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 15

Lang called me into the foyer to meet Mr. Glade Cohrs, of the Gay Businessmen's Association. Fat and limp-wristed, Mr. Cohrs "ohhed" with delight when he saw me, "He'll do marvelously!"

Lang explained, "Billy, Dad and I are civic minded, so when Mr. Cohrs approached me to see if I would loan you for use in fundraising for his association next June during the Gay Pride Day festivities, I was happy to oblige."

Mr. Cohrs was beaming with delight, "Billy, you're going to be our entrant for the slave kissing booth. Each year we send our loaned slave to the event dressed in a black maid outfit. Billy, you will be wearing black panties, bra, and heels, along with one of those little short black aprons covering your cunty area."

Lang wondered how much money the kissing booth draws in for the association. Mr. Cohrs smiled, "You do the math. A ten second kiss costs $10. That same kiss with a little tongue action costs $25. And for $50 you get to French kiss the slave and slip your hand in his panties and feel him up. And because Billy is a real cutey, we should have some long lines throughout the day. What's interesting is that we have found that the more lipstick we put on our slave, the more people we have lining up to smooch with him."

Mr. Lang led Mr. Cohrs to the door saying he was flattered that the association chose his slave, "How did you find out about Billy?"

"Mr. Falkenberg and Billy always get their haircuts together at Kudry's Hair Salon. Kudry himself suggested Billy to me."

When Mr. Cohrs left, I walked out of the foyer angry and slammed the door behind me, and huffed, "fucking shit!"

Mr. Falkenberg was seated in the living room as I walked into it from the foyer. He got out of his chair in a hurry and reached over and grabbed me by the shoulder and quickly pulled me over to a chair. He sat down, pulled me over his lap, unbuttoned my spankers, pulled down the butt flap, and started spanking my naked buttocks as Lang entered the room. "I'll give you something to slam doors about, young man!" Lang shouted out, "Good move, Dad!"

As he continued to spank me he asked, "Do you intend to do any more of that swearing?" "No" I screamed as I scissored my legs. "Do you intend to watch your potty mouth from now on?" "Yes" I screamed.

Mr. Falkenberg was a strong man, and no spanking of his was ever a mild affair. Before it was over I began sobbing my apology, "I was not thinking, I was acting like a stubborn free boy. I don't ever want to think or act like a free boy again. I want to be what you want me to be. I love you Mr. Falkenberg, please don't spank me anymore."

Lang, standing by watching, said, "Don't stop, Dad. Give him some more!"

Mr. Falkenberg didn't stop. I knew now, after over two years of being their slave, that groveling was what the Falkenberg's wanted. And when groveling didn't work, it was because they wanted something else; release.

"Make him cry louder, Dad!"

Mr. Falkenberg managed to make me do that, as he swatted as hard as he could. I screamed, "Please, no more Mr. Falkenberg."

Mr. Falkenberg was determined, "Slamming doors like a two year old! What's gotten into you Billy?"

Lang was beginning to tent in his trousers, "Lay it on really good Dad. Let's not fool around here. We know this has to be done. The only reason slaves do what we tell them to do is because they know they get punished if they don't. Billy seems to have forgotten that little lesson."

Mr. Falkenberg was as determined as Lang, "You have to realize Billy that being a lifer slave is synonymous with obedience. You don't have disobedience as an option anymore!"

Lang's hardon tented the pleated creases of his dress slacks, "Billy, as long as you act like a naughty kid, you can expect plenty of naughty boy spankings. Dad and I aren't playing games here. We intend to work that ass of yours over for as often and as long as it takes!"

"The audacity, the sheer audacity!" Mr. Falkenberg focused all his smacks on my right globe to maximize the pain. When he got me to scream at fever pitch, he stopped spanking and looked at Lang, "Okay Lang, I'll send Billy to your room in just a bit," thereby indicating he wanted to be left alone with me.

Mr. Falkenberg was a no frills guy when it came to slave sex. He indicated for me to kneel in front of his chair while he pulled his dick out. Mr. Falkenberg was bigger and stronger than Lang, and so was his dick. I liked it. All Mr. Falkenberg ever wanted me to do was suck him off. His only requirement was that I suck very hard. Mr. Falkenberg, in his youth, was as hot in his own way as Lang is now. And at 54 years of age he was still a good-looking guy. Getting to suck my owner and his son off on a regular basis is the only benefit that comes with my job as a lifer slave, as far as I can tell.

After I suck his cum out, Mr. Falkenberg likes me to keep my mouth on his cock until he goes soft. And while he's deflating he rubs my head in gratitude. It always feels good.

When I got to Lang's room he was naked on the bed, rubbing his thighs. When I approached him he put his hands in back of his head, and that's my signal for me to start licking out his pits. When I do that he starts a slow jacking, then says "Okay" when it's time for me to move to his firm Scandinavian chest and start nibbling his tits. Working on Lang has always been a true act of love for me, even though he sees my service as being merely in the line of duty. Lang's body has been my major escape since being enslaved. Licking his tits this time, as usual, I can hardly wait until he gives me the okay to move down and start sucking him off.

As I slurped him to a climax I thought how slamming doors does have its rewards. Lang, too, rubs me on the head after a sucking. Although his head rubbing feels a bit more like the rubbing of a genuine friend than Mr. Falkenberg's does. As he rubbed my head I asked him if he would remove my penis clamp so I could jerk off. He rubbed my head more firmly, "Little guy, you know I can't do that. I love you too much to do that." When Lang got up to hop into the shower, I got up and went to my room, took out my copy of my clamp key, removed my chastity belt, and stroked myself to a glorious climax.

Afterwards I locked my penis clamp back on, did some more research on the Internet for the weekend I would be spending with Brother Michael, and then went down to ask Lang for permission to call Brother Michael.

"Lang, since Brother Michael wants me to assist in remodeling the rectory, I think it would be helpful if I knew specifically what kinds of jobs I'll be doing so I know what kinds of clothes to bring, and so on." Lang praised my concern about being properly prepared, and he dialed Brother Michael, saying he wanted to confirm what time Brother Michael would be picking me up on Friday.

Lang got a hold of Brother Michael and they chatted for a bit. At one point it sounded as if Lang was hedging. When they were finished, Lang gave me the phone and I asked Brother Michael for specifics so I could come prepared. Brother Michael, too, praised me for being concerned and wanting to do a good job. Brother Michael gave me very useful information. I could tell he was eager to see me. Little did he know I was even more eager to see him.

When I hung up Lang told me that Brother Michael wanted to make sure that he had a key to my chastity belt. When Lang asked why, Brother Michael said because we would be working with some hazardous materials, and the key was an emergency precaution in case he needed to clean me off of any material I accidentally got on myself. When Lang told me this we both smiled, and he asked me if I wanted Brother Michael to have the key. I thanked Lang for letting me make the decision, but told him I just wanted to try to get through the weekend peacefully, and that if Brother Michael wanted the key, he should let him have it. But, if I was assaulted in an improper way, I would report it to Lang, and I would count on Lang to take action. He agreed and came and hugged me.

***

Brother Michael picked me up Friday at noon. He was scheduled to have me returned to my owners by Monday at 7 PM. That would give him and the parish effectively three days of volunteer labor, for which Mr. Falkenberg and Lang would get full credit.

When Brother Michael put my duffel bag in the back seat of the car, he commented on it being rather heavy. I told him that Lang wanted me to make sure that I had everything I could possibly need to do a good job. Brother Michael seemed pleased.

Our drive out to Troy, New York, from Clarion, Pennsylvania, took about 6 hours. For most of the drive Brother Michael acted like a decent human being. But as we neared New York he started acting a bit more deviant, like I was prey in his clutches, and he started to let me know that I had to do whatever he said.

"Have you made a commitment to obedience, Billy?"

"I have, Brother."

"The bible exhorts you Billy, and all slaves, to be obedient to your masters. Have you accepted the fact that you have to do whatever you are told for the rest of your life?"

"Yes, I have Brother."

"The last thing I want to have to do is punish you, Billy. I don't want to hurt you, but sometimes the Lord commands it!"

"I know, Brother." I was getting scared.

When we arrived in Troy, we went to the old St. Mark's rectory. It was being remodeled room by room, and Brother Michael and I would be staying there for the entire three days. One half of the main floor was completed and furnished. Brother and I would be working on the second floor, doing sanding, paint stripping, painting, and some minor carpentry. On Friday and Saturday Brother Michael was by my side nonstop. Most of the time we worked together on the same tasks. Apart from him using every chance he could to touch and pat me, he didn't do anything untoward.

On Sunday morning I could tell he was particularly obsessive over me. He started nitpicking my behavior at breakfast, and it continued all day long. Around noon I was working on sanding a hard wood floor in one of the upper bedrooms when my legs knocked over a stool in back of me. Brother rushed at me and pulled me up very cruelly by my ear.

"Billy, I want you to take all of your clothes off." I took them off, frightened. Brother Michael came up to me with a short flip whip and my chastity guard key, unlocked it, and took it off. He ordered me to pick up the stool and to sit on it. I did, and he walked in back of me and touched the skin of my back. "Billy, you have nice smooth skin. I would hate to see this back marked up like the backs of so many common labor slaves. But maybe that is what you need for getting careless. For forgetting that you're a slave, and that you have to be alert, active, and obedient at all times."

There was silence, then he sliced the whip across my back. I started crying. "The lord commands you to accept your status with joy!" Another slice. I shrieked. He stood silent in back of me; when my sobbing subsided I could hear him breathing heavy, and almost feel the heat of his lust.

Then another slice of the whip, and I yelped. "It is my duty to whip the errant slave!" Another slice. I could take no more, so I knew it was time for me to act. I jumped off the stool and threw myself on my knees before Brother Michael and hugged him, "Brother Michael. Please, no more. I want to treat you special!" I put my hand on his upper leg, next to his erection.

The man who resorted to violence because he was unable to ask for or initiate sex, because every check and balance of his psychological makeup, brought on by all the years of his upbringing, told him it could not be, was suddenly confounded. I rubbed his leg, he dropped the whip. I ran my hand to his buttocks, and squeezed them. He shuddered. I grabbed his hand and started massaging it, he trembled. I ran my hand down his inner thigh, he shivered and tears came from his eyes.

I stood up and brought his hand to my balls. I was inviting him to fondle the objects of his long held desire. I whispered for him to go into the finished bedroom with me. Inside I unbuttoned and unbuckled him. He was in a trance. When he was naked we hugged. I led him to the bed and we coupled in an intense embrace. I had him get on his belly; I knelt and straddled him, and started a slow massage. He was moaning pleasure with my every touch. I then whispered, "Brother, I brought something along with me to make this a very special time for us. Just stay here."

I came back with the secret bag I had hidden in all of my clothes and got back on the bed with Brother Michael. I started massaging him again. I was nervous. If I failed in what I was about to do, I could get the death penalty in New York State. I leaned to his neck and kissed and nibbled it, then brought his arms lovingly into the middle of his back. I talked sweetly to him as I reached into my bag, "I'm going to make you feel very good, Brother." In a flash I brought the handcuffs out and snapped them on his wrists. I did it! The rest would be easy. Brother seemed unaware of what was going on until I slipped the ball gag in his mouth. Over the gag, as a backup, I wrapped a scarf around his mouth to doubly secure the gag.

I pulled him up off the bed and forced him into the thick-doored closet. I brought him to the floor with a slight struggle and cuffed his angles together. His ankles I secured to his bound wrists with lengths of chain. I then chained him from his ankle and wrist cuffs to the pipes of the radiator.

I quickly closed the thick doors of the closet, and rushed to my bag full of the rest of the supplies which Timothy had secured for me. I dressed in the clothes I had brought, including a turtleneck shirt to cover my collar. I took the $500 cash, and Brother Michael's driver license. My original plan on searching the Internet for maps of the region was to walk, by back streets, the thirty miles from Troy, New York, to Pittsfield, Massachusetts, and from there to take a bus to Boston. But seeing Brother Michael's car keys, I thought, why not? I ended up driving the entire way right up to the Boston headquarters of Slave Amnesty.

Massachusetts is one of the most fiercely anti-slavery states in the country. When I presented myself at Slave Amnesty for asylum I was treated in a way I had truly forgotten; like a human being. They checked my case, and were quite certain that when the judge heard my case in the morning I would be freed immediately without any additional jail time for my traffic violation.

The Amnesty folks called the Troy Police Department, who on freeing Brother Michael let us know that Brother Michael was okay, and that Brother wanted us to know that I committed no violence against him.

I spent the night in the county jail. I called my family from jail, and they all were present for my hearing the next day. Judge Adam Austriano pronounced me as having paid more than a sufficient price for my crime with my almost two and a half years of enslavement. He said the extreme sentence of life enslavement I was given was typical of the injustice meted out by slave states eager to maintain a steady supply of slaves for the state coffers.

After the trial, when I was once again a free man, my family and I went out to dinner. I thanked Timothy again for what he did for me, and I was surprised by what he said. "I didn't get that stuff for you. When I got back home after picking up that key you wanted me to copy, I couldn't restart the car. The battery died. So I called your friend Eric and told him everything you needed, and how it all had to be very secret because you were going to try and escape. I knew you two were the best of friends, and he hated slavery as much as you did. So I knew your secret was good with him."

Later that day I called Eric. He cried when I told him I was a free man. I told him he risked his life by helping a slave escape. He said he knew that, and he wanted me to know that just because he got carried away a few times with the intoxication of power, that did not mean he was a supporter of slavery. In fact it made him hate slavery more than ever. He told me he was working with an anti-slavery group to free Weston's slaves. I started to cry, "I thought I had lost my friend." He cried too, and told me he loved me. He plans on coming to visit me on his next break.

Slave Amnesty was able to get me a scholarship to Boston University. In my free time I volunteer with Slave Amnesty, and it was there I met another volunteer who has become a special friend of mine. He also was a former slave, and we now share an apartment together.

Brother Michael is now working in his church's ministry for gays. Perry flunked out of college, and tried and failed to get a job at Punishment House. Tony was arrested once for drunken driving, and once for injuring a man in a bar fight. He is on thin ground in Pennsylvania, with its 'Three strikes, you're a slave!' law.

The Falkenberg's, I have learned, sued Brother Michael's parish and were able to collect almost half of what they paid for me. It wasn't anywhere near what I would have brought them if they had sold me to the Jamaicans.

I had been conflicted about calling them, since I liked them, and in some strange way missed them. I was surprised to get a letter from them, asking me to come and visit them. The reason for their request I could not understand, but I was able to tell them that the Commonwealth of Boston had advised against such a visit on my part.

Eric in his work for slave rights, visits the auction houses on a regular basis, and told me has seen the Falkenberg's shopping for a slave. He said that he heard them loudly commiserating that no slave could ever measure up to Billy.

The End

Posted: 11/11/11