Rebuilding a Gladiator

Wow! This Saturday afternoon (chapter 9) was intense. I went from slaveowner to slave. I used to own Jamie & Darren for life (both 23, partners, slave gladiators with me during my indenture) and Luke for five years (18, my punk indenture to save him from slavery like his big brother Jamie, my cell-mate who fucks me but who I can't fuck).

Mornin slave labour felt great. Then Luke got me off twice by tawsin my butt -- weird. I agreed to get enslaved to keep my guys and my balls (registered violent sex offender, two convictions, third would get me castrated and me n them sold), spend my life with them livin in a slave barracks, workin slave labour (kinda what I wanted). Boss bullwhipped me, slave-prodded my balls n dick to train em how to act in public. I rode naked in a cage in a truckbed to the slave office, wavin my dick at the traffic, to get registered and strapped. Jon (the attorney who sprang me from the gladiators after I impregnated his wife and fucked him, who set me up with my guys, who enslaved me) outran me in a 10k while I drove him with a quirt to his bare butt, so he flogged me and fucked me. Today I fragged three times (whole-body orgasms) after getting worked hard, flogged hard, fucked hard. All too weird. Glad y'all're still with me. I need a break. After the week I've had, tonight seems mellow.

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PETE PICKS ME UP

'Sir! I'm proud you're my master, Sir!" (No Recon Marine like me ever imagines sayin what I just did to ANYone.)

Jon answered, "I'm proud you're my slave." (No Recon Marine like me ever imagines feelin good when he hears that.)

After Jon flogged, fucked, n fragged me (Chapter 9), we chilled lyin together on the boss's office couch -- me on my back, him on me, tits on my tawsed tits, balls to my quirted balls, dicks between our well-run thighs. Shot again. No frag this time. Mellow.

We'd just come out of the boss's private shower when Overseer Pete knocked on the office door n came in when Jon called. Jon n me're wearin nothin. Pete's still wearin just a jock, not his shorts n overseer's muscle shirt, cuz he's gettin punished like me n my guys (Chapter 7, Chapter 8) after I took my slave Darren's dare to race up a scaffold on the job on Thursday.

Pete grabbed my balls, firm but not rough, looked me square in the eyes, snapped a collar or strap around the sac or scrotum between the balls n dick, snapped the leash to the strap, grinned REAL proud. The ballstrap n leash are what I wore in the slave office and in the cage on the way home.

Jon asked why, what that meant.

"Strap makes him look n act REAL kewl. Leash makes im behave WAY better. It's what new slaves wear ..."

A hand shot past me n attached itself to Pete's jock pouch. Jon's hand.

Jon's knuckles turned white. Pete turned queasy red.

Jon snarled, "Boy! What document did you witness this afternoon?"

"Something that confirmed that Steve (me) n his other slaves had been transferred to a trust."

Jon made his knuckles a little less white.

"Right, BOY. Who's s'posed to know?

Pete worked real hard to breathe, to stand, to talk. "Sir! Nobody, Sir!"

"Right, Boy. So what does a guy seein Steve in a new-slave ball-leash think?"

"Sir! It shows Steve's a new slave, Sir! Uh-oh, Sir!"

"Right again, Boy! All every other guy EVER knows is that Steve's been a slave gladiator like his three guys. No way 'new'!"

Jon's knuckles go whiter.

"Sir! Fuckin ouch! Better answer, Sir! Steve dressed that way for a client audition this afternoon, what he rode to in the cage, Sir!"

Jon n his hand relaxed. Hand let go of Pete's jock, shook Pete's hand. Squeezed Pete's knuckles just a little (Jon's knuckles went white again). Pete stood straighter.

Jon snap the strap around his own ballsac; tells Pete, "Your free shot."

Pete shakes his head, takes the ballstrap back. "Sir! Thanks, Sir, but no. I gave the wrong answer, Sir, headed down the wrong track. You caught me fair n square, saved a BIG problem, Sir!"

Jon nods at Pete. Pete snaps the strap around my balls, attaches the leash, thinks again, takes leash off, strap stays on. "Too hard to explain, Sir! I have the answer for why Steve rode in the cage. I don't need to give the guys anything to ask about. I'll be right back with a jock for Steve, Sir!"

Jon says, "Right, BOY. You can keep Steve in the strap," (Fuckin thanks! Sir!) "but keep it under a jock 'til you get him alone in your cell."

Jon takes both our balls, tight. Looks us in the eyes, Pete first, then me (as we face him, try to stand). "Remember, you - two - studs! Y'all can talk with each other about this afternoon, what Steve did, what it means for him, for his guys -- but KEEP IT PRIVATE. No talkin outside y'all's cells. NObody else around. Nobody else EVER knows. Pete, you make sure Steve's guys understand this too."

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" Jon lets go. Pete heads off to get me a jock.

I chill with Jon again, him lyin on me, tits to my abused tawsed tits, balls to my abused quirted balls, dicks through well-run thighs, too mellow to shoot again, till Pete gets back with a jock for me, knocks, walks in.

Jon stands me up facin him, holds me tight, pecs to pecs (the pecs he tawsed), balls to balls (the balls he quirted), an arm around my shoulders (the shoulders he quirted), a hand on a glute (the glutes he tawsed). I shouldn't fuckin like this, shouldn't go even harder. I'm SO buzzed on endorphins. And on Jon.

Jon hands me off to Pete. Pete stands on my right, left arm around my shoulders.

"Steve, enjoy your night with Pete. I pick you and your three guys up at this office door at eight sharp. Clean, shaved, sunscreen, deodorant, jocks. Pete, make sure Luke collects this list." Jon hands Pete a piece of paper, folded.

"Pete, make sure Steve gets SOME rest. Make sure his hide don't look any uglier. He's had a long day today. He has tough one tomorrow. Look studly for investors."

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

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PETE EXPLAINS THE FUCKING ORDER

Walkin to the mess hall, standin in line, I felt kinda like a squeeze toy for all the guys -- very hands-on attention, especially to tits, pecs, tawsed caned glutes, the afternoon's bullwhip tracks on the pecs. Don't respond. Pete's my role model -- the hardass overseer wearin just a jock n bullwhip tracks gets WAY more attention. Fuckin slave gladiators did this way less, but they had guards with slaveprods around. Like I learned this afternoon, any response leads to worse trouble.

Can't say I remember much about dinner with Pete and the guys. They're my guys, Darren, Jamie, and Luke, plus the five guys who'll work n train with us gladiators to punish them -- the kid apprentices Sparky and Mario (tapped a client's single malt), Ape (the former Mr Jackson, former manager for Ace Plumbing & Electrical, former criminal mastermind who ripped the company and its customers off), and Big Ace and Little Ace (Ace swamper and driver, who helped Ape) -- Chapter 5, Chapter 7.

Me n Pete sat with my guys, across from the guys trainin with us. Pete smiled at me a little. "Good boy. You're learnin'. Every guy you meet on the street can get you hurt, can hurt you -- like you learned this afternoon. Can't say I enjoyed demonstrating -- Boss bullwhips way too well, hate dicks down my throat." (Pete demoed my role as the slave in trouble, when the boss flogs first, asks questions later, to get the slave out of the situation and get the company paid.) Darren, whose dick went down Pete, grinned kinda shy.

"Even in here, where we're chill, every overseer can cane you, maybe bullwhip you -- don't need much cause to assert control, command respect, adjust attitude Every lead hand can quirt you -- don't need much cause, just what he calls attitude. Every guy outa boot camp (y'all's six-month trainin) can fuck your face or your ass or both. Chickens have a peckin order; we got a fuckin order."

This conversation gets the guys' attention. My lead hands Jamie n Luke (I used to be their master), smile real big, wink, reach for their quirts, say they'll see me later. The apprentices (past boot camp) say they wanna talk with me n Darren private. Nobody looks interested in Ape n the Aces, who make funny grins. First time I'm glad I'm Pete's meat tonight.

This pulls me outa my daze. "Sir! If all that can happen, if every guy can flog n fuck every other guy, how's it seem so chill? Okay -- fuckin hardass military, edgy, attitudes reps respect, but nobody walks around canin, tawsin, fuckin every other guy."

Pete thinks a minute. "No guy wants to be an asshole. No guy wants to make himself fair game for every other guy. Every other guy's buds. You n the other guy will see each other every day for years, maybe the rest of your lives. Besides, most every guy is some other guy's meat. Or mate.

"You can challenge an overseer or lead hand -- appeal to a senior dude -- double or nothin, maybe the guy who wanted to flog you for no good reason gets flogged double himself. Overseers, lead hands who abuse their positions get abused, real bad, maybe get demoted. Guys learn to get along. Nobody wants a rep as a bully -- bullies disrupt work crews, have accidents, get injured, get sold off. We don't need no guards with what -- slave prods?"

"Sir!" talkin to Pete that way feels natural, "that double-or-nothin appeal sounds like a way to get automatic double plus an enemy." Pete kinda smiles, nods. "Does it ever work, Sir?"

"Well," Pete relaxes a little, smiles more, "it worked for me once, n the overseer got the double.

"I was new, on y'all's six-month bootcamp, workin with a plumbin crew. The overseer was a journeyman plumber. The word was, he uh "served" elderly clients who lived alone, mostly widow ladies. He overcharged em real bad but the widow ladies didn't mind because he came on like a gigolo. The ones he mistreated were too scared, too embarrassed to complain. Finally he fucked one so rough she bled and had to go to emergency. Then the cops started followin up his clients. Turns out his plumbin work was pretty bad too. The prosecutor wanted to pull his journeyman ticket AND pull his balls -- castrate him. The county let him keep both so they'd sell him at a better price. Hardwicke Co was the lucky buyer. Prosecutor was right. Dude was one dumb mean badass.

"Anyway, I was the very junior helper to this j-man overseer and his lead-hand sidekick. We were addin a new line n fixtures in the basement of a three-storey buildin. Had to shut the water off to cut into the main line. I turned the shutoff valve all the way closed. Bossman said I did it wrong cuz water still came out when he opened a tap. Bossman n his sidekick forgot the three storeys of pipes full of water that gotta drain first. Bossman got REAL mad when I asked him to let the lines drain first. He n his sidekick pulled my shorts n jock off for me to get 12.

"I appealed. Made him call the trades super. Trades super drove right over. Bossman got the two dozen, got sold off the next week. So'd his dumbass sidekick So if you're REAL sure, appeal.

"But it don't always work."

Pete tells us, quiet, not just to give our asses away. Go with a guy we respect, wanna work for or with. Anybody else, look unhappy, ask " 'You sure, Sir?' SOMEtimes that works."

Pete adds, to me, "Boss Henry wants to see you after tonight's lounge scene n floor show, floggin show." Smiles big.

"Sir?" I ask, ""Boss Henry, Sir?"

"Boss Henry's the general super, head overseer. You've seen him. Looks like the sergeant major in a war flick. Six-foot-four fireplug, buzzed grey hair, company's only moustache, ripply shoulders back arms thighs."

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DINNER WITH THE GUYS

I've mostly been with Pete since yesterday, so once we get past who flogs n fucks whom, especially me, the others have lots to tell us. Wish I could remember more.

Pete recapped the fucking order for them. Jamie n Darren said the older gladiators liked to fuck with and to fuck the younger guys like them. They said nobody'd do it to me cuz I was Mike's meat, n Mike was the Champion. They told Pete I had a choice of kids to fuck but did it only when I had to.

Darren turned out for football practice like Boss Big Dawg told him but got there way late -- that half-hour we spent racing up and down scaffolds, the five mile run back to the compound. So he spent the rest of the practice runnin laps, 40-yard cross-field sprints, 110-yard goal-to-goal sprints -- good thing I reconditioned him (Chapter 1). He says the guys wear slave boots not spikes to practise, so nobody gets spiked, rubber cups in the jocks, shorts (all but him), shoulder pads but no shirts (open for motivation by whip). He has a playbook to study.

Jamie reconnected with Luke, who' got his name tattooed on the front and back of his left shoulder plus on his dick, and circumcised last night, to look like us gladiators. I spend the weekend with Overseer Pete to protect Luke's dick. Luke's ass is especially sore because to keep his upper body clean for his tattooing his ass took all the upper-body flogging the rest of us got (Chapter 7).

Jamie's the lead hand who's worked n trained the apprentices, the Aces, n Ape. If he handles them like he n his quirt handle our bareass runs to n from the job. they'll all shape up REAL smartly.

Darren's the other one of us who's not a lead hand. He's a Big Dawg with me, so he's prime new meat for the apprentices plus for Luke n Jamie. He'll have a busy night -- but easier than mine with Overseer Pete n Boss Henry. He looks down with it. Not sure I am.

The apprentices started their apprenticeships after the six-month orientation we're doin -- bootcamp -- but they're enjoyin the physical break from their kinda detail-oriented day jobs. Half their blacksnake discipline's suspended while they work n train like gladiators. They're sore from punishment Thursday night, sore from the slave labour. They eye Luke n Jamie, who're still in bootcamp but off-limits lead hands. They make eye contact with Darren, like I said.

The Aces said they helped Ape's rippin off because he caned n fucked the living hell out of them until they did, then got em booze n broads for helpin. The company owner treated em okay -- the groceries they bought included a sixpack each per month -- but after 20 years they'd got real bored. Now they're real sore from real punishment (Chapter 7 -- me n Darren caned em) and hard work but enjoyed the changeup in their two days with us, looked forward to more weekends here.

Ape was real sore from hard punishment Thursday night by Pete n the Boss n from hard fuckin by the Aces later. He missed his family, worried about em, missed his free life, didn't really look forward much to his new life as a slave to our company. He doesn't know yet how long he'll stay an indenture to repay all he ripped off -- auditors're still countin what he stole. But he allows the physical parts and interaction with the guys made a nice change, a chance to get back in shape under expert supervision -- into slave-labour shape.

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TRAIN WITH PETE, GET CLOSER ON COMPETITIVE LIFTS

I said (chapter 8) that Pete's a powerlifter. Not so, he says, couldn't have their shape, bodyfat percentage; he's a bodybuilder who's not ripped for competition just now.

Last night in the gym he challenged me to one-rep max lifts -- bench press, overhead press, biceps curls, back lift (lie prone, pull bar to chest), squats. Trainers' tawses beat me but not his size advantage.

Tonight he'll give me a break. Three-rep max weights. All but biceps, add pairs of 25 lb or 45 plates to the 45 lb bar -- 135, 185, 225, 275, .... To win an event, he has to do three at the next weight but I just have to tie him to win. Thanks!

Bench press, like last night, I clear the 135 and 185. I grunt out one 225 , just friendly trainer's tawse. Heavy tit n pec tawse gets me a second 225. On the third, tawse to my balls n dick raises the pitch of my scream along with the bar. I wanna die while Pete smiles through four 270s.

Like last night, he says I can drop the competition now, just train hard, get flogged n fucked easy back in his cell. No way I drop a competition. So I hurt more here n in his cell.

Like last night, trainers can beat ME (way more, way harder) but not beat Pete's size advantage. He says last night made up for me gettin him punished with me n Darren, outracin him when the overseers made us race half an hour up n down the scaffolds. Tonight goes for beatin him at one-minute pushups n pullups so he got titcaned n bullwhipped more n me in the punishment scene Thursday (Chapter 7).

But he wants, needs a playmate, trainin partner who can keep up. So pushup n pullup competitions he could win or I could. But not the one-minute maxes I won Thursday. Slow, steady, gut it out.

We hold steady. Trainers 'help.'

Mine asks, "Tawse?" Check. "Quirt?" Check. "Cane?" Check, please.

I tell him, "Sir! Whatever it takes. Slave prod, Sir?" Check, boy. Pete's down with it all.

We square off, side by side. We start. Trainer calls one minute. Pete grins. Two minutes. I'm workin, Pete's grinnin. I'm damn near paralyzed until the prod to my jock jolts me up. I see Pete still down. Finally one for the good guy.

Pete n me stand up, not very quick. He hugs me, looks me in the eye, swats my ass, squeezes a pec, shakes my hand.

Pullups next. Shoulder-width grip, palms in. Same steady pace. Slave prod can't get me past two minutes. Pete grins. I shake his hand.

"Gotta break this tie," Pete says. "Burpees." That''s the classic eight-count: 1 squat down, 2 jump feet back, 3 4 5 6 two pushups, 7 jump feet back in, 8 bounce up. Every bored jock's friend.

We die at about the same time. Pete hugs me, looks me in the eye, swats my ass, squeezes a pec, shakes my hand. Long night comin ...

Quick shower, jocks, no deodorant. Ballstrap stays on. To the lounge.

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FLOGGING SHOW -- BOSS HENRY, NOT ME

Pete says Saturday night's show gets the longer-term cases. Tonight a dude gets nailed for fuckin off his work n trainin. Plus a guy who's failed his fitness goals.

We stand a ways behind the Bosses, the owners, Mr Whitmore, Mr Hardwicke, with the bar ahead of them. Pete's on my right, left hand on my right glute.

First up is a kid I'd not really noticed -- average height, average looks, real unhappy, slumped, naked. An overseer says he's been dodgin work on his crew, that he's failed his GED high-school equivalency three times, don't study, don't seem to care.

Mr Whitmore tells the crowd that the punk gets sold Monday, maybe to a slacker outfit where he'll fit, maybe to some slavebreaker he'll pay attention to. (Fuck! Tougher outfit than ours?) To get the best price when he's sold, he can't show punishment. Just floggers tonight, front n back, hard, shoulders to butt n balls. Kid grabs the bar, facin us. His dick droops like the rest of him. No fun to watch the two overseers break him, drag him away. Pete's hand's easy on my glute.

Next naked guy looks like the Boss Henry that Pete described, naked but standin real tall, lookin like he could tear down the hall n every man in it, lookin Mr Hardwicke in the eye. Crowd buzzes, gets real attentive.

Mr Hardwicke says, "Men, most of you know Boss Henry, probably met him the hard way, like Mr Whitmore and I did. Boss Henry's the company's head supervisor, the capo di tutti capi (I learned that hearin about the Mafia). The man who ran the company for goin on a year after my dad n brother got killed , turned it hardass military, ran it and y'all until Mr Whitmore and I could get out of the Army, get through bootcamp here, learn the ropes. Boss Henry trained us both -- hard n by hand.

"Boss Henry, why're you up here?"

He answers, "Sir! I've failed my bodyfat percentage three months runnin! That's why I'm here for the third time, Sir."

Mr Hardwicke braces, rolls his shoulders, holds a coiled blacksnake. So does Mr Whitmore, who says, real serious, "Right, Boss Henry. How'd you fail?"

"Sir! I don't know , Sir! Y'all know how hard I work, how hard I train. Just can't get that fat percent down, Sir"

Mr Whitmore answers, "Right, Boss. You work real hard, train real hard, and when your work gets in the way of your training you train extra hard to catch up. Know why that doesn't work?"

"Sir! No, Sir!"

Mr Whitmore continues, "So why's your body store fat?"

"Sir! For energy when the body needs it, Sir!"

Mr Hardwicke answers, "Right, Boss. The body builds in fat for when it needs EXTRA energy. So when you slack your training, then try to make it up, the body sees it needs more reserve energy so it adds more fat. That's why YOU had me and Mr Whitmore up here for the same thing. But we learned after the first time, the first dozen cuts, didn't need the next month's 18 like you got last month, didn't need the 24 you'll take now. Train regular, eat regular, so the body can relax n let go."

"How old was your dad when he had his heart attack, Boss?"  

"Sir!  57, Sir."  

"He was built like you, right?  And how old are you now, Boss?"

"Sir!  58, Sir!"

"So you see why we need you stayin in shape."

"Sir!  Yes, Sir!"

Mr Whitmore announces to all us guys, "Men, Boss Henry's elected to take all two dozen with the blacksnake. Ready, Boss?"

Mr Hardwicke positions himself behind Boss Henry. The owners brace, flick their lashes out, take a couple practice swings beside their target. Boss Henry braces, flexes, flares, damn near pulls bar so hard he's chinnin up. If he were a Greek statue, he'd be Zeus or Vulcan. (Sister Marie-Anne would be proud I remembered, even if she wasn't proud about where I am.) Boss Henry winks at me, glares at Mr Whitmore. Every man in the room braces. Pete grips my glute tight.

Boss Henry stands real tall, real flexed, real flared (bigger back n chest targets, bigger muscles take abuse better), keeps lookin Mr Whitmore in the eyes. The lashes build on the slabs of his pecs. We hear Mr Hardwicke's build on his massive back. He don't respond (Damn!), just breathes steady, just keeps flexin, holds his gaze, barely moves a muscle, even his moustache don't twitch. His dick looks as proud as he does, even if he holds it half-mast, like a flag in a three mile-an-hour wind. He don't shoot.

Every dick in the room stands proud at full attention. Pete damn near rapes me with that hand on my glute that moves to my crack n hole. Sounds, smells like everybody but Boss Henry shoots.

Over! Boss Henry lets go the bar. Both Bosses hug him. All us guys applaud. Mr Hardwicke tells everybody, "Cold showers, clean jocks n shorts."

And Boss Henry wants me in his cell. Pete says I'll find him in the shower, the overseers' shower at the end.

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BOSS HENRY FUCKS

I shed my jock at the bin. Pete says, keep the ballstrap. Nobody'll notice. Nobody but me.

Boss Henry's too easy to spot in the overseers' shower. His jaw stayed set n he stayed flexed. Even under the full-force cold shower. His dick stayed half-soft.

He spotted me, smiled big, relaxed. His dick jumped to attention, first time. Mine too, again.

He hugged me real tight. His dick probed down to mine. I hugged him. Damn near shot then n there.

I lathered his massive muscles, his commanding neck jaw face, his commanding balls dick crotch hole. He wriggled his glutes (this massive stud) for me to lather his hole. Then he did me, real careful, lots of skin n muscle stimulation.

We dried. He said, grab a jock but don't wear it. I walk on his left, like walkin with a sergeant-major, but no sergeant-major ever hugged me next to him n worked my glutes with his left hand. Proud dick pair. Guys see us, smile quick, look away.

His cell's like Pete's but bigger, nicer. Still a slave cell but more man's den, less jock's pad. Even better collection of canes n whips.

Inside his cell with the door shut, we hug real hard. He's got four inches and 50 pounds on me. He picks me up like I'm a kid. Hugs tight. Damn near shakes me.

He locks eye contact, real blue, real intense. Grins. "You know, you and I are the only men here who've fucked both Bosses, Mr Hardwicke and Mr Whitmore. You and I are the only ones who've bullwhipped Mr Hardwicke.

"I get to pick who I fuck, who I flog. I stick to the important guys, overseers, some lead hands, some tough dudes we buy or indenture. Leave most guys to their crews, their overseers, their lead hands, their buds.

"You're the new recruit that turns me on. Turns me on for the company. Turns on both heads. Like you see.

"You down with this?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

He holds my gaze, holds my harnessed, abused balls, real tight. "Call me Boss. Everybody does. Not Sir!"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" Squeeze. "Boss! Yes, Boss!"

He winks. "Want me to fuck you?"

"Boss! No, Boss!" (I do learn, just sometimes slow n painful.) "I never want to get fucked, Boss. I take it when it comes with the job.

"But if you want to fuck me, Boss, you'll make me very proud, Boss."

BIG grin. Says we gotta warm up first, bond. He holds a pullup bar (with leather handcuffs, like Pete's, that we don't use), braces, flexes while I rub an oil into his blacksnake tracks front n back. Change places. He rubs oil into my afternoon bullwhip tracks, Thursday's 36 cane tracks, Thursday night's dozen blacksnake tracks (I took six more'n I had to -- endorphins, adrenaline), Friday's Big Dawg seven initiation cane tracks, Luke's turn-on tawse tracks, all Jon's n the gym's tawsed quirted places, even my balls.

"Stud like you can't just lie back, just spread his legs. Your endorphin's still okay but we gotta prime the adrenaline n cortisol, touch up the testosterone. You down with bullwhip warmup?"

"Boss! Yes, Boss!" I'm so buzzed.

He damn near apologizes, says he can't bullwhip me, can't cane me, can't mark me, gotta keep me sharp for my investors tomorrow.

Flogger. I hold a wide-grip pullup, legs straight down, okay to rotate, okay to cross ankles, just don't drop. Flogger works pecs back balls dick butt. Hard! Dick tries to rise to the occasion. Gets beaten down. Hold it till I shoot with Boss Henry. Everything hurts real bad all over. Muscles actually feel good. Boss says I'm ready.

Hot lube on n in our pecs traps delts dicks balls crotches holes.

Leather cuffs around my ankles, line ties them to the wall. Hold on tight, he says. Need my wrists cuffed too?

I can hold on for fuckin ever. Don't mean that the way it sounds. "Boss! No, Boss!"

His arms wrap me real tight, pull me onto his big man dick. Eases it in sexy, not angry, don't drive it for punishment. Says, "Hold on tight."

I feel his flogged hide on my flogged hide, his massive muscles around my abused muscles. His massive horny workman's hands on my horny pecs n tits.

He works me real good, in, out, around, moves my body, my hole over his dick. I'm his squeeze toy. Both my heads groove on it.

He shoots. Frags, actually -- all that massive muscle around me. He holds me real tight while I frag, shoot. He unties my ankles. Helps me stand. Holds my strapped balls while I clean my spunk off the wall.

He carries me to his bed, lies on his back, pulls me onto him, tits to tits, balls to balls, his arms still around me. He smiles. Picks up his head for me to wrap my arms around his massive muscled neck. His right hand pulls me into a deep hard kiss. His tongue explores. Mine responds. His left hand works my back -- neck to glutes, slow intense deep.

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BOSS HENRY TALKS

"You've had a tough day," he says. "Chill. I'll tell you a story.

"Quarter-century before you were born, there was this jock, lineman for the Alabama Crimson Tide. Offensive tackle -- big fast smart mean. Future a few years in the NFL like his dad, then  Alabama State Trooper. Like his dad. Studied business, made okay marks, but majored in ball, beer, babes. Athletic scholarship's like a pro contract -- you perform, they pay -- except you need grades for eligibility. He actually earned most of his grades but didn't have to. Outside school, the Alums took care of guys like him. The summer before his fourth year, senior year, he had a great, fun job -- lumber yard, construction -- stay in shape, work the tan, make bucks.  He'd dared the boss's daughter, she helped him with calculus and stats, they planned their life together.  

"Then there was this company picnic. He knocked up the boss's daughter, boss's truck, his knee. Knee got fixed, mostly, but not good enough for Southeast Conference football. He got enslaved. Boss was an important man, and his gimped knee ended his football contract anyway. An Alum contacted Mr Hardwicke's grandfather. Our jock became the first Big Dawg. He moved up in the company -- finished business degree evenings, construction experience, time management (well, mostly -- sheepish grin).

"Tonight he had to play his role. Show all the guys that every guy plays by the rules. Especially the indentured overseers who think they're contractors the rules don't apply to. Look good for his son."

I'm awake. "Boss! Your son, Boss? A slave's kids are slaves too, like the Old South?"

"Naw. If a slave's kids don't commit no crime, they stay free. Of course, it can be a tough way to grow up -- dad's a slave, locked up somewhere, mom's angry -- so lots of slaves' kids get enslaved too.

"But the Company lets you earn a different life for you and your family. You've seen the townhouses behind the trees at the edge of the compound? Family housing for guys that earn it.

"My son's an indenture. You know him. Look like me when he grows up."

"Boss! Pete, Boss?"

"Right!" Swats, squeezes a glute. "You know my older son too -- spent a weekend at his place."

"Boss! Doc, Boss?"

"Right!" Swats, squeezes a glute. "So I split my evenings between the barracks and my wife. Another reason I don't need to fuck guys. She was the boss's daughter who kept the baby -- Doc. The family kept it quiet. When I squared away and moved up in the Company, Mr Hardwicke's grandfather let us marry and set up here.

"You and I need to wrap so Pete can get you. Quick farewell fuck. Take off the ballstrap (Damn! They hurt!) Roll over, put your knees over my shoulders, work my pecs."

Fuck! Mellow shoot. Too buzzed to frag. I licked my spunk off him.

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CHILL WITH PETE'S COMPETITIVE FLOG & FUCK

Pete collects me. We both thank Boss Henry. Eye contact. Hug. Back pec ball squeeze. Ballstrap back on. Jock. Try to walk with Pete. Good thing he holds tight.

Back in his cell, he says the competition's still on. He owes me a serious flog n fuck. But I did win one event. So I'll show him what he oughta give me. I get everything I give him. Unless it's pussy. Not enough or not hard enough. Then I get double, twice as hard. But no cane, no bullwhip, no marks.

FUCK!

Where to start? I remember my session with him last night, session with Jon this afternoon.

Gotta do what I'll hate but can almost take. Hope he can't. Gotta pitch this between my quick power n his long slow power.

I put the ballstrap on him. Makes him even harder. My balls almost miss it.

Start him in the low pushup position, jock on,dick out the waistband, while I tawse his shoulders n back, count 10 between cuts, tell him he's gotta get to 12 (two minutes) or he gets the rest plus another 12. He counts the reps, "One, Sir!" "Two, Sir!" ... Drops after nine. High pushup position for the 15. He loses count at seven. Starts over. Kewl!

Low front bridge, on elbows, for tawse to butt. But there's a heavy strap like I got at the slave bureau this afternoon. His turn. Strap takes longer to swing -- about 15 seonds. Same drill otherwise. He swears. Surprise. He gets to 12, three minutes. "Good boy!"

He answers, 'Sir! Thank you, Sir!"

I stand him up. We hug n abuse each other's skin muscles balls dicks.

Back bridge, arms overhead, for quirt. Same drill -- dozen pecs n tits, dozen balls. He makes the tits fine, likes the bridge, makes the 12. "Good boy!" He answers, 'Sir! Thank you, Sir!" Balls drop him after five. He lies back on his desk, legs apart, for the 19. Ballstrap must feel kewl.

I stand him up. We hug n abuse each other's skin muscles balls dicks. I like the way his ballstrap feels in my hand more'n he does on his balls.

Pullup n flogger time. Same 12-count drill. Legs down for pecs n tits. He does 15, 2 1/2 minutes! He'll be a hard act to follow! Hold legs up, straight out for shoulders n back. He makes the 12. Just.

I stand him up. We hug n abuse each other's skin muscles balls dicks. My turn. I liked the way his ballstrap felt on him more than it does on me.

I get through the backbridge balls n pecs, take the butt strap to 15, the frontbridge back n shoulders, glutes, the pullup floggers. Try to go over more'n he did. No penalty shots. He looks impressed. I feel like bloody hell. Except my dick. He's ready for the first fuck!

We rub on the hot lube, all over, like with Boss Henry.

I hang Pete on the pullup bar, cuff his wrists cuz he's bigger'n me, cuff n hang his ankles, like with Boss Henry. I fuckin frag fuckin him, not gettin fucked or flogged like every other time this week, first time since that tantric place in Bang Cock back in my Recon Marine prehistory.

I help Pete get down, stand up. We hug, abuse, kiss. I can hardly stand when he puts the ballstrap back on me, but it does help the dick rise to the occasion.

Pete hangs me up, fucks me, frags me again. I am SO buzzed. So bonded to Overseer Pete. Even though he's just the age of my Darren n Jamie, 23.

Great night. Don't remember who fucked when in bed. Six o'clock hit way too early. Pete fucked n fragged me awake. Well, more buzzed than awake. Everything hurts. Everything feels kewl.

Clean up, meet my guys, get ready for Jon.

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