Page 4 of Body Slave

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.”

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