Passing

PASSING

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PASSING

A story by Pete Brown (petebrownuk@yahoo.com)

Part Eleven More sex education. A whipping. Revelations about Sam. Reunion with Jason

Work that day was simply boring. All the usual meetings, and there wasn't even the sight of Sam's cute little bum to cheer me up, as I'd moved him into a so-called "proper" job and HR had back-filled him with a female. I thought about telling them she was unsuitable, and then remembered all the fuss there had been when I had overridden long-established practices in these things - it seemed there was a kind of hierarchy involved in working up to be the PA to the managing partner, and I had upset everything. I'd told HR I'd be more careful in future, so I could hardly now repeat the process and get myself another nice young man. Still, she was pleasant enough and frighteningly efficient, so I decided to stick with the status quo.

I got home earlier than I usually did as I was looking forward to taking my "education" using Greg rather further. He always looks kind of sexy in his singlet and shorts, and I think the fact that he is bare footed around the place so that there are only the two garments covering his whole body adds to the visual excitement. But as he continued to prepare my dinner I told him to lose the shorts. He turned and glared at me, but seeing my resolute look did as he was told, and my cock stiffened as the sight of him wearing only the singlet, which was only just long enough so that at the front his cock head peeped out from under the hem, and at the back it kind of bunched up to rest on the "ledge" where his bum flared out so I had an uninterrupted view of his buttocks. I knew he would be embarrassed and humiliated by this, and was pleased that I had thought of such a simple idea to further my control of the situation, and of Greg.

After dinner he kind of hovered around - I knew he wanted to watch some big match or other on the TV, but didn't want to sit on the sofa with his bare bum and his cock and balls hanging out. Still it wasn't a question of what he wanted, so I patted the sofa next to me indicating he should sit there, which he did, but bolt upright and not at all relaxed. I reached out, put my arm around is shoulders and pulled him close to me - something I'd never done before - then let my finger idly trace the brand on his bare shoulder. I did let him turn the TV on but with the sound turned very low so the inane cheering and shouting of the crowd (and the even more inane commentary) didn't disturb me. I half turned so my other hand could reach comfortably and began to fondle his cock and balls. I didn't know if he was really turned on by this, and if he was, was it because of my playing with his cock, or because he could feel my fingers "owning" him by emphasising the brand? But it didn't really matter, as I could feel him stiffening under my fingers anyway - perhaps you always do, to a certain extent when someone else is touching your cock, even if you don't find it sensual.

"So tell me more about life in the service, Greg."

He sounded a bit irritated as he was trying to watch the TV, but he muttered "There's not much to say."

"I'm sure there is! Now, start from the beginning. When did you join?"

"At 16, as a boy soldier. They don't let you fight or anything at that age. But I wasn't any good at school - I'm not stupid, but it was boring. And they look after you really well. Lots of physical activity.... I'd always been fit and tough, but all the stuff we did really built me up."

I nodded, and he went on "Then at 18 I moved in to the regulars. And that's really good, all guns and weapons and stuff. And I had a real advantage over the guys joining then as I knew all about military discipline, keeping all my kit in the regulation way...."

"...and very fit and strong."

"Yes. I was made a corporal straight away, and I needed to be fit as some of the older guys resented it, and I had to really make sure they understood I was in charge."

"And then?"

"At 21, I went through all the tests they do and got in to one of the Special Forces units. The elite. And there I stayed."

"And got promoted to sergeant... And then you and your fellow sergeants abused the new recruits, abused them sexually...."

"It wasn't like that, sir!" Greg sounded really upset now. "I've told you, I'm straight. But some of those young guys need to learn who's in charge, need to understand the way of the Special Forces, need to have proper respect. And there's only so much of a hard beating you can give some of them without doing permanent damage. So a bit of humiliation works wonders. Me and Andy...."

"Who's Andy?"

Greg went silent a moment, and it seemed to me that he didn't want to say more. So I squeezed his balls gently and stroked his brand, to remind him of who was in charge here.

"My best mate."

"Tell me more""

He really didn't want to say, I sensed. But suddenly he blurted out, as if he couldn't stop. "My best mate. We were in the boy soldiers together, then the real forces, then both managed to get into Special Forces and were in the same unit. He was fantastic. We were like brothers, twin brothers, always looking out for each other, covering each others backs. He saved my life on a couple of operations, and I did his, too. "

This sounded interesting. "And I suppose he was `straight', too?"

"Yes, of course. He got married when he was 19. I was his best man. It was stupid really as he was too young, but some slut in one of the pubs near the base decided he'd be a good meal ticket, I reckon. And Andy fell for her. And seven months after they were hitched he had his first son..."

"His first son.....?"

"Yes, he had three nippers in quick succession. A girl then another boy. It properly messed him around, I an tell you - he never had any spare money as the army can deduct most of your pay and give it to your dependants to pay the rent on the married quarters, and stuff like that. He almost lost out on getting in to the Special Forces as he was always worried about them and it takes your mind off soldiering. I had to really help him."

"How can you help someone get through all those Special Forces things? I saw a documentary last year on the TV - it all seemed very tough, almost brutal. All those exercises and stuff, with everyone watching. Even though you're fit and strong, you said it was difficult for you, let alone helping out this Andy..."

"No, not physically. It was more kind of.... Kind of..... Emotional support. We were proper mates, been through everything since we were 16, and he needed help.... You know, reassuring him, telling him he could do it, stuff like that. Someone you can really talk to, who knows you'll keep their secrets."

As he was saying all this Greg was clearly so uncomfortable, as his whole body was tensing and relaxing, and I could even feel some kind of tremoring, or shaking. This was interesting! "So this `support' - in your bunks I suppose, as you could hardly do it in public - I'm thinking the Special Forces wouldn't take kindly to men not able to take the strain..."

"No! Blokes don't sleep with each other in their bunks...."

"Oh, so you did sleep with him in other places...."

"Yes.... No.... Not really...."

I'd stopped stroking his cock and he could tell I was waiting for something.

"Look, when you're out on manoeuvres, for days sometimes.... in the desert, or the snow, always somewhere wild, miles from anywhere. Too cold, wet..... Well mates do want to share sleeping bags then to keep warm, get a bit of comfort...."

"Get a bit of comfort? You mean you fucked each other....?"

"NO! I'm straight, and so was Andy." Greg was all tense again, and I simply waited. I know that often when you don't say anything it almost forces the other person too. So I simply sat there and held back all the questions I wanted to ask. "Mates don't fuck each other! But when you're lying close, you can feel a cock pressing against you. And it's hard to sleep, as you're fit, virile blokes used to wanking yourself. So, you know...."

"Ah, so you and Andy would lie there all snug and close, and wank."

Greg nodded.

"Wank each other.....?"

Greg seemed so tense now that I thought he might get up and walk away, so I tightened my grip on his shoulder and cock to reinforce my control. He could easily have broken away of course, but sometimes even a light physical touch will remind people of the true situation.

"Well..... Yes. Sometimes. But it wasn't anything special. Andy was just missing his wife...."

"Oh come on, Greg! You're in the Special Forces, living in the barracks most of the time, And out on these manoeuvres. How could he `miss his wife'? I'd imagine he'd spend almost all his time wanking himself. Unless you and he were doing it together."

"It's only wanking, sir.... Not like sex."

I laughed, softly. "Not everyone would agree with you. Anyway, what happened to this Andy? Was he enslaved when you were, for abusing the recruits?"

"He should be that lucky. It was years earlier. He was killed. In action. Fucking stupid, it was. I should have stopped it...."

I could sense Greg was really upset now, and so I whispered quietly "It couldn't be your fault. It was the enemy, if he was killed in action...."

"No, it was my fault. He'd been having troubles with his missus. She was having it away with some other bloke as he was almost never there. And she was suing for divorce, and for custody of the nippers, saying he was violent... He should have gone back to base and sorted it all out.... But he wanted to be with me and our other mates, doing our duty, on this operation... He said he'd sort it out when we got back. But he was so angry all the time, so tense, thinking about some other bloke screwing his missus, losing his kids.... I tried to distract him...."

"So you held him close, and then you were in a sleeping bag together, and you masturbated together for comfort..."

"...and I tried to make it all right, tried to get him to see sense, to try to focus on the operation, not what was going on back home, told him he needed to take care of himself.... but he wouldn't - no, couldn't, I reckon - listen. And you've got to have all your wits about you when you're fighting, not be thinking of other stuff.... And the bastards got him."

"It sounds as if you did everything you could...."

"No, I should have been there with him. He ran out ahead, fucking idiot. It was stupid. Perhaps if I'd gone with him rather than staying under cover... Perhaps they might have shot me, or been distracted...."

"And perhaps you'd both have been shot. How would that help?"

"We'd have been together. I miss him, miss him so much. For years I've thought of him every day." Something strange was happening to Greg now. He'd relaxed a bit - I suppose "confession" is good for the soul. Then something dropped on my hand, and I realised it was a tear.

I let go of his cock, and still holding him close to me raised my hand and wiped it gently across his cheek, smoothing away tears. As I did so, I brushed his lips, and as if by reflex, I felt them open slightly.

It's time for a confession of my own, I suppose. I'd never really kissed anyone - well, the usual stuff on the cheek with my mother. But nothing serious. Not another man. And somehow it now seemed appropriate to further my education. So I leaned closer and pressed my lips to Greg's, getting a faint taste of salt from his tears.

Although I'd not done it practically, I do know how men are supposed to kiss from seeing it in porn movies. So I pressed with my tongue and wriggled it a bit, and pressed harder to force his mouth open, and then I was feeling and tasting Greg's spit. I explored, my cock going painfully hard as my tongue pressed against his, and then, all of a sudden, it was almost as if we were fighting - I'd grabbed his head and pulled it tight against mine as our open mouths locked together, then both our tongues were darting in and out, and I felt Greg's hand pull my head almost at right angles with our lips still together as we panted and gasped. I slid my hand up under the loose singlet and pinched Greg's nipples, and the thrashing of our tongues got even more violent as his passion seemed to take hold.

After about five minutes I broke off - although it seemed like longer. I sat there then pulled the singlet up over Greg's head so he was totally naked. Then reached down for his cock and stood up, forcing him to do so, and led him by his cock to the bedroom. I pushed him down on the bed, on his back, and he lay there watching me as I stripped my clothes off. And then I fucked him again. And again. On his back, his knees pushed up to his chest so I could get my cock deep in and lean forward and kiss him - kissing and fucking passionately.

Finally I had to stop kissing him as I needed to throw my head back uncontrollably and shout "Yes, fuck, yes...." at the top of my voice as I finally shot my load explosively deep inside him. I then lay on him, and his arm went around me almost protectively, as I laughed and laughed with a sort of hysterical joy. It was so strange for me, as I never ever lose control like that.

It must have been Greg who cleaned the mess up and then slipped in beside me on the bed, pulled the coves over us, and curled his arm around me. I lay with my head on his outstretched arm breathing in the heady scent of his pits, my legs intertwined with his and out cocks nestled together. I fell asleep, and slept so well until about 03:30, when I woke up and for a moment wondered where I was. I felt the warmth of Greg against me, and his gentle breathing (and quiet snoring!). I lay there, utterly content, and thought about waking him so I could fuck him again, but it was somehow so peaceful and I felt so good, and I slipped into thinking about the day ahead, as I always do. But other thoughts kept intruding - I now knew how to fuck, and I knew how to kiss a man, properly. I felt a grin spread across my face as I wondered what my colleagues would think if they'd known how I'd spent my evening and night - but then they probably thought I was some sort of homosexual anyway, owning a slave like Greg and not being married.

Some of you must be thinking you sense a degree of self delusion here - I was falling in love, you'll say. But I wasn't. Well, I couldn't, could I? Greg's my slave, remember. I own him. And whilst you can love your possessions - in the sense that you might love your car, or your home, or even your dog - you can't truly love something you own. It needs to be mutual. I could now have a lot more fun in bed with Greg, and really, really enjoy fucking and kissing him, but that's all - I'd be using him, as I'd use anything I owned.

Sam popped his head around he door of my office the next morning, somehow insinuating himself in between my meetings and causing my PA to glare at him. "Dave's worried, sir. Can you call him?"

"Worried, why?"

"Well we've been back from New York, he knows that. And he's worried about the money you owe him."

"Worried about what I owe him? Haven't you told your uncle about how much money I have?"

"It isn't that, sir! It's how much money he doesn't have. Training that slave has cost a lot, especially the money Uncle Dave had to pay out to fix its registration. And he doesn't have good cash flow, sir. Couldn't you give him a call, reassure him...."

I thought there was something better that I could do, so I reviewed my diary, decided that as none of my other appointments were with clients they could be cancelled, and left the office mid-afternoon. At Dave's Slaves the black slave girl had been replaced with a white one on reception - I suppose tat if you like women, women with prominent tits, she would be OK. I told her I wanted to see Dave, and she told me that he was busy and that I should come back "later"! What a way to treat clients!

Although I am always polite, even to slaves, I can be very forceful and soon I was being conducted through the "back office" facilities one again. I breathed in that heady mixture of pheromones, sweat and piss as I looked at the slaves in their cages as I passed - well, the males, anyway. I've told you that Dave's stock was not of the highest quality and although some of the males were marginally acceptable, most of the females looked like whores, or were past their best, or both! The so-called "overseer" who was conducting me having been summoned by the receptionist was OK, though - a big, strong-looking nigga with a good firm ass and long legs. I remembered that Dave had said that all slaves "out back" were always naked to avoid any possibility of confusion with free men, and I assumed that this overseer, being naked, was also a slave. He was considerably better than the stock in general appearance and I would have considered buying him I suppose had I been in the market to buy another slave.

The nigga led me into a large, high-ceilinged room and the first thing I saw were two large solid flogging frames, each with a naked slave stretched out on it - wrists secured to the top so that the arms were outstretched, and high enough so that the slaves' bodies were stretched to such an extent that they had to stand on tip-toe. And then the second thing I saw was Dave - wearing only tight, low-slung jeans. His chest was bare and I got confirmation of what I had seen before, that he was muscular like me with a nice thatch of hair on him. I couldn`t help looking at his crotch - well, a pronounced treasure trail led my eyes down - and was however a little surprised to see that there was no mass of pubes peeking out from the very low waist of his jeans - I could never have worn those jeans with my proper masculine bush, and was a bit surprised I suppose to think that Dave must clip and trim his pubes. It is after all the fashion for free men now not to do this, or so I had observed at the gym I go to.

He took a couple of steps towards me, hand outstretched, saying "That stupid bitch on reception - she said it was `just a customer' and I told her they'd need to wait as I have this whipping scheduled - I'll give her a good spanking later for not understanding that there are customers, and customers! Sorry, but I can't postpone this as the owners of these two are sending a courier to collect them later."

"I don't mind waiting - in fact I'd quite like to. I haven't seen a whipping - well, not a proper one, with a bullwhip like that one you're carrying..."

"Sorry, you'll have to go back to reception. This is a serious whipping, A VERY serious one, as the owner wants no attempt made to preserve the body of the slave. He's having them couriered out to his farm where they'll be strung up as a warning to all the other stock..."

"Now you've really got me interested. And don't worry about me - I've got a strong stomach..."

Dave laughed. "It's not that! We could easily clean up if you puked - this is my punishment room, and as you'll see it's got a solid concrete floor sloping towards that drain so it can easily be hosed down." He paused for a moment, still looking amused with a nice smile on his face. "The fact is that most slaves being punished here lose control of their bladders, or their bowels - and with a whipping like the one these two are about to get, both." He paused and went on "It's that suit of yours - it must have cost thousands."

I nodded, as it indeed had cost thousands as it's hand made in Saville Row, but looked puzzled still. So Dave continued "There'll be a whole lot of blood, flying around, and bits and pieces of flesh, too, as the whip tear at the muscle. I'd hate to see you get stained. That's why I mostly strip off for these whippings."

"...except that you have slaves naked out back here, you told me, so you keep the jeans on?"

Dave nodded and now, feeling my cock straining as I thought about the naked slaves being whipped, and seeing the half-naked Dave in action, I became more determined. "Well I certainly want to stay. So why don't you send that nigga to get me something to wear?"

Dave barked a couple of orders at the nigga who left, and Dave and I stood there as he told me a bit more about what was going to happen. He let me hold the whip, and I was amazed at the weight of it. "When an owner wants a real punishment for a slave that's one of the reasons why they send him here", he told me. "You can only do real damage with a heavy, long whip: think of the weight of the thing flying very fast through the air - all that energy in it that then gets dissipated in the slave's muscles!"

I nodded, and Dave seemed pleased. "That's why you need an expert - it's a combination of skill to use the thing properly, to get the tip to strike in the right places, and power to put the energy in to it. There's not a lot of men like me who have both. And of course to have a proper whipping frame - when a slave is being flayed to near-death, he's going to try anything to try to break free, and you need sturdy equipment."

"Ah, so that's why people ask you..."

"No, not just that. Anyone can whip a slave, even its owner, but above a certain level of damage to the slave you need a licence. It's one of those anti-cruelty laws that came in a couple of years ago - amateurs attempting a whipping with a bullwhip like this were doing all sorts of stuff like ripping the slave`s cock off if it snaked around the body. And the RSPCS - that's like the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, but for slaves, lobbied parliament to get all sorts of new standards in place."

I nodded. "Yes, the RSPCS, of course. We had them as one of our sponsored charities a year or so ago."

"Well some people don't like it, you know. They think an owner ought to be able to do what he likes with his property. But you haven't had that freedom with your animals or pets for many years, so it's reasonable to have some standards for slaves. And the RSPCS doesn't say you can't flay a slave to within an inch of its life, only that it must be done properly and humanely." He paused and went on, still smiling "And a `good thing too', I say, and heartily agree with them. It's a really good income stream for me! Worth all the effort to get examined for the licence, and for the annual renewal. Not a lot of slave dealers bother, so getting a slave really well whipped can be difficult, and those of us who do offer the service can charge a lot. It really supplements my income from sales."

At that moment the nigga came back in. I was expecting he'd have brought a long coat, or overalls, or something. But he was carrying a pair of jeans, which he handed to Dave, bowing as he did so. Dave in turn handed them to me. "These are clean. They get washed every day, and I've got lots of pairs as some of the other stuff we do here is even more messy. And you look about the same size of me - we don't keep special stuff for visitors as we don't have any. So washable jeans for me and the bare hide of the slaves is fine." He saw me looking hesitantly and went on "That's OK, isn't it....?"

Well I didn't want to look like some sort of eccentric, or even a wimp, so took my jacket off and handed it to the nigga as there didn't seem to be anywhere to go to change. I usually drop my clothes on the floor for Greg to pick up but the floor here didn't look that appealing.

Look, I'm not ashamed of my body as I'm in good condition, as I've told you - all those hours in the gym. And I'm not worried about changing in front of other men - at school and university I was in the first fifteen, and you're always naked there with the other blokes before and after the match. And indeed I know I'm pretty well hung from seeing other men over the years in changing rooms. And of course I was used to being naked in front of Greg. And it wasn't the nigga that was concerning me here as I stripped off my shirt and trousers - it was Dave!

There were two problems - firstly I was aware that I was fighting not to get totally erect, and I was wondering what to do about my underwear. Dave clearly didn't have anything on under his jeans, and my own underwear was just about stopping me from a full throbbing erection. And secondly, stripping there in front of Dave I couldn't help but imagine how a new slave must feel as it was ordered by Dave to get naked - how many men like me had stood there in front of him as he watched them reveal their bodies? What was he thinking about me at this instant? Was he seeing me as a slave in some way? Was he comparing me with all the other males who must have got naked in front of him over the years?

Still I did not want to hesitate, and as I have told you, I am really good at concealing my emotions. So completely nonchalantly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, I put my thumbs under the elastic waist of my underpants and pushed them down, then stepped out of them and handed them to the nigga. And, as you do, that male reflex kicked in and I did what so many men do when undressing and reached down and "freed" my cock from where it was stuck to my balls.

It was really exciting to watch Dave flay the slaves. He spent a few minutes on one then switched to the other, and then back, and so on. That meant that the slaves never had time for numbness to really build up before the whip struck again. And both slaves were screaming and crying simultaneously. Dave really put a huge amount of effort in to it, and his torso was soon glistening with sweat, and the waistband of his jeans, especially at the back at the top of his ass crack, was sodden.

When he finally finished he stood there breathing very, very heavily and rapped out a few simple orders to his overseer slaves - to cut the slaves down and throw them into a recovery cell. "They'll be in agony, but in the recovery cell we keep the air sprayed with antibiotic so infection ought not to set in - although they're really damaged, they still have some scrap value", he added.

Dave himself was streaked with the flying blood, and there was some on me, too. Then he reached out and plucked a scrap of flesh from my chest hair - it was somehow an act so intimate that my cock felt it was going to burst as it strained against the jeans. I mean you never really touch another guy's chest hair, do you? And as he drew his hand away, his thumb somehow managed to brush my nipple - by accident, or was it?

Dave led the way then from out of the "business" part of his little empire into what seemed to be his private quarters - plain, almost austere. He had a big bathroom though and one of those huge shower cubicles, and he stripped off his jeans and reached in to turn on the water, then after a few moments stood with the water drenching down over him. "Come on!", he shouted, smiling again. "The water's at the right temperature so get in here and let me wash that blood off you. I expect a man like you is used to having a slave take the cold water first, but I've done that, so there's nothing to be worried about..."

Look, I'm used to sharing showers with other men - I was a rugby player as I've told you. But it's different when there are twenty or thirty guys all together, and sharing with one other guy is different. But what could I do? So I dropped the jeans, flicked my cock again to free it, and got in.

There was nothing overtly sexual about it, actually. Dave stood there and soaped himself, and I soaped myself. I watched him soap his cock, as he watched me do mine. But then he did something the rugger guys never did - instead of turning around, he stood there facing me as he skinned back to wash his cock head! I was in a real dilemma - I've never exposed myself like that before, as I always faced the wall in communal showers when I washed my cock, but I could hardly do that now, could I? Dave would think me rude, or scared, or something. I felt myself blushing as I slid my own skin back, and hoped Dave wouldn't notice my colour.

As we stood there drying ourselves Dave said "I hope you've come for your slave...."

"Well, that was the idea."

"I like my clients to inspect the slave properly to make sure I've done everything right.... You don't need to rush off, do you? No big important dinner or client meeting or anything?"

"No."

"So why don't we make a night of it? You can inspect your slave, then we can go down the pub and get a bite to eat - Sammy said you were in New York and I'm hoping to go there later in the year for a holiday. You can tell me all about the sights, the restaurants..."

I wanted to say that it was very unlikely that Dave would go to the kind of places that I frequent as he couldn't afford them, but thought better of it. So I nodded, trying to look enthusiastic.

"Well you'd better borrow these too, then..." Dave opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of shorts and a polo, and then another set which he tossed to me. "The blokes at the pub will think you're some sort of queer trying to pick up a bit of rough trade if you go in dressed in a suit in the evening."

Once again there was no underwear, and I could certainly feel myself "hanging loose" as you might say, as the shorts were those kind of grey exercise shorts, long enough so I was not exposed or could be mistaken for a slave, as they reached almost to the knee. The shorts and polo were perfectly clean, but wearing another guy's clothes is kind of exciting, and I did wonder if I just caught the fine scent of another man as I pulled the shirt over my head.

We sat next to each other on a sofa in Dave`s sitting room then and he shouted out and a young slave boy at one rushed in with two bottles of beer - no glasses. Dave chugged it from the bottle, and I did so too therefore. I don't like beer really, and don't like drinking out of bottles either, but I needed to do as Dave did as I wanted him to think of me as a real man. Dave grabbed at the slave - who was wearing only brief shorts - and pulled him in-between us.

"What do you think of this one, then?" he asked me as he ran his hands over the boy's torso and thighs. "I got him really cheap on his sixteenth birthday as he was a right little trouble maker and the cops were only waiting until he was of age to throw the book at him and get him enslaved. And he was a bit of a runt - no proper food, as he was too busy smoking, drinking and sniffing stuff! But look at him now, six months on - obedient, as you can see. And nicely developed, too - proper grub, and four hours a day in the gym. And no more smoking, drinking and drugs - I beat the liking for all those out of him. I'm going to sell him in December, just in time for Christmas - he'll make a really nice present for someone, and we'll have time to do whatever mods they want to him.

Seeing me looking puzzled, Dave reached up and tweaked the slave's left nipple, causing the boy to give a kind of a squeak and to try to pull away. "A lad like this needs ringing - most men buying a youngster like this can find it hard to control them, but a nice pair of tit rings gives them something to grip, and as you can see the lad's sensitive so pulling on its tit rings will quickly convince him to behave."

"I'd never thought of that. I suppose it works on all men - well, slaves - I could have my slave done, as he can be difficult..."

"Yes, about that, shall we have it brought in?"

"No, not Jason - my other slave, Greg. I think heavy tit rings might suit him. Well, I'd like to see them, anyway."

Dave nodded and without any warning pulled the slave's shorts down. He had that sort of cock that sits on top of a prominent ball sac so it sticks out. "The buyer can choose to leave him au naturel' too, or have him skinned. Personally I think cocks like this look better with the head exposed, but some owners like the slave to look natural."

I nodded, not sure of what to say. But Dave didn't seem particularly interested in my views as he spun the slave around. "Nice little bum, too, don't you think? A bit like Sammy's."

"Yes...", I stammered, then realised what I'd said.

Greg grinned. "Sammy said you liked to look at his bum."

"He told you that...?"

"Yes, he said you were always glancing at him in the office differently from the way you looked at all the other men, and he assumed it was because he's got that nice trim body and fantastic ass."

Well it was true, of course. But I didn't want Dave to think I was some sort of pervert! So I tried to be urbane and casual "Well, it's not the sort of thing you usually talk about...."

Dave smiled again. "Oh come on! What else do men talk about after sex?"

I was shocked. And blurted out "You and Sammy? But he's `straight' - quite a cocksman at the office! And he's your nephew....!"

Dave let go of the slave, snapped at him to go and tell the overseers to fetch my slave, and then sat back, completely at ease. "I don't think you've had much to do with young lads, have you? You probably had nice parents, went to a good school, didn't have sex there as it wasn't the done thing, worked hard, never in any trouble, went to university...."

I nodded and Dave went on "Well round here it's different. Too easy for a lad to go wrong. Sammy was a real tearaway, and could easily have ended up like that slave boy. His mom, my sister, was really worried and asked me to do something. So of course I did."

"I told him to stop smoking. To stop nicking things. To do his homework. And Sammy, being Sammy, ignored me. So he needed slapping around a bit until he understood that when his uncle Dave said to do something, he was to do it! So we got along, keeping Sammy mostly up to scratch, until he was sixteen. Then on his birthday he told me he was a man, and he was going to do what he wanted now. He was going to smoke, quit school, and give a couple of girls he knew kids - he could easily live on the money they`d get from the Social Security!"

Dave was grinning now. "It was in this very room - I'd just started in the slave business and found this place. So I said to him So you think you're a man now, do you, Sammy', and he said Yes', and that I should fuck off. So I taught him what happens when you're cheeky and rude to a man that's bigger and stronger than you!"

Seeing me looking puzzled Dave went on "I told him I didn't like being told to fuck off, and I was worried about him. And he kept on saying how he was going to do what he wanted, ending up with ..so fuck you!'. No, Sammy', I told him. `It's fuck you...', and I did. And it was pretty grim the first time, I can tell you - all that screaming and shouting, and I had to slap him about a bit. And he wouldn't suck my cock even though I told him that was going to be the only lube he got. And it wasn't even a very good fuck - tight as a drum he was, so I had to use quite a lot of force to get my cock in, and I don't like that."

Seeing y look of astonishment Dave sort of shrugged "It's not illegal, you know, uncles and nephews. I wasn`t his dad, after all. And I did wait until his sixteenth birthday, whereas I reckon he needed a good fucking before that. And it worked - after I'd taught him how to behave properly with an older man, after a few sessions he really settled down. Worked hard at school, gave up all his mates who were no good, got to uni, got a good job, a proper job... Well, you know all about that."

"But he's straight.... Always chasing women. And he's got engaged...."

Dave shrugged again. "So? He doesn't have to fuck men, you know. Well, he wasn`t allowed to fuck me, anyway. But he does have to do what I say - even now.... I suppose it's a bit of a habit. When I'm bored with the slaves I tell Sammy to get his ass over here... It's good for him, having an older man who he respects wanting him. Makes him feel special, and needed."

I was going to say more, but at that moment the door opened and one of the overseers brought Jason in and my mouth dropped open! Jason was sexy before, which is why I'd been looking at him on the tube, but now he was amazing. He's put on a few pounds, all muscle, and this was accentuated by the clothes he was wearing - they looked to be the same T and shorts I'd first seen him in, but now they were so much tighter on him and reinforced just how sexy his body was.

"Unclothe", Dave rapped, and Jason immediately pulled off his T - his belly was lines of hard muscle as he raised his arms to get it over his head, and when he dropped his shorts to stand there in front of us completely naked I could see that the honeyed tan I'd seen on his arms and legs was now all over him, making his blond body, arm and leg hair stand out beautifully in contrast.

"Turn", Dave rapped again, and my cock went seriously hard as I saw the big "S" seared into his flank. There was no doubt Jason was now a slave, a proper slave. And, what's more, MY slave. I owned this beautiful piece of man flesh standing there looking vulnerable, helpless, and hopeless.

End Of Part Eleven