One Step Behind You
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 4
As we got into the parking lot my friends
and family were all just pulling out and they all got to see me being led by
Lang on a leash, dressed in my spankers and bellboy hat, struggling to carry his
heavy case with both my hands on the handle. They waved but I couldn't wave
back. All I could do was nod my bellboy-hatted head back at them.
Mr. Falkenberg opened the trunk of his large luxury sedan and indicated for me
to place Lang's case inside. He took the driver's seat, and Lang opened the back
door of the car and ordered me to get in. I got in and Lang went to the other
side of the car, and got in the back seat with me. I was happy to be out of the
limelight. I put my shoulder on the armrest, and rested my cheek on my hand.
We drove out and I was very depressed, mindlessly letting the scenery roll by.
Wednesday afternoon had always been one of my favorite times. I would walk and
jog in Smitty Park, and then go for a swim on campus, where I'd join Tony, Perry
and Eric. Lang broke my thoughts, "Stop resting your head on your hand. Sit up
straight. Keep your legs together and fold your arms in your lap. Stop
daydreaming about the past." I was annoyed at Lang, and showed him no deference.
I was too depressed and I kept staring out the window. I was suddenly jolted out
of my self-pity by an awful stinging of Lang's flip whip across my lap. I
yelped, sat up, and furiously rubbed my lap. "Imagine what that would feel like
if you didn't have any trousers on to protect you. Now sit up nice and straight!
Put your legs together, and fold your arms in your lap, and look cheerfully
ahead! You should always be thinking, 'What can I do to help make things
pleasant for Mr. Falkenberg and Lang?' If you aren't smiling and cheerful by the
time we get home, I'll be hauling you over my knee for a cheering up session."
I sat up straight, brought my legs together, and folded my arms in my lap. I was
fuming on the inside. Lang sensed it, "I can see that one of the first things
we're going to have to work on is that attitude problem. The sooner you tackle
your bad attitude and start acting cheery and eager to please, the happier
you'll be."
We pulled up to a stop light in the middle lane of a three-lane roadway. Cars
had pulled along beside us to stop in the lanes to our right and left. The
occupants of both cars looked into the Falkenberg's fancy car and saw me
uniformed in back. Lang, indicating that we were being watched, said, "When
people look into our car I want them thinking, 'Those folks are lucky to have
such a perky, wide-eyed, smiling, smartly uniformed, servant looking so ready,
able, and willing to please.' I want everyone to see a real eager beaver in you
when they look in our car. I want everyone who sees you to wish that they owned
you."
I was feeling strange, being treated like a little kid. I didn't understand what
life had done to me. We drove down Bay Park Drive, a road that had many neat
trails going off for hiking. It made me feel sad. With me sitting up straight,
and with my arms folded in my lap, sitting in a strange car with strangers, I
suddenly broke down and started to cry out loud. I didn't know what Lang would
do, but he simply stared at me as if this was all old hat to him. I was afraid
he would use his whip or slap my face. But instead he reached over and undid the
buttons of my trouser flap. He pulled my front flap down, reached into my
boxers, and pulled my dick out. I didn't know what he was doing. He didn't say
anything, but with a self satisfied smile he simply turned away and watched the
scenery go by out his window, leaving my dick sticking out of my pants.
After about five minutes, Lang turned to me and said, "See, you're feeling
better now. The moment I opened up your trousers you forgot whatever it was you
were thinking about and you stopped yourself pitying crying." An almost
inaudible, "Fuck you!" escaped my lips. Lang calmly said, "Dad, pull into the
next rest stop. I think our new slave's pants are little uncomfortable on him."
Within ten minutes Mr. Falkenberg found a rest and recreation stop along the
roadway. He drove in and parked, and said there was no rush, as he was going to
get some coffee and go for a short walk to stretch out. The slave rest room was
located in back of the men's and women's restrooms. It consisted of one very
large cinder blocked room, and served both male and female slaves. Open toilets
and urinals lined one wall, with sinks and mirrors off to the side of each of
them. There were about thirty steel poles anchored into the floor in one corner
of the room. The poles had 'D' rings attached at various points along their
length so that slaves could be secured to them, in a standing position while
their owners used the recreation area, or picnicked. There were about 15 slaves
chained to various poles in a variety of ways. Some by a single handcuffed to
the bar, some with their arms cuffed around the pole, some by a single ankle
chain, and one naked brother and sister slave were both leashed by their collars
to a single pole. They all simply had to stand there and wait, chained next to
their poles. Open showers lined one wall, and a teenage girl was supervising the
showering of two cock-ringed male slaves in their late twenties.
In the middle of the room were several long benches which could be used as
changing areas. Lang led me to one of the benches, sat down, and ordered me to
take off all of my clothes and get over his lap. "Let's get you jack naked!" The
teenage girl supervising her bathing slaves turned to watch me undress as she
waited for her slaves to finish showering.
A middle aged woman two benches down had just finished spanking a male slave who
looked to be about my age. He was super cute, and crying like a baby, rubbing
his fanny. When she saw that Lang was about to do the same to me as she had just
done to her slave, she said, "He's new, right?" Lang answered, "We just got him
collared about 2 hours ago. He had a little ceremonial paddling, but now I'm
starting to wonder if it might be a bit too soon for any more work on his
behind."
As her slave was sniffling and getting dressed, she walked over to me just as I
had removed my boxers and she reached over and felt my butt. "This butt is ready
for anything you want to give it. The only time you should lay off is if it is
still a deep red in color after 2 hours. Other than that, a slaves bubble can
pretty much take whatever you want to give it."
Thanking her for the advice, Lang pulled me over his lap and immediately started
in on a series of rapid-fire hand spanks on the curves of my buttocks. He
covered every area of my bubble, going in circles. The speed of his spanks was
amazing. When he saw in what mode I was about to buck or kick, he quickly pulled
both of my arms behind my back, and held them down against my back with his left
arm, and by pressing down on my arms he held me tight against his lap. "Listen
slaveboy, it's time to start buckling down to your new reality! Dad and I aren't
going to put up with any disobedience from our slave, and that includes little
snide remarks."
I begged him to stop. The middle-aged woman's slave had dressed, but she
remained and watched me get it, while her own slave was preoccupied with
soothing his fanny. The teenage girl waiting for her slaves to finish showering
kept watching me with interest. And all the slaves chained to poles were
watching me get spanked as well. It was at least something to watch as they
waited for their masters to finish picnicking and come and fetch them.
The showering slaves finished and toweled themselves off. After they put on
their slave boxers, the teenage girl snapped leashes to their collars, and
started to lead them out of the restroom, but stopped by our bench to watch Lang
finish up with me. She complimented Lang on his spanking technique and said, "My
dad uses that same spanking method on these guys," indicating her two freshly
showered and underpants slaves. Seeing her up close I wondered if she was even
yet 14 years old. The pain of Lang's handwork was overshadowed by the pain of my
humiliation.
When Lang let me up I was too embarrassed to hop around so I squatted down and
found that by making the flesh taut across my buttocks, it eased the pain. Lang
patiently, and with seeming interest, watched what techniques I used to try and
soothe my burning butt. With consideration, he told me to get dressed as soon as
I felt able.
Eventually I got dressed, and as I followed Lang out of the slave rest room a
man who was waiting for his wife to come out of the female rest room asked Lang
of me, "A new slave?" Lang smiled and answered, "Yeah. It's pretty easy to tell,
isn't it? We just picked him up. He's brand new. Just two hours old." The man,
who didn't take his eyes off of me, said, "He looks like he should work out fine
for you."
A group of boys playing catch whistled at me, "Hey slaveboy! Cool outfit!" "Monkeyboy,
where's your barrel organ?"
When we got back in the car Mr. Falkenberg asked how everything went. Lang
answered, "Swimmingly!" He looked at me, smiling, and asked, "Billy, when was
the last time you got a spanking from your dad? When you were 10, 11?"
"My parents never spanked me or any of my siblings."
"I'm not surprised at that. All the studies show that kids who aren't spanked
generally grow up to be well adjusted, well-behaved, and top students. But I'm
just asking this to see how used you are to spankings. Your ass is starting to
get a little tender, so I'm going to have to lay off of it for the rest of the
day. In a month or so it'll be firmed up and able to take all the spankings it
needs, but for now I want you to know what I'll be doing. A spanking typically
goes on for 3 minutes steady, not counting pauses and the occasional lecture or
words of wisdom that dad and I toss out during the course of a spanking. And
paddlings are typically from 8 to 16 swats. But the paddle can only be used on
buttocks, and your tender free-boy-like soft buttocks need a rest. So I'll be
substituting the tawse, strap, and flip whip for the rest of the day in the
event you need any more chastening."
"Now the tawse, strap, and flip whip are level two punishment instruments, far
more painful than the hand or the paddle, which are used for level one
chastening. So if you need any more chastening today, what I'll be doing is
cutting down the punishment by one half of what it would be with the paddle. So
that means I can give you 4 to 8 slashes of the flip whip on your back and your
legs. And I can use the Flexi-tawse for up to 4 swats on your arms and upper
back. And if I still need a fresh work surface, I can use a strap on your inner
thighs and legs. So I just want you know what's up Billy. I'm just trying to
give your little toosh-toosh a rest so it's all rested and ready for tomorrow's
spankings."
"So did you hear all of that Dad?" Mr. Falkenberg answered, "Yes, I heard you.
Sounds like a good plan."
Lang untied both of his shoelaces, kicked off his shoes, and pulled off both of
his socks. He lifted his feet up, turned his body, and placed his bare feet in
my lap. He laid back in the seat, put his head on the armrest, and said, "Give
me a foot massage!"
I was surprised, so I didn't react immediately. Lang counseled, "That kind of
hesitation is something that has to go. We'll be working on that. Anyway, get to
work on my feet!" I started kneading his feet, and Lang relaxed. He "oohed" and
"ahhhed" a couple of times so I knew I was doing an acceptable job on my new
owner's son.
As the drive continued I thought about the slaves at the rest stop, the naked
brother, the two cock ringed slaves under the showers, the handsome kid who was
jumping around rubbing his fanny. Sexual thoughts. How strange we slaves were
allowed to be treated. A world I knew was out there but had never seen. And I
thought of Lang. He had power over me, almost absolute. My inner sense of
security and comfort was shifting in a mighty way. I was owned and to be
controlled by the guys in the car. Should I just be super obedient and avoid any
more embarrassing and painful spankings? Was it even possible?
I was dressed in a ridiculous costume and felt like a fool. So I quietly asked
Lang if I could put some different, more comfortable, clothes on when we got
home. "Look, guys like my dad have to wear suits and ties all day long, so I
don't think it's going to hurt you to wear your various uniforms. Dad and I are
very strict on your dress. We have a variety of outfits that you are to wear for
different seasons and occasions and work types. You will be in uniform at all
times, clean as a whistle, neat as a pin, and groomed to a 'T'. You will always
be on full call, but there are times when generally you can expect to be free,
usually from whatever time you wake up until 6 am, and from 6 to 9 in the
evening. At these times we usually don't care what you wear."
"And then when we go out, depending on the nature of the outing, you will dress
accordingly. When we go to the mall, you will wear your slave cargo uniform, a
jump suit with almost every square inch covered in large pockets for carrying
our purchases. You will be fitted with a large double decker back pack, as well
as a large front pack. And by the end of our shopping you'll be loaded down like
a little mule."
"On the occasions when dad needs you at the office, you will wear an outfit
similar to the one you are wearing now, only the slacks, shoes, bum warmer, and
bell boy hat will be black, and your shirt will be white."
"When you accompany me to school and to my classes, you will wear your brown
knee length slave smock, belt, sandals, and book pack. When you have your smock
on you are to never wear underwear. And all slaves on campus must wear the
school's identifying cap for students' slaves, which is a green and yellow
skullcap."
"When we do such things as go to the beach or park you will wear your blue
recreation smock." It was dreary listening to talk about what my life was going
to be like, but finally we arrived at their home.
My new residence was a very big house on Brentwood Way. While it was in an upper
class part of town, the majority of residents in the community, known as
Collingwood, did not own slaves, Mr. Falkenberg proudly explained to me. While I
had to carry Lang's big case into the house, they didn't give me any other
chores to do on my first day there except get my room ready. My room was on the
second floor of the house. It had a comfortable looking one-person bed and a
desk with a computer on it. When they asked me how I would like to spend the
rest of the day, I asked if the computer was for my use and if I could use it.
They said absolutely. They said they wanted me to be very happy in my room and
hoped that I would be content to spend a lot of time in there when I wasn't
doing chores around the house. I didn't know what that meant, and asked them if
there was a word processing program on the computer, since I would like to
write. Both Lang and Mr. Falkenberg were eager to show me the computer's
features and the use of its word processing program. I asked if what I wrote
would be mine to possess. They assured me that whatever files I created were
mine to keep, print, and do whatever I wanted with them. I thanked them.
I spent the evening creating and writing a journal for myself. I enjoyed it, it
helped me to collect myself, and time flew quickly. I was very surprised when
Lang entered my room at about a quarter to 9 with a friend of his. He introduced
us, "Billy, this is my friend Weston Michael Andrews." I knew Weston but not
personally, and I told him so. He was only one year older than me and lived
about half a mile from my dad. He smiled, and said, "So you're Lang's new slave?
Pleased to meet you." He put out his hand and shook it.
Lang explained, "Billy, I'm sorry but it's a little late. It's way past your
bedtime. We need to get you in bed right now." I showed a surprised look and he
explained. "We want you in bed by 8:30 so you can sleep comfortably and be up
early. We don't care exactly when, but you should be up by 5 each morning so you
can freshen up the house, prep our breakfast, make coffee, and so on. Don't
worry about specifics. We'll show you how things are done, how we want to be
served and so on in the days ahead. So let me get you out of your clothes and
into your sleepers."
I wanted to stay up and must have shown my disappointment. "If you are having a
hard time deciding whether or not you want to do what I tell you to do, I can
have you go and fetch my tawse. Will that help you to decide?" I told him I
would go to bed. I was so humiliated. Why did he have to talk to me that way in
front of Weston?
He asked me to take all of my clothes off. It was awkward with Lang and his
friend just standing there watching me. When my shirt came off my big silver
collar was very exposed and I looked like a real slave. Weston commented, "Wow.
Some collar!" Lang answered, "It's a beaut, huh?" I hesitated at taking my
undies off, but Lang said they had to come off too.
When I was naked Weston checked me out as Lang went to the bureau and took out a
piece of bed clothing. Lang noticed Weston checking me out and said, "That
collar is on him for life. Little Billy will never really be completely naked
ever again." He handed me the bed clothing, "These are you're sleepers. You will
wear them every night to bed. Put them on! You are to be in them and in your bed
by 8:30 every night."
I opened the item up and found out it was a large one piece full length smock
type nightie. Lang explained as he guided me to my bed and had me lie down.
"With this nightie your ankles are free." As he said that he put a lined leather
thick cuff on my right ankle, padlocked it on, attached a plastic-chain to it
that was secured to the bed frame. Weston watched me get cuffed and chained to
my bed.
It was a strange feeling getting cuffed to my own bed by my new owner. "The
chain is long enough so you can make it to your potty." Then, as the two of them
exited I heard Lang ask Weston what movie he wanted to go and see.
To be continued...
Posted: 08/26/11