Now, in retrospect, I see that this first fucking was the start of the relationship between Andy and Reb. Andy liked to use his cock, and after the vigorous fucking I’d given the new slave I would normally have expected Andy to go at Re’s arse with his usual vigour an enthusiasm. But Andy seemed strangely reluctant to follow my example, and took his time in entering the slave and then slid slowly and gently in and out of him, occasionally bending forward to lie his body along Reb’s back and whisper in his ear as he did so. And I’m not convinced he actually shot a load, either: you know how it sometimes takes a very long time to actually reach a climax when fucking (and, indeed, a lot of blokes fuck for a bit and then pull out and wank over their partners, don’t they?) – well, thinking about it, with the gentle way he was going at it I just don’t think Andy had time to actually fire. Still, after his “climax” he lay there on top of Reb, and was again whispering in his ear, trying to calm the enraged man who was still shouting through his gag.
I undid the belt holding Reb down then and Winston and Clyde pulled him to his feet. He stood there looking defiantly at me as I told him that any more noise and he’d be gagged permanently. Or was it actually a look of defiance, or more one of the kind of panic mixed with steely determination that a trapped animal shows? I looked at Winston and Clyde and ordered them to take Reb out and get to bed, adding “I think it’s best that you boys don’t fuck him tonight, though – he’s had enough from me and Andy, and those very thick cocks of yours are a problem at the best of times, leave him alone tonight, as none of you will really enjoy a good fuck when the slave is sore. You can play with him otherwise now, though – if you want to have him suck you, or of you want to amuse yourselves with his body… get his nips used to having real men enjoy them, that sort of thing.”
Both big slaves grinned as I said this, but Reb’s look of defiance, or panic, continued. They had to half drag him out of my room, and I heard the other slaves in the barn outside give that sort of half ironic cheer as he appeared, as they all knew what had happened to him, having been there themselves. Andy looked at me enquiringly, but I dismissed him, too, as once I’ve fucked nowadays I find that’s enough, and there was no way I wanted to do it again that night.
The next morning at breakfast Reb looked much the worse for wear, and he had a few more bruises on his body and what looked like a new black eye. Winston and Clyde sat there stolidly chomping down their breakfast, only stopping to get to their feet politely when I passed their table (and dragging Reb to his feet, too). They saw me looking at Reb, and Clyde muttered, a bit sheepishly, “He gave us a bit of trouble last night, sir…. Threatened to bite Winston’s cock off it went anywhere his mouth…. So we had to be a bit forceful with him…. But there’s no permanent damage….”
“Good! And tonight he should have recovered a bit from his introduction to real sex yesterday, so if you and Winston want to use him any way you choose, you can do so. But no damage to him, understand? If I find his anus is torn or bleeding, I’ll punish you both. Be a bit gentle.”
Both slaves nodded in agreement, rapping out a crisp “Yes, sir”, and I looked at Reb. “You’re going to get to enjoy sex, you know, and you’re only making it harder on yourself, and postponing the inevitable. Winston and Clyde are great blokes – I’ve had them both in my bed, and they can be really gentle and exciting lovers, in spite of their size. You ought to ask them what they thought about sex before they came here – even though they were brought up together, in the same house and even shared a bedroom for many years, they hadn’t tried it. And now, they can hardly get enough of it!”
Reb just scowled at me, but at least he wasn’t openly verbally defiant, which was just as well as in that “public” place I’d have had to order him to be punished, so I moved on, talking to and generally keeping tabs on the other slaves there as they ate.
I didn’t really know what happened that night, but the following morning Andy came to see me as I was showering and mentioned that there’d been a fair bit of noise – it seems that the two big brothers had decided not to fuck Reb themselves as they knew their cocks were so big that it might cause problems at this early stage, so had “invited” a couple of the younger, slimmer slaves to use him whilst they held him down. “Most of the blokes decided to watch”, Andy added, “As there was no football on TV last night, and I had to step in and stop it eventually as they all wanted to try a nearly-virgin arse out.”
“You can’t be nearly virgin Andy”, I added, smiling. He saw that I’d started to go erect at the thought of the two big men holding Reb immobile as other slaves fucked him, so he dropped to his knees, put his arm around my bum, and gently began to nuzzle and lick my cock. “Not time for that!”, I said smiling at him as I pushed him away. “You know, I think Reb will adapt eventually – can’t you remember how reluctant you were to enjoy sex when you came here first?”
That day I allowed them to undo one of Reb’s arms so that he ran the course only attached to Winston first thing in the morning, and then to do it again only attached to Clyde. Andy looked a little surprised when I ordered the process to be repeated in the afternoon as slaves generally only ran the course twice a day, and sometimes three times. But four times was almsot unprecedented, as it really was tough going and there was the ever present danger of injury as men’s bodies simply reached the point of total exhaustion. But I insisted, saying that it would help to “break” Reb, once he saw that there were limits to even his power, strength and resilience.
Two days later Andy reported that Reb seemed to have “given in” at night, and that Winston and Clyde had both been up his arse. Andy said he was worried about the slave, though, and so we went out and as breakfast was just finishing, we inspected Reb there and then. With the other slaves all looking eagerly on, Reb was commanded to drop his shorts and pull his T up to his neck, and Andy then guided my fingers all down the slave’s delightfully muscled back and down over his bum. He raised his eyebrows questioningly at me, and I nodded in agreement: even though the stitches and scabs had mostly healed by now, the tips of our fingers could detect hard “damage lines” just under the skin. To an amateur it was no problem as the appearance of the slave was unaffected, but Andy and I both knew that the moment a judge ran her hands over the man’s flesh, this underlying problem would be detected and he’d inevitably lose marks. We both knew there was no way Reb could ever be the champion that his otherwise superb physique and handsome face merited.
In a way I blame myself for what happened later that day – after running the course chained to only one slave, I really wanted to see how Reb would perform alone. And, indeed, his first two runs were exceptional – he actually broke the course record on the second one! I thought that this would give him pride in himself, and given that he was now taking cock regularly, he must be well on the way to accepting his status. It was even gratifying that he actually asked to be allowed to run the course a fourth time, towards the end of the afternoon, and I agreed.
It was one of those late Autumn days and the light was beginning to fade as he set out, and the cold airflow was already starting to make a mist rise over the course. My mobile went off and I took a long time discussing potential new purchases with one of my dealers, and when I looked around, Reb was no longer in sight. Most of the other slaves had gone indoors to shower and get changed because of the cold, so I called to Andy – who came at once, trotting around from the other side of the barn. It only took us a few moments to realise that Reb must have run away, from the far side of the course, and I at once got into my car and told Andy to get on the quad bike, and we drove around searching the nearby lanes for signs of him.
Reb had been in some special forces thing, and so although I searched for quite some time I knew I had little hope of finding him: with his training every ditch, thicket, and piece of scrub would provide cover, and from my car there was little chance of seeing him. It was with a huge reluctance that I therefore returned home, and with an even greater reluctance called the Slave Police to report an escaped slave.
It was rare, of course – most of the slaves in that part of Essex were “tamed” domestics, or worked on the land chained together in their coffles in the fields. The Slave Police took down details of Reb, though, and told me that they rarely mounted full-scale manhunts unless the slave had injured or raped, but that they expected he’d be found and returned to me “sooner or later” as it would be hard for him to live without money, and all but impossible to find work to acquire any. “It’s only if one of those ‘underground railway’ organisations manage to contact him, sir, that he has any chance. Even then, we do manage to intercept some of the slaves as they try to smuggle them out of the country.”, I was told. Interestingly, the Slave Police also went on to ask about the value of the slave, and when I told them how little I’d paid for him they laughed and told me to simply write it off as it was hardly worth bothering for such a cheap slave, and I had to explain that even the training we had so far given him had substantially increased this (although I decided not to tell them about the deep-level problems with his concealed scars, as I might want to make a claim on my insurers!).
They brought him back ten days later, long after I’d given up hope of seeing him again. The arrival of a Slave Police cruiser in the yard caused all the slaves to come out to see what was happening, some looking plainly scared because of the reputation for swift and savage summary justice that the SP were known to mete out – I began to wonder what secrets some of my slaves might be concealing from their past lives. But the two SP troopers seemed uninterested in my slaves as they climbed out of their black vehicle with its darkened windows, and stood there smoothing down their tight dark green britches and generally preening themselves as they put on their peaked caps and adjusted their dark sunglasses. I was watching from my office as they commanded one of the slaves to come and find me, and I went out to see what was going on.
The two troopers were fairly typical of the SP, or, at least, as they are portrayed on TV. They were big men, and their tight uniforms were designed to make it clear that they had fit bodies and knew how to use them. Their britches were so tight, I noticed, that the curve of their bums was nicely outlined, and it seemed to me that they probably wore no underwear, and there was the clear suggestion of a cock outlined at their front. They had the usual collection of slave prods, whips, canes, and handcuffs hanging from the leather belt at their waist, and at my approach one of them drawled arrogantly “Are you the owner of this place?”
“One of them, yes. My partner is in London….”
“We’ve got your slave back. But looking around here I’m not surprised he ran – all these slaves loose like this – why aren’t they chained up?” “Because they are all trained. This is the first escape we’ve ever had to report…”
“And it had better be the last! The SP has better things to do that go charging around the countryside looking for badly trained slaves…”
“What’s your number?”
“What?”
“You heard me, officer! What’s your number? I don’t like your tone – we pay a lot of taxes here as this is a successful business, and I don’t like your insolent tone to me as one free man to another. I think a call to your superiors might be in order.”
Both troopers began to bristle with suppressed rage as they clearly were not used to having their work questioned. Instead of giving me a direct response, he snapped “Get a close confinement cage, as the slave is unruly and will need restraining.”
I nodded to a couple of the slaves and they went into the store and came out with a small cage – we didn’t use them at all, really, but occasionally a slave arrived in one from a dealer and then we piled it up somewhere and never got around to throwing it away.
The officers released the boot of their cruiser and reached in and dragged Reb out. He stood there blinking in the light, as it was pitch black inside the boot, and he looked utterly pitiable: he was very thin, he seemed to be covered in bruises and abrasions, and there were livid red cane marks over most of his body – even the front of his thighs, where a caning is of course particularly painful.
“He gave us a lot of trouble when we arrested him”, one officer told me. “He was caught at Chelmsford Station, trying to get a train to London: they were doing a spot check with metal detectors that day, and his collar set it off.”
“Where had he been before then? It’s been ten days….”
“Fuck knows! He’d got some clothes from somewhere, and had a bit of money – well, enough for a ticket at least. But we grabbed him a week ago, and he’s been in our custody since then as we thought he needed a few lessons in slave behaviour.”
“I thought you returned slaves immediately….”
“Sir, we need to do training! It’s one thing for SP officers to learn how to discipline slaves theoretically, but we need a supply of meat to actually practice on: our men have to learn how hard a punch can be without breaking bones, how to attach thumbscrews and nipple clamps for maximum pain, and things like that. And some of the junior officers have never been give the opportunity to really thrash a slave with a punishment cane – there’s a difference between a real human body and the dead pigs we usually have to practice on…”
“So you’ve tortured and abused my slave….” I looked at Reb as I said this, seeing the terrible state of the bruises all over him, and noticing now the damage to his nips from the claws of a clamp. “…and he doesn’t seem to have been fed…”
“Quite so! It’s not our policy to feed slaves in SP care as it helps to weaken them.”
“I will be making a claim for damages….”
“…which will be denied. We are specifically allowed to use escaped slaves for training purposes. Now, let’s put the slave in that cage…. And may I add, sir, that if the slave escapes again within the next month, you will be liable for all the considerable cost involved in his re-capture.”
It took them only moments – and a few blows – to almsot fold Reb into the tiny cage, and then the arrogant bastards asked me to sign their paperwork, and drove off. I saw all the other slaves beginning to cluster around Reb and ask him how he was and stuff like that, and realised that he might be turning into some sort of martyr or hero. I had a problem now – I didn’t want to keep Reb in that tiny cage, but neither did I want to be seen to be “soft” on him. So I called out “Inside, all of you! You heard the SP say that I was responsible if Reb escaped again this month, and so until he has learned proper slave behaviour, he’s going to stay in this cage! And some of the rest of you who have been getting a bit uppity recently might like to take note that time spent in the control of the SP is not exactly a holiday….”
They turned and went in, perhaps a little reluctantly, and I stood there looking down at Reb as he attempted to shuffle his limbs to get as comfortable as possible in the confined space. “You’ve brought all this on yourself, you know”, I said quietly. “Once you were enslaved you should have accepted it and tried to make the best of it. And you fell on your feet when I bought you – you could have had a good life here…”
“..being showed off to the public, made to parade nude in the show ring….”
“So what? Are you ashamed of your body? Most men would give their eye teeth for a physique like yours, your handsome good looks, and that cock… Or, should I say, would have: you’re pretty much a wreck….”
“I’ll recover! Hard work on the course….”
“It’s gone too far for that, Reb. Do you remember what I told you the first time you tried to escape? That if you ever did it again, I’d have to have you ‘calmed’? Well, I’m afraid that’s what we’re going to have to do: all the slaves here heard me tell you that the first time, and if I back down now, discipline will be totally shot. So it’s the vet for you…. But I will be merciful: I’ll let you keep one of your balls, and I’ll pay to have the other one replaced by a prosthetic so when you’re with men who don’t know, they will at least think that you’re still a proper man. Of course you’ll know that’s not true, won’t you?”
He just looked sullenly at me. And I went on “Mot men would at least try to beg me to be allowed to remain whole….”
“I don’t fucking beg for anything.”
“So be it! I will at least let you choose whether it’s the right one, or the left one, that the vet will slice out. I’ll call for him to be here tomorrow, and it will be done in front of all the assembled slaves, without anaesthetic, when they’ve all run the course in late afternoon.. Until then, you can stay there.”
I turned and went indoors, and stood there for a long time then looking at his poor body all hunched up out there. I began to feel really awful about him as the rain began to fall, and Andy tapped on my door and came in to ask if Reb could be covered up.
“No, Andy. Leave him be. The others have to see that an escapee gets no mercy at all. He’s lucky that I’m going to allow him to keep one ball – most owners would have both removed…”
“Sir, please… You can’t castrate him…. Even half castrate him…..”
“What choice do I have, Andy? You tell me! If I let him go unpunished, the other slaves will begin to see that they can ignore our discipline, too.”
“Sir, please… It will destroy him! Reb’s a man, a real man, and he sees himself as a man. If you take his balls, even one of them, you might as well kill him as it will destroy him utterly. He may still be alive, but he won’t be the Reb we all know….. and like…..”
“”Ah, so you like him too, do you Andy?”
Andy looked sheepish. “Yes, sir… He’s so much like Joe… Strong, confident, a real man… I so miss Joe, and I thought that young Reb and me might hit it off….”
“I know what you mean, Andy. But that’s what’s difficult about being a slave owner. Sometimes you have to do things to keep the business running that you personally would prefer not to have to do. It’s the responsibility that power brings on you, Andy: people think it’s easy, think that because you have all these slaves at your beck and call, life must be a piece of cake. But actually it can be tough – harder even than being a slave, sometimes, as all a slave has to do is to obey, after all.”
I dismissed Andy then and he went away looking terribly disappointed. And later that evening, when Dan returned from his meeting in London, we sat and discussed it privately. “You’re right, of course, Steve”, he told me. “Discipline would go to hell. And it’s interesting, isn’t it, that Andy thinks Reb’s a bit like Joe? ” He leaned closer to me, to be more confidential (we never touched or anything like that around the house, as I’ve told you, as such little gestures will one day inevitably give you away – and anyway I’m not sure that if Dan did touch me sometimes that I’d be able to restrain myself and not grab him in my arms and hug him). “Reb reminds me of you, rather”, he went on. “That first time you ever came here and I made you strip and kneel on the kitchen table so Julie could trim your pubes: you looked defiant then, just as Reb does now. And yet you were so vulnerable, too, Steve…”
“I was never vulnerable! I was pissed off about having to strip naked in front of a woman….”
“…and you said you had fucked lots of them, so why were you worried?”
He laughed as he said this, as we both knew how I’d felt really. And he went on “But you had that mixed defiant – vulnerable look, Steve. I think it’s kind of attractive in a bloke…. Reb has it, and I reckon he’s like you were: really tough and strong, and feeling the need to project that all the time, even though you were shit scared about what was going to happen, just as Reb is now. Except, of course, that he’s totally fucked it up – you’ve got to take his balls, or one of them, and I agree with Andy: it will destroy him.”
I went away with this little revelation inside me – I’d never realised before that Dan had ever thought of me as anything other than tough and strong. But I was no closer to finding a solution to the problem of what to do about Reb, and, indeed, felt even more badly about it. I looked out of the window and Reb was there and I’m sure I could see him shivering as the temperature was right down now the rain had stopped. I though about going out and covering him with a blanket, or at least a bit of tarpaulin, but knew that doing anything like that would be seen as a sign of weakness by the slaves, and I couldn’t risk that.
Poor Reb had to shiver all night, therefore, and the following morning I told Andy to unlock the cage and let him out – adding that he was to be cuffed, though, and hobbled so that he could not run. I watched as the thin, bruised, beaten figure, now shivering with the cold, was led into the dining room. The whole place fell silent as they saw what had happened to Reb (there was even a lash mark on his cock, I noticed), and he sat there hunched over a bowl of the nourishing muesli we give them, spooning it down as if his life depended on it – well, after all those days without food, I suppose it did.
For the rest of the day I had him shackled outside the barn so that all the slaves coming and going to the course would see him. He made feeble attempts to jump around a bit, and to rub himself all over with his cuffed hands, to get some warmth into his body, and fortunately we had one of those weak winter suns that day, which helped him a bit. Watching him I knew it was wrong to half-castrate him and I knew I couldn’t go through with it, so I called the vet and cancelled his visit.
The decision I made was a painful one: I knew he was valueless as a show slave because of the underlying scars from his first whipping, and so there was nothing to lose by marking him further. A public branding would show the other slaves how serious I was about punishing Reb, and I reasoned that he could bear the immediate agony; and the shame of having a brand on his hide for the rest of his life would be something he’d hate, but which he might wear with some sort of perverted pride. Consequently at the end of the day’s exercises Andy marshalled all the slaves together into neat ranks, and I commanded Clyde and Winston to fetch one of the heavy refectory tables out from the dining room, and then to hold Reb down on his face on it.
Some owners, I know, do brand their slaves anyway as a mark of ownership, but these are generally quite small and relatively inconspicuous on the bum, or perhaps the top of the arm at the shoulder. We didn’t do this because defacing a slave’s hide like that was not allowed for show purposes, but nevertheless we did have a branding iron around the place – one that was probably intended for heavy field workers or some sort of other slave who was not going to be seen much, as it was in the form of a large “S” about five inches long!
I heated the iron in a portable gas flame as Reb and the other slaves watched, and then made a little speech, saying that although I had said that Reb would be castrated if he caused more trouble, I had decided to be merciful – but that Reb still needed punishing, and punishing in a way that would make it impossible for him ever to even try to escape again.
There was total silence as I commanded Winston and Clyde to hold Reb completely immobile, a silence that was broken by Reb’s agonised shrieks as I pressed the red hot iron into his left bum cheek, and held it there as the acrid smoke rose from his burning skin.
They all looked astounded as I then began to re-heat the iron, watched in appalled horror by Reb, and as I told Clyde and Winston to stretch out his right arm and hold it firmly. Reb sounded as if he was almost hoarse after he’d finished screaming as the brand seared into his upper arm, but I couldn’t finish there: this had to be an exceptional branding, one that all the salves could see was a punishment as well as merely marking him. I heated the iron one more, told the two big slaves to flip him onto his back and hold him really tight, and then seared another big “S” into his left pec, allowing the curl of the bottom of the S almost encircle his nip.
I’m sure they all thought it was over then, but I needed to do one more thing to Reb to really bring home to everyone that this was indeed a terrible punishment and not mere ownership marking. Winston and Clyde clearly thought they’d misheard me when I told them to hold his body totally still and clamp his head between Winston’s powerful thighs, and as the glowing red iron moved towards Reb’s face, he was screaming “No, please, no….”, before the agony of the hot iron searing into his cheek turned it into a totally incomprehensible scream.
I’d finished then – four big brands on a slave was unprecedented, especially one that would permanently disfigure his face – and I allowed Reb to stagger to his feet. He was totally humiliated as his bowels had let go at some point and there was a streak of shit staining the inside of his thighs, and a dribble of piss was still running from his cock.
“I have allowed Reb to retain his manhood”, I told the appalled slaves who were still standing there silent, stunned by what they’d seen. “But everyone who now sees him, whether he is naked or dressed, will know that he is a slave, and a slave who incurred his owner’s displeasure to the extent that is body was scarred in this way. Reb will never take part in a slave show now, of course, but when he has recovered he will work for Andy as a subsidiary trainer.”
I dismissed the slaves then, and told Andy to lock Reb into the cage again, as he was to spend the night there as further punishment. Andy looked pleadingly at me, but his training held and he did as I commanded. It was cold that night again though, and at a bout midnight I called Andy to my room and told him he could take a blanket to Reb – I watched then through my window as Andy pushed the blanket through the bars at Reb, who was clearly in agony still as he could barely manage to take it and cover his limbs. I need to remind you that I hate unnecessary cruelty to slaves, and that I had done this to Reb to avoid the lesser evil for him of destroying his personality totally by removing his testicles; and when you have acute burns on your skin, it’s not actually a bad idea to make them go cold, as it does help to take some of the pain away.
The following day, though, I did relent and after breakfast, once all the slaves were out on the course. I went and unlocked Reb’s cage and allowed him to get out. He stood there in front of me, hunched up, weak from lack of food, and trembling with the cold and the pain he was in. “You’ll thank me for this one day, Rebel”, I told him softly. “You are at least still an entire man – had I not punished you like this I would have had no choice but to take your manhood as that is what had been promised. But understand this – if you dare to disobey me ever again there will be no going back – you will become a eunuch and never again know the pleasure of feeling your sex in action.”
He stood there silently, head bent, and I went on quietly “Have you nothing to say, Reb?”
I could see him agonising over his choice of words. I was half expecting some expletive, but after a few moments he half mumbled “Thank you, master.”
I felt a surge of exhilaration going through me! I had tamed him finally – or, at least, he was accepting his status and I would not be forced to destroy him. Now I needed to make sure that he would be useful to me for the rest of his working days as I did not want some cowardly trembling thing who was not able to take charge of the slaves working out. So I went on “You heard me say that you will be working as a trainer, for Andy. Obey him as you would obey me. I need a strong, healthy, fit slave who is experienced in assault courses to ensure that the slaves do not slack, and you are a champion at it as we know. Work hard at this and you will not have a bad life – as Andy’s assistant you can choose the slaves that you want to fuck, and you need not take cock from any man except of course me on those occasions when I choose to take you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, master”.
Reb was shaking almsot uncontrollably now, and I felt again the pang of pity and desire I had when I had first seen his vulnerability lurking below his outward bravado. So I took him to our little infirmary and gently rubbed analgesic cream into the brands on his body – it was extremely painful at first for him, but as the soothing medicine worked its way to calm his tortured nerve endings, he began to relax. I ran the tip of my finger along the scar on his pec then as he watched, and moved on to do the same thing on his face. “You bear the marks of a slave now, Reb, and I hope it will remind you for ever of your status. There is no hiding them, whether you are clothed or not, and all men seeing you will know that you are merely owned property. No one will ever believe that you might be a free man, and you are no longer the handsome arrogant male figure that you were: your body and face are permanently disfigured by the mark of a slave, and all who see you will know that you must have been particularly disobedient to warrant such treatment.”
Reb continued to stand there quietly, and I went on “You will need to work hard to convince the slaves that you are to train that you are strong and confident, and I expect that, at least initially, you will need to fight some of them to prove that you are capable of commanding them. You are a trained fighter, so make sure you do not permanently injure or damage them. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, master.”
“Good. Now go and shower, as much as you can without causing yourself extreme pain. And then tell cook that I have said that you can have some food now. And for the remainder of the day you can rest, as I will expect to see you on the course tomorrow.” “Thank you, master.”
I’m not sure I was not convinced, and that perhaps Reb was laying on the “master” stuff a little thickly. But later that evening I saw Andy talking to him very earnestly, with a lot of gesticulating and so on that men do when they are serious. And later Andy cleared a slave out of the bed next to his so that Reb could sleep there that night.
Reb’s next run of the course the following day was not good, as you might expect, as he clearly was in pain still. But in many ways this showed his inner strength to the other slaves, and by the afternoon he was actually assisting some of the younger ones over the higher obstacles.
It took two weeks for Reb to fully recover and become the “champion” course user he had been, and he seemed to take a perverse pride in is brands: even though he was allowed to wear shorts and a T for the training, he deliberately adopted a new “uniform” of one of the tiny posing pouches that had once been the “show” uniform as I have explained, so that all could see the marks on his body as he herded the slaves on around to ensure their fitness.
On my way through the barn in the late evenings I also saw that Andy and Reb were now invariably sharing Andy’s bed. Reb never came to the shows with us as I decided he was to remain behind to take charge of training when Dan and Andy and me were away, and one day, in an idle moment when all our slaves had been groomed and showing was not yet ready to start, I commented to Andy that I was pleased with Reb’s progress.
“…and he seems to be your favourite, too, Andy…. He’s always in your bed.”
Andy seemed to blush a little, although why, I can’t imagine, as it was well known that he and Reb were lovers and it was, after all, perfectly natural.
“Yes, sir.” He mumbled.
“It must be a change for you, Andy – after all that time when Joe was fucking you, to have Reb there to use. I was watching him the other day and thought it was time I fucked him myself as he looked so desirable on the course. I don’t see why you should have all the fun….”
“Yes, sir…”, Andy mumbled again, and now he was blushing considerably.
I realised why and laughed out loud. “Oh Andy, he fucks you, doesn’t he? Our Reb still doesn’t like taking cock….”
“Sir, he makes love to me, sir, yes.”
“Makes love to you, Andy? What are you going on about?”
“He’s like Joe, sir. He doesn’t just fuck me, he makes love. Proper, tender love, where he kisses me and plays with me and we laugh and talk…. He does then fuck me, sir, but it’s the end of the session, not the whole reason for it.”
“And what about you, Andy?”
“Sir, please….”
“Tell me!”
“I love him too, sir. I want him, want to touch him, smell him, feel him, laugh with him….”
“And what about the other slaves?”
“Oh, we fuck them, sir…. I mean, we’re the trainers, and we need to do that, don’t we? Reb does three or four when I’m a way at a show, and I fuck the show slaves, sir….”
I began to laugh. But somewhere inside I was jealous, I think. I saw how these two slaves had adapted their lives because they loved each other, and they were now so close, almost constantly. And I couldn’t help comparing them to Dan and me, and the way we snatched odd fleeting moments of happiness in our lives which were otherwise lived apart.
To be continued …
