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Warning: This erotic fiction contains sexual experiences between fictional males. If this is not your thing, leave now. Furthermore, any similarity to any person, place or thing living or dead is merely coincidental.
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Story codes: M, MM, SM, bd
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Author's Note: This is the final chapter of "Born". Thank you all for your feedback and support. As a writer, I get so excited each time I get an email regarding one of my stories. I love to hear your thoughts, your personal experiences and that you stroked you hard cock until it spurted warm cream while reading my work.
FYI: Look for some potential side stories of various characters from "Born" in the future on Nifty.
Chapter 26
After several years of travel, we settled in England to become British subjects. Phil loved me. Phil wanted to marry me and since that was not possible in our country; Phil decided that we needed to change citizenships. Money takes care of lots of things. A good immigration lawyer and large bank accounts where we could demonstrate we were not going to be a burden on the system allowed our procedures to move with relative ease. Four years to the day of the sale of the farm, Phil and I were wed in a lovely ceremony in Bath on a gorgeous spring day.
There is couple of interesting things about England that pertained well to our exotic sexual life. The first being the museums dedicated to medieval torture. If anyone thinks that slavery today is a horrible part of our society, which it is, just go to one of these museums and see what humans used to do to others.
Ben's meltdown whipping Phil was a walk-in-the-park compared to what individuals used to do to other beings. There was The Rack that stretched the accused until the limbs bopped out of their sockets. Sometimes the torturer went farther ripping the arms and legs from the body.
There were hangings, floggings with cat-of-nine-tails that had metal ends that cut the skin open allowing the human to bleed to death, and burnings at the stake. There was a wheel where the torturer attached someone turning the person around in a circle while hitting their limbs with mallets until all their bones was broken. I could go on, yet, the dreadfulness only gets worse from here.
Since the ending of torture only happened a few hundred years ago, I concluded that humanity still has much of the DNA from those horrific historic periods left in them. Studies have proven that the effect on a society where torture is a form of punishment takes multitudes of generations to recover from. In fact, fewer than a hundred years ago have treaties regarding torture formulated for the entire planet. There is no denying that slavery and torture still exist in large parts of the planet and it is not the fanciful kind that I played with in my mind all my life. That DNA is probably why Phil and Ben's slave business thrived and why I felt from a very early age that I was born to be submissive and to serve.
Upon seeing these places throughout the Mother Country, my mind wandered back to the disgust I felt the first time I went to a slave auction; the one where my father put himself up for sale. I also looked at how regardless of that upset I continued to participate for a number of years thereafter including becoming a teacher for the newly enslaved. What's also interesting is the money that I live off of to enjoy the fabulous lifestyle that Phil and I experience daily came from something that I think is appalling.
One night I spoke with Phil about my dilemma of my mixed feelings about slavery. I told him that since we had done the travel stuff, were now married and never had to work again, I wanted to devote some of my time to the service of liberating slaves. Phil was not overly pleased.
"Jim, I understand your upset and wanting to help, but aren't you calling the pot black when the kettle is too. May I remind you that we live off the benefits of slavery? We wouldn't have the lifestyle we have if we were just caterers. We would still be sloppy grub for the wealthy back home barely supporting ourselves. Now we have this fabulous life." He said.
"I know Phil, but many slaves don't benefit from the type of experience we offered back at the farm. Many live horrible lives. Many of our slaves chose their life. I'm talking about helping the ones that didn't." I argued.
"I'll take this further, Jim. What does the tattoo on your chest say?" Phil asked.
I bowed my head, "Slave."
"That's right. You were originally Ben and I's slave. Now you are my husband. You are also my manservant. Your devotion is to me. I love you dearly with all my heart, but remember we still have our specific roles. I think your cause is noble, but..."
"But, what, Phil?" I asked.
"What are your true motives? Are you attempting to right a wrong? Are you trying to justify your own participation in the practice? Are you trying to vindicate your lifestyle today at the expense of others?" Phil pushed.
"I don't know. I just want to help."
Phil response was astounding. "Jim, helping implies that others are incapable. Why don't you replace that word with "serve"? You know how to serve. You were born to serve. If you come from a place of serving your fellow man, then you will be more effective. Helping infers that these slaves are victims. If you wish to serve with organizations that address human rights, that's one thing. If you want to help, that is quite something else. I suggest you think about this some more."
I did. I thought about it for a long time. Phil was right. Helping implies incapability. Mr. Brown could do anything that I did for him. He could cook. He could clean a house. He could hold a job. I was his slave because I wished to serve.
Same is true with Ben and Phil. There was nothing that I did for them that they were not able to do. I willingly served them because that is who I am.
If I chose to participate in the human rights effort, my motive had to come from service to others and not look at anyone as if they were victims. I also had a responsibility to Phil before anyone. I was his servant, his lover, his husband, and his slave. Everything had changed and nothing had changed.
With my motives clear and my understanding that my first priority would be to Phil, I did join an organization that specifically addressed the issue of unwilling slavery. I was not cut out for such an institution. I found the politics involved appalling. I found a lot of hypocrisy including members who secretly had slaves. After a couple of years of attempting to be of service to this society, I left disillusioned and hurt. The people were so self-righteous. They couldn't get past that righteousness enough to be effective.
When I left that organization, I moved on to being of service to Phil and general volunteering in the gay community. I was not cut out for my lofty goals of changing the world. The world would just have to change itself in its time, not mine.
Another sexual aspect that is somewhat unique to the British Empire of homosexuals is corporal punishment, suit sex and gunge play. Phil and I have always been into corporal punishment. Phil still enjoys a good session of whipping and flogging me. I take after my father relishing in the pain of a cat-of-nine-tails or a whip across my back and chest. I love to feel the heat created that lasts for days afterwards as I go about my normal life.
Phil's experience with being whipped by Ben (notice I no longer refer to him as Sir Ben) made him much more cautious with me than during the year of debauchery that lead to Ben and Phil's undoing. I don't mind that he doesn't hurt me quite as bad as back then. I'm older and not as strong.
As for gunge play, that became a staple of ours. We would dress up in fancy suits going to a nice restaurant and having dinner. When we would get home our playroom was lined in plastic. We had all the food lined up on a table; corn, beans, pies, whip cream, mustard, ketchup, spaghetti, tomato juice. Phil would tie me up in some elaborate bondage display fully clothed. He never tied me the same way twice. I got heavily into bondage through this with my cock straining against my suit pants desperate to get out, but locked away just like my tied torso and limbs. Then Phil would start.
Usually the first thing he would do is take some mustard squirting it all over my suit jacket thus immediately destroying it. A jar of tomato sauce over the head was a nice touch. Phil would pull my belt away from my body allowing an opening inside the front of my pants. In would go a can of baked beans after which he would let go of the belt taking his hand mushing the bean inside between my pants and my underwear.
Phil took great pains to make sure he did not get any food on his fine attire whether throwing a cherry pie in my face or dumping a pot of fresh spaghetti pasta over my head. By the time he was done with me, there were little of my clothes that were not completely soiled including letting go of my bladder adding urine to the mix.
Looking at me all messed drove Phil nuts. He couldn't wait to make love to me. It was all he could do to be self-disciplined not to start too soon allowing me the joy of being fully gunged. All too quickly he couldn't take it another moment. The sight of his lover covered in gunk was too much for him. He would come into kiss me gently thus getting the first of the food on his lips and face. Phil would start to run his fingers over my head while the mixtures started to touch the sleeves of his suit jacket.
Phil would take his hands ripping open the front of my shirt exposing my chest, nipples and the venerable `SLAVE' ink. Of course, my chest was already messed on the inside but the feeling of my lover tearing my shirt open while tied to a chair made me want to squirt.
I would feel his hands start to untie the knots of my bound body. I would be free soon to touch my man. Once undone, Phil would move me down on the food covered plastic on the floor all the while kissing me with his tongue. Soon my body lay under his. Phil's suit was becoming equally ruined, which turned us on even more. He would take scissors cutting off my suit pants thus being able to get at my butt without bothering to take my dress shoes off.
There I would be as my legs rose in the air. My belt still attached to the remnants of my pants Phil would take a spray can of whip cream sticking the nozzle up my cunt. I watched as he unbuckled his soiled pants pulling them down just enough to expose his magnificent masterpiece of male cock. With my vagina creamed, Phil inserted his tool for the purpose of adding more cream.
God the scene was hot. Phil never took off his shirt or suit jacket. There were food stains all over it from making love to his gunged husband prior to the fucking. As for me, I was a covered mess of various dishes naked below the waist except for my dress shoes on either side of Phil's head. Phil would twist my nipples with the rings but his hands were so wet that it was difficult to hold them. I would be jerking my cock furiously waiting in anticipation to add one more ingredient to the stew on my body as Phil started to orgasm. We always came together during gunge play. There was something so special about it for both of us. We were both talented chefs. We loved food. The act was so decadent, so off from our regular roles, so enhancing of the love we had for each other. My take is that food heals the world bringing everyone closer. Our gunge play brought us a different intimacy than either of us experienced before.
This was also true when we got together for gunge parties. These arranged meals either at our home or another's where six to ten well-dressed men attended a formal meal with the walls, table and chairs covered in plastic. We would have a fine meal followed by a food fight followed by fucking and cumming and water sports and lots of passion among the men. In fact, some of the men became our best friends during our life in the UK.
In due course we decided that England was too cold. We moved to Australia. Phil and I never strayed from our svelte physiques while in the UK, but the time had come in our lives to live healthier and show ourselves off while we still had sexy bodies. Nevertheless, my body, while beautiful, did have the markings of my slave life. Going to the beach was particularly amusing to see people notice my `SLAVE' tattoo across my chest. My large extended areolas and nipples rings hanging on either side of the ink painting. Others who looked closer also saw a back ravaged by the whip over the years. I had deep scars and marks that I wore proudly; however, not without some shock by the masses.
All this time Adam would email or call periodically to tell us what was happening. Ben, Adam's master, decided to move to Kauai, specifically in the little downtown area of Lihue. Ben bought a small home for him and Adam to share. After months of searching a tiny restaurant became available. Ben and Adam opened it as a relaxed foodie place at medium to high price point. There were five table tops, which created demand. The restaurant was open for dinner with two turnovers per night. On top of that, the restaurant was only open Thursday through Sunday. Ben didn't need the money. He needed something to do. Needless to say between Ben and Adam's talent as chefs reservations ran two months in advance in low season and as much as three months in advance high season.
Adam being the dutiful slave worked for Ben; however, Ben did the same thing to Adam that he and Phil had done for me. Adam received income, was on the books, paid taxes, was a full citizen in every sense of the word other than he was still Ben's slave. Adam never spent any of his own money on anything because as a slave he wanted for nothing. Instead, Ben set Adam up for a time when Ben may not be around. As this unfolded through Adam's correspondence, my heart began to soften for the hunky lug that acted so deplorable to Phil. Forgiveness would be too strong a word; maybe acceptance that life opened the way it was supposed for all of us.
Ben, however, was still up to his old tricks; just taking a new twist to his demented self. Ben still wanted to control Adam in some way even though Adam was the most pliable of any slave who ever walked through the farm. Ben's way of putting his touch on his slave was body modification. On two of the three days Ben and Adam had off from the restaurant, Ben would tie Adam up to force feed him. Ben wanted Adam to get plump. Ben became Adam's feeder.
When Adam sent their annual Christmas photo and note Adam always weighed a little more. Since Adam was naked in the photo next to a clothed Ben, the gain was obvious. Remember, Adam was a slight man. He had a typical youthful girlish figure. He, of course, was hairless via Dr. Gatz's cream concoction. Each year Adam had obviously gained another twenty pounds or so. The taught stomach was lost at first developing an odd pouch. Skinny men who become gainers put on the pounds in a peculiar fashion until they are really fat. None of the rest of his body looked any different for a while. By year four, Adam had developed male breasts supported by an even larger stomach. By year six, Adam easily weighed almost twice as much as he did back on the farm. He had developed love handles, boobs, flabby thighs, double chins. Ironically, Adam also had a very deep allover tan. I wondered if Ben tied him up out in the backyard on his days off to soak up some rays.
Apparently this was Ben's fun on their off days. Wednesday it was back to the grind getting ready for Thursday through Sunday dinner at the restaurant. Adam probably would have gained faster had they not had such a busy and active schedule.
One day Adam wrote that Ben had brought home a stray. The young man was an actual born and raised Hawaiian. The boy's name was Konani, which means "bright" in English. The name can be given to a male or a female. Since Konani was a homosexual, having both male and female characteristics, his name was perfect. Konani was small and slightly chunky, yet obviously from photos his spirit lit up a room. Adam's correspondence after Konani came on the scene seemed to be the happiest I had ever heard from him. Adam didn't expand too much on their three-way relationship, but what was clear was the affiliation was working and working well, unlike what happened when Ben, Phil and I were together. Konani became part of the business working in the restaurant along with Ben and Adam. I would love to have been a fly on the wall of their sex life. Unfortunately, Adam never elaborated on what Konani, Ben and he did sexually. I'm sure there was some kink in there.
Maybe their relationship worked better because there was only one top, Ben. Konani and Adam were both serious bottoms. When Ben, Phil and I were together, there was Ben the total top, Phil the almost total top and me the occasional top even as a slave. No wonder there were challenges with the three of us.
Ben died in his early sixties from a heart attack. That big, hunky body required his heart to work overtime and eventually it was just too much. Adam called crying uncontrollably. I never knew Adam to be so upset. He had always been in such control of his emotions. Phil and I flew to Kauai to help Adam and Konani out. We ran the restaurant until the reservation list emptied. Adam felt making sure everyone who wanted to come to the restaurant did before he shut it down. Adam did not want to run the place without Ben by his side. A restaurant requires a dominant presence at the helm. Adam, nor Konani, had what it took.
Adam and Konani stayed together. They eventually sold the home the three of them lived in because there were just too many memories. Adam did not go back into slavery. Slavery is for the young. Adam, instead, devoted his life to gay youth on all the Islands. Konani understood the culture so between the two of them they made a great impact on how young gay men evolve.
One day on the phone to Adam I finally asked about his reaction to Ben's passing. "Adam, you were always such a rock never letting your human emotions get the best of you. I was very surprised at how upset you were over Ben leaving the planet. As my former spiritual slave advisor, would you mind explaining?"
Adam was his normal even-keeled self in his answer, "Jim, I loved Ben. I fell in love with him about two years after the farm was sold. He and I just clicked. I think I was what Ben needed; a thoughtful, obedient slave who was there for him that paid little mind to his idiosyncrasies or his desire to control."
"One night Ben and I were sitting together outside looking up at the magnificent star lit sky over Lihue. He held me in his arms; his big, hunky body enveloping me; and he said, `Adam, I love you.'"
"I never in a million years thought that Ben had that emotion in him. I simply responded to him with, `Sir, I love you with all my heart. I want to be with you always.' A tear rolled down my cheek. Instead of wiping it away where Ben would see my reaction, I let it drip onto my naked body. I felt then and still feel I am the luckiest slave in the world." Adam's voice trailed off.
A tear rolled down my cheek when he said that. I didn't comment too much more. Instead, I excused myself from the conversation quickly. I knew that the moment I hung up the phone I was going to have a good cry. My thoughts during my jag were how wonderful life had turned out for both of us. Adam was my closest friend. He had been there for me in every way for years. To think that growing up I would have all these incredible experiences of slavery and service, fall in love with my handsome husband, Phil and live the life we have was beyond my imagination. That was also the day I completely let go of my anger toward Ben. If Adam loved him, then he must have been a decent man. Adam would never have fallen in love with anything less regardless of his slave status. Sometimes the right person brings out the best in someone. That is what must have happened to Ben. Adam was the right person.
Phil and I grew old together. Phil being almost twenty years older than I died first as expected. He lived well into his eighties. I took care of him full time in his waning years as he became weak and frail. We were together for over forty years. I believe that is a miracle in any relationship. I miss him terribly, yet was at peace when he left because he was now in a more comfortable place.
I stayed in Australia. I thought about joining Adam and Konani in Kauai, but I didn't want to be a third wheel and I was no longer a citizen. Instead, I hired on as a manservant to a wealthy gay couple in Sydney. I didn't particularly like the city life, but I enjoyed being of service regardless of the fact that I was technically not a slave. I believe the reason the couple liked me so much was that I understood wealth having plenty of my own being the widow of a prosperous former slaver. As I said, slavery is for the young. I could no longer physically deal with the ramifications of fulltime slavery in my mid-sixties. Being a manservant fit my long and continuous desire to serve others.
Ben sold Dad after the first year the restaurant business was up and running. Ben sold him through the auction house that had bought the farm. I was told he put on another magnificent show of cumming while being flogged up on the stage. Dad got his wish. He was sold to a working cattle ranch in the southwest. I'm sure his life was very hard. I doubt that he survived many years out there in the desert sun and heat. Adam told me that Dad was happy leaving because he was essentially bored. The restaurant did not require the same amount of intense oversight as the slave and catering companies had. None of us ever knew what eventually happened to Dad; however, one day I felt his presence move through the room I was sitting in and reading. My take is that was the day he passed to the other side. I'm glad he stopped by Australia to say goodbye.
And this is where I say goodbye dear reader. I hope you have enjoyed the story of being a `born' slave. Preferably, I hope you lost copious amounts of jizz from your balls during the chapters. I had a lot of great sex and a lot of love over the years. More than I ever felt possible. I am so happy I followed who I was meant to be.
Your thoughts and feelings on this story are extremely appreciated.
Please send any comments to: douglas.marx.4@gmail.com