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 7

"Please, Mr. Falkenberg, I, I, I --", and I had no words to really say so I just started crying some more. Mr. Falkenberg came over with the rest of the champagne and poured more into my glass, "Finish this bottle up. You'll feel better!"

Suddenly I was seized with the same despair I had felt during the early days of my enslavement. Mr. Falkenberg and Lang left to get ready to take me to the tattoo artist as I drank the rest of the champagne. There were two more full glasses left in the bottle and it tasted good, and started to make me feel good as well. When Lang and his dad returned I was calm, and began; "Mr. Falkenberg, I want you to know I am so happy that you have chosen me to be your boy forever. And I am not only happy to work hard for you, and serve you as best I can, but I also want to be someone who will make other people envious of you. You have told me that is what you wanted."

"However, if you want people to be envious of me, you better not go ahead with the tattoos you have planned. If you do, rather than being envious of you, people will laugh at you. I'm sure that the tattoo artist you talked to his skills in tattooing, but what he has suggested as being a Southwestern motif is nothing but kitsch. Southwestern art is nothing like what he has prescribed for me. Remember, the history of the American West is my specialty, and I can tell you that your tattooist's plans for me are as far afield from the petroglyphes and pictographs of the Southwest as one can get. There is a 4000 year archaeological history of that region that proves you would be making a big mistake."

Both of the Falkenberg's listened with great interest as I gave them my history lesson on slaves and art. I told them slaves were never tattooed, but if they were decorated, it was with wreathes, collars, bracelets, and leggings. In the end I managed to avoid getting my scrotum dyed and my body tattooed, although there was no talking them out of the 'Property of Enar and Lang Falkenberg' tattoo across my shoulder, the 'Spanker's Target' tattoo on my buttocks, and the ring through my dick head. (I have, since then, actually come to consider my butt tattoo rather special, even alluring. And I've gotten to like my cock ring. As far as the 'Property of' tattoo, I have read on the Internet that tattoos can be removed. And believe me, when I am free one day, my secret hope, it will be.)

But despite my success in altering their decision to have me decorated as they had planned, the Falkenberg's keep me on a very short rein. I have become a real cringing, fawning, sneaking, slave in order to avoid punishment. Though the Falkenberg's like me and the work I do enough to have made me their lifetime boy, their treatment of me, now that I serve them in the nude, has become very strict, demanding, and more slave-like than ever before. It's almost as if they feel that now that they have decided to keep me forever, they bear extra responsibility for keeping me in line and properly slave-like. They like keeping me naked. They take intense pleasure in the fact that I now have to serve them in the nude. It feels more like they own a slave now. And my being naked has altered their treatment of me. Anyone who is naked has to be treated, of course, like a slave. Now when I bring them something, like the newspaper, they actually watch me enter the room and bring the paper to them. It highlights the difference in our status; me naked, them clothed. It gives them an even greater feeling of power over me. Now I really do look like a slave, I stand apart, my penis bell jingles and can be heard. My being naked while serving them seems to give the Falkenberg's a special sense of worldly achievement. Being naked highlights that I am not only not one of 'them', but more some kind of prized decoration, an object. I feel like a naked fool, and it has been hard for me to maintain my personal dignity.

And their ambivalent treatment of me is now more extreme than ever. Often when we are alone, I am treated almost like Mr. Falkenberg's son and Lang's brother. But the moment anyone is present, the slightest misstep on my part gets me treated in the most demeaning fashion imaginable. I think they feel that the public wants to see slaves humiliated and demeaned, and therefore they oblige them.

But even when we are alone they will sometimes treat me in a put-down fashion if they are in the mood. They know it hurts me. They seem to delight more than ever in putting me down, humiliating, and demeaning me. Once, after both Mr. Falkenberg and Lang had put me down and demeaned me for some minor matter, I was so hurt that I started to cry. I asked them why they treated me that way, and was told that I was the household slave, and it was the way they had to treat me in order to keep boundaries clear, and do their part to help ensure the success of the slave system. And that if I didn't stop my whining Lang would give me a paddling I wouldn't forget.

They constantly tell me that I am fractious, recalcitrant, and difficult to deal with. And I find myself getting punished with greater frequency than even when I was new to their household. Sometimes I begin to believe their put downs of me and start to wonder if I am in fact just a worthless delinquent. And so I have to watch myself so I don't get punished. I live my life now having to be conscious of everything I do in their presence. Since they allow me electronic access to the outside world via television and the Internet, I still have connections with my life style in the past all the aspects of free behavior. But now I have to hold them in check every step of the way if I don't want to feel pain. Because I never went through any sort of training that taught me, as a slave, to get to a level of involuntary good behavior, where all slave protocol becomes ingrained as if by habit, I have to watch my step and think before I do almost anything. I continually must ask myself, "Is this according to slave protocol that will please the Falkenberg's?"

And the fact that I have to repress, voluntarily, my own instincts makes me, if anything, a real cringing, fawning, sneaking, slave. I want to be free. I sit up at night thinking how I can escape, how I can pay back unjust society for what it has done to me. I search out slave networks and slave pen pals on the Internet, I ponder the possibility of getting myself to one of the states where slavery is outlawed. (From every source what I find is that there really is very little legal recourse for an enslavement order. It is everywhere accepted as a fact that it is easier getting out of a prison sentence than getting out of a term of enslavement, especially a lifetime enslavement order. There will be no reprieve, ever, for me.) When I am around the Falkenberg's I have to put on the act that I'm totally happy to be serving them. And I have sunk to that level because if I am not constantly cheerful and smiling around the Falkenberg's, I get swatted, like a little kid. And if they feel I am still sullen or not chirpy enough after a few warnings, I get spanked or paddled.

The Falkenberg's are aware that I am behaving in a very considered manner. In fact, I sense they enjoy that they have me captured, and now I have to do what they say, and that being a slave is a real source of humiliation of me. They seem to take pleasure in the way I have to bend my will, constantly, in order to please them.

And now that I am treated in such a way by them, when I am called to service them sexually, it is all the more humiliating for me. They enjoy the fact, on top of sexual service I provide, that I am a person who is without freedom who has to get down and suck out their dicks whenever they say. There is a pleasure they are getting not from just the free sex, but from having total control of my life.

One day, soon after I got my butt and shoulder tattoo and dick ringed, and during my first week of serving the household in the nude, my cousin Tracey was in town visiting my dad and brothers, so he called me and asked if he could visit. He is one year older than me, and we always got along well when he and his family would come on their annual visit to our city. I asked Mr. Falkenberg if I could get dressed when he came, and he said that as long as Lang and he were still in the house I had to be nude. When they were out for the day they didn't care if I then put something on. So I tried to get Tracey to come in the afternoon, when the Falkenberg's would be gone, but he said he didn't have a lot of the afternoon free, and that he wanted to come in the morning around 10 so we had more time together. I warned him that if the Falkenberg's needed anything from me we would have to be interrupted. He said that would be ok.

I was upstairs cleaning Lang's room when he arrived, and Mr. Falkenberg called up and announced his arrival to me. I went down the stairs, my wiener bell jingled with each step. He turned, saw me, and said, "Wow, They told me, but..." We hugged. Tracey said, "How you doing, bro?" I nodded 'ok', and he said, "I can't get over it, you really are a naked, laboring slave now." Lang overheard that remark, and said, "He's more like a naked, laboring, sweating, slave. Billy, I can't believe you would greet anyone, especially a friend, in your condition." I answered, "I'm sorry Lang, but I was moving your bed so I could clean under it."

Lang snapped back, "Are you in a mood for backtalk?" I started to feel weak inside. I hated it when he humiliated me in front of guests, especially my guests. Lang snapped his fingers and pointed to the ground in front of him, "Get over here, on your knees, arms flat on the floor, your head in your arms." I went and did it, trying to hold back an intense urge to cry and hide the frown that was overtaking my face. "Now stick that ass up nice and high for me. Higher than that! I said get it higher! Now wiggle it a little so Tracey can see the 'Spanker's Targets' on your buttocks." I wiggled my butt, my bell jingled. "So Billy, do you still think you're some hot ass college kid? If you do, let me tell that you're not and you're never going to be. You're a fucking naked slave with a spanker's target tatted on his ass. This is just a warning, Billy. Don't you go acting uppity in front of Tracey or any of your other friends! Or else I'll show Tracey and every damn one of your other friends just what those spanker's targets are for. Would you like me to have to do that Billy?"

"No sir", I answered, with my face hidden in my arms, and the tears now flowing.

"Okay, Billy, you can get up now. Run upstairs and take a quick shower, put some cologne on, and put some rouge on your cheeks. You look pale and since you'll have the rouge out, I want you to paint two polka dots in the middle of your spanker's circles on your buttocks. I think you need a little reminder that you're a slave boy, not a college boy."

Needless to say, any hope I had of having a normal contact with another human being was thwarted. Tracey couldn't even offer me comfort. After Lang put me down and made me color my cheeks and buttocks, Tracey was afraid of me, and would cringe if I made any sudden movements. I have never heard from him since.

***

During that first week in my new 'mode' of service, the Falkenberg's spent a good sum on having a consultant from 'Slave Essentials' meet with me everyday and instruct me on the fine art of serving my masters and their guests in the nude. I was taught everything; how to walk, display, groom, properly shave my entire body, thwart unwanted erections, keep my genitals out of people's faces and food as I served dinner, correct body oiling techniques for nude servants, and the proper way to wear an ephod (for the times guests were present who did not want either themselves or their children to see male genitalia).

For public outings I would still wear my standard outfit, but it was now modified; it was the usual outfit consisting of shirt, and matching trousers (spankers), bum warmer, bell boy hat, and shoes, but over the spankers I wore a modified silken ephod. In short, it looked like I was wearing a pair of girl's silk underpants over my spankers. I had no idea that that costume could have been made any more ridiculous.

I did research on the Internet and found out that the use of naked domestic slaves was sort of a chichi club for the very rich. Owners talked about slaves in such domestic service as if they were prize display poodles.

For the weekend after my consultation sessions, the Falkenberg's planned a big event to officially introduce me, their new permanent slave, and my new mode of service in their household, to all of their and my family and friends. They had a little ceremony planned. The Falkenberg's love little ceremonies. And like their other ceremonies and formalities, what was planned was sure to be a totally embarrassing experience for me. I called my dad and told him he would be getting an invite and to please not come. He understood my situation and said neither he nor my siblings would be there.

The big event was scheduled for Saturday at 4 in the afternoon. The caterers would be arriving at 11 in the morning, and I was to help them set up, and there would be a rehearsal of the ceremony around 2 in the afternoon for the Falkenberg's and me after the living room and all the chairs were set up as needed.

The caterers were a gay business in the area, and I actually had fun working with the four caterers, ranging from my age to about 35, as we prepared the house, food, and service. I knew it was a novelty for them working alongside a slave, and especially a naked one. The caterers all treated me very well, they didn't laugh at me, and I could tell they didn't mind the fact that I had to work naked alongside of them. They made friendly jokes about me, and complimented me sincerely on how good I looked. The head caterer, Brian, was the youngest of the group, a year younger than me, and he and I really liked each other.

Around 2 pm when everything was set up, the Falkenberg's came in for a little rehearsal. They asked the caterers to just take seats and watch as we rehearsed because they didn't want any disturbance, and they wanted them to be familiar with the service so they would know when to step in and start going around serving drinks after the ceremony.

After the rehearsal Mr. Falkenberg and Lang retired to the back yard to relax before the guests started to arrive. At one point Brian and I were alone in the pantry, where we were storing cases of wine and liquor for the party. We had been making gentle eye contact during the day. I was stooping to set down a case, and his hand lightly touched my back. I stood up, and he said, "Man, that tattoo on your ass is so hot." I let him run his hand over my arms and chest, "Billy, if you were my slave I would treat you so fine!" I was in heaven as he continued gently touching me, "Billy, You're so sweet and pretty." I touched him. He talked quietly, "We don't see many slaves in my part of town, but oh man, how I would like you to be my slave. I would take such good care of you!"

I said, "You got it the wrong way. If I were your slave it would be my duty to look after and take care of you. But anyway, I sure the hell wish you WERE my owner, too!"

Brian was surprised. "But your owners, the Falkenberg's, seem like two real nice guys." I told him they were very strict, and he asked what I meant. "They're always nagging me. I have to do things exactly their way." Brian asked what happened if I didn't and I told them about the punishments. Brian really was in the dark, "No way, dude! They can't whack you man; you're a year older than me. They can't still give you a wumping!" I took him into the foyer of the back entrance and showed him a little closet that held some punishment instruments; tawse, belts, paddles, hair brush, flip whip, and tit and ball clamps. Brian could not believe what he saw, "But you're a grown man, an adult, just like me!" He put his hand on my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me. Brian was feeling for me in a sincere way. He asked who spanked me, and if I cried when I got spanked. I told him they both spanked me, but most often it was Lang.

And then Brian started to gush; "Man, I think I love you." He touched me. I touched him. I got hard. He could see it. He was hard too, though I couldn't see his. "You know what, I wouldn't mind seeing you get spanked." I told him that if he ever visited on a regular basis I was sure he would get to see me getting spanked. "They seem to think humiliating me in front of my friends is a good disciplinary measure, that it drives messages home." He answered with a tighter squeeze of my shoulder, "Billy, something about that makes me love you even more." We kissed. I felt like I was in love. Brian backed off, staring at me, and said, "Wow!"

He asked if we could stay in touch, and I told him we could through email, and that I would also ask the Falkenberg's if he could visit. As he said, "I like you Billy, a lot!" We heard the patio creak as the Falkenberg's reentered the house, and we both instantly resumed carrying boxes into the pantry.

Around a quarter to 4, Mr. Falkenberg reminded me that the guests would be starting to arrive soon, and that I was to go to my room, get dressed in my entrance outfit, and stay out of sight of the guests until the ceremony began at 5 pm. I was not looking forward to the rest of the day. The caterers and I had set up over 200 chairs in the ballroom where the ceremony was to be held. When the guests were all seated, and the music began ("I will be yours forever", by the popular Spanish superstar pop singer, Chico.) it was my cue to make my entrance from the back of the room, wearing a black cassock and white surplice. I looked like an altar boy. It was a full length cassock, with its collar concealing my slave collar, and went all the way down to my feet, hiding the fact that my feet were bare as well as the rest of me underneath the cassock.

Mr. Falkenberg and Lang were standing at the front of the room. The little area they stood in was decorated with flowers. The guests were seated in chairs facing them. As soon as I entered the rear of the room, holding a lit candle in my left hand, and a single long stem white rose in my right, all of the guests, who were seated in chairs facing the front of the room, turned around to look at me. There were almost
200 guests watching me. Wealthy friends, with their pampered sons and daughters, of the Falkenberg's. The chairs were arranged in two sections, so there was an aisle between them for me to walk up through to the waiting Falkenberg's at the front of the room.

As soon as I entered the room, the full gut wrenching treacle of the pop song hit me, with Chico crooning, "I will be yours forever. I will never leave you. I will always serve you. You and you alone, forever." It was embarrassment for me walking down the aisle, taking one step at a time as we had rehearsed, like I was a bride walking up to the altar. A hired photographer was running around snapping pictures non-stop of the event. All eyes were on me as I made my way up the aisle. Over the too loud music I heard "Ooohs", "Aahhhs", "How sweet!", "What a little cutie!", "How lucky they are!" I even saw tears in some eyes. I guess tears of joy that the Falkenberg's now not only owned a personalized slave, but also had joined the "naked domestics" club.

When I reached the Falkenberg's at the front of the room, I stopped and stood before them. I waited until the song ended, then I knelt down before them. The room was silent as Mr. Falkenberg began; "What a happy day this is for me and my son, to see all of our family and friends here at this auspicious moment. That you have come to join us in the disrobing ceremony of our new boy, Billy, and share in our joy touches Lang and me deeply. Most of you have not met little Billy, but I am glad that you soon will have that pleasure. For Lang and I to have made a commitment to a slave for life, and have him personalized, expresses not only our pleasure in Billy's service, but in the slave system as well. Most of you gathered here either own a slave or two, or have at some time in your life. You know the importance of responsible ownership in keeping the system healthy. By showing the world that we care about the welfare of slaves enough to commit to one or several for life, shows the world in a powerful way that we who take on the responsibility of ownership do not do so lightly, nor do we consider slaves expendable, like the latest car model."

The self-righteousness in the room was stifling. Lang spoke next; "Welcome to you all. In the last 20 months, as dad and I have worked on fine-tuning little Billy; not the easiest task in the world, by the way". Lang paused at his little joke, and gave a broad smile to the guests. It was greeted with smiles and laughter of recognition. He continued, pleased in his easy rapport with the guests, "As we fine-tuned our little guy here into becoming the kind of servant we could be proud of, and who would be proud of himself, we realized something; why should we waste all our hard work and effort? Dad and I both thought back to our former slaves, and all the work we put into making them eager-to-please quick steppers. And we wondered, "Why should we let all of our hard work benefit the next owner?" We wanted to enjoy the fruits of our own labor, so to speak."

"And then Billy came along. He was not only bright, pleasant, and fast learner, but he did the more complicated tasks so well, such as bookkeeping, household inventory, keeping Dad's and my personal schedules and finances, that we soon knew we had a 'keeper'. But we shied away from 'keeping' because of what we feared would be the hassle of commitment; what if we get bored with him, what if he gets bored with us, what if he gets disabled, and so on and on. But we also felt guilty not making a commitment to Billy because of the bad name the appearance of treating slaves as expendable gave to both the slave system and those of us who support it. So that is why you find yourselves here today, to help us celebrate our commitment to the institution of slavery, and our commitment to little Billy, here."

Lang nodded to one of the caterers who pushed the next button on the music system, and a slow, haunting, violin solo, accompanied by piano, began. It was my cue to raise my candle and rose. I did so and Mr. Falkenberg came forward and took the candle, and Lang came and took the rose. They placed each of them on a little table along side of them. I then stood and, keeping my back to the guests, removed my surplice with the assistance of Mr. Falkenberg and Lang on either side of me. I then unbuttoned the entire length of my cassock, from neck to toes. Once unbuttoned, Mr. Falkenberg took the left side of the cassock, Lang the right, and they both started removing it from me. When it was off, they placed it on the table, and came back to me, one standing on each side of me with my back to the guests, and they both facing the guests. The photographer was snapping furiously, trying to get good shots of the "spankers target" tattoo on my buttocks. I could hear and see the flashbulbs of many guests shooting me from their chairs, as well. Mr. Falkenberg spoke, "Ladies and gentleman, I would like to present Billy to you." I turned around, trying to maintain a dignified look. Everyone started to clap. Even though I was cinched about the base of my cock and balls, my penis had shriveled up to nothing from embarrassment.

Mr. Falkenberg and Lang each had a leash, and they each snapped their leash to my collar. The photographer came forward and started taking what were sure to be the key photos of the event; me naked, with the Falkenberg's on each side of me holding a leash attached to my collar, both broadly smiling, dressed in their expensive clothes. Many guests started snapping the scene from their chairs as well. When everyone who wanted to got a shot of the scene, Mr. Falkenberg spoke up; "Ladies and gentleman, here before you is our new slave for life, little Billy, in puris naturalibus. He stands before us adorned in only a simple collar, pubic cinch, and arm and leg bands. He is for the most part completely naked and defenseless, and will from now on be protected only by Lang's and my nurturing love. And on that nurturing love, we want Billy to know that he can always rely."

Then it was Lang's turn; "Billy was once a stubborn free boy; willful, uncooperative, and egotistical. He felt he was a special and privileged child who was entitled to have things go his way. If you look at Billy now, here in front of you, you can see he didn't end up having things go his way." The majority of guests, especially the privileged children, flashed broad smiles. "And even after ending up in servitude in our household, Billy still tried to deny that he was a slave. It was only through much focused discipline that Billy finally turned out to be the tamed, polite, eager-to-please, little boy that you see standing up here. It was because of his newfound good behavior that dad and I decided to make him our permanent boy. Billy's willingness to accept his condition led dad and me to accept Billy with a fuller commitment. So when the slave gave in, dad and I gave in. We want Billy and all of you to know that Billy can expect such shows of gratitude on our part for his good behavior for the rest his life."

Then it was my turn. "Thank you Mr. Falkenberg and Lang for your commitment to me and the slave system. It is my wish that by your example the slave system will continue to be enriched with more and more forward looking owners like yourselves."

"I want to thank each and every one of you for coming to my disrobing ceremony. This is a very happy day in my life. So thank you all for helping to make it so special." The applause that followed the ceremony was long and almost seemed sincere. The caterers came out with trays of drinks, the guests began circulating, and the Falkenberg's and I began greeting the people who quickly lined up to introduce themselves and meet me.

To be continued...

Posted: 09/16/11