Part I

"Turn. Bend."

Thomas snapped at the boy in front of him, admiring the colourful artwork that tainted the once pure, pale skin of the boy's legs.  He had taken the youngster in just over four years ago, when he had come across the then fifteen year old living on the streets and taken pity on him. The year had passed quickly, the boy’s training fast taking shape as his lodger turned into the perfect fuck toy and house slave.

“Push that arse out. Let me see your cunt.”

His fingers twitched over the buckle of his leather belt as he fought the temptation to tear it from his jeans and lash the boy’s tender, freshly tattooed flesh senseless, despite knowing it would ruin the expensive design inked onto the pasty canvas. 

Smiling smugly as the boy, known to Thomas, his friends and those who followed the boy’s progress online, as DickCheese, turned away from him and bent over, forcing his arse up into the air in front of his Master, hands gripping his ankles as he tried to prevent to shaking that was rattling his body. 

“Back up. Closer.”

The boy shuffled backwards blindly, still tightly holding his ankles as he had been taught, stopping when he felt his legs strike the edge of the chair his Master was sitting on. Feeling the gentle caress of  Thomas’ hands on his sore skin, DickCheese flinched violently, waiting for the pain that he had grown to anticipate with every touch of his Master’s hands on his body, the body he was ordered to keep in perfect shape, toned and muscled.

“Calm. Be still DickCheese.”

Thomas’ fingers traced the lines of the tattoo, admiring the carefully designed and skilfully traced art worked that painted the boy’s pale flesh. A true work of art, and nothing that had ever been seen before. The tattooist had been a trusted friend, known for his discretion, and even more so for his sadistic nature and high profile connections in the underworld.

Every inch of the tattoo had been planned to absolute precision, every detail, every blade of grass and every feather. Thomas had dictated his vision for the design to another friend, an artist who held high stead in the Royal household, and it had taken over fifteen hours to complete to Thomas’ satisfaction.

Reaching to the side table, the Master’s hand fumbled around for his camera, carefully adjusting the focus as he took yet another picture of the design to upload to DickCheese’s website.

From the moment he had started training the young boy, who had long forgotten his real name, Thomas had set up an online blog for friends and fellow Masters to follow the youngster’s progress. Currently he was posting the progress of the tattoo, which had been completed that afternoon, and now Thomas had a gallery of over 100 photos of the finished image ready to upload.

“Forward two steps.”

The boy shuffled forwards slightly, allowing Thomas to take the last three, almost perfect images he required to complete the online album.

With one last look at the intricate picture, the Master nodded with approval, swatting the boy on his arse and sending him on his way.

“Chinese for dinner tonight. Menu is in the drawer. I’ll have the usual.”

The boy nodded, straightening himself up and turning to face his Master, bowing low to show his gratitude at the man’s attention, however brief the moments between them had been. Reaching up, Thomas allowed himself to gently stroke a thumb across the youngster’s cheek and across his lips, tracing the interlocking lip rings that held his slave’s mouth firmly shut. The corners of the boy’s mouth were pulled outward, thin leather straps snaking tightly across his face and locking into place behind his head, holding in place the eight inch penis gag that was lodged behind DickCheese’s teeth. Not only did it keep the boy from talking, but it also acted as a training device, the gag being replaced with a bigger one, either longer or wider, once a month.

Each ring that held the slave boy’s lips together represented something rather special to the Master, for each hole in the boy’s lips was a reward for the son or daughter he had bred for his Master. Each of the six children, three boys and three girls, that DickCheese had fathered with another slave, a young woman of a higher slave status. were now living elsewhere on the planet, each being trained to become powerful Masters and Mistresses in their own rights.

Thomas’ hand slid lower, fingering the heavy iron collar that was smouldered shut around his boy’s neck, just tight enough to make breathing difficult, but not enough to choke him. Permanently smouldering the slave into his collar was an idea often used by owners, to ensure the slave boy always knew his place, his permanent lot in life, from which he could never escape.

“Here. Look. Your new art suits you beautifully DickCheese.”

Thomas held the camera out to the boy as he was picking up the phone to dial for his Master’s dinner, letting the boy see his new tattoo for the first time. If the slave boy’s mouth could drop, chances are it would have as he looked, rather tentatively at the picture. What was once pale, pasty skin, was now a work of art, not that DickCheese had any real experience with art, but he was certain that what he was looking at, what he was now wearing permanently on the back of his legs and over his arse, was art in the purest form.

Each leg was decorated with an amazingly detailed picture of an archer, one wearing a powder blue ‘Robin Hood-esque’ outfit, complete with feather in his cap, the other in matching, pale, mint green. Their bows taut, aiming at the target that outlined his arsehole, or ‘Cunt’ as his Master called it. Instead of arrows flying from the bows, it was cocks, better than that, Master Thomas had made perfectly sure that the artist had drawn several, in fact thirteen, exact replicas of his own cock into the design. Two embedded perfectly in the target, one on each arse cheek, the other’s either flying through the air, or littered across the grass, each blade of which was perfectly visible up his legs and across the base of his arse.

A small tear fell from his eye, rolling down the slave’s cheek, mostly at the sudden realisation that his situation was now permanent, the ink would never be removed, and the rest of his life, in fact, the rest of eternity, would be spent serving, with this image plastered across his behind forever.

Reaching up, Thomas wiped away the tear, at the same time unfolding a sheet of paper from his pocket and setting it on the coffee table beside DickCheese.

“I have big plans for you my boy. Very big plans indeed.”

Lowering his hand further, he tweaked a nipple sharply, making the boy wince, which earned the slave a sharp slap on his raw backside, the hand roaming across to the other nipple, and then lower still, stroking the boy’s rippled, rock hard Pecs and abs, the result of hours upon hours of endless workouts, forced upon the slave to ensure his body remained perfectly toned despite the meagre diet and less than brilliant lifestyle. The harsh scar from the numerous operations the boy had endured marred the otherwise perfect body, and Thomas had plans to hide that as soon as he possibly could. He knew plenty of doctors who could operate in the future and still keep the scar hidden. Oh yes, Thomas had plans, big plans for this boy of his, and, best of all, there was nothing anyone could do about it.  After all, in four years not one person had reported the young street rat as missing, so, the longer time dragged on, the less likely it was that anyone would want to come looking for him.

As one hand stroked and caressed his boy, Thomas’ other hand slowly undid the rings the bound DickCheese’s lips closed, leaving them looped through alternate holes, ready to reattach after his slave had ordered his dinner. The padlock at the back of the slave boy’s head proved more difficult to deal with, and required both hands to unlock.

The soft whine that fell from the boy’s lips as the penis gag was removed from his throat was so adorable that Thomas decided against punishing his boy  for making sound without permission. Setting the gag close at hand, he tilted the youngster’s head back, forcing his mouth open wide so that the Master could examine how well the freshly pierced tongue was healing.

“Adorable. You have a pretty little mouth there DickCheese. A second tongue bar would suit you well.”

Holding out the phone, Thomas nodded his permission for the boy to speak the order, the mere sound of the boy’s rasping voice, the back of his poor, tortured throat rubbed red raw by the long gag he wore day in, day out. The second the call was hung up, the Master sunk down into his chair, beckoning the boy to come closer to him.

“Crawl. I don’t want your disgusting feet dirtying up my carpets.”

Obediently DickCheese sunk to his knees, dragging himself along the carpet on all floors, not a single sound falling from his lips as the harsh, rough carpet scratched and tore at the delicate flesh on his hands and knees. Reaching his Master, the slave fell back onto his knees, looking up at the man pleadingly as Thomas gently stroked his hair, guiding his face down into his crotch.

“Suck. We have time before dinner arrives.”

As the boy ran his tongue along the underside of his Master’s cock, Thomas arched his hips, forcing his length further down the slave’s throat. While his touch on his boy’s hair was still gentle, almost caring, the force with which he was thrusting into his mouth was far from it.

With every thrust DickCheese gagged hard, his Master’s dick forcing its way down his throat, rubbing against the already raw and sore flesh at the back of his throat. Feeling Thomas’ pace increase, his cock growing hot and throbbing as the older man raced towards orgasm, pumping harder into the wet heat of his slave boy’s open mouth.

“Swallow. Spill a drop and I beat your sorry ass into the middle of next month.”

The hands stroking the boy’s head grew rough, yanking his head into the Master’s crotch and impaling the young man’s mouth on the thick length. Without warning he came, a thick stream of cum filling the boy’s throat, DickCheese having to swallow continuously to keep himself from choking and wasting any of his Master’s precious cum. As the steady stream of cum weakened and petered off, Thomas twisted his hands in the young slave’s hair, pinning his mouth to his dick for just a few moments longer, relishing in the scared squirms as the boy struggled to breath around his vast length.

The doorbell interrupted Thomas’ fun, and reluctantly he released his slave’s head, pushing the boy back off of his cock, shoving his wallet into the boy’s empty mouth.

“Door. Pay the delivery man. Leave a good tip.”

DickCheese nodded obediently, crawling once more across the scratchy carpet, carefully not to visibly wince at the burning sensation that ripped through his already cut and bruised hands and knees. As harsh as the rough carpet was against his delicate flesh, the young slave boy had yet to experience the cold, unyielding pain of the solid wood flooring in his Master’s foyer.

As he approached the door, the youngster sat back on his heels, flicking the catch on the door with his nose to let the delivery man in. As the door creaked open and the delivery man let himself in, DickCheese lifted his head, letting the man take the wallet from between his lips.

“£27.50 mate. Cheers.”

The Chinese worker took the correct money, looking down at the kneeling slave in front of him, waiting for permission to take a tip.

“Thirty percent.”

The slave boy muttered quietly, his voice still rasping and dry. The only time the boy was allowed to speak was when he spoke with delivery men, telling them how much tip he was allowed to give.  The man nodded, taking the extra from the wallet. Looking down at the boy knelt before him, the Chinese delivery man dropped the wallet into the bag of food, and carefully, taking care not to burst the bag, hooked the handles behind the boy’s lower teeth, pressing the slave’s lips together roughly.

“Don’t drop it, you hear?”

DickCheese nodded as carefully as he could. He knew his Master’s reputation as well as every other Master, Mistress and Slave in town did. No one crossed Master Thomas, and those who did were seldom heard from again. He most definitely did not want to add his name to the list of those who had been disappeared for failing to follow orders.

“Well done. No punishments for you then.”

The delivery man stroked the slave’s hair mockingly, tugging sharply at the gentle curls that nestled in the back of his neck.

“Master Thomas keeps his slave well. He must be proud.”

DickCheese nodded once more, knowing the man’s tricks well. This man had a reputation for trying to trick slaves into talking, making them drop their deliveries, delighting in being invited to watch, and sometimes help with, the punishments dealt out.

Turning away, a little disheartened that his ploy did not work this time, Chon Yan left the young man kneeling in the hall, the door slamming so hard it shook in its frame. Waiting until the door was closed fully, DickCheese moved back into the sitting room, crawling once more with the bag of food held tightly in his mouth.

Like a well trained dog, he scuttled across the floor, dropping the bag at Thomas’ feet, carefully returning to his position between his Master’s legs.

In his slave’s absence, Thomas had attached a harness of his own design to his legs. The harness, basically a belt with two separate belts looped around each leg, allowed the Master to strap his slave down in his crotch, keeping the youngster impaled on his length until Thomas was ready to release him.

Collecting the bag, Thomas snapped his fingers, and DickCheese crawled closer, lowering his mouth onto the erect cock being thrust up at him. With the boy settled, the Master corrected his boy’s posture, lifting his torso and  shifting a coffee table under the boy’s stomach to hold him horizontal. Satisfied that his table was ready, Thomas buckled the loops of leather tightly between his legs and DickCheese’s collar, pinning the boy there with no escape until his Master was bored of him.

With his slave boy tightly, and firmly secured around his cock, Thomas sat back, opened his Chinese and spread the food out across the boy’s back, lifting his hips and driving his cock balls deep into the boy’s throat.

Once dinner was done with, perhaps Thomas would begin to plan the next piece of artwork he wanted engraved onto his slave, and maybe he would ring that piercist, start planning the next session. After all, a slave is for life, not just for Saturnalia…