first up this morning, my attorney & master jon takes me & my guys back to the the slave barracks we'd lived in, where i worked as a part-time slave-trainer, to check us out and get my deposit back. i transfer me n my guys to a delaware corporation. i was a master, not a slave when we lived there, so it gets hairy. when it gets physical -- bullwhip to assert control -- jon shows another side, takin half my floggin -- as a competition. then i learn where me n my guys fit his world.



Wow! Sunday! My first with my guys at Hardwicke Co, where I've signed us up as stud construction slaves. Sundays sleep in till seven!

I wake up in overseer Pete's cell, kinda tangled up in Pete, but my dick in him. Nice change from every other mornin this week, when the other guy was in me. We're still comin down from our competitive trainin (I lost all but pushups), then our competitive flog n fuck (Pete had me do to him what he should do to me -- Chapter 10).

After I signed on as a slave for life yesterday afternoon, Pete got bullwhipped in a scene to train both my heads how to chill when threatened; I got bullwhipped n my balls n hole got slave-prodded (Chapter 9). Then I rode naked in a cage in the back of a pickup to n from the slave bureau to get registered as a slave. Got strapped but not branded, not number-tattooed. Next attorney Jon outran me while I quirted his naked butt -- both wearin jocks n boots -- so he flogged me 'creatively', which means painfully, fucked me, generally bonded n branded me inside. Made me proud to be slave to such a stud master. Which reminds me I'm his slave through some lawyerly offshore trust.

Nice change from wakin up with my punk indenture, 18-year-old Luke, who fucks me but I can't fuck (Luke does sit on my dick after) because he's like my foster kid. His brother Jamie and Jamie's partner Darren, both 23, are my slaves. Story goes back to when I was an indentured gladiator with them. Because they're partners, I don't fuck them either. This week, besides workin Pete hard, I did fuck n flog Mr Hardwicke, half-owner of Hardwicke Co (Chapter 3, Chapter 5). Fucked his partner, Mr Whitmore, last weekend (Chapter 2).

Back to wakin up in n around overseer Pete in his cell. He tortured my bullwhipped hide pecs tits while I rammed him, tortured his bullwhipped hide pecs tits. We fragged together (tantric full-body climax, but the physical buildup hurt WAY more'n tantric buildup. Maybe endorphins drive it.) Another day I wanna zone, play, get played. Can't.

Attorney Jon picks me n my guys up at eight to meet investors. Get showered, deodorized, sunscreened, shaved (everything between buzzed eyebrows, buzzed pubes), wear just jocks (we're still gettin punished for my jobsite climbin race with Darren -- Chapter 7, Chapter 8). Make sure Luke collected the stuff on the list Jon gave Pete. Pete collects me n my guys, sees we get groomed right. I'm still so endorphin-buzzed that I enjoy gettin groomed, groomin Pete (not goin with us but same groomin) then Luke.

Breakfast was mellower than a workday. Most guys in the messhall look pretty chill. I'm kinda edgy. This "meet investors." We head. Luke has the stuff on Jon's list. Don't show it to me. My guys grin, joke, ask how our newest slave (ME!) is doin (Chapter 9). One more time I'm their squeeze toy. Can't react. Socks n boots. Head out.

Jon picks us up outside Mr Hardwicke's office door. Shotgun in his BMW X5's leather seat's a nice change from naked in a cage in the pickup bed yesterday.

Jon says first we check out of the slave barracks he'd helped me rent for us until I signed us up here at Hardwicke Co last Monday (Chapter 3). Barracks where I was my guys' master. (Wonder how many times, how many ways I'll miss bein a master instead of a slave.) The barracks where Jamie n Luke got picked up every day to work for a contractor and earn most of our bills while I rehabbed Darren (bought my owner's cane to motivate him), got paid to train other slaves (bought my trainer's tawse to motivate them). Trained with Darren, stripped off n gave him the tawse to motivate me. Competitive runs n lifts -- stake a flog n fuck. Did shape us both up.



Jon pulls over on a quiet stretch of road. Parks. Turns in his seat to face us. Puts his right arm over the seat back, left hand around my balls. Both my heads show interest.

"Remember yesterday afternoon (Chapter 10). We're playin this game for keeps. Y'all know the stakes -- y'all. But mainly Steve. Tell me bout im."

"Bisexual badass. Dateraper. Gaybasher." Damn Jamie! Jon says it's a good slogan.

Luke has facts. "Registered violent sex offender. Trained Marine killer. Dirty-fightin gladiator. Target for anybody to pin a third rap on im."

Jon smiles but squeezes. "What could make that happen?"

Darren, the mostly-quiet guy, except when he dares me like a scaffold race (Chapter 6). "Any arrest for anythin would make his third strike."

Jon nods, smiles. "Right! And he could be arrested for being an uncontrolled sex offender. That makes this next period at y'all's slave barracks critical, because Steve was here as an uncontrolled free man."

"Right!" Jon smiles! Damn him too. But his grip on my balls relaxes with his face. "Then what?"

The guys come through. Jamie -- "Steve gets enslaved. Gets sold. Maybe gets castrated."

Luke -- "We get sold too. I go down for life. Better price."

Darren -- "We get separated. We go to real rotten owners. Maybe to owners who'd break us n throw us away, like the gladiator stable did me."

Darren, the mostly-quiet guy, except when he dares me like a scaffold race (Chapter 6). "Any arrest for anythin would make his third strike."

Jon nods, smiles. "Right! And he could be arrested for being an uncontrolled sex offender. That makes this next period at y'all's slave barracks critical, because Steve was here as an uncontrolled free man."

Jon squeezes, continues, "Who'd do that? Who're the blackhats?"

Jamie or Luke; brothers can sound alike -- "Breakin Steve, sendin him down, breakin up him n his crew would make any prosecutor real proud. Make any judge real proud. Fight crime. Protect the public n their girlfriends n boyfriends. Get good money for us bad guys. Make the 117,000 Facebook fans of "Castrate Steve Masters" real proud."

"Right again! Think maybe y'all's gladiator stable wants that too?"

Jamie again -- "Sir! For sure, Sir. They get us back cheap. Get even with Steve for springin me. Get even with you n Anne too, if they can. Adjust our attitudes. Get Luke for fresh meat."

"Dude! Sharp today!" Jon smiles more, relaxes more. "Steve wants most of all to keep y'all together and safe. He'd do whatever it takes for that. Tell me what he's done so far."

Darren recited it, real proud. "He became a slave with us last weekend to get my leg fixed, let us all cane im, fuck im (Chapter 2). He's a slave with us at Hardwickes to help make a future for us. He's a magnet for dicks n whips n canes, leastwise while we're gettin initiated. Okay -- so're we. Steve got registered as a Hardwicke slave yesterday to make it harder to sell him."

"With all them blackhats," Jon asks, "with the "Castrate Steve Masters" page and its 117,000 Facebook likes, what needs to happen?"

Luke, my punk slave! "Keep Slave Steve under real solid control. Happy to help! Show Slave Steve under that control. Promote 'Slave Steve's Greatest Hits' on Youtube. Make sure that tweets about it trend." He grins REAL big. Winks at me.

Jon looks more lawyer. "What else do we do to keep all y'all safe? Keep y'all together? The gladiator team?" Jon squeezes.

Darren -- "Steve's ownership gets real obscure. Offshore trust. Lawyer stuff. He gets to veto any big change. You get to flog n fuck im to help im agree with you.

"Do we have to keep Steve's balls too? Team could use a soprano." Damn Jamie. Guys laugh. Jon squeezes tighter.

Jon sits taller, squares his shoulders, doesn't change his grip on the balls they're talkin about. Mine. Jon looks n talks real serious.

"Right, y'all. Let's recap the game plan. First period, first quarter yesterday, Steve saw the danger he's in as a free man with his two convictions and sex-offender registry. Like we just said. Sorry to repeat it, but y'all need to understand that this is serious AND private. What we've done is normal, legal, legitimate, but some folks may find it frustratin. Anybody who learns what we've done could try to undo it. That COULD make all of us -- y'all plus me, maybe even ANNE -- way worse off. County'd love to bust a lawyer cuz I'm in their way. Enslave n sell a lawyer? Been done before. Y'all don't tell nobody nothin. Especially not how new Slave Steve looked so kewl doin whatever, so kewl takin whatever. Slave Steve's been a slave since before y'all became slave gladiators with him. Y'all got that REAL GOOD?"

Damn! That's true.

My three guys -- my three fellow slaves in the back seat -- all answer, "Sir! Yes, Sir!"

Jon relaxes his face, relaxes his grip on my jock. "So dangerous criminal Steve became Sleve Steve. That makes it harder to sell him. He signed a lifetime indenture to an offshore trust. British Virgin Islands. BVI. REAL private. Nobody ever sees that he's the real owner. Unless somebody tells somebody.

"Steve signed over his slaves Darren n Jamie, his indenture Luke, his Marine Credit Union account, his combat boots, his cane n tawse, the civilian jeans I bought him -- everything. That signed y'all to Hardwicke Co under the six-month trial contract. Steve gets some protections, gets some say, so it's better than just being owned. (So I own an offshore trust, just like some warlord I used to fight against or for as a Recon Marine, except my trust owns me.)

"Story's that some warlord from his dark past jumped on the opportunity to own this bisexual badass.

"Steve's the trust's agent who has to agree to any big change or it don't happen. Especially sellin any of y'all or rentin you on a long-term contract. I have to agree too, as owner's rep. Of course, Steve won't enjoy exercising his rights to disagree with me." Jon grins, winks, squeezes tighter. He means the way he can get me overworked, overflogged, overfucked until I agree with him.

Jon breathes deep, relaxes his jaw, tightens his grip. "That was the first quarter."

"At the first intermission, both Slave Steve's heads learned streetsmarts. How any reaction to anybody could get him hurt real bad. So he ALWAYS swallows his pride, always bites his tongue, always calls in an owner or overseer to spring him with a bullwhip. Hey -- reactin to surprises is what got Steve his two convictions and his indenture to the gladiators." (Damn! He's right. That's why I practise bein a squezetoy.)

"Second quarter, Steve registered as Hardwicke Co's slave. Didn't get branded, didn't get number-tattooed. But a registered slave." (Right. Clerk couldn't brand me but he did 'burn' me with a strap like they use on teenagers -- I met Jamie when he got strapped n I got caned -- strap like me n Pete gave each other last night. Chapter 9)

"Halftime, after Slave Steve got his cage-ride back from gettin registered, he bonded with his new master -- me. I branded him inside, where it counts all his life. No marks on his hide. Creative flog, masterful fuck. Both assert control. (Fuckin ouch! Too true.) It helped I outran him, while he drove my naked butt with a quirt, to set the scene."

Jon relaxes a bit, looks proud, rolls his shoulders, flexes, squeezes easy. "Today's the second half, the third and fourth quarters. We play the third period at y'all's old barracks. An offshore trust works real kewl to keep stuff offshore n private, like who really owns Steve. But it don't help do business here in America. So third period, Steve's trust transfers y'all and y'all's Hardwicke contract to a Delaware corporation. That's out-of-state, almost as private as his offshore trust, almost as secure. The barracks manager witnesses this one. He knows y'all but won't be doin any more business.

"The manager, Mr M, will stage the intermission. He'll assert control for the time y'all lived here. Maybe talk about that sex-offender thing."

Jon turns to me, squares his shoulders, looks me in the eyes, squeezes real easy. "You know how control gets asserted."

Fuck! "Sir! Yes, Sir! Cane or bullwhip, Sir?"

'That's his call. Your current owners -- Mr Whitmore -- have told him there's a limit. I'll help as much as I can to get your Strong Slave through it." Jon puts his right arm around my shoulders, leaves his left on my balls. Fuck! It reassures me. I hope he kisses me. But he just squeezes balls n a tit.

"Think short-term pain, long-term gain. Serious pain makes it harder to claim you were uncontrolled. It all goes onto 'Slave Steve's Greatest Hits,' too."

"Fourth quarter, fourth period happens back at my place this morning. We bring in investors. Couple reasons. One's to mount the best damn gladiator team ever. Other reason -- seizin Steve from some out-of-state corporation looks too easy. The bad guys claim absentee owners, uncontrolled public menace, all the cheap excuses anybody can imagine.

"So we bring in some substantial local investors with an interest to protect.

"Some of y'all might know one or two of the investors. Don't show it, at least not till you're alone with him.

"Anyway, this means formin a new company that Steve's company will own part of. Can't own so much that his Delaware company -- Steve -- has majority control, but enough of the shares to block any major changes Steve dislikes. Especially anything that might separate y'all.

"Steve gets his protections -- he has to agree or the change don't happen -- and the other owners get the right to try to persuade him. Just like I can with his offshore trust."

Fuck! Overwork me. Overflog me. Overfuck me.

"I wish all my clients got off on corporate structure the way Steve does," Jon squeezed, grinned.

Smartass Jamie answers, "Sir? How do you know. Maybe with your hand on their balls ..."

Jon don't let im finish. "So, gentlemen. Let's go do business. Third period and intermission."



Jon explains that at the barracks we'll check out, clear our lease, collect our gear (my jeans shirts socks bikini undershorts, my combat boots, my runners). Luke already brought my tawse n cane to Hardwickes, used em on me. Give our slave shirts shorts socks to the barracks manager (they don't match the Hardwicke dark red uniforms). Me n Jon have some business with the manager while my guys finish cleanin up so we get my damage deposit back.

First up, though, we have that next change of ownership. Of me.

The manager's waitin, grinnin big, when Jon drives us up, parks. We climb out. I report to the manager. He grins bigger. Looks me head to slave collar to bullwhipped pecs, jock to toe. Grabs a pec, feels than slaps a caned naked glute, grabs my jock pouch. "Damn, Steve! Who caught up with you? Knew somebody would. Looks like that Marine Gladiator attitude's gettin the adjustin it needed while y'all stayed here."

"What'd they catch him for?" he asks Jon. "Knew somebody would. Wish it was me."

"Slave Steve's a long story". Jon smiles, drawls the "Slave" REAL slow. "We'll get to the clean parts." Jon disengages the manager's right hand from my jock to shake it (the hand). "Some business first."

Manager smiles, nods. "Anyway, Jon, good to see you again. Great job settin up this barracks business. Thanks! How can I help?"

"Well, Mr M, we're still sortin out Slave Steve's status here. See, he n his guys belong to this offshore trust that hadn't figured out what to do with him when they lived here. We did the simplest thing, registered the trust's other guys to him. It's comin together now. We got Steve registered as a slave. Got him under REAL GOOD control with Hardwicke Co." Jon n the manager grin big when he drawls "control" real slow. Jon straightens up, squares his shoulders, sets his lawyer smile, snaps back to attorney.

"Last thing, we need to register his ownership in the States. Get em into a Delaware corporation that can do business here naturally.

"That's where you come in, Sir, what my secretary called about. The trust attorney and I have transferred ownership of the slaves and other assets to this corporation. We need a witness -- a free man who has no financial interest in Steve and the other slaves but who knows them -- to attest to the slave assets transferred. You, Sir." Jon relaxed just a little.

Mr M grinned again. "Happy to, Jon. My civic duty. Can't have dangerous slaves like Steve out of control. But we'll get to that. What do I sign n where?"

"Here, Sir. I sign as attorney, and each of the guys signs an acknowledgment of transfer of ownership. Gives a thumbprint. You sign and date as witness. It's printed with your name, title, address, and contact info."

"Steve! Sign here!"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" My second time with a fountain pen since high school. Yesterday was the first. Jon says fountain-pen ink lasts longer.

The manager real eagerly takes my right thumb, rolls it on an ink pad, rolls it onto the paper. Just like Mr Hardwicke did for Jon yesterday, except than yesterday they took all 10 prints plus the palms.

The rest of the guys -- slaves like me -- sign, get printed. Jon and Mr M sign on. Me n Mr M initial all the pages, like me n Overseer Pete did yesterday. Big smiles, backslaps for them. Smiles, buttslaps for me n my guys. Er, me n my owner's OTHER guys.

Mr M's assistant -- the man I worked for as a slavetrainer in the gym, the one who let me strip off for Darren to train me -- takes the other guys to our unit to clean it up and check us out. Jon n I will look in with Mr M after his business with me.

Can't say Mr M's grin helps me relax.



Mr M shuts the door after the others. Locks it. Pockets the key. Looks me in the eyes. Grins not too friendly. I stand up to face him n Jon.

"Now, SLAVE Steve. Gotta clean up a couple points from your, uh, 'free man' time here. Your attitude! Your control!" He picks up the coiled bullwhip on his desk.

I look at Jon. Damn near cringe. Damn near whine. Go all weak slave. "Sir! Can he do this, Sir?"

Jon shrugs. "It's in the lease I wrote. Standard slave boilerplate. Management can assert control, adjust attitude, and/or address any other discipline issues if, in the sole opinion of management, the resident or visiting slave exhibits uncontrolled or inappropriate behaviour. Management can also correct any infractions or offences. Bullwhip, cane, usual limits, plus incidentals."


"Besides," Jon stands up, straightens up, looks me in the eyes, holds a shoulder, grabs a pec, "it proves you were always under strict control."

To Mr M, "What, how many, for what exactly?"

Mr M looks at Jon, grabs my balls. "How long were y'all here, boy?"

I stand tall, as tall as I can with my balls engaged. Try not to change colour. "Sir! 15 weeks, Sir!"

"Well, boy, 15 weeks oughta be worth the 15 control lashes. one a week, plus three for attitude, makes the 18 lease limit. But your Mr Whitmore said you get shown to investors today, so you gotta look almost half human. No more'n 10. Damn!

"But a stud like you needs more'n 10 to prove he's tough. Right, boy? 12 at least, boy?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" I look at Jon too late. Strong slave's kewl. Dumb slave's dumb. Dumb slave gets hurt. Bad. Like now.

Jon turns lawyer. To me, "Boy, you ALWAYS wait for me before you answer a question." To Mr M, "Sorry, Sir! Boy learns too slow. Good thing y'all'll help his learnin process, Sir.

"Sir!" Jon asks, "Bullwhip or cane, Sir?"

Mr M smiles, says, "Bullwhip on the frame in the yard. Best show this year. Get too damn few picturesque studs that we can do that way. Owners get fussy 'bout how their boys look, if they look good otherwise. Just cane em. Guys that don't look good don't make no show anyway. Cane em. No show for the residents either way. This bein Sunday mornin, the guys're mostly here. They'll appreciate the show almost as much as me."

Jon reminds me n Mr M about me lookin investment-grade, not some half-human. Shrugs. Says, "But my stud here's too eager."

To Mr M, "Sir! What're they for?"

Mr M stands real tall, real proud. "You're the attorney, Jon. You understand 'status.' Besides the 18 for control n attitude, I owe this dumbass boy another couple sets. One for that 'free man' bullshit -- bein a slave without tellin me. The other for bein a registered sex offender without tellin me so I could register him here. Coulda got me in real deep shit. That's worth A PAIR of discipline 18s plus the attitude 12."

"Sir! Well, Sir," Jon answers real slow, like he's worryin, thinkin hard. "Our boy the sex offender was registered to his defence attorney. And his owners hadn't decided how to treat him as a slave, even whether to call him one, Sir. So this isn't the boy's fault, Sir. Nailing him for not reporting as a sex-offender slave wouldn't teach him anything, Sir. Not even the way flogging helps him learn -- only way ol' dumbass hardass learns.

"Besides, Sir, y'all knew he'd been a slave gladiator. Knew he got indentured after his gaybashin conviction. His second. Daterape was his first. So his status don't surprise y'all, Sir!"

Mr M looks unhappy. Snarls, "Well, Mr Attorney, it sure as hell ain't my fault. Somebody's gotta pay. If not the boy, then you're elected, Mr Attorney."

Jon stands n straightens slow, drops his eyes head n shoulders, slumps like dumb slave, says "Sir! Yes, Sir! How many, Sir?"

This surprises me but not Mr M. He answers, "I'll give you the same break as the boy. Just 12."

Jon turns attorney again, says, "Sir! You're talkin 24 total but the lease limit's 18, Sir! Steve's contract master, Mr Whitmore, said 10, Sir, until my competitive stud dumbass agreed to 12, Sir! That makes 12 look like the total, Sir!"

"Damn! Okay, Mr Attorney. Six each."

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" we both bark.

Mr M telephones his assistant, the one with our guys. Looks up, says, "They're done. Headed back this way. Y'all cleaned up real good. Deposit goes back into that account at the Marine Corps credit union.

"For y'all, that's the GOOD news.

"Showtime! Naked! Under the courtyard frame in 10 minutes. Hit the washroom right now!"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" we both bark.



Jon says to me, kinda smilin, "Boy, you're so tough you volunteer for extra bullwhip cuts. You tough enough to bet with me, boy? You tough enough that the guy that flakes early takes the rest of the cuts for us both? You down with that, boy?"

Fuck! Another challenge. I can't pass a challenge, dammit. "Sir! Yes, Sir! And I'll raise your bet, Sir! We hold a pullup position. First foot touches down, that man loses, Sir!"

Jon sees my bet and raises it. I don't shoot til he shoots. "Got that, boy?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

"First man shoots before the end, that man loses."

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

We strip, prep. Jon hugs me tight. My shaved whipped pecs feel his hairy ones. My whipped tits grind his. His dick finds mine. His mouth finds mine. I'm proud he's my master. He's proud I'm his slave.

"Jon, Sir" I gotta ask, "Why'd you take my beef, Sir? I'm the slave. I can ride it, Sir."

Jon holds tighter, rubs tighter, fees real good, damn near whispers in my ear, "Boy, you know floggin's a trial of strength, a test of manhood. What kind of man could let a guy get bullwhipped for what that guy couldn't help, didn't even know about? Especially when the man did know, could've helped. What kind of lawyer could do that to a client and practise law the next day? I'm a man too. Gotta be a strong one. Today that looks like strong slave. Like you.

"I'm proud you're my slave. Masterin a stud slave like you takes a stud owner. This here's my qualifyin exam."



Me n Jon stand under the frame in the yard -- more a hot asphalt parkin lot, not even 9 yet -- between the wings of the barracks. The frame's a pipe, about an inch n a half, not quite seven foot off the ground, about eight foot long. Bright sunshine. I hope Jon sunscreened like he told us.

The fire alarm n the PA system have called all the guys for a mandatory show. Us.

Mr M n his assistant walk out, shirts off, coiled bullwhips smackin their right thighs, just like Mr Hardwicke makin Pete n me weak slaves (Chapter 9). The men n their bullwhips all look oiled. The men have used their gym. The men flex, shrug, pose. Flex the whips out too. Couple practice shots past us.

Jon asks, "Sir, would y'all consider a couple suggestions, Sir? Sirs?"

Mr M smiles. "Depends, boy."

Jon's ready. "Sir! The loser, the guy that flakes, takes all the rest of his plus the rest of the other guy's. We take it in pullup position, arms 90 degrees, first foot touches down before the end, loses. First man shoots before the end, loses."

Mr M n his assistant smile real big. Roll the bullwhip shoulders, flex the bullwhip arms. "For sure, boy! Want us to double up on the first guy to flake an extra six or dozen?'

"Sir! Thank you, Sir, but we'll stick with the six each, Sir!" I'm down with Jon so far.

"But every time a guy yells or talks, Sir, he gets an extra hit, y'all's free shot, Sir!"

Damn. He sprung that on me cuz he knows I yell. But I'm the slave that's used to this. I'm not sure this free-man lawyer can even hold the pullup position -- why I threw it down -- let alone take this bullwhippin that'll hurt him real bad. That I'll fight real bad.

"All kewl, SLAVES," Mr M n his assistant both agree real happy.

Mr M addresses the happy crowd around us. My three guys're front n centre. "Men, y'all remember Steve, y'all's hardass trainer? Meet Steve, the dumbass slave. See the sun glintin on his slave chain collar, the collar he didn't wear here? See the bullwhip tracks here (slaps both pecs, grabs both tits, turns me half around.) See the cane tracks (slaps, squeezes a glute)? Somebody done caught up with him. Today we get to help adjust his hardass attitude, show im what dumbass slaves get. MAYBE make im smarter. PROBly not."

"Whaddya all think bout that?"

Yells, whistles, feet stampin.

Mr M continues, "N this OTHER dumbass's the attorney who told me Slave Steve was free-man Steve. Coulda got me n this whole barracks in real deep shit.

"This dumbass attorney's gonna learn the real hard way, just like his dumbass slave."

"Whaddya all think bout that?"

Yells, whistles, feet stampin.

Mr M looks all proud, all smiles.

He says to us, "Slaves! Y'all's job's to show who's the stud! Show the guys, us masters, y'all. The bulletproof bastard that takes this n laughs. Our job's to break y'all. Show y'all're just dumb ol slaves gettin what y'all needed long time ago. At least a start on what y'all needed."

Mr M looks all proud, all smiles. He n his assistant move behind us.

"Showtime, gents. First half dozen (fuck! first!) on the back." The backs we'll work real hard to hold their pullup position. Think chin at bar. Think strong tight core. Think, "Breathe." Don't think bullwhip on back.

Me n Jon pull up. Jon says, "Look into my eyes. Hold that look. Zone on me. Don't let them bastards break it, We ridin this together, boy."

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" I hold my flex up, which feels very kewl. Neck through core, glutes. So far. Gives me n the bod a focus. So does lookin at Jon.

First pair of lashes whistles just past us. Cracks. Ouch. Hurts n ain't even hit yet.

Next pair hits. Hear it first. Whistle. Crack! Bang! Fuck! Starts left shoulder, slices across to right. You forget how the skin don't want this no way. How the muscles under don't. How ya gotta fight, gotta fire everythin to hold the flex, hold Jon's eyes, when the body wants to shake everything loose. Fuck! Bullwhip wraps along the skin, bites skin n muscle, pulls away, leaves a burn that gets hotter, deeper.

Jon's face looks like mine feels. His eyes roll but come back to mine. A wave runs through him, starts under the lash, spreads up his shoulders neck arms, down his back pecs abs legs. Watchin the whiplash rock him makes it easier to ride mine.

Me n Jon just barely croak, "Sir! One, Sir!"

Guess I show hard. Mr M yells to the guys, "Men! These slaves say the first guy that shoots, loses. I need two cocksuckers! Front n centre! Now! "

Fuck! I hold Jon's eyes but see a guy slide up to me, kneel. Feel his mouth on my dick.

Number two whistles. Cracks. Bites. Burns. Slices right shoulder across to left. Right on top of number one. "Sir! Two, Sir!" It fires, fries every muscle in my upper body. The back muscles that got hit gotta hold me up. No way I held on. But I did.

Jon's eyes hold mine. He looks way too easy with this.

I gotta break this before it breaks me. "Sir! That all y'all got, Sir? Y'all gotta hit HARDer, Sirs. Better swing n catch. Ask the guys I trained about hard, Sir. Drop this soft smug lawyer fucker off his perch, Sir!"

Jon grin, winks. Man says, "Gents! Y'all heard ol dumbass here talk. I'll be easy. That's just one free shot."

Fuck! I'm one sore sorry dumbass. This one don't JUST whistle, crack, bite, burn. This'n slices midleft, wraps around my right side to bite my right tit. Bite my tongue so it hurts damn near as much as my bitten tit. Don't yell. Yet. Hold Jon's eyes while mine wanna roll, wanna shut.

Man says, "Gents! Y'all think maybe dumbass hardass here might learn somethin here?"

They all laugh, say, "No way, Sir!"

That's just the first two that count. Plus the latest one that don't. FOUR to go.

Number three whistles. Cracks. Bites. Burns. Slices left to right below the first pair. More on the lats. Watchin Jon ride his wave makes ridin mine easier. It fires, fries every muscle in my upper body. Again. My back, shoulders, arms wrists hands. They all wanna quit. No way I held on. I did. "Sir! Three, Sir!"

Damn that cocksucker. He's good. I hold Jon's look. Tell little head he's hurtin too much to shoot. He don't care that I hurt. He don't care that shootin like he wants would get the rest of me hurt way worse. Six more, not just three, Jon's three plus mine, without the ain't-shot-yet edge.

I tighten the pullup flex. Chin higher. Rotate the body, raise my legs in a v around the cocksucker. Wanna squeeze him by the neck. Shake myself top to toe. Settle back to chin at bar. Hold Jon's look.

Number four five six whistle. Crack. Bite. Burn "Sir! Four five six, Sir!" Four slices right to left on top of three. Five slices top left shoulder down to right lat. Six slices top right shoulder down to left lat. They fire, they fry every muscle in my upper body. Fuckin tidal wave. My back, shoulders, arms, wrists, hands -- all wanna quit. No way I held on. I did.

Little head held on too. Damn the cocksuckers, damn good ones, but me n my two heads held em off.

Men walk around in front. Look real proud. Flex. Coli the whips. Roll the shoulders. Flare. Smile.

Mr M tells the guys, "Gents! These two boys done tied it up."

To us, "Y'all're tied. Three more to break that tie, boys?"

Jon surprises me again. "Sir! Yes, Sir! Drop my dumbass hardass, Sir!" He must be adrenaline-buzzed, endorphin-buzzed too. Or just a competitive hardass like me. He winks.

The bosses wave the disappointed cocksuckers away. Invite em to rim. They work the glutes too. Some part of me feels good.

"Three front, y'all. Kiss y'all's tits GOOD-bye!"

First one slices both pecs, bites both tits, right to left, on the "GOOD." My pecs hate me like my back does. Hate me worse cuz they ain't flexed hard as my back. My tits? They'll report in when the fire's out. Zone on Jon, Jon's eyes, Jon's strong arms shoulders neck voice. Change the channel away from my pecs n tits to my tongued hole. That don't work. Back to Jon's eyes n muscles.

"Seven, Sir!" Jon answers. I hold his eyes, just barely. Like I hold my pullup.

Fuck! Two to go.

Whistle. Crack. Slice. Bite. Burn. Number eight slices right pec to left. Work real hard to hold together. Hold on. Hold quiet. 'Sir! Eight, Sir!"

The men wind up REAL good. Whistle. Crack. Slice. Bite. Burn. Right to left again. Right on top of seven n eight. Work real hard to hold together. Hold on. Hold quiet. 'Sir! Nine, Sir!"

"Y'all're still all tied up. Three more to break that tie?"

Glad I don't answer. I'd've said "Sir! Yes, Sir! Drop that soft fucker, Sir!" Real glad I didn't.

This time Jon goes sober. Goes lawyer. Face goes from slave to lawyer. I watch from the side, real proud. "Sirs! Thank you, Sirs, but the deal was six each n we've taken nine. We done here, Sirs?"

Manager looks disappointed. Coils the whip. Nods.

Jon says, "Now!"

He pulls up, arches, shoots Mr M in the face. I pull up, arch, shoot the assistant in the face.

The guys laugh, cheer, clap, stomp.

The bosses try to look angry. Laugh. Call the cocksuckers to lick em clean. Say, "Y'all ain't done yet. Hold on REAL tight. Don't bother to count."

THREE MORE! Fast! Fuck! Slice right shoulder down across left tit. Slice left shoulder down across right tit. Bite right tit then left. If my pecs n tits look like they feel, they look real ugly.

"Down, boys!" We let go. Drop. The men help us stand. Couple slaves hold us close, rub oil on some places that feel better when they do, hand us water.

Bosses tell us, "Y'all done give our men the best show fuckin ever. Y'all stick round for the next act."



"Boys," the men say to the slaves helpin holdin us, "just lay them boys across this-here picnic table, the one under the army blanket. Knees here on the bench, dicks down by thighs, arms down th'other side."

Couple guys rub an oil or something into our pecs n tits. Rubbin feels good but makes hide hurt worse, burn hotter, then feels cooler.

Fuckin army blanket scratches. We're real sensitive just now, especially flogged pecs n tits, but fired balls n dick, unflogged arms n legs too.

Couple guys rub an oil or something into our backs. Just like our pecs n tits, rubbin the back hurts at first, then feels easier. Guys rub what feels like Hardwicke Company's hot lube into our cracks n holes, onto our balls n dicks.

Hey! This ain't in my contract. Like that matters.

Jon wakes up, asks, "Sirs! What y'all doin, Sirs?"

The man, Mr M the manager, stands far enough in front of us we can see him if we hold up our heads. "Boys, today we assert control, adjust both y'all's attitudes, correct Mr Attorney's behaviour. We already own y'all's body, y'all's hide. Discipline here ain't done till we own y'all's soul, y'all's holes.

"Steve's new master says he can take one dick in each end. Both dicks gotta be lubed in lubed condoms.

Jon comes to. "Sirs! Who says I take dicks, Sirs?"

Man smiles, stretches, flexes, straightens, flares. "Boy, you get the same deal's this OTHER dumbass slave, boy."

"Me n my assistant gonna fuck Mr Attorney. (Yells. Cheers. Whistles. Stomps.) We need two volunteers that Steve trained to fuck his two ends."

Four big strong tough guys whose attitudes I harnessed in the gym jump up.

Boss smiles, says to us, "Move over so's these two boys can armwrestle. We gonna have a tournament. Winners of these two pairs wrestle again. First place chooses which end. Second place gets Slave Steve's other end."

Guys help me slide to the end, help Jon slide next to me. Never wanted to slide on an army blanket. Never thought I do it on bullwhipped pecs n tits. Blanket don't feel good but Jon does.

Maybe Jon can see the two guys armwrestle next to him, but I can't. Not sure I want to. Feel n hear em, though. They're fightin over me. Kewl? Somebody swears cuz he won. Other swears cuz he lost. Feel n hear the next pair. They take longer, move the table more. Boss calls the final match. Feel first-round winners settle in.

Two guys stand up, one walks around his end of the table, the other just slips along the table. Both stand in front of me. A real muscular blonde with massive shoulders n biceps he was too proud of (liked to admire his guns, get hard, damn near shoot lookin, didn't wanna train the rest of him, learned about my tawse as motivator). Mr Guns picks up my chin, smiles, flexes. Says he owns my face. The face that kept him hurtin but hard every night after I trained him. The face he jerked to. Bigger dude, better all-rounder, smiles, flexes, bends across me to squeeze my glutes. His dick happens to rub my face.

Boss says so loud everybody hears, "These pussies take only lubed dicks in condoms. Maybe keeps em virgin.

"Luke, boy, you got the shit? You n Jamie fix me n Mr A. Darren, you fix Slave Steve's new masters."

All four men jump, swear when the hot lube hits their dicks n balls,. My guys smile while they rub it in real good, real slow.

Mr M jumps when Jamie sides a condom over his hotlubed dick. "Sirs," Jamie says, "like you just said, Sir, y'all don't want what these boys got. Mr Hardwicke's orders, Sirs." They safe up the other dicks, same reactions.

"Y'all fixin to barbecue these big strong sausages?" the assistant asks.

"Naw. Jes makin sure y'all's dicks're tough enough for me n my boy," Jon yells (as well as he can in that position). He nudges my right thigh with his left one. Rubs my right shin with his left foot. Reassures me. Again.

Darren puts lube on two fingers, rubs it all into my tongue, gums, back of my mouth, throat. I gag, wanna bite. Fuck! Maybe that's the wrong word. Preps my crack hole balls dick the same way. Burns more'n what the barracks guys rubbed in, Next he does Jon.

Guys move me n Jon back along the army blanket so there's a foot or so between us n on each side. Don't feel no better'n when they slid us to the end.

Man asks, "Luke, boy, you got Steve's cane n tawse?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" Proud Luke stands tall, pulls out my cane, my tawse, hands em to the man.

Man hands the cane to my muscular badass buttfucker, hands the tawse to Jon's buttfucker, Mr A.

"Warm em up! Don't want no hot dicks in no cold pussies. Just six. Easy warmups. Then switch off for the next six." Fuck!

I get sliced three pairs, high, low, across, once each way, then move down. Bites cuts burns. Not TOO bad, more a warmup, but they could use a blowtorch just now n I'd not notice. I hear the tawse nail Jon.

"Switch!" My stud lands the tawse on each cane cut. Turns up the heat. Turns up the volume -- the pain. I hold Jon's eyes. Buttslap!

"On em, men," the manager says.

Hands hold my face, my other cheeks, spread em. Good thing I breathe deep.


Dick rams down each end. Opens holes I never knew I had in ways I never knew they opened. Pull out. Ram again. I didn't have time to breathe. All I see's Mr Guns's ab six-pack in my face. I feel the muscular guy behind. Lube makes it hurt MAYBE a little less. Pete says hot lube protects me, helps me heal. It does make me hornier. Makes everything more sensitive. I couldn't get my jaws together to bite the dick if I wanted to. I gotta hold my shot so I can take my two man dicks till they shoot. Into me. This is SO not me, not Recon Marine. Maybe slave gladiator. Maybe stud slave.

"Now!" My two studs shoot down the condom in my throat, shoot up the condom in my gut, collapse on me real happy. I shoot with em. I frag when their muscular bodies collapse onto mine. Fraggin means every nerve n muscle fires, not just my dick. Means I give my two studs a ride. Feels like they frag too. On me n on each other. It feels, sounds like Jon frags too. Probably his first time. But his mornin's been all new to him. His body's still firin when mine settles under my two studs. Jon feels SO hot.

Mr Guns pulls his dick out from my lungs or throat or somewhere.

"Jon! Congratulations! You aced your manhood test, Sir! You make me even more proud you're my master, Sir. And thank you, Sir, for gettin me through all this." Didn't know I could talk yet, not with 400 pounds of prime redneck beef in me n on me.

Jon shifts his body or one of the bosses closer to me. Feelin his muscle gets me hard again. I must tighten on the stud up my ass, cuz he shoots again, holds me real tight, rides me n takes me for a ride.

Jon finds his voice too. His throat must be dick-free again. "Stud! Thank you for bein my boy. You make me very proud. Thank you for showin me how it's done, boy! Watchin you, hearin you got me through."

The guys on us disentangle. Didn't think I'd miss their dicks but I miss the one up my ass. Fuck!

Other guys help them n us stand up. The manager straightens up, works to talk. "Men, y'all win! We gave you our damned best shot -- well, a dozen, when y'all need WAY more. But y'all took everythin we could hit y'all with. Y'all 're the studliest bastards we've EVER seen here. And Jon, you're the toughest attorney I've ever flogged n fucked. We'll do better next time."

Jon answers for us. "Sirs! Gentlemen! Slave Steve and I can't say we've enjoyed this experience or want to do it again too soon. But y'all did y'all's best. VERY professional. Made me n my slave both REAL proud."

They got me sore inside, just like outside. But me n Jon, we took it. We won. We're the hardass studs the men could hurt but couldn't break. They may own my holes, but they don't own me, don't own own my soul. Jon does.



Mr M says to Jon, "You know you're in no shape to drive that nice X5. That's why Mr Hardwicke n Mr Whitmore're here to drive y'all."

Mr Whitmore says he'll drive Jon's X5 to his place for his game's last quarter. Mr Hardwicke will take Jon n us four guys in the company truck. Me n Jon ride in the cages in the back. Naked. Dicks wavin at the traffic, the pedestrians, the Sunday strollers, Sunday drivers. Fuck. Jon's too buzzed, maybe too proud of his new studliness, to talk back.

Somebody says they'll collect his clothes n my jock. Mr Whitmore will bring all the papers, from new corporation to deposit refund. Acknowledgement of control asserted and attitude adjusted. Mr Whitmore says my part's all captured for "Slave Steve's Greatest Hits."

Cages side by side so m n Jon can talk. We don't notice nothin goin by. I try polite conversation, ask if his wife Anne, the lawyer I impregnated, mother whose son I'll share with Jon (Uncle Steve) will be there.

"Naw," he answers. "Too much testosterone. I dropped her at her parents' place. It's on the way to Hardwickes. Actually on their compound."


Jon grins funny. "You, uh, met my father-in-law last night."

Fuck! "Sir? Boss Henry, Sir?"

"Right, boy! Between their two sons, Doc n Pete, Boss Henry n his wife had a daughter. Anne."

Good thing I got the cage to hold onto, holdin me up. Good thing there's a breeze from the truck movin.

"Sir! Y'all cooked this up with Mr Hardwicke from day one, Sir?" At least I remember to say "Sir!" Not much else seems to work up there just now.

"Naw," Jon smiles. Puts a hand through to my balls -- he can hold the cage with just his other hand. "Remember, me n Anne went to y'all's gladiator stables to hire the hardest-ass stud to help our baby. Remember we had the top two bastards fight, then had the winner -- you -- fuck the loser -- Mike, the former Champion. We hoped the winning hardass could give us a son.

"See, Anne and I could GET her pregnant okay. But it's like her body rejected my kids. She got sick and miscarried every time. We figured her heredity or whatever was too close to mine. Both lawyers. Both families from the piney woods back when. We wanted a tough bastard stud. It worked.

"Then you told us how you were an indenture about to be released, and we knew that the stable had already kept you two months too long. We sprung you and got you Jamie, like you'd worked for. Jamie's dad gave you Luke. Jamie told you about Darren, who I helped you find and buy. Y'all just came together. We didn't plan any of this. We just meant to rent one stud for one night. A stud who'd go back to his stable and we'd maybe bring out once in a while to meet our new kid.

"It didn't help that we both love you. We had to act real careful while y'all lived in our spare bedroom. First just you, then Luke, then Jamie, finally Darren. That's why I couldn't train with you, hang with you, the way I wanted to so bad. Gettin you set up with the guys in this barracks made it easier all round.

"Y'all didn't seem to have much goin except your determination, and that don't get four unskilled guys too awful far. We really admired that determination, the way you rehabbed Darren. But your intensity scared us -- not for us, but for you and your record and vulnerability. Anne showed me how easily, almost accidentally you could get enslaved n castrated, how your guys could get sold with you. Especially that attitude that just radiates.

"So when Darren needed his leg rebuilt, we introduced you to Doc. That weekend, whether Stud Steve could accept the naked sex slave gig, was a big test for us all. It would show us whether your attitude, your determination could be harnessed into an asset instead of a threat. We brought in Mr Hardwicke too, to see if he and y'all could click. Y'all did. (Chapter 2)

"We knew we needed to get you locked into something that would give you and your guys a good life -- okay, a studly life with hard labour, with bullwhips -- and keep you safe. Anne, her partners, and my partners worked with me to set up the structure -- the trust in the British Virgin Island that holds your lifetime indenture plus your guys and all your other assets, the Delaware corporation, and up next a new company that will own y'all and that you'll indirectly own enough of to block any changes. This last week's been very busy. Okay -- the other investors can, as you say, overflog you, overfuck you to help you agree with them.

"Remember how I kept asking you and asking your guys every step if you could go ahead? We really want you down with all this." Jon kinda searched me.

I realized just then that Jon had locked onto my eyes the whole time. I hadn't noticed he'd kept me hugged to him through the bars of our cages. My big head wasn't workin too sharp, but Jon had my little head's full attention. Writin this so long afterwards, I wonder what kind of show we gave the folks we rode past.

I didn't really notice much around us until our convoy drove into Jon's condo's underground garage.

My guys opened the tailgate, climbed aboard, set our cages down, loaded each cage onto a handtruck, and wheeled us into the service elevator.

Time to meet the investors.

Ward [email protected]



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