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 8

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.

First in line were Mr. Falkenberg's brother, Ingvar, and his wife Kerstin, and sons Ulf and Magnus, both about my age. All blond haired and attractive. Ingvar embraced his brother, "Enar, congratulations! Glad to hear you finally got a smart boy."

Ingvar's family all shook my hand. As Ulf shook my hand, he said to everyone about me, "He also looks like he could be muscled out and made labor-ready, if you need that."

Lang answered, "You're right about that, Ulf. We did a full assessment."

As Magnus introduced himself and shook my hand, he commented, "Doesn't seem very well hung."

Mr. Falkenberg answered, "He's okay down there. He's nervous as shit right now."

"Hell, I'd be too" smiled Ulf. "Well, if you say he's equipped, I'll believe you." They all laughed. "He's good looking, though."

Mr. Falkenberg answered his nephew, "Yeah, he is. Too cute for his own bare britches sometimes. He's a little bumbler, but we love him."

Ingvar's family moved on and next in line was Mr. Falkenberg's business associate, Peter Danton. "Holy shit, Enar, so you finally got yourself a family mascot!" As he shook my hand, Peter said, "Billy, you are a lucky boy being taken into this family."

"I know I am, sir." Peter grabbed my right ear and turned it down to look at the backside, then did the same to the left ear. "He's got good sized ears for being fitted with the SelectraGuide." Mr. Falkenberg had already pondered that option, "It's not for us. I don't want an electronically controlled robot. We've been getting good results out of him by sticking to standard discipline methods."

"Well, it works like a charm on my two slaves, and saves me hours each month in discipline sessions."

Mr. Danton moved on and next in line was Dr. Edvard Ringwald. "Enar, what a beautiful ceremony that was! Listen, I was examining your boy during the ceremony and he is just the right size for our galley team. We're racing Bridgeport across the Atlantic this summer, and we're still scouting for four more rowing slaves. We'd only need him for two months, and we guarantee that when he came back he'd be a mountain of muscle."

Lang was enthusiastic, "Dad, that sounds great to me. I think it's something we should consider."

Mr. Falkenberg obviously needed to ponder the offer, "It is definitely something I would consider. Let's lunch over it. How about tomorrow?" Dr. Ringwald indicated that would be a perfect time for a lunch date, and he moved on.

Next in line was Lang's friend, Weston Michael Andrews. It was nice to see a face of someone who considered me to be a human being, and he proved it by not taking my hand to shake it when I held it out, but instead grabbed me with both arms and hugged me. He hugged me tight, and it felt good. I told him that I wished he would come over more often, and he told me he would like to, but was very busy with graduate school. Lang was pleased that his best friend really liked me, and asked, "What do you think of Billy now, Weston?" "It's the same Billy as far as I can tell," answered Weston. "Hey, but didn't you notice, my name is tattooed on his shoulder." Weston touched my shoulder tattoo, "Property of Enar and Lang Falkenberg." Weston smiled at me, and asked me how I felt having Lang's name on my shoulder. I smiled back. "I imagine I feel the same way you would feel if you had Lang's name tattooed on your shoulder."

Just as Lang began to register the slightest displeasure with my remark, Weston praised me and his friend, "You're smart Billy. That's why I like you. And Lang is smart for having sense to want to keep you permanently." He patted Lang and me on the shoulders and moved on.

Next in line were some more friends of the Falkenberg's, a young couple, Britta and Tolle Pederson, and their 11 year old son, Per. Per spoke first, "Mommy, why doesn't this man have any clothes on?" Britta answered, "He's not a man, Per, he's a slave. Slaves are not the same as you and mommy and daddy, dear. They don't need clothes."

After handshakes, the Pederson's moved on, and next in line was Clark Hollywood, well known to slavers for his tongue in cheek business card that advertised him as a dealer in 'freshly captured, free range, game slaves'. "Looks like you caught yourself a nice one, Enar!" Mr. Falkenberg thanked him. Clark offered some professional advice. "Lang it sounded like, from your brief speech during the ceremony, that Billy took some hard work to get tamed down. Call me in if you have any further trouble with him. Billy sounds like the kind of bumbling slave that would adjust better if he were subjected to an old-fashioned round robin series of punishment sessions. It's a guaranteed breaker of stubborn slaves. You could have had Billy in shape in half the time it took you."

Lang smiled, interested, "Sounds good Clark, but what is it?" Clark was excited, "It's a beautiful technique. Say your slave back talks. Fine, then you slap his face. Say next offense he misses a chore. Fine, then you slap him and follow that with a spanking. Then say Billy oversleeps. Then you slap him, give him a spanking, and follow that with shoulder tawsing. Then say, two days later, you catch him with his hair all messed up and not properly combed. Fine, then you slap his face, spank his ass, tawse his back, and give 10 swats of the strap to his inner thighs. I think you guys are beginning to get the picture."

"But how long do you go on before starting over again?" asked Lang. "When he goes a week without needing punishment, then you start over." Clark smiled, waiting for a reaction.

Mr. Falkenberg said, "That plan sounds like it has merit. What do you think Lang?" Lang nodded his head, "I like it. It really sounds great. I'm going to try it starting now!"

Next up was the pastor of Mr. Falkenberg's church, Reverend Brodde Abjornson. He and Mr. Falkenberg hugged. Reverend Abjornson preached to me, "Be a good boy now Billy. Mr. Falkenberg is a kind master. When he lays the strap on you consider it a blessing from above. Follow his orders at all times, in all things. Always stand tall whether receiving punishment or praise, and say your prayers at night." I thanked him. Mr. Falkenberg was beaming.

Next in line I was totally surprised to see Brother Michael. A cold feeling hit me. Mr. Falkenberg and Lang were suddenly distracted by Beverly Huffington rushing up beside the Falkenberg's and asking them to meet her new boyfriend, who had to rush off to the airport. Brother Michael held out his hand to me. I didn't take it. Brother Michael asked me if I had finally made a commitment to obedience. I told him, firmly but under my breath so only he could hear, "No, I haven't!" He looked at the Falkenberg's, they were still occupied. I continued, "What the fuck do you care if I'm committed to obedience. You're getting to see what you came to see!"

Brother Michael, red in the face, moved on and next in line was a handsome guy about 30 years old, whose smile almost made me fall in love. Standing in front of me was 6 feet and one and a half inches of human male perfection. Handsome, sleek, muscular, with black shiny hair, dark eyes, long lashes, pure alabaster complexion with rosy cheeks. He put out his hand, "Hi, I'm Thomas Lattimore." He was soft spoken, as gentle as a summer noontime breeze, as tender as a newborn lamb, and wondrous as the awn on the spring wheat. I shook his hand, almost forgetting where I was, and my condition. He was clothed in a fine linen suit, and he smelled a smell that made me want to hug him forever.

Beverly and her boyfriend finally let the Falkenberg's go, and they returned their attention to me and my handsome guest. Lang spoke, "Oh, Billy, I see you have met Tom Lattimore. Tom is the head disciplinarian at the county punishment house for slaves." My grip lessened only slightly as we continued shaking hands. I said a feeble, "Hello, sir." Lang smiled, "I guess it's a good thing for you Billy that you've never had to meet Tom other than socially." Tom took a piece of paper and gave it to Lang; "Here's a coupon for 20% off any service we offer." Lang was genuinely pleased with the gift, "Thanks a lot, Tom." Tom moved on and my gaze followed him, briefly.

Next in line was a fat wheezy looking guy, Bull Prosser, who after shaking hands with the Falkenberg's put his hand on my belly and ran it down to my shaved pubes. He grabbed my entire unit from the base and started to wiggle and shake it like a baby rattle. He laughed when my cock bell started ringing. "Gosh Enar, are you sure this boy is all right? I mean a little shrinkage from embarrassment is one thing, but this kid doesn't have anything to show for."

Mr. Falkenberg smiled, "It doesn't make it any difference, Bull. He doesn't really need one of those things now. He's a slave now. Besides, that thing usually gets most slaves into some kind of trouble down the line." Bull joked, "Well, you could always have it removed." Mr. Falkenberg answered, "Believe me, I've thought of that. But if we ever had to sell him in the future, that would bring us an even bigger loss than just having him tattooed with our name would. For some reason, boys without peepees are not a hot market item right now." Everyone laughed.

Bull Prosser moved on, and in back of him were Svea and Bernhard Lykins. They shook hands with the Falkenberg's but did not take my hand when extended, nor did they address me. Bernhard spoke first, "Congratulations Enar on finding a work boy you can trust. We've pretty much given up on finding one." Then Svea looked at me, but spoke to the Falkenberg's, "Can he recite something for us? Something, perhaps, he learned in slave school?" Mr. Falkenberg nodded questioningly at me. I wasn't going to recite any fucking slave mantras to entertain these assholes, so I started reciting something from my days at St. James Private School for Boys; "Saepibus in nostris parvam te roscida mala vidi cum matre legentem." Svea was not impressed, "Why in the hell are they wasting taxpayer's money on teaching slaves how to speak Italian?"

As they moved on, Lang shook his head at me. But before the import of his body language was clear, my head was grabbed by two female hands and I was being kissed repeatedly all over my head. "What a fuckin cutie!" squealed Melinda Dravus. "Lang, please let me have him for a couple of hours. God, how I need to be fucked by a guy who isn't going to be obsessed with letting me know how big his banana is. I don't think I've ever had anything this small!" Mr. Falkenberg was clearly amused by the old family friend, but he indicated he wanted sex talk kept down to a minimum, "We have kids here" he whispered. Melinda didn't bat an eye, "Kids? God, give me one! Now!" Even I laughed, as she gave me a pat on the cheek of genuine affection, and moved on.

Schlupe Hoggenmuller and his wife Astrid were next in line. Schlupe slapped his hands on my shoulders, "Jeeze boy, most kids your age would be embarrassed as hell to be standing up here tickers naked." His wife Astrid smiled, "Schlupe, slave boys soon get over trying to keep their slave wieners hidden from view."

And so it went. For about three more hours. By the time it was over I was numb. I was surprised when the Falkenberg's told me I didn't have to help the caterers clean up afterwards. The Falkenberg's were even more surprised when I said that I wanted to help them. That got me a compliment from Mr. Falkenberg, "You made us proud of you tonight, Billy. I'm more convinced than ever that we did the right thing in making you our permanent boy."

Lang added, "Billy can be a handful, Dad, but I agree with you. Billy belongs here." Lang reached over and rubbed my head. As objectified as I was being treated, Lang's condescending head rub felt good to me.

By the time the Falkenberg's retired for the evening, the caterers had most of the work done. Brian and I went into the den and kissed and felt each other up. It felt so good. We exchanged words of affection and email addresses.

When they left I took a bottle of wine up to my room, poured myself a glass, and started to write Brian a love letter. I wrote only two sentences when Lang called me into his room.

I entered his room and he was reclining on his bed in boxers and a tee. Lang patted the bed and had me sit down on it. A broad, languorous, smile crossed his face, "Hi little boy. How ya doing?" I told him all was well. Lang was in his spider mood. That's where he is a spider, I am in his lair, and he knows he has complete control over me, and relishes it. "Come on little woman, slide a little closer, and scoot your hand between my thighs, and do a little gentle rubbing." He moaned, "Oh yeah, that's the way, girl. That's what you are, you know. You're our little girl. You take care of the cocks in this household, so that makes you a woman." I kept rubbing his thighs. His boxers had tented with his erection. "Your hand feels like a fucking woman's hand. Billy, look at me. Purse your lips for me. Come on." I looked at him, and with more coaxing from him I pursed my lips for him. "Now make kissey kissey with your lips." I did as ordered, debased but not minding. "Look at you, with that little pouty mouth." He smiled a sex smile. "You're our first gay slave, and I can tell you like it. When I used to make Joey, our last slave do this shit, he hated it. But you are where you belong."

Lang scooted up and pulled off his tee. "Come over here, Billy. I want you to work on my nipples with your sweet little kissey mouth. Let me see how good of a tittie sucker you are, Billy." I scooted over, put my mouth to his chest, happy to be smelling his day's sweat mingled with his faded cologne. "Oh yeah, feels good. Fleck that tongue, and scrunch up my chest with your hands. You're like my little nursing baby. That's what you are, Billy; my little nursing brother. And I'm your in-charge older brother. Most older brothers have to stop spanking their younger brothers when they turn age 11 or 12. But the neat thing about us, Billy, is that I get to be your older brother forever, and spank you for the rest of your life. Isn't that cool Billy? So be a good little brother and suck off my tits real good. Suck harder, little guy! Oh yeah, that's the way, my little Billy goat. Oh man, I'm so lucky to own you!"

Soon he pulled my head into his left armpit. As I scrunched and sucked up his pit juice he pulled off his boxers and was lightly jacking himself. By the time I was finished with his pits and went down on him, he was one super stoked Nordic warrior. He shot gobs and gobs of honey mead down my throat, and forced my mouth to stay on his prick for long after he came. When he recovered, he had me slurp up the sweat that had gathered in his pits from the exertion of cumming. I left his room with my face soaked in the sweet sweat smell of Lang, as he said, "See you in the morning."

In my room I gave my cock a tug as I drank my wine and wrote my letter to Brian. I slept well that night.

Too well. The wine made me oversleep. The Falkenberg's were cranky. "I'm sorry. The excitement of yesterday just made me so exhausted. In fact, Lang told me today would be a light day for me."

"That I did. But did I tell you that you could sleep in as late as you wanted to?"

"Well no, but I just thought that it would be ok."

Lang shook his head, "In fact, when we parted last evening I specifically said that I would see you in the morning."

I was frustrated. I had just put up with their ridiculous ceremony, and gave Lang super excellent head. "So what if I slept in for once? What's the big deal? You told me that today would be a light day, so I thought I could sleep a little later. What in the hell, am I supposed to be able to read your mind?" Lang just looked at me as if too weary to answer me. He took out his cell phone, and dialed. Mr. Falkenberg kept reading the newspaper. "Hello, Tom. Lang Falkenberg here. Have you got any space from between 9 this morning until about 6 this evening? Fine. His last name is 'Garneau', Billy Garneau. Thanks, we'll be there in a bit." He got off the phone and said, "Dad, I'm taking Billy in to spend a day at the county Punishment House. As Lang came and snapped a leash on my collar, he said, "Come on Scamp. I'm taking you in for day of obedience training! The county folks will help you smooth out those rough edges."

I pleaded, "Please Lang. You know I want to be obedient, and I'm trying real hard. Don't do this to me." Lang said nothing, and tugged on my leash to follow him. I started crying, and ran to him and hugged him, "Please Lang, you're like my own brother. I want to be obedient more than anything. I won't mess up anymore."

He hugged me back, "You are right, Billy. You are like my own brother. And it must hurt you as much as it does me to see you fuck up like this. You know we can't tolerate back talk. Sometimes you make me wonder if you really want to be alert, active, and obedient." I answered, still crying, "Yes Lang, more than ever, I do!" He pulled my head to his shoulder, gently patted the back of my head, and spoke lovingly; "I am so happy to hear that, bro. That's why I am going to go ahead and take you to Punishment House. I think it might help you to find a way to get in the obedience groove a little more easily. And besides, this coupon Tom Lattimore gave me is only good for one month."

To be continued...

Posted: 09/23/11