Today we become Steve's Studs Inc, Gladiators. I own a blocking 40%, to keep us safe and together. Five other investors, including my guys' dads, own the rest and can persuade (ie, hurt) me to unblock and agree. My Mike, the gladiator champ, is back as co-captain with me, but I'll own him like the other guys. I get sold to the black man who bullwhipped me last weekend, get persuaded but not TOO bad along the way. Bond 'intensely' with Mike and Jon (my attorney and master). Y'all get to see once again how writin n takin dick aren't my highest and best skills.



This morning, at the slave barracks where I lived with my guys while I was still their free owner, we checked out of our lease and got my deposit back. The manager witnessed the transfer of me and my guys from our offshore trust to a Delaware corporation, too, but I paid the price -- a dozen bullwhip lashes plus six cane cuts, facefuck, and buttfuck. Best part was the four gymbunnies armwrestling for the chance to facefuck me; runner-up got to cane n tawse me too. This "asserting authority" showed I was under the strict control I need to keep from getting enslaved as uncontrolled by the county, then sold, maybe castrated, and getting my guys seized and sold (Chapter 9). I was supposed to get half that, six lashes, with Attorney Jon volunteering to take the other six. (He controls my trust and corporation.) But we got endorphin-buzzed. Got competitive. Especially Jon, who got us each the second six. Called it his stud licence, shows he's stud enough to master me. We got hurt. Got bonded. Got hauled to Jon's condo garage naked in slave cages in the back of a Hardwicke Co truck, wavin our dicks at the traffic. My guys hauled us in our cages up to Jon's, wheeled us into the owners' or master suite (Chapter 11) . Jon got me n him through it all by focusing my eyes on his.

Jamie and Darren, my 23-year-old life slaves, open our cages, help us step out.

Jon says to the guys, "Lay him on the edge of the bed on his back."

I feel something like a ripstop nylon tarp under my bullwhipped back, skin, and muscles. My caned glutes hang off the end. Tarp, back, skin, muscles all feel surprisingly kewl. Endorphin buzz.

To me, Jon says, "Stud slave need his stud master's dick?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

Jon moves in, hauls my legs over his shoulders, smiles, looks me in the eyes, grows his dick. He nods at Luke. Luke (my punk 18-year-old indenture) barbecues my hole with the hot lube, smiles, slaps my butt, steps away.

Jon moves in, leans over, squeezes my pecs and tits, smiles, looks me in the eye, says "Hold my eyes, work my pecs, work my tits, don't shoot, save it for me." His dick rams straight home, in over the sphincters. FUCKIN OUCH! But I feel his muscular thighs around my muscular hips, his hard hands destroying my bullwhipped pecs and tits, hands that I'd expected to be softer. How'd his hands get so hard? How's he know so much? My hands bite his pecs and tits. My eyes hold his eyes even when mine want to roll back. I try to focus on his eyes and tits, not my tortured tits, not my rammed hole. Maybe a figure moves behind him and reinforces his thrusts for a couple minutes, but Jon's expression doesn't change.

I know Jon works me but I don't notice. Not much. Buzzed, zoned.

He thrusts deeper but easy, almost soft. His dick feels way kewler than this Recon Marine that never wanted no dick nowhere ever thought gettin fucked would feel. Jon shoots way up inside me. Jon's burning eyes n my burning tits remind me not to shoot but I frag, fire everything else, every muscle. He frags. All his muscles flex on all mine. Our second time this morning. Way more comfortable than the first, the face-fucking and fucking after our bullwhipping, tawsing, caning at the slave barracks. Then our naked ride in the slave cages.

That ride when Jon explained how he n Anne chose me to impregnate her because I defeated Mike, then fucked him, after they n some friends asked for a private fight between the two top studs. They expected never to see that guy again. It was pure blind luck that they could spring me n Jamie from the stable, then that Jon helped me find, rescue, and buy Darren. They had to find some future for us, so introduced us to Hardwicke Co's owners, Mr Hardwicke n Mr Whitmore, and to Kraus Co's Mr Kraus, with us all naked sex slaves at that weekend at Doc's (Chapter 2).

Jon's eyes hold mine, his mouth finds mine, his studly hairy bullwhipped chest finds my studly shaved bullwhipped one.

My attorney, really my master says, "Grab your ankles. Don't talk. Make me hurt my hands."

When he pulls out, my hole damn near pops shut, just as he swats both glutes and hips HARD, don't know how many times. They fire -- they're caned n tawsed so he makes em hurt worse -- but they feel good under his hands. He lays my legs back on the bed, lies on me, pecs to pecs, balls to balls. He fuckin nibbles my neck n shoulders. Like I'm his date.

"My turn, " he says.

We roll over. Luke (forgot about him) helps me stand up, spread my legs not too wide, bend over Jon, pull his legs over my shoulders. I find Jon's eyes with mine. Luke's hot lube barbecues (curries?) my dick, helps him grow. Barbecues my balls, for energy. Luke preps Jon's hole too.

My dick lines up with Jon's hole, plays with the skin, rams home, while our hands torture pecs n tits. Jon's eyes try to roll but mine hold his. Luke landing MY tawse on my glutes in time with my thrusts explains what I kinda heard while Jon reamed me. My heavy tawse on my caned glutes thrusts my heavy tool deeper. Jon zones deeper too, but he holds my eyes. I fire way up inside him. Jon shoots between our torsos. Shake together but mellow, not frag. I take his left hand off my right pec, guide it across his spunk, feed him his spunky fingers.

I collapse onto him. Tits to tits, balls to balls, tongues to tongues. (I had to stretch, cuz Jon's taller.) Wow!

Luke lands the tawse on whatever muscled body parts are up -- mostly mine, but probably Jon's legs too.

Jon smiles that lawyer smile. "Stud! Need another half-dozen bullwhip shots with me to see who's the real man?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

"Dozen blacksnake with me?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

"Dozen blacksnake FROM me?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

To me, "Dude! Chili."

To my guys -- don't know if they came back or never left, "Tub ready?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"



Darren helps me stand. He half-walks, half-carries me into the ensuite bathroom, damn near drops me into the soaker tub. Jamie n Luke land Jon damn near on top of me. Even as zoned n buzzed as we are, me n Jon damn near jump out of the tub. Water's up to our necks. It's fuckin COLD. Luke says, "Mr Hardwicke says y'all gotta stay 10 minutes. Keep y'all's backs, butts, pecs underwater. Control the flogging damage, make y'all look nice for the investors. Okay to keep the fingers n toes above water." Shrink the horny balls n dicks too. FUCK!

Me n Jon stay real close, not exactly for warmth but for comfort. His left arm's on my shoulders. My right arm's on his. His right hand works my chest, finds my balls. My left hand works him n his. I feel REAL bonded now, say so. He acts the same way, agrees.

Jon says, "Tell me what being my slave means to you."

I'm still buzzed, not chilled yet, but I mean it. "Sir! I'll take a whip with you. I'll take a whip for you. I'll take a whip from you. I'll take a dick with you. I'll take a dick for you. I'll take a dick from you, Sir!"

Jon smiles, squeezes,. "Why, boy? Because I own you?"

"Sir! No, Sir! Not because you own me. Not because you'll sell me to some investors, Sir. Not because you can hurt me if I don't. Not because you could separate me from my guys if I don't. I do it, Sir, I take it like I did at the slave barracks just now. I do it because I belong to you, Sir!"

Jon smiles, bigger, wraps tighter around my balls. Says, "Right, boy. And you know I'd do it for you because you belong to me. Like your stud master did for his stud slave this morning."

I'm chill, both ways, with this.

Luke calls, "Five minutes."

Jon sits me up a little, hugs my shoulders, finds my eyes again. "You know where all this is goin," he smiles. "Gladiator team, you 40% owner, enough investors to make it real solid. Some shit's goin down that you won't like but gotta agree to. Don't just roll over like a cheap whore. Make us persuade you. (He winks. He means hurt me.) Show the investors what a tough bastard we got by the tail. Strong slave, but not dumb slave, don't hold out TOO long, no more than six cuts of anything."

FUCK! This brings me back from chill endorphin land. Back to the corporate plan that started yesterday afternoon (Chapter 9) when I life-indentured myself to an offshore trust in the British Virgin Islands. The trust got my guys too, everything I used to own. I got registered but not branded as a slave at the bureau, strapped too, my first naked slave-cage ride. In this morning's flog n fuck at our old slave barracks, the manager signed our transfer to a Delaware corporation. "Sir! So I get overfucked n overflogged some more to make me agree to get overfucked n overflogged, Sir?"

He had to smile. "Stud! Right! We'll take it one step at a time. You know you can trust me to make sure you don't get, uh, hurt." Quick squeeze of my iced balls. Yeah, with all the shit he took with me this morning, I trust him. But I wonder how he got the hard hands, the hard mansex.

"Right now, counting yourself, you -- your offshore trust through your Delaware corporation -- you own all the guys. 100%. That lets the county punch through all that outa-state shit n grab you, grab y'all. We gotta get you down to controlling less than half, less than 50%. We put other investors, other owners between the county and you. Basic ownership of every one of y'all stays with the trust, but we, like, lease some of you to other investors. We lease Luke to his dad. We lease you too, to Mr Kraus. Okay -- for the slave registry, it looks like your owners sell you to a black man, but it's just a lease. (In Chapter 2, the weekend that started all this, Mr Kraus was the man who identified me as the free man among the four of us naked sex slaves; that proud black master bullwhipped and fucked his proud white slave -- before the proud white slave tawsed and fucked the proud black master.) We add a couple other owners with couple other guys who'll fit REAL GOOD -- real WELL." Hand releases balls.

"I'll ride it with you all the way." Right, except he's not the guy gettin physically persuaded. We'll see where all this goes. Jon says it goes to a gladiator team. That would be very kewl. Except it will hurt me to get there.

Okay. Maybe even this hardass can see a picture. "Sir, did you set up that scene this morning? Did you PLAN to get yourself blasted worse'n most slaves? You set up to take the dozen bullwhip lashes you shared with me, the six canecuts -- okay, that makes the lease limit 18 lashes? You set up to get the face fuck, the fuck? You PLANNED all that, Sir?"

"Well, not exactly PLANNED. The manager wanted to flog you to 'assert control,' which was kewl (FUCK!) because it shows you were controlled when y'all lived there. That chain of continuous control.

"He wanted to nail you for the unregistered sex-offender thing too, which I couldn't let happen because you WERE registered through Anne's office (his wife, my criminal defence attorney, whom I impregnated before I fucked Jon, before they sprang me from the gladiator stable, before they sprang Jamie for me, before Jon helped me find and buy Darren). I couldn't let anyone say you were ever out of control.

"Besides, as I explained, I needed to prove I was stud enough to master my stud slave -- you. I needed to show YOU that you could trust ME with you, with your guys, with y'all's hides and lives." FUCK! Jon did this for me.

"So yes, I worked out with him that you and I would each get bullwhipped. Five each, split the total 10 like Hardwicke Co told him. Total 10 until you jumped on the 12 to show how hard your ass is. You set up the competition (first dude to break the pullup takes all the rest for both of us) because you thought I couldn't hold on -- not like Boss Henry said you did last night. I added the no-talk, no-shoot' because I thought you couldn't hold off. You did talk, once. Got you the extra lash for it while I held on, relaxed, grooved on you. The extra three each to break the tie was the man's idea but I said yes because we both needed it. The last three each wasn't my idea but it was no surprise, not after we shot our loads into their faces.

"The facefuck and fuck each? The manager insisted on them, and, well, you know I appreciated them more than you did. The six canecuts weren't in the script but they didn't surprise me,, not like the tawse did. Anyway, I knew we'd both be so buzzed on endorphins we could ride it.

"Thanks for gettin me through my first REAL bullwhippin, too. Your competitive hold-the-pullup helped, so did knowin you were ridin with me. I just hope I don't get another. But you know that if I have to get bullwhipped again to keep y'all safe n together, I'm down."


Jon winked, said I must have some questions that he'll answer when we run later. "Friendly run. No bets. Basic story -- I row. That got me gigs as a college-jock construction indenture, free money as a college-jock part-time escort. I studied sport psych too. And remember I was an Army officer, Army lawyer. So I can half-relate to you, half-understand you."




"Time's up! Y'all come out now, hear?" Mr Hardwicke, co-owner of Hardwicke Co with Mr Whitmore, sounded way too cheerful. "Men, dry these two hardasses but don't rub too much. We need to keep the skin circulation slow to hold down the bruising and inflammation." Fuckin Hardwicke Co thinks of everything.

"Jockstrap for EACH hardass. Even Attorney Jon. He looks WAY too kewl to cover up." Mr Hardwicke finishes with a pair of swats on Jon's caned, tawsed, hairy ass that the neighbours must hear.

They walk us through to the great room -- kitchen, dining room, and living room or lounge flow along one glass wall with a view over the city. Gives the city a 10th-floor view of seven studs wearin just jocks. Well, six studs wearin just jocks plus one stud in a jock and damn near fur. Don't recognize Sasquatch. Don't recognize a kid but he looks like Darren. I recognize Mr Kraus and Mr L J, Luke n Jamie's dad. Don't recognize the third investor but he looks like Darren n the new kid.

"Gentlemen," Mr Hardwicke stands real tall, breathes real deep, looks real proud, "Welcome to the founding meeting of Steve's Studs Inc. And meet the studs!" Applause. Us guys try to smile.

Jon holds up a hand, cautions, "The investors may have known a stud or two while he was free, before he was a slave. Relations with a slave can be complicated, especially for a family member. (Fuckin illegal!) Restrictions on relations with an indenture are a little fuzzier but still difficult. As an investor your relation is with the COMPANY. Any association with one or more of its assets is incidental to your ownership of an interest in the company that holds them. In the opinion of the senior partner in my business-law firm, as well as in the opinion of the senior partner and ex-judge in my wife's criminal-defence firm, any incidental association is entirely legal and above-board." Murmurs.

"Sir!" I can't help myself, "Where'd y'all find Sasquatch?" Someday I'll learn. Maybe.

Sasquatch tackles me into an armchair, lands on me, says, "Steve, you dumb-ass son of a bitch!"

"Mike!" He's my old gladiator partner, gladiator mentor, the stable champion that I fought, pinned, and fucked for my freedom.

We hug squeeze wrestle till Jon says, "Break, y'all! Outa my chair! On y'all's feet!"

"Dude!" Jon shows attorney proud. There's proud, and there's attorney proud.

"Remember how lawyers are the REAL Mafia? My office tracked Mike to the quarry that bought him back from the gladiators as soon as you told me about him. We bought him for Hardwicke Co last Tuesday, the morning after you signed on for the one-week trial (Chapter 3). He's been livin here, in y'all's old guest room, ever since. The quarry overworked him but underfed him, so we've been helpin him recondition. His physical showed him real healthy except for a social disease -- clap -- that's cured now. Anne's ready to move him out to get the testosterone back down. Mike plus me plus OUR son (I'm the father) make way too much." Jon does act like he's got balls.

Jon nods at Mr Hardwicke, who winks, grins, "Y'all get Sasquatch here cleaned up real good -- buzz the head, eyebrows, pubes, shave everything else. Shave REAL careful around the rock rash, the lash rash. But first, meet the investors and Demon!"

Dude has to be Darren's kid brother, 90% scale. Even the gladiator name tattoos, "Demon," on the front and back of his left shoulder. Demon catches my eye, says "Skinned dick too." Our guys laugh. Investors smile -- at Demon n at us.

A man who must be Mr DD, Darren and Demon's dad -- them but older, heavier, greyer, okay shape for an older free man -- steps up, shakes my hand, says, "Steve, I'm proud to meet my Darren and Damon's master." Okaaaay.

"Damon was a great soccer-player and an okay student, but he had a rough time after his mother left, after his big brother went all gay gangbanger, got enslaved. Damon was heading the same way. Except the gay. Municipal punishment centre didn't help, didn't impress him." (That's where I -- Steve-- got caned and met Jamie, when his dad had him strapped).

"Tough guys ride it." (Damn! He knows me.)

"Right now Damon's in a boot camp that's supposed to scare or beat kids straight. I checked him out for the day.

"When Mr Whitmore (Mr Hardwicke's partner) came to tell me about Darren -- where he was, what he was doing -- and to ask me to invest in the gladiators, I told him about my Damon. Mr Whitmore told me about Steve, how Steve took on wanna-be gay gangbanger Luke as an indenture to keep him safe till he grows up a little. I said I hoped they could take Damon too."

A very excited Luke yelled, "Demon! I'm Luke, from soccer-camp!"

Mr DD looked funny but explained, "He liked the name Demon, acted like one, took the punishment centre's strap like a demon, takes boot camp like a demon. To get him ready to join y'all, his boot camp was REAL proud to circumcise (skin ) him and tattoo him, even tattoo "Demon" on his dick. He has to check back in tonight but tomorrow he's signed over to y'all. Jon says it's a little complex. Maybe they camp likes a guy graduating to an indenture to -- uh -- redirect the other kids a little."

Mr Kraus n Mr L J shake my hand, say they're happy to reconnect. Mr Kraus grabs me for a big hug, big dick-to-dick rub through his khakis, my jock, big butt-slap when we break.

"Yeah," Jon grinned. "We'll introduce the team and its owners properly, after Jamie n Steve clean Mike up. Y'all don't fuck yet. Don't shoot yet. Mike knows about Steve, about y'all. Save Mike's story for when we're all together. Y'all make it quick because we're all waitin."

To me, Jamie, n Mike, "Let Demon reconnect with Darren n Luke. Use the owners' ensuite. I'll meet y'all there. Stand Mike in the tub (me n Jon's chill tub) for the haircut, beard cut, and buzzes. Scissors on the counter with all the other stuff. One of you grab the vacuum sweeper and hose to collect the fur."

"Y'all clean Stud Jon up too." Mr Whitmore damn near snorted. "Leave his GQ haircut alone but fix 'im like y'all from the ears down. Get rid of that ugly chest, back, and butt hair to show off his new studly stripes."

Jon stood real tall, opened his mouth, just laughed.

Mr Hardwicke waved me, Jamie, Mike, n Jon off. "Remember, y'all don't shoot. Don't fuck -- yet."



Mike knows the condo because he's been stayin here, the way me n my guys lived here. Luke grabs the sweeper n hose on the way.

There's too much to ask, to say, to reconnect. We stand Mike in the tub to catch all the fur. Mike talks while I scissor off the hair n beard, while I buzz the head n pubes for the day, while I buzz everything else so we can shave it. At least he n his crack are clean. His fur woulda stuffed a pillow. He starts to tell me about him after he lost that fight to me. Jon reminds him to wait.

I tell Mike I don't really know what to say to him. The man who did the most to civilize me, who taught me everything I know about gettin along. The champion I fought, defeated, and fucked for Jon, Anne, n their friends. The win that got this new life for me, Mike, our guys Darren n Jamie, n their kid brothers Demon n Luke.

Jon agrees, says that Mike losin to me, maybe even lettin me win, was the break that got Mike, Darren, Jamie, n me free -- well, sort of -- we'll talk about that today. Anyway, it's the break that got the four of us safe, together, away from the gladiator stable that breaks its guys. That throws em away.

We stand Jon in the tub to buzz him too. He acts almost proud. He poses, flexes while we buzz him.

We all four get into the shower to shave Mike n Jon. Standing so close to em all feels real kewl. All four lower heads grow. But we don't shoot. I let Jamie do Mike so I can shave Jon. Both guys look studlier, showin off the muscle contours along with the lashrash. Mike's rockrash n lashrash had mostly healed. Even after the chill tub, Jon's lashrash still glows as red as mine.

Back into jockstraps, but not back to the men. Jon tells Jamie, "You head back and bond. Ask Mr Kraus to meet me in my office."

To me n Mike, "You two hardasses! My office! Now!"



Jon stands me n Mike in front of his desk. He sits in his chair, facin us.

Slightly weird cuz my attorney who protects and controls me n my guys, my stud master, sits proud in his jockstrap on his naked caned tawsed fucked butt. His naked buff bullwhipped chest, hairless now, shows a different kind of power from the power that usually goes with the attorney sitting at his desk while you kinda shuffle in front of him.

Me n Mike look at Jon, not each other. At least I look into Jon's eyes. Mike has his left hand on my butt. I have my right hand on his.

Jon turns his palms up, spreads em. Then he starts counting with his fingers. "Steve, you're a lifer and your trust and company own you. That's one. Daren and Jamie are life slaves and your trust and company own them. That's two and three. Mike's a lifer and in five years your trust and company will own him. Yeah. Your offshore trust in the British Virgin Islands, your Delaware corporation, will own Mike the Champion. That's four lifers you'll own."

Jon breaks off, smiles, waves. "Yeah. You two dudes will end up in one shop that Steve, uh, beneficially owns. So Steve, you're Mike's owner and master, not just his mate and partner. Mike, Steve's your owner and master. That reverses the roles back at the gladiator stable. But y'all will be cocaptains. Break."

Mike tackles me again. Jon grins, snaps "Break!"

Serious again. Jon sits taller. "There's another reason I want Mike here. He can help you understand what's going down today. See, the new company will have 100 shares. Each lifer's worth 20 shares. 20 for Mike, 20 for Darren, 20 for Jamie, 20 for you. Each indenture's worth half as much as a lifer, 10 shares. 10 for Demon. 10 for Luke.

"Counting yourself and the two guys you own today, you have 60 shares. Majority control. Credit you with Mike, whom you WILL own, you'd have 80. Demon and Luke, the two indentures, are signed to your trust and company. Credit you with the 20 shares for them and you'd have 100. You fundamentally, you -- uh, beneficially -- you own all the guys. The company will contract y'all to Hardwicke Co for work, training, and discipline -- just like y'all now.

"You'll always keep the ultimate ownership. But for operating, for the new Steve's Studs, we need to get you below 50%, 50 shares, so you don't have majority control to run y'all, run the company. You will have the same right in the company -- to approve or veto any change that could separate or damage y'all -- that you have with your trust and your Delaware corporation. You can do that with 40%, 40 shares.

There'll be a shareholders' agreement that requires 75%, 75 shares, for any material change, anything from deploying one, some, or all of you for over 30 days to changing contractors. The new company takes on all the obligations to protect y'all, to keep y'all together and safe, to maintain all y'all's earning capacity. Nothing happens without YOUR PERSONAL AGREEMENT. Of course, the majority owners have the same rights to try to persuade you."

"Sir! My new owners ..."

Jon interrupts. "Your new PARTNERS."

I know this song. "Sir! My new partners can overwork me, overflog me, overfuck me until I do agree." (Chapter 9 -- besides regular discipline, up to 24 cuts on day one, no more than 18 bullwhip or cane unless I agree to all 24 of one; up to 18 the next day; up to 12 the third day; one-day break; recycle three times -- until I agree; the proposition ends or gets amended if I hold out.)

"Well, stud," Jon leans back a little, "Nobody can overwork YOU." OkaYYY. "Probably nobody can overflog you. Don't know yet about overfuck."

Back to attorney. "So the new company credits Darren and Jamie to you. You contribute them for your 40 blocking shares. Hardwicke Co contributes Mike and gets 20 shares for him. Mr Kraus will contribute you when you lease -- not really sell because your ownership stays in your offshore trust -- you lease him the rights to you just in the new company, in Steve's Studs. Each dad gets 10 shares for his indenture.

"Mr Kraus can't sell you away from the company. But you get an extra protection because, just as you have to agree to any change that affects Darren and Jamie, Mr Kraus has to agree to any change that affects YOU. And you get to belong to a man I know you respect from that weekend at Doc's (Chapter 2)."

"Mike," Jon turns to Mike, "Tell Steve about the shares and share values. Start with what you cost."

Mike almost blushed. He half-turned to face me, pulled me closer, squeezed my cheek, my caned n tawsed glute. He told me what Hardwicke Co paid the quarry, plus the agent that bought and transported him, plus Jon's firm's time and costs. Mike cost over three years' Marine wages; most slaves sell for less than one.

Jon cut in to explain how their agent tried to tell Mike's quarry that the client wanted the agent to find a big healthy dude, so no special price. But there were so many big healthy dudes that the agent had to say they wanted Mike the ex-gladiator.

Mike relaxed into expert mode, the way he likes to explain things to me. "Remember I was in corporate finance? I'll tell y'all about that when we're with the other guys and the owners. The new company needs to put a value on each asset. Each of us. I'm the only one who got sold in a market transaction between willing, informed, unrelated parties, so the value of each of the rest of you starts with me.

"You value a slave for his remaining lifetime earning capacity, discounted for what it costs to feed and house him, discounted for the time value of money -- for interest. Younger, bigger, stronger all add value; more skill, and more experience all add value. So they value each of us at what they paid me. Just now Darren and Jamie have less size and strength compared to me, less skill and experience, but more years ahead. They get about the same value as me. You fall between them and me, so you get the same value. Each indenture gets half a lifer's value because you don't know if they'll stay." Squeeze.

Jon grabs the, uh, ball. "Mr Kraus will pay you -- your Delaware company -- the cost of Mike. That give Mr Kraus some skin in the game (mine!) and you some jingle in your, uh, jeans. It goes to the Marine Corps credit union bank account that you've transferred to your company through your BVI trust.

"Why do you want money in your company, in your bank account? Just now the account has what you had when you joined Hardwickes last week -- what you'd saved before your gladiator days -- plus what you saved from your guys' work and yours, plus what Hardwickes paid for the guys' work this week. Remember your work goes to the truck you get in six months, then to the slave, Mike, you get in five years.

"You want money in your company because someday you and your guys might get to set up on your own. (Chapter 9 -- if I get through two indenture periods with no threats to seize me for the 'Castrate Steve Masters' stuff.) And right now, you need the funds to hold your 40% share of the company as it adds guys -- with your, uh, consent.

"Say stud overseer Pete joins Steve's Studs. Or maybe the gymbunny slave who caned and fucked you at y'all's old barracks this morning. You need to buy 40% of him. He's just a random example. Make sense?"

Mike squeezed again, swatted. "Sir! Yes, Sir, I think so, Sir!

"But why can't YOU buy me, Sir? I already belong to you, you and I know each other well (I blush when Jon catches my eye), and I trust you, Sir, trust you more than Mr Kraus."

Jon goes lawyer. "Boy, thanks for your confidence, but I can't buy you. You, well, your company and trust, are my client, and I can't do business with a client. Besides, if I owned you , I'd have that same 100% control, just indirectly. And you need the ownership of you and your guys distributed, shared, so your 40% can block any changes you dislike.

"Got that, boy? Ready to sign your sorry ass to Mr Kraus? Well, to Kraus Co.?

"Mr Kraus takes the same obligations to protect you and your earning power -- looks, health, strength, all of it, even not breaking your skin when he whips you. He gets the same powers of persuasion. He gets the same rights to, uh, personal services that don't interfere with your work. He'll get to initiate you into his company, the way Hardwicke Co initiated you Monday night (Chapter 3 -- fuckin OUCH!). Mr Kraus makes one more credible citizen, one more investor with an interest in you, one more experienced slaveowner to stand in the way of anybody, any sheriff or prosecutor who takes a run at you.

"But any work you do for him gets arranged through your contractor. Through Hardwicke Co.

"Ready to sign your sorry slave ass to the black man who knows how to handle you (flog and fuck -- Chapter 2), boy?"

Jon winks, so I know I have to reject it. For now. Until he's persuaded me.

"Sir! No fuckin way, Sir!"

Jon tells me to lie over his desk, head by his leather swivel chair, hands beside my head, butt where I'm standin, balls n dick down. Don't shoot. He tells Mike to bring in the investors and the other guys. Jon tells Luke, my punk indenture, to lube up Mr Kraus's dick n my throat. Jon tells Mr Kraus -- hadn't noticed him -- to stand at my head and shove his dick down my throat.

Mr Kraus stands so I see him smile before he grabs my head, positions it, shoves in.

"You can't talk," Jon says, "so signal 'yes' with your right hand, 'no' with your left. And make DAMN sure to answer a question. Got that, BOY?"

A cane whistles n cuts on the BOY. On top of a cut from this mornin. "Answer me, boy!"

I slap my right hand. "Good boy.

"Ready for yes, boy?" I give him the finger with my left hand as the next two cuts land, each one on an earlier cut. Jon's learned this too damn well. He's practised. He winds WAY up. Each one's whistle telegraphs its arrival so I can clench. Each one lands, digs in, slices, bites, burns, n pulls out for a bigger burn. He makes me wait, surf the pain. The next one hits just after the burn peaks. I'm grateful (!) he's careful to lay the cane across both glutes, so at least the tip don't hit n cut.

Meanwhile, Mr Kraus thrusts deep each time the cane lands, then works it til the next canecut.

"Three more, boy! Treat your new black master REAL WELL! (I feel the wind from this one before number four lands, before it bites, before it burns.) Make him and his dick REAL HAPPY!" (Number five! Jon said to take no more'n six.)

"Mr Kraus, how's our dumbass hardass doin?"

Mr Kraus growls, "Boy got talent." His big black cock works my mouth n throat real nice. Maybe it makes the cane easier to take. Maybe the cane makes the dick easier.

Hear the wind on Jon's windup. Hear n feel the wind on number six. FUCK. I damn near break Mr Kraus's dick off at the top of my throat when the cane thrusts me forward. Drives, bites deep into my skin n glutes. Burns all through, all over.

"What's my dumbass hardass boy say?"

I slap my right hand. Mr Kraus explodes down my throat. I've served my new owner. Not my master. Yet. Before he pulls out, I point both hands at my butt for Jon to fuck me, to complete me. My master. FUCK!

Jon obliges. This feels okay. I belong to these two studs. This ain't the way I felt gettin both ends raped at the old barracks earlier. Jon shoots, collapses onto my back. Jon n Mr Kraus make happy noises. I'm still ridin my endorphin buzz. I don't shoot (what a fuckin dominated slave I am) don't even frag, do fire some muscles with my masters.

"Good boy, Steve." Jon sounds proud, pleased. "You did what you promised. You took a cane FROM your master. You took a dick for him and a dick from him."

"Break, y'all. Steve and his new owner got some signin to do."

Jon pulls out, swats butt, works the glutes under the cane tracks. Mr Kraus works the bullwhip welts on my lats n traps. He pulls out. Jon n Mike help me stand, help me move around and into the chair. Onto my caned butt. Set me up to sell myself to my new black master.

Mr Kraus signs. I sign. Mike signs as witness. Mr Kraus stands me up, pulls me close, his balls to mine, his chest to mine. Feels good. FUCK!



Mr Hardwicke lines us up facin the investors, tallest on our right. Like a Marine formation. Mike first, Darren, me, Jamie, Luke, Demon. He stands between us n the investors, introduces them but doesn't line them up. Him and Mr Whitmore for Hardwicke Co, Mr Kraus for Kraus Co, Mr DD (Demon n Darren), and Mr L J (Luke n Jamie). Mr L J's proud to meet me again. We all know Attorney Jon.

Mr H nods at us, grins, says kinda sharp, "Y'all're outa uniform! You too, Mr Attorney!"


"Y'all're wearin the jockstraps that slaves wear after they're disciplined for fuckin up. You too, Jon. Y'all're GLADIATORS! Gladiators wear THESE!"

He tosses us guys n Jon each a gladiator uniform -- like a bikini -- waistband, triangle front pouch, narrow strap through to the butt like a thong or tanga, strap maybe an inch n a half between the cheeks. Dark red, the Hardwicke Co colour.

"Y'all put em on." Real broad grin. "Mind the support cockring in front -- balls n dick go through, hang from the waistband. Show ALL y'all's assets. Makes y'all wanna stand TALL"

Mr Hardwicke explains to the investors that the men -- us -- wear jocks under shorts for support, like always. Without the shorts, the jocks frame the targets -- our cheeks -- but most times n places it looks like a mistake. So wearin just jocks shows everybody we've fucked up and paid for it. Everybody gets to see the buttwork we took for our fuckups too. The same way goin shirtless shows the tracks of whatever tawse or whip we've taken lately. That leaves us open to physical motivation. The gladiator uniform separates n firms the cheeks -- looks more complete than just a jock, looks kewler, gets hit easier.

"Tell the investors why y'all're wearin the jocks but no shorts."

I shuffle, probably blush, look at Darren. He blushes too but manages to answer, like the embarrassed kid he is -- like I am, "Sirs! Me n Steve raced up a scaffold on the job site, Sirs. That broke safety, which got us all this. It got our lead hands beaten too, Luke n Jamie, plus our overseer, Pete."

"Change! Now!" Mr Hardwicke watches us turn our backs n bend over to pull off the jocks -- shows our muscular backs, butts, n legs -- and to pull on the uniforms. Jon too. We must all wrestle a bit with the support cockrings as we try to stand up n face the investors again.

We turn, stand, flex. The investors smile, whistle.

Mr Hardwicke runs down our stats. Mike -- 38 years old, six-foot-three, should weigh 235, 48 inch chest, 38 inch waist. Darren -- 23, six-foot-one, 210 but still growin, 46 inch chest, 36 inch waist. Steve -- 33, six foot, 190, 46 inch chest, 32 inch waist. Jamie -- 23, five-foot-11, 180, 42 inch chest, 30 inch waist -- looks like the classic male model except too big in the chest and shoulders, too tapered to the narrow waist. Luke -- 18, five-foot-10, 170, 40 inch chest, 30 inch waist, classic 40-Tall male model with the arms and shoulders cut big enough, tapered to the right narrow waist. Demon -- 18, five-foot-nine, 180, 40 inch chest, 30 inch waist. Notice how all our guys taper down to narrow waist n hips, rockhard glutes." More whistles.

Mr H almost holds a straight face. "And Jon -- Mike's age, six-foot-two, 225, 48 inch chest, 36 inch waist. Need him in the lineup. Between Mike and Darren." Jon don't move till Mr Whitmore swats his caned gladiator butt. Jon did look like he belonged in our lineup except for the GQ haircut, not buzzed. I'm so alert (not) that I only just now spotted the slave chain collar somebody 'd snapped around Jon's neck. It didn't register when I shaved him. He must not know it yet. More hoots n whistles before Mr Whitmore calls him back after maybe a minute.

Mr Hardwicke smiles, faces the investors, waves at us. "Y'all's men show the three classic body types. Solid endomorphs -- fireplugs when they're in shape, like Mike, Darren, and Demon. Slim ectomorphs, like exceptionally well-muscled Jamie and Luke -- muscular sloping shoulders traps pecs lats arms, narrow waist n hips. Steve the mesomorph.

"Steve, flex your back and glutes for the investors." Turn back to em. Muscles feel good. Lash, cane tracks don't.

"Gentlemen, as you see, Steve looks like an arrowhead splitting a rock.

"Our crew show classic good looks too. Jamie and Luke, boys next door -- not that you'd have wanted to live next door to the punks -- blue eyes, dark blonde hair that would be wavy if it weren't buzzed, fine features, faces taper to dimpled chins. They're the only ones you might not mind meeting in a dark alley (if you didn't know them). Darren and Demon your classic dark square-riggers -- goes with the slabs of muscle, square jaws like Superman. Steve, even Mike, in the middle -- their faces taper more than the squareriggers but less than the models -- Steve's chin tapers a bit to a dimple that Mike doesn't show."

Mr Hardwicke tells us to stand easy (I'd been flexed at attention n the other guys probably posed.) He says us to tell about ourselves. "Steve first. We call the team 'Steve's Studs'. Same name as on the truck y'all rode here in."



Mr H steps behind me, grabs my collar at the back, stands so close I feel his dick between my glutes, steps back, swats my butt. "First thing to know about Steve, when other kids played with action figures, Steve was HIS OWN action figure.

"Most guys, when somebody yells, 'Hardass!' they maybe look around, maybe just keep walkin. Steve stops, snaps to attention, says "Sir! Yes, Sir!'"

"Bisexual badass" -- Jamie. Room cracks up.

"Where you from, boy?"

"Sir! Iroquois Falls, Ontario, Canada, Sir! That's up in woods-n-mines Great Shield country, part of French Canada." Mr Hardwicke nods.

"Most folks figger I'm Mexican. Same colourin except the blue Irish eyes. But I'm what y'all'd call a French-Canadian halfbreed. My dad's a Metis -- means 'mixed,' like Mexican mestizo. The voyageurs, the French furtraders, took 'country wives' from the local Iroquois, Hurons, Sioux, Cree, whoever, wherever. We've got Metis communities from the Rockies all across the Prairies until woods and the Great Lakes. We're not a tribe exactly, but we're a proud, distinct people. My Mom's family were Irish n Mohawk from Quebec. Some of her cousins are Mohawk ironworkers -- the guys that enjoy heights, that build the skyscrapers n bridges, guys that perch for coffee on a beam 200 foot up. Must be why I like to climb." Darren cracks up, then the other guys, then Jon n the investors.

Mr Kraus smiles real broad too. "Happy to own a halfbreed, like me. How this black man got the German name. We gonna bond REAL good."

Mr Hardwicke nods at him, then at me, tells the investors, "Y'all need to know that of these six men, only Steve and Mike finished high school."

Back to me, "Steve, we got all your school, service, and criminal records. You signed the releases with all the other stuff Monday." Okaaay.

"Tell us about your family, school, work, sports."

"Sir! All dad's family lived farther west n north. Mom's sister n her husband n kids lived a couple towns southeast, a few hours away, but all the rest lived in Quebec -- from the mining towns down to the Mohawk reserve -- reservation -- along the Saint Lawrence River. Mom and dad both moved to Iroquois Falls for work at the mill. Met there. Dad was an instrument tech, mom was an accounting clerk -- both learned on the job. My older brother was a logger, a treekiller. He had a wife n two kids. The winter after I graduated, turned 18, n joined the Marines but hadn't finished trainin, my brother was drivin Mom n Dad into town for some doctor's appointment. There was a bad storm so he drove em in his GMC Suburban. They found the truck n bodies in May. I sent my Marine family allotment, most of my pay, to his widow." I had to stop a minute.

Mr Hardwicke put his arm around my shoulder. "So you lost your family like I lost mine." (Chapter 4).

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

He gives me a squeeze, says to go on.

"I did okay in school. First man in my family to graduate. Mom did but I was the first man."

Mr H interrupts. "Le College St Jean Brebeuf -- what they call his French high school -- sent his records. B or better in math. Okay in French and sciences. Not so good in history and English. That explains the way he talks. First years, lower grades he couldn't sit still through a lesson unless they gave him math problems. Didn't like to write. Especially not in English.

"His assessments say he has Attention Deficit Disorder -- why he still can't sit still -- but not Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder, the guys that bounce off walls. He's dyslexic too -- when he reads, he sees things in the wrong order. That's one reason he did math better than languages. But we like him anyway." Swats butt. Nods to go on. "Sports? Work?"

"Sir! My brother was the hockey jock. No way I'd play second string to him. They pick teams each January, every age group; my August birthday made me too small for the good teams. So I played football, rugby. Football running back -- good speed, good moves, okay hands. Rugby fly half. Too small for linebacker, too small to take out other guys, but I had the speed n size to get the ball through the big slow defence.

"I did the usual kid jobs -- took care of neighbours' lawns n gardens, cleared their driveways, their side streets. Did ours too. Had to be 18 to work around machinery, like the woods or mill, like construction, so I was never old enough for the fun jobs. Dad got me on summers in the mill warehouse when I was 16, after grade 11, my junior year, and when I was 17, after I graduated but before I turned 18 and could join the Marines. That's why I hope I didn't look totally stupid that day with Mr Whitmore in the warehouse (Chapter 5).

"The night before my 18th birthday, we had a family dinner at home and I said goodbye to my mom and my brother's family. Then my brother drove me to a bush party. Morning of my birthday, dad picked me up -- kinda rough shape but it didn't matter -- and put me on the bus to the border, where a Marine recruiter met me. I never saw any of them again."

Good thing that Mr H steps back in.

Boss stands real proud to say this next part. "Marines -- Steve's basic all good, advanced infantry all good. Maxed all the physical stuff. Qualified in every weapon they showed him. When he had enough time in, he joined the Recon Marines. Like Army Rangers (I tried not to snort like a snob) the tough guys that land by submarine or parachute way before the regular Marines or Army Airborne. He deployed to places most folks never want to know about. Specialist in sniping. Specialist in explosives and demolitions. Purple Hearts for combat injuries, two Bronze Stars for combat bravery, Silver Star for unusual bravery at the risk of mortal injury. Wanna tell us about the stars?"

"Sir! The Bronze Stars came for takin out bad guys that had us pinned down. Normal stuff like we all trained for. Like we all did. First time I climbed the back side of the ridge they were on, dropped a grenade. That woke up their buddies that I didn't quite avoid while I was gettin back. That got me a Purple Heart. Second time I made the classic nighttime crawl up in front of em, used my bayonet to keep it quiet, make it easier to get away. Normal stuff, like I said.

"The Silver Star -- that was ugly. My squad had cleared a village -- like six fallin-down huts. Found nobody. Sergeant said to burn the hut that had all the explosive shit. We lit it. Then I heard a child cry. Wrapped my hands n face, went in fast n low, found a cupboard door, broke it, pulled out a little girl n her big sister. Sister's boyfriend was a government soldier -- our side. The bad guys knew we'd burn the shit or blow it up. Make an example of the girls along the way." I relaxed. Looked from Mr H to Jon. Everybody breathed again.

Then Mr H asked why I was still a corporal. "Sir! In that line of work, I'd rather do the job myself than send somebody else to do it. I did get promoted a couple times, in the field. Lost the sergeant stripes when we got back to base. Usually fought some random guy, usually somebody who gave a girl a bad time."

"Fuck!" Jamie yelled. "That's why you punched me out. Over Mike's whore in his cell. Guards slaveprodded you over that one." Ouch!

"Right," Jon stepped in. "That's what makes Steve's first conviction so weird. He's the last guy to do date rape, sexual assault. Anne's workin on that file."

Mr Hardwicke agreed. "Steve believes that Marines who had to put gay guys down were like the ones that needed the Marine tattoo. 'The Eagle, Ball, and Anchor of the Corps.' They were guys not that confident in their own masculinity."

"Sirs!" I had to break in. Y'all make me sound like some hero. I'm a hardass stud bastard. Okay, bisexual badass. (Snorts, chuckles.) Mike tried to help me control the reflexes -- the impulses -- that got me arrested, convicted. Me bein what y'all call a trained killer didn't help. Had to meet a higher standard of behaviour. Both times. Daterape when I grabbed the wrist of a woman who slapped me because I scared her. Gaybashin when I pushed away a trucker who picked me up, groped me, wanted a blowjob."

Jon to the group -- "All y'all but Demon have seen Steve's internet file -- YouTube of his first trial and municipal caning, Facebook 'Castrate Steve Masters,' some of the Twitter hashtags. Y'all've seen 'Slave Steve's Greatest Hits' too?" Snorts. Laughs.

"Steve ain't no homophobe neither" -- Darren. His dad cringes at the way he talks.

"Anne's working on the daterape one. The gaybashing too," Jon said. "But you being a trained killer Marine plus trained gladiator would enslave and castrate you for any third incident. That would seize and sell your guys too. Just any excuse that you're out of control would make the third strike. That's why you and I collected these stripes today. (He grabbed my bullwhipped left pec.) That gets us to today's corporate stuff."

"Gentlemen," Mr Hardwicke turned to the investors, grinned proud, waved at us. "All these men score way higher on masculine pride than on impulse control. More balls than brains. At least all but Mike. That's why outfits like ours" -- he looked at Mr Kraus -- "run on hardasses."

"But remember Steve got into trouble when he got back from the field. Not IN the field, not in combat. Steve doesn't just need to be worked physically hard, like Darren, like a lot of our guys, and not just the biggest ones. Steve needs to be physically CHALLENGED. That's why he took Darren's dare to race up the scaffold. That's why we had to make Steve the littlest Big Dawg (Chapter 8). Big Dawgs are the heavyweight crew that handle all the toughest jobs. They're all ex-college linemen. It helps that Steve's the most competitive bastard anywhere.

"Here's how Steve works. Put him in Mike's old quarry. If I tell him he breaks rocks all day, every day, forever -- he'd break ME. Every morning, though, tell him he's not man enough to break more than he did yesterday. Crack the bullwhip across his ass. Stand back.

"That's why he's a born gladiator." Laughs, yells. Mike jumps me.



"Easy, big guy." Mr Whitmore takes over. "Mike's not our company's only college grad, but he's our only one with a master's degree.

"Mike, your turn."

Mike shrugs, flexes, has to think a minute. "Sirs! Nobody's asked me this before. I'm not just a redneck. I'm a HILLBILLY. Come from a real little place, what y'all'd call a valley but we called a cove. West slope of the Appalachians, where my family'd lived since they crossed through Cherokee country with Daniel Boone. We're not halfbreeds, like Steve, but back there, everybody's part Cherokee.

Hill farmers, coal miners when there was still coal. Moonshiners too. Grew most of our own food, had a garden, kept chickens, raised a pig every year, smoked it in a special shed with a high roof. Mom n dad, all the family, worked places like chicken processors. Like Steve, I'm our first high-school grad. I played football -- mostly linebacker. Wanted to be a high-school coach and math teacher. Went to Middle Tennessee State. Small football scholarship. Not big-league enough for a full ride, mostly financial aid. Math Profs talked me into an MBA, finance option. I was Middle Tennessee State's first-ever investment-banker grad. Wall Street."

"Tell us how you ended up here." -- Mr Whitmore.

Mike shrugs, runs through a few expressions. "I'd scored. Wall Street. Brownstone conversion condo. Garage space for the Corvette. I'm too big to drive a 911, and they build Corvettes in Bowling Green, KAINtucky, not too far from the holler -- what y'all call a hollow -- that my family's cove's in. My folks got real impressed. I started in the back office, crunching numbers. Found a rugby club. Moved up in what I analyzed. Mostly worked and trained, except Fridays after work -- work hard, play hard. They said lots of guys could trade; lots could work out fancy new options to sell. They needed me keeping the sellers and traders honest. So I'd monitor the trade flows, positions, position changes. Big data. I'd spot problems that might happen, make sure they don't. Got promoted. Section head, coordinating other guys doing that job.

"We managed billions in pension funds. We had an energy trader in Denver -- not Dallas -- so he could stay in touch with the industry hustlers. He made bets on the price of natural gas, especially, but oil, coal, electricity too. He bought and sold futures or options -- a contract that let you buy or sell so much at a price above or below the current market price at some future date. If you buy and the price goes higher than your option price, you're in the money. If you sell and the price goes below the option price, you're in the money. Most times, most folks are out of the money. The firm's clients' money.

"Yeah. He set up dummy accounts that our IT guys didn't find, to hide his positions. I couldn't see everything he traded, everything he built up. My first year as section head, he made a $1.13 billion on a bet that gas prices would go up. He got lucky. A couple storms in the gas fields in the Gulf of Mexico, a couple earthquakes in shalegas country. Got a $113 million bonus. Got his trading limits raised.

"Next year, his luck held at first. Made the firm $320 million in February. Made $1.1 billion in April. Lost a billion and a half in May. His positions were so big, the gas he optioned made up so much of the market, that just selling it off would have cost us another billion. We told him to sell off slowly. Instead he doubled up. With his dummy accounts, I couldn't see it. I think the head traders didn't want to. He wound up costing us six billion. That broke the firm and its owners. Most of that, five billions and a half, came out of the clients.

"The clients sued. The New York District Attorney -- the dude usually becomes governor, sometimes president -- went after us. The trader cooperated. States evidence. They needed to know what he did and how he hid it. He paid a $150 million fine. Got indentured five years to a Midwest bank that wanted to set up its own energy trading.

"The partners that were supposed to run the show paid back some bonuses too. But they were Ivy Leaguers like our cowboy, and the IT studs were from MIT. The finance hillbilly from Middle Tennessee State and the Denver IT guy from an Iowa community college took the fall. My deal was lifetime slavery, no conviction, and a trust fund for my family. I hope it gets managed better than the pension funds we looked after.

Jon held his hand up. "Make sure I get their particulars." Nods to Mike, who goes on.

"I got sold to that limestone quarry in Tennessee where the gladiator stable came looking for a big guy with small-guy moves. That's where y'all found me. I worked and fought my way up to Champion. My coaching training helped. So did understanding business, even a weird one like gladiators."

Mike looked at me, kinda shrugged. "I've though a lot about that fight Jon and his wife and friends wanted. Maybe I could have fought you harder, but you put up the better show. You were number two, trying harder. Smaller than me too. Quicker moves. Plus the most competitive bastard anywhere. I was proud to show you off. You were my protégé. My best work. After that fight, though, especially after you didn't come back and I heard you'd get Jamie, I wished you could come for me too. Then the stable let Darren get broken and thrown away.

"Gladiators are maybe the ultimate studs most folks ever see. Military guys, studs for sure. Smart investment dudes who make their luck, maybe. But most folks never see THEM. I used to get off on fighting like a champion. Analyze my guy. Script the match. Scare -- thrill -- the crowd. Let the guy think he'd won but then make him know how bad he lost. Make sure he could fight the next day -- next month anyway. Damn! That was FUN!

"After you, Jamie, and Darren went, I could still fight, but I didn't feel like a champion. Punks in the stable turned smartass. Had to challenge me. I didn't want to hurt them either. I just didn't want to play any more. I saw maybe a future for you but not for me. I asked the stable to sell me back to the quarry where I could just be a hardass again but try not to think.

"They finally got to bullwhip me, like they always wanted, for giving up as a champion. Every guy in the place wanted to help bring out the whipping frame and tie me to it. The cheers kept gettin louder as the count ran up way past 30, when I lost track. Some rough fucks too. I felt broken. I made a real fine picture, naked in the slave cage in the quarry pickup. Sunburn from the ride made it worse."

Mike couldn't go on. I couldn't have neither. I jumped onto the front of him. Hugged him tight. Darren and Jamie backed him up.



Jamie broke off. Stood up. Spoke. "Damn! Us four punks -- my buddy Darren, our kid brothers Luke n Demon -- we're just your four basic stupid teenage punks. Steve and our dads gave the kids the chance to grow out of it that me n Darren didn't get.

"Me n Darren didn't like it when Steve signed us up with Hardwicke Co. The morning after he got us all 'initiated' -- Steve too -- that means flogged with everything but the blacksnake -- I asked him if he'd brought us there because he wanted Mr Hardwicke's red truck? Mr Hardwicke's whip? Mr Hardwicke's dick?'

"Steve kinda answered that he wanted Mr Hardwicke's future.

"I'm startin to see what he means. If it wasn't for Steve, for all y'all (he waved at Jon n the investors) gladiatin till we got busted up n thrown away woulda been the best days of our lives. Maybe the only good days, while they lasted. If it wasn't for Steve, I'd never have seen Darren or Luke again. Not my dad neither." He had to stop.

Mr DD and Mr L J -- the dads -- both shifted. "I wish I'd had a business where I could have put my guys to work," Mr L J said, "but I'm an IT manager for an oil and gas trader. No physical operations to get em unskilled jobs. I couldn't even take them into the office. I remember the fiasco Mike talked about. Amaranth! That cowboy's play cost us a bundle in overpriced gas futures."

Mr DD shrugged. "Almost the same story. I'm an insurance broker, so I had nowhere to put two big guys -- especially big guys with more balls than brains. Their mother had more tits than brains. Darren was the gay football player. He got the gears for that and for his mom running off. Damon -- Demon -- was the soccer player -- built for football but too small -- who wasn't gay but whose big brother was.

"Darren's told me how Mike and Jon found him all busted up in the slave remainders bin, the bottom-buck bargains that couldn't have earned their feed. He'd gone so depressed he curled up around the drain, where even the other bottom-buckers pissed on him. He also told me what a jerk he was about Steve rehabbing him. At least until Steve started racing him for a flog and a fuck. How he deserved way more than Steve gave him (six and 12 canecuts -- Chapter 1). He told me too what Steve did to get his leg rebuilt -- the weekend at Orthopod Doc's where Steve was a naked slave with his guys, how his three guys caned and fucked him, how Mr Kraus bullwhipped and fucked him (Chapter 2). And none of this would have happened without Jon and his wife.

"So, gentlemen," he spread his hands, "Mr L J and I are VERY grateful to all y'all." Smile. Claps. Yells. Hugs. Swats on the back and butt.

Jon stops us to sign Demon's indenture. Mike witnesses again. More hoots, hugs. more swats.



"Just one thing, though, Steve." Mr L J looked at me, hard, stepped in front of me, put his hands on my shoulders, looked me square in the eyes.

"Sir?" Now fuckin what?

"Well, Steve, you know what you told Jon about belonging to him -- you take his dick? You take his whip? This feels REAL weird for a father to say about his sons, but Luke and Jamie wonder why you don't fuck them. Not often, not for meanness, maybe just once, but enough so they know they belong to you. They wonder why you don't whip them too -- sounds like flogging goes with fucking. 'No hot dick in no cold pussy.'

"Okay, you made Luke get you off, and now he fucks you and sits on your dick, but he says that's more a bedwarmer thing, not because he belongs to you. You did Darren when you outran him, but as your training partner, not because he belongs to you. The guys miss their master." Mr L J looks kinda puzzled. Like I feel.

"Male bonding!" -- Mike. "I thought football teams, rugby clubs, Wall Street Friday nights were rugged. But nothing like what I saw Jon and Steve give and take! Nothing like this, no real, organized bonding went down with the gladiators. Even my quarry had teams that bonded. For the gladiator stable, though, we were just replaceable moving parts, just commodities."

Wow! Mike gave me a break to think. A little. "Sir! Lotsa reasons, Sir. Jamie n Darren're a couple. Luke's like my foster kid. And guys in authority don't pick on guys under them -- not for sex, not for favours like cleanin boots or gear. In the Marines, that would be harassment, Sir."

Mr L J: "All good answers if this were -- what -- a normal business. But this slave shop sounds REAL different." He steps closer, squeezes my shoulders. "Flog 'em, fuck 'em, fuck WITH 'em.  Work on it with them, okay?"

Fuck! "Sir! Yes, Sir!"

Mr L J and Mr DD both hug me, both thank me, for sayin I'll abuse and molest their sons. I'm still learnin.

I'm grateful Mr Whitmore took the floor back. "Mr Hardwicke and I wanted our guys to bond with each other, with our shop, with us. Mr Hardwicke and I took the same hell week that Steve and his guys just finished. We took the same six-months basic training before any of the guys knew who we were. Nobody knew us but Boss Henry, the slave general manager, who blacksnaked us. Half-dozen times each.  Every other guy just saw two ex-military punks who'd fucked up like them.

"Steve met Boss Henry last night. Right after we blacksnaked Boss Henry for missing his bodyfat standard three months running. When we took over the company, it felt slave slackass with overseers. We had Boss Henry turn it military hardass. Every guy knows the rules, plays by the rules, even us. We believe it works. These guys saw a punk get kicked out last night because he wouldn't belong, wouldn't put out.

"Tonight y'all -- he gestured to the investors -- will see the initiation where the company shows the slave we mean business and the slave shows us he does.

"We wanted Steve and his stud gladiators. Not just to work for us but to, uh, inspire and motivate the other guys. We'll talk more about that over lunch.

"But now, let's make Steve's Studs Inc."



"Let's have the owners around this side of the dining table. Steve, you and your guys stand on the other side. Jon, sit here by me." Mr Hardwicke's back to business.

"Uh, Steve, you have to sign too. Sit here between Jon and me. We'll spread the owners around both sides of the table, so the men can stand at the other end." I pull in a chair.

Jon points to the stack of papers in front of every chair. "I'll chair this part. I incorporated the company, so I'm president and sole shareholder. Mr DD, would you mind keeping minutes? It's set up on this iPad." Mr DD nods. Jon passes the iPad.

I gotta say here that I wouldn't remember this next shit, who moved what, but I've used my minutes, and Mike's helped. The point, I guess, is how deep me n my guys are buried, how hard Jon worked, to keep us all safe n together.

"First up, the agenda, which we have to adopt. Any amendments?

"Hearing none, do we have a motion to approve the agenda?" Several hands up, including mine. "Moved by Mr L J."

"Second?" Several hands up, including mine. "Seconded by Mr Kraus."

"All in favour?" Every hand up, including mine. "Agenda adopted."

"Second item is introductions, which we've done.

"This next one's the incorporation and bylaws, standard stuff for every company in the state. Motion to adopt?" Several hands up, including mine. "Moved by Mr Kraus."

"Second?" Several hands up, including mine. "Seconded by Mr Whitmore."

"All in favour?" Every hand up, including mine. "Company incorporated. Welcome to Steve's Studs Inc!

"Y'all sign these three master copies. You, too, Steve." He handed me the fountain pen. I signed.

"Here's the shareholder register. I surrender my share and we cancel it. Check y'all's holdings -- 20 shares per lifer, 10 shares per indenture. Notice that Steve represents the owner of 40 shares. That owner's a Delaware corporation -- call it 'Delco' -- that an offshore trust controls. That trust holds title to each of the men except Mike. We'll add Demon tomorrow. Through Delco, it leases Steve to Mr Kraus's Kraus Co, as y'all just heard."

Jon winks at me. I squirm, get reminded of my caned butt on the wooden chair, blush. Everybody else laughs.

Jon resumes, "Delco also leases indenture Demon to Mr DD's holding company and indenture Luke to Mr L J's. It retains the rights to Darren and Jamie. Hardwicke Co bought Mike and owns him but if Steve's Studs continues for five years, it will sell Mike to Delco for one dollar.

"At 20 shares per lifer and 10 shares per indenture, Steve represents the owner of 40 shares and votes those shares. Mr Kraus represents his company and votes its 20 shares. Mr Hardwicke and Mr Whitmore represent Hardwicke Co and each votes 10 shares. Mr DD and Mr L J each vote their holding companies' 10 shares."

"Motion to adopt?" Several hands up, including mine. "Moved by Mr Hardwicke."

"Second?" Several hands up, including mine. "Seconded by Mr DD."

"All in favour?" Every hand up, including mine. "

We all sign by the coloured stickies.

"Motion to appoint Greybeard CPAs as auditors?" Hands up "Mr DD moves. Second?" Hands up. "Mr L J seconds. All in favour?" Hands up. "Carried."

"Time for elections. The investors have nominated as directors Mr Kraus with 20 shares and Mr DD, Mr L J, Mr Hardwicke, and Mr Whitmore each voting 10 shares. Motion to adopt? Second?" Every hand's up, even mine. "Elected. Congratulations, gentlemen."

Jon sees my look. "Steve can't be an officer or director because he's a slave. Same reason Steve can't appear in the minutes moving or seconding. I can't be an officer or director because I represent his owners and their interests. But Steve, I, and Steve's representative -- Mike -- can attend directors' meetings. We also get briefed on any developments and we receive any reports, correspondence, or financial statements.

"You down with this, Steve?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

"Good boy."

Jon the corporate lawyer again. "Election of officers. The investors have nominated Mr Hardwicke as president, Mr Kraus as first vice-president, Mr Whitmore as second vice-president, Mr DD as secretary, and Mr L J as treasurer. Motion to adopt? Second?" Every hand's up, even mine. "Elected. Congratulations, gentlemen."



Jon the corporate lawyer continues. "Now y'all have the next one, the shareholders' agreement?" Papers shuffle. I pick up my copy.

"This sets out how the company will run. This company contracts with Hardwicke Co to employ, train, and discipline its men. This amounts to an indenture that renews automatically unless the owners vote to end or change it at each expiry. The owners commit their men for the term of the indenture. Steve also assigns the nonhuman assets of his Delco - except the bank account at the Marine Corps Credit Union, which stays with Delco. But all his clothing and gear, including his civilian clothes, his cane and tawse, and his combat boots come to Hardwicke.

"This contract starts at the end of this six-month intro period and runs for the lesser of five years or twice the longest time the contractor pays a slave's training. So a four-year apprenticeship means an nine-year term for the company, including the six-month boot camp. If Demon and Luke's training doesn't last over two years, they serve five years and have the option to wrap their indentures or renew. If they undertake longer training, they extend to twice the training time. For the lifers, their indentures renew with the company's contract.

"Most important, this company and Hardwicke Co, or whoever else contracts for the men, undertakes to each owner to maintain and enhance the men's earning capacity, except for normal wear-and-tear. That includes health, strength, and appearance. Whoever employs the men or any of them has full rights to work, train, and discipline them. Discipline can't break a man's skin, so no scarring, and any cuts or tears get fixed. Any injuries get fixed. It lists the compensation for any violation. This is normal indenture stuff -- full power to employ, train, and discipline subject to maintaining the man's condition and earning power, except for normal wear and tear.

"This agreement requires good medical care through Hardwicke Co's medic -- a registered nurse-practitioner -- and on-call doctors. If another company employs the men, it has to provide comparable care.

"The directors will have full authority to administer the company by majority vote, including matters of the men's employment, training, and discipline as well as financial arrangements. But any change in the men's employment for longer than 30 days requires approval by owners of 75% of the shares. That includes adding new men or selling any of these six. Steve's owner wants to ensure that Steve approves any change to the manpower, which his 40 shares, 40% provide. Adding, changing, or disposing of any other capital asset also requires 75% approval. So does any action involving the men that's not work, training, or discipline, including asserting authority or improving attitude.

"For the next while, the only nonhuman capital asset will be the classic 2010 Ford F250 crewcab pickup, Powerstroke diesel, short bed, that Hardwicke's will sell to Steve's Delco for one dollar at the end of this six-month intro. The next asset will be Mike, which Hardwickes will also sell to Steve's Delco for one dollar at the end of five years and which Steve's Delco will commit to Hardwickes or whoever the contractor is then.

"All okay so far? I nod with everybody else.

"Here's where this shareholders agreement turns unusual. It imports the conditions that no change affecting Steve or his guys, any, uh, personnel sales or purchases, any deployments or contracts lasting over 30 days, any major or capital outlays, plus any action involving the men that's not work, training, or discipline, including asserting authority or improving attitude -- nothing major changes without Steve's approval. It also imports the powers of his owners -- his new partners -- to, uh, ask him to reconsider his disagreement. Besides any work, training, or discipline, his owners can apply up to 24 cane or bullwhip strokes the first day (no more than 18 of one unless he agrees to all 24), then 18 the second day (no more than 12 of either unless he agrees), 12 the third day, a day off, another round. He gets a chance to renegotiate and to consult outside counsel before another two rounds. If he still holds out, the proposal dies unless it gets amended so he can agree.

"Once a month, the owners can cane Steve, bullwhip him, or both to assert their authority or improve his attitude. Same limits. Same for any other slave -- asset. Other implements don't count, and cane and bullwhip can happen in different sessions.

"He and his guys are also available for, uh, personal services that don't interfere with their work, training, or discipline."

Jon asks if I agree so far. I nod, squirm on my caned butt, don't smile. The investors nod and smile.

Jon smiles back. "The investors have tweaked it so that if all the directors agree, they can use all blacksnake to persuade you.

"Steve, you down with that, boy?" He winks. Ouch!

"Sir! No way,. Sir."

Jon turns to Mr Kraus. "Your slave, Mr Kraus."

Mr K stands me up. Says, "Drop the uniform. Spread your legs. Grab your ankles. Or would you rather lie across Jon's desk to take his dick too?"

Fuck! "Sir! You're the owner, Sir!"

Luke, damn him. "Sir! If Steve takes any dick, Sir, he should take mine. He fed me his every night for weeks, after workin made my hands too hard for his soft dick."

"Mr K slaps my naked bent butt. "Right, boy. Back over Jon's desk. Got that, boy?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

We walk to Jon's office again. This time I notice everybody followin, mostly because of their happy voices and hands-on attention. I bend over the desk again. Luke don't surprise me with his hot lube and his dick, but Mr K does. He steps in front of me with a slave strap, like I took in the slave bureau yesterday afternoon (Chapter 9) and gave and took with Pete last night (Chapter 10).

"My outfit likes this better'n a cane, boy. I get to swing harder, work harder to impress you as much, so I enjoy the workout more. Plus it makes a way better show for the crowd.

"Same drill, boy. Right hand means yes. Shootin means yes, too. Left hand or hittin 24 means not yet. I don't have to quit at 24 cuz this ain't no cane, so we can keep goin's long's we need to. Got that, boy?"  Mr K steps out of sight.  Next to my target ass.  

Luke's dick keeps me from answerin. The first strap -- impact! crush! burn! all across my glutes -- reminds me I need to answer anyway. But not quick enough. Luke's dick enjoyed the hit more'n me. Luke works my back n shoulders.

"Hear me, hardass?" The next hit helps me slap my right hand on the desk. It drives me deep onto Luke's dick too.

"Need the cane, boy? This strap not enough?"

I remember to slap 'no' with my left hand.

"Luke, boy, start counting for hardass here."

"One, Sir!" for the next one. Fuck!

"Two, Sir! Three, Sir!" That's fuckin five!

"Whadya say, hardass? Need it harder, boy?" My left hand answers 'no.'

"Still no, hardass? Ready to sign your sorry ass over to your new owners?" My left middle finger answers 'no.'

Luke counts the "Four, Sir!' (Really six.) He shoots down my throat, tells me I've had enough. I slap my right hand. Don't shoot. Yet.

Mr Kraus asks if I want his dick now. Fuck! Right hand again. He lubes up, drives in through every sphinctre. I clench his dick n Luke's. He fires. I fire. He n Luke collapse on me. All three of us frag, fire every muscle. We unwind. They help me back to the dining table. Somebody hands me the beer I need real bad. Mouth tastes better with beer. I sign the shareholders' agreement.

"One more way you n me gonna bond, boy," Mr Kraus allows on the way back to the table. "We gonna bond REAL good," while he squeezes, swats butt.  



Mr Hardwicke, the president, presides. "Gentlemen! Just a few more items of business. Ratify the contract with Hardwicke Co, open a bank account, appoint signing officers, and confirm Steve's status.

"Motion to adopt the Hardwicke Co contract? It also provides for some sharing the men with Kraus Co." Moved seconded carried. I'm enjoyin the beer and still buzzed.

Bank account and signing officers went through. Mr Hardwicke or Mr Whitmore plus one of the others to sign. I'm still buzzed.

Mr Kraus gets my attention. "Gentlemen! To confirm the directors' authority to employ, train, and discipline the men, to assert our authority, to improve his attitude,, and to confirm the men's availability for personal services that don't interfere with their work, training, or discipline, I move that the directors should cane Steve three each, total 15 cuts, fuck him, and facefuck him. Save the blacksnake for later."

Mr Hardwicke calls for a second. All hands up. "Discussion? Steve?"

"Sirs! I guess it's in the contract, in y'all's power, but every one of these men -- Mike plus my Darren, Jamie, n Luke, n Mr Hardwicke, Mr Kraus, n Mr Whitmore have flogged me, have fucked me. Only Demon n Mr DD n Mr L J haven't. If y'all wanna scent-mark me, it'd hurt way less if y'all just pissed on me."

Everybody laughed. Mr Kraus and the seconder accept an amendment to piss on me too. Fuck! I'm a clean freak -- Mohawk grandmother -- why I like all the showers. I'll really hate that.

"Sirs?" First time we've heard from Mike. "If the object is to show that Steve's just another slave, this would single him out instead. What if y'all caned, fucked, n facefucked the two cocaptains, Steve and me?"

The directors all agreed, and the motion got amended, and it added that Mike n me would get initiated together as cocaptains tonight. But when Mr Hardwicke called for the vote, Jon told them that OWNERS had the power to do all this, and that this was a shareholder matter outside the board's powers to administer our work, training, and discipline. This required shareholder approval. Not just the board. Everybody looked at me.

Jon said he was sorry, but .... He shrugged, put his hand on my shoulder, winked.

Mr Hardwicke summed it up. The directors, my 60% partners all agreed, but it needed my approval. "Steve?"

"Sirs! No fuckin way, Sirs! Just too fuckin weird!"

Mr Hardwicke asked Mr Kraus to help blacksnake me, since all the other owners agree. But he says, first, that the directors who've already caned me -- him, Mr Whitmore, Mr Kraus -- should nail me just two each, cuz I've had two rounds today already and I'll get more back at the company. Ouch! n thanks! Another amendment accepted.

"Steve! Hit the washroom. You had coffee and beer. Don't want no accidents. Take off your uniform. Go stand in that doorway. Hold the top."

I do. Mr Kraus stands in front of me with one blacksnake. Mr Whitmore's behind me with another. Mr Hardwicke reminds me for the record that the other owners agree 100% that they should cane, fuck, n facefuck me n Mike, and that the owners will now try to persuade me to agree. This will continue until I say I agree, I shoot, or they reach 24 lashes. My second blacksnakin. The first was the last event Thursday night when I was REAL whipped out, real buzzed (Chapter 6). This'll go way worse. Okay, hardass, ride it.

Mr Kraus grins. Real big. I hear him n Mr Whitmore swing back, snap forward. Hear the whip comin. I try to flex, brace. Fuck! They lay each one across a welt from the barracks. The back one, across the shoulders, blasts n burns bad enough. Then there's the front one, across both tits, way fuckin worse. Both lashes wrap onto the ribs. Blacksnake's weighted with lead pellets, makes it heavier than a bullwhip, makes it wrap better n farther, hit heavier, slice bite burn deeper.  Fly like a bullwhip, bite like a cane.  

"Whaddya say, hardass?" Mr Hardwicke gestures for my owners to wait for my answer.

I look at Jon. He winks. I'm such a fuckin slave to that man. "Sirs! No fuckin way, Sirs! Just too fuckin weird!"

Next pair I say I'll abstain, not vote against. Don't work. I have to support. Just now I damn near can't support myself. That back one went right shoulder diagonally across, the front one right shoulder to left tit, again.

Pair number three blows way deep into skin n muscle. Back one from the name tattoos at my left shoulder down across, the front one left shoulder across right tit. It shoots my dick onto Mr Kraus. White spunk onto black pecs. He doesn't look surprised. Jon looks proud.

"Shareholders' motion carried!" Mr Hardwicke says we'll break for lunch, talk about the company and gladiator operations, then break. Mr DD and Mr L J can practise their canin technique while Jon n I run. We'll all meet back in Jon's office n use his desk for the cane fuck facefuck. We'll move to the condo gym for a slave workout for the owners. That means trainer n tawse. Then the owners can execute their scentmarkin motion, them n my guys pissin on me n Mike in the shower. The guys can show their shoot there too. Onto me n Mike.

Me n Mr Kraus hit a quick cold shower. We washed each other nicely. My owner rubbed my welts a bit. He towelled me before I did him. He's proud I'm his slave. Damned near shot again. I'm proud he's my owner. He'll work me so he becomes a master I belong to. Back into my gladiator uplift thong for lunch.



Jon says lunch is steaks. Ribeyes. Charcoal. He was gonna do steaks for the owners, burgers for the guys, but decided we needed the real thing too. Everybody black n blue -- don't mean the way I'll look, just black outside, blue rare inside. Beer's your basic slave-issue Busch lager. Don't waste no good microbrews on no unappreciative rednecks. Us. Wine's a Texas cabernet that he n Anne like. Me n Mike go for the red. The guys grab beers.

The owners -- my partners -- tell me n Mike to have a seat while the guys cook n serve. They better know how. Jon supervises.

The owners ask about all the whippin n canin. Does that go on all the time? How's any work get done? Mr Whitmore does allow that their, uh, staff, call the company Harddick and Whipmore. But, like they said earlier, our hell week is just part of gettin initiated. During their first week, after the Monday night initiation with cane tawse quirt flogger bullwhip, us guys held off the painful encore for the scaffold stunt till Thursday. Mr Hardwicke and Mr Whitmore got theirs on Tuesday. Trainin day. First day on the scaffolds. One dropped a bolt n the other dropped a wrench. They told us again how me n my guys got the pussy version.

Mr Hardwicke set his glass down to explain. "What's a whip do? It causes pain. We use that pain to improve performance, every time, in every way possible. Y'all'll see in the gym how the tawse on a muscle drives that muscle to put out more, even before the pain reaches the brain. In the brain, the pain causes adrenaline for quick energy plus endorphins n testosterone n more shit I don't remember. The guy puts out more harder. Smarter too, they hope. Boss Henry's major blacksnaking will help him manage the senior tradesmen and overseers -- better than just flogging THEM would have done.

"D remembers what hurts. Pain builds aversion into the animal brain where impulses start. Guys learn they don't do that no more never. Maybe. Pain bonds males, shows em they belong, shows everybody what they can do n take. Punches Jon's stud ticket.

"But guys n crews usually just work straight out. Overseers whip their men sometimes, not to MAKE them put out, but to remind them that they CAN put out because every other guy gets the same, puts out the same. Why slave crews are more efficient than free crews. Plus they don't steal, don't skip the day after payday."

Everybody toasts me n Mike, the hardworkin slaves.

Mr Whitmore tells the owners about the fuckin order, too. That most guys COULD fuck most others. He allows that has made me and my don't-fuck-the-troops seem weird to my guys. But since we're all gonna live n work together a real long time, and since nobody wants to be an asshole, the guys play pretty chill. Like they know I'm his meat n my guys are mine. Same with the overseers n lead hands who could flog random dudes but don't.

Mr Hardwicke asks me to tell the owners that it's not all one way. "Who have you fucked in the company this week?"

"Sir! I fucked you, Mr Whitmore, and my overseer, Pete." The other owners perk up.

"Who have you whipped this week?"

"Sir! I bullwhipped you twice, after competitions -- very kewl you kept your shirt off afterwards. Built both our reps. I flogged Pete with everything but cane n bullwhip, showin him what I deserved from him before he gave it to me."

The guys n the steaks join us. Steaks don't last long. Jon says what a great job Mike n Demon did, bankin the charcoal. Not too much more beer n wine. Coffees. Who knew Mike knew how to make lattes? Turns out he used to own a machine like Anne n Jon's, for whenever he was home. Demon n Luke will clean up while we stay at the table to talk gladiatin.

Jon has something to explain. How he n Anne accidentally chose me to father the child Anne kept miscarryin when he did it. How they found the gladiator stable had cheated on my indenture time, got me Jamie like me n Mike had worked for but the stable wouldn't have done. How he helped me find Darren after the stable threw him away -- stuff they mostly knew.

How he n Anne saw the danger I was in, two convictions, any bogus arrest would make the third strike to enslave me for life. My attitude makes me a walking time bomb. They'd sell off my guys. Maybe castrate me. So Anne n Jon had to find somewhere safe. Jon knew Hardwicke Co because he'd done work for em. Everybody kinda expected that too. They didn't know that Anne's dad is the company's slave general manager, Boss Henry. That's how we all got here.

That took a while to sink in. Some questions. Some 'Ahas.'

Mr L J picked up the slave married with family, like Boss Henry. "So slaves' kids aren't slaves? Y'all don't breed 'em?"

Mr Kraus took that one. "Naw. Why pay to raise a kid for 18 years when the county damn near gives em to us for, uh, free then. The owner gets the option to indenture the kid. Hardwickes didn't indenture Anne but they did put her through college and law school. She do any work for y'all?"

"Naw," Mr Whitmore laughed. "Her criminal defence kinda raises our recruiting cost.

"Y'all know the old Springsteen song, 'Workin on the Highway'? A kid turns 18, joins the county road crew, runs away with his underage girlfriend, ends up workin on the county convicts' road crew. Those are our typical rednecks. Young males can take a while to grow up. When our guys have REALLY grown up, if they've earned it and there's a willing woman, we have family housing. What Boss Henry raised his family in. Where Mr H and I live with our families. So, gentlemen, you've not lost all chances for a son and heir -- but that depends on the guys and their partners too." Darren n Jamie, Demon n Luke kinda blushed.

"Tell us about a typical workday, typical week," Mr DD asked the bosses.

Mr Whitmore described the workday: "Stand at cell doors at 6 for your overseer, any instructions. Clean up -- shower, shave, deodorant, sunscreen. Breakfast. Meet your crew to load up for the day. Ride your truck or crewbus to the site. Prep the site. Work 8 to 5, two 15-minute breaks, 30-minute lunch. Clean up the site.  Load up for the ride back to the compound. Unload. Some fast-movin activity -- cardio -- run or team practice. Clean up. Dinner. Chill, then hit the weight room. The cardio and weights keep our manual workers 100% fit. Shower the last time. Meet in the lounge -- chill, beer, snacks, any announcements, any flogging floorshows. Classes run in the evenings for GED, any apprenticeship or college classes, skills upgrades, special courses. Lights out at 10.

"Weekends usually break early Saturday afternoons for intramurals, training. Sundays for games, hikes or tours or museum visits (guys wear GPS locators), movies in the lounge if it rains, chance to read.

"Not every guy, every day goes this way. The gladiators run to and from the job site. So do the guys who get punished by working and training with them. We run evening and weekend shifts when the job needs it and noise ordinances allow it. Our retired guys, the ones too old to work construction, they run the barracks, kitchen, laundry, security. Yeah, we keep our guys for life. They get to retire again at 80. Oldest ones are in their 90s now. Any man who works with us, takes care of us, we take care of him. For life. You don't see our busted-up 40-somethings hanging out under bridges or begging."

Mr DD wonders what sports we play. "Football, soccer, basketball teams -- intramurals plus intercompany leagues. Baseball's not active enough, too many windows around for stray balls. We do individual sports like running -- marathon, half-marathon, 10k. Bike-racing. Maybe triathlon for Steve and guys like him. Good publicity for the company and our crews."



Mr DD asks about investing in gladiators just now, when fight attendance has dropped way off. The public got bored with noname punk wrestlers wrestlin, noname punk kickboxers kickboxin, bruisers like me n Mike sluggin for blood, hardly anybody actin like he cared. Punks that should be doin real ugly hard labour, not workin on their tans n flexes. Punks that will get thrown away, like his Darren.

Mr Hardwicke has some answers. But Mr DD's damn right about the gladiator trade just now. So we're gonna change it. Our guys will all have day construction jobs that the public will appreciate. That'll keep em in better shape than the usual stable bunnies.

"Steve's Studs, Drillers & Blasters. Gladiators blast the other guys. Drill the ladies and gentlemen who buy stud sex. (Jon winks at me. Again.) The blasting trade usually means drill into the rock, then blast it, under conrrol. Steve's a natural blaster. Needs physical challenge. Every day. Needs mental challenge too. Just one that doesn't require much reading or writing. Solve the how-to-blast-THIS-one problem.  Needs to do the hardest, most dangerous work. What the senor blaster does. The other guys are just support cast. But he has to keep them working, acquiring skill, too. Script the scene, produce it, direct it. We hoped Steve would make an overseer, but he's a born lead hand.

"Blasting's a skill he'll learn on the job, not in a classroom, too. Needs 500 hours hard work. And he did some blasting, at least explosives work, in his Marine demolitions. Mike did some at his old quarry.

"Steve'll learn the blasting basics at that quarry. They have some jobs they'll be happy to have Mike back for. They're eager to, uh, show Steve some ropes. This week, though, we'll have to get Mike's body fur lasered off, so he don't get lookin the way he did today. Then the bullwhips land cleaner too.

"We'll run all six guys through the driller-blaster training and work. Team identity. But tomorrow a shrink will evaluate Mike and Steve plus Darren, Demon, Jamie, and Luke to identify what we'll train them for, for lifetime careers. We'll want y'all there for the afternoon discussion. The indenture term's twice their training time, remember. They need to finish their GEDs in this six months. Mike, of course, we'll find enough office work to keep him sharp, in his spare time.

"So, say, we've got hardass badass Steve and mild-mannered Mike the financial genius, bricklayer Darren, technologist Jamie, bricklayer Demon, architect Luke -- all drillin n blastin rock n other guys." The investors whistle. Our guys look real awake.

Mr Whitmore takes the pitch. "Go back to the Romans. The most popular matches put a big guy with sword and shield against a quick little guy with a net and trident (the pitchfork Neptune used to fish). That's why mixed martial arts -- ultimate fighting -- outdrew boxing and wrestling at the turn of the century. Our guys will box, wrestle, and kickbox but they'll also use karate, judo, whatever. Wear lightweight knuckle gloves to cut injuries. Add protective cups to the front of the uniforms. Fight by weight classes, not styles.

"Welterweight (Over 165.1 to 175 lbs). Super Welterweight (Over 175.1 to 185 lbs). Middleweight (Over 185.1 to 195 lbs). Super Middleweight (Over 195.1 to 205 lbs). Light Heavyweight (Over 205.1 to 225 lbs). Heavyweight (Over 225.1 to 265 lbs). Super Heavyweight (Over 265.1 pounds).

"Don't want to shrink the guys too much into a weight class. Build em up instead -- pure muscle, no water, no fat, Right now, Luke can get to welterweight. Demon's a super welterweight, like Jamie. Steve's a middleweight. Darren's a super middleweight. Mike's a heavyweight, could train down to light heavyweight. We'll need some Big Dawgs for super heavyweight.

"Don't know just who we'll fight. Some other companies sound interested in teams. The money comes when we fight the stables' guys in their big stadiums. See where it goes. Lots of us look forward to fighting at the guys' old stable, show 'em how it's done, show 'em what they threw away.

"We'll let the rest of the company guys compete to join up. Jon, think we could sign up some civilians who wanna keep their edge for 'Weekend Warriors'? Way more intense than the trainer n tawse workout all y'all get in a bit."

Jon's on it. "Sure thing. Since you mentioned it, I've started asking around. Let's get this team launched to make it look interesting."

"Gentlemen," Jon continues, "Steve and I have a run. Demon and Darren, use the guest bedroom. Show Mr DD how to swing the cane you'll find there. Jamie and Luke, do that for Mr L J. Use my office and Steve's cane there. Mike, get acquainted with Mr Hardwicke, Mr Kraus, and Mr Whitmore. Y'all bond in the owners' suite. Supplies on the nightstand. Microbrew ales in the fridge. Mike knows where to find the wine and single malts." My guys all make funny expressions. The owners grin, swat butt.



Jon takes charge. "Better use this sunscreen. I'll rub it onto you; then you do me. Grab shades and a ballcap. Gotta protect us from sunburn and the curious neighbours. We'll warm up taking the stairs down. Easy half hour. Just match my pace. No whips, no bets. Tell me if it's too fast to talk.

"I hope nobody recognized me as the bullwhipped slave in the cage. Hope nobody recognizes me now."

"Chill," I tell him. "A slave's face is invisible. People notice the body. Yours looks great. The bullwhip welts show what a stud my master is."

Jon swats my butt. We head off. I run alongside, match his longer stride. He talks. His dad's a millwright in the steel mill. His junior-high football coach suggested a big guy like him should join a learn-to-row class for summer training. The crew coach from a private school led the course, liked Jon, recruited him on scholarship. That got Jon his college offers. He took a private college in Atlanta.

Jon worked summers after he turned 16 for a school supporter who took rowers on for the hours between morning and evening practices -- lawn and garden work, cleanup, cleanout, hauling, some painting, some repairs.

He rode the college jock thing. The summer after high school, a construction company up north with a short season didn't want to feed slaves all winter, so they recruited big college jocks -- football, wrestling, rowing, rugby. Keeping a bunch of 18- and 19-year-old jocks and attitudes in line went easiest if they were indentures. With crews, overseers, quirts for work. Bullwhips for serious fuckups. They got an allowance when a truckload went into town weekends but they got paid at the end of the season. Missing the ride back to camp got the bullwhip -- every dud got that, while all the other guys enjoyed those times, but it was way less intense than what me n Jon took this morning. The company kept a small crew on for the winter. Jon took the bait. So he did a 15-month stud construction indenture, that year plus the next summer.

In college, Jon joined -- a website to connect qualified hookers with qualified clients. The company trained him. He wore a camo GPS on a neckchain. Any trouble, the company could find him, show the cops where he was and wasn't. Every dick wore a condom and lube. An inshape college jock makes a versatile escort -- well-dressed, well-behaved -- and an entertaining playmate for men or women. All ages. Prom dates and cottage weekends to home dungeons. Rowers were especially popular -- tall, lean, muscular, high-endurance. Paid into his bank account every night. Tax W4s issued every year, less 20% for his expenses. Could turn down one job offer in three during his posted hours. He rode that through first-year law school, until he finished his varsity eligibility (no longer a college jock) and got too busy. He kept his record clean, so it didn't disqualify him as an army officer or lawyer.

He wanted to get to law school, but he heard that every problem was money or people, so he did a double major in accounting and psychology. Co-op program, so starting in the second year, he studied a term, worked a term. That ended the construction-stud gig but got him well-paid gigs in a big company's payroll and purchasing departments and a CPA firm's forensic auditing, gigs in a bad-kids' bootcamp like Demon's, an elite high-school sports camp, and a hospital emergency room. Six-year program. He got his bachelor's at 25. He kept up his varsity rowing and training all the way.

The Army officer-training program took care of summers after his junior and senior years. Law-firm gigs took the summers after his first and second years. Graduation, bar exam at 28. Then four years in the Army Judge Advocate General's Corps.

At 32, he was the oldest young lawyer at the young lawyers' function where he met Anne.

Watchin Jon, listenin to Jon, the condo stairwell entrance surprised me. So did the key fob Jon pulled out of his gladiator crotch pouch to let us back in. I didn't race him up the stairs but did manage to keep up. Quick shower. Join the men for me to get caned facefucked fucked. In Jon's office, over his desk. At least I ride this one with Mike.



Demon n Darren, Jamie n Luke all showed on their gladiator-suited butts how their dads, my new partners, had learned to cane while Jon and I were just runnin easy. Mike, Mr Hardwicke, Mr Kraus, n Mr Whitmore all smiled kinda happy. Mike showed some reddish patches on chest back butt. They bonded. Now it was my turn. Authority asserted by cane, availability confirmed by dick. With my consent. With Mike. Jon turned down the chance to join us.

Mr Kraus would join Mr DD and Mr L J in facefuckin n fuckin us, but he, Mr Hardwicke, n Mr Whitmore give us just two canecuts each. Mr DD and Mr L J give us the three. Mr Hardwicke n Mr Whitmore smile like they've met Mike intimately already. So's Mr Kraus but he gets his turn again with him. Same as with me again.

All I really remember from the performance is that Mike held my hand and we put our feet together, that each cut fried me butt to face n jolted me deeper onto the dick in my mouth, that the cane surfed me into pain zone, that the hot lube helped, and that I hate dicks in my mouth and down my throat. I'd had the cane twice today already, plus blacksnake, bullwhip, strap. I wasn't exactly numb but it got hard for the men to make a new impression. It meant more to them -- to their damn minutes -- than it did to me.

Mostly I kept my eyes closed. Men shuffled in front and back, men worked my shoulders arms back glutes. Gettin lubed n fucked after the cane felt almost good.

Buttslaps. Men stood me up. Hugged me. Slapped sore spots. Connected me to Mike.

Jon didn't expect what the shareholders did next. Mr Hardwicke called a special meeting at their request. They voted to assert their authority over Jon, to remind his client and my owner (ie, me) of his responsibility for me, but they couldn't say Jon was available for sexual services. With my consent -- YES! -- they gave Jon two canecuts each. He was buzzed enough to take it. Kinda proud too. Punched his stud ticket.

Cold wet towels plus beers for me Mike Jon.

Time for the directors' slave workout. Change into gladiator uniforms there or here? Change here. Ride the service elevator or stairs? Stairs. Maybe elevator back up. The workin slaveowners -- Mr Hardwicke, Mr Kraus, Mr Whitmore -- look not bad stripped down to a glorified thong or tanga with uplift ring, the gladiator suit. Mr DD n Mr L J look okay for free men their age. This'll start shapin em up.



Jon had reserved the gym and men's change room. The fob he pulled out from beside his balls opens that too. Mr Hardwicke said, real proud, that the owners were about to experience why our slaves stay in such great shape. The trainer and his tawse. A civilian trainer helps you over the last ounce or grams. The tawse drives the muscle n you over the last pound or kilo.

My four guys would train the rest of us. Demon n Luke got Mr DD, Mr L J, Jon, n Mr Kraus. They'll get to practise. Important to hit but not overhit. Jamie got Mr Hardwicke n Mr Whitmore. He has the attitude for that. Darren took me n Mike. He has history with us both.

The workout was tough. I think we started with pullups, holdin a pair of 45-pound plates from a belt. Hard to keep up with Mike. He looked like he wanted to dog it for me but Darren's tawse wouldn't let him. Dips with the weights. Don't remember the rest. But it worked EVERYTHING. I know because everything hurt. I hurt. Tawse hurt. So a good workout. Maybe better than the ones competin with Pete (Chapters 8, 10). I'll feel it for the next couple days at least.

Leather hits on muscle, snarls, grunts -- my guys gave the investors n Jon a real good time.

Now it's time for a bad time. Scentmarkin. All suits off. Shower room. Me n Mike kneel along the wall under the shower heads. Knees shoulder width. Hands behind heads. Okay to close our eyes but keep our mouths open. Don't have to swallow. Five owners plus Jon plus my four guys. Fuckin 10 beer-fuelled bladders! I'm a clean freak. How could I get fuckin dumb enough to suggest this!

Break to shower. Mouths too.

Now it's time for my four young hung studs to show they can shoot. Kneel again. Eyes closed, mouths open again. Lube smell, rubbin noises, grunts. Two guys nail me. One in the eye, one in the mouth. Me n Mike can stand, shower, rinse our mouths. Then the four guys kneel the way we did for me n Mike to shoot. YES! Jamie in the mouth! Mike did too.

All shower. Offer to shave the owners, but no, not this time. Towel dry. Straps. We walk kinda slow back up the stairs.



We all feel pretty bonded, pretty buzzed, pretty mellow. Talk easy. The dads thank me again for takin their punks. Plan tonight, tomorrow, gladiator season. Invite the owners to me n Mike's initiation tonight, to tomorrow afternoon's vocational session, to Luke n Demon's initiation tomorrow night, to me n Mike's Big Dawgs initiation Tuesday, wrap his n Demon's trainin day. Hugs, pecslaps, backslaps, buttslaps when we leave. The odd ballsqueeze.

Thanks to Jon. Hope somebody remembered to take his collar off, at least left him the tool.

Fuck! Me n Mike get initiated to the company tonight plus the Big Dawgs Tuesday. I've been there, done that. I'll pay the price for Mike's supportin me today. Worth it.

Glad I'm not drivin. Me n Mike -- surprise -- ride naked in the cages back to the company. Pete will drive Anne back to Jon's, after the testosterone clears for a few hours more.



Me n Mike cause a stir in the messhall. Mike because he looks like a champion gladiator. Me n him both with the prominent lashrash. All five of us in the new gladiator uniforms, the uplift thongs. Mr Hardwicke stands me n Mike up. Introduces Mike as my gladiator cocaptain. He explained real proud that me n my guys had worked out so well that our old stable had agreed to sell us plus Mike. Another apprentice would join us tomorrow. Oh -- and I looked the way I did because I had to prove five times what a badass hardass stud I was. Snorts, laughs.

"Special event after dinner. Skip the workouts. Head straight to the lounge. Grab two beers. Get good seats. Y'all know Steve. Most competitive hardass ever. May not have to be alpha dog but has to run with alpha pack. Why he works out so well here. Mike was always the gladiator stable's champion until Steve defeated him, fucked him. Tonight we'll see who's the alpha dog in the gladiator pack. We'll see which gladiator cocaptain fucks whom.

"Special competitive initiation. The usual five implements -- cane, tawse, quirt, flogger, bullwhip -- but each of the five events is a competition to see which stud last longer, takes more. Blacksnake if they need a tiebreaker.

"See y'all there." Scramble.

Me n Mike hit the washroom. Grab a quick beer. Shed the suits. Miss em already. Quick deep hug, rub, slaps. Dicks go limp. Nothin to say.

The lounge buzzes when we move to the centre, onto the platform with Mr Whitmore n Mr Hardwicke.

"Gentlemen!" Mr Hardwicke waves to the crowd. "Welcome to our special welcome for our gladiator cocaptains.

To me n Mike, "Shake hands! May the best man win!"

First event -- the cane in a bridge. We hold the low bridge, elbows and toes. Eyes to eyes too. The cane lands every 30 seconds. Up to 12 cuts in six minutes. A couple trainers with tawses keep us up. The cane plus Mike makes the six-minute bridge not exactly easy, but just barely possible. "Time, gentlemen! Well done. It's a tie."

Stand, stretch, roll, flex. That got some adrenaline pumpin plus the endorphins we run on.

Second event -- the tawse in a low pushup, tits n dicks just off the floor. Nails shoulders traps lats -- almost wish for glutes but they're still firin from the first event. Each stroke lands just after the waves from the one before die out. Seems like forever. Glad Jon did this one to me, glad I did it with Pete last night. Mike's upperbody quarry work outlasts me at, maybe, 10. He takes one more to show he's won. One up for the big guy. Three to go. I need to win em all.

Number three -- back bridge for quirt. Pecs n tits the first six. Balls n dick if we're both still up for the next six. We both make the first six. Last night's practice got me one past Mike's two on the balls n dick, total nine. One each.

Number four -- widegrip pullups, hold for the front flogger. I've practised this, plus pullups n dips are my main workout. What I beat Mr Hardwicke at on Monday. I'm so sore, so wired, so flexed or something I outlast Mike for the full dozen. Two to one for the good guy.

Number five --widegrip pullups plus leglifts, hold for the back bullwhip. I've practised this, but Mike's four months playin rockbunny, his overall hard muscle, they get him through maybe 12 when I flake somewhere. Two each. "Gentlemen! These two studs have tied!" Yells, claps.

Tiebreaker -- blacksnake. Same exercise as the last one, except three leglifts per pullup, hold the second leglift for the lash. Don't know how I passed Mike. Except for hurtin WAY worse all over, it seemed like that time we fought. Maybe I needed it more, maybe he stood back proud for his protege. Anyway, I won. Took all 12. Damn! I'm hard. Didn't shoot. Save that for Mike. Claps! Cheers! Guys swarm us. Lots of hands-on attention. Somebody hands us the gladiator thongs. Hard to get hard dicks inside the uplift rings. I do the winner's pose. Flex. Flare.

It sounds, smells, like every other guy has shot. Just like after Boss Henry's blacksnakin last night.

"Beer! Cold shower, clean jock. Everybody. Congratulations, you two. The men of Hardwicke Co are very proud to welcome our gladiator cocaptains and their men. remember tomorrow night's apprentice initiation, too, y'all."

More hands-on attention in the shower. Cold feels good. Every guy, uh, wants a piece of us. Overseer Pete n Boss Henry both jump us.



Pete will entertain Luke tonight. Luke looks kinda mixed about this. Pete says to lube Mike first. Me n Mike don't miss im. I just remember how we connected. How we belonged together. What-all we'd done to earn this.

Some time later, a tawse landed across my glutes. Luke said Pete needed to work, so he sent Luke back to make sure we had a hot time. Thanks, Junior. Now go to sleep. Yeah, wrap around me, the way you know how to do so kewl. The way I learned to wrap around Mike. Just no dick.

Naturally I woke up like the meat in a sandwich. Me in Mike. Luke in me. We fragged. Bigtime. Together. Mike said it was his first frag. I told im, stick with me. He clenched my dick, like I did Luke's.

We rolled over. Mike fucked me, but gentler than the way he'd done back in the gladiator stable. I fucked Luke, first time ever, tried to use the tricks he'd taught me. Balls (under Luke's glutes) not so easy to work, though. More pecs, tits, pull Luke's collar, bite his ear. Mellow shoot. Luke reaches around to feed Mike his spunk.

We're still connected, still zoned when the six am horn sounds. We manage to stumble to the door, straighten up. We all hold the gladiator straps. Luke holds his quirt.

Another day in paradise. I feel like I'm home. Even when Overseer Pete braces me, titbites me (quirt to tits n pecs), says, "Your manners, boy! Introduce me to your new buddy. They treat you okay, Luke?" Luke answers with buttbites for us. Pete shakes Mike's hand, titbites his welcome.

The vocational stuff today. Luke a 12-year indenture for this bootcamp n blasting year plus five-year architecture school. Start prep courses at the local community college, then university. That means a 12-year contract for me n my lifers, too. Kewl! Jamie can't be an architect cuz a slave can't sign an opinion, so a two-year architecture tech program. Four-year bricklayer apprenticeships that don't need much math for Demon n Darren. Their 10 years falls within Luke's 12 years, but Demon gets extends to 12 years too.  

Luke moves to his own cell with Demon -- I'll miss the punk, but he'll still drop by to lube n stuff. We get to watch Demon n Luke play their initiation tonight, like me n Mike's last night.

I share Big Dawgs initiation with Mike Tuesday. Learn the drillin blastin trade. We learn the basics at Mike's old quarry.. Their master blaster's a master bastard with the bullwhip, but he knows his trade and he, uh, drills it onto us. Wrestlin a jackhammer makes a man real studly, real horny. Great Mike does it with me when he's not doin brain-not-brawn stuff. Guys do it too. Blow stuff up real good. Solve kewl problems -- work out the charges, where to drill. Lead hand -- me -- gets a bullwhip to work the crew, all over the landscape, not just a tawse. Sometimes I hand over to Mike or Darren so they can do their lead-hand master blaster.

We earn some 40% profits when we win some fun matches, especially at our old stable. Buy my 40% of my old Marine buddy turned 'free man' bastard, Jason. Start goin on some paid dates -- Got slavenapped, flogged to get out safe.

The woman who started me down the gladiator track will get me caned at the municipal punishment centre again, then the guys deliver me in my cage to her hotel for me to help -- impregnate -- her the way I did Anne. Have a beach, dinner, n club weekend. She'll help Anne change my conviction from sexual assault to simple assault. Lift some of the threat over me.

I get a better Marine discharge. Get my dress blues back, but the jacket's too tight in the chest n shoulders now.

New scenes for "Slave Steve's Greatest Hits" stop comin so fast.

Lotta life ahead to live. With Mike. With my guys. Gotta quit writin for a while, get to work n other stuff I do better.

Thxxx for ridin along.




[email protected]


Rate Story Choose rating between 1 (worst) and 10 (best).

Bookmark and Share

blog comments powered by Disqus