This is a work of fiction. The characters are invented. It is intended solely for the fantasy entertainment of persons, age 18 or older, who want to read about gay sex and male slavery. If you are not at least 18 years old and/or this is not what you want, read no further.
Copyright 2009. All rights reserved by the author. JKBlackhouse
Brothers & Slaves: Characters so far:
Danny 17, currently the narrator, high school junior, on soccer & track teams; Ken 18, Danny's older brother, athletic body, high school senior, plays football, baseball & wrestles; Gary 15, Danny's younger brother, young stud, high school freshman, footballer; Tuck 17, boyhood best friend of Danny and Don, soccer & track; Don 17, boyhood best friend of Danny and Tuck, backup quarterback. Joey, 16, teammate of Danny and leader of team's turning him into their shaved cocksucker; Tim, 17, personal house slave of Ken, Danny and Gary; Mr. Howard, owner, a slave training facility. James: head slave of the family household. Ron, 18, classmate and formerly Master of Ken
Brothers & Slaves: Chapt. 33: House Slaves Danny
I had loved the play with Jonathan and Nelson, but that was play. What Mr. Brent had done was quite another thing and so was serving as a kitchen helper at the bottom of the totem pole. The three of us, together with one of the house slaves, were eventually ordered to set the table, It was to be a dinner for thirty-six, quite an affair. It was the Brent's twentieth anniversary I learned, so it would be a real occasion. I had a feeling, a pretty awful feeling, that before the night was over, Ken, Ron and I were going to end up as the evening's entertainment. Now that was scary.
Chapt. 34: A Really Bad Night Danny
As the guests arrived for the anniversary dinner, Ron had to greet them at the door with, "Welcome Sir and Madam," while Ken and I, together with 761, one of the Brent's slaves, passed and fetched drinks and nibbles. For the occasion, we were completely naked, of course wearing the usual hardware, and sported a humiliating black bow around our cock and balls, thus calling extra attention to our organs. There were women as well as men present. It was especially degrading when any of the women decided to feel us up. One woman, a fairly young looking pretty blond, beckoned me over. She didn't want a drink or food, she wanted me. She had me put my tray on the floor and assume the standing slave present position. After scanning my smooth body, she went for my cock and balls, stroking them, my dick swelling but locked under my balls, starting me to breathe hard in sexual excitement for which there could be no relief. She laughed at me, and kept stroking, enjoying watching my dick's repeated attempt to rise and being always thwarted by the chain and lock. I had to just stand there, looking down, head bowed, hands behind my head.
She moved to my ringed nipples, stroking them, pinching, raising the rings and letting them drop against my chest, seeming to enjoy the grunt she elicited each time. Then it was the turn of my boy-smooth armpits. Have you enjoyed having a partner stroke your pits? Well, try it with your cock tied down under your balls and you'll find it a lot less pleasant. But it did, again, turn me on, again swelling my penis, which she went back to stroking. Grabbing my genitals in one hand, she led me across the room where she "introduced" me to her husband. I could not kneel to kiss his feet as I otherwise would have, since she held my balls and cock in her hand. "Harold," she said, "look at this lovely slaveboy, lets buy it. I'm sure we could both get pleasure from it." Her husband took my genitals from her and squeezed, hard, real hard. I grimaced but was able to keep from screeching despite the pain.
He stroked my smooth chest, played with the nipple rings, then finally said, "We'll see dear," and let go of me. What a relief, both of pain and stimulation, but also mentally, at least they hadn't firmly decided to try to buy me. Buy me? Would Mr. Howard actually sell me? I doubted it, but I had no way of knowing the extent of the authority my Dad had given him. Maybe, sell him off, get rid of him? Surely not.
I retrieved my tray and continued with my duties. Being in a room while naked, with women, was just so embarrassing I could hardly stand it. It was bad enough with men who were strangers and fully dressed, but women? Looking at my chained, ringed, hairless genitals and pubes, revolting; however, it was so extremely humiliating that I have to confess while i hated it, the humiliation turned me on. Yes, had it been possible, I would have been hard and from what I could see in passing, Ken was having a similar experience.
At dinner, we served each course, we four slaves plus two more of Mr. Brent's house slaves, making six table slaves in all. During dinner, there was much fondling, petting, slapping and grabbing various parts of my, and the others', anatomy. While the food looked to be superb, of course we were allowed none of it, the guests seemed to enjoy the slaves as much as the food.
At last the table was cleared and the guests settled in the very large living room. Ken, Ron and I were called in and told to kneel in slave present, heads bowed, knees spread, hands locked behind our necks, totally on display. Mr. Brent announced he had an entertainment planned for their guests. With that, 761 and 762 entered carrying large cases. My wrists were placed in locking restrains separated by a 12 or 14 inch hard bar behind by back. Ken and Ron were similarly restrained. A hard 18 inch bar was locked between each of our ankles. In all honesty, the combination of being restrained and having it done in public, turned me on a lot. I was definitely ready to suck some mean dick if that was desired.
The house slaves picked each of us up bodily and placed us at one end of the room. Restrained as we were, were were told we were to race (on our knees) to the other side of the room and back again. The two house slaves were given short whips and told to beat our backs and ases to encourage us to move faster. The loser would have a larger plug than he now wore publicly shoved up his ass. He would then hobble around the entire room on his knees, kissing the feet of each guest, both men and women, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Brent and sons Nelson and Jonathan (who had eaten with the adults). Second place would kneel in the hall just outside the room, where he would serve as a urinal, joined later by the loser. The "winner" would also be in the hall and would suck off any of the men who wished it. We were told all this was just act one.
At the shout of "go" from Mr. Brent, we began to painfully move first one knee then the other forward. The solid bar between our ankles made this laborious at best. With hands locked uncomfortably behind out backs, moving our arms to assist our movement was impossible. Each of us fell over. Struggling to right ourselves, restrained as we were, gave the onlookers many a laugh and meanwhile a constant series of whip lashes struck our backs, wielded with strength and causing us to groan and even scream. My back began first to sting and then to become warm and painful. My knees hurt as I crawled on them.
Once across the room, the notion of having to go all the back to the start point sickened me and I almost vomited. I'm sure if I had, I would not only have been flogged, but also made to eat it - a thought sufficiently disgusting to allow me to hold down the vomit. I headed back the way I'd come, the whipping now becoming agonizing. Of course, as I moved, I was constantly fucking myself as the buttplug moved in my ass, or rather, my ass moved around the plug.
Ken being the oldest and strongest of us came in first. Somehow Ron beat me out, so I was the looser. It turned out I was to be kept in the restraints as I worked off my punishment, but so were Ken and Ron who would be sucking dick and urine respectively. The most humiliating was having to kneel, ass up, in the center of the room. My plug was removed and one hefty monster was shown to me, I was made to lick and kiss and beg to have it shoved up my ass. Then 761 greased the monster up and shoved, not gently pushed, shoved the thing into my ass. I couldn't help it, it felt like they were permanently rupturing my ass, so I screamed and screamed.
The punishment for screaming was ten lashes, five from Nelson and five from Jonathan. They each took off their shirts, displaying the very appealing adolescent bodies I was already familiar with. Clearly they intended to do real damage. Nelson, the younger of the two, went first. That kid must have spent every free moment lifting weights or something. Crack came down the whip. I was stunned. He was using a flogger and it was agony after just one stroke. He pulled back his arm and snapped a second hard stroke, then a third, a fourth, and for the fifth, he leaned way back and used all his might to strike my back. I wanted to scream from the pain but I kept it to a groan which I knew was acceptable.
Then it was the turn of the older and stronger Jonathan. His five strokes felt like my back was being flayed, which I guess it was. He required I thank him for each stroke, `one, thank you Sir....," and then thank him for the entire flogging and lick his sweaty armpit clean, which also required thanks. Now my back, ass and knees were in agony, and I still had to circle the room asking permission of every person to kiss their feet and thank them for the privilege. It was degrading but not unbearably so, my back, knees and ass were much worse problems. Some guests had moved to other rooms before I got to them, so it was fewer than the 30 guests plus 6 Brents, including the grandparents. By the end, I was angry, exhausted, in pain, and ready to quit as a slave. But of course there was no provision for me to quit. This was very, very new to me. Wanting out but having no escape possible. I crawled out to the hall and began taking my share of piss (and, as it turned out, also cocksucking, which was kind of fun).
Eventually, both Ron and I absolutely had to get rid of the accumulated piss; we were allowed to do that by blasting our piss into Ken's mouth. So much for "winning." This was act two, but Mr. Brent had an act 3 in mind for those who cared to witness it. The restraints were at last removed and we were taken to Mr. Brent's cellar "play" space. It appeared to be well equipped at first glance. Ron was strapped down to a fucking bench. I was strapped to a horse, wrists cuffed to the front legs and ankles to the rear ones. Ken was tied in a standing spread-eagle in the middle of the room. My humongous plug and Ron's smaller one, were removed and our asses made available to any who cared to use us. We were also hooded with a built in gag. Before the hooding, I saw them lay out whips, paddles, straps, studded belts, a ping pong paddle and maybe other stuff. I assumed that was for Ken. I was wrong. The tools were available to anyone who wished to use them on whichever one of us they chose.
As I (and I assumed Ron) were getting multiple fucks from cocks large and small, plus the occasional dildo, we were also being spanked and whipped/strapped as our tormentors pleased. With the gag in my mouth, I could scream all I wanted to, and I did both as I got fucked over and over, and beaten repeatedly. It was the worst night I could ever remember. I was not sure I would ever forgive. Mr. Howard, or for that matter, Dad, for what was done to us.
At last the "entertainment" was over and the three of us were locked in slave cages in the basement and left for the night. We dared not talk to each other but each of us was sobbing in pain and humiliation.
We spent the next morning with Nelson and Jonathan. They sort of apologized to us for the whippings. They explained they'd been ordered to do what they did by their father and I believed them. They certainly had not been cruel to us when we first met and played. Had they not apologized and treated us nicely, I think I might have been off slavery forever but as it was, I was able to resume my usual good humor. Unfortunately they did not have the keys to our cock locks so we still could not cum, though they said if they'd had the keys they would have let each of us shoot, and two of us, they said, could have done it up their asses. Easy to say, who knows?
By noon, we were in a slave transporter on our way back to the training center. As usual with many transporters, were were shackled to an overhead bar running along the length of the vehicle which was caged but otherwise open to view, so we were again on display - and cold. At last back "home," we were allowed to rest in one of the yards, an ankle cuffed to a metal ring embedded in the ground. It was such a relief to be away from awful Mr. Brent and to just sit, rest, and finally to chat. I actually cried as I told the others what had been done to me.
Late in the afternoon, we were taken to Mr. Howard's office. He asked about our treatment at the Brent's and he was on the receiving end of some (respectfully delivered) pretty bitter remarks. He seemed quite taken aback, apparently never expecting what had happened. Clearly he seemed sorry but he did say that we should take the experience to heart, that being a slave meant you got whatever your owner cared to provide or dish out. It was pretty sobering. He took us to the shower room, released our dicks (oh happy day) and had us do a round robin jerk off so we didn't get to touch ourselves while our dicks were free but we did each have an orgasm and gush huge loads of stored cum. At the end, he made us lick up all the cum, the three loads all mixed together on the tiles. Much, much later, I learned that Mr. Howard had reported Mr. Brent to the authorities for damaging his property. Apparently, Mr. Brent was sentenced to one week of slavery as punishment so he learned what it was to have all your body hair shaved off, be collared, be locked in a chastity pouch and then used however his temporary owner wished. Unfortunately, I never did learn what was done to him. I hope it was demeaning and harsh.
As for the three of us, over the next several weeks (yes, well beyond our school vacation) we were rented out singly or in various combinations, but never again had an experience anywhere near as bad as that with Mr. Brent. For that, I was thankful. I also found that I liked being of service (to halfway decent people), I liked submitting to the pleasure of each temporary owner and being made to do what was demanded of me. I even accepted that I should be punished, sometimes harshly, when I was disobedient, disrespectful, or performed inadequately in any way. I wished to be a good slave, an obedient slave, a respectful slave, and I disappointed myself whenever I was less than that. Despite having been rented out numerous times, I was completely unprepared for what Mr. Howard next had in store for me.
Copyright 2009 JKBlackhouse. All rights reserved by the author. This work may not be reproduced, except for personal use, without permission of the author. Reproduction for any other use is prohibited.
Many thanks for the continuing stream of emails. Comments, story ideas, criticisms and suggestions are most welcome. Please let me know what you think of the story. Feedback really helps keep me writing. Thanks to those who have written - and thanks for sending so many interesting ideas and scenarios - I've used some and I am keeping others in mind. Please keep them coming.