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Part 2. Nick
My nipples still hurt like hell when they let us out of the small holding cells, where we'd spent the night, those of us newly sold slaves who'd been specially equipped according to our owners' wishes. Pete was there too, further down the line, but we hadn't been able to exchange a word, so I didn't know who'd bought him. We were facing the wall, hands clasped behind our heads, but I stole a glance at my neighbours. The boy on my right was crying silently. 'Poor guy', I thought, 'You really got the full treatment!'
I was waiting my turn to be 'equipped' when he was strapped on a table and I'd watched in horror while they stuck a curved needle through his nipples. There was no kind of anaesthetics and the guy was howling in pain. God, I didn't know it was like that. I mean, I've seen lots of ringed slaves, that's more common than not, but never wondered how they got them. Now I knew. A bare room, covered in white tiles, six strapping tables and about fifty naked boys chained to the walls while slave handlers very efficiently went about their business, completely without mercy. Moans and screams from tormented slaves rebounded in my head and my body went rigid with fear of what would happen to me. Of course no one had bothered telling us what kind of 'decorations' our owners had ordered. For the first time it really struck home that I was a slave, not a person, but a piece of livestock, subject to another person's whims. Not even the rigorous training they'd put us through had made me feel like a slave. It wasn't exactly fun, but not too bad either, a new experience. Stupid of me of course, but I felt ripe for a change in life. Manual labour wasn't new to me, Dad believed that it was good for us, so even if we kept slaves, Steve and I'd always done our share of gardening, washing cars and such. Thanks to his firm belief in corporal punishment, the prospect of getting my bum striped didn't scare me either.
But now, when the guy on the table was howling again as the needle penetrated his septum, I realised that I knew very little about my owner. When visiting my parents he was polite and generally seemed a very nice guy. Steve, of course, was completely besotted with him, so much that I've begun suspecting that they were more than just good friends, but you don't really imagine your big brother a faggot, do you? At least I didn't, but if they really were making out with each other what about me, then? Even after our training, the prospect of sucking another guy's cock, not to mention worse things, was nauseating, but the horror scene soon distracted me. They'd finished fitting rings in the poor guy's nipples and nose, and I thought he was through, but he didn't escape that easy. The handlers moved to his crotch and one of them grabbed his cock, while the other aimed the needle. The guy was begging and pleading incoherently, when he realised what they were going to do, but to no avail. In the needle went, down his piss slit and through one side of his dick, quickly followed by a large ring. And even that wasn't enough. His legs were unstrapped and the whimpering slave must have thought that it was finally over, but handlers from the neighbouring tables turned to grab his feet, forcing his legs high in the air and spreading them. His torturers pressed his bleeding cock over his sack, down towards his arsehole and the needle penetrated his tender skin a fifth time. A ring was inserted and welded shut before the boy unceremoniously was released and pushed off the table. His legs gave way and he sank to his knees, crying uncontrollably. The rest of us could only stare at the rings in his bleeding nipples and nose and imagine the agony he was suffering after they'd locked his newly pierced cock to the ring between his legs.
"Next!" One of the handlers released me and I nearly pissed myself, like the boy beside me had already done, but managed to stumble to the table. They restrained me, but with just two straps across my chest, and I breathed a sigh of relief. 'My nipples only', I thought, and was right. It hurt, but I managed to keep my mouth shut until it was over and I was back at the wall again. Steve got up from another table, ringed like me, and sent me a strained grin. My chest felt as if on fire, but that bit of pain was nothing compared to what Eileen would already have done to me if Steve's friend hadn't bought me. 'God! I owe that guy my life. He'll have the best slave ever seen', I thought, 'Even if he seems to have a cruel streak. What does he want those rings for?'
A young woman in a doctor's coat, followed by two handlers, came down the line, making a close inspection of our 'equipment'. When reaching my crying neighbour she shook her head sadly. "I'll never understand why the boys can't be anaesthetised like the girls". "It'd be a waste, Miss. They're stronger and they can just as well get used to a bit of pain". "Perhaps, but why risk traumatic shocks. It could easily happen, especially if they're pierced repeatedly". She crouched down to examine the guy' cock-ring. "Nasty!" She looked up. "How are you feeling? Dizzy?" "No, Miss, but it hurts so much", he hiccuped. "Have you vomited?" "No, Miss". She rose again and turned to me. "Unnecessarily cruel, but he'll mend". Even after my three months spent totally naked at the slave training camp, I hadn't got used to it and was blushing all over when her cool hands slid over my chest, testing the rings. They were apparently fine, because she just nodded and went on, while the handlers sent me on to the communal shower. I washed thoroughly, didn't want to show up scruffy on my first day as an owned slave, and, as learned from experience, used the opportunity to squat and dump a load down the drain. We stood shivering while our bodies dried, no towels for slaves, and were then hobbled with a two foot chain and handcuffed behind our backs.
As usual we knelt upright in the transport van in four rows, hobbles fastened to rings in the floor. Don't know why they do that. How could we escape? Just to humiliate us, make us feel what we were now, lousy slaves. Pete was in the row behind me and I caught a faint whisper: "287". 'Gosh, man, he'd bought Pete. Greatest guy ever! And he'd promised to buy Chris as well'. A warm feeling of relief ran through me. 'To be a slave along with two of my friends wouldn't be that bad. At least we could support each other'. But then they brought out the girls and placed Chris right in front of me. Her nipples were ringed like mine, but she had four rings in her pussy lips as well, locked together with two small padlocks. I dared not speak, but tried to give her my best encouraging smile. Her glum face didn't light up, on the contrary her eyes bored into mine with an expression of loathing. I tried another smile and a nod, but she turned her head away. 'Shit! She's blaming me', I thought. No wonder, really, but bad news, very bad. The prospects suddenly didn't seem that bright. I mean, she wasn't my girlfriend or anything, but I'd always liked Chris a lot, she's such a fun girl. 'Hope we can straighten things out later'.
The van drove around for hours, and after many stops to unload a slave or two it was finally our turn. A handler brought us to the hall of our master's bungalow. They completed the paperwork while the three of us were kneeling silently on the floor, still chained and cuffed, heads bowed like good slaves. The handler took off our chains and left, and the master's loafers appeared in front of me. "I've bought you as a favour to a friend, but that doesn't change the fact that you're convicted felons or that I'm obliged by law to treat you as such. I'll try to be fair, but don't mistake me. If you work hard, serve me well, you'll have a tolerable life, if not, you'll be punished. Can you cook, girl?" "Yes, Sir". Chris didn't raise her head. "Don't lie to me. I'm used to eating well". "I've taken courses in French cooking at summer school for the last two years, Sir". "Hmm. Dinner at eight. Which one of you boys know about gardening?" "I do, Sir. My parents have a large garden, no slaves, but four sons, Sir". Pete seemed quite cheerful. "Good, you do the outside work and take care of my car". "Yes, Sir". "Nick is my bodyslave and shares the housework with Christine". "Yes, Sir", we answered in unison "You may rise". We got up to display ourselves, hands behind heads and feet spread.
Our master gave us a thorough inspection. Walked around us, squeezed Chris' tits and rotated her nipple rings. She whimpered and bit down on her lower lip. He crouched to look closely at her locked pussy, but didn't touch. "Show me your other hole". Still biting her lip hard she turned her back to him and bent over, reaching back to spread her arsecheeks. Something like a sob escaped her when he slowly pressed a finger up her back passage, but she kept the humiliating position until he withdrew it and told her to rise again. His soiled finger was waving in front of me. I stared from it to his face. His eyes were expressionless, but the finger touched my lips and I opened up to suck it clean, fighting not to retch. "Hmm". He twisted my rings and I couldn't suppress a moan. "Hmm. Arsehole". I turned and he repeated his inspection, while I tried keeping still when the finger touched my prostate. "Up again!" I turned to see Pete sucking the finger. The master's hands roamed his muscular body, felt up his arms and thighs and caressed his tight arse. When he took a step back Peter began turning his back. "Did I tell you to do that, slave?" "No, Sir". "Don't try anticipating my wishes". "No, Sir. Sorry, Sir". "You will be". "Yes, Sir". "Later. Now get to work, but hobble your feet first. Chains in the slaveroom".
He left and we hesitated for a moment. "Better find it, then. No lunch today, it seems". Pete led the way through the house. Just a master bedroom, a spare room, the study, where we could see the master working at his computer, a large bright sitting room with French doors to the terrace and a well-equipped kitchen and scullery. The slaveroom was standard. Bare cement floor, raw brick walls, a rickety table with three stools under a barred window at one end and the usual punishment instruments, hanging shackles and a sawhorse at the other. There was a small bathroom with shower and sink, no toilet or door of course, and two narrow cells, one of them with two bunks on top of each other, and closed with steel grilles. "Yeah". Pete sighed and fetched the three pairs of ankle cuffs and chains from the wall. I knelt to lock a set around Chris' slim ankles and looked up at her grim face. "I'm so terribly sorry, but…". "Sure, for yourself", she spat, "I don't need your excuses. What you've caused us cannot be excused, ever!" "Chris, please!" "I don't want to talk about it and I don't want to have anything to do with you, is that clear?" I stared at her and was about to try again, when Pete interrupted. "No time for that now, better get working". I rose, shoulders sagging. "Are you mad at me as well?" "Later, but I'm not, mate". At least I still had one friend.
We shuffled out and I took a bucket and a brush while Pete went to the garage and Chris to the kitchen. I was washing the floor of the hall when she joined me. "I'll do that. You've better take his bed and bathroom and have a look at his clothes". Her voice was cold. Everything was very tidy and I quickly changed the sheets, vacuumed and dusted, and cleaned the bathroom. I could see Pete trimming flowerbeds along the border of the lawn. "Nick!" My master called from the study and I hobbled along as fast as my ankle chain allowed. "Yes, Sir?" "I need to piss". "Yes, Sir". One of the tasks I dreaded most. It wasn't uncommon, but decent people tended to frown upon owners who degraded their slaves like that. None of the people I knew, did it, and certainly not at my home. I'd hoped that my master wasn't one of those, but he did seem to have a cruel streak, more than cruel. 'Come on, slaveboy', I thought, 'One time has to be the first'. So down I got on my knees between his legs, opened his fly and drew out a long, slender cock. 'Nice one', I thought, 'Won't hurt that much if it goes up my arse'. I took a deep breath and swallowed when he let loose a steady stream. It wasn't too bad and I managed to drink all of it down, then licked the member clean and put back. He didn't say anything, just turned back to his computer, so I got up and trundled back to his bedroom. His clothes were neat enough, but there was some freshly laundered shirts hanging in the scullery. I was ironing them when Chris came back. "You've met him before. Have you any idea of what he likes to eat?" She spoke harshly, avoiding my eyes. "I'm sorry, but no. You'll have to ask him". "I don't want to risk disturbing him". "Take a look at the fridge and whip up something nice". "Thanks", she sneered and left. About an hour later I heard the master: "What'll I have for dinner?" "Shrimp salad, filet of beef and strawberry pie, Sir". He grunted something I didn't catch and then raised his voice. "Nick! Change". "Yessir". I hurried to the bedroom.
He was sitting in an armchair, eyes closed and looking pretty worn out. I hesitated for a moment, dropped to my knees and removed his shoes gently, then his socks. When tired, especially after working on his sermon, my dad likes if a slave licks and rubs his feet, cheers him up no end, so I guessed my master might like the same, got down on my stomach and began licking the top of his left foot. No reaction. 'OK, so far', I thought, and changed to the other foot, let my tongue slide across the toes, along the edge of the foot to reach the heel. A deep sigh from above and the foot moved forward until it was resting on the heel. 'OK'. I closed my mouth around the big toe, sucking gently, changed to the next toe and the remaining three, went back, stabbing between them and finally took a gentle hold to raise the foot and lick the sole thoroughly. "Hmm", came from above. 'OK, OK', I thought, 'Doing fine, aren't you, slaveboy?' The other foot got the same treatment and after that I rubbed and massaged them. At last my master rose. "Undress me and run a bath". "Yes, Sir". I filled the tub, soaped him up and, when he'd soaked himself for a while, washed his hair and rubbed his shoulders gently. He seemed to enjoy it, but didn't say a word of praise or even to acknowledge my efforts, neither in the bath nor when I dried and dressed him again.
"A vodka Martini on the terrace in five minutes". He nodded curtly and strolled out. 'Shit!', I thought, 'Don't know how to make one'. I hurried to the kitchen, where Chris was just about to put the pie in the oven. The delicious smell of cooking was overpowering and my stomach grumbled. God, I was so hungry! She looked up, frowning. "What do you want?" "I, eh, do you know how to make a vodka martini?" "You're the drunkard around here". "Please, Chris! You know that I don't drink". "Funny that they tested you over the limit, then". "Can't we talk about that later? I have to serve the master and I've never in my life mixed a drink". She looked surly at me, but found bottles and glass. "Get some ice". She made the drink and put it on a tray with a little bowl of olives. "Thanks a lot, Chris, you're a real friend". "Not any longer, but I don't want an angry master". She turned her back and I shuffled out.
"What took you so long?" Master James was sitting in a deck chair. I knelt to offer the tray. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I don't know how to mix drinks". "Hmm". He took a sip. "But managed anyway". "Chris made it, Sir". "Tell her to teach you". "Yes, Sir". Dusk was creeping up, but Pete was still weeding at the far end of the lawn. "Fetch your fellow, and a cane". "Yessir". I stumbled across, cursing the hobble. Pete was sweaty, his hide marked by thorns, and he looked up with a weary grin. "Dinner time?" "Don't know, haven't said, but he wants you and a cane. Sorry". "Yeah, me own fault". He rose and squeezed my shoulder. "Don't fret, mate". "But Chris is still so angry". "She'll cool off". He hurried towards the terrace and I to the door to the scullery. When I came back Pete stood bent over, grabbing his ankles. The master took the cane and without a word swung down to cut a line across the black butt. "One, Sir. Thanks, Sir". He swung again and again, laying on the stripes neatly side by side. Pete continued his calm counting, but his voice was strained when he announced: "Ten, Sir. Thanks, Sir". The cane fell to the ground and our master dropped back into his chair. "Get cleaned up and take a break for dinner". "Yes, Sir. Thanks, Sir". He looked at me. "Lay the table for me out here and open a bottle of Rioja". "Yes, Sir".
I served dinner, changed the dishes, poured the wine and otherwise stayed behind the master's chair. Chris reminded me to lay the table with candles and flowers, and I thought it looked very nice, but still got no word from Master James, who ate in silence, apparently enjoying the meal and the view over the garden. Only when he'd finished dessert did he look up. "Fetch the girl". "Yes, Sir" I turned to go. "You may grab something to eat, but don't take too long" "Thank you, Sir". Chris had cooked a generous helping of the usual slave porridge and she and Pete were eating in the kitchen when I paid hurried visits to fetch a new dish for the master. My stomach was screaming for food, anything, but I hadn't dared stop even for a second to snatch a spoonful. Now I hurried to tell Chris her orders and grab a spoon, stuffing myself directly from the pot. "Hey, mate, slowly does it or you'll get stomach cramps". Pete handed me a glass. "Got to hurry, he told me so". But I forced myself to slow down and wash it down with water. It was bland, but to me it tasted better than any meal I remembered. "Gosh, I was hungry". "Yeah", Pete sighed wearily, "and tired". "That too. Listen, I'm sorry, it's my fault. I don't know what to do". "Be a good slave, and it isn't". He put his hands on my shoulders. "First of all, don't despair, Nick. We'll get used to this and so will our master. It'll be OK after a while and don't ever doubt that I'm still your friend". "Thanks, mate". "Buddies?" "Buddies!", I confirmed and suddenly felt much better
That didn't last for long. When I came back to the terrace, the master had moved to a comfortable chair and was nursing the last of his wine. Chris was on her hands and knees, feet spread as far as her hobble allowed and arse towards him, leaving a very clear view of her female charms. The master looked up when he heard my chain rattling. "Tell the other slave to clear away and then rub my feet again". 'Please, not right there', I thought. He had planted his loafers on Chris' bare buttocks. "Yes, Sir". I turned back to call Pete and knelt beside the nude girl, looking pleadingly at my master, but got only a passive stare back. With a sigh I eased off his right shoe and began sucking on his toes. My nose was barely an inch from Chris' hide and she must have felt my breath. This was so humiliating and she'd be even madder at me, but what could I do? Finished with the first foot I crawled around her, catching a whispered, "I hate you", on the way. While I was taking care of the left foot, Master James suddenly ducked the right, still bare, between Chris' legs, rubbing against her labia rings. I could see a tremor running up her back, but she managed to stay calm, at least until the big toe apparently found her clit. That made her jump, but she regained control and only heavy breathing revealed her arousal. A moment later a waft of musky smell reached my nostrils. 'Makes you hot, does it?' I grinned to myself, but sobered when it hit me how angry she must be.
I finished licking and rubbing and sank back on my heels, only to be presented with the other foot and ordered to lick it clean. It was covered in sticky juices, but didn't taste too bad. Master James kicked the bare arse in front of him and told Chris to serve coffee in the sitting room, then dismissed her and Pete. I stayed with him, it was my turn to serve as a footstool while he drank his coffee and watched the news. He switched to a film and settled down comfortably to enjoy it. A western, judging from the soundtrack. Shit, but it was boring to lie like that and after some time I got the cramps in my legs, tried to remain still, but it was hard and when my left leg twitched he kicked my arse hard, without saying anything. At last the film reached its end and he rose. "Fetch the other slaveboy to my bedroom, bring some rope and a paddle. Tell the girl to go to bed". "Yes, Sir". I could hardly move, but managed to stumble to the slaveroom, where Chris and Pete were slumped on the stools, looking bored. "A paddle! You did anything wrong, mate?" "Don't think so, but who knows?" "Nah, OK, better hurry. Night, Chris". He gave her a peck on the cheek. I got only a surly look from her.
"You'll learn to stay still, but I've better tie you up tonight. Kneel on the edge of the bed, arses high and hands between your legs". We exchanged troubled looks and got into position. Our wrists were lashed to our ankles and I felt the master's hand slide over my buttocks. "Ever been arsefucked?" "No, Sir", I mumbled. "And you?" He smacked Pete's bottom. "No, Sir". "Better prepare you, then". A split second later pain exploded all over my arse when the paddle hit me squarely and I couldn't suppress a scream. The paddle hit again and Pete yelped. "Great! Two virgin arses". He returned to me, went back to Pete, me again and so on. The paddle fell rapidly, without a pause, and I was soon crying and babbling for him to stop. Pete was crying too, but managed not to scream, just moaned loudly, rocking with the strokes. I lost count, but think we got at least twenty each before I suddenly felt his hands parting my burning globes. 'Here goes my virginity', flashed through my mind and a moment later I felt his cock pressing against my arsehole. "Relax, boy, or it'll hurt more than necessary". I tried, but it hurt like hell anyway when he slowly moved past my sphincter. It was as if a red-hot poker was rammed up my guts and I screamed and fought against the bondage. "Relax, slaveboy, and stop that noise". His nuts banged against my crack and I clenched my jaws. He pumped me slowly a couple of times, mumbling how fantastic tight I was, then slipped out again. 'God', I thought, 'I'm split in two'. My hole felt like an open barn door. Steve moaned beside me and I turned my head to see his face contorted in pain. 'And it's my fault!' I felt tears of pain and shame wetting the sheet under me.
It seemed as if it'd never end. He withdrew from Pete, rammed into me again, making me scream, changed to Pete and went on alternating between us, until both of us were reduced to hunks of sweaty flesh, crying and pleading for mercy. At last I felt a stream of scalding lava shoot deep into my bowels and let out a last piercing scream, while he collapsed on my back. He stayed there, breathing heavily for a while, then extricated himself. "Stop bawling, boy, and clean me". His body was stretched out beside me and I stared at the slimy piece of meat, covered in a mixture of Pete's and my own shit, the master's sperm and some blood too. 'He can't be serious!', flashed through my mind, but of course he was and I ambled closer to engulf it, fighting not to retch. When he a couple of minutes later apparently was satisfied, he withdrew and a moment later we heard the shower starting. "Could've spared you that, buddy, couldn't he? Sorry", Pete whispered. "God, but it hurts", I moaned. "Yeah. We'll get used to it, I guess. Lots of guys do and not just slaves". Pain and nausea overwhelmed me and I lay sobbing quietly until Master James came back to untie us. "Lock yourselves up and get some sleep. Grilles open at six, wake me up at seven, breakfast half an hour later". "Yes, Sir", Pete answered, gathered the rope and paddle and dragged me away with an arm around my shoulders.
He more carried than supported me to the slaveroom, where Chris was locked up in her cell, already asleep. "Quiet, mate, let's get you in here". We stumbled to the bathroom and he started the shower, cold of course, but it helped me to regain my senses. "I don't think I can stand this". "Lower your voice, and of course you can". He grabbed a bar of the coarse soap and began washing me as gently as he could. "No", I sobbed. "Shh, wait 'til we get to bed". Washed and dried I slumped against the wall while Pete took a quick shower, then dragged me to our cell. On the bunks were a thin mattress and a threadbare blanket for each of us. Pete pushed me on the lower, turned me on my side and got in behind me, spooning up to my shivering body and covering us with the two blankets. His arms came around to hold me. "Shh, buddy, don't you cry, 'tis going to be OK". But I cried on, helplessly, for a long time. When my tears at last dried up, he whispered: "Sleep now, buddy. It'll be better tomorrow". "No, it won't, and all of it is my fault". "Don't you say that and don't you fear that I believe it". "Thanks, but Chris does. She's so mad at me". "Yeah, she is. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn't listen. Sorry, but she'll come round eventually". "No, she won't". "Course she will, we've got to stay friends or it'll be much worse". "I can't take fifteen years of this". "You must, buddy, and I'll help you all I can, just like you'll help me, and Chris". He pressed me closer against his warm body and I fell into an exhausted sleep.
