Christopher Enslaved
for Life at the Age of 22

By: Randall Austin
(© 2011 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 15
A New Slave and A New Slaver

For the most part, the other slaves seated in the back of the bus weren't paying very much attention to the proceedings, but were absorbed with their own reading or quiet chatting.

As Christopher continued to practice his service gait, one step at a time, the sound of his bell ringing and his trinkets tinkling was interspersed only with his sniffles.

The bus rolled on through the countryside, and after about 10 minutes Joshua called out, "Licker, you have the service gait down very nicely. I'm proud of you. I know the boys will enjoy it. So why don't you come and sit next to your friend for the rest of the trip."

So Licker came and sat next to me, and at first he didn't seem to be any happier doing that than practicing his service gait. I didn't want to get slave oil on my clothes, but I also didn't want to pull away like I was afraid him, so I sat still. It was awkward. I didn't know what to say, and he apparently didn't either, or else he had nothing he wanted to say to me. So we sat in silence for a long while. I could look sideways and see his lap, and his shaved and oiled pubes, and his belled dick that lay on the seat between his legs. I could see his slave piss slit, which if the stories were true, would be used only for emitting piss from now on. Just a few weeks ago we had shared jack off stories, and Christopher had emailed me his top ten jerk off sites on the internet. There would be no internet sex sites for Christopher out at Baldwin/Fletcher.

It was hard to believe that this parade-ready beast of burden sitting next to me just last week was asking how to fend off the advances of some girl he had met at a bar and had had an affair with behind the back of his girlfriend, Katherine.

When I heard him sniffle again, I realized that whatever strange things were happening to me regarding this slave thing, he was my beloved friend, and finally I spoke. "Christopher . . ."

Joshua heard that from across the aisle, and spoke to me. "Pardon me, Todd, but his name is Licker."

"Licker," I said, "I have not been helpful. I was awful. I am, maybe, a coward."

"No, you aren't, Todd," He said through the tears.

That brought peace to my heart. It brought quiet to my churning insides to hear Licker say that he did not think I was a monster. Then I started, "Licker, I am so sorry for what has . . ." but in mid sentence I broke down. In a rush I embraced my friend, and started to cry as I had never cried before in my life. I didn't care that I got oil on my clothes, that I was crying like a baby, or that I was feeling so warm towards my friend that I almost wanted to fondle his slave dick.

We remained embraced for a long time, and for most of that time we both were crying. After a while, still embracing, I told him of my concern, speaking quietly in his ear. "Licker, I don't want to see them hurting you anymore. It hurts me very much to see them do that shit to you. Dude, will you promise me you're going to do what they say, and behave? Please! I care about you, man." Licker could only sniffle like a schoolboy and nod his head up and down. "Just start behaving and do whatever they tell you, whatever they want. When I come back to visit you I want to see you as content and carefree as those slaves in the back of the bus. OK? Will you promise me you're going to be good and do what you're told?" Licker shook his head up and down some more, still sniffling. "Just do whatever they say. Just follow Joshua and Kevin's orders. They seem like two real nice guys. They know what's best for you. Do whatever they tell you. If they want your bed area clean, make sure it is. That doesn't sound too difficult. Keep a cheerful disposition for your masters, and learn that pelvis salute. Keep your nipples rouged or whatever just the way they want you to. You've got to start obeying your masters for your own good, Licker. Will you do that for me?" Licker nodded and sniffled some more.

It felt good holding him. He felt like a naughty wayward brother who was now promising to obey. But as I remained locked in embrace with the naked Licker, his plumes bobbing above us, his ear ring chimes against my cheek, the odor of antiseptic still on him from the processing center, his tit bells occasionally jingling, his dick subtly changing size, shape and position, a feeling I had felt on and off throughout this strange day was coming back to me, only this time stronger than ever before. Fearfully strong. It was a feeling that I wanted to slap him, to reinforce what I had just whispered in his ear, to make sure that he had truly learned to obey.

He was, after all, a slave and needed punishment, and I wanted to do it. I wanted to slap the face of my friend, whom I truly loved and cared for, slap it hard and make him cry. I wanted to order him around. I wanted to humiliate him. I looked down his back from our embrace and saw the curve of his ass. I wanted to spank his slave ass. I wanted to push him around. I wanted to make him do my work while I sat back and drank iced tea. I wanted to put him to some demeaning task. I wanted to punish him for his own good. My dick was hard as a rock as I comforted Licker with my embrace. My naked, ringed and harnessed, parade ready, slave oiled, drudge friend had just promised me he was going to obey, but you can't believe a slave. They need bossing around full time, and I wanted to do it!

My thoughts continued, so new to me, and yet so wild. I wanted him to know that I could go out at will and pick up chicks, bring them home, and fuck them, and he could not. And he never would be able to do that ever again. I wanted to rub it in, that I was free, and he was not. For the rest of his life, he had to do whatever he was told to do. And while he was slaving away Saturday mornings in the field, I would be checking out his favorite internet porn sites. For him there would be no juicing off. No more rocking himself off. Slave boys at Baldwin/Fletcher don't get to do that kind of shit. My dick will be giving me lots of pleasure; your dick is now nothing but an attachment for your bell to alert your overseers if you are working hard enough.

My friend, whom I loved, was a shaved and oiled, cockatiel plumed, trinket adorned, harnessed, sniffling slave. He would find his pleasure from now on not in academics and the flesh, but in proudly displaying a glistening body, a thrust-out chest, and a head held high, for the pleasure of his owners.

And if Kevin was correct, he was going to be a real "quick stepper" in no time. Yes, Licker, make sure you keep your masters happy. Smile, let them see your cock swinging happily in the fields, and keep your baby sniffling to yourself at night in your slave quarters. You don't want to displease your masters, do you?

Get up early and decorate your harness real nice for your masters and all the tourists who will come by to watch you toil. Practice that service gait when you have free time. You need to make Joshua and Kevin and the Baldwin boys happy. And never mind that Kevin is even younger than you are, and able to boss you around with total control. Remember, you have to do what you're told to do from now on, like a school boy forever. You are a slave now.

Finally, we broke from our embrace and sat back in our seats, and he took my hand just as I was reaching for his. As we sat quietly, holding hands, watching the fields roll buy, I thought of all the discussions Licker and I had had about slavery. How we used to wonder how it ever happened that slavery returned. As I sat there holding the hand of my beloved slave friend, whom I wanted to slap, I finally realized how it had been possible. I realized this as my erection, safely hidden from view in my trousers and by my free arm in my lap, pulsed with a life of its own. Pulsed like an asp wanting to jump up and bite Licker by surprise.

And if earlier throughout the day I had been both repelled and mystified by my own fascination with the world of slavery, my repulsion was overcome when I noticed Dexter and Beamer at the front of the bus yapping away like two beer guzzling red necks at a football game. It was now clear to me why I had to pursue my budding interest in slavery.

It was justice itself calling me to pursue it, calling me to go and do volunteer spankings on young adult night at the slave processing center. It was justice calling out that the likes of Dexter and Beamer, sadists and misfits, who were attracted to slavery for evil reasons, should be balanced out with the likes of me, sober and fair, who would pursue slavery out of love. The unspoken voice of the slaves was calling for beneficent masters whose first regard was truly the welfare of the slaves. I may want to whip a slave like Licker, but if I were to do so, it would be out of love. The slaves needed me. On that day I vowed that I would be there for them. I would become a slaver, so that the ranks of slavers might be infiltrated with ones such as me, men who saw slaves through the eyes of holy love, and cared with rare ferocity that justice and fairness find a voice in the encampments of slaves.

I vowed, also, that day, that when I obtained my first whip I would carry it proudly, for it would be a whip that lashed out love, and any slave who felt it would know for certain that he was cared for, that he was loved, and that all was well with the world.

To be continued...

Posted: 05/06/11