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ANDREJ : Chapter Two

John Dee Cooper's All-Male Slave Fantasy Blog

Chapter 2

"Processing" took place at the local junior school which was weird for me because I'd just left there at the end of last term to start at my new school. It was like stepping back in time only in a parallel universe. There were flags and banners everywhere daubed with the Reich Marshalls' insignia and instead of school kids yelling it was the bellow of men's voices and the thunder of army boots echoing down the corridors.

The classrooms had been turned into interrogation rooms, the desks being replaced with heavy wooden tables laden with documents and ledgers which uniformed Reich officers pored over as they grilled each of their subjects in turn.

Luka and I stood outside one of these rooms while our father had an almighty row with the officer inside. He was being quizzed about his antique weapon collection. The shop had been closed down and all the contents seized. He was trying to explain that they were simply artifacts and not some kind of arsenal.

"It's my business," he was arguing. "It's my livelihood. I have two sons to support."

"Are those your two sons outside?" demanded the officer.

"Why do you need...?"

But it was too late. A soldier had propelled Luka and me into the room. Father was not happy about us being there – especially the way the Reich officer kept scrutinising us. I think he could see that things were not going well for us and he would have preferred that we were a long way off – preferably in hiding somewhere.

The officer asked how old we were and who our friends were and if we were doing well at school and whether either of us had thought about coming to work for the new provisional government. But our father kept interrupting and telling us not to answer which annoyed me because I was thinking it would probably be better to be working for them than getting burnt alive on the steps of the Town Hall – and I could see that Luka was thinking the same, the way he kept scowling at Dad.

"Having a spot of bother, Josif?"

I looked round and there standing in the doorway was one of my father's colleagues from the Town Council. He was exchanging friendly glances with the Reich officer and I noticed he was wearing a red armband.

"I can see you need to get things sorted", he said indicating the papers spread out on the officer's desk, which included our passports and birth certificates. "Let me look after the boys for you. There's no need for them to be hanging around here. What do you say, Lieutenant?"

The officer thought for a moment then nodded grimly.

"Good. Come with me boys. You can catch up with your father as soon as he's finished here."

Without saying another word and totally ignoring my father's animated protests, he dragged me and my brother into the corridor where two armed soldiers accompanied us out of the building.

It was getting quite late and I was hungry and exhausted with all that had happened that day so I wasn't too pleased to discover that instead of being allowed to go home we were going to have to join a queue that stretched the length of the main school block and ended up by the passage that led to the school hall.

There were about twenty people in front of us including one or two of my school friends. They looked pretty nervous and mostly avoided eye contact as we passed them on the way to the back of the queue but it was kind of reassuring to see their familiar faces. Except there was nothing familiar about the armed soldiers marching up and down keeping everyone in line and stopping us from talking.

There were collaborators too, all wearing the same dark grey jacket with the red armband. Luka spotted one of his friends from college among them. He was avoiding us like hell, but Luka wasn't going to let him pass by without catching his attention. He wanted to know what this queue was for and how he could get his own red armband but his friend just looked scared and kept glancing to see if any of the armed soldiers were in earshot. He told Luka not to be an idiot and to keep quiet. I could see Luka was getting agitated which only made me more nervous. I was glad he was there to protect me and everything but I wished he would take it easy and not draw attention. Whatever this queue was for, I wanted it to be over and done with as quickly as possible so we could go home and have some supper.

It didn't help that standing right in front of me was Luka's arch nemesis, Marko. He was with his father, the man who ran he newsagents. I hated both of them. I used to do a paper round for them and the old man was always complaining about me. But Marko was a nasty piece of work. He knocked me off my bike once.

He was the same age as Luka and they used to hang around together until they had a massive falling out over a girl. That ended in a fight which I know Luka lost but he just wouldn't admit it.

So I was stuck between the two of them, Luka behind me thinking he was clever enough to get us out of whatever fix we were in and planning to join the collaborators, and Marko in front strutting about like a peacock as though he was going to repel the whole invasion with one blow of his fist.

We were moving along at a snail's pace. Every ten minutes or so the first five people at the head of the queue would be led down the passage to the school hall. Nobody was coming back out again and I was already getting a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Finally we were in the top five – me, Luka, Marko and his dad and a man I didn't know but who got separated from his ten-year old son. We wasted time while he argued with the soldiers, but they wouldn't listen to him. I felt sorry for the kid who was bawling his eyes out as his father disappeared down the passage with the rest of us.

I don't quite know what I expected to find as we turned the corner at the end of the passage, but it certainly wasn't my grey-haired old history master, who I hated with a vengeance, hovering by the back door of the school hall, flanked by two soldiers who had their guns aimed directly at us.

The schoolmaster was wearing the ubiquitous grey jacket and red armband and was clutching a clipboard.

Even though I loathed the man, I thought I knew him well enough to blab something about us waiting for our father to collect us but with a ferocity that scared the shit out of all of us, he snapped.

"Silence boy!"

Then, with a snarl – and I swear there was saliva dribbling out of his mouth – he said,

"Empty your pockets and take off your clothes."

To be continued...

Read this and my other Male Slave Fantasies at JOHN DEE COOPER’S ALL-MALE SLAVE STORIES or join me on https://groups.google.com/g/obedientservice

#Male Slave #slave fiction #slave fantasy

ANDREJ: Chapter one

JOHN DEE COOPER'S ALL-MALE SLAVE STORIES

Chapter 1

My name is Andrej Gergiev. I was born in a small town tucked away in the corner of an insignificant country on the edge of Europe that you have probably never heard of. It's so far east that it rubs shoulders with the Soviet Union. In fact as the Reich Marshall's threat of invasion grew from the west, our people looked to the Russians for protection. But it seems they had no interest in helping us. After a brief and bloody skirmish our country, and then finally our little town, fell to the Reich Marshalls' mighty and merciless machinery and we became forever chattels of the New Reich.

Up until the invasion, we had enjoyed a peaceful, comfortable and rewarding life in one of the most beautiful parts of the world. Surrounded by mountains and forests we felt secure and secluded from the troubles that surrounded us.

Our mother having died giving birth to me, my brother and I were raised by my father, Josif. He ran an antiques business which had been in our family for three generations. One of his specialities was historic weaponry and he'd built up a unique collection of antique spears from all parts of the world. Some of them were on display in our shop in the centre of town. He was a popular figure in the community and a member of the Town Council, as well as a hot favourite to become Mayor at the next election, even though he was still quite young – in his mid thirties. He'd trained as an athlete and was basketball coach for the local youth club, so physical fitness was a big thing with him. I wasn't really into sports, apart from the weekend Judo Club, but every Sunday morning I'd go for a cross-country run with him and my big brother, struggling to keep up with them as they strode ahead.

My brother Luka is three years older than me and very good looking with his soft brown eyes and unruly black hair. He'd been a member of the rowing club since he was sixteen and spent hours training every day. But he has brains as well as brawn, studying for his final exams while helping Dad with the family business at the weekends. Oh and yes, he was very popular with the girls – one in particular! But that's all in the past.

It was on my fourteenth birthday that our world changed forever. Suddenly our peaceful streets were full of tanks and jeeps and strange flags and heavily armoured soldiers wielding high powered automatic weapons. All roads out of the town were blocked and everyone was told to stay in their homes for forty-eight hours. On the third day the order came for all males over the age of ten to assemble in the Town Square and to bring their passports and identity papers with them. What happened to the womenfolk and children is something of a mystery. It seems they may have been taken to an encampment outside the town. In any case, we never saw or heard from any of them again.

The Square was the heart of our little town. Ancient and timeless. A vast open space where all the roads from the surrounding villages met. It was where we gathered and gossiped and where the regular monthly markets were held. Public announcements were made from the steps of the Town Hall, whose imposing frontage formed the Square's northern perimeter. The Square was where we celebrated feast days and holidays and on summer nights it was where we came to dance to the music of our local bands.

But that fateful day we discovered it was no longer our Square. The Town Hall had been draped with red and white banners, the Reich Marshall's "Hammer and Sword" insignia was everywhere, and tanks were stationed on every street corner, their guns pointing directly at the crowd. Our town only had a small male population and yet there was very little room to breath once we were all crammed together, trying to find a spot to see what was going on, climbing on to the sills of shop windows, clinging to statues, even clambering up onto the fountain. It was madness.

To begin with I suppose we were just fuelled with a mixture of curiosity and anger. But that quickly turned to panic when loudhailers began barking orders at us. I couldn't make it out at first with all the noise and confusion but we were being rounded up into blocks of fifty, ten rows of five men in each block. It happened so quickly and there was so much chaos that it was difficult for families and friends to stick together. Fathers lost their sons and brothers were torn apart. Luka and I were lucky. We clung to each other and father fought his way over to us so that we managed to all get in the same line. But there was a lot of yelling and shouting and kids screaming for their dads. It took about six rounds of gunfire to quieten everyone down and bring us to order. One or two men got beaten up and I think there was at least one who was shot dead.

By the time we had settled into our groups, and soldiers had gone round evening out the spaces between us and checking there were no more then five in a row, a high ranking officer in full Marshall uniform came and stood on the Town Hall steps and bellowed at us through a loudspeaker. He was speaking in the "Father Tongue" which we'd learnt in school but which most of the older townsfolk couldn't understand a word of – that was to change within weeks of the invasion when our own native tongue was outlawed.

Then another body appeared at the Marshall's side. Somebody we knew very well. The Mayor. The man my father was challenging in the coming election. He spoke to us in our own language and begged us to listen carefully and comply with everything the Marshalls said. He assured us it would be for our own good. He guaranteed our safety so long as we complied. Someone in the crowd shouted "traitor" and was immediately dragged away. It was then I noticed that the Mayor was wearing a red armband. We were to see a lot of those. It was what they gave the collaborators to wear so that we knew that we had to obey them.

There was a blast of military music from the loud speakers and from way behind us at the far end of the square, a group of prisoners were slowly led down between our ranks towards the Town Hall steps. These were the brave young men and women of the resistance who, with hopelessly inadequate weapons and hardly any training, had fought a desperate battle to save us from the invaders but had at the last been crushed and defeated by the brutal hammer of the Reich Marshall's military might. There were only about a dozen survivors. Some of them were carrying the naked bodies of their fallen comrades on their backs, while others hauled enormous trucks loaded with corpses.

We watched as, goaded by soldiers wielding heavy whips, they dragged the bodies of the fallen up the Town Hall steps to make a gigantic pile of human flesh at the top. Then they were stripped naked themselves, lashed to the columns of the Town Hall portico and beaten with rods and canes until their bones were broken, their flesh was peeling off their bodies and their blood was dripping down the stone steps. Their howls rang round the square and almost blotted out the military music which went on playing through it all. Finally the poor wretched prisoners were strung up by the ankles and left to die while the pile of corpses beneath them was set on fire.

Life was never the same for any of us after witnessing that. We had to stand and watch the hideous spectacle for hours while the music kept on playing and the soldiers kept on coming round cracking their whips, the stench of the burning bodies and the wailing of the dying prisoners sucking all the resistance out of us so that there were no more protests, only silence and a dark reflection on what our beautiful town had become – and what was to become of us.

The light had already begun to fade into evening when our block of fifty men and boys were marched off to be "processed".

To be continued...

JOHN DEE COOPER’S ALL-MALE SLAVE STORIES OBEDIENT SERVICE GOOGLE GROUP

#male slaves #slave fantasy

Chapter 13

It wasn’t too bad to begin with. They were just rubbing stuff into his skin, making it shiny and smooth and giving it a light healthy sheen.

All the same Sam didn’t find it easy standing astride with his arms spread out like some great marble statue, while the toad’s clammy little fingers rubbed ointment into his broad back and buttocks, and the little barefoot boy massaged his thighs, and Master Jack smoothed oil into his torso. It didn’t feel natural — especially as it stirred undesirable and dangerous urges in him. He blushed with shame when a rush of heat to his groin forced his cock to edge outwards and rub up against Master Jack’s leg.

Jack didn’t seem to mind. He was delighted with the result of the body rub. It rendered the slave’s flesh smooth and tactile and added extra bulk to his impressive array of muscles.

They fitted steel bands to his upper arms to emphasise the roundness of his biceps and tried a similar thing with his calf muscles — but that didn’t look half so good so they took them off. Instead they fitted permanent steel cuffs to his wrists and ankles. They were small, neat and heavy, with clips built into them so that they could quickly and easily be connected to rope or chains or whatever was to hand.

Jack was a little more hesitant when they came to discuss body attachments. He wanted to preserve the slave’s naturally rugged physique and didn’t want to spoil it with too many ornaments, but the rep showed him how a few carefully positioned and scarcely visible studs could be inserted into the slave’s flesh enabling rings, chains and other attachments to be added whenever desired.

“The most popular locations are the ears, nose, tongue, nipples and penis,” he explained “ and I have an interesting gagging device that allows the tongue to be pinned to the floor of the mouth. And of course we must discuss what we’re going to do with the genitalia — ball stretchers, maybe? Or even a chastity cage if that’s what you have in mind.”

Sam tried to pretend they were talking about someone else but the toad’s fat fingers were all over him prodding and squeezing.

“We need to get cracking, if you want the slave ready for this evening” he said, once Jack had made his selection from the catalogue. “We’ll use needles because they cause less damage to the surrounding flesh and healing is quicker, but we need to keep them red hot to avoid infection — we don’t use sanitary or numbing agents on slaves, so we need to hold him steady or it could turn messy.”

There were three eager volunteers on the sofa who were only too willing to grab hold of the slave while a small flame burner was lit and the needles heated up.

The earlobes came first. They were easy and though the needle stung as it burrowed its way through the soft flesh, it was quite bearable and Sam reckoned he could probably cope if it was all going to be at this level of discomfort, even though he wasn’t sure he really wanted his body messed about with in this way.

He even managed to contain himself when the needle was jabbed through his nasal cartilage, although it made his eyes water and he had to fight back a sneeze which he thought was going to split his nose wide open.

It was when they got to his tongue that the trouble started. The initial piercing was quick and easy enough — though it stung like hell and he had to hold his tongue out so far it choked. But the clever device for screwing his tongue to the inside of his mouth meant his jaw had to be forced open and held in position with a metal clamp. It was clear to everyone this was going to hurt — especially Sam who flew into a panic. The three volunteers tightened their grip, but Sam had had enough. He’d decided he didn’t want his body ripped apart like this, even if it was just to please his Master.

With one mighty heave of his powerful arms he flung the three startled volunteers across the room, grabbed the toad by the wrists and tried to wrench the instruments of torture out of his hand — and would have succeeded if the little barefoot boy, who’d been trained to deal with just such an event, hadn’t jabbed him in the small of the back with an electric slave prod.

Sam went rigid, dropped to his knees and toppled forward onto the rubber sheet.

It was a simple matter now to pull his wrists and ankles back and bind the shiny new cuffs together with rope.

Securely hogtied and still stunned from the shockwave, he was lifted onto his knees, his head pushed back and his mouth forced open. There was a sickening taste of metal and blood as the toad worked on him and although Sam couldn’t move he could feel the needle scraping about inside his mouth and fingers squeezing down on his tongue.

By the time it was over, Sam’s faculties had returned, but he still couldn’t move. Somebody had got an arm round his neck. His jaw ached and he couldn’t loosen his tongue. He wondered for a moment if his tongue hadn’t been cut out altogether but then it began to throb and he realised it was pinned to the bottom of his mouth. He panicked again and nearly choked when he tried to swallow. The clamp was still holding his jaw open and saliva was dribbling down his chin and onto his chest. No wonder he hardly noticed the toad drilling needles into his nipples and his cock and God knows where else.

Jack suggested they take a break while they discussed what to do next, so he and the Kerkermann rep retired to one of the sofas where they talked about things to do to Sam’s genitalia while the house boy served them tea. They’d pushed Sam over onto his side, facing away from them, still bound hand and foot. A mountain of heaving muscle, Jack thought, mute and obedient, a prize catch for him to mould and exploit for his own personal pleasure and fulfilment. He was enjoying this.

Sam on the other hand was fighting off the pain, his body torn and bruised, wild images of disfigurement and contortion infiltrating his imagination. It felt as if his whole body had been pierced through with needles and studs, all itching and tugging at his flesh — he wasn’t even sure how many or where they all were. They’d taken the jack out of his mouth, but his jaw ached and he couldn’t move his tongue. He moaned and took deep breaths. What were they turning him into? Some kind of monster? The reflection he’d seen in the shower room mirror — he’d looked so proud and magnificent then — it had been too good to be true.

The conference on the sofa over, it was time to get Sam back on to his feet, but when they untied him he simply lay there, curled up like a foetus, too ashamed and fearful to reveal himself. They had to kick him a few times to get him to move, and as he gradually rose, first onto his hands and knees then slowly one foot at a time, his strength and his courage returned.

Not daring to look down at his body convinced it was all bloody and covered in scars (which it clearly wasn’t judging by the calm look of approval on Master Jack’s face), he stretched to his full height, flexed a few muscles and taking a deep breath drew all the soreness and discomfort out from wherever he could sense it and relaxed wholesome and complete and feeling strangely aware of his own heightened physical presence — an awareness that manifested itself most visibly in the massive erection that was now the focus of everyone’s attention — an erection that was driven and sustained by the weight of a shiny steel ring jutting out of the tip of his bulging cock head. The sight of it alarmed him at first — how did he not feel them do that? But with a few more deep breaths he had that under his control as well — even though Master Jack was dragging his fingers lightly up and down the length of his shaft triggering spasms of such intensity that Sam was fearful his cock was going to explode.

“Now let’s get to work on those gonads,” said the toad, “while they’re still loose and pliable.”

Sam’s legs were kicked apart and he was bent forward, with his hands on his ankles and his arse in the air. The little bare foot boy crawled underneath and grabbed hold of his testicles, pulling them down while the toad clipped a heavy steel collar round the root of his scrotum. When the boy let go, Sam’s balls hung low and heavy under the weight of the steel collar and the little barefoot boy tested them by flicking them several times with his knuckles making them swing from side to side.

“And now while we have him in this position, we can fit this useful little gadget,” said the toad, proudly presenting an oddly shaped rubber plug with a series of tiny buttons worked into its base. “It’s our number one internal control device with adjustable dimensions so that it can fit comfortably inside any slave without fear of slipping out or being removed without the owner’s knowledge or consent. And it’s operated by this neat little owner’s remote device with switches for stimulation as well as for control. It’s state of the art!”

Jack was intrigued and told the rep to go ahead and fit it.

Still bending forwards, Sam was told to reach round with his hands and spread his cheeks. He could feel the toad’s fat fingers probing and poking.

“I can tell this arse has been put to good use,” he heard the toad say. “It should slide in quite easily.”

Sam braced himself. He’d grown accustomed to being fucked by cocks of all sizes while he was in the ruined cottage but this was something quite different. It was solid, heavy and lifeless. The toad had to give his buttocks a few hard slaps to get him to open up enough to let it in. It seemed to fill his whole gut and once it was in it just hung there aching to be pushed out again. Then suddenly he felt it shift and tighten inside him as the toad showed Master Jack how to use the remote control to adjust its size.

“You must remember to give the slave a good flush out before fitting it for any length of time,” warned the toad, referring Jack to the device’s manual, “and to keep him off solid food while it’s in there, otherwise,” he whispered, “ there could be unfortunate consequences when you pull it out.”

Sam was told to stand up straight and that’s when the full impact of the intrusive plug took effect, forcing him to grip his arse muscles and tighten his buttocks causing the solid rubber to press against his prostrate, making his cock jut out as stiff as a rod.

“Very impressive,” said Jack approvingly, inviting the lads on the sofa to come and have a feel of it.

“If you like,” said the toad with an obsequious grin, “we can prolong that magnificent erection with the help of this little angel.”

He held up a phial of green liquid and mischievously waved a hypodermic needle in the space around Sam’s cock.

“It’s extremely effective and can last up to four hours with the correct dosage. It’s been fully tested and is quite harmless.”

He read out from the leaflet before demonstrating how to make the injection, then handed the hypodermic needle to Jack, who was keen to give it a try.

Sam held his breath as Master Jack loaded the needle and plunged it deep into the fleshy root of his penis. For a moment there was nothing , then Sam felt a dull ache where the needle had bruised him and his stomach began to quiver and his groin to tingle and burn and his rock hard cock to dance about clutching wildly at the air as his balls bulged and shifted and bolts of lightening shot through his thighs making his whole body tremble and his cock head to twitch. He sucked in air, clenched his muscles and tried to control the force that was surging through his veins, setting his nerve ends on fire.

“Magnificent,” murmured Jack with a thrill of satisfaction as he stroked and petted the hard edgy hunk of slave muscle that stood nervously at attention in front of him.

The Kerkermann rep sorted out a few remaining items, including a lotion to rub into the slave’s ball sac to keep it smooth and hairless, lubricants for the butt plug and an assortment of ornaments, clips, chains and trinkets with which to adorn the slave’s body. He gave Jack a payment form to sign and handed over a receipt and that was it. He shook hands while the little barefoot boy rolled up the rubber mat and put it back in the suitcase, and the pair of them left the room..

“We’ve just got time to test this thing,” said Jack, picking up the remote control, “and then we really must get ready for dinner. The Brigadier won’t appreciate us being late.”

He and the three occupants of the sofa watched with interest as the slave’s body twisted and squirmed while Jack tried each of the controls in turn. He discovered how to induce a gentle vibration that instantly set the slave moaning and his already rampant cock twitching, a short sharp shock that made him straighten up, alert and ready for command and, best of all, a crippling blow at full power that had him on his knees clutching his arse and howling as best as he could with his tongue pinned to the bottom of his mouth.

The three fellows on the sofa were delighted with this and they all wanted to have a go, so they played around with it for about half an hour, until at last Jack said it really was time to get ready for dinner and led the newly adorned slave out by a lead he’d attached to a ring in his nose.

JOHN DEE COOPER’S ALL-MALE SLAVE STORIES OBEDIENT SERVICE GOOGLE GROUP

Chapter 12

Sam was certain that he was going to get punished for having been caught with Paul's boy. The Sergeant had left him locked up in a tiny cell somewhere deep in the basement of the house. It was dark, cold and deathly quiet. He knelt on the floor shivering and cursing. How could he have been so stupid? And he wasn't just thinking of himself. He had got the boy into trouble as well, when all he had wanted to do was to save and protect him.

After what seemed like hours, the door to the cell was unlocked by an orderly — a handsome young man with blond hair, dressed casually in blue sweat pants, a white tee shirt and trainers. Expecting to be on his way to a beating, Sam followed his escort nervously up some stairs and along a corridor until, to his surprise and confusion, he found himself in a brightly lit, clean and airy shower room. There were mirrors everywhere and he was suddenly faced with his own reflection, something that he hadn't experienced in a very long time.

Once he'd got over the initial shock he was relieved to see that his body was still intact and that weeks of smashing bricks and being beaten and abused had if anything toughened him up. He was in good shape. His hair had grown and was, not surprisingly, a knotted mass of black curls, and the Sergeant's daily grooming routine had kept his body smooth and hairless with just a light shadow of stubble on his chin. What he saw didn't disappoint him.

He was told to step into the shower and clean up. He dithered for a moment not sure how to operate the taps — this was all so new to him. The young orderly had to show him how to do it. In fact he had to show him how to do a lot of things, including how to squeeze the liquid soap out of the dispenser and how to shampoo his hair. And the water was hot! Sam actually jumped out of the shower in surprise and the orderly had to hold him under until he got used to it.

While he was drying himself afterwards — again something he'd never been allowed to do before — and with a clean soft towel! — Sam began to wonder if his dream wasn't coming true after all and that perhaps he was being made ready to become a proper domestic servant with a uniform and everything. He began to imagine what he would look like dressed in blue sweat pants and a white tee shirt like the orderly.

Once he was thoroughly dry and his nails had been trimmed and his hair brushed and combed, the orderly gave him some scented ointment to rub into his body.

When he checked in the mirror one last time he was stunned at the transformation. He still had the powerful frame of a quarry slave but somehow he looked taller, prouder, his muscles more clearly defined, his skin smoother, almost translucent. It took his breath away and for a moment he wondered if it was really his own reflection and not some weird fantasy. He had to touch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

Sam followed the orderly out of the shower room half expecting the next stop to be the place where they stored the clothes and uniforms, but they kept walking up flights of stairs and along corridors until Sam realised they must be well inside the main part of the house by now. Bare floorboards gave way to carpet, which Sam found strange and uncomfortable to walk on, and the corridors got wider with fancy wallpaper and small items of furniture.

The further they went the more nervous Sam became. He was not used to being "indoors" especially in a house this size and of such grandeur (for so it seemed to him). It was full of unidentifiable sounds and smells and there were voices coming and going in the background. Every now and again he'd be startled by the sudden appearance of an orderly, dressed in the same blue sweat pants, white tee shirt and trainers, who would glance at him as he passed by — because Sam was still totally naked.

At last they came to a door that was half open and Sam could see Master Jack sitting in an armchair waiting. His heart sank. He was going to be punished after all, he was sure of it. The orderly led him in and left the two alone.

Sam kept his eyes fixed on the patch of carpet in front of him not daring to look up. He began to shiver. Even though it was warm inside the house, the air was close and suffocating. It was difficult to breath. He was drowning. He tightened his muscles and tried not to phase out.

"Turn around. Let me look at you."

As he turned, Sam saw that he was in a large room with two sprawling red leather sofas and a scattering of matching armchairs. The curtains were drawn back to let in the last of the fading afternoon light and there was a lingering smell of coffee and tobacco that made Sam feel faintly sick.

At first he thought he was alone with his Master, but then he noticed a young boy standing quietly in a corner dressed in a tunic that exactly matched the colour of the furniture. This was Sam's first glimpse of a house slave and he wondered how a boy so young — he could only have been thirteen or fourteen — was able to stand so still and focussed without drawing attention to himself.

While Sam was thinking that this was most likely the way of life that lay ahead for him, and was imagining himself dressed like the house boy in a simple tunic rather than the orderlies' sweat pants and trainers, there was a commotion behind him. He recognised the voices of three of the men who had tormented him on that first harrowing day and who'd since been frequent visitors to the ruined cottage. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. They'd only ever brought him pain and misery. They'd either come to watch him get punished or to bully and humiliate him some more.

As it happens, they were in sombre mood. They planted themselves on a sofa and got the house boy to serve them drinks. All three were dressed formally in regimental uniform and hardly took any notice of the naked slave standing nervously to attention in the middle of the room. Sam tried not to show any reaction as he listened to them talk to Master Jack about the Brigadier. Apparently he was "on the warpath" and the pair he was after had only "brought it on themselves" and the Brigadier was just waiting for the right moment to make an example of "them both."

Sam thought they must be talking about him and Paul's boy and, knowing how cold and brutal the Brigadier could be when he was just amusing himself, the idea of him being on the "warpath" made him very uneasy. So it came as something of a relief when he heard Master Jack say, "Let's forget about those two idiots for a moment and concentrate on getting this slave dressed. I have a sales rep from Kerkermann coming. He'll have lots of ideas and suggestions. It'll take our minds off things till dinner."

So not only did it seem that, for the moment at least, the Brigadier's wrath was being directed elsewhere, it looked as if Sam was on the verge of becoming a fully fledged domestic slave after all. He tried to control a flutter of excitement as he wondered what kind of uniform he would be given — even he had heard of Kerkermann's élite reputation, so maybe Master Jack had something special in mind for him. Despite his Master's occasional cruelty, Sam was still determined to serve him loyally and to the best of his ability.

Relaxing a little now that he knew he was the centre of attention again, Sam held himself proudly, broadening his chest and flexing his muscles a little to show himself off to advantage, while Jack came over and inspected him more closely. All that was left of that morning's activities were a few feint whip marks, a slight redness around the nipples and a couple of small bruises along the edge of his stomach. All trace of the electrodes and the hot wax had been smoothed away. Jack was pleased. It meant he could take it a lot further next time.

Relaxing into the spirit of things, the three fellows on the sofa offered their own suggestions what to do with the slave, some of which were frankly obscene, others merely impractical and they were about to get up and give some hands-on advice when the young orderly reappeared accompanied by the Kerkermann sales rep.

He was a toadish sweaty little man with a bushy moustache and an obsequious grin. Trailing behind him was a bare-footed boy, who couldn't have been more than thirteen. He was dressed in a bright red slave tunic emblazoned with the Kerkermann logo and was staggering under the burden of a giant suitcase, almost as big as he was, which he carried in a harness strapped to his back.

Sam's expectations were dampened a little when the barefoot boy set down the suitcase and took out a large rubber sheet which he spread out for Sam to stand on.

"We don't want to stain your beautiful carpet," the rep explained with a grin while he shook hands with Jack and greeted the three young gentlemen on the sofa with a nod.

"Now, have you had a chance to look through our catalogue?" he continued, taking a sideways glance at Sam. "I suggest we begin with a physical assessment and make some clear decisions about what we are aiming for, taking into account the object's intended function. I have to say, it already presents itself pretty well. Quite a specimen."

Sam's stomach began to quiver nervously as the sales rep leered at him with his big toad eyes.

Jack mentioned Sam's origins as a quarry slave and said that he wanted to retain a sense of the "tamed brute" about him.

"Set off those big muscles with some heavy steel cuffs, maybe?" suggested the toad, "Or keep it permanently locked in chains. We can work through some options. It's remarkably well hung too," he added, fingering Sam's balls with his greasy fingers. "You'll definitely want to make a feature of that."

It soon became clear to Sam that they weren't measuring him up for a uniform at all. There was to be no uniform. Not even a tunic. It was just him - naked him - that was all the uniform he was ever going to get.

With his sweaty probing fingers the toad examined every limb and muscle in turn, measuring and taking notes, while the barefoot boy busied himself with chains and rings and locks and all kinds of intimidating paraphernalia he'd drawn from the depths of the suitcase. After a lengthy discussion, involving Jack and the three fellows on the sofa, and the perusal of numerous leaflets and manuals, work on Sam's "dressing" began.

And a long, painful process it turned out to be.

[To be continued...]

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Chapter 11

Sam drifted through a dark shadow of gloom and misery as Paul's boy went about his business, gently lowering him onto the floor, unbuckling the straps from his wrists and ankles, brushing away the remaining shards of hardened wax from his chest and stomach and wiping his bruised and cum spluttered body clean with a wet cloth.

Sam wanted to speak to the boy but his courage failed him. He felt ruined and ugly. He'd exposed his weakness and revealed his animal shame in front of the boy and he wished that he had never been born.

But the boy hadn't seen it that way at all. He had been silently watching Sam in his torment and felt nothing but admiration and pity for him... more than pity... almost an urge to come to his rescue, if that could possibly be imagined. He'd met some pretty tough types in the four years he'd been a slave, but none whose strength and poise seemed so natural as this gentle giant. Even as he lay spent and exhausted, Sam's limp body exuded an energy that the boy found irresistible. So much so that his hands were trembling as he smoothed away some rubble and made a space for Sam to sit with his back against the wall.

For a long time the two slaves sat next to one another savouring the stillness, before Sam hoarsely whispered his thanks and asked the boy what his name was.

The truth is the boy didn't have a name, not officially anyway. Paul had owned him for almost a year but had never called him anything other than "boy." It didn't seem to cause any confusion, and Paul found it comforting to hear people refer to his slave as "Paul's boy." It signified that the boy belonged to him and to no one else. The boy had got used to it and anyway it was better to forget that his real name was Andy. That name belonged to another time and another world and only served to remind him how different his life might have been if he hadn't got caught stealing food when he was fourteen, and hadn't been put before that particularly sadistic magistrate, and hadn't been sold to a slave merchant just to make that greedy man a little bit richer.

So the only answer he could give Sam was "Master Paul's boy."

Sam didn't have the energy to press him further so simply smiled and told him that the other slaves at the quarry had called him Sam and he would be happy if "Master Paul's boy" did the same.

For an idyllic hour or so the two chatted about their very different lives, in the low nervous way that slaves chat to one another even when they're alone. Andy told Sam about his many adventures since becoming a slave, how hard it still was adjusting and how much he owed Master Paul for saving him from the hell of Falconscroft.

"What they're doing to you here?" he said, "You've no idea what they did to us boys at that place. I was lucky to get out alive." Then Sam described the quarry and how much he missed it, which Andy couldn't believe until Sam reminded him how pointless and useless his life was in this place.

"Don't be so sure," said Andy. "They talk about you a lot. I think Master Jack has plans for you and you're not going to be in this pile of broken bricks for much longer." Sam was doubtful. He'd faced too many disappointments already. All that nonsense about wanting to be a dutiful slave serving a loving Master — that dream had been shattered. Here he was naked and broken, whining to a young boy who had got more to complain about than just a few bruises and burns.

Sam reached out and gripped the boy's knee, drawing him closer. For once he was with someone who didn't want to hurt him and he felt an overwhelming need to hold the boy and keep him safe.

Andy nervously slipped out of his tunic and allowed Sam's muscular arms to guide him until the two of them were locked together with their legs intertwined and the young slave's head spread sideways on Sam's broad chest listening to the thump thump of his heart. For a while they just lay there in the silence and the stillness, then with a shift of his hips Sam allowed his thick cock to creep in between Andy's thighs and, rolling over, the boy felt the towering weight of the quarry slave hovering over him, touching and teasing, until there was nothing left to do but to lose themselves in the heat of one another's bodies.

Scared of crushing the boy with his hammer wielding muscles, Sam hesitated a little before dropping down onto the boy's stomach where their two cocks rubbed together and kissed.

Sam's cock was so rigid at this point that it felt like it would rip through the boy's stomach like a power drill if he didn't bring it under control. But Andy was on the move, shifting downwards till his lips were closing around the tip of Sam's jutting cock. How long they rolled and wrestled and devoured each other they couldn't tell, so intense was the desire for it never to end, but just at the point when Sam could hold back no longer and was ready to empty all his longing and frustration down the back of the boy's throat, a hand grabbed him by the hair and threw him across the floor.

"Wait till the boss hears about this," grinned the Sargent, who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. "You're both heading for a serious beating. You, boy, need to collect your Master's things and get them back to the Baron's car. And as for you my beauty, you're coming along with me to the house."

In a mad scramble Andy slipped back into his tunic and finished packing the bag and the black box while the Sargent tied Sam's thumbs behind his back, clipped a collar on him and led him out of the ruined cottage, Sam's hungry cock still dripping with pre-cum and bouncing furiously as he hurried to keep up.

JOHN DEE COOPER’S ALL-MALE SLAVE STORIES OBEDIENT SERVICE GOOGLE GROUP

Chapter 10

Sam kept on running. It was all he could do. The horse’s hooves were thundering behind him. He knew that he only had to get through to the other side of the lake and he would be free. But the ground was giving way. He couldn’t get a grip with his bare feet. He was slowly sinking into the mud.

Someone was calling his name. It was a new name. He’d never heard it before — but he knew it was his. And there was a light in the doorway of a house. A young slave, dressed in white was holding out his hand. But the distance between them was too great and Sam was sinking lower and lower into the mud. There was nothing he could do to save himself.

He opened his eyes and realised that he was falling. He cried out. The cold stone floor was rushing towards him. He tried to protect himself but he couldn’t move his wrists or his ankles. Then with a jolt he remembered. The stone floor stopped moving and the agonising pain in his arms came rushing back.

“Hold still and drink this.”

It was the boy in white. Paul’s boy. He spoke softly but his voice was firm and caring and edged with the kind of melancholy that belonged to a lonely eighteen year old slave. He was standing in front of Sam holding a wet cloth. He’d been using it to wipe Sam’s body down, cleaning up some of the mess left by the electrodes and the whip. As soon as Sam’s eyes opened he pressed the soaking cloth to his lips.

“Drink it. Before they come back.”

As Sam moistened his lips (there was hardly enough water left in the cloth to drink) the awareness sank in that nothing had changed. He was still hanging by his wrists and ankles face down over the stone floor of the old cottage. His muscles were still sore and his back still ached — but at least those fearful metal electrodes had gone.

How long had he been unconscious? He wanted to ask the boy but his throat was too dry and he couldn’t even manage a hoarse whisper. In any case the boy was already edging away with his head bowed as the two young Masters made their way back after their short break.

They’d finished playing with the electricity once Sam had fallen unconscious. There wasn’t much pleasure to be had in watching a limp slave bouncing around without any reaction, so they’d taken the opportunity to get some fresh air while Paul’s boy cleared things away and cleaned Sam up.

While they walked, Paul told Jack more about his work with the Baron and how much he owed his benefactor.

“Until I met him, I had never really appreciated the true value of owning a slave. It’s easy to take them for granted. Mostly they’re just nameless drudges doing the work that needs to be done, disposable, exploitable and, fortunately these days, in plentiful supply. But for the private owner they can become a rich source of enjoyment and a lasting pleasure. It takes discipline and hard work on the part of the owner to bring out the full potential of a slave, to transform him into a possession that’s unique and precious, but it can be deeply rewarding — on a financial as well as a personal level. You should always keep your eye on the market and be ready to trade your slave for something newer and maybe more challenging. That’s how the Baron’s stable has grown over the years into one of the most admired slave collections in the whole of the Reich.”

“So what’s next?” asked Jack, running his hands enthusiastically over the body of his freshly woken slave, taking a moment to enjoy its naked vulnerability. “We still have an hour or so before lunch.”

The sudden touch of his Owner’s fingers triggered a shock of anguish in Sam and he began to sob uncontrollably, tugging at the chains that held his wrists and ankles and spluttering out an incoherent plea begging to be let down because he couldn’t take any more and he was sorry for being such a feeble and disappointing slave — but his tongue got caught in his mouth and he couldn’t get the words out.

Jack looked down at him and smiled. He was beginning to understand now everything that Paul had been saying and with a growing sense of confidence in himself he quietly stroked the slave’s neck and playfully ruffled his hair to calm him.

“I thought we could try some hot wax,” suggested Paul. “It’s not quite as dramatic as pumping the slave with electricity but you can get some surprising and colourful effects.”

The black leather bag Paul’s boy had brought in from the Baron’s car was fetched. It contained a quantity of large brightly coloured beeswax candles with heavy wicks that were designed to keep a healthy flame burning for long periods. Paul lit four of them and lined them up on some bricks directly underneath Sam, causing the boy to squeal and jerk his body as the flames brushed against his stomach.

For a while they played with the position of the candles, adding more and raising the height of the bricks so that the slave had to go into even greater contortions to stop his stomach getting scorched and his balls getting roasted. Jack relished the display of muscle as the restless body rolled and twisted — like a hunk of live meat on a spit, he thought — and when he put his hands on the slave’s rib cage he could feel the frantic heart beat and the panic coursing through the boy’s veins. With the help of his new friend, Jack was discovering ever fresh joys in the ownership of this fine, muscular young slave.

For Sam, this was worse than the electric shock treatment. At least then he’d been paralysed by the current and there had been nothing he could have done to fight against it. Now he was constantly having to twist and heave his body into contortions to avoid getting burned and it was putting an intolerable strain on his arms and stomach and leaving him breathless.

There was a moment’s relief when they took the candles away, and he was able to relax his stomach and ease himself down a little — but it was only a tiny moment because that’s when the first drops of wax landed on the back of his neck. Hot caressing blisters of heat clawing down between his shoulder blades and creeping along the length of his spine. It came in slow isolated drips at first, like pin pricks, and though not as painful or powerful or terrifying as the electric shocks, it set his nerves on edge, crawling and spreading in patterns of growing intensity, gathering in hot pools and solidifying in thick layers across his back and trickling down between his thighs.

“Help twist him over,” said Paul, “so we can play on his chest and stomach.”

This shift in his body position came as a momentary relief to Sam. Facing upwards, there was less strain on his back and he was at least able to watch the hot wax as it dribbled across his torso, making his flesh curl and quiver and, in spite of his hopeless misery, teasing his senses and stoking his blood till his cock ached and he wanted to scream and punch the air with it’s thick hammer-head — which his Master saw and began to play with, trailing the hot wax along the broad shaft and over the spreading balls.

He loved watching the lusty young slave’s involuntary arousal and the way in which the powerfully restrained body was being systematically encased in a richly colourful lava of cooling wax, like the skin of some rare and exotic animal, and he thought about all the other new and exciting games he was going to be able to play with this boy in the weeks and months to come.

Over and over they rolled him until there was hardly an inch of bare flesh left untouched.

“And now for the bit I love,” said Paul as he produced a small steel hand roller studded with spikes. “Use this to break up the wax and watch him squirm as you roll it over his sensitive spots. It won’t do any damage, but it’ll probably hurt like hell.”

Here was yet another new game. Jack took it slowly, beginning with the slave positioned face upwards so that he could enjoy the reaction as the spikes dug into the chest and stomach, cracking through the hardened wax and leaving a neat pattern of shallow pit marks in the exposed flesh as it moved along. Then he flipped the slave over and attacked the stiff contours of the back and the more satisfying pliable region of the buttocks.

Sam was sobbing through all this. He was dazed and confused by so many conflicting assaults on his senses — aching limbs, sore muscles, scorched skin all giving way to uncontrollable waves of sensuality and deep arousal. As the tight covering of wax broke away from his skin and the steel spikes dug into him, he writhed and twisted in a futile effort to break free of it all. His sobs became spasms rippling down into his belly, feeding his already hungry cock until it was twitching and bursting to come.

Jack grabbed at the chance to see his slave come while he was still bound hand and foot and swinging in mid air. Pulling him round face upwards once more, he teased the angry cock until, with a mighty yell and a force that nearly knocked Jack’s hand away, Sam threw himself into the wildest and heaviest orgasm he’d ever known. It came in so many waves that Jack had difficulty maintaining his grip and by the end of it was having to clean himself up with a towel that Paul’s boy had been carrying ready for that purpose.

He spent a moment or two gazing at the exhausted slave who was gasping for breath and struggling to find some comfort in his twisted bonds, then put his arm around Paul’s shoulder and said cheerfully, “Right then, let’s go and have some lunch.”

And so they returned to the house to discuss the morning’s events over beer and sandwiches while Paul’s boy was left to clear up the mess and tend to the drained and exhausted body of Sam.

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Chapter 9

“The first thing you need to do is attach these electrodes to his balls and nipples,” said Paul as the two of them examined the various metal clamps that Paul’s boy had laid across Sam’s back as he hung stretched out horizontally face down, four feet off the ground. “But make sure they’re clipped on tight, otherwise they’ll come loose when he starts thrashing about.”

Jack was a little nervous of the neat wooden box that Paul’s boy had brought in from the Baron’s car with all its wires and switches and dials. It looked a tad too sophisticated for his liking and he didn’t want any permanent damage to be done to his slave — not just yet anyway.

“Which of these should I use?” he asked.

“Here.”

Jack took the pair of small red grips that Paul had given him and felt around for the slave’s nipples — but the way he was hanging they were difficult to reach and the flesh was drawn so tight around them that he couldn’t get a proper grip, so he gave the slave a slap on the backside and told him to pull himself upright.

It took all Sam’s concentration, what with the racking pain in his arms and the weight heaving at his legs and the effort of trying to breath properly. The leather straps were eating into his wrists and his neck was stiff from trying to hold his head up. Now they were attaching wires to him and he couldn’t bear thinking about what they were going to do with the black box. He wanted to cry out but he knew in the pit of his stomach it would be useless. He took a deep breath, grabbed the chains and, pumping all his pent up anger into his thick muscular arms, hoisted himself up until, with his fists clenched tight against his shoulders and his whole upper body trembling, he was able to hold his chest and stomach in a more or less upright position long enough for his Master to do whatever he had to do.

Jack certainly had more access now but the slave’s muscles were so tight with the effort of holding himself up straight that it was hard to get a purchase on the flesh around the nipples. He tried punching to loosen it up a little but he really wasn’t making a very good job of it.

“Let me show you,” said Paul and with a practised hand squeezed a nipple between his thumb and forefinger pulling it far enough forward to snap the electrode neatly around it.

“Now tighten it with the little screw.”

Jack did so and then, following Paul’s example with the other nipple, found it wasn’t that difficult once you’d got the hang of it. Sam had never known such agony. The clips dug in so tight, tugging at his nipples, they sent spasms of pain ripping through his stomach. He had to find a whole new way of breathing just to work around the pain. It brought tears to his eyes. He swallowed hard to contain the swell that was building up in his throat. Please, he wanted to scream, please, please let me down.

Through the hazy mist of tears he caught a glimpse of Paul’s boy standing quietly to attention in one corner, his smooth limbs and white tunic making him look for all the world like an angel, and for a brief, highly charged moment, Sam was overcome with shame at his own helpless exposure and weakness.

Jack meanwhile found grabbing hold of the slave’s balls a lot easier now he was holding himself upright but he wasn’t sure exactly where to position the electrodes. Paul suggested that to begin with he should just screw the clamp onto the loose ball sac, then once they’d got started they could experiment with fixing the electrode directly on to the testicles or even attach it to his penis.

“That’s the intriguing thing,” he said. “Every slave reacts differently. We can just play around until we find something we like.”

Once it was all set, Sam was able to ease himself down gently again until his arms and legs were fully extended and he was hanging at full length staring down at the floor, his weight supported by his wrists at one end and his ankles at the other, the pressure bearing down on the small of his back and his balls swinging loose with the electric wires dangling from them.

Jack ran his hands along the boy’s arms and felt the big muscles flex as they shifted under the strain and followed the swollen ridges down his back to the point where it flattened out into the area between the base of the spine and the bulk of his buttocks.

“There’s space enough here to sit on,” he said with a grin, “if we strung him down a bit lower.”

He meant it as a joke but Paul thought it wasn’t at all a bad idea.

“Never be afraid to follow your instincts. We can test him later to see how much weight he can bear and how comfortable it would be to sit on him when he’s strung up like this. What a great way to entertain guests. Imagine — a string of slaves stretched out like hammocks. We’re always using slaves as furniture but this would be a whole new thing. But for now let’s concentrate on our little box of tricks and see what fun we can have with that.”

The first shock of electricity ripped through Sam, taking him by surprise, socking him in the stomach and choking him. It only lasted a few seconds but it knocked the wind out of him and left him fearful of what was to come next. And then it came rushing in great pulsating waves, a relentless battering ram attacking every part of him, twisting, punching, tearing, wrenching, suffocating him in its iron grip. There was nothing he could do to control it or deflect it. It surged through him in spasms, in and out, screwing up his muscles and paralysing his limbs. He couldn’t tell if he was making any sound but inside his head he was screaming down the heavens.

The thing that surprised and delighted Jack the most was how the electric current instantaneously transformed the slave’s body into something like a living, moving sculpture, taking hold of it, twisting and rolling it into ever new contortions and revealing a whole variety of new shapes and patterns out of the mass of hard muscle.

“I could go on playing with this for hours,” he exclaimed as they moved the electrodes around to see what new effects they could get. “He’s so much more than just a quarry slave. It makes me think of lots of new things I could do with him.”

“It’s an excellent way of finding out a slave’s physical potential,” said Paul as he helped Jack flip the body over to face upwards for a while so they could get a better view of the slave’s stomach and torso as the current rippled through it. “Try whipping him in between bouts of electricity. It’ll heighten the intensity and keep up the tension.”

Sam tried to prepare himself for each fresh onslaught, but they’d moved the electrodes so many times, even inserting one inside his penis and forcing one down his arse, that he never knew where the impact was going to land next. And now they were twisting him around and lashing him with a whip.

His screams were real now. He could hear them bouncing off the broken brick walls and echoing round the ruined house. How could he feel so much pain when his body was so completely paralysed? After a while the screams settled into incoherent blubbering. If they didn’t stop torturing him soon he wouldn’t be able to breath at all.

And then suddenly out of nowhere there came a great calm. He could see that his body was still twisting and contorting and the whip was still biting into his flesh, but in his head everything was still.

It was as if a heavy cloud of silence had wrapped itself around him and was lifting him out of all this agony and chaos and carrying him away to safety.

Chapter 5

Sam opened his eyes. There was nothing but darkness.

There was no air.

But there was pain. Pain in his arms and his shoulders and his back. There was an aching void in his stomach and a soreness clawing at his throat.

He was standing in some kind of closet with his wrists manacled to a metal bar above his head. The door was less than two feet in front of him. A thin bead of light seeped through the crack at the top, and he could hear the murmur of voices beyond. He was cold and hungry — and he was trying to remember what this was all about and how he’d got there.

There was the horse. He remembered the horse — and the crippling run — being dragged through mud — and the quarry stones — but not in the quarry — somewhere else — in a hall — loading and unloading — while they beat and tormented him — and then being thrown on the rocks and feeling the weight of them on top, slowly crushing the life out of him — ramming him with their angry cocks — one after the other — relentlessly — punch after punch — hammer after hammer — until his aching arse caught fire and he must have passed out.

He remembered it all now — and howled into the darkness.

The door opened, blinding him with light.

“He’s awake,” said a voice he recognised from last night.

“Bring him in. He can entertain us over breakfast.”

His wrists were unlocked and for a moment there was no feeling in his arms. Trying to keep his balance, and with legs like jelly, he stumbled into the sunlit kitchen.

Three of the young men from last night were perched on stools around a breakfast counter. They’d changed into tee-shirts and jeans and looked a little worse for wear. Jack was busy making coffee. The boy who had freed Sam, led him over to a spot opposite the window and joined the others.

Sam had spent his entire life either outdoors or in slave hovels. He had never seen inside a freeman’s house, let alone found himself standing naked in one as grand as this. Everything about the place puzzled and scared him. He had no idea how he was meant to behave or what he was meant to do. ............ Read the rest of this story and my other stories on: JOHN DEE COOPER'S ALL-MALE SLAVERY STORIES

Chapter 3

On he ran, far into the night. He had no idea of time or how far they’d travelled or how many miles there were to go.

The stone quarry had faded into a memory. The long tiresome day toiling in the rain, rescuing the injured slave, fixing the broken wagon, all that was behind him now. The rest he had so desperately needed had been denied him. He’d had no food. All that mattered was the rolling drumbeat of the horse’s hooves, the bruises on his feet, the rope tugging at his wrists, the driving pain in his back and shoulders and the breath tearing at his lungs.

He thought about the boy who’d stopped to examine him at the water trough. His cool demeanor, his confidence, the way he spoke, it was all part of the world that was so alien to Sam but which he imagined it was his destiny to be a part of, even if it was just to serve as a slave. He’d heard “the Brigadier” mentioned several times and assumed that must be his new owner — a military man, probably wealthy and an extreme disciplinarian. Sam called upon the spirit that looks down on all slaves to give him the courage and the strength to serve his new Master with faith and honour.

They ran through towns and villages, along river banks and into open country. They passed an inn where a group of drinkers had gathered outside. It wasn’t often they got to see a naked slave being trailed by a man on horseback. They tried to get the agent to stop so they could have a closer look. One of them grabbed Sam and began to finger him before the agent threatened him with his whip. There wasn’t much Sam could do to protect himself. He just had to keep running.

Soon they were back on the open road with no light to guide them but the moon. Not that it made much difference to Sam because by now he was running blind, putting all his trust in the agent and sticking close to the horse’s steaming flank.

Hours later, or so it seemed to Sam who felt as if he’d been running his whole life long, they passed through the large iron gates of a country estate. An avenue of trees led to what looked to Sam like a royal palace. It was really only a modest country house, but Sam had never seen anything so magnificent. This was where his new Master lived, he thought. This was where his new life was to begin....

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Chapter 2

Sam wasn’t used to being out in the open, especially away from the quarry. He was trained to lift heavy rocks and haul wagons, not run naked through the streets tethered to a horse. He was as much stunned as bewildered at being dragged headlong into the night, the rope tugging at his wrists and his feet tripping over one another.

He tried calling out to the agent to slow down but there was no reaction. He had to focus his mind on hitting the road fast enough with his bare feet so as not to stumble — which he almost did several times.

He managed to get close enough to the horse’s saddle for the rope to slacken a little, relieving the tension in his arms and, once he’d caught his breath, he was able to match the horse’s speed and rhythm.

It felt like he was running on tarmac most of the time but when they crossed over onto a bridal path he had to contend with a dirt track pitted with puddles and stones. He tried not to think about the damage it was doing his bare feet. Just trying to navigate his way around it all was exhausting enough.

At times, running side by side, horse and slave seemed to merge into one mass of heat and muscle. They were both naked, roped and reined and both driven by the will of the same Master..............................................................

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Chapter 1

Sam watched the sun set over the city, the city he’d helped to rebuild. He remembered playing among the ruins when he was a kid. It was his home, the only place he’d ever known.

As a war orphan he’d survived by living rough on the streets — until the Reich Marshalls came. They brought peace, order and a new beginning. They also brought slavery. For almost twenty years Sam had been a nameless shadow, a number, one of millions forced to sacrifice everything in the service of the New Reich. It hadn’t been all bad. He’d been treated well. He enjoyed hard work and he’d always taken care of his naturally muscular body. Even as a boy he’d taken easily to hauling cartloads of rubble and debris away from the demolition sites to the waste dumps on the outskirts of the city. As the reconstruction proceeded, so he grew in stature and soon he was shifting great slabs of stone and marble, sometimes on his back, sometimes harnessed to a wagon. And for the past four years he’d been working in the local stone quarry, which was punishing work, sometimes even deadly. A crippling shortage of fuel after the War had led the Reich to rely almost exclusively on slave power, so the slaves not only had to work at the quarry face but they had to use their bare muscle to carry, load and transport the stone as well. There was no respite. Slaves were cheap and the demand for building material was high. They were driven hard and few lasted more than a year or two. But Sam was strong, and he was a survivor. At twenty he wasn’t the oldest slave working in the quarry but he had been there the longest. He was obedient, hard working and the overseers loved him. He was good value, always getting the work done, never making a fuss. He was a model slave and as a result he thrived, was fed well and seldom felt the bite of the whip. And if the other slaves envied him or harboured grudges against him, they never showed it.

His good behaviour had even won him a few rare privileges. Unlike the other slaves, who had to make do with whatever rags they could lay their hands on, he’d been given a sweatshirt, khaki shorts and a pair of sturdy boots by a friendly overseer. Most of the time he strung the boots round his neck, preferring to clamber round the quarry in his bare feet, and when he was working he would take off the sweatshirt and tie it round his waist, but nothing gave him greater pride than to walk back to the stables at the end of a hard day’s work dressed in his finery and hungry for a well-earned bowl of slave gruel and some bread. Once a week he was even allowed to bathe in the shallow pool behind the stables, shave himself and wash his clothes. All in all he had a lot to be grateful for.

And yet he couldn’t help thinking there was something missing. Something he couldn’t quite grasp. A yearning maybe for something new. A companion, perhaps, or maybe a Master he could serve with honour and who, in return, would care for him over the years. He was young and healthy, handsome and strong, and nothing gave him greater satisfaction than to work hard and please his Masters, but there was no-one close to support him, no-one to put an arm round him at the end of a long day and make him feel that it was all worth while. All he’d ever known was the anonymity of the slave gang. How beautiful it must be, he thought, to be the chosen possession of just one Master. A Master who would treasure you for your loyalty and obedience, and would keep you by his side for the rest of his days.

And so every night, as he slept with the other slaves on the wooden floor of the stable, dressed in his finery and with his head resting on his boots in place of a pillow, Sam would dream of this other life, locking it up in his heart, knowing full well that, for slaves at least, dreams never come true.

Except that one day he woke up to find that the time for dreaming had come to an end.

❦

Read the rest of this chapter and other stories on my blog: JOHN DEE COOPER'S ALL-MALE SLAVERY STORIES

PAULO Chapter 13 (Final)

Chapter 13

Slaves imported into England have to be marked with a registration number and the official seal of the Customs and Excise Office, confirming that duty has been paid on them. Both are usually placed on the back of the neck — the registration number tattooed on the right side, and the seal branded on the left. This is a quick and uncomplicated procedure, but terrifying to a young slave who has no idea what is going on.

Glancing across at Luis, standing in the shadows only a few feet away, and thinking how much I wanted to talk to him, I bent over the table, with my head down and my legs spread, while they fastened the leather straps round my wrists and my ankles. In my troubled and confused mind I thought they were going to beat me — though I couldn’t think why. But then I hadn’t understood a word anyone had said since I got off the slave ship, so I could have been in trouble for some time without ever knowing about it. Luis knew some English, and that’s why I needed to talk to him, so he could help me understand what the hell was going on.

..... to read the rest of this chapter, the whole story and other tales of lonely slave boys, visit my blog JOHN DEE COOPER’S ALL-MALE SLAVE STORIES https://deepen46.blogspot.com/

PAULO by John Dee Cooper

Chapter 12

It was chaos on the landing dock. We were drowning in a sea of naked bodies, jammed together like packs of wild beasts. We were being herded this way and that, and I couldn’t understand a word the English guards were shouting at us. But it scarcely mattered. We were just being swept along. We were still chained together by our collars so there was some comfort in that, otherwise the five of us would have been swallowed up in the crowd and would probably never have seen each other again.

Eventually the bodies in front of us began to thin out and I could see that we were heading towards a network of small fenced enclosures. Slaves were being selected to go into one or other of them. It wasn’t obvious what the deciding factor was, but it seemed to have something to do with the metal tags in our ears. One good thing though — the shackles were being taken off.

......

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PAULO by John Dee Cooper

Chapter 11

At first, Pepe’s and Leon’s stories just blew my mind. I thought they were probably spinning yarns to impress us or to keep us amused. But then I began to consider the facts. A couple of days ago I would have laughed at anyone who had told me I’d end up in chains on a slave ship. But here I was stark naked, my head shaved, my balls scrunched up with a leather cord and a sales tag pinned to my ear. I had no idea where I was going, and even less what was going to happen to me when I got there. Suddenly ‘pony slaves’ and ‘rodeos’ and ‘stud farming’ didn’t seem quite so far fetched.

Visit my blog to read this story of a teenage Spanish orphan who runs away only to be captured by slavers. JOHN DEE COOPER’S ALL-MALE SLAVE STORIES

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