Oliver tried to help clean up when they were done, but Mary declined, reminding him he had not been bought for housework. At loose ends, he stood around, looking out the back door at the beautiful garden and in-ground pool beyond. He jumped at the sound of the master’s voice squawking through the intercom.
“Mary, send the boy up to my bedroom.”
“Yes, Master,” she replied into the thing and jerked her head toward the backstairs. “Up you go, last door on the right.”
Oliver nodded and headed up the long, narrow steps. His stomach grew jittery again as he approached his master’s bedroom. It was stupid, really. He knew what to expect, had been prepared well for any type of use by his new owner. The man hadn’t been cruel so far, so there was no reason to expect he would be now. Reaching the partially open door, he hesitated and knocked lightly.
“No need for that, just get in here,” came the brusque reply.
Pushing the door open, he walked into a large room appointed just as elegantly as the living room and dining room had been. His master sat in his underwear on the edge of a large four-poster bed. Above the headboard hung a painting of the man and a beautiful, redheaded woman. The picture drew Oliver’s gaze immediately.
“That was my wife,” his master said. “She’s dead.”
Oliver dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry for your loss, Master.” He got a grunt in return and had begun to think it was the man’s default form of communication.
“She used to sleep in this bed and now you’re going to, every night unless I tell you otherwise. Understand?”
“Yes, Master.” It was a simple enough command. It surprised him that a widower of a woman would then choose to replace her body with that of a male slave. Perhaps it was so there would be no comparison of the two, or maybe his master had always been bi or secretly gay. No matter. He didn’t have to understand the psychology behind the order to obey it.
“Go take a quick shower. Not your hair, though. I don’t want wet sheets and I have no interest in waiting until you dry it to fuck you. The blue toothbrush is yours and you’ll find lube in the medicine cabinet. Prep yourself for me, and keep yourself prepped always. I can’t be bothered to do it for you.”
“Yes, Master,” Oliver said again and turned to the bathroom to comply.
“And dump those jeans in the hamper. Damn things are too small for you. I’ll have Mary get you some clothes.” The words were added almost as an afterthought.
Oliver didn’t dare shut the bathroom door. His master might want to take him in the shower or maybe just watch him, and in any event, slaves didn’t have the privilege of privacy. Showering as fast as he could, he made sure his ass in particular was spanking clean. A master could be dirty or smelly. Not so a slave. Oliver brushed and flossed, too, and then putting a large dollop of lube on his forefinger, slicked up his hole. He hated doing it. No matter how often he did it, he hated it just as much as he had the first time he’d been made to do it at the training center. It felt like he was aiding in his own rape, as if a slave could be raped, which legally they couldn’t. A free person might violate another free person’s property rights by fucking that person’s slave without permission. That, the law recognized. No one cared what the slave thought.
Oliver was being stupid anyway. He was about to be fucked by a handsome, well-off man in a beautiful, comfortable-looking bed. That had been his fantasy since the age of fifteen when his mother had tearfully explained to him a body slave’s duties and that he’d likely be one someday. It might actually be pleasurable in a way that his training so far hadn’t been. Besides, he was lucky the master didn’t want to fuck him dry.
Clean and prepped, Oliver returned to the bedroom and approached his master. Before he could sink to his knees, the man reached out and grabbed him by the cock. He stifled a gasp at the abrupt and harsh touch, but he resisted the urge to pull away. His body belonged to his master, after all. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back in the universal standing pose of submission. With dismay however, he watched the master secure a metal cock cage around him.
“This is so you won’t mess up my sheets when I fuck you. I know you’re not supposed to come unless I give you permission, but I don’t trust your control. You can still piss through it and I’ll let you out of it for showering or if I want you to come.” He ran his hand across Oliver’s abs. “That might be fun to watch sometime.”
Oliver said nothing as he hadn’t been invited to comment. His body, his cock, his orgasms weren’t his to command. He remained rock-still while his master stroked and explored his body. With his eyes cast downward, Oliver could see his master’s dick hardening, the head peeking out through the piss flap of his underwear. After a few minutes of exploring, his master stood abruptly and pushed him toward the bed.
“Get up on your hands and knees,” he ordered in a voice thick with arousal.
Oliver did as told and willed himself to relax. He had mostly succeeded, and the generous amount of lube he’d coated his hole with helped when his master knelt behind him and penetrated him with one hard thrust. Biting back a gasp, Oliver closed his eyes and breathed evenly through the burning and stretching caused by the large cock. Bruising fingers gripped his hips, and his master pumped with fast and furious strokes. The blow job had done little to ease the man’s ardor. He fucked Oliver as if he hadn’t had a release in months, as opposed to hours.
Well-trained slave that he was, Oliver took the pounding without complaint or any effort to evade the assault. Inside his head, he chanted the words drummed into him by his trainers, reminding himself over and over that he existed for this and only this. His master’s pleasure was all that mattered, and he would let him take such pleasure however he deemed fit. It was an honor to be used this way.
But damn, did it have to hurt?
Biting pain accompanied each pass of the cock through his too-narrow channel. Even with the lube, his tissue soon felt raw and his guts cramped from the invasion. Oliver gripped the sheet with white-knuckled fingers in an effort to diffuse the mounting discomfort.
The fucking ended fairly quickly, thankfully. With one long groan, his master drove his cock deep within Oliver’s ass. Warm cum invaded his insides while relief from it almost being done washed over him. He held still even when the fingers clasping him dug into his skin and his master’s teeth rasped against his back. He didn’t move, in fact, until his master collapsed on the bed then ordered him to shut off the light and pull up the sheet.
The master’s light snoring permeated the room by the time Oliver had done as told. Remembering that he was to sleep in the bed with him, Oliver slid under the sheet on the far side as gently as he could so as to not disturb the man.
Even snug in the luxurious bed, it took a long time for him to fall asleep. The day had been long and tiring, yet his brain would not shut down. So much for his hope that he would enjoy being a body slave. Although not particularly cruel, his master had shown him no more care or tenderness than the trainers had.
The cock cage proved to be no big deal as the fucking hadn’t aroused him. There had been no words of comfort or praise, let alone any cuddling after the fact. Well, what had he expected; one of those farfetched stories where a master falls in love with his slave? What a stupid idea. That only happened in really bad movies of the week and they rarely had a happy ending anyway.
This was it, reality, and for the rest of his life. There was no mother to hug, no sister to tease, and no friends to take some comfort in when training was done for the day.
No fantasy master cherished him, either.
He had never felt so alone and so afraid.
Chapter Two
Oliver woke abruptly as a cock shoved its way inside his ass. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up to what was happening. He lay on his side in his new master’s bed. His new master had penetrated his body while he still slept. Obviously wide awake, the master grunted and thrust, his breath harsh against the back of Oliver’s neck. The
man’s arm snaked around his waist to clasp him tighter against his heaving body. It ended in less than a minute. The widower had apparently stored up his cum since his wife’s death and intended to get his money’s worth from his new acquisition.
With a final grunt, the man pulled out and rolled from the bed. “You can shower after I’ve left,” he said on his way to the bathroom.
With a wince, Oliver rolled onto his back. His cock strained against its cage, more from a full bladder than the fucking. He wanted to piss badly but understood he wasn’t allowed in the bathroom at the same time as his master. He’d have to wait until the man finished, dressed, and left the room before daring to get up. It took a long time for that to happen. He avoided watching him get ready for the day. The master seemed in good spirits, whistling to himself while he groomed and dressed. Although trained as a valet, Oliver wasn’t told to get up and help, and he didn’t offer. By the time his master left the room, sparing not even a glance in his direction, Oliver was dying for relief.
The cock cage didn’t impede his ability to piss, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable with it on. Showering and drying off were a bit of a challenge as well. He didn’t even spare a second to resent how his master’s assurance it would come off for bathing had proven to be a false promise. Don’t count on anything until it happens. He’d had some training with the device, as it was common enough for masters and mistresses to withhold their body slaves’ orgasms. Some found it kinky, and others, like his master, were being fastidious. No one wanted slave cum on their fine sheets. Still, Oliver wished he didn’t have to wear it outside of bed. Maybe if he proved reliable enough, his master would grant him that concession. It never helped to dwell on things he couldn’t control, so he stopped thinking about it and concentrated on washing for the day.
After he brushed his teeth, he stared at the bottle of lube for a moment, trying to decide whether he needed to prep himself. The master had said it was his responsibility, yet the man had headed for work. If Oliver slicked up his hole now, he’d likely just have to do it again before his master returned, so why bother? Putting it away, he then wondered what he should do about clothes. As ordered, he’d dropped the jeans into the hamper. He could fish them out, he supposed, but what if his master saw him before leaving and got mad? Best not to chance it. On the other hand, he hated the idea of wandering down to breakfast buck naked. He decided to wrap a clean towel around his waist and slip into the kitchen. With luck, Mary would be there and she might know what to do.
By the time he got downstairs, all the other slaves, minus Joe, were in the kitchen. Freddy and Polly were seated at the table and looked at him as he entered. His cheeks pinked up in embarrassment. At the training facility, he’d never felt that way because all of the slaves had been without clothing all the time, and he had been quartered exclusively with body slaves in particular. They were all being trained as fuck toys. Here was different. As the only one in that category and with his towel slung low on his hips, his role in the house was obvious. He thought he caught a glimmer of pity in Polly’s eyes, too, before she glanced away.
Mary, bless her, just gave him a pointed look. “Where are your pants?”
He ducked his head. “Master told me to take them off. He said they were too small.”
“Hmm.” She returned to the stove. “I’ll see what I can find around the house that fits you better. I won’t be able to get you anything else until this afternoon. Go on and sit. I have your food ready.”
Doing as he’d been told, he gave a quick smile to the others. Mary placed a plate in front of him containing an egg-white omelet and some cantaloupe slices. She also poured a tall glass of water for him. “Sorry, but Master gave me strict orders about your diet. He wants you to stay trim.” Freddy snickered from across the table. Mary gave him a light smack on the back of the head before sitting. “He said you should use the gym, too, every day. Freddy will show you where it is after breakfast.”
“Umm, thanks,” Oliver said around a mouthful of food. He wasn’t surprised his master wanted him to stay in great shape. His body dictated his usefulness after all. “This is really good. I appreciate it.”
Mary smiled at him and picking up her folk, started in on her own breakfast. Like the others, she had pancakes and bacon. Some kind of sticky buns were piled on a plate in the middle of the table. Freddy took one and bit into it. Oliver forced his gaze at his own plate. The food really was better than anything he’d had in ages and he refused to feel sorry for himself just because he couldn’t have some empty calories that he’d have to spend an hour working off.
After a relatively quick breakfast, Freddy showed him the gym. It was well-equipped because the master used it, and it had piped-in music to boot. Oliver figured it would be almost a pleasure to work out in it every day. Given that he still wore only the towel, there wasn’t much he could do except some weight training once he’d digested his breakfast.
Later, he hung out in the slave’s lounge, a smallish room in the basement with an old sofa, beat-up coffee table, and a television. Although the television itself was nicer than any he had ever been able to watch, it still had the same controls to block the stations restricted to free people. The only choices he had were sitcoms mostly featuring some slave too dumb to live, or smart enough to outfox his master, who was too dumb to live, nature shows, and sports.
No news shows were available to watch. Even being out from the confines of his old home, he had very little idea of what went on in the world. He supposed free people liked ignorant slaves. He had heard there were countries in the world that didn’t allow slavery. He had even heard that in some states, free people were agitating to outlaw slavery. Who knew if any of it was true?
It didn’t take long for him to be bored with his choices. It was baseball season, but too early in the day for a game. That left only golf or soccer, so he ended up watching a show about the mating habits of aquatic mammals. A year ago, it would have been mildly titillating and a treat to have the free time to watch. Now it was almost stupefying. Being a body slave meant there wasn’t anything to do when not servicing your owner. The slow and tedious morning came and went, followed by a simple lunch of salad and broiled chicken. The meal didn’t exactly fill him, but as he wasn’t allowed anything else, he drank a lot of water and ignored the feelings of hunger. It wasn’t a new feeling anyway. Still more boredom followed lunch.
Finally, in the late afternoon, Mary hustled in with a couple of bags worth of clothing for him. She’d bought all simple stuff: T-shirts, jeans, and shorts. She hadn’t bothered with underwear, which didn’t surprise him, but had included a jockstrap, for which he was grateful. Throwing that on with a pair of shorts, he hit the elliptical machine, happy to have the ability to work out to music. He picked an alternative rock station and soon worked up a sweat. He was so into a work-out high, it took him a second to realize the music had stopped. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned to see his master striding toward him.
Oliver powered the machine down and had jumped to the floor by the time his master reached him. Without saying a word, the man grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the bench by the free weights. He shoved Oliver over it and yanked at his shorts. Before Oliver could process his intent, the master was kneeling behind him, shoving his cock inside. Oliver bit back a cry. He was dry, his own damn fault, and the intrusion hurt like hell. His master gave him no quarter, of course, pounding into him, that causing Oliver to grimace and pant. Other than the sound that had been pulled from him initially, he wisely kept his pain to himself.
Mercifully, it was over quickly. With a loud groan, the master came then draped his heavy body over Oliver until his breathing subsided. Pulling out of Oliver’s tender hole, he gave his ass a hard slap. Oliver yelped; he couldn’t help it.
The master stood. “I told you to keep yourself prepped for me,” he admonished.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, Master,” Oliver replied. When he was certain that he wasn
’t required to stay bent over the bench, he rose on somewhat shaky legs. The workout plus the fucking had left him unsteady.
“Come over here.”
Pulling up his shorts, Oliver complied, joining his master by the door. On a table lay a box. His master opened it and took out a gold-colored necklace made of sturdy links. A round medallion hung off it. A couple of letters were etched into the shiny surface. The master’s initials, he supposed. No one had ever taught him how to read. He knew a slave collar when he saw one, though. He’d almost forgotten he would get a new one. At the training facility, he’d worn a simple metal one with links for securing him for punishment or training. The other slaves in the house wore similar collars with the master’s medallion, although silver with just one letter. This one was fancier than those, probably made of gold plate, flashy but sturdy.
His master held up the collar. “Turn around,” he ordered.
Oliver did as bid and suppressed a shiver of apprehension when his master’s arms came around his neck. The collar pressed against his windpipe as the clasp was secured in back with the audible snick of a lock. When the master was done, the necklace loosened up a hair, but the metal pressed against Oliver’s neck with each swallow. Not enough to choke him, just enough to always remind him of his place. He was owned, property of his master.
Strong fingers gripped his shoulders and spun him around. His master smiled. “Nice. Very nice.” The smile dropped. He gripped Oliver by the chin. “Now everyone will know you’re mine, assuming I let you out of the house. You’re too pretty to be out of my sight for long.” He tapped his cheek with his open palm. “Don’t forget the lube. My cock feels a little raw and I don’t like that.”
Body Slave Page 2
