A SLAVE FOR PERSONAL USE, By Richard Davies

Sometimes family slaves can be a damn nuisance. I'd been visiting my

parents in the country and was returning to London by an early train

on the Monday morning. Late on Sunday night, my father, as he was

about to go up to bed, asked if I'd mind taking four slaves with me

and dropping them off at his London flat. It would mean he could

drive up later in the week with just my mother and his chauffeur/body slave.

When I asked why they couldn't just put the slaves in a van and

transport them that way, my father started going on about the

parking fees and the petty crime and how a neighbour had lost three

slaves to hijackers. So I agreed.

We arrived at the station with ten minutes to spare. The slaves were

fussed because they were afraid they were being sold. No point in

trying to allay their fears - slaves never believe a word a free man

says. As soon as I entered the booking hall things began to go

wrong. One of the slaves needed a shit. There was no slave toilet,

and he was too scared to go into the free men's alone, so I'd have

to accompany him. I told him to wait while I bought the tickets. But

the sullen slave selling tickets told me she couldn't sell slave

tickets because there was a slave handler on board who was dealing

with everything to do with slaves. By the time I was out of the

men's room there was only two minutes to spare.

We all ran to the back of the waiting train only to find the slave

wagons were already full. The wrangler was helpful and said he'd

take my slaves, but that they would have to sit on the floor in

shackles unless I was prepared to ride with them. Apparently a slave

made a run for it the previous week. I explained to the slaves why

they had to be shackled. They didn't seem to mind but asked for

water. This seemed reasonable so I ran to the buffet and got back to

the slave wagon as the train started to move.

I jumped on but then had to stand among the slaves until we reached

the next station. By the time I finally got a seat among free men I

was feeling exhausted. I've only got myself to blame for what

happened after that, but I think most slave owners under sixty will

understand.

I was sitting reading the newspaper. A woman further down the

carriage had a very attractive slave dancing attendance and looking

at him made me horny. I'd not had my usual blow job that morning.

There hadn't been time and in any case my mother had chosen to give

me an ugly body-slave (must have been deliberate, as the house stock

had several cuties), so I was lumbered with serious wood, a two hour

journey, and a very pretty slave in view.

The only solution would be to make my way along to the slave wagon

and grab the best looking of my dad's slaves. There was one who

looked promising. I could take him to a toilet. Sounds squalid, I

know, but I was feeling desperate.

The woman's slave had a bubble-butt that was driving me mad. It's

not fair to the early morning travelling public to put a cute young

slave in a pair of brief white shorts. When I reached the slave

wagon I was confronted by what I call an 'overly slavish situation.'

There's something about slaves en masse that I find off-putting. The

wagon was fully loaded and there was a strong smell of slave soap

mixed with mush-farts and sweat. Not nice.

Given the pressure he was under the wrangler couldn't have been more

helpful. He plunged into the swaying herd of slaves and soon

reappeared with one of my father's. Only trouble was, it was the

wrong one. I couldn't ask the wrangler to repeat the process, so I

thanked him and took the slave to hand.

It's an odd thing with slaves. You don't really see them clearly

until you have to. This one told me his name was Elm. He wasn't bad

looking, but wasn't really my type, being swarthy and with big

liquid eyes. However, when the need is desperate you can't be

choosy. I attached the loose chain on his wrist shackles to my belt

and told him to follow closely. He seemed very willing and eager. I

only hoped he knew how to suck a cock.

I managed to find an empty toilet and pushed him into it. There were

a few passengers standing between the carriages and they gave me old-

fashioned looks, but I doubt that there was one among them who

hadn't done the same. There was scarcely room inside the toilet for

two standing, but I made it clear what I wanted, told the slave to

get on with it, and stood against the window. I'd let Elm do the work.

The wood was raging and I was feeling almost nauseous with sexual

tension. Elm had a little difficulty getting down on his knees and I

had to encourage him with various nasty threats. I think slaves like

that because it makes them feel they are being forced to suck cock

and it's not, therefore, such a humiliation. Well, whatever it takes....

I was in luck. He was very good. Most slaves are too scared to bring

that element of roughness to the act, but this one had no such

inhibitions. He took control and soon had me unzipped with my cock

sticking out of my pants. He pulled it down to it was horizontal

with the floor and took it in his mouth, giving it a good hard suck

that sent a message along the pipes to my balls. Then he used his

hands to manipulate my scrotum - squeeze it really - and soon had my

whole genitals nicely worked up.

There was a loud banging on the floor and a woman's voice telling me

to hurry up. I shouted something noncommittal in reply and

whispered to Elm to keep going. When I looked down at the slave

squatting awkwardly at my feet in the cramped space, I had to smile,

and Elm glanced up at that moment. His response was to give my cock

some punishment with his tongue and teeth. This was something on an

altogether higher level than one usually got from a family slave. It

was brothel standard. But that was only the start. As my excitement

grew he really went to work. He was like a magician; he could suck

and blow, delve his tongue this way and that, while all the time

maintaining a steadily quickening rhythm. Whoever had taught him had

done an amazing job. As is often the case with very good sex, an

orgasm was hard to summons. When it finally burst my flood of come

was more than poor Elm's mouth could handle and it went dribbling

down his chin and dripped onto his chest. Even so he finished me off

efficiently and despite the tiny space made sure I was looking

respectable before attending to himself.

There was only so much he could do. When I opened the door, there

would be an embarrassing moment, but who cared? I was feeling great.

More than that I felt as if I had been given a proper seeing-to. I'd

had the sexual equivalent of a good flogging. I was spent. Elm

looked well pleased too. His grin seemed genuine. What a nice slave,

I thought. It was time to face the music outside.

I threw open the door and stepped out to be confronted by a large,

ferocious looking middle-aged Englishwoman. She looked me up and

down and then did a deliberate double take as she saw Elm. I must

admit with his stained work-shirt and a spot of my come under his

chin, it didn't need a detective to work out what had been going on,

but there's no law against having sex with a slave.

'Do you expect me to use that toilet after a slave's been in there?'

Her voice boomed.

'My slave has been tidying up in there. It's all yours madam.'

'No way. I'm fetching the Guard.'

There were mutterings from those standing around about disgraceful

behaviour and the misuse of slaves in public places. There was

nothing to be done except face them down.

'Do as you please. As you can see, the toilet is free.'

I snapped Elm's chain to my belt and marched off down the carriage.

When we reached the far end and I stopped to open the sliding door,

Elm bumped into me, and somehow contrived to plant his lips on the

back of my neck. 'Sorry Master.'

The flirt. I'd half a mind to spank him if he turned out to have a decent butt.

When we finally arrived at Paddington there was the usual chaos

identifying the slaves and getting them unshackled and assembled

with the bags. Now it had dawned on them that they weren't being

sold, just being moved to the London apartment, they were in high

spirits, despite their stiff joints.

We had to wait while some Army slaves were unloaded and paraded.

I've seen rough slaves in my time, but nothing to match that set of

barbarians. Dressed in slave-soldier khaki uniforms, with halters on

their heads and with their butt-flaps turned down, they looked ready

and willing to eat us. Just as well they were in chains. To my

surprise their slave driver was a young woman. She seemed to have

them well in hand, and was smart with her whip.

I managed to find a rickshaw in Eastbourne Terrace and climbed in. I

told the slaves to load the bags round my feet and then run along

side. The exercise would do them good.

But nothing is ever simple. One of the slaves had a bad foot. Could

he walk by himself? No he could not. He would have to stand behind

me on the rickshaw. But that upset the rickshaw slave. Two men and

bags breached regulations. It wasn't the weight, the slave was quick

to point out, just that he didn't want to get flogged for breaking

the law. A promise of a decent tip and an instruction to the family

slaves to put their shoulders to the back of the rickshaw on the

uphill pulls, was enough to overcome any fear of the whip.

It was almost midday by the time we arrived at the block where my

parents kept an apartment. I paid the rickshaw slave well, earning

myself much gratitude and kissed feet, as well as his card, and

selected Elm to accompany me through the main entrance up to the

apartment while the other slaves could go round the back and use the

service/slave entrance.

Going up in the lift I cross-examined Elm about his duties in my

father's household. Cunning slave that he was he prevaricated, but

nothing could disguise the big grin on his face. When we entered the

apartment he rushed around putting on the lights and then clung to

my side like a leech. It was clear he wanted to stay with me. I felt

a little flattered. It wasn't often a slave took to me.

When the other slaves turned up they were in too good a mood to

resent this display of reverse favouritism and seemed to wish their

brother slave well in his ambition. I spoke by phone to my mother

who was delighted to hear of our safe arrival.

'So kind of you to offer to take them, dear. You father always

looses his temper when travelling with slaves. At our age they are

just too much.'

'Mother, I'm thinking of keeping Elm for a few days. You don't mind

do you? It's just that I need a slave right now.'

'No dear. Your father won't mind a bit. But do be careful with him.

Make him wear gloves; keep him out of the kitchen; that sort of thing.'

'Why, mother?'

'He's highly trained in a very special skill.'

'Really, mother. What skill?'

'I hardly like to say, dear.'

'Come on, mother. I'm grown up.'

'Here's your father dear. He'll explain it better.' With a chuckle she was gone.

My father's gruff voice came on. 'You want to keep Elm? He's a first class slave,

but and I'll need him next week when we'll be putting him to work.'

'What does he do father?'

'Hasn't he told you? No I suppose he wouldn't, poor fellow.' My father laughed.

'You know all that trouble we had down here with the plumbing? Elm got it

sorted in no time.'

'You mean he's a plumber?'

'Not exactly. He's an oral sanitation slave. It seems the human

tongue can get to those parts of the drains even the best machines

can't reach. He has extraordinary powers of suction in his mouth. He

got us cleaned up in no time.'

As I replaced the receiver I looked round for Elm. He was nowhere to

be seen.

Whenever I asked the other slaves they'd say he was collecting the

mail or checking the wine in the cellar. I left an hour later, with

no smiling slave attached to my belt. I had to hire a very ordinary

purpose bred for the rest of the week, and on the Saturday went to

the big slave fair at Spitalfields Market and bought myself a young

female. I'm told they are very good around the house.

END