We must have arrived at the police station as the two cops unclipped my collar and dragged me out of the car. They clearly didn’t worry about me as I got knocked and scraped against the hard metal of the door frame. Fortunately though I was able to stand upright so at least I wasn’t dragged across the parking lot – although the hot tarmac hurt the soles of my bare feet, this was less awful than the punishment my toes had taken earlier.
Gripping my upper arms so tightly that I knew they were bruising me (it hardly hurt compared to all the other aches from my body!) they led me into the station, then ordered me to sit down. I looked for a bench or chair, but one of the cops snapped “On the floor, you fucking slave! Don’t you know anything?” and as he said this he kind of swept my legs away from underneath me so I collapsed into a heap, between the wall and the floor. The concrete of the walls and floor was cold against my skin, but at least it soothed some of my aches a little.
I sat there looking up at all the people going past – the station was clearly busy. As well as the officers, both men and women, in their uniforms, there were secretaries, people in suits who I thought might be detectives, and numerous members of the public who were enquiring about this and that or reporting crimes. All of them were free people, and there were no obvious slaves – then I remembered reading stuff in the papers about a year ago when there was a huge row about funding, as the police were required to sell off all their slaves and staff the force entirely with free men because of ‘security concerns’ and ‘the public deserved the finest’ in its public servants.
The two cops stood there on either side of me until after some time they reached down and grabbed me and hauled me to my feet, and marched me across to stand in front of a desk where there was a police sergeant sitting. “This slave attacked a free man in McD’s, sarge. Shall we throw him in the holding tank ready for the gelder?”
“No! I’m not…” I started to shout, then found myself on the floor again as one of the cops had again viciously back-handed me. “I told you to shut the fuck up and not speak until you’re spoken to” he barked. “Now, get to your feet and ‘present’ properly like a slave should.”
I pulled myself to my feet, then seeing how the cops were waiting for any excuse to hit me, I remembered how the slaves were in the display room at Scabbard & Drass. So I stood with my feet slightly apart, and clasped my hands neatly behind me. The sergeant wrote some stuff on a form in front of him. “We’ve got to be careful – remember last month when we gelded that slave and then there was a real stink from his owner who said we should have got permission? – the boy was his ‘favourite’, and he then sued the city as he said there was no proper proof the slave had done wrong? I’ve got a memo somewhere from the high-ups to say no more fuck-ups, and no gelding without proof of crime.”
Well at least there was going to be time to get this sorted out, I thought, before they took my balls! But the cop threw something down onto the desk, the sergeant took it and put it into his PC. “We got this from the security system at McD’s in case there were problems, sarge….”
The cops – and me – then watched as the scene replayed, and it looked pretty terrible for me – it really did look as if I had thrown myself at the fat oaf and sent him flying.”
“OK, sarge? For the gelder?”
“No. We’d better make certain.”
“He’s got a collar, sarge, and was bare except for those tatty shorts – he must be a slave.” I remembered that the only decent item of my attire – my designer trainers – had been lost as I was dragged out and I was now bare footed.
“Strip!” The sergeant ordered. I looked around me in panic as I saw all the men and women still flowing past. Surely he didn’t mean here? But he did, of course, and I knew that if I was a slave there’d be no reason why this wasn’t as good a place as any, as a slave should have no false modesty. I stood there, frozen at the thought of such public exposure, though.
“This fucking slave has been a problem ever since we arrested him. He needs teaching a few lessons in obedience, sarge. Permission to prod him?”
“No…”, I whimpered, terrified now as I thought about the agony I’d been in when I was prodded in McD’s. There’s no doubt that these harsh punishments are good for slaves, as I knew I’d do almost anything to avoid a repetition of the prod. So I pushed the cheap shorts down over my hip bones, and let them fall to the floor.
One of the cops picked them up and felt the pockets. “No ID, no phone, sarge. He must be a slave as no free guy his age would be without one!”
“Yes”, the other added. “And look, typical slave underwear. My kids gave up those brief things for proper boxers as soon as they went to junior high!”
I was even more conscious of the people going past now as I thought of how I’d seen my dick was outlined through the thin cotton of the tiny bikini briefs. They must be staring at me, and probably they cold see the shadow of my butt crack, too.
“I told you to strip, boy!” The sergeant’s voice broke into my thoughts. “What part of that did you not understand, or did you not think I was talking to you?”
I went to protest, to try to tell them the truth, but one of the cops was holding his prod so menacingly that I didn’t dare open my mouth. As slowly as I could, as if a few seconds would make any real difference to my predicament, I pushed the briefs down. Then I had to stand on one leg to get the tiny things over one thighs and then the other. I was reminded about how I’d enjoyed seeing Reb stripping in front of me like this, and wondered if he’d been as mortified as I now was as the sergeant saw my dick and balls appear.
“That proves it!” one cop said triumphantly. “No free man would have his pubes clipped away so short! Imagine going into the locker room flaunting your dick all exposed like that! I guess his owner wants to see him that way, though – he’s pretty impressively hung, isn‘t he?”
I hated them talking about me like that, as if I was simply a dumb animal, incapable of understanding what they were saying. “Yes, but he hasn’t been ‘skinned – surely an owner who had a good-looking stud like this one would want him completely exposed? No owner wants a slave’s dick head to be concealed like that.”
“We’ve got to be sure he’s a slave. And there is that doubt” the sergeant told his men. “Look for an ownership mark, or a SIN.”
Both cops turned me around so they could look up and down all over my body, and some of the passing folk even stopped to watch. I knew I was scarlet with shame. “Over the desk”, one cop barked, and pushed me forward so that my chest went down onto the cold metal surface of the desk. My butt cheeks were pulled apart and the thought that anyone could now see my asshole was the final indignity I thought. “No, not even a tattoo in the butt crack”, the cop added. “So that means he’s so newly enslaved that his owner hasn’t had time to get him tattooed or ‘skinned yet.”
“You’re right, I guess” the sergeant replied. “But we’d better not have him gelded until we have spoken to the owner. Search him to make sure he’s got nothing concealed, and throw him into the holding tank so I can make further enquiries.”
I was wrong. Having your asshole exposed to all and sundry is not the final indignity. Having a cop pull on a plastic glove and then stick his finger up it, and wiggling it around inside you is! I couldn’t help shuffling my legs as his humiliating examination proceeded and that earned me a harsh slap on my bare butt as I lay there. Even worse was that when I was allowed to stand their actions had aroused me and I was half erect – enough for my ‘skin to have mostly pulled back, and their messing with my prostate had caused a small slime of pre-cum to appear out of my slit. I put my hands down to try to partially conceal myself, just as Reb had done.
“What’s your name, boy?” The sergeant now asked. “And your owner’s address?”
Even with my mind almost crowded out with all my worries, I could still think a bit. Dad was always telling me never to do anything to cause embarrassment and public disgrace that would reflect badly on him and his status as a lawyer – I couldn’t tell them I was Steve Masters as I felt certain that the moment they accessed that in the citizen’s database they’d record the reason… And then some enemy of dad’s might find it and start laughing at dad as his son had been mistaken for a slave. But then a brilliant idea came to me and I muttered “Reb, sir.” and gave them our address.
The sergeant keyed some stuff in and told the cops “You were right after all. There’s a slave of that name newly registered by the dealer to a Steven Masters at that address. Throw him in the tank whilst I phone him.”
At one level I was relieved that ‘Steve’ was now on the books as the owner, not the slave. At another I was really scared now as I’d committed a crime – I’d told a deliberate lie to the police. And at another my brain was asking ‘ What the fuck happens now?’ – I guess dad would find the message when he got back from his trip, but that could be days! In my naivety I though the best option would now be to wait and see – after all, having been stripped and probed, nothing much else could happen to me here in the police station.
The cops grabbed my arms again giving me no time to pick up my shorts or even the tiny bikini briefs, and as I was led away I saw the sergeant pick them up and drop them into a waste bin. I could do nothing to hide myself now as we went down corridors full of people, but mercifully most only glanced at my naked body as if this were normal there.
One cop said to his buddy “How was his hole when you did the inspection?”
“Tight as a drum! He really is a new slave, I guess, as any owner would have done something about that by now!”
“An owner who lets a cute young slave like this roam about by himself, not properly disciplined so he attacks regular guys, doesn’t deserve the first bite of the cherry, if you ask me.”
“No one did ask you….” the cop was half laughing as he said this “But you’re right. I reckon we’d be doing a public service by helping the owner to see he needs to take better care of his property…. The slave’s already a bit battered, so it won’t show if he struggles….”
They turned off the corridor into an interview room. It was absolutely bare inside, except for a table and a couple of chairs.
“Over the table, boy…”
I knew what they intended, and decided to have one more go at showing them I wasn’t a slave. “You’ve got it all wrong! I’m not Reb. I’m Steven Masters, Reb’s owner. I’m not…”
“Fucking little liar now, too! It’s only a minute ago he told us his name and now he’s trying to pretend he’s some rich young guy – fat chance, dressed like that and with his pubes shorn like a slave.” Both cops were clearly thinking it was a huge joke, but the tome turned nasty as I was told to “Shut the fuck up – this is the last time we’ll tell you. Otherwise it’s the prod – the sergeant isn’t here to make sure the rules on not prodding those under interrogation are enforced! Now, get over the table…”
I resisted – but there were two of them, both bigger and stronger than me. They almost knocked the wind out of me as they threw my chest down on to the metal table top, then they quickly used their handcuffs to cuff my wrists to the table legs.
“Cuff his ankles too?”
“No – he’s secure like that. And I always reckon it’s more sport when their legs are free so they can thrash around a bit – it makes them think they can somehow avoid the inevitable. Now, who’s first?”
I lay there desperately tugging at my cuffs in the hope I might escape. I heard the cops deciding to toss a coin, and they laughed when ‘tails’ won making a crude joke about taking my tail. I started to shout and curse at them as I felt the uniform of one of the cops rubbing up against my legs, and his big hands running down the side of my body and grabbing at my butt cheeks so he could knead them and ‘enjoy his cute body’ as he told his companion. The other cop grabbed hold of my hair and pulled my face upwards. He glared down at me and shouted “You’ll have something to scream about soon enough, boy – but it isn’t going to do you any good. These interview rooms are all soundproof, as we need a bit of peace and quiet when we’re interrogating suspects.” He spat down at me then, and I could no nothing to avoid his spit going all over my face.
The sound of the cop’s belt buckle alerted me that my ordeal was about to get worse. He roughly slapped me a few times on my butt – I did cry out, but it made no difference. ‘Getting him nicely warmed up’, he told his buddy. I yelped with the shock and hurt when he kicked my ankles apart, then there was the hot feeling of his hairy knees and legs as he forced my legs apart.
Even now I can hardly bear to think about what happened next, much less write about it in detail. I know I screamed and shouted like a demented thing. I know the pain was more than I had ever experienced before. Somehow I compared my situation with what we’d done to Reb, but there was no real comparison – Jake and I had taken a lot of trouble to stretch and loosen Reb, but the cop’s dick pressed against my hole absolutely dry. I did try to resist, but if you’ve force fucked a guy you’ll know it’s useless – there’s no way you can keep your hole clamped closed when there’s a hard, determined dick battering at it. The more I thrashed around and screamed the more it seemed to inflame and excite the cop. And when it was over and his hot body had collapsed on top of me and was pinioning me to the table so I could hardly breathe, my only tiny shred of satisfaction was that he’d shot his load deep inside me, and hadn’t pulled out and gone back in with his dick after shooting – so he hadn’t had as much fun as he could have. It’s stupid I know to think about something like that, but it’s odd how the brain works.
It wasn’t over for me, though – the second cop had to have his turn. I suppose it was marginally better as I was stretched a bit and there was at least some cum to lubricate things – but it’s hard to make comparisons like that.
I was so ashamed when they finally undid the cuffs and let me stand up. There they were, adjusting their belt buckles and high-fiving each other. And there I was, tears streaming down my face, naked in front of my assailants, utterly and completely humiliated, knowing that I’d been used by them as if I was a mere nothing. And I could feel stuff starting to slide down the inside of my thighs, and knew it must be their cum and my ass juices.
They grabbed my arms and led me off do ‘the tank’ – just a big three-sided barred cage in the middle of a bare room. They undid the gate and pushed me in, and I heard it lock behind me. There were already seven guys in there, and it’s not as if there wasn’t plenty of space – there was. It’s that there was absolutely nothing else. So there we were, eight naked slaves, and all we could do was stand there, or sit on the bare floor.
I thought at least my troubles were now over until dad came to rescue me at some point, but three of the slaves – I guess they were outdoor labourers as they were tanned a dark nut brown all over and their skins looked coarse as if they were constantly exposed to the weather – started whispering to each other, then came towards me. They were playing with their dicks, and were all erect, and I could see now that they were in fact ‘spics judging from their features and dark wiry hair.
“So, whitey… Come on over here and let’s play… You look as if you’re nicely lubed….”
“No! Fuck off. Keep away from me!”
They advanced on me though and I tried to fight them off, but there’s no way I could beat three of them in the state I was in. They wrestled me to the floor, and one of them threw himself on top of me – his body all over mine, and his dick stabbing at my butt in a frenzy of activity. I tried shouting for the guards, but one came in, saw what was about to happen and simply went out again. I was bucking and throwing myself about as much as I could but the ‘spic on top of me had his hand around my throat and was starting to choke me, and I knew that at any moment I’d have to stop resisting and he’s start to fuck me.
Suddenly, though, he was pulled off! One of the other slaves, a huge nigga, had him by the arm and as I watched he threw him against the cage wall. The other two ‘spics advanced menacingly towards him, but the nigga shouted “The next guy who comes near enough gets his arm broken!”
The ‘spics stopped in their tracks, then muttered something to each other, and went over to try to help their buddy who looked to be in pain from where he’d hit the bars. “We’re all slaves in here, and we should all be looking out for each other”. the niggas’s voice boomed out. “Just because our owners treat us as if we are animals that doesn’t mean to say that we should act like them when we’re alone! This kid here has been abused by the cops – you can see that! So why the fuck are you thinking that you should do the same? It’s the cops who are animals, and us slaves should have some personal dignity….”
“We were only going to fuck him…” one of the spics muttered “It’s only a bit of fun”.
“Yes, it is fun, when one man gives himself freely to another. But this kid didn’t want the cops up his ass, and he doesn’t want your dick, either. Where’s the fun in that? Just because your owner treats you like shit, which is why you’re in here, it doesn’t mean that we can’t act right…”
The ‘spics sort of slunk off in to their corner, and the nigga looked at me “Are you OK, kid?”
“I’ll live.”
“What did they do you for?”
Oh, fuck me. I was going to have to lie again. I could hardly say I was a free man, with all these slaves around, could I? “A free man punched me in McD’s, and the next moment they’d called the cops, saying I’d attacked him!”
“Typical! So what’s happening?
“They’re calling my owner. The cops say I’m going to be gelded.”
“You poor kid! Your life hardly started and you’re never going to get to fuck properly….”
I was feeling very uneasy now as I didn’t want to have to carry on pretending – once dad got here there’d be no question of me being gelded: they don’t do that to free men! So I asked “…and you?”
The nigga sort of preened himself, stretching his muscles for me to admire. “I’m a pony – or was. A properly trained one. Always ran hard, only ever needed the carriage whip to keep me going at the end of a long journey, or to get up a really steep hill. Never any trouble – kept my stall clean, and when I fucked the stable boys it was always gentle: and my owner liked that as it kept my dick and balls looking good, and kept the hormones flowing so I have a great body, one he could be proud of. See – wouldn’t you like a pony like me, if you were a free man?”
He flexed all his muscles again, and I have to say he did have a fantastic body – the sort you expect in a top class pony: tall, lean, big chest so he’d have powerful lungs, long legs and very powerful thighs so he could keep pounding the highway, and a massive dick – one of the longest I’ve ever seen, something an owner would be proud of in his animal. I nodded, and said “Sure! Yes, of course. So what did you do?”
It did seem strange that a slave who was so proud of his performance would be in trouble – and I suppose that also made me think a bit: I’d always assumed you needed to control and manage slaves, use the cane and whip to keep them in line, and yet here was a guy who was proud of himself, and seemed to like the work, and showed every sign of being a model slave.
“I didn’t do anything!” He sounded angry now, as if I’d accused him of some crime. “But it’s the new city ordinance about slave nudity.”
“I’d heard about it….”
“So you know slaves – including ponies – can’t be naked in the central area, and that includes the station. They have to wear, as a minimum, a pony pouch. You know what that is?”
“I’ve seen them when I’ve been with my d….. my owner to the station. Those thin little triangles to keep your dick and balls covered?”
“Yes. Well, look at me” The nigga pointed to his long dick as he said this. “My owner decided I looked ridiculous in one of those tiny pouches – or, rather, the pouch had to be so big he thought it spoiled the ‘look’ of me. So he told me he was getting the problem fixed, and I as going to be stubbed by the veterinarian.”
Seeing me looking puzzled, the nigga said “Yes, stubbed You know – they simply cut your dick off. Or in my case, about half of it. So I’d be more ‘normal’, he said, and could wear a regular pouch.”
“Yes, I guess that would fix the problem. And….”
“Well it’s not right, is it? An owner shouldn’t have a slave mutilated like that…”
“You’d still have your balls, still have half a dick. And you could still serve your owner…”
“Are you serious?” He was glaring at me now. “Look, when they stub you they take the head end of your dick, don’t they? The bit with all the nerve endings in it – well, most of them, anyway. So how can a guy fuck after that? Yes, I’d still have my balls, still have all those hormones to keep my body in great shape for the bastard, but I couldn’t function properly as a man, could I? Sure I could get the stub into the stable lads, I guess, but it wouldn’t be any fun, would it?”
I shook my head. “I guess not.”
“So I tried to run away. It was wrong, I know. An stupid, as they soon located me with the tracker chip. So here I am – my owner’s away, but when he comes back he’ll talk to the cops about what’s to happen to me.”
“What do you reckon?”
“He’s not a cruel man, but he believes strongly in the rule of law and order: slaves at our place only get flogged if they break the rules, not for his amusement. I don’t think there’s much hope for me as the penalty for running away is death – they’ll have me nailed up on a cross soon enough.”
“You can’t be serious! A magnificent beast like you? You’re worth a small fortune – he’d be stupid…”
The nigga shook his head. “You haven’t been a slave long, I can tell. You’ve got to think that my owner has about a hundred of us at his place. So he needs all of us to understand ‘the rules’ and obey them. So if he doesn’t go through with having me executed, the others will think that he’s going soft as an owner.”
“I can see that, but surely….”
The nigga sort of shrugged. “Look, kid, let me give you some advice: however stupid the rules seem, or however capricious your owner is, just obey. Some stupid politician said ‘give me liberty or give me death’, but once you’ve been enslaved you’d better think long and hard about that – there never is going to be any liberty as slavery’s for life, and better to be a live slave than a dead one, if you ask me. So now I see I’ve been stupid – hot-headed, not thinking it through. I was so worried about my dick that I didn’t consider the consequences… It’s my own fault.”
I felt really sorry for the nigga, but couldn’t think of anything I could possibly say that could help. I was so weary, so utterly exhausted from being prodded, beaten and raped that all my strength and energy seemed to be seeping out of me, and I went to sink to the floor as lying on the cold concrete would be better than trying to stay upright. With one smooth movement of his body, the nigga lay down beside me, and muttered “Come on, kid – lie on me: you’ve suffered enough today.”
Look, I’m not prejudiced. But we’ve never had niggas around the place, as all our contract slaves are whiteys or ‘spics. You hear stories though, don’t you – they’re not like ‘us’; they smell funny; they don’t understand our culture; they’re not as civilised and are more violent… So I was a bit worried about going too close to this huge muscled nigga. But I was just too tired to resist, and tentatively put my body half over his. He pulled me further on with his strong arm, then curled it around me to hold me tight. I could feel his dick somewhere between my thighs, and his other hand now pulled my head down to lie on his chest – a chest that was so smooth, absolutely unlike anything I’d experienced before. He was comfortingly warm, and in the bare cell this was a real benefit, and a whole lot softer than the floor, too. If I closed my eyes I wouldn’t even have known it was a nigga under me – all that stuff about them smelling funny couldn’t be right. Sure, he had a good male smell, but what do you expect if a guy has been in a cell for a few days? And, to tell you the truth, it was a bit exciting.
I moved my hand as I shuffled around to get a bit more comfortable, and his left tit fell under my palm: it was hard, jutting up, and I pulled my hand away by reflex. “Hey, white boy… I thought you were going to start playing with me….” he muttered.
“No, I don’t do that… I’m not a fa…” I started to say, then remembered what he’d said about fucking the stable lads, and decided it wasn’t kind of politic to say that when he was so much bigger and more powerful than me, and might even want to use that dick of his a few more times before he was stubbed. “I’m too tired… A prodding, those cops….”
The nigga hugged me closer to him and I felt the comforting warmth of his hand on my lower back just above my ass crack. “Yes… Those bastards of owners and their lackeys….
We can at least act like civilised men…”
I drifted off to sleep, and when I woke I stretched my body – some of the pain seemed to be subsiding. The nigga was smooth and warm and kind of comforting under me, except that his huge dick was erect and between the top of my thighs – actually it felt quite good: the hurt from my asshole was somehow being ‘cosseted’ by the silky warmth of his dick. I don’t know how long I’d slept, and in the constant fluorescent lighting in the ‘cage’, there was no clue from the daylight or anything. The nigga moved himself under me to make us both a bit more comfortable, then said quietly “feeling better?”
“I guess so…”
“You’re cute, you know. I don’t usually go for whiteys – all the stable lads at our place are proper niggas. And I’ve always thought a whitey might smell funny, or not know ow to behave properly… But I might make an exception for you – do you want to fuck?”
It had never occurred to me that a nigga might find a whitey to be strange or different. But my ass was still very sore and my body was aching all over, so as politely as I could I said “That’s a great idea – some other time, perhaps… But I ache all over.”
“Aw, come on, boy… Just get those lips around my dick…. I’ll be gentle…. You can just suckle and stroke me, I won’t force it down your throat…”
I was in panic now. I’d assumed of course that I’d be fucking the nigga, or he’d be sucking
my dick. But no way could I suck his monster, and he was a slave, and a nigga….
I don’t know what would have happened if at that moment the door into the room hadn’t opened, and a cop came in, followed by dad! I scrambled to my feet in spite of my aching body, then confused and embarrassed, my hands flew down to cover my dick as I didn’t want dad to see me naked (well, not with an erection, anyway). But then I saw it wasn’t dad – the figure inside the elegant, expensive suit was Reb! And Jake was following him, in his S & D guard’s uniform.
Reb peered through the bars. “Yes, this is my slave”, he told the cops. “Now, release him at once to me. He’s a valuable asset, you know, and he appears to have suffered some damage…”
“It’s not as simple as that, sir. The slave attacked a free man. There are charges, there will need to be a trial, summary punishment.”
Reb looked at the guy. “Yes, of course. We all must respect the law. I myself am senior partner in a major law firm in the city. I will attend to the punishment of the slave, you can be sure of that.”
“There are procedures….”, the cop muttered.
“Indeed there are. I am interested in your complaints procedure – this valuable property of mine has been damaged, it appears. You showed me the video of his unseemly behaviour in McD’s, but there appears to be blood on the inside of his thighs – that must have occurred here.”
The cop waved at the cage. “Who’s to say what happens in there – you saw how he was on top of that nigga – and look at the size of the nigga’s dick – it’s no wonder the slave has blood on him – if that nigga fucked him….”
Reb called the nigga over, stuck his hand through the bars ,and rolled the nigga’s dick around in his hand. “I see no sign of blood here, and no trace or any evidence of recent sexual intercourse. It would appear that my slave was damaged before he was put in this holding cage. I think that in addition to lodging a formal complaint I will also need to requisition the recordings from the security cameras in this building…”
The cop looked worried now – no doubt he was wondering whether there had been a camera in the so-called interview room. “I’m sure there’s no need for that, sir – as you say, there are processes and procedures, but they can be long, and tedious. And police time is already very stretched.”
“Quite so.”
“I think the sergeant will agree to you administering punishment, sir, if you were to ask….”
Reb smiled at him. “So get my slave out of there, hand him into the custody of my guard – you will see that he’s a fully authorised slave handler – and take us to the sergeant.”
Now it was Jake’s hand gripping my arm as we marched through the station – although he held me as gently as he could, I suppose he needed to make it appear to be authentic. And even so his fingers still hurt, as my upper arms were heavily bruised. I’d wanted to ask for some clothes as I was let out of the cage, but Reb had marched off as if he was in charge, so there was no time, and once again I was unable to cover myself as we passed through the hallways thronged with men and women.
Reb was a marvel – he told the same story to the sergeant, and when the guy seemed to be almost on the point of agreeing, but was holding back, Reb said casually “It seems to me, sergeant, that with all the cutbacks from the city government you’d be grateful for a diminution of your work load, so releasing my slave and destroying the paperwork of this distressing incident would be the easiest option or you. And I’m very conscious that your men have had to deal with this turbulent boy – can I make a small donation to the police welfare fund for any disrespect they suffered?”
I saw the sergeants eyes glitter as Reb said this, and the next moment Reb took out of his inner pocket the envelope that Ray had given Jake the night before. “I think this donation might be appropriate. I do not require a receipt as I will not be reporting it as a tax deduction” Reb remarked, as casually as if he was totally used to bribing people.
That was it, really – I was free! Jake marched me out of the doors, and now I was naked on the sidewalk, which was hot against the soles of my feet. There was a taxi waiting – a big open trap with seats for four, and four ponies to pull it. I was on the point of collapse – the stress and tension of getting out had made all my injuries start up again. But I had a more urgent need I realised – I was desperate to piss! “Give me some clothes – I need to pee!”, I said to Reb. “I’ll just duck back into the station…”
Reb hit me! He smacked me hard, across the face. “You fucking slave!”, he screamed. “That will be four more lashes of the whip when we get home.”
As I staggered, rubbing my face, I saw there were a couple of cops lounging around outside the station, standing there watching.
“Pee in the gutter, like any slave would!”, he shouted at me.
“It’s OK – I’ll try and hold it..”
Another huge slap – and it really hurt – Reb’s a very big strong guy, as you know. He grabbed me by the ear and hauled me to the edge of the sidewalk, then snapped “Squat down and do your business! I’ve no time to waste on the journey.”
I was bright red with shame. How could I piss here, with all the passers-by watching me? But I did feel desperate, and in spite of myself a few drips of piss squeezed out. And you know how it is – once that’s happened, there’s no stopping, is there? I watched almost helplessly as what seemed like gallons of the stuff flooded out of me and ran along the gutters. My foot got wet from it as I’m so unused to that sort of thing, and when Reb saw this he slapped me again and told me I was a disgusting filthy pig! I did my best to hunch up and hide myself as I squeezed the last few drops out of my dick – I hate doing this even in public rest rooms, as the guy at the next stall always seems to be watching, but here right in the street it was truly dreadful.
With the cops still watching I wasn’t allowed to sit on the seats in the taxi, but had to crouch on the floor between the feet of Jake and Reb. But once we were out of the centre and heading for home I was allowed to get up – no, that’s wrong! I was still thinking like a slave – I got up and sat beside Jake.
“What the fuck are you doing, slapping your owner?” I demanded of Reb.
“Hey, Steve! Cool it!”, Jake told me , sounding as if he thought it was me who was in the wrong, not Reb. “You’d be really deep in the shit if it wasn’t for Reb! He was only doing that outside the police station as there were cops watching!”
“I suppose so.”
“And you should be grateful to him too as it’s only Reb’s quick thinking that got you out of there. The cops called your home, and your dad’s away, and you’re lucky he answered the phone…”
“He’s not supposed to use the phone and stuff like that…”
“You really are a stupid fucker, Steve! Just be grateful he did. And that he had the sense to realise that if the cops had a slave called Reb belonging to a Steven Masters, then you must be in some sort of trouble. He called your cell phone – and I was back home by then and picked up the call – what an idiot you are to go out without it! I’ve got a couple of buddies in the police who go to the same gym as me so I tapped them to find out what was going on as I thought you might have been kidnapped or something, leaving your stuff behind. And gradually I got the story. By then you had told them you were a slave, it appears – another fucking mistake, a big one! Have you any idea what the penalties are for ‘wasting police time’?”
“No, but..”
“Just listen for once, will you, Steve, and stop making excuses! I thought about calling your dad – I had your phone with the number in it – but Reb told me he’s really strict with you, and he might even be so mad, and want the whole thing hushed up to such an extent, that he’d go along with things as they were…”
“No he wouldn’t! Dad’s not like that…” But even as I said this, there was a tiny doubt in my mind – to dad his job and reputation were everything.
“So Reb and I decided to come in and rescue you. He’s pretty much your dad’s size, and in that silk shirt, designer tie, fancy suit…. He looks like a lawyer, doesn’t he?”
I nodded. I’d seen how the cops had treated me as a slave just because I almost looked like one, so why shouldn’t they treat Reb as a lawyer instead of a slave, if he looked like a lawyer?
“So I reckon you owe Reb a big ‘thank you’, rather than starting to abuse him.”
“Actually, Jake, he was only doing what a slave is supposed to do – protecting his owner, acting in his owner’s interests. And ‘Modern Slave Management’ says you should not thank slaves as they are performing their proper function.”
Jake looked astonished. “Steve, I’ve said this before. But you just don’t get it, do you? You think the whole world revolves around Steve… What do you think would have happened to Reb – and to me – if the cops had discovered our little ploy?”
“Reb would be no worse off. If I’d been enslaved for whatever, Reb would still be a slave – he’d be sold, as all my property is forfeit to the state on enslavement…”
“And me, Steve? I don’t fancy being a slave, even if you do! I’ve spent my life trying to avoid it!”
“I don’t want to be a slave! You’re talking out of your ass, Jake! That’s stupid!”
“Ever heard of a Freudian slip, Steve? Going out wearing a slave collar? Leaving your phone at my place? And I assume you were wearing some of my underwear that’s slave-like as I don’t waste money on stuff like that – I found your designer stuff on the floor…. “
“I didn’t think….”
“No, Steve. You don’t, do you! And you didn’t think about the mess you left around my place, either! Who do you think cleans the shower after you, picks up the towels, makes the bed…?”
He looked at me and grinned. “You know, Steve, I think I might just make you come around and strip naked, and clean my place thoroughly. I’d find your cute ass a pretty appealing sight as you were on your hands and knees scrubbing my floors.”
To be continued …
