scented soap on his fingers, and the stiff hairs on the back of them teased my lips. I felt myself somehow strangely attracted to him, and my dick started to stiffen.

"Good, now, finally, let's see how you are sexually. On your feet, then lean backwards on my desk - flat on your back."

The highly polished wood felt cold to my sweating skin, and I lay there almost trembling. I knew I was semi-erect - what would he make of that? I felt him take hold of my dick, and his fingers stroked along the shaft, then he cupped my balls in his hand, separated them in their sac with his thumb and rolled them around, very gently. I didn't even feel concerned that he would hurt me - he seemed experienced, and evidently knew what he was doing.

"Nice!", he commented. "Were you 'skinned by the Colonel's doctor? It looks like his handiwork, as he always does a nice job: no loose skin, yet you aren't inhibited from erecting. I can't feel any problems with your balls, either, no sign of lumps. Do you have any problems down there? Any difficulty pissing?

Very fertile? Loads of cum...?"

"Yes, master. Master Billy-Joe had me circumcised. And no, master, I don't have any problems, and, actually, master Billy-Joe used to put me out to stud, and I'm told there were lots of pregnancies as a result, so I guess I'm fertile." It seemed odd talking about myself like this, I mean, you don't, do you, to another man?

"Right - over on to your belly. One more little exam...."

I did as he said, and knew he would be examining my asshole. I heard a "snap" sound, and saw him pulling a latex glove onto his hand.

"Right, spread your legs, reach back and pull your butt apart so I can get in...."

I did, feeling myself start to blush at the thought of what was happening to me - there I was, legs apart, by dick and balls hanging down, having to hold my butt open so that a man could stick his finger into my hole. I felt him probing at me, testing and pushing, then I got the feel of the finger sliding into me. Involuntarily my sphincter muscles closed around it. A moment later he pulled it out, and peeled the glove off.

"Nice pucker - good looking, attractive. Some slaves' puckers look terrible, if they've been abused. And you're tight, too. Did your owner take your cherry? And then did he fuck you regularly?"

"Yes, master. Master Billy-Joe took my cherry - I was a virgin until I was enslaved, that is, I'd never been with another man. And then he did fuck me, at least at first, but not recently."

"And how did you like your master fucking you?"

I'd hated it, of course. But what was I supposed to say? A slave shouldn't criticise his master, should he? And I wanted to create a good impression with this guy.

"Please, master... A slave learns to accept what his master does to him..."

The guy slapped my butt playfully, and told me to stand up. I clasped my hands behind my back, and kept my head bowed.

"So, quite the diplomat, aren't you? My guess is that you don't like being fucked, do you? Did you enjoy that dick of Billy-Joe's reaming you out? I've seen him pissing at the club, and he seems to have a monster."

"Master, no, I didn't like it."

"And what about fucking? You did all this studding - what about proper sex, with men?"

I blushed again now, as I still wasn't used to talking about sex with guys. It was still somehow shameful.

"Yes, master. I was introduced to that."

"And do you do it, and do you enjoy it?"

I thought about Grunt, and almost whispered, as I was so embarrassed, "...yes, master."

"There was a lot of rumour at the club that Billy-Joe wasn't a real master, that he wanted to be fucked by his slaves. Did you fuck him?"

Oh shit. What was I supposed to say? Maybe a slave wasn't supposed to describe his life with his former master. But on the other hand, I shouldn't be lying to my new owner, should I?

I kind of mumbled "Master, master Billy-Joe ordered me to...."

He laughed. "Just as I thought! That man has no spine. He doesn't know how to treat slaves properly at all. And I suppose all this stuff all over you is his way of trying to prove to the world that he can master a slave. He makes you fuck him, then he punishes you... what a disaster of an owner. It brings the whole system into disrepute."

I said nothing as I didn't want to be seen to be critical of Billy-Joe, but knew at once that this was a most perceptive owner who knew what was what. My respect for him grew.

"Right, Steve. I was going to sell you on, but there won't be much profit in it for me. So I think I'll keep you here, working here, at least for a few weeks to see how we get on. Most of the other slaves on the place are blacks, and it will be good to have sight of a bit of white flesh occasionally in the evenings when all our 'students' are locked away. I use blacks for guards and trainers as they're cheaper, but I think I can find a valuable role for you here."

"But understand this", he continued. "One false move, one instance of disobedience to my orders, one example of you trying to cheat me, or of you being wilful, and you'll be whipped, hard. I'm firm, but fair. And the second time, you'll be out - sold off at the next auction, and I won't care who I sell you to: the highest bidder will get you. Understand?"

"Yes, master."

"Now, let me explain what we do here. Basically, this is a slave training facility. I specialise in training new slaves, young men who have just been enslaved. These days, with prices rising all the time and fewer and fewer jobs as the factories are mechanised and slaves do manual labour outside, there's not much choice for a lot of families: any son who doesn't seem to be making the grade at school, or even those who are but where money is really tight, and the parents sell them into slavery. That's allowed, you know, under the new laws - a father can sell his sons any time after their sixteenth birthday until they become proper adults at eighteen. We specialise in taking these young lads, used to life as free men, and turning them into obedient slaves. It's quite a shock for most of them - they never quite believe their families will sell them, and it's only when they get here that the realisation dawns on them that life has changed for ever!"

"I think it will be advantageous to have a big, tough-looking slave like you, who's white, like them, but who is clearly completely different from the free men they know, to work with them in the first few days to get them used to their new role. I don't like using the whip or the tawse on these young guys as it can make them nervous, and they can break down and cry. But sometimes they do need punishing, or encouraging to work harder as we tone them up - lots of them come here overweight and flabby from too much easy living - and the way that seems to work best is a good over the knee spanking. You're just the slave to do it - big, strong, muscular - they won't be able to resist you. And with that power you seem to have in your arms, once they've seen one spanking, they'll be a lot more careful about how they behave."

I just stood there, almost in shock. I hated being a slave, and the thought of having to induct others into slavery was awful. My new owner looked at me, and said "You don't like the idea, so you? You can be honest with me, you know - I'd rather have an honest slave than one who holds back. After all, it doesn't much matter what you think, as I'll decide what's to be done anyway."

"No, master. I don't like being a slave. I was supposed to be freed shortly after my voluntary enslavement, and now it seems I'm going to be a slave for the rest of my life. And the thought of making other guys into slaves... It's awful."

"You won't be making them into slaves, Steve. That's already happened by the time they get here. Their families will have applied for enslavement orders, they will have been taken into the court, stripped in public, and formally enslaved. I have a contract with the dealer who buys all of them at a special deal price from all the courts in this state, and when they come here, they are slaves. You should think of it as helping them come to terms with their new status - and who better than you to do that? You've been there, and know how it feels. You can help them by being 'firm but fair' as I said - no gratuitous cruelty, no violence, just a strong hand if any of them don't work their guts out, or if they're at all wilful or disobedient. You're doing them a favour, really - better to learn how to be a slave properly, than be sold on completely untrained and then have it beaten and whipped into you."

I suppose I could understand that, but my owner went on "In any case, as I said, it doesn't matter all that much what you think, although I do try to run a happy ship here, and I do like my slaves to enjoy their work. Still, we'll see how you get on. Now, run along to the refectory and get yourself something to eat, and you can wear slave shorts in future, as we only keep the trainees naked."

End Of Part Twenty One.

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part twenty two

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

LIFE AS A TRAINER

The slave refectory was clean and bright, and to my astonishment I found I could have a s much slave chow as I wanted - no rationing of it, like at the Colonel's. One of the other "staff" slaves, a handsome black guy, who was in there told me that I was expected to be moderate and abstemious, though, as our owner, who he referred to as Master Rafe, did not like any trace of fat on the slaves.

It seemed a relaxed kind of place, and we sat at one of the tables as the slave, Richie, told me about life on the place. Basically consignments of young slave boys arrived twice a week from the courts, and we then licked them into shape. Depending on their physical condition this could take as little as a month, or as long as three months. During that time the slaves were constantly exercised, their diet was adjusted to make sure they lost all traces of flab and put on some proper young man's muscle, and they were taught basic slave "manners" - how to speak to a master, how to act, including the proper slave "stances", and so on. They were made to lose their inhibitions about showing off their bodies, as most of them would expect to be sold to owners who were going to use them sexually, so they were mostly worked and exercised naked. Richie emphasised, though, that any one of us "guards" who tried to fuck the boys would be whipped and sold - our owner believed it was important that the new owners took the lads' cherries, and was proud to offer a "guarantee of virginity" with our stock.

"Mind you", Richie said as he watched me eat - I hadn't been fed that day - "It can be difficult. Sixteen year olds nowadays have mostly already tried sex. And once they realise they're slaves and aren't going to get any girl pussy again, some of the bigger and stronger ones start to fuck the others. If we find that happening, there's a big problem as the slaves they fucked are then 'second quality', and Master Rafe is very cross."

"So how is master Rafe as an owner?", I asked.

"He says 'firm but fair' is the company motto, and I guess he mostly adheres to it. You know where you are with him - he makes the rules, and provided you obey them, obey them totally, and work hard, then you've got nothing to fear. He doesn't use the tawse or the whip just for pleasure, only when a slave has offended. Provided you are obedient, it's fine here, one of the best places I've been in."

"Does he fuck you?"

"Well of course he does - he isn't married or anything, and he likes his fun, like all free men! But he never favours a slave just because he's currently sharing his bed - the slave has to work away as usual during the day. And when he's tired of the slave, and decides he wants a change, the slave goes back to 'normal' work just as if he had never been the master's plaything. You really know where you are with him - he's absolutely straight, no hidden agenda:

if he wants to fuck you, he does, and if he doesn't want to, he doesn't. You couldn't ask for a better owner, really. We all count ourselves lucky to be here, I can tell you - there are a lot worse places to work, and a lot worse owners than master Rafe."

"But you're turning all those young guys into slaves - how about that? Isn't it wrong?"

"Look, Steve, they're already slaves. You can't change that. All we do here really is fit them for their new lives, make it easier for them to cope. We're doing them a favour, really - you'll see. It's amazing the transformation that happens to these lads - they're all worried and scared when they come here, and when we strip them they try to hide their dicks. And after a few weeks they're fitter, proud, happy....

I tell you, it's the best thing that's ever happened to some of these lads, who might have been brought up in poverty, or in un-loving homes: we give them that inner pride and self-respect that a slave needs if he's to work properly for his new owner. And of course they get a proper training in slave manners, so that there's less likelihood of them offending their new owners."

"Yes, but they're no longer free men, they're slaves, they've lost everything, they've got to work, to obey..."

"Steve, how much does freedom really mean to some of these guys? Young men, mostly without a lot of education or anything. They'd go off and work in some factory or other, or in some low-grade employment. Or join the forces. How much real freedom would they have anyway? At least with slavery they know where they are, always have an owner to provide for them, and they'll mostly live relatively easy lives if they buckle down and work the system properly."

I nodded. I mean, I could partially see what me was on about. If you were going to be enslaved, and these lads had no choice as their parents had got them enslaved, then it was probably better to start off the right way rather than blundering on and making all kind of mistakes, and then getting punished for it.

We were just finishing our food when our owner strode in. At once the other slave scrambled to his feet and stood there, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed, waiting for orders. I was just putting the last bit of chow into my mouth, so I sat there, and at once Master Rafe was standing in front of me.

"Right! That's your one warning used up. How dare you remain seated when your owner comes into the room. And don't say you didn't know - look at how this slave is!"

Billy-Joe had never particularly bothered about that sort of thing, and so I didn't know - I mean, you don't bother to get up if another guy comes in, do you? I scrambled to my feet, and said "Sorry, master, I didn't know...."

"You didn't know? Billy-Joe didn't even teach you the basic rules of slave behaviour? Are you lying to me, boy?"

"Master, no, master. I'm sorry - it's just that Billy-Joe didn't bother about that kind of thing...."

"Interesting.... That's always a mistake, for an owner not to insist on the basic rules of slave behaviour, as it causes problems the moment the slave is sold on, just as you're finding out now. I was going to start using you straight away as one of the guards and trainers, but there's not much point to that, is there, if you don't know what you're supposed to be training them in? I wonder.... Yes! We're expecting a new consignment this afternoon, and instead of acting as a guard, you can join them for the first couple of weeks when they're learning how to behave. There's no substitute for practical experience in what you're going to be training in...."

"You...", he said turning to the black, "Take Steve here to the arrivals yard. Tell the slaves there that he's to be treated EXACTLY as if he was totally new to slavery, and I mean 'exactly', or there will be sore butts and whipped backs - no favours, just because he's going to be one of you, understand?"

"Yes, master."

"Right, Steve... I won't see you much for the next couple of weeks, but after that I expect to see a huge improvement in your behaviour. Otherwise it's the whipping frame for you, and after that, the auction. Understand?"

"Yes, master."

He strode out, and Richie looked at me and grinned. "Hey, that's pretty good - spending all that time in amongst the new recruits! I'm really envious - you're going to have a lot of fun! All those young guys to play with...."

"What do you mean?"

"Wait and see, Steve! I don't want to spoil the fun. Now, we'd better be getting along in case the transporter arrives...."

Richie led me out into an enclosed yard, with large, high gates shutting it off from the rest of the complex. We stood there in the warm sunshine, and he explained that the transporters were always unloaded in this area as some of the young guys had not yet properly adjusted to their status, and tried to run off. "It's better this way", he went on, "As we don't want to have to punish them harshly in the first few minutes of their time with us - there's no real possibility of them getting far, of course, but it doesn't do them any good to give them even the faintest hope that escape might be possible."

We stood there and chatted, and Richie told me more about Master Rafe. "I think he makes a lot of money", he told me, "But he doesn't seem to spend a lot. He only has a late-model SUV and not any fancy foreign import, he lives here at the facility and they tell me the house is quite big, but it's simply furnished and he only has a couple of slaves to look after it. He rarely goes away on vacation as he likes to be very 'hands on' and supervises the training mostly himself."

"But what's he like as an owner?"

"Well, I expect he's told you he's 'firm but fair'. The fair he certainly is - he doesn't fuck around with your mind or anything, just gives orders and expects them to be obeyed. And he's not sadistic or cruel. But if he doesn't think you're working hard enough, or you disobey him, or are disrespectful, or anything, then I can assure you he's very 'firm', He has a whipping frame permanently set up here anyway, mostly to intimidate the slaves in training, and he doesn't hesitate to use it on us supervisors and guards if we've broken the rules. And he always carries a discipliner and tawse around, and anyone - trainee slave, or one of us - who looks as if he's not right up to the mark gets a reminder of what slavery's all about. He expects perfection and total obedience... But if you deliver that, then you're OK here."

All of this was very interesting - especially the bit about not fucking with my mind, as after all that's what Billy-Joe had been doing all this time, trying to humiliate me and bend me to his will. It would almost be a pleasure to work for an owner who just wanted hard work and obedience - I felt sure I could deliver that. I was going to ask Richie more, but there was the sound of a motor horn from the other side of the gates, and we went over to open them up.

It was a standard slave transporter - not one of the kind where the slaves are caged inside a regular delivery vehicle, but one of the specialised "bulk carriers" fitted with strong bolts to the rear door, and with a barred opening running most of the length of each side, towards the top, to allow fresh air in to the slaves. Richie closed the compound gates, and went over and talked to the driver. I was interested to see that even though the driver was a free man and Richie was clearly a slave they had a proper "discussion" - the driver evidently knew Richie was empowered to sign all the documentation, and they both bent over the driver's clipboard for a couple of minutes whilst things were sorted out.

Richie then unclipped his discipliner from his belt, and held it in his hand with his tawse. He went around to the back of the truck, broke the seals, pulled back the bolts and heaved the door open. "Right - out!", he called, and the young slaves started to emerge.

They hadn't been caged or anything and the barred openings gave them plenty of fresh air and light, so they just had to jump down and stand in the yard. You wouldn't have know they were slaves except for their collars - they hadn't had their hair cropped yet, and although some were in slave shorts, most of them still wore that universal badge of youth - Jeans, baggy Ts, and trainers. "It's disgraceful", Richie said to me as we watched the men alighting. "In my day a slave always appeared totally naked in court, and then was brought here that way. These were either not stripped as their enslavement orders came into effect, or were allowed to dress again. Still...."

The men - ten of them - were all standing there now, looking around at the yard, the gates, the bright sunshine, Richie, and me. I saw that look flicker across some of their faces that I was used to seeing in the town population when Billy-Joe ran me in: astonishment, amazement, and then disgust as they finally focussed on my heavily tattooed body. They saw me as a slave, were faintly repulsed by the way I'd been modified, and then simply turned away, to something else, as free men do. They had evidently not yet come to terms with the fact that they, too, were like me: slaves.

Richie told me to open the gates to the yard, he closed the door of the van, and it drove off, and I shut the gates behind it.

"Right, you men. Welcome to Master Rafe's slave training facility. You're here to turn you from idle young free men into toned, obedient, hard working slaves. You are all slaves, aren't you, as I see you're all collared?"

They stood there, just looking at Richie, so he casually reached out and touched the nearest lad with the tip of his discipliner. The lad jumped in the air, screaming with the shock.

"Now, first rule, men. When someone asks you a question, you answer. And at other times you remain silent. And here's another valuable lesson - all of us supervisors and guards here at the facility have discipliners, and although we're not allowed to use them at full power, they can still give you a nasty jolt. It's important you understand that discipline is important for a slave, and none of us will hesitate to use the discipliners, and the tawse, to make sure you learn that lesson. Now.... Let's try again..... You are all slaves, aren't you?"

They kind of all shouted back "Yes, Sir", but this time it was me who was screaming - Richie had casually jabbed the discipliner in my ribs!

"I didn't hear you reply, Steve", he told me. "Now, get over there and join the rest of them - Master Rafe told me to treat you all exactly the same, remember?"

I went and joined the ten young lads - and took a closer look at them. A couple of them were very obviously only just sixteen, without any of the kind of thicker body development you put on after that age, but at least three were, I guessed, almost at their eighteenth birthday as they looked much tougher and generally bigger. I kind of towered over all of them, both in height and bulk, as you'd expect.

"Right! Now, we've got to process you all through our systems, and get you ready to start training in earnest tomorrow. So get naked, everything off, including any jewellery or watches or anything - you won't be needing that now."

I saw a look amounting almost to panic running over the faces of some of the guys, but to some it seemed routine. They started to pull shirts over their heads, loosen belts, and so on, and gradually they stripped down to stand there in boxers and briefs. I noticed that the couple of guys who had come in slave shorts had done nothing. One guy though, was naked - as he'd pushed down his Jeans he hadn't been wearing underwear, so his dick was already out on display - he was one of the older ones, and I could see he had a nice defined "treasure trail" running up from his pubes to his navel. I saw Richie heading towards us, his discipliner at the ready, and just in time remembered his order - I pushed my newly-acquired slave shorts down and stepped out of them, flicked at my dick to free it from where it had stuck to my balls with sweat, and stood there totally bare - so there were just the two of us out of eleven.

"Evidently you did not understand me", Richie called out. "Steve here and one other of you are the only sensible ones who listened and obeyed. Now, this is your last chance. The next time a slave disobeys me, he will be disciplined. I said to get naked, and that means just that - naked! No hiding behind your underwear - you're slaves now, and during training slaves here go nude." The other slaves almost reluctantly pushed their underwear off, and some of them shuffled their hands around in front of them to try and hide their dicks. It was sad, really - what did they hope to achieve? They must know that they were going to have to "reveal all" in a very short period of time, so what did they hope to gain? In any case, we were all guys together, even though Richie and I were a lot older than them, so what did it matter?

"Right!", Richie called out. "Form two lines, standing behind each other. On my left here, all the circumcised guys, and on my right, those still with their foreskins."

We shuffled around, and I stood behind the young guy who'd been without underwear. In the other line there were three guys with 'skins, and Richie told all of us to stand there, in line, whilst he marched them off into the building. There was a lot of whispered speculation about what was going on from my line, and they all thought it odd to be asking cut and uncut guys to separate out - I guess none of them had ever really considered that you might differentiate men on that basis. I knew where the uncut guys were going, though, - and I wondered if Master Rafe was kind enough to allow them anaesthetic, or if they'd be 'skinned "as is", just as Billy-Joe had ordered the doctor to do to me.

Richie emerged from the building a couple of minutes later, and told us to march off into the building, following him. Inside there was a kind of narrow corridor formed of two sets of bars, and we lined up behind each other in it. Then Richie ordered us all to close up, and we shuffled forward until we were almost touching the guys on either side of us - I could almost feel the heat radiating from the body of the guy in front of me. Then there was a short scream, and I felt the guy behind me suddenly push forward and slam into me - even my weight couldn't prevent me doing the same to the guy in front of me, as it was so unexpected. Then more shuffling and pushing, and I ended up right against the guy in front and with the guy behind pushing right up against me. I experienced the heat of their bodies directly on mine, now, and as it was quite warm in the building, we were all sweat-covered.

"Now, we'll take each of you in turn from the front of the line", Richie was saying, "And the rest of you shuffle up. I want you all nice and close - intimately close, as you might say, as you are now. You guys have got to learn not to be shy about your bodies, or about touching or being touched by other slaves. So I want a nice, close press together all the time you're in here."

We stood there, close and sweaty, and watched. Two supervisor slaves had joined Richie and they took the first lad from the front of the queue. They sat him on a stool and buzzed all his hair off with electric clippers, then pushed him back onto a table, raised his legs into the air and spread them apart, and crudely took off most of his pubes and the longest hairs from his balls sac. When he was allowed to stand up he looked quite different - the "free" man with his normal hair and pubic forest was now in his first stage of transformation into a slave, with his cropped hair and trimmed pubes all adding to the statement made by the slave collar around his neck. He looked as if he was about to cry!

They directed him back into the queue, at the rear, and we all shuffled forward whilst they did the second guy. The young slave behind me had evidently found this whole scene erotic in some way, as I felt his dick stirring as it kind of nestled in my butt crack. Look, I'm not turned on by very young men, but when something like that's happening to you the body takes over, doesn't it? I felt my own dick stir into life and start to poke at the butt of the young guy in front of me, and he turned around and looked at me in amazement. "Sorry, bud", I told him, "But that's life!"

When I got to the front of the queue, even though it was obvious that my hair was already in the standard slave crop and my pubes were neatly trimmed, I was still taken and sat down and the clippers run over me.

They made my lie there and have my legs pulled up and out, and they clipped away at the remaining "bar" of pubic hair I'd always been allowed. I think they wanted the young trainees to see that I was "one of them", and got no special privileges. Or perhaps it was that my fellow supervisors wanted to enjoy taking a closer look at me whilst they could - after all, with my strength and power, they might not get another opportunity if I chose not to let them! Mind you, when I stood up, I did feel different - with closely-cropped hair and a neat pubic "bar", you still feel that you're a man. But when they take all your hair, and you're utterly, totally naked, you feel like a kid again - in subtle way, I'd had something more than my hair taken away from me.

It was through the showers next, and I saw that most of the guys were now at least semi-erect, and they were shocked when Richie told them the shower rules at Master Rafe's establishment - you were not allowed to wash yourself at all, and had to soap and clean another guy whilst he did you. That wasn't a problem for me, naturally, as I was used to washing Billy-Joe, and Charlie and Coon used to wash and clean me thoroughly, but it was clear that most of the guys had never touched another man's body before, especially not as intimately as you need to in order to properly wash someone else. We all stood there afterwards, planing the water off our bodies (no towels were issued), and I could tell from the look in the eyes of some of the young men that they were beginning to understand that their world had changed, had changed irrevocably.

The next operation was to photograph us and take our vital statistics, and we were again put into the "intimate waiting line" arrangement as we were processed in turn. One of the other slaves measured out height, chest, biceps, waist, hips, thighs, inside leg and dick length (relaxed) whilst Richie sat there and keyed it all into a PC. I could see some of the lads squirming as the slave took their inside leg measurements - even if they had had fittings for custom-made pants before, the salesman would always have done that through pants and underwear; and I'm sure none of them had their dick measured, either. It was when the slave casually jerked at their dicks to get them to go erect that some of them complained, though, and tried to stop him: trying to push his hand away and even daring to tell him to fuck off! Of course it didn't do them any good, as the slave was very insistent, and so much stronger than they were, but it did show me how naive some of these guys were - they hadn't yet realised how their lives were altered now that they were enslaved.

They fed us then, and you could see some of the new guys picking at the slave chow as if it were shit! They didn't know how lucky they were to be allowed to eat as much of it as they liked, to give their bodies the strength they needed to get through the day, and to put on the muscle that they undoubtedly would as their training began: I remembered how, at the Colonel's, I'd always been on the edge of hunger with my ration so carefully controlled. You'd have thought they'd have been grateful, wouldn't you? But instead of that all I really heard were complaints.

Mind you, all eating together naked did seem to stop the ones who were worrying about their nudity from trying to keep their hands in front of their dicks all the time, which was just as well as when we'd finished we were taken out for exercise. You could tell that, as the gates opened out of the "welcome" compound they were all nervous, worrying about what was going to happen to them, but they needn't have been concerned if they'd thought about it: a batch of newly-enslaved young guys like them was an extremely valuable commodity, and no one in their right minds would let anything bad happen to them, would they?

The exercise that afternoon was running: Master Rafe's establishment had a big grassed area with a low white picket fence around the middle of it. One of the other guard slaves stood there with his discipliner and tawse and explained that four times around the fence was a mile, and that they had to do eight circuits. Well, for me that was going to be a cinch, wasn't it? But he added "And for Steve, to show you how it's done, it's twelve times around. And, remember, I'll be watching you all - I want you to run in a nice tight bunch, except for Steve here, of course, and if you go too slowly I'll 'encourage' you with the tawse, or perhaps my discipliner. Now, off you go...."

I felt sorry for the lads actually - as I've explained to you before it's not easy at first to run totally naked. Even those guys who were in their school athletics squad would find it hard with their balls swinging around. And it was evident that some of them had a real problem as they were not used to exercising at all - they just looked as if all they ever did was watch TV and saunter around the mall. Some of them had a really hard time completing the exercise, and I heard the swish and slap of the tawse several times as the guard slaves needed to hit out at the lads' bare backs and butts to get them to complete the circuits. And, actually, even I had a slight problem to do half as much again as they did in the time available - Richie aimed the tawse at my butt once, but I think it was more of a playful kind of thing, rather than to have any serious intent to hurt me (and, after all, when I was used to Billy-Joe's slashing at me with the carriage whip, the tawse wasn't much of an encouragement anyway).

We were all allowed to sit on the grass afterwards, and that was a rare treat for me - at the Colonel's I'd never really had any time at all to rest. It felt good under my naked butt, all soft, and there was that delicious smell of fresh grass, and the outdoors, and I began to feel really good - perhaps life as a permanent slave wasn't going to be so bad after all. But then something else in my brain said "hold on there - face reality. You're a slave for the rest of your life, you'll never now know freedom again as Master Rafe is going to want to keep his investment in you. And you think life is good because you can smell fresh grass, and because you've been allowed to run without dragging a pony cart and being whipped! Get real, Steve." I went from being cheerful and optimistic, to depressed, almost instantly.

They probably wanted the lads to get used to exposing their bodies, or maybe they wanted to start them getting an even all-over tan without any patches of white where they'd been wearing shorts, so we stayed out of doors for the rest of the afternoon. I saw the lads flinching as parties of people went past us - other training groups, and other guards and trainers, but gradually they seemed to be getting used to being exposed. We had a lecture of the "slave positions", and I began to realise what a lot was involved - I knew about the "display" position where you stand with your hands clasped behind your neck, and the "rest" position where you have your head bowed and your hands behind your back, but no one had ever taught me about the two kneeling positions - each with your knees nicely apart and your feet together so that your dick and balls are exposed. In one you're upright with a straight back (so your head is at a convenient height for access to a master's dick when he's standing in front of you and wants you to suck it); and the other is where you rest your butt right back onto your heels with your body bent backwards - this, they told us, makes it easier for a master to "straddle" your body and actually fuck your face, rather than have you just suck him gently. The lads all seemed rather shocked by all of this, as I'm sure most of them had never even considered that they might be used sexually this way!

We had to practice then, and it went on for at least two hours. We had to assume each of the four positions in turn and Richie and the other guards constantly walked up and down monitoring us. Any raising of the head from bowed when we were in "rest", for example, resulted in a swift application of the tawse, and they paid particular attention to things like the way we thrust our hips forward, and the way we kept our butt muscles clenched and tight when in "display", so that we showed ourselves off to the best advantage.

As I knelt there in the second kneeling position, Richie came and stood in front of me, then shuffled forward so that the bulge in his slave shorts was right in front of my nose - I could almost feel him twitching with excitement. He smiled down at me and said "The face fucking part comes later, Steve, and I'm really looking forward to that lesson - you can be sure I'll take you as one of my pupils."

They never tell you, but one of the advantages of the system whereby slaves all wear the same shorts is that they're easy to keep clean - every night the whole lot can just get taken away and laundered, and the slaves can wear fresh ones each morning. At least therefore they're always reasonably clean, so when you have a guy's crotch pushed into your face like that there's no smell of piss - it was different with Billy-Joe, where some of his pants always had a faint smell of dried piss at the front.

They decided that we should have a short day that first day, and we were taken into one of the low buildings I'd seen when I arrived and, were told to piss and shit as that was the last opportunity before the following morning. I'd been used to this system at the Colonel's and had no problems with crouching low over the grating and letting my turds drop, but some of the guys looked petrified at having to do their intimate business in public like that - they'd soon get used to it, I suppose.

They had a simple scheme for getting us better acquainted with another slave's body and starting to teach the lads not to be shy: instead of the normal slave dorm with narrow bunks that you just slept in, rather as free men do, there were a series of narrow pallets cantilevered out from the wall three rows high, with barred gates in front. Three slaves were told to go and lie on these pallets, which were not very wide at all, and I saw the lads lying there trying to get comfortable on the relatively hard surface. Everyone was then astonished when the next three slaves were told to go and occupy the same three pallets, and when they were crushed up against the existing occupants, the barred gates were swung closed and bolted over the front.

Those six lads were going to spend the night in very intimate pairs, and, of course, the same was true for me - I ended up with one of the relatively thin lads, fortunately, as my bulk already took a large part of the pallet! As the gate shut in front of us, he tried to move away from me to keep a hair's breadth between our two bodies, but there was no way that was going to work, was there? Sometimes it's better to be decisive and firm for everyone's good, so I put my arm over his body and pulled him towards me so that we were pressed close together. "Better get used to it!", I said in as friendly way as I could. "We're going to be together all night. What's your name, anyway... I only like to sleep with guys whose name I know..."

"Chas. And you're Steve, aren't you?"

"Right, Chas... Now, a young guy like you.... Do you want to jerk off?"

"Yes, but not here, not with you lying right next to me...."

"Hey, kid, look, jerking off's perfectly natural. And if you want to sleep properly it's going to be difficult here anyway, so you'd better do it. Or do you want me to do it?"

"Neither! Don't you dare touch me...."

Look, I didn't want to force him or anything, as I knew it must be a difficult enough time for him anyway, the first time he'd shared a bed naked with another guy, especially someone so much older, as I was. But I needed to jerk off - well, I always do, every night. But I thought I'd try to abstain, too. We were facing each other and that's no way to sleep, so I told him to turn over so we were like two spoons in a drawer, with his young butt pressed against my belly. That made a bit more room for both of us, and I put my arm companionably over him and rested my hand on his belly. I could feel little kind of jerking sensations, and, as gently as I could, I whispered "Hey, Chas... Be brave... I know it's hard to be enslaved, but hang in there... Don't start crying or they'll think you're less of a man... And don't worry... I'm not going to jerk you off or anything..."

"It's not that, Steve... I've been jerking off with my buddy ever since we could... It's just that, well... My dad, Steve, he sold me! All the other guys at school had parties and stuff on their birthday, and my dad took me off to court, had me stripped, and enslaved."

"Look, Chas, you've got to learn that what's done is done. There's no going back. Perhaps your dad really needed the money. You've got to learn how to face life as a slave now, how to adjust to no longer being free. There's no point wishing for the past, believe me, I know. Think of the future, and how you're going to make the most of it..."

It seemed odd trying to cheer the lad up when I was feeling depressed about being a slave, too. But perhaps it helped me a bit in coming to terms with what had happened.

My dick knew it was time to go to sleep, though, and started to sprout an erection s it always does. I could feel it nudging into Chas's back, and it was really uncomfortable for me. So I used my foot to wriggle in-between his feet, then lifted his leg up slightly so that I could slide my dick between his thighs - I didn't want to actually fuck him - I suppose I could have as we lay there - as it was probably too much for him to take on his first day (I must have forgotten the dire warnings that we'd been given about the trainee slaves keeping their anal virginity for their owners to take: just a well I didn't fuck him, as God only knows how I'd have been punished!). I then let his leg fall down again, and my dick felt comfortable and snug between his warm young thighs, and if I moved my hips gently backwards and forwards it felt really good - so good, in fact, that I knew I was going to keep doing it until I shot.

It didn't seem really fair to Chas, so I moved my hand down his belly, over where his pubes had been, and felt his own hard erection. I know he said he didn't want to jerk off, but he had said he was used to doing it with his buddy.... and my dick was effectively fucking his thighs... so what the hell? I started to stroke him, enjoying the sensation of a rock-hard young dick, and carried on rocking my hips to pleasure myself. We both shot at the same time. And both gave sighs of contentment. There was no way we could do anything about the cum that was everywhere, but the smell of it was somehow comforting as we both drifted into sleep.

End Of Part Twenty Two.