You Can't Be Friends With a Slave

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part thirteen

By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

I DON'T LIKE OLDER MEN!

The Colonel then suggested Straughan joined him for a drink, and the two men sat there amicably chatting about matters affecting the running of the estate, just as if nothing special was going to happen. I was, in turn, furious, and worried - a four foot Malacca cane did not sound very pleasant. But how could these men just carry on as if nothing had happened, when they'd casually decided to punish me, a naked man, standing there in front of them?

I could tell by the slap of naked feet on the veranda that the slave had returned, and heard a dreadful "swish" noise as Straughan evidently tried out his technique in the air.

"Excellent, Straughan!", the Colonel remarked. "Those Malaccas have just the flexibility one needs for a proper punishment, and I know that you're no stranger to the proper use of one."

"No indeed, sir. I don't get many opportunities to use the cane since I started work here as our slaves are so well trained and disciplined. But at my former place, one of the mines further upstate, they were a lazy, slovenly lot forever failing to make their production targets, and there was lots of opportunity to refine my technique."

"Now", he went on, "Shall I have the slave removed to the barn and carry out the caning there? As you say, it is almost time for lunch, and I would not want to spoil your appetite."

"Not at all, Straughan! Do it here. I haven't seen a good caning for a long time. All I get to do myself these days is the odd paddling or slippering of the house slaves, and it just isn't as satisfactory as seeing a big, muscled, mature slave like that one properly punished. My father, the old Colonel, always used to punish the slaves here on this veranda, and I've kept the punishment horse he used as a memento of him..."

"You..." The Colonel's tone changed, and I knew he must be addressing the slaves "...drag that horse over here, where I can see properly, and where Master Straughan has room to work."

I heard something being dragged across the floor, then Straughan ordered me to turn around.

Since coming South I suppose I'd adsorbed a lot of general background about the practice of slavery, so I'd seen punishment horses on display in the stores. As you're probably aware, the modern ones are mostly made of aluminium and tubing, to make them easy to fold and store in today's smaller houses. You could see at once that the modern ones simply mimicked the form and function of the Colonel's father's horse, and the platform, shackling points, and adjustment wheels all seemed basically the same as those you find today.

This one, though, was in fine old walnut, and I supposed generations of slaves had kept it lovingly polished as it stood there, as it gleamed softly in the morning sunlight.

"Get on it, slave!", Straughan ordered, and when I hesitated, not really knowing what I was expected to do, he took hold of me and almost forced me down onto the plate - he was a strong man himself, and his fingers dug into my biceps as he manoeuvred me into position. Rather than the modern Velcro, this horse had basic leather straps with brass buckles to hold me, and these were soon cinched tight around my waist and shoulders. A quick "snap" on the cuffs and my arms were immobile, and then Straughan told one of the house slaves to use the wheel to raise my butt up to the right position.

It felt terrible, lying there helpless and immobile, and the blood rushed to my head as it was lower than my butt - the horse was adjusted so that my legs were basically straight, then my body angled downwards so that maximum exposure was given to my butt. Straughan casually kicked at my ankles, making me move my legs open a little, and I heard two more "snaps" as the ankle restraints then held them there.

Straughan rested his hand lightly on my left butt. "Very fine, Colonel, don't you agree? A good skin texture - soft, yet manly. And no layer of fat at all - the cane will strike directly into the muscle."

Straughan's hand moved over my butt, almost caressing it, as he continued to point things out to the Colonel. "See, very strong clenching of the cheeks together - the slave hasn't been properly broken into fucking - he's only had the usual introduction from his owner - and there's absolutely no slackness here at all. I think Master Billy must have had a real problem when he took the slave's cherry - I wonder if he used a spreader, to make entry easier?"

"So the slave's no longer a virgin?", the Colonel asked.

"No, sir. Master Billy-Joe carried out the usual ceremonial fuck a couple of weeks ago - he had planned to leave him a virgin, but it was causing too many problems: some of the other slaves were beginning to think that his one was being treated very differently, and didn't know whether he was truly a slave, or some sort of almost-free man - it doesn't make for good order, you know: slaves need to know that life is simple and uncomplicated, and that there are only two classes: slaves, and free men. So I advised Master Billy-Joe to take his cherry, so that then he would fit in properly with the others. Mind you, since then there's been a lot of disturbance at night in the slave quarters - I think the others tried to fuck this one after Master Billy, but he fought them off."

"Interesting", the Colonel commented. "His owner has taken his virginity, and that's as it should be. A slave understands more of his role when his owner has fucked him. But since then, nothing, you believe? Still, no matter... Get on with it, Straughan."

I lay there, utterly immobile and totally helpless. Then I heard a sinister "swishing" noise in the air - Straughan was evidently making practice swipes in the air.

When he first hit me I thought I would scream out - there's something about a Malacca cane that makes it at once a terrible ordeal for the slave who's receiving it, and a pleasure for the master who's administering it. The combination of the length and flexibility makes the master feel that he is totally in command; and the weight, and the speed with which the cane is moving, means that when it strikes the slave the shock of pain that courses through him is truly terrible.

"Well done, Straughan!", I heard the Colonel shout. Somehow in spite of all my senses being on fire the old man's voice sounded clear and sharp. "But more effort next time - the slave did not scream out. I could see his whole body move as you hit him, but there was no sound. I think we have a stubborn one here - one who's determined to show that he can take whatever you have to administer. Try again!"

The second stroke was worse than the first, probably because I now knew the effect it was going to have on me. But still I kept my mouth firmly closed, and did not give them the satisfaction of crying out. This must have infuriated Straughan, as numbers three and four seemed to be even more violent, even more fierce than the first two. As the struck, I couldn't help but make sharp sounds - I really couldn't, I just wasn't that much in control of my body.

Straughan changed tactics for numbers five and six. Instead of aiming the Malacca into the tough, strong muscles of my ass, he struck at the flesh of my thighs as they were exposed to him. If I'd been in pain before, no I was in agony. I just couldn't help letting rip with huge howls of pain. The Colonel seemed pleased by this, as he clapped his hands in excitement, and almost shouted "Go to it, Straughan! You've got the young thug worried now!"

Could I hold out? My entire ass and legs needed relief. It was if a fire had been lit in my muscle, and nothing could put it out. In spite of what Straughan had said about numbers seven and eight creating greater "symmetry", I just couldn't see it - now there was no feeling of sensation at all in my ass and thighs - just an overriding, terrible hurt that throbbed and throbbed. I wanted to break free, I wanted to throw myself into cold water to try to take the pain from my muscle. I wanted to shout, to rage, to defy them - but what was the point? I wanted to take Straughan's scrawny body and punch him, to throw my big muscled hands into his scrawny frame and beat the shit out of him, to show him the agony he'd caused me. But it was no use, was it? I was a slave, strapped to a punishment horse, and receiving a punishment that had been decreed, however unjust that might be. There was no escape, no justification, no retribution, that I could bring. I was a slave, and all I could do was lie there and take what they chose to meet out to me.

"Very satisfactory, Straughan", I heard the Colonel say. "Look at he was you've managed to place those stripes so perfectly across his ass and thighs - it's almost as if you managed to measure the distance between them with a ruler."

"Thank you, sir", Straughan said deferentially. "Do I have your permission to put it back to work now? There's always more to be done on the estate, and this slave is our cart puller. Without him, a lot of other projects get halted, or more work results."

"Yes, Straughan. Quite so. Work must come first. But now that you've tenderised his rump, so to say, it seems a pity to waste it. You say that my son has taken his cherry?"

"Yes, sir, followed by one of the guard slaves, as is customary."

"Good! Then have him prepared for me, and in my chamber this evening. It will be amusing to see how he reacts when that tenderised ass is fucked."

"Sir....", Straughan began. "I would remind you that he is master Billy-Joe's slave. If you want to take pleasure form another slave on the estate, let me have him brought here and 'tenderised' as I have this one. I'm not sure, sir, that master Billy-Joe would approve of the slave being taken, even by you, sir. He may have other plans..."

"Nonsense, Straughan. How could my son possibly object to me using the slave? It's not as if there's any permanent damage, after all. You've caned this boy for his insolence in a way that doesn't leave permanent marks, or scars; well then, a little fucking of his hole will be just the same. Indeed, if we didn't tell my son about this, he probably would never know. So let's hear no more of this nonsense - have him back working, by all means, but have him properly prepared, and in my chamber this evening."

"Yes, sir", Straughan said, as he obviously realised that arguing with the Colonel was futile.

When I was released from the horse my first problem was trying to stand upright - my skin and muscle seemed to have somehow almost solidified into the bent-over punishment position. And when I did force myself to straighten up, fresh waves of pain went through me - waves that continued as I had to jog back to my cart, and start work. Straughan let me put my slave shorts back on, but they were so short in the leg that the big, angry, red marks across each of my upper thighs was clearly visible. The slaves in the work gang who saw this evidently commiserated with me, but of course dared not say anything, or try to help me in any way, as the supervisors were particularly vigilant for any signs of potential rebellion that afternoon.

After work I was showered and fed as usual, but instead of being put into the slave dorms was taken to the preparation area as I had been before. All my plans for taking a nice vigorous slave and fucking the daylights out of him evaporated; now it was going to be my ass that was going to get it again.

Charlie and Coon were waiting for me, and as well as the preparation that had gone on for my evening with Billy-Joe, they were even more attentive to make certain that I was in the peak of condition for my encounter with the colonel. In addition to the enema and the re-shaving to make sure I was completely smooth, they trimmed my nails, probed my nostrils to make sure there ware no unsightly nasal hairs, and finally spend even more time trimming around the edges of my aureoles so that my tits had huge prominence on my chest. I'd often seen adverts and stuff for women - and men - going off to spas and such like where they could also have "beauty treatments" - it's always presented to you as if it's the height of luxury. But let me tell you, having someone else cut your nails, and probing your nose for hairs and such, is fucking humiliating. But then, perhaps it's different if you're paying for it, rather than being made to have it done.

"There", Charlie said finally. "We can be proud of you, Steve. There's not many slaves get the attention of the Colonel these days - frankly, he's mostly past it - can't get it up, can't keep it up. You must have excited him hugely to get to this point."

Some fucking compliment, and the sort of ability I wished I didn't have. I don't want to be a sexual attraction for guys - especially not older guys!

"Charlie, you seem to know the routine around here... Tell me, is the Colonel, well, does master Billy-Joe take after him? Is the Colonel as big and thick as master Billy-Joe is? I don't think I can stand another dick like that up me - I'm still very sore."

It was Coon, unusually, who spoke out. "Steve, in his younger days the Colonel must have been a real stallion. You can tell he was massive. Even bigger than master Billy-Joe". I gave a shudder at the thought of a dick like that forcing its way into me, "But he's an old man, and it's all shrivelled up. It's probably a miracle that he can get an erection at all. I bet the local pharmacy has been called in to provide some kind of performance enhancement, to make sure he can at least remain hard...."

"But Steve, be careful!", Charlie interjected. "Whatever you do, don't laugh at the Colonel's shrivelled dick, or his old man's body - he has a terrible temper, and if he thinks you're laughing at him, or, even worse, pitying him, then the consequences for you are likely to be castration."

"He can't do that - I don't belong to him."

"Hey, Steve - face reality, will you? If he orders Straughan to take you off to the doctor, and then tells the doctor to snip your balls off, will either of them refuse? And when master Billy-Joe next comes here, what's he going to do? He can't reverse your castration, can he? And he's hardly likely to sue the Colonel through the courts for damage to his property - especially as the only income he now has is the allowance that the Colonel pays him every month! No - be on your best behaviour, be on your guard. Don't cross the Colonel, as he's on a short fuse, and it will be you who suffers if it bursts into flames."

With that the two slaves had no option but to lead me through the house and up the grand staircase to the family bedrooms. The Colonel's was even bigger and more traditional than Billy-Joe's. In addition to the antique furniture, the enormous bed piled high with comforters and pillows, a huge fireplace on one wall burned giant logs ,the sparks crackling up the chimney - the air conditioning struggled to keep up with it, and maintain a comfortable temperature in the room.

As ever, there was a profligate use of labour. One poor naked slave knelt right close to the fire - I think he was one of the waiters normally - and his only job was to keep it fed with the logs that us outside slaves cut so profusely. It must have been very unpleasant for him to be kneeling so close to the fire, as he was covered in rivulets of sweat , and I marvelled that he wasn't getting radiation burns form the heat. Another naked slave was kneeling by the Colonel's chair, and his horizontal, broad back provided a convenient table to hold the Colonel's reading glasses, today's newspaper, and a big mug of some still-warm milky drink - the sort of night-cap favoured by the old, I suppose.

Several others were posted along the walls, poised, waiting. It was as if they knew they must react the moments the Colonel called for something.

The Colonel himself was sitting in a big, old-fashioned armchair quite close to the fire. He was wearing a Paisley-pattered silk dressing gown, and where his scrawny legs emerged from this there were high, soft, elaborately embroidered felt slippers.

He turned his rheumy eyes towards me as Charlie and Coon led me in, and said, as if to himself, "Ah yes, that uppity slave I ordered Straughan to cane this morning." He turned to me and at once his tone of voice changed. "Come over here, boy, and let me inspect Straughan's handiwork."

I approached and stood in front of him, and he seemed intensely irritated. "Drop those shorts, at once, boy! And turn around so I can see Straughan's marks on you!"

Look, it's bad enough when a man is inspecting you who's a proper man - the same age as you, and with some sort of life in his body. But when you have to strip in front of a wizened really old guy, and when that guy makes you turn around and show him your ass, then that's something completely different. I almost felt like vomiting as the Colonel's claw-like hand moved over my butt and down my thighs.: even though Billy-Joe's hand was hateful to me as he prodded and probed my flesh, then at lest he was young and fit. Somehow, having this wizened claw rubbing me, tracing the lines of my cane marks, and almost drooling as he sensed my revulsion (which I was trying to hide, remembering what Coon and Charlie had told me), was even more humiliating and distasteful.

The Colonel gestured, and two of the slaves standing by the wall came and helped him up out of his chair. They were almost identical in appearance - about six feet, twenty years old, probably, neatly clipped hair, attractive lightly-muscled bodies, well-proportioned dicks over low-hanging balls that were clearly visible through their clipped and trimmed pubes - I wondered what jobs they normally fulfilled on the indoor staff.

Then, as the Colonel raised his arms slightly, they removed the heavy silk dressing gown that he had been wearing, to leave him standing there in just the embroidered slippers.

The contrast between the two young men and the Colonel couldn't have been more extreme. They were fit, strong, vibrant, young and at the start of their lives, and he was old and feeble, and probably near the end of his. His turkey-red face and neck contrasted with the sickly-looking bluey-whiteness of the flesh of his body, a body ornamented here and there with straggly clumps of white hair. Even when seated the Colonel seemed to be a big man, and you could see that in his young days he was probably "well built" and "solid". Now this largeness manifested itself as huge, sagging tits - yes, that's what they were, tits: not pecs any more as they sagged forlornly downwards - a bulging belly that was so huge and sagged so low that it almost obscured his dick, and thin, spidery arms and legs unpleasantly streaked with blue veins. If his dick had ever been as big as Billy-Joe's, then it certainly had shrivelled, and I wondered if that would, one day, be my fate, too. No, I'd never let my body get into the state the Colonel's was in: even as you get old, surely you can carry on eating moderately and exercising? I know there are some basic things that happen, like your skin loses its elasticity, but you don't have to get obscenely fat like the Colonel was, do you? Mind you, I'd watched my dad once: he'd taken a bit of skin on the back of my hand and pinched it lightly an d lifted it away from the hand, then let it go: it snapped back; then he'd done the same thing to his, showing me how it almost sagged back, and that vitality of youth was no longer there - and dad did look after himself. I wondered if there were other ways in which old men were different from young men like that.

I wondered if the Colonel felt embarrassed, or even ashamed, at the state of his body? How could he bear to strip, ready for bed, day after day, with all these great-looking young guys standing around and watching?

He seemed to be irritated by me looking at him, though - I'd forgotten that a slave is expected to keep his eyes down-cast - and my eyes had raked over his body, and perhaps I couldn't disguise my feelings of revulsion.

"Get your body draped over that chair, boy!", he snapped. "I've had you caned once today for insolent behaviour, and if you continue, I'll have Straughan up here and we'll see how a few more cane strokes suit you: doesn't my son teach you anything, that a slave knows his subservient position and keeps his eyes down?"

"Sir, I'm sorry, sir..." I was worried about what Charlie and Coon said, and had decided I'd really better act humble.

I looked at the big armchair, and the Colonel, with an almost impatient flip of his hands, indicated that I should waste no more time. I went and lay across the thick, heavy upholstered arm of he chair, and at once my nose filled with a horrible smell - that sort of "old man" smell, a body smell, of all sorts of strange things that came up to me from the upholstery. I guessed that the Colonel used this chair every evening, and it was simply impregnated with his essence. It almost made me feel sick, and I had to fight to control a slight retching sensation in my throat.

The Colonel was standing behind me now, and I could feel his great while belly touching me - not intentionally, but casually, as if he'd forgotten how much of it there was and he couldn't manage his space properly, rather as people with backpacks tend to forget and strike you when they turn around - as he ran his hands over my back and down my butt. His fingers seemed to linger over the weal marks on my butt and thighs, as if he was savouring the idea that he'd been able to order this done to a fit young guy. I could hear him breathing heavily, and as his body moved close to mine I got a rank, sour smell of his sweat: surely, with all those slaves he would at least be clean and fresh? But perhaps old men always smell like that.

I felt utterly wretched, utterly humiliated - but what could I do? This was the man that held all the cards.

As I'd seen, he could certainly ordered me to be caned again; I didn't doubt that he could, as Charlie and Coon had said, order me to be castrated; and if he told Billy-Joe I couldn't stay on the estate, I'd be sold like a common slave, and never regain my freedom.

I knew I just had to lie there and take whatever he chose to do; surely that wizened cock wouldn't be a big problem for me, if, indeed, he could even get it up?

The Colonel now came and stood by my head and casually riffled his fingers through my cropped hair, and on down my backbone. His huge flabby butt was so close to me now that I caught unpleasant body odours all the time. He snapped his fingers, and one of the two near-identical serving slaves who had been waiting patiently knelt down in front of the Colonel, right in front of my head, and started to jerk himself off. The old man's breathing became heavier as he watched the lithe figure jerk away. But he was impatient - he'd carried on stroking my head as if I was some sort of pet animal, and suddenly he stirred into life and told the poor slave to get a move on, else he'd be punished!

I really felt sorry for the poor guy - it can be hard to cum when you're jerking off sometimes, can't it? You need to be in the right mood, even if you're really virile. I know from experience that if something happens like the phone going, you tend to lose focus and your dick goes a bit limp. Well, far from helping the slave to cum quicker, the Colonel's interruption had quite the opposite effect, and I saw his stiff dick going a bit limp. He was obviously terrified of the Colonel, though, as he seemed to tighten his grip on his shaft and beat away more furiously - he was probably going to have wank sores tomorrow, I thought. I could sense the Colonel getting more and more impatient, and I knew the slave must be feeling the same thing, as he became more and more frantic - and, I guess fortunately for him, he suddenly started to cum: not a big, vigorous, shooting spurt as you get when you're really hard, but that sort of dribbling flow when you're not right on the edge. He caught it neatly in his other hand, then cupped both hands together and, still kneeling, raised them up and out, towards the Colonel, as if he was proffering some precious gift to his master: I was reminded of all those scenes in those "old master" paintings where wise men and people are kneeling and holding up offerings like gold, and frankincense and myrrh.

This was another step on the road to my fucking, I guessed. At least I was going to be lubed! The Colonel moved away from my head - at least that was better - and the young slave followed. I soon felt his fingers prying at my butt, and then doing what I had become accustomed to now - trying to slide into me, succeeding, slipping in and out to spread the semen, then another go, with two fingers, and finally stretching and manipulation to try to get me relaxed.

Well, it's all relative, I suppose - my hole might be more relaxed, but my whole body wasn't. I was dreading this, in a way more than when Billy-Joe had first started on me. It was somehow just so completely disgusting, to have this old guy, who was probably old enough to be my grandfather, about to attempt to fuck me.

The Colonel snapped his fingers again, and it was as if the two slaves knew exactly what to do. First, they came and gently pulled at my waist to make me move backwards a little - I had been close up to the arm of the chair, with my belly pressing in to it. Now it was in the middle of me, and my head was resting on the other arm. My arms and legs were hanging over the second arm, and I could scrape my fingers on the thick pile of the carpet - evidently they were not going to tie my hands down: they knew I had submitted, surrendered, understood the power that they had over me.

One of the two slaves now slipped into the space between my legs and the side of the chair. He scraped around a bit, then I felt the warm wetness of his tongue and mouth as he took my dick into it. I'm not a fag, as I've told you, but I just couldn't help reacting to this, and I was as hard as a rock within a few seconds just from the sheer sensation that he was giving me. But he had another function, too - I could feel his arms go up and around my thighs, then the fingers of each hand probing into my ass crack, and pulling my butt apart. So that's how the Colonel was going to get access to me - I hadn't thought him capable of reaching down and opening me up.

By craning my head backwards as far as I could I saw that the Colonel was having the same thing done to him as "my" slave was doing to my dick - the other lad was on his knees in front of the Colonel and his head was pressed right in, under the huge overhang of the flabby belly. I knew he must be trying to excite the Colonel into action, and if his technique was as good as his companion's was on me.... well, he'd probably succeed. It must be disgusting, I thought, to be pressed into all that flesh, with that old man smell all around me. The slave sucking at me at least had a good, clean, fit body to play with.

The Colonel snapped his fingers again, and the slave moved away from him. I sensed his approach to my ass, and the pressure from "my" slave's fingers to pull my butt wide open increased. The other slave dropped to the floor and was pushing my ankles apart, trying to help. I felt the presence of the Colonel's huge body between my thighs, then with an almost sickening kind of slap, his belly fell onto my butt. The slave who had been pushing my feet apart now wriggled around to join his companion underneath me, and I just knew - perhaps it was from feeling two things trying to get into my hole - that he was attempting to move the Colonel's dick into me.

I'd once been to a stud farm in Kentucky and did one of the guided tours. They showed us a stallion "covering" a mare, and the interesting thing was show all the stable hands had their part to play in getting the stallion properly positioned, the mare opened up, and then getting the huge horse dick into the mare so that he was tempted to begin. What was going on now was just like that - I was the helpless mare, and these two slaves were helping the "stallion" to do what it knew was right and natural - except that this was no "stallion" - this was a gross, overweight, tired, old man.

The slave must have managed to get the Colonel's dick into me, as I could feel the Colonel's obscene body moving around on me, and there were feeble attempts at thrusting in and out. He went at it for a minute or two, making snorting noises and his breathing getting deeper and deeper - he sounded all rheumy and congested, and I was worried that he was going to die with his dick inside me! I could hardly feel a thing from my ass, but the sensations of his white, flabby flesh on me were awful.

He pulled out, and stood there, gasping for breath, and the slave holding my butt open let go. I just didn't believe he could have cum - even I, when I was desperate for it, never shot that quickly. But the two slaves were making little congratulatory noises, and one had a big snowy-white towel with which he was wiping down the Colonel's huge back and flagging butt and thighs.

I went to get up, but one of the slaves quickly pressed down on my shoulders and shook his head at me, to tell me to stay put. The Colonel waddled towards my head, lying there on the arm of the chair. He came closer and closer, then almost straddled me - my head was right between his vile white thighs, and now there was no escaping his rank, sour smell.

"Clean my cum off my dick, slave!", he said. "I like the slaves I've fucked to have a taste of my cum, and know that I have therefore baptised them at both ends."

He couldn't be serious, could he? I wasn't expected to take his dick in my mouth? But he was - he almost squatted down over me, and his rank odour flooded through me and I felt like gagging and vomiting. I was aware of his tiny, shrivelled ball sac somewhere my nose, and his little dick was hovering above my mouth. I had to do it. I'd gone this far, hadn't I? What would be the point at falling at the last hurdle?

I reached out with my tongue and let it slide around the dick - I tasted cum and sweat, but my only consolation was this wasn't the Colonel's cum: I just didn't believe he'd been able to shoot, and what I was getting was the residual traces of the slave's cum from my lubing. Oh, Jesus... was I becoming so depraved that I was actually glad that I had a nice young guy's cum on my tongue?

This all seemed to be part of some sort of sordid ritual, though, as almost no sooner had I started than the Colonel manoeuvred himself off me. At once the two slaves were fussing around him, and put his silk dressing gown back on. I was at least now spared the horror of having to look at that vile body.

The two slaves then came and, by gesture, told me to get out of the Colonel's chair and kneel on the thick rug in front of the fire. I was hot already, but the heat from the flames and embers made me feel almost giddy, and the sweat started to roll off me. A slave brought the Colonel a fresh drink, that was placed on the broad back of the "table" slave, and he grunted an order to the slave tending the fire to throw another log on. The thick curtains were shut, the lamps cast a low glow over the room, and with the fire roaring away it was almost as if we were in one of those scenes from a movie set in Winter in one of the North Eastern states - any minute now, the hero and heroine were going to make sizzling love in front of the flames.

But there was no heroine - I was the next scene in the film. The Colonel flicked his fingers again and one of the two slaves came over and pushed at my arms, indicating that my shoulders were to go right down onto the rug. My butt was now high in the air, and I then felt his naked legs pushing against mine as he needed me to open up so that he could get between them, and as close to me as possible. Just as Charlie had been, he was a s gentle as he could be when he fucked me for his master's amusement - or was he just reliving the "tradition" that Billy-Joe had told me about? The old man sat there, his warm drink in his hands, a smile of amusement and interest on his face. How many other men had been subjected to this, here in this very room, on this very rug, I wondered?

The slave finished very quickly, and as I still knelt there. I heard the Colonel say "Well, boy, now you've really experienced our good old southern ways! When you came here before with my son, you spurned us, and were extremely rude as you ignored our traditions of hospitality. We laid on a slave for you, and you ignored him. The boy who served you your morning tea and opened the curtains was not allowed to enter your bed and ease your morning erection. You would not allow the bath slaves to wash and caress you. That's not the way that southern gentlemen expect to have their guest behave: when in Rome, do as the Romans do, as my father used to say. So I'm glad to have been able to show you what real southern hospitality is all about, and how I can go out of my way to make a guest feel at home, and how a gentleman behaves in his own bedroom."

I felt like shouting out in rage. The hypocrite knew he was lying and wrong. But I just gritted my teeth as I knew he was only doing it to provoke me, and there was just no point. My body couldn't lie, though, could it, and I felt sure he saw all my muscles tense as he spoke.

"Well, slave, if you don't want to engage in conversation with your host, it again shows that you northerners have no manners. I can't therefore be bothered to entertain you more, as I consider I have done all that a dutiful host should."

His voice changed tone, and he snapped "You two - guards - take this back to the slave quarters where he belongs. He's no gentleman!"

End Of Part 13

YOU CAN'T BE FRIENDS WITH A SLAVE, Part fourteen By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

ANOTHER NEW JOB!

So The Colonel didn't think I was a gentleman! But I was enough of a man for him to want to fuck me, to possess me. And if that was his idea of Southern hospitality, give me the North any time! Still, at least I seem to have escaped with my balls intact, and was still on the estate. Now all I had to do was to get Billy-Joe to give me back my freedom.

I was so depressed that night when I was put back into one of the slave dorms by Charlie and Coon that I couldn't even be bothered to drag one of the slaves out of a bunk and make him sleep on the pad in the middle (as it was generally accepted that I was the biggest, toughest slave on the estate now, I did have some privileges): I just lay there myself and didn't even jerk myself off.

Straughan saw me working away as usual the next morning - I think I was straining away hauling a load of sacks of slave chow from the truck stop at the entrance up to the house. He reigned in his horse, and sat there looking down at me. "So, Steve, you survived the Colonel. I thought you might have lost your temper, and then he'd have told your owner to take you away. Perhaps you are learning the right attitudes after all. However your owner is expected for the weekend, and I thought I'd give him a little surprise. Get that cart over to the house, then report to the stables."

Oh, fuck me - a nice surprise for Billy-Joe almost certainly meant something less pleasant for me, I thought.

I did the best I could to drag the heavily-loaded cart to the house so that it could be unloaded into the slave quarters, then ran around to the stables. Straughan was already there, pacing up and down, and tapping his crop in his hand in impatience. "The Colonel, and his father before him, used to ride around and inspect the estate, and take an active part in the management", he began, "but master Billy-Joe seems to show little interest. He does not, I think, like horseback all that much. So I have decided to try to get him to go out more, and start to face his responsibilities - all this will, after all, be his one day."

As he was speaking Straughan led the way into the stables, and, as you would expect, all inside was in perfect order: the magnificent hunters and smaller hacks in their individual stalls, fresh straw everywhere and very little trace of manure. A broad passage ran down the centre, and it looked freshly scrubbed, and there was a fresh smell of disinfectant rising from it. A slave, presumably one of the grooms, was working on one of the horses, combing it down, and as soon as he saw Straughan he stopped and rushed over. "Get back to work!", Straughan snapped, and the slave did as he was told.

I'd not been in this building before, but to my untutored eye it looked even better kept than when I'd paid that visit as a tourist to one of the big Kentucky stud farms - the horses must be lucky to be kept in such a place. Straughan reached the end of the broad passage and led me on through the tack room - all the bridles, saddles, harnesses and so on were all neatly arranged on fittings on the wall, and they all gleamed in the light coming in from overhead - all the metal shone, and all the leather was freshly polished. Another slave was standing at a bench doing this polishing, ad I could see why everything was so immaculate - the man's body was positively glistening with sweat from his exertions with the polishing cloth, and the waistband of his shorts was damp from where it had rolled down his chest and back and started to soak in.

Straughan opened a door at the end, and we were in some sort of large store room. There. Right at the back, was what I can only describe as a rickshaw - a light, two-wheeled cart carried on very large diameter bicycle wheels. There was a simple leather bench for the driver, and two wooden shafts came forward, for the puller. I'd seen picture of rickshaws in places in the Far East , and this seemed to be an "American" version - a bit sturdier, more rugged, and without any decoration like dragons and stuff.

"I want to see this properly cleaned and sparking", Straughan said to me. "It hasn't been used since the Colonel's wife died, as she used to like to ride out on it. You clean it up - really thoroughly - and then tomorrow, after breakfast, I'll see if I can tempt master Billy-Joe to a trip around he estate."

I felt affronted! I was the top dog here, the slave who did the hardest, most difficult, most taxing work of pulling the cart. I wasn't some cleaner. Choosing my words carefully I said "Sir, please... Wouldn't it be better to get the slave who is cleaning the tackle out there to do this - he'd be better at it? And I would be better employed for the estate dragging the cart around... not everyone can do that, but most people can clean and polish."

Straughan glared at me, and said "You are going to clean this rickshaw for precisely the reason you have just demonstrated: you still think of yourself a s a man, capable of making decisions or suggesting actions. You're a slave, and slaves just obey. I've noticed that now you've discovered the joys of sex, proper sex, that is, with other men, you've started to act with all the fervour of a Zealot and are using the other slaves as your fuck toys - you think you're some sort of top dog as you are the cart slave, but you're not, Steve, you're no more, and no less, than any other slave here: you're just here to obey. So it won't hurt you to learn a little humility, and do this job a young lad could do. And there's another reason - you're going to pull this rickshaw for your owner, and a slave who's doing that needs to take a certain pride in his equipment: you'll be more careful to avoid getting it scratched, or very dirty, if you know it's you who's going to have to clean it up."

Straughan's words struck me like a hammer blow - not the stuff about being top dog and all of that: I was the best, and I knew it. But having to pull my old buddy around in this thing? It was awful - I used to be the captain of the team, and now I was going to be used as some sort of draft animal by one of the players. I tried again. "Please, sir... Wouldn't it be better to get one of the other slaves to pull master Billy-Joe and let me concentrate on the really hard cart work..."

"No!", Straughan snapped. "I won't tell you again not to question orders or make suggestions. Your whole attitude says that you are not yet thinking like a slave. Now, get to work. The slave out there will give you all the equipment you need. And when I come back to inspect it later, I want to see it absolutely sparkling!"

He strode out, and I took a closer look at the thing - it was actually well made, with the appearance of strength without being heavy. I tugged at one of the shafts, and the thing seemed light and manoeuvrable. I stood there looking at it for a bit, but I knew there was not much point in postponing the inevitable, so I went and borrowed some polish, and metal cleaner, and a wire brush and cloths, from the slave in the tack room. He was one of the slaves I'd fucked, and he grinned at me almost affectionately, but he seemed surprised that now I was doing the same work as him.

"I've seen that rickshaw, Steve", he told me, "And it's pretty filthy. If I were you I'd take you shorts off when you're working on it - if you get them very dirty with rust stains, and polish marks, Mr Straughan will be displeased and has been known to use the tawse... It's easier to get stains off your skin than it is to get them out of the shorts."

Actually, there's a certain satisfaction, isn't there, in doing a job like cleaning something realty well? I won't say I enjoyed polishing my car, but once I'd started I always took pride in how it looked when I'd finished and somehow it felt better. It was like that with the rickshaw - buckets of soapy water to clean off the dust and dirt, then a good brushing with the wire brush to remove lose bits of rust, metal polish painstakingly applied everywhere - the spokes of the wheel were a real sod - and then the polishing and buffing of the leather of the seat. And, yes, I did slip my shorts off - it was hot and humid in the stables, and it was actually easier. And I suppose I did enjoy it, actually - it really did make a change to be working away at something at my own pace, as I wanted to do it, without the thought of a tawse striking my shoulders every time I slowed down in the cart. Even Straughan seemed impressed that evening when he came to inspect progress, or, rather ,he couldn't find anything to criticise even after he'd run is fingers everywhere over the rickshaw looking for any tiny nooks and crannies that I might have missed.

It can be cold in the south in the mornings and usually when us slaves came out of the slave shed we were glad to get off to work - a jog to the site of the day's activities, then getting down to it immediately does at least get you warmed up. But Straughan insisted that the next morning I wait at the bottom of the front steps of the house, in case master Billy-Joe should emerge unexpectedly early. Fat chance, I thought to myself, as he was never known to stir until ten at the earliest - but it was typical of Straughan's thoroughness and attention to detail to think that this morning, uniquely amongst all others, he might. So I stood there and shivered! I did a few exercises to try to warm up - jogged around the big circular drive, then some star jumps, and was just beginning to feel better when Straughan came down the steps and seemed almost incandescent with rage. "Suppose your owner had come out and seen you jumping about, or not in the shafts as you were chasing around - the surprise would have been lost! All he would have seen is an empty rickshaw, and not the combination of the rickshaw and you, waiting to serve him! Now, get back between the shafts, and wait! You'd better get used to waiting, as that's what you'll be doing a lot of the time as your owner carried out his inspections on the estate."

So I went back and stood there, hoping that the morning sun would creep over the trees and help me. I suppose Straughan had had me out there around 06:30, and I finally began to feel warm about 08:30. And by the time Billy-Joe did come out, at around 11:00, I was totally bored! Have you ever tried standing mostly in one place for hours, with absolutely nothing to do? I watched the birds hopping around, I saw my fellow slaves going up and down the drive and lawns going about their business, and I saw the occasional truck making a delivery heading down towards the unloading dock - but that was it. I'm an active guy, as you know, and this waiting around was just awful - and I also knew that for the rest of the day I probably wasn't going to be working very hard anyway, as compared to the cart, the rickshaw was absolutely no challenge for my body.

Billy-Joe was suitably impressed when he and Straughan did eventually appear. No, he was delighted. Straughan had understood him well, and jus as he had been with his Jaguar, Billy-Joe was pleased to be the first in the area with a "new toy", pleased to be the first to set a new fashion. He ran his hands all over the rickshaw with evident delight, stroking the metal framework, running his hand appreciatively over the shining leather, and then almost doing the same to me.

"Fuck me, Steve, but this is the life, eh?", he said "Magnificent! This rickshaw's just the thing a man needs to be ecological - no waste of the earth's resources here, so the Colonel will be pleased. And having you pull it is really neat - I think most folk around here have forgotten that I'm one of the very few who has a pure-bred white slave. I'm going to enjoy the rest of the year. It looked pretty grim, as the Colonel has insisted I sell the Jaguar as he doesn't approve of the gas consumption - he even paid off the bank because I didn't get very much for it. I wondered how I was going to get about when I was down here - you do need something special to impress the local yokels, don't you? And now I've got this, and it's a good reason for them to see my slave as well. Perfect, Steve, we're going to have a great time this summer."

"Master, Billy-Joe, please... You said you were going to release me 'soon'. Please don't make me wait all summer... You said you had to keep me as a slave because of the bank guarantee for the car loan... Well, that's paid off. You could release me know, Billy-Joe, as you said you would... Come on, buddy, please....."

"You always were impatient, weren't you, Steve? Couldn't wait to do things at the right time. You call me 'buddy', but you don't mean it - a real buddy would think about his friend's needs, too, you know.... Since you've been a slave I've found it really hard to be friends with you, and you don't make it any easier for me, do you? Come on, Steve, stop being so fucking selfish and think about someone else for a change. Let's enjoy the summer - you wouldn't want to be cooped up in an office when there's this glorious countryside, would you? And then we'll think about your release later in the year."

"But Billy-Joe..."

"Hey, Steve, I don't want to hear any more, right? And remember your manners - although I try hard to be your friend, I'm your owner. You ought to be glad that we're able to spend more time together this summer - real buddies would enjoy that. I guess it's true what they say, that you can't really be friends with a slave. But I do try, you know. Now, let's go for a little ride..."

He hauled himself up into the rickshaw, and said almost lazily "Just a jog, Steve - you know Straughan likes to see slaves moving at a reasonable pace - so just a jog around the estate generally first."

So that was it - my first time being used as a pony for my owner. I gripped the shafts of the rickshaw, and set off - where it was "natural" for my hands to fall I could feel the slight indentation in the oak and I had noticed when I was cleaning it that the wood was a different colour there. It wasn't made that way originally I felt certain, and I wondered how many slaves like me had gripped in the same place, gradually wearing the wood away and staining it with their sweat.

I went from being chilly and cold to "operating temperature" almost immediately now I was working. With Billy-Joe on the seat, the rickshaw was harder to pull, but less work than the cart, and we bowled along merrily. We visited most of the work sites on the estate where the outdoor slaves were toiling away, but Straughan's plan didn't seem to work - Billy-Joe wasn't really interested in what the were doing, and never got down to go and have a closer look. All my fellows saw me, though, and event hough they weren't supposed to stop working, I knew they managed to sneak glimpses of me as I jogged past - I wondered what they'd say that night: I knew I wouldn't be respected,

as I was when I was straining in the shafts of my cart.

There is something different about pulling your owner around compared to working really hard with a delivery cart - what little freedom you have as a slave is further eroded. When I was carting I could at least choose which of the many pathways across the estate I'd take. But now Billy-Joe totally dictated everything, calling out "left" and "right" as the fancy took him, and "slow down a bit" or "jog on" as he made all the decisions. Sure, it was easier physically, and there were no passing guards and supervisors to strike out with their crops and tawses, but that's not the point, is it? I had little enough room for manoeuvre in my life, and now, being totally under Billy-Joe's control, I had none.

He left me standing at he foot of the steps at lunchtime, saying, cheerily, "You lucky dog, Steve, at least you don't have to have lunch with your father! Now, wait whilst I try to make conversation with him - it really is tough, you know, as all he wants to talk about is the estate, and to complain about me! I like a leisurely lunch but he manages to ruin it, with all the talk of business. Still, I've got something to look forward to - an afternoon with my old buddy - so be patient."

He almost waddled up the steps, and I saw that the football player I had known was turning into a typical suburban guy - out of shape, twenty pounds too heavy, and just not in good condition. Even Billy-Joe's immaculately cut clothes couldn't disguise the thickening around his waist, and the effort of pretending to run lightly up the steps evidently left him out of breath at the top. I didn't envy him at all... Except that at least he probably got to sit down and eat, whereas I just had to stand there, and I wouldn't get any food until tonight -and then only slave chow. I thought about sitting on the steps, but Straughan appeared from time to time on his "rounds", and so that wasn't a good idea. I just had to stand there in the hot sun, and brush the flies off me all the time - when you're only wearing shorts, and sweating, they seem to get particularly attracted to you: I suppose it's the salt and the water.

I don't know how long I stood there, really - without a watch or anything it's hard to keep track of the time. But it was probably a good two hours - Billy-Joe, when he did appear, was carrying a sports bag, and said cheerily "Well, it wasn't as bad as I thought: the lunch was quite quick, so I had time to talk on the phone to the guys in the city about next week's party." Fucking typical - he could, after all, have come out and sent me back to the slave quarters for an hour or so, but, no, he just let me stand there.

Billy-Joe hauled himself aboard and told me to jog off to the swimming hole. I remember this from when I'd been here as a guest - Billy-Joe and I had jogged together then across the estate to this mini-lake: it was fed from a spring or something, and although the water was cold it was pure and clear, and the banks of the thing were grassy and sloped gently down. A small jetty had been build where a row boat was moored, and this also made an ideal point to dive from. On a hot day, like this one, it had been really great for us to swim together. Now, of course, it was only me jogging, and pulling my old buddy behind me. And when we got to the swimming hole Billy-Joe left me standing there whilst he went around behind some shrubs with his sports bag. He emerged a couple of minutes later in long , loose swimming shorts, down to his knees, then pranced along the jetty and jumped in.

This really was getting stupid - changing like that out of sight of me. Had he forgotten we were in the football team together and I'd seen him naked lots of times before (and when he fucked me!). But was he now so ashamed of his body that he didn't want to reveal it to me? He swam up and down slowly for a bit, then kind of floated on his back (yes, his belly was getting big). Then he paddled back to the shore, and hauled himself out of the water. He picked up his towel and walked back towards me, and as he got close he told me "Man, that was great! It really is hot and humid this afternoon. It's good to have a dip like that in these conditions: it really cools you off."

"Billy-Joe.... How about me? Don't you think I'd like to cool off, too? I've been doing all the work here - dragging you to this place..."

"Hey, Steve, you can't. You've got no swimming shorts, and Straughan would be cross if you swam in those slave shorts, and, besides, you'd have to pull me home wet then as there's no way they'd dry out."

"I don't need anything! I like swimming naked, remember - the last time we came up here we both did. And you said how much better it was, too, to have the water running around your dick and balls. So what's changed? Why have you got those ridiculous shorts on?

And why didn't you invite me in?"

"Steve... Look, you still don't really get it, do you?

I'm a gentleman, a respected figure around here. And you're, well, you're my slave. A gentleman just doesn't go around in public naked - he's always concerned for his grooming and his appearance. And a gentleman doesn't consort socially with a slave, especially not one he owns, in any way. So there's no way I can swim naked now - suppose someone were to see? And, likewise, us two swimming together just isn't on. Just try to understand, will you, that things are different now. And, Steve, this is the last time - for your own good, get into the habit of always addressing me properly. If you don't, then one time when other people are around you'll forget to call me 'master' and you'll ruin my reputation - people will think I'm soft on my slaves. I'll have to have you punished to show them I'm not. I'm only thinking of you, Steve - it's in your best interests really."

"OK, Billy-Joe, but can I swim alone?"

"Steve! That's it! If you do that one more time, I will schedule a punishment for you with Straughan - better to get it out of the way so that it's only you that's punished, and not my reputation that suffers as well. Now, try again... And apologise!"

Fuck me, it's not right, is it? We used to be buddies, and now I'm having to call him 'master' and apologise for just speaking to him like another human being. Should I just tell him to fuck off? Should I just run off in the rickshaw and leave him here like a great beached whale - it would fucking well serve him right! But just as there was no point in crossing the Colonel as he held the power to kick me off the estate, whereupon Billy-Joe would have to sell me; and no point in crossing Straughan as he was eager to hand out punishment; so there was no percentage in it for me in antagonising Billy-Joe: I wanted him to make good on his promise to free me, and he was only going to do that if he still liked me, wasn't he? So I gritted my teeth, and, almost in a parody of the way some slaves talk, said "Master, this slave is sorry, master. Please, master, could this slave be allowed a quick swim in the lake, master, as it's very hot and I have been working hard for master?"

"Very well, Steve, but, as you said, lose the shorts first, OK? And five minutes only."

I dropped my shorts - I wasn't ashamed of my body, and didn't much care who saw it - and ran off and executed a perfect running dive into the water. The cold hit me instantly, but it felt great. I did a fast crawl up and down the length, then hauled myself out and planed the water off my body. It had released all my cares and tensions, and I stood there in front of Billy-Joe as he lay there still, smiling faintly.

"You're still a jock, aren't you, Steve? You actually enjoy exercising, don't you?"

"Yes, Bil... Yes, master."

"Let me see you jog around the lake - no hurry."

I went to pull my shorts on, but Billy-Joe said quietly "No, Steve - you're still wet. Just jog around bare."

It was easy - it wasn't all that far, and it was good to run on grass rather than on the gravel and dirt of the estate roads: it wasn't so much the soles of my feet, which were by this time covered in a hard callous of dried skin all over, but the fact that it was springy and made the steps fun. I could see Billy-Joe following me with his eyes as I jogged around, and wondered why he seemed so keen to watch my ass as I went away from him, and then stare so intently at my dick as I came back - after all, he'd seen my ass and my dick hundreds of times when we'd been rooming together.

Billy-Joe again went into the bushes to change back into his slacks and shirt, and, as if to emphasise how silly that was, I sat there naked until he emerged, then stood up, flicked at my dick to kind of ease it - you know how you do - then pulled my shorts on still facing him. Billy-Joe had me jog back to the house pulling him then, and directed me around to the rear entrance, opposite the slave quarters.

He got out, and came and stood by me. "So, Steve, I hear you're quite a changed guy - Straughan tells me you like the boys now, and that you fuck around..."

In spite of having nothing to be ashamed of, as all the slaves basically indulged in man to man sex, I felt myself blushing. Somehow this reminder from Billy-Joe, who used to know me when I was a ladies man, made me feel odd. I stood there, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

"Answer me, boy!", he snapped.

Now I didn't like Billy-Joe calling me "boy" - it was so fucking demeaning Somehow even being referred to as "slave" was better - slaves were men, after all, whereas "boy" was something else. I managed to control my anger, though, as I wanted to get on the right side of him and ask for my freedom soon, and said "Well, yes, Bil.... Master. Yes, I suppose I do kind of, well, you know, kind of use my dick on some of them. But there's nothing to it... It passes the time, and a man needs a change from jerking himself off..."

"Quite, Steve. I feel the same way myself. Watching your ass this afternoon made me think about how it was when I fucked you. Now that you're into men, as we might say, perhaps you and me should fuck again... Yes, I'm not doing anything tonight, it's a Saturday, the traditional night for the American male to fuck, so I'll order them to get your ass nicely cleaned out..."

"Master! Please.... No..."

"What?"

"Master... Well, I do go with men now... But I only fuck them. I don't take dick. I guess it's OK to fuck, as it's quite like fucking properly with woman.

But I'm a man, and I don't take dick. Please, master, please, if our friendship means anything to you... Please don't force me to that humiliation and degradation by making me take your dick..."

"Oh Steve, you've still got a long way to go, buddy. It's not humiliating or degrading to take your master's dick. You should be pleased, and proud, to do it. What greater service can a slave be to his master than to provide him with stimulation and pleasure, and to offer his body in total surrender to his master's desires? Haven't you learned anything about slavedom, Steve?"

"Yes, master..." I wanted to tell him I'd learned a lot. That it wasn't right to treat men this way, that you shouldn't whip them, 'skin them, brand them, and use them as sex toys, that... But what was the point? I'd only make Billy-Joe cross, and I guessed have ways of making it even worse for me tonight.

"Good! Well, I'll see you later, then."

So I had to go through all the plucking and cleaning and washing out, and Charlie and Coon were as considerate as they could be. Coon rolled his eyes and said "It's real good of you, Steve, to take on Billy-Joe! Charlie and me get really fed up with his dick - at least tonight we can probably enjoy each other without being sore from his monster..."

"You mean Billy-Joe fucks you?"

"Of course. You don't think we're kept just to do this kind of stuff, and to handle unwilling slaves, do you? A slave has to fully earn his keep, you know, and if a free man wants us, we have to give."

Look, I hadn't really thought about it. I'd always assumed Billy-Joe was "straight", as I was. But had he always fucked ass? I'd kind of thought that when he took my cherry it was part of a ritual, and that he didn't really enjoy it either. But... So I said "How long has he been fucking you?"

"Oh, ever since we were bought. And it's well known that he started into the slaves here as soon as he was capable of getting an erection... Ask any of the older slaves... They all remember him coming home from school and wanting to fuck before he settled down to his work assignments!"

Oh shit - I'd been roommates with a fag and never known. All those times I casually walked through from the bathroom with just a towel around me - and sometimes around my neck, not around my waist! He'd have been staring at me and thinking about fucking me.

And that first time he wasn't just acting out a ritual - he was actually fulfilling his desire to fuck me! A horrible thought struck me - had he engineered this whole "voluntary enslavement" thing just so he could fuck me? He'd know that I'd never let him do it any other way. Somehow, knowing he enjoyed it made it seem far, far worse.

Billy-Joe told Charlie and Coon to stay out side in the passage when they delivered me to him. He was in his boxers and a T, watching TV again, and when I came into the room he took his feet off Grunt's naked back where he had been resting them and got up to his feet.

He actually took me by the arm, and guided me over to the couch, and sat me down and sat net to me.

"Now, Steve... Last time.... It was all rather shall we say 'forced', wasn't it? You had to be tied down to the punishment horse, and I don't think either of us enjoyed it. Now you've seen how much fun dicking a guy is, shall we be sensible about it and do it properly?"

"No, please... Billy... Master. Please don't."

"Look, Steve, I know you're nervous. I've had Charlie and Coon wait outside, and I'll send Grunt out too. It will just be you and me, and we can pretend we're roomies again - a couple of horny guys hanging out together.... We'll watch a bit of TV, then we'll go into the bedroom, but instead of us getting into our own beds as we used to and jerking off, pretending the other one didn't know, we'll get into the same bed, and I'll show you just how good it could have been.."

"No, please..."

"Well, suit yourself. If you want to be strapped to the horse again, I don't mind. I've got a light cane here and I'll tenderise your rump, then I'll fuck you anyway. One way or the other, Steve... What's it to be?"

One half of me wanted to tell him that he'd have to have me tied down and helpless. Another part of me said "look, it's inevitable. Why make it worse for yourself?" I know that in fiction a man would always choose the first one - he'd cling to the belief that he was a man, being forced to do something against his will. But this was real life, and I was tired of the tawse and the cane. So I just looked at Billy-Joe and said "OK, you win!"

"Hey, Steve.. That's not the attitude! We're supposed to be having fun! As we said earlier, I know you like dicking ass now - shall we get in the mood by having you fuck young Grunt here? I know he'd like to feel that big dick of yours inside him..."

"No, please, master. Look, if you're going to fuck me, can we just get it over with, in private, as quickly as possible?"

"Hey, Steve! Come on! Is that the way to look forward to getting closer to your old buddy? Now I want proper participation in this... a bit of enthusiasm. Try to be a team player, Steve, and stop thinking just about what Steve wants, what Steve likes, what Steve's getting out of this, will you? Have a bit of consideration for others, for a change!"

I felt like taking him by the throat and stuffing his words back down it. He was the most uncaring, arrogant pig I'd ever met. How could I ever have been friends with this guy? But what was the point - he owned me, and I wanted out, and for that he had to release me. So, with a heavy heart, I stood up, and made for the bedroom.

End of part 14