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. Copyright 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; 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.
Chapt's 1-8: Danny has been made a "slave" in practice though not in law by his older and younger brothers, with the help of Danny's teammates. His pubes, genitals, crack, arms and legs have been shaved and he is forced to give his brothers blowjobs on command and to accept their fucking him. He is required by them to be naked in the large bedroom/study room the three share along with their personal slave Tim. Danny cannot escape his new found slavery because his brothers have pictures and videos of him performing all sorts of humiliating and sexual acts as if he were doing so from his own desire. If he does not obey his brothers, they have threatened to put the pics and recordings on the worldnet along with his real name. For Danny, that would mean complete disgrace and humiliation before his friends and parents. Danny's brothers have had his nipples ringed, a genital band, just like real slaves must wear, installed permanently along with a permanent titanium ball band, stretcher and separator. The boys' parents are completely unaware of what has been happening among the boys.
Brothers & Slaves: Chapt. 9: Four One Five - Danny
I was in our bedroom kneeling naked on the floor. My hands were behind my head which was bowed. My knees were spread as was proper for a slave presenting itself. The jockstrap I'd been allowed to wear when I went down to the kitchen but was then made to take off was hanging from my mouth, which is how I'd carried it upstairs. I looked down at myself. Two large rings through my nipples, a slave's permanent genital band around my cock and balls, wide enough to force the package way forward and then there was the permanent ball band held well below my dick, stretching my balls way down in my scrotum, maybe two inches down and then the balls were separated by a bar running between them and held firmly to the ball band front and back. It was almost as though my balls were separate things, each held in its own pocket. My balls were pulled so far apart and widely spread that it was hard to walk without their rubbing against my thighs in a very uncomfortable and pronounced way. It made me walk a little bowlegged. That's what I saw when I looked down at my naked and hairless body. How had my brothers forced this humiliation on me and why was I accepting it? And why was my dick hard as a rock?
I waited as patiently as I could. What would Mom and Dad make of all this if they knew? It seemed to me that I was going to have to tell them what had been done to me. I thought back to the scene in the kitchen where my brothers had revealed my slavery and my naked bejeweled body to the house slaves. I recalled speaking there to my brothers respectfully as my Masters. Why would I have done this? Yes they had all sorts of recordings now of me begging for dick, giving them blowjobs and then thanking them for their cum. But had the prospect of their putting this on the web for anyone, especially my friends, to see, had this really been enough to force me into doing all these things and embarrassing myself in front of the house slaves? They had all seen me naked, hairless and ringed. Whatever could they be thinking? Was I truly forced to do this or had I somewhere within myself wanted to be treated submissively, wanted to explore the slave life? Surely not, I thought.
This stream of thought was interrupted by the arrival of Ken and Gary back in the room along with our personal slave Tim (or should I say their personal slave, Tim?). Gary seemed to be taking charge more than Ken. "That was quite a nice display, boy. Now the slaves all know you're just one of them so they'll know not to treat you as though you were a Master any longer. No more ordering the slaves around, boy, got it?"
"Yes, Master, this slave gets the point but what about school and sports? How can I, that is this slave, go into the locker room and change for sports? The slave will be ridiculed. It probably won't even be allowed there any longer. And what about school? Are they going to kick me out of school because I'm a slave?" I began crying again.
"Well boy," said Gary, "I guess your days on sports teams are over. I don't think the guys would want to be showering and looked at by a slave boy - or maybe they would like to see you all naked. Yeah, hmmmm, that's something to think about. But there's a busy day ahead for you boy. Now you need a slave name, don't you boy? We can't just keep calling you `boy.' Tim might think we meant him. We can't call you Danny. Danny isn't a slave. How about just a number? That'll keep it simple. OK, boy, your name is now 415. That's OK, isn't it boy?"
"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master," was the appropriate response, I thought. Weren't slaves supposed to thank their Masters for anything given them whether a load of cum, a bare foot, an armpit, or a name?
As I'd been speaking, the jock that I'd been holding in my mouth since removing it downstairs fell to the floor. What was I to do about that? I thought I'd best wait until I was told what to do. This was sort of fun. I just had to wait for an order and then obey it. Maybe I really was slave material and not just a pin cushion for my brothers' sadism and perversion. Certainly my dick was just staying hard. I knew the genital band kept my cock somewhat engorged, but I was all the way hard. And with my head still bowed, I was trying to catch glances of Ken's and Gary's chests and crotches, get a sense of their packages from a slave's perspective. Both had boxers that were bulging. I bet they too were hard. Tim was.
"Time to move out, 415 (which Gary said as four fifteen). Put on a pair of shorts and a tank. You don't need underpants. Slaves don't wear underpants, ever. Got that slave?"
"Yes, Master, this slave is to never wear undies, Master." I crawled over to my dresser, opened a drawer while still kneeling, and pulled out a nice tight pair of khaki shorts. I took a yellow tank with wide armholes from another drawer, the better to display my shaved armpits. On the tank it read "griffen boy band," the name of a group whose recordings I particularly liked. I also liked that it said "boy." I was some sickie, wasn't I?
I was told to stand to get the clothes on and to go barefoot in a pair of sandals. When I reached for the usual stuff I carry in my pants pockets, some money, my ID and driver's license, the house and my car keys, stuff like that, I was told I would need nothing, to leave all the stuff here. Well, that was going to mean I'd be completely dependent on them without money, ID or even house keys. It sent a shiver down my back and, I'm embarrassed to tell you, stiffened my cock even more. This was all getting awfully real, I thought. It got even more real when Gary pulled up the front of my tank and used a black marker to write "415" in the center of my chest, right between my nipple rings. When Gary pulled the tank back down, I realized how tender my newly pierced nipples were just to the touch of the cloth hanging over them.
Gary told me to follow them outside. He didn't say to crawl so I just walked behind the two of them but I did keep my head bowed. Tim, dressed only in his thong jockstrap brought up the rear. Looking at his tit rings, I realized mine seemed almost exactly the same as his. Wow.
We were going in Ken's car. Tim and I were told to sit in back with our hands under our thighs. That really squeezed my thighs into my spread balls which sort of hurt but also felt good. Good lord, things were happening awful fast. I wondered for how long Ken and Gary had been planning this.
I could hear my brothers talking as Ken drove, but they were speaking really low so I couldn't catch what they were talking and laughing about. Maybe me. I knew enough not to tempt fate by trying to join in the conversation or even chat with Tim. I just sat there silently, wondering what was next.
After maybe an hour of driving on the highway, Ken turned off onto a narrow side road which soon became nothing more than a dirt roadway. He turned again into another side road and in maybe 5 minutes I could see a barn, maybe two or three barns,. On one side of the road was a newly planted field being tended by some naked, collared male slaves. Like me and Tim, their bodies, but unlike us also their heads, were hairless. They wore slave rings through their tits and each of course had a genital band around his dick and balls. They each also had a ball ring and from that, and from their tit rings, balls, probably weights, were hanging pulling tits and balls, probably painfully, downward. As we got closer, I could see that each had a PA piercing through which a wide ring hung down and the ring seemed chained to another ring inserted in and under their ball sacs so it must have been impossible for them to get hard or yank off. I wondered what they did for sex.
We drove up to a really nice looking farmhouse, more mini-mansion than house actually and Ken stopped the car. Tim and I were told to stay where we were. Ken and Gary walked down a path and I thought I could see them talking with two men, maybe the farmer and his assistant, I thought. Not a word was exchanged between Tim and me.
Finally my brothers came back to the car and ordered Tim and me to get out and assume the slave present position. The man I took to be the farmer walked around the two of us, seeming to eye everything. Then Gary barked out an order: "Strip slaves." Following Tim's lead, I realized I was supposed to do this while kneeling. All Tim had to do was slip off his jock, just pulling it down to his ankles and then lifting each foot to get the thing off his body. He actually folded the tiny jock neatly and set it beside him, then resumed the slave position. It was easy enough for me to pull off the tank, which I folded just like Tim had his jockstrap. Then I had to reach back and loosen the sandal straps and slip those off my feet while keeping my balance on my knees. The hardest part was slipping the shorts down my legs and off my ankles but I was able to do it. I folded the shorts neatly and put them on top of the shirt and set my sandals next to them. Like Tim, I then resumed my slave position.
The farmer asked Ken, "What are they called?" Ken indicated which was Tim and which was 415 (of course, it was written on my chest). I really felt like a nothing being called just a number in front of this man.
Gary spoke up: "Listen up, boys. This here is a private slave training facility. This is Mr. Howard who owns and runs the facility. 415 is here to spend the weekend beginning his training as a slave. Tim will assist Mr. Howard with the training in whatever way he's told to. You are both to consider Mr. Howard your Master until we pick you up Sunday evening. You will do everything you are told to do. You are to do everything you are told to do, no matter what it is. You are to do it immediately and without hesitation or question. To do otherwise will bring swift and no doubt painful punishment. Is that clear boys?"
In unison almost, Tim and I said "Yes, Master."
Then I took a chance and asked permission to speak inorder to ask a question. Gary looked dubious but said "OK, one question, 415."
"Master," I said, "do you mean you are leaving me here with Mr. Howard to begin training as a real slave, Master?" I tried to be as submissive and polite as I could but I was pretty incredulous.
All Gary said was, "Yes, asshole, that's just what I mean" and he and Ken walked back to the car and were soon gone. This was rally scary. Here I was with a stranger who was entitled to give me any order he wished and who I must obey in all ways. My cock, though still somewhat hard, was no longer standing up straight. Sweat, from fear, was dripping down my sides from my smooth pits. I was sure Tim could smell it which, oddly I suppose, both pleased and embarrassed me.
Mr. Howard began his lessons immediately. "You, boy," he said, pointing to me, "unless told otherwise you will crawl everywhere on hands and knees. You boy," he said, pointing to Tim, "may stand and walk upright unless told otherwise. Questions?"
We both responded most properly with a "Master, no Master."
Mr. Howard went into what looked like a tool shed and he came out with a mean looking heavy, wide iron collar. He locked this around my neck and attached a chain to use as a lead or leash. Tim, of course, was already collared, since he was a true slave and apparently needed no leash. In fact. Mr. Howard told Tim to pick up the end of my leash and to follow him. Now this was ironic. Here I was, legally a free guy, crawling like an animal on all fours, being led by a boy who was legally a slave. My dick promptly got hard again. What was it thinking?
We went along a dirt pathway until we reached the nearest barn. My knees were already hurting from crawling on the path and this, I realized, was just the beginning. With no money, no ID, no keys, I was entirely in Mr. Howard's power. I shivered with both fear and anticipation. I must be crazy, I thought, but no, maybe it's my brothers who got me into this who are crazy. Tim kept the chain taut so I really knew I had no control.
We entered a room with all sorts of gear in it and I thought I could see a tiled bathroom or shower off to one side. Mr. Howard directed Tim to take me there, clean me out and scrub me down. He gave Tim a mean looking bristle brush for the scrubbing. Now I would find out just what it was like to live for a couple of days as nothing but a common slave. No rights, no privileges, just obedience.
Tim grabbed my lead in one hand and the brush in the other and led me off to the tiled room as I crawled behind him. Life as a slave was beginning. I think I was in way over my head.
Copyright 2009 JKBlackhouse. This work may not be reproduced, except for personal use, without permission of the author. Reproduction for any other use is prohibited.
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 the many good ideas, some of which are now in the story or will be. email: jkblackhouse@yahoo.com