Body Slave
Copyright 2014 Samantha Cayto
Published by Samantha Cayto
Copyright 2014 Cover Art by Syneca Featherstone
Editing and Formatting Services by Wizards in Publishing
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
In an alternate universe, the slave class continues to exist. While a few countries have finally ended the brutal practice, the United States isn’t one of them. Once born a slave, one remains a slave, with only a few laws for protection against the whims of a cruel master.
Eighteen-year-old Oliver is a newly-minted pleasure slave. Trained to be a living sex toy, he has been sold to a wealthy widower. Being gay, Oliver has high hopes he will enjoy his new life. Unfortunately, his master has a sadistic streak and treats him like an object. Oliver has no choice but to endure and make the best of his lot.
Ben has reluctantly come home to help his father temporarily with the family business. He’s surprised to learn his father has bought a beautiful young slave boy to warm his bed. He doesn’t approve of slavery and is disconcerted by his attraction to the boy. Oliver is equally wary of Ben’s kindness and appeal. No other free person has ever treated him with such care.
There can never be anything between them, however, so they fight their growing desire. But despite their resolve, Oliver and Ben grow closer, tumbling into a clandestine affair. In a world in which slaves have no choice and falling in love with a freeman is the stuff of movies, they risk everything to be together.
Body Slave
By
Samantha Cayto
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter One
“He’ll do.”
The words sealed the deal. Oliver had been sold to his first master. Technically, he supposed, the man counted as his second master. The first had owned him since birth, given that his mother had already been a slave. This man, who had looked Oliver over like the piece of meat the law said he was, had actually paid money for his body. If the distinction mattered to him.
It didn’t.
“Excellent,” enthused the broker, one of those two-faced people who smiled for free people and menaced slaves. She had jabbed her finger in Oliver’s face on the car ride over to his new master’s house, and warned him not to wreck the sale, or she’d wreck him. “I’m sure you won’t be disappointed with Oliver. He’s been one of our best trainees, a bright boy.”
His new master grunted. “I’m not interested in his brains.”
The woman tittered self-consciously. “Of course. He’s one of our most beautiful boys, too, and still only eighteen. His birth master sold him to my brokerage house as soon as the law allowed.” She cleared her throat delicately. “I believe the recent recession left him in need of a quick cash infusion,” she said in a hushed voice, as if needing money was a sordid state of affairs.
Unlike slave trading, which was perfectly respectable.
His new master grunted again. “Then I’m sure you gouged the poor bastard and are making a pretty profit, given what I’m paying. He’d better be worth it.”
She uttered another nervous-sounding response then said with an obvious edge in her tone, “We pride ourselves on our excellent and thorough training. I assure you, Oliver knows how to please you.”
Oliver suppressed a shiver at the veiled threat. Heaven help him if his master took advantage of the brokerage house’s return policy. In the ensuing silence, he sneaked a peek at his owner, who was busy with his phone. Middle-aged, but handsome, with dark, silver-streaked hair, he stood a few inches taller than Oliver, perhaps six feet, with broad shoulders and chest. Dressed in khaki pants and a button-down shirt, the master’s muscular body showed well enough to appeal to Oliver. He’d known for years he was gay and counted himself lucky to have been sold to a man, instead of some older matron. For the first time since he’d been wrenched from his mother and sister, from the only home he’d known, he had hope things wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“I’ve just emailed my attorney to release the escrow funds,” the man said in a brisk tone. “I copied you.”
A mobile phone pinged loudly in the room. “Oh, yes, I can see that,” the gratingly cheery woman confirmed. All traces of her earlier stress were gone. Of course she was happy; she’d just made a nice commission off of Oliver’s flesh. “You can keep his clothes at no extra charge.”
“I don’t want those rags. Take them with you. I’ll have new ones bought for him when I get tired of seeing him the way he is now,” the master added with a chuckle, his heated gaze raking Oliver’s body.
Oliver worked hard not to fidget under the scrutiny while also resisting the urge to hide his most private parts. The training center had mostly succeeded in beating the modesty out of him, but not entirely. As soon as the broker left, he’d be put through at least some of his paces, and the knowledge made his stomach jittery. It wouldn’t be surprising if his master simply bent him over the couch and fucked him. The trainers had done things like that often to prepare him to be available without flinching or protest. No one wanted a reluctant body slave. The whole idea of one was to be a living fuck toy that gave the illusion of being willing, at the least. Any resistance resulted in immediate punishment. He’d learned that particular lesson early, and well.
He didn’t think he’d mind such cavalier treatment from this man, however. He was far more appealing than any of his trainers had been. His couch was a hell of a lot nicer, too.
The woman joined in the merriment with a short bark of laughter. “Of course, sir. I’ll get these out of the way.”
The woman scooped up the simple trainee clothing he had neatly folded and placed on the floor when he’d stripped for viewing. He hated to see them go. While they hadn’t been much, they were better than the complete nakedness of his current state. But that was simply his inner voice being belligerent. His views didn’t count. His master liked him being without clothing so that’s how he’d be. And he would like it as any good slave would. Oliver existed solely to please his master, and he’d better keep that fact in the front of his mind if he had any chance of a decent life.
“I’ll walk you out,” his master said. “Fix me a drink, boy. Scotch on the rocks, two fingers.”
“Yes, Master,” he replied with the low deferential tone he’d learned from infancy. His tongue struggled to wrap around the word “master” again after so many months. He’d get used to it quickly of course. He had to.
Giving himself a couple of seconds once the free people left the room, he took in his new home. He stood in the formal living room, his toes sinking into the deep pile of a soft rug. Everything looked expensive and well-maintained, almost as if no one lived there at all, like one of those houses he might see on some television show. Well-to-do, his mother would call it, not super rich. A big step up from his childhood home, certainly. Beauty had its price and Oliver had been born with enough of it to make him desirable as a sex slave when all was said and done. Having caught enough of the conversation between his new master and the broker, he knew his services had garnished a hefty sum.
Mindful of his orde
rs, he walked over to the large, beautifully polished dark wood bar in the corner. Obviously his master liked to entertain, and Oliver wondered if he’d be handed out as a party favor. It was a common practice, and the thought sent another shiver up his spine before he shut the whole idea down. Getting ahead of himself never helped. Live in the moment was the motto of a slave.
Finding the scotch and the ice, he poured the drink and took it back to the center of the room to wait for his master’s return. He didn’t have long. The older, larger man strode in as if he owned not just the house and Oliver, but the whole damn universe. He was obviously successful and powerful, economically and physically. He’d have no trouble overpowering Oliver and inflicting great harm if he wanted. Oliver needed to work at not giving him any reason to, although there may be no way to totally prevent it. A slave was bound to fuck up and this master might be someone who loved to punish for no reason at all.
Okay, he was doing it again, getting ahead of himself and the situation. Oliver needed to calm the fuck down and pay attention, lest he cause the very harm he worried about. He watched from under his lowered gaze as the man walked to the couch and sat. Without being told, Oliver went to him, knelt gracefully, and offered the drink. He let out an inaudible sigh of relief when his master took the glass. First task successfully completed. Clasping his hands behind his back, he waited patiently for his next order.
Ice clinked as his master took a sip. After a few seconds, there was a slight hum before he said, “Okay, boy, let’s see what you can do.”
He spread his legs wide and Oliver understood what was wanted. He shuffled into place on his knees between the powerful thighs and reached for his master’s belt. Nervous, he fumbled a bit, but he had been well-trained, recovered quickly and deftly undid the pants. He lowered the zipper. The man just sat, slouched against the cushions with his arms across the back of the couch. There was no way to take his pants down. Fortunately, Oliver had experience with that little obstacle as well and stuck his fingers inside his master’s boxer briefs to free a half-hard cock. He wasted no time. Placing one hand on the other side of his leg, Oliver leaned over and swallowed the stiffening rod down.
A grunt and a pump of the master’s hips rewarded his efforts. Oliver swirled his tongue around the shaft and sucked gently to harden the flesh even more. His master tasted clean, a nice bonus. Oliver would have performed his task with fake greed even if it had been sour or dirty. That too had been part of his training. Hygiene concerns were only for the free. A slave couldn’t be so picky. While he’d been fed a near-daily diet of both cock and cunt since going to the training center and would have pretended to desire a mistress if fate had sent him to one, it was a relief to be owned by a man. Not that it mattered in the least, he happened to prefer giving blow jobs.
A hand landed on his head and gripped his hair with enough force to bring a few tears to his eyes, and pushed him downward. “That’s it. Take it all the way, boy.” His master said, his voice thick with passion.
With his gag reflex trained out of him, Oliver did as commanded, bringing his lips down to the base of the cock. He swallowed hard while he laved with his tongue. He used the fingers of his free hand to massage the balls pulled tight to his master’s body. The man was close to blowing already. Oliver redoubled his efforts to hurry things along. His master was, not surprisingly, a big man in the dick, so although Oliver knew how to breathe slowly through his nose when the opportunity presented itself, he still choked on it. Not so long ago, he would have panicked, but he knew now how to accept the invasion without struggling.
Instead he sucked hard and squeezed the sac. A sharp cry sounded above him, and Oliver swallowed the cum that flew down his throat. The fingers fisting his hair clenched tight and his master thrust hard against Oliver’s face. Still, he took it all and milked his master through his orgasm. When the man stilled, Oliver gently licked the softening cock in his mouth to clean it then slipped it back into the underwear. His master’s hand stayed on his head, his fingers carding his hair while Oliver tidied his master’s clothes.
“That was good, boy. They trained you well.” There was a sigh and a clink as another sip of scotch was taken. “I was primed, too. It’s been a while for me. I won’t be so quick off the mark next time.”
Oliver didn’t know what to say in response to that promise or threat, however it was intended. But the fingers were soothing and he laid his head against the man’s thigh. He’d been taught to do this as a gesture of affection to the person who owned him, and it gave him time to catch his breath.
He closed his eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad being the body slave of this man.
Maybe.
****
“Here, these should fit you.”
Oliver took the faded jeans from the other slave’s hands. “Thanks, Freddy.” Stepping into them, he pulled them up and tried to fasten them. They were just a little bit too snug, so with a shrug, he left them unfastened. “Are these yours?” he asked, realizing as he did that the jeans would be too long on the shorter guy.
“Nah,” Freddy replied, pointing to the faded cargo pants he wore. “Those threads are too fine for me. They belonged to the young master.”
“There’s a young master?” Oliver followed the slave out of the storage room and back up to the kitchen area.
“Yeah, Master Ben. He’s in Europe right now, some kind of tour to celebrate graduating from college. Master and Mistress had one son and one daughter. They’re both traveling.”
“Mistress?” He hadn’t seen that his master had a wife. Maybe they expected Oliver to service them both. The thought made him queasy until he remembered he didn’t have the luxury of such feelings.
“She died about nine months ago,” Freddy explained before Oliver had a chance to ask.
“Boy, are you gossiping about our master?” The stern question came from Mary, the middle-aged slave who cooked and kept house.
The master had handed Oliver off to her after dinner because the master had an overseas call to take that evening. The meal had only been for the master, of course. He had made Oliver kneel by his chair while he stuffed himself with delicious-smelling food. Oliver knew some owners hand-fed their body slaves during meals, but that hadn’t happened. His master simply tucked into the food, ignoring him completely. It had been hard to stay still, especially given the hunger gnawing at his stomach. But training had, as usual, saved his ass, and at least the master was letting him get food now.
The clothing had been an afterthought, a matter of hygiene really, when Mary had asked if Oliver could wear something while sitting at the kitchen table with the others. With a vague order to find him pants, the master had left them.
The command had been passed along to Freddy, who answered Mary’s question with a quick shake of his head. “No, ma’am, just explaining where the jeans came from.”
“All right, then. Let’s eat, everyone,” she replied, placing a platter of food on the worn kitchen table.
The slaves of the house gathered around to eat a meal much more basic than what the master had eaten. Meatloaf, not steak, but hell if Oliver cared. It smelled fantastic. As he sat where Mary pointed, his tight jeans pinched, so he lowered the zipper a bit, grateful for the covering despite the discomfort. Being naked in front of his master had been one thing. It was another for his fellow and sister slaves to see him that way.
There were only five of them, including Oliver. Besides Mary and Freddy, the gardener and general handyman and only a few years older than Oliver, there was Joe, the middle-aged chauffeur and mechanic. And Polly, the maid, one of those washed-out women who looked to be anywhere from twenty to forty.
No one said anything for long minutes as they tackled their food. It tasted wonderful in a homey way that reminded Oliver of his mother’s cooking. As soon as the thought entered his head, he shoved it aside. She and his sister were gone from his life and he would likely never see them again. Better to shut the memories away before sadness ove
rwhelmed him.
Instead, he wolfed down his meal and when he’d emptied his mouth enough to talk politely, he said, “Thanks. It’s been a while since I had something this good to eat.”
Mary beamed at the compliment.
Polly wrinkled her nose at him. “The food at training centers is terrible, isn’t it?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“Hush, now, girl,” Mary chided. “You know better than to complain.”
Polly’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean it as a complaint. I was just saying. Besides, Master can’t hear.” She leaned closer to Oliver and added in almost a whisper, “He’s not like Mistress, may she rest in peace. That woman had ears like a bat.”
Mary cuffed the other woman’s shoulder. “I said hush. The mistress was a good woman and the master is a good man, stern but fair. He doesn’t punish you unless you deserve it.”
Oliver was glad to hear it. Some slave owners were sadistic and there was little in the law to keep them in check. Sure, they couldn’t kill a slave without showing just cause and getting a court order in advance, but they could hurt and even maim without any real repercussions.
“He doesn’t pull his strokes though when he does punish,” Freddy observed around a mouthful of food. “That man can deliver a hard beating.” He shot a knowing look at Oliver.
Okay, not such good news, because no matter how hard slaves tried, they were bound to screw up sometimes.
“You only know that because you deserve the beating more often than the rest of us,” Joe teased the younger slave. “Some of us haven’t been to the whipping post for years.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Freddy grumbled.
“Well,” Oliver said, in an effort to dispel any tension he may have inadvertently caused, “I really appreciate having such good food.”
Small talk about the running of the house or slave gossip from other houses in the neighborhood ruled the rest of the meal. Oliver let it all wash over him and simply enjoyed the downtime. There were even cookies for dessert, a rare treat for him, although the others didn’t act as if it were unusual. He was careful not to eat too much, though. Not only were the pants tight, he figured the master would make use of him shortly and he didn’t want an overly full stomach. Being sick all over his master would guarantee punishment.
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