Zelamir

Slave Boy Hunter

A Tribute Boy Story

Book Two, Chapters 13-18

Chapter 13

"Thank you Sir," Watkins said and it was clear from the tone of his voice that he was very pleased at the suggestion, "that is most thoughtful," and he jerked his thumb at one of the serving boys who trotted from the room.

A few minutes later a dark haired young woman dressed in a long black skirt, with a dark high necked blouse and a spotless white apron hurried into the room.

"I hope everything is satisfactory Ma'am," she said to Mrs. Williams in the tone of voice that made clear that if everything was not someone would pay dearly for it.

"Yes perfectly, perfectly, as always Sylvia," Mrs Williams replied hastily.

"Yes indeed," Mr. Williams chipped in, "it's just that I'm matching your two sluts with weighted gloves and we thought that you might like to watch."

"That's very kind of you Sir and I hope they do me and Paul credit."

"There's three boys you care about here today Nanny," Richard said grinning broadly, "me and your two sluts."

"Don't put yourself down Master Richard mentioning yourself in the same breath as those Tribute scum. And they're not my sluts, they're your father's. All I care about them is that they do me and Paul credit when they fight. You're my boy Sir, you're the one I had to look after and took milk at my breast." (1)

"Well let's see how the little turds fight," Mrs Williams said roughly pushing the two boys from her. "Here you are Watkins take them into the ring and get them started."

Previously happy to cuddle and pet the two brats she seemed suddenly to have lost interest in them and to be eager for the fight to begin.

The two boys tipped suddenly and unceremoniously on the floor stood for a moment hesitating and the flew at each other's throats. Watkins moving quickly was just in time to tear them apart before they had a chance to serious damage to each other.

"Keep that till you're in the ring you stupid little buggers," Watkins grated slamming the two brats heads together to quieten them.

Holding them apart by their collars he dragged them over to the centre of the cordoned off square area in front of the table.

Two serving brats carrying silver buckets brimming with water hurried forward placing them at opposite corners of the square.

I saw Mister Williams put his hand under the table.

"I've switched the current on Watkins," he said.

"Thank you Sir."

"Now listen you worthless little runts," Watkins continued giving the two brats a good shake to ensure he had their attention, "This isn't a brawl between two sluts rolling about on the ground scratching and bighting each other. You keep on your feet and you punch hard and cleanly, no grappling, no punching below the waist. The Master and Mistress want to see a good clean fight with lots of blood and lots of action. This is your opportunity to show your gratitude to the Master and Mistress for all the care and love they have lavished on you over the years. If you knock down the other brat just step back until he is on his feet again. If you're knocked down get up. I and the young Master Richard will be here to help you up."

"Master Richard if you'd just bring two straps from the side board, the ones with the split ends and metal tags and take one of these little brutes from me."

Richard jumped up eagerly from his seat. Grabbing the straps from sideboard he stepped carefully over the cables surrounding the square. Grinning broadly he exchanged one of the straps he was holding for a naked brat.

"That's Tim you've got there Master Richard," Watkins said. "Take him across to the opposite corner and wait for your father to give the order for the fight to begin. Feel free to encourage the slut with the strap. That's what it's for."

Richard Williams and Watkins took up station opposite each other. They held the two naked brats, still wriggling and mouthing insults at each other, firmly by their collars.

"Right let them go now," Mr. Williams ordered.

The two brats finding themselves suddenly free started eagerly toward each other bandaged fists raised ready to strike. Richard cracked his strap back handed across Tim's naked rump as he went forward, the split end with it's metal tips raising a red stripe across the smooth curve of its deeply tanned skin. The brat lost his balance and lurched forward into a hail of punches. A vicious blow smashed into the centre of his face and blood blossomed from his nose and streamed down his chin. A second blow crashed into his left eye while a third opened a gash above it. Blood began to trickle from the cut into his already swelling eye. Tim took a step back to try to escape the punches slamming into his face. Richard drove him forward lashing him across the back of the shins with the heavy leather strap. Tim somehow got his hands up to protect his face. His brother, seeing his chance, hooked him heavily in the guts and when he dropped his guard slammed two heavy blows one after the other into his face. The trickle of blood from the gash above his left eye turned into a flood. Tim's knees began to give. Tom slammed a blow into the side of his head and Tim crumpled to his knees on the floor.

Watkins grabbed Tom from behind by the elbows and hustled him into a corner. Richard was on Tim in a moment lashing the brat across his shoulders with the strap and then booting him hard up the bum.

"Get up you cowardly little turd," he screamed at the boy as he rammed a second kick into his backside.

Tim managed, after a couple of failed attempts, to get himself back on his feet. He stood unsteadily, blood streaming down his face. He was clearly still dazed from the punishment he had received.

"Stop," Mr Williams said sharply and then more quietly, "we'll take a break now or the thing will be over much too quickly."

Tim collapsed onto his knees. Richard took a sponge from one of the water buckets and pressed it to the back of the kneeling brat's neck. Water coursed down his bare back, giving a silver sheen to his tanned skin, trickled down he cleft of his rump to splash down on the marble floor.

A serving boy ran out to where Richard stood and dropping to his knees, like a well trained brat, held out to him a small plastic bottle with a teat at one end. Richard took it from him and the boy jumping to his feet and bowed low to his young Master. The short white vest that was the little slut's only clothing rode up his back giving a glimpse of a delicious smoothly tanned boy's rump. A smear of oil glistening in the sunlight on either side of the cleft of his bottom declared he was greased and ready for enjoyment by his betters. The brat took two backward steps and then bowed again before turning and scampering back to his place by the sideboard.

Richard buried his hand in the kneeling brat's hair and yanked his head back. He forced the red plastic bottle's teat between Tim's bruised and swollen lips. The slut began to suck eagerly on it. Some of the drink spilled from his mouth and mingled with the blood that smeared his chin.

"Darling," Mrs. Williams trilled and I could hear the excitement in her voice, "do let me see the slut's face. I want to see how badly the poor thing has been damaged."

Richard forced the boy's head round so that he was facing towards the seated adults His face was battered and bloody. It welled from the cut above his left eye, mingling with the blood trickling down his upper lip from his nose which was swollen and misshapen. A further blow had landed full on his mouth splitting his lips and sending blood streaming down his chin.

"Wipe the blood off the brat's face Richard," Mr Williams ordered.

Richard dipped the sponge in the bucket and passed it dripping across the boy's face. Water mixed with blood formed light pink pools on the white marble flagstones. Cleared of its mask of blood I could see the underlying cuts and bruises that disfigured the brat's face. His brother must have, once the cut above his left eye appeared, deliberately set out to enlarge it aiming blow after blow at it. Now it ran the length of his eye and the blood, having been wiped away once, was already beginning to well from it again. The eye beneath it was closed and black with bruising. His right eye was in hardly any better state. His nose seemed to have been pushed sideways while his mouth was bruised and his lips split. Indeed it seemed from the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth that at least one of his teeth had been knocked out.

"Oh Clive'" Mrs. Williams said to her husband, "he does look a mess. I'm afraid he won't last much longer, poor little thing. If Tom lands a good punch on the child's right eye he'll be near as anything blind and then he can take his time over finishing the poor darling off. He wont need to use weighted gloves to finish him off. It'll take longer with his bare fists but it'll be more fun to watch," and she giggled at the thought.

"I think we'll just have to see what happens. That energy drink is extra strong and may make a difference and Richard I am sure will do his best to see the slut keeps fighting."

"Now they've had enough rest get them back on their feet and fighting."

Richard jerked the bottle out of the brat's mouth and threw it out of the ring.

"Get up runt," he shouted cracking the boy once again across his shoulders with the strap.

Tom, similarly encouraged by Watkins pulled himself to his feet in the opposite corner of the ring.

Maybe it was just desperation, the realisation that unless he did something quickly to reverse the flow of the battle his opponent would finish him off at his leisure, maybe the energy drink had given him new strength but as soon as Tim was on his feet he launched himself head down fists flailing at his brother. Tom, taken by surprise staggered backwards. It all happened so quickly that Watkins could do no more than jump to one side to avoid being involved in the turmoil of naked limbs and flying fists. Tom tried to slow the attack down by picking his brother off with straight punches to his face. Some landed but still Tim came on driving his brother back. Suddenly there was a flash and a scream and Tom was lying on his back outside the ring. His legs were still looped over the cables bounding the ring against which he had been driven by Tim's onslaught. His naked body jerked and twisted as the electric current coursed through it.

Mrs Williams cried out and clapped her hands in excitement. Her husband sat watching the brat's agonized contortions a slight smile creasing his lips until tiring of the spectacle he reached under the table. Suddenly the slut was still.

"The currents off now Watkins you can get it back on its feet."

Watkins grabbed the boy by his collar and pulled him upright. Tom stood there weak kneed and dazed his hands hanging down by his sides. It was clear he would have fallen without his father's supporting grip on his collar.

Richard had been holding Tim back but as soon as Tom was back on his feet he him go. Tim seeing his opportunity rushed forward. Standing square to the other brat he smashed punch after punch into the other boy's face. Tim almost exhausted a few minutes ago, hardly able to defend himself, let alone attack appeared to have had a sudden burst of energy. Tom's head jerked to and throw as his bother slammed alternate right and left hand blows home. Blood blossomed from Tom's nose and mouth and streamed down his face and the front of his chest.

"Another break I think," said Mister Williams.

Richard grabbed Tim from behind and pulled him back to his corner. Away from the fight the fresh energy that had so suddenly given him extra strength seemed to desert him. He sank to his knees on the ground while Richard worked to revive him with the sponge soaked in cold water.

Watkins meanwhile was working hard to revive Tom.

"Do you think the brutes will go another spell," Mr Williams asked, "or should we fix the weighted gloves on them now?"

"Give me another five minutes on this one Sir," Watkins said holding the teat of a bottle of energy juice to Tim's crushed lips, "and I reckon I can get him to last a bit longer."

It took some effort to get both boys back to their feet and both had to be driven forward with heavy cuts of the strap across their bare bottoms to renew the fight. They were very tired. They stood facing each other wearily swapping blows lacking the energy or strength to defend themselves. Richard and Watkins did their best to encourage the two sluts and the sharp crack of leather against bare boys' flesh punctuated with increasing frequency the sounds of the fight, the hoarse panting of the exhausted brats, the shuffling of their bare feet on the marble floor and the occasional thump as a blow landed. Tim aimed a blow at his brother's face lost his footing, slipped forward and to stop himself falling wound his arms about the other boy. Exhausted the two brats clung together, their heads resting each other's shoulders their elbows moving as they tried to send short jabs into their opponent's ribs and stomach.

"You lazy cowardly little turd," Watkins screamed.

He grabbed Tom by his collar with one hand and yanking him away from the other boy while slashing the strap again and again across the lad's already bleeding rump with his free hand.

"I am disappointed," Mrs Williams said plaintively, "I really think they could have done better than that but brats, what can you expect, bone idle and no sense of gratitude."

"We wanted to see a fight not two sluts embracing each other," Mr Williams complained. "Let me just turn the current off. Right there we are. Now bring the two brats here."

Watkins dragged the two brats across to the table forcing them down to their knees in front of Mr Williams.

"Get your heads down to the floor filth," he snapped clipping them in turn hard across the back of the head.

"I must say," Mr Williams said leaning back in his chair and looking down at the two naked boys their backs bruised and torn by the strap, "that I had expected better from two sluts reared in my own home. For twelve years I have fed and sheltered you and got very little in return. It's not as if you are pretty little whores who it would be fun to fuck."

The boys said nothing but began to sob quietly.

"Well they certainly aren't now Dad," Richard chipped in laughing heartily, "not after the battering they've given one another's faces."

"You are just stupid ugly little brutes no good for anything at all,"continued Mr Williams, "and when you're given the chance to do something in return for all the care we have lavished on your miserable carcasses over the years you are too lazy and cowardly to make the slightest effort."

"Well now you will fight with weighted gloves and perhaps each of you will try a little bit harder. One good blow with these gloves can smash a brat's ribcage or its jaw. So even thick little runts like you can surely see it's worth trying really hard to see it is you that lands that blow and the other who has its chest knocked in or face smashed up."

"Stand up."

The two brats struggled to their feet and stood with their heads bowed, chests still heaving from the effort of fighting, bodies slicked with sweat, faces bruised and bloody.

Mr Williams snapped an order to a waiting boy who hurried forward with a tray on which four lumps of cloth and dully gleaming metal lay.

"Hold out your hands – palms down – stupid oafs."

The weighted gloves were mitten like objects with heavy bars of metal across the backs of the knuckles. Mr Williams pulled them onto the brats hands and wound strips of bandage over them to hold them in place. While he was working Sylvia Watkins railed at the two sluts.

"Useless brats, can't put up a half decent performance for your Master. To think that I bore such cowardly ungrateful little brutes. You're a disgrace to your father and myself who bore you to serve. Nasty little shits we hoped, we expected that you would show the same devotion to our old master as we had done when we were in his service but scum like you don't know the meaning of loyalty or gratitude. You've disgraced your father. You've disgraced me."

Standing behind the two boys she punctuated this diatribe with a series of hefty clips across the backs and sides of their heads.

"Maybe," Mr Williams said tying off the final lot of tape and raising his voice to be heard over the brats. sobs, "they will do better now – they can hardly do worse."

"I hope for which ever of the little turd remains standing at the end that they do. Otherwise he'll wish he was the one who went down when I get my hands on him," Sylvia Watkins burst out.

"Well we'll see soon enough. They're ready to begin now."

"Get down on your knees filth and thank your master for allowing you to serve him and ask his pardon for being so useless at it."

The two boys dropped to their knees and pressed their heads to the ground.

"Master Please Master Thank You Master," they whimpered.

Richard burst out laughing.

"Have you ever seen anything more grotesque," he demanded through his chuckles, "two blubbing sluts grovelling on the floor with their bare bottoms pushed up in the air."

Watkins, grinning, kicked the brats to their feet and led them back into the ring.

I saw Mr Williams push his chair back from the table and spreading his knees pulled at the front of his trousers easing the tight the cloth round his bulging crutch.

All at once I was on my feet moving towards him. Somehow I knew what I had to do and stranger still I wanted to do it. I knelt between my master's knees and reached up to the buckle of his belt. I risked a glance up into his face. His eyes looked down at me as cold and as unblinking as ever but he gave a slight nod and my heart lept, not only with relief because I had got things right and I knew the consequences for me if I had got them wrong would have been very painful but also because I was going to be allowed to feel my master's cock between my lips and to swallow and taste his cum. I dropped my eyes concentrating on the task in hand knowing that success was essential and that pleasing and giving pleasure to the man at whose feet I was kneeling was now the most important thing in my life.

I unzipped Master's trousers and he lifted his bottom from the chair and brought his knees together so that I could draw them down to his ankles. I unlaced his shoes and drew them off together with his socks before easing his trousers clear of his feet. I bent forward and licked between his toes. smelling and tasting his flesh, rank and salty on my tongue.

I hunkered back on my knees and there was his cock, 9 inches [23 cm] of yellowish white gristle and flesh ribbed with knotted blue and purple veins, standing upright and demanding a few inches in front of my eyes.

I lent forward and kissed the inside of his thigh just at the very top of his legs then I ran my tongue along the crease of flesh at the base of his balls feeling his coarse pubic hair pressing against my cheek and tickling my nose and lips. I breathed in the smell of stale sweat with a hint of shit in the back ground.

I felt Master stir as my tongue explored the sensitive area at the base of his balls.

"This brat of yours Richard is a real little tart Richard," he remarked. "I would never have thought that he was tributed less than twelve hours ago."

"Most boys have the instincts of a whore," I heard Mr Warwick drawl from somewhere above where I knelt my head buried in Master's crutch. "It just needs the branding iron and a touch or two of the rod to release them."

I thought nothing of those words then but they were to come back and haunt me later.

Footnotes:

1. Wet nurses one of the ancillary advantages of the Tribute system is that ,after the equalisation of the period of service referred to earlier, it allowed the re-introduction of wet nurses releasing free mothers from the tedium of suckling their own babies. That task would be farmed out to a healthy Tribute girl often selected for in advance and got with child specifically for this purpose. As in the past the (tribute) wet nurse would become deeply attached to the free child she suckled no doubt substituting in her mind that child for the brat that had been taken from her at birth. . This would seem to have been the case with Mrs Watkins and Richard.

Chapter 14

I knew I had no choice. What Master wanted Master got. I hesitated but only for a split second and then I advanced my tongue the fraction of an inch required. With my nose pressed flat against his bottom I ran my tongue along the lips of his anus before forcing its tip between them.

I stayed like that my bottom stuck up in the air wriggling enthusiastically as I struggled to work my tongue further into him. My world had contracted to a tiny space of animal smells and tastes and lust. I was uncaring, I wasn't even aware of the degraded spectacle I was making of myself, my bare bottom stuck up in the air, in plain view of all the people about, including Mister Warwick, wriggling enthusiastically as I struggled to work my tongue deeper into him. It was only later, when lust had momentarily ebbed, did I grasp the depth of the humiliation that I had inflicted on myself.

After a time, it might have been five minutes or it could have been half an hour, he lent forward forcing me to find other work for my tongue. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and sucked on his balls before kissing his swollen shaft at its base where it rose rampant and throbbing from the dark forest of his pubic hair. I worked my way up it caressing it with my lips till I reached its tip. I ran the tip of my tongue along his piss slit tasting the beads of pre-cum that swelled from it. Then I licked his swollen pink helmet before running my tongue round its base.

I could feel his blood surging inside his prick. I realised he was near to orgasm.

When I sucked Mister Warwick he had forced the full length of his cock down my throat. I knew that I had to try to do better this time. I was, unless and until Mister Warwick intervened on my behalf, a Tribute brat. I knew though that among such animals I was lucky for my Master had chosen me to be one of his fuck boys. That would not be an easy life, the life of a Tribute slut was never easy, but it was much better than the unending drudgery of the mines or the fields. I had to do my best to please him because if I failed to do so I would certainly be whipped and much worse than any whipping would, quite possibly, be sent to labour in the fields or mines. I had to show my master I was a hot whore and a skilful one. And what was more I found kneeling at his feet my tongue playing with the swollen knob of his erect cock I wanted to please him, to bring him to a climax, to feel his cock surge in my mouth, to taste his man juice to prove to him that he he had chosen well and that I was not only worthy of being given the chance to pleasure him but grateful for it as well.

Taking a deep breath I moistened my lips and took his cock into my mouth. Forcing myself to swallow I pushed my head down onto him taking the full nine inches [23 cm] of his pulsating prick down into my throat. My throat closed round it, fighting against it but I forced myself to stay down although I was all but choking on it. I could feel his cock surging as my throat contracted round it. I knew I was pleasing him and that made my suffering worthwhile. My head swam and I pulled back far enough to drag air into my lungs before beginning to go down again. He lifted his hips thrusting upwards. He began to pump my throat with sharp thrusts of his pelvis. Suddenly he froze with his cock deep in my throat. He held it there for a second or so and then spurted cum.

I fought to swallow it but it came in a series of great gushes filling my throat and dribbling from my lips down my chin. Panic stricken I sucked and licked at the white warm lumps of semen stuck in the coarse hairs that covered his crutch and balls. A brat who allowed a drop of its master's cum to escape its mouth was in danger of a severe beating. It would be suspected of ingratitude, pride or mere laziness. Anyway the brats believed that it made them stronger and made them more attractive and maybe they were right.

Fortunately it appeared that Mister Williams was at that more interested in the fight than in any failure on my part. A light flick with the back of his hand across my face signalled my dismissal. I was wondering what I should do and where I should go when, with his eyes fixed intently on the drama taking place in the ring behind me, he patted the inside of his leg.

I settled myself on the floor between his legs my head resting against his thigh. His fingers toyed with my ear. It was the first sign of affection that I had received from him. It meant, I knew, no more than when a man fondles a dog who has pleased him but that was the best a Tribute brat could hope for from his master. I felt gratitude, relief and a little pride. Turning my head I nuzzled the inside of his thigh.

A flurry of action in the ring caught my attention. The two brats had been circling each other warily for sometime, throwing the occasional blow but otherwise clearly conserving their rapidly waning energy in order to exploit any opening that might occur. Then Tom thinking he saw an opening moved quickly forward only to be brought up short by a sharp blow to the lower ribs by his twin brother. Delivered with weighted gloves it clearly shook the already battered boy bringing him up short. His hands dropped and Tim seeing his chance smashed a blow full in his face sending the brat staggering backwards. I could see Tom beginning to buckle at the knees but before he could drop Tim slammed a blow into his stomach followed by another hook into his lower ribs. Tom went down on his knees. Watkins swore at him and raked his naked bottom, already bruised and bleeding from the strap, with the metal tipped belt. The brat made a desperate effort to stand but collapsed on his face on the floor. Watkins kicked the boy hard in the ribs and blood bubbled from his already bleeding mouth but this time the blood was a brighter red.

"I wouldn't bother anymore Watkins," Mister Williams said calmly, "I don't think that slut'll get up however hard you kick it."

Watkins slammed a final disgusted kick into the brat's inert body.

Richard who had dragged Tim back from the fight when he had felled his brother released his hold of the brat's shoulders. Tim stood looking down at his brothers body with the growing pool of blood about its head. His shoulders began to shake uncontrollably and then with a wild scream he threw himself down on it wailing loudly.

"Good lord," Mrs Williams exclaimed in surprise and then added in amused voice, "I do believe the slut is upset about its brother."

She laughed and her husband and son and Mister Warwick laughed too as Tim lay on top of his brother hugging him while crying uncontrollably.

"For God's sake," Mister Williams said through his laughter, "whip the brat off him and bring him here. It's funny enough in a way having a slut behaving like it feels things almost the same way we do but the din it's making is unbearable."

Richard sprang forward cracked his strap across the weeping slut's naked rump.

"Give it him across the shoulders Richard please." Mister Williams said hardly bothering to raise his voice. "I want to use the cane on his bottom and have him still capable of serving the bitch I've chosen for him tomorrow."

Richard grinned his acknowledgement to his father. He turned his attention to the brat's shoulders, standing over the boy, scoring livid lines across his already bruised and bloody flesh with this metal tipped strap. Tim crawled away from him trying to escape the blows raining down on him while Richard pursued him remorselessly plying the strap.

"Bring the little brute here Watkins," Mister Williams commanded.

Watkins stepped forward and dragged the badly battered boy to his feet by his collar. He shook him fiercely and hauled him over to the table. Behind him two sturdy brats and dragged Tom's inert body from the room by his ankles leaving a trail of fresh blood behind him. Four smaller boys appeared with buckets and scrubbing brushes and set about scrubbing the floor clean. The speed with which this work was undertaken without any overt orders suggested a well established and frequently used procedure.

"This side of the table please Watkins," Mister Williams stood up and turned while the quietly sobbing brat was marched round the table to stand in front of him.

"Look at me slut." Mister Williams snapped.

As the naked brat slowly raised his head Richard lounging at his ease at the table burst out laughing.

"You going to put that to a bitch Dad?" he chortled. "Poor little bitch I think she'll run a mile seeing that. Its nose is squashed flat and it looks as though its lost the sight in its left eye."

"I agree Richard the brat would not be any sensible girl's bridegroom of choice," Mister Williams replied good-naturedly, "but that doesn't matter since the bitch won't have any choice in the matter. She'll be tied down over the mounting bar and fucked by whichever brat I select. And as for the brat, its looks don't matter. So far as the job I want him for now it doesn't matter if its nose is smashed or one eye has been knocked out. Provided its balls and cock are in good working order that's all that matters."

Suddenly he turned on the naked boy cowering in front of him.

"Well filth," he roared, "what was all that wailing about? I told you to fight. I told you to fight with weighted gloves. Did you object to my orders turd? Did you think there was something wrong with them?"

The boy's lips moved but no sound came.

"Answer me shit face," Mister Williams suddenly screamed and holding the boy's collar with his left hand he slapped his face repeatedly regardless of the brat's bruises and shattered nose and broken cheek bone. Tim screamed as the blows rocked his head from side to side.

"Clear the table," Mister Williams ordered without diminishing the ferocity or frequency of his blows.

Two serving brats ran forward and hastily removed the plates and cutlery.

Mister Williams turned and without releasing his hold of Tim,s collar threw the boy face down over the table. The brat lay pinned down his feet touching the floor, blood from his face forming a spreading scarlet blotch on the white table cloth.

"Come round here and have a look Watkins. As I said I want the brat to be strong enough to service a bitch tomorrow morning but I don't want him thinking he can get away with less than total submission. I'd reckon he could take six cuts on the bum without crippling him."

"Easy Sir," Watkins said placing the flat of his hand on his son's naked bottom already heavily marked by Richard's metal tipped strap and squeezing it.

The boy whimpered.

"Shut up slut," Watkins said roughly, "you'll get much worse than that when Master takes the cane to you."

"I'll get the heavy cane for you Sir," he added his voice changing from fierce to deferential , "he's a well grown brute and it won't matter if he's permanently marked. He's never going to look good now after the battering he's taken in the ring."

Watkins hurried away only to return a minute or so later a broard smile on his face carrying a cane. An involuntary gasp went up from the serving brats and they became completely still as they caught sight of it.

I felt my stomach turn over though I knew on this occasion at least it was not my bum that was due to be ripped by it. Dad had such a cane although he used it only when he had totally lost patience with a brat and had decided the only useful purpose it could serve was as a warning to its fellows. He said a cane should normally be used to encourage a brat to work harder not to cripple or kill it. I knew the things dimensions exactly, four feet [1.2 m] long and half an inch [1¼ cm)] thick, because Dad had told me that it was the same size as the cane that used to be used in Singapore before the First Great Patriotic War, after which such local customs merged into general practice, on grown men for judicial canings. I knew also very well what such a cane could do to a brat's bare bottom because Dad who understood how much such sights excited all normal free boys, made a point of telling me in advance when he was going to use it so that I could have my friends round to watch.

Then we formed a group of excited laughing boys as the wailing brat was dragged to the flogging block. We would only fall temporally silent when, after the naked boy had been tied down, Dad had took his place beside him. There would be a brief hush as Dad raised the cane over his right shoulder and you could see the wildly sobbing boy tense the muscles in his bottom in anticipation of the agony to come. The vicious hiss of the descending cane would end with an explosive crack as wood struck boy flesh. The boy's body would leap convulsively fighting against the restraining bonds as the bighting pain coursed through his body. Our cheers almost drowning the brat's shrill scream as we applauded the sight of blood.

My feelings now when, if the cane was not going to be used on me on this occasion, it could easily be so in the future, were very different.

"Dad," Richard asked urgently, "can I use that cane on him. Please Dad."

Mister Williams hesitated for a moment looking uncertain. Then he laughed indulgently.

"All right Richard," he said, "I think you're strong enough now to do justice to the thing. Remember when you are using it you are being watched and judged by the other brats here and they in turn will tell their fellow sluts how you handle it. If they are to fear and respect you as they should you must rip the turd's bum to shreds and you have six strokes to achieve that."

"I'm sure Master Richard is well up to it Sir," Watkins said smiling reassuringly as he moved forward to offer the cane to Richard.

I noticed water dripping from its tip onto the marble floor and knew that it had been soaked so that its tip would curl about the brat and bite deep into his flank.

Richard took the cane and gave it a few experimental swings over Tim's cringing body.

The volume of the brat's howls increased. Mister Williams, keeping fast hold of the boy's collar, pulled his head back and then smashed his face down on the table.

"Stop that stupid noise turd," he roared.

The boy's screams subsided into a quiet, hopeless, whimpering.

"Remember Richard," he continued in milder tones, "give it plenty of follow through. Strike at the table not at the slut lying on it. And the last couple of feet of the cane will be almost as supple as a whip, let it curl round the little brute and then draw it back across his rump at the end of the stroke and see if you can give your wrist a bit of a twist while you're doing it. If you do it right you'll cut the miserable little animal's bum into ribbons with six strokes of that cane."

"OK Dad I'll do my best," Richaed said with a note of impatience in his voice.

Looking up at him from where I knelt on the floor by his father's feet I could see from the bulge in the front of his shorts that he was eager to set to work with the cane.

"Try," continued Mister Williams to lay the strokes one after the other down the brat's rump and take your time, don't hurry yourself, that way you will make every cut count. And try to make sure the cane lands across his bum. If it lands across the small of his back it'll very likely crack his spine. That wouldn't matter very much. He's damaged goods anyway after the pounding he took in the fight and there are many more where that one came from but I would like to breed from that one."

"OK Dad," Richard said the edge of impatience in his voice becoming much more noticeable. "If you hold him steady for me I'm sure there'll be no problem."

"Let me help Richard," Mister Warwick said getting up from his chair.

He went round to the opposite side of the table and leaning over it caught hold of the boy by his shoulders. He was by far the biggest and strongest person present. Recognizing this Mister Williams relinquished his grip of the brat's collar and returned to his chair at the dining room table. His hand slid down the front of my body and began to explore my crutch.

"I'll hold the slut's ankles for you Master Richard," Watkins said kneeling down.

"Lay it on hard young Sir. The little shit was my wife's and my own offering to your Father and his behaviour has disgraced us both. You can flay every inch of skin from the ungrateful shit's miserable carcass so far as we are concerned."

Taking a half step backward Richard lifted the cane back over his right shoulder. He stood there a moment, towering over the naked body of the whimpering brat, frowning in concentration. Then he took a deep breath and struck down. bringing his right foot forward and pivoting from the hips so that all his strength and the full weight of his body was behind the descending rod. The brat's terrified scream mingled with the rich sibilant hiss of the descending cane. There was a sharp crack as wood struck bare boy's flesh and the boy's scream stopped abruptly. I saw the cane bite into the brat's bottom. Tim's hands and feet drummed frantically on the floor as Mister Warwick and Watkins struggled to hold the brat down. As Richard drew the cane back across the boy's bottom at the end of the stroke a broad red stripe was scored deep into the brat's tender flesh. Blood welled from it and trickled down the boy's flanks. Tim's screams rang out shriller than ever.

"Well done Richard," Mister Williams exclaimed, his pride in his son's achievement evident in his voice.

Richard grinned his appreciation of his father's praise.

Richard stood over the sobbing brat giving it time to settle itself before delivering the next stroke. Looking up at him from where I was kneeling on the floor I could not help thinking that only a day or so ago Richard and I could have been friends. We would have met as equals. I could have sat at the dinner table as his guest and watched two fighting brats destroy each other for our entertainment. Perhaps, if I was lucky, take my turn with the cane, vying with him in friendly competition to see which of us could cut deeper and harder into the screaming brat's bare rump. Now though I was kneeling naked beside my master, his fingers playing idly with my balls, the taste of his cum lingering in my mouth, a slave collar locked round my neck and the Tribute brand burnt into my bum and all that was impossible.

The bulge in the front of Richard's tight fitting shorts fascinated me. It seemed to grow bigger and more pronounced every minute that passed. It looked uncomfortable and it must have been so because putting the cane on the table he slipped his hand inside his shorts and adjusted the lie of his cock. My mind flipped, in my imagination I was there, my fingers touching his hard young cock, my face buried in his hot crutch, smelling him, tasting him, feeling his blood pulsing in the rod between my lips. My cock already hard jumped to fully erect it's swollen tip a few inches bellow my belly button.

"Richard darling," Mrs Williams said laughing, "if you do that too often we'll all drown in brat cum. You've got everyone of the filthy little brutes wanting the young master's cock down its throat or up its bum."

"My whore here certainly has the hots for you Richard, its cock really jumped when you put your hand inside your shorts. It's desperate for cock," Mister Williams said giving my balls a tweak that made me squeal.

"They'll all to have to wait till I've finished this job," Richard said cheerfully picking up the cane again and giving it a few preliminary swings over his whimpering victim.

"Anyway," he continued raising the cane over his head preparatory to striking, "there's a little blond kitchen boy I spotted in the latest draft I rather fancy."

He took a deep breath and brought the cane hissing down for the second time pivoting from the waste as he did so, so as to put his whole strength and weight behind the blow. It struck the brat a fraction of an inch below the previous cut. Its tip licked about the boy's bum biting deep into his flanks. In a single continuous movement Richard drew the rod back across the brat's rump carving a deep cut into the tightly stretched flesh. The boy jerked and screamed as blood welled from the most recent stripe to mingle with that from the earlier cut and trickle down the sides of the brat's bottom to stain the white table cloth on which he lay a dark red.

Four times more Richard brought the heavy cane crashing down, each stroke splitting the howling boy's skin and cutting deep into his flesh.

Mister Warwick and Watkins released their hold of the brat's shoulders and ankles and the boy rolled off the table to lie sobbing quietly on the ground. Watkins landed a vicious kick in his ribs.

"Sylvia," Mister Williams ordered, "take that filth away and patch it up. I want it down in the stable yard nine o'clock tomorrow morning in a fit state to mount the bitch I've selected for it."

"William," he continued speaking to Mister Warwick, "I am going out to the stables to put the service stripes on Bobbies arms. Perhaps you would care to accompany me. I think you would enjoy it and it will put you in the mood to do justice to that brat that caught your fancy earlier on."

"I'll come along too Dad," Richard said eagerly, "Mrs Watkins would you have that little blond slut I fancy cleaned up, you know the one, you whipped him yesterday for stealing a bacon rind off Dad's breakfast plate, send him out to me in the stables."

"You don't think," he asked in sudden alarm, "that anyone has fucked his bottom since I saw him last."

Mrs. Watkins who was half dragging and half supporting the whimpering Tim from the room, stopped and turned to reply to this question.

"Nobody would dare Master Richard, not after the interest you showed in the whore. His bottom is as unused and as tight as it was when you first saw the boy"

"Now come on you useless little shit and stop that ridiculous noise or I'll give you something to really cry about, " she said clouting Tim hard on the side of his head.

She turned and dragging the boy with her marched him out of the room the blood from his ravaged bottom streaming down the back of his thighs.

Mister Williams and Mister Warwick and Richard followed to her towards the door. They gave no orders but the little serving brat and I followed them. Brats are expected to understand and obey there masters' unspoken orders as well as their spoken ones. Neither I nor, I would guess, the serving boy were looking forward to what was coming next. I was going to have six service stripes burnt into the side of my right arm, the little slut to be penetrated by the massively built Mister Warwick. The agony of having the Tribute brand burnt into the side of my rump was still very fresh in my mind. The thought of more of the same terrified me but I followed the men quietly knowing I had no choice although every step I took brought me nearer to the moment when I would feel the heat of the branding iron and the indescribable agony when it was pressed against my bare flesh.

Chapter 15

Mister Warwick clicked his fingers and the serving lad, alert as a good slut should be to any signal from his betters, trotted forward to walk beside him. I saw Mister Warwick reach behind the boy and slip his hand under the lad's short tunic, raising it clear of his round little bottom. The slut arched his back and pressed his body against Mister Warwick as he pressed index and forefingers into the cleft of his rump.

The two brats standing rigidly to attention beside the great double doors started forward as Mister Williams approached and pulled the doors open letting a flood of sunlight into the hall. The two boys dropped too their knees as Mister Williams passed them.

He led the way down the broad flight of step leading up to the entrance to the big house and turned left. We passed through the double doors out of the gloom of the hall into bright sunlight. We followed the drive round the front of the house the carefully tended formal gardens bright with flowers stretching away to the sunken ditch that divided it from the open parkland and the lake glittering in the sunlight. We turned left again and in front of us was a broad archway with a clock tower above it and beyond, through the open double gates, the stable yard. To the right was a large paddock where a young pony brat on a long lunge rein was being put through its paces by a bare chested free boy armed with a long handled training whip. The brat was trotting wearily in circles round the boy who was constantly flicking at the back of its thighs with the lash and shouting at it to lift its knees.

Mister Williams stood watching by the gate into the paddock for a few minutes. Then with an impatient click of the tongue he lifted the catch and went in.

"Stop him would you James," he called.

James shook the rein and shouted at the brat to stop but it just trotted wearily on.

Mister Williams waited till the brat was at the far side of the training ring and then walked quickly across to join the free boy in the centre. Without saying a word he took the lunge whip from the boy and cut the brat hard across the front of his chest bringing him to a sudden stop opposite to where we stood.

"How long have you been out here with the slut?" Mister Williams demanded.

The boy glanced up at the stable clock.

"Only about a couple of hours Sir."

"Just trotting it all the time, not changing the pace or direction?"

"Yes I suppose so Sir."

"I thought so the stupid little brute had lost concentration. The longer you work a pony brat the more likely he is to go on automatic, they are lazy little bastards and its easier for them. If you are to do any good with them you've got to keep them on their toes, alter the pace, lift him to a run then drop him to a trot and then lift him again and then reverse the direction in which he is trotting. You can work him as hard as you like, and I can see you have worked this one hard, he won't learn a thing if you don't keep him alert."

"Now let me look at the slut," and Mister Williams, handing back the reins and lash to James, walked across to where the young pony boy stood.

It was clear the pony boy had indeed been worked hard, his deeply tanned naked body was running with sweat, his chest heaved as he panted for breath. He stood, shivering either with exhaustion or fear or more probably a mixture of both, as Mister Williams ran his hands down his body resting his hand on his rib cage, probing the muscles in his rump and legs.

"Good confirmation," he remarked to Mister Warwick who had come to stand beside him, "deep chest, straight back, long legs. It takes a good eye to spot a brat with pony boy potential at eight years but that's what you have to do if you want to have it fully trained and broken by twelve years."

"Looks," he continued with some complacency, "that I got it right with this one."

He bent and catching hold of one of the brats ankles pulled his foot up off the ground bending hid leg back so he could examine its sole.

"Hard as leather," he said with satisfaction, "mind you it should be. The brat's been out either in the yard on the lunge rein for at least eight hours every day of its life sun, rain or snow for the last two years. It's training that makes a pony boy. You feel his rump and thighs, all muscle not a bit of fat on him."

"Right James," Mister Williams said walking back towards where James stood holding the lunge rein and training whip. "Give me those things and I'll show you how to do it."

Mister Williams gave the lunge rein a firm shake and the brat recognizing the hand of its master set off at a smart trot. Mister Williams nipped the underside of his thighs a couple times with the lash forcing the brat to raise his knees high. Then satisfied he had got the pony boy's gait right he brought the whip cracking down across its rump and the trot increased to a canter. Two more snaps of the whip on the brat's bottom and he was running flat out, the dust rising as his bare feet spurned the ground, Mister Williams in the centre of the circle turning ever more quickly to keep pace with the boy as he flew round its circumference. The pounding of the brat's feet on the bare earth of the training ring, its heavy desperate panting as it ran flat out and the sharp snap of the training whip against its bare flesh filled the air.

Suddenly Mister Williams stopped shouting and jerked hard at the rein. He brought, the lash, that he had been using so remorselessly on the young brat's rump and shoulders, cracking down across its chest. The boy stopped suddenly and stood sweating and trembling its shoulders heaving as it fought for breath.

"aBout! aBout!" Mister Williams shouted in the sharp tones that alone could penetrate beyond the wall of silence in which a properly prepared pony brat lives having its ear drums pierced.

He jerked again at the reins and flicked the brat once more across the chest with the lash.

The boy turned and set off at a trot in the reverse direction. Soon Mister Williams had raised its pace from the trot to a canter and then up to a full gallop.

"Richard," he called as he urged the brat on with the whip, "there's a crop hanging from the fence beside you. Grab it would you and get in the ring and use it to get the slut to get its knees up high, then I can concentrate on keeping it moving round fast."

Grinning broadly Richard faulted the low fence into the training ring and snatching up the crop began to run beside the galloping pony boy, cutting at the back of the slut's thighs with the crop, forcing to raise its knees high in the exaggerated gait required of a well schooled pony brat. After a three or four full circles Richard stopped to rest while the pony boy ran on at undiminished speed driven forward by the lash across his bare shoulders and bottom. Two or three circles later Richard was off again running beside the brat cutting with the switch at the back of its thighs every time it failed to raise its knees up high.

So it went on, Mister Richards driving the boy hard, varying its pace, allowing it to sink to a sharp trot for brief periods before raising it again to a full gallop and keeping it there, forcing the last ounce of effort and strength out of the brat with the lash.

At last he brought the pony boy to a halt and handed the reins and whip back to the free boy.

"Right James," he said, "I've shown you how to do it so it's over to you now. You have two more hours to go who is taking over from you then?

"William Sir."

"Be sure you show William how to do it and you are to come back at the end of his stint and the pair of you are to work on the slut for a further three hours. Take it in turn, one of you taking the lunge rein and lash, the other running and using the crop on the back of its thighs. It's ten years old now. It can easily take eleven hours in the schooling ring."

As I followed Mister Williams through the arch into the stable yard I could here the rapid thump of the pony brat's bare feet and the sharp crack of the training whip as James put the lesson he had just received into practice.

The yard was full of bustle and activity. At the far side two naked boys were grooming a magnificent grey horse. Another brat was leading a pare of pony boys, bitted and blinkered, out from the gloom of the stables for exercise. Just inside the archway a police cadet resplendent in his uniform of calve length black boot, long cherry red socks, crisp white shorts with a broad black belt clinched round his waste and a slimmer black leather strap running from it diagonally across his bare chest and over his shoulder, towered over a slut cowering, face down, bum upturned, at his feet. The sun glinted on the metal studs set in the strap that hung ready to use from the hand of the cadet.

"Back in a minute Dad," Richard said and suddenly started off at the run.

The cadet hearing him coming looked up and his mouth opened in surprise. Before he could say anything Richard drove the toe of his shoe into the raised bottom of the cowering brat. The force of the blow raised the slut's bottom and drove his face forward against the cadet's boots. The cadet started back and in a reflex action raked his metal studded strap across the boy's bare shoulders.

Richard turned and hurried back to rejoin his father a broad grin splitting his face while behind him the cadet swore and cracked his strap twice more across the slut's back.

"Sorry Dad," Richard said cheerfully, raising his voice to be heard above the brat's howls, "It was too good a target to miss.'

Mister Williams laughed indulgently and ruffled his son's hair.

"Of course it was Richard," he said, "I was the same your age. I couldn't have passed up a chance like that and I would have been worried if you had. No free boy could be expected to."

"Fine high spirited lad that one of yours," remarked Mister Warwick approvingly.

Mister Warwick crossed the yard and going through a door at one end of the main stable block entered a large high ceilinged room that seemed to be a strange cross between a study, a work shop and a snug. A desk with a low filing case stood just inside the door. Beyond that was what appeared to be a long stout work bench with an assortment of pulleys and rollers attached to it. Near it stood, among a number of other appliances of menacing but indeterminate purpose, an open gas powered furnace similar to those that farriers use, lifeless for the moment but ready for use at the press of a button. The sight of it made my stomach turn for I knew that the moment when the hot iron would burn the six service stripes into my arm was getting very near. At the far end of the room there was a carpeted area with occasional tables, a settee and a number of easy chairs all turned to look back into the body of the room. In one corner mirrors on the walls and ceiling reflected multiple images of a double bed covered by a taughtly drawn spotless white sheet.

Mister Williams strolled across to the kiln and pressed a button on its side. There was a loud roar as the kiln sprang to life and a red glow formed in its interior. I watched with a feeling of sick terror as he chose a slim iron bar from a number lying in a neatly arranged line on the top of a small table nearby.

"We may as well sit down," he said thrusting one end of the bar into the furnace, "while that heats up."

Taking Mister Warwick's arm he guided him towards the further end of the room where the armchairs and sofa stood. I followed them. I was terrified by the thought of the iron burning me. I wanted desperately to run but there was nowhere for me to run to.

A small tribute fair brat knelt at the very edge of the carpet the light glinting on the carefully brushed fair hair on his bowed head. I could see his narrow shoulders shaking with fear.

Mister Williams stopped and stood looking down at the terrified little slut.

"I suppose this is your whore Richard," he said.

"Yes Dad Mrs Watkins must have been quick getting him cleaned and prepared for me."

"Mrs. Watkins is an excellent woman and you are a particular favourite of hers. Now I may as well have a look at the little slut. See how good your taste is."

Mister Williams reached down and taking the brat by the chin tipped his head back. The boy lifted a pretty little face with full lips and a peaches and cream complexion to the light. I could see his cheeks were wet with tears.

"Doesn't seem too happy does he," Mister Williams remarked cheerfully. "Well that's understandable. I don't expect you've exactly got a reputation for gentleness among the sluts Richard especially after the way you ripped the last one and broke its jaw as well."

"Dad," Richard protested, "you know he was so tight I couldn't have fucked him without tearing him and anyway Mrs Watson had him up and walking the next day though he was waddling a bit. And all I did was smash his face into the wall. He was getting on my nerves screaming and crying for his mummy."

"All right Richard all right," Mister Williams said laughing openly, "don't get worked up about it. It was only a Tribute brat nobody cares a toss about the little brutes and what are they for anyway."

"Come on you useless whore," he growled tightening his grip on the brat's jaw and pulling him to his feet.

He released his hold of the boy who dropped his head and stood shivering uncontrollably in front of him.

"Skinny little brute," he remarked contemptuously eyeing the sobbing child contemptuously up and down.

"You've got a name filth?"

"Master please Master yes Master," the boy quavered.

The force of Mister Williams's open handed slap knocked the boy sideways.

"Then tell it me you stupid tyke," he shouted fiercely.

"Master please Master Billy Master," the boy whimpered blood trickling down his chin from a split lip.

"And how long since you were tributed slut?"

"Master Please Master I'm not sure Master about a week I think Master."

The boy's voice was hardly more than a whisper. I didn't find the boy's uncertainty at all strange. I was finding that the days were running into each other as I lost count of them under the stress of abuse and fear.

"A week since your loving Mummy and Daddy kissed goodbye to you and you were taken away to have the brand burnt into your poor tender little bottom," Mister Williams sneered at the wildly sobbing child.

"Well Billy I don't know what you're crying about you should be proud the young Master has chosen out of all the other sluts about the place. Aren't you proud Billy?"

"Master Please yes Master," the boy said choking back his tears.

"Well you certainly don't sound it," Mister Williams remarked clouting him hard across the ear, "not that it matters a monkey's fuck what you want or like or feel. What the young Master wants is what matters. You're just here to provide it," and he hit the boy again even harder than before.

"Now show me your boy cunt. Quick," and another blow knocked the brat's head sideways.

The little slut spun round, and spreading his legs bent forward pushing his bottom back already bearing the marks of the strap, the outlines of the fresh Tribute brand crisply burnt into the taught flesh.

Two small hands came round and pulled the cheeks of his bum apart exposing his well greased anus to his Master. The brat had clearly learnt a great deal in the few days he had been in service. And equally clearly he had not been penetrated for his anus lips formed a tight pink little rose bud.

Mister Williams touched the Billy's tight hole with the tip of his index finger.

"Mrs Watson has done her usual excellent job on the slut but however thoroughly she's lubricated it I think penetrating the little whore will be a real challenge for you Richard."

"Don't worry Dad I like challenges," Richard replied cheerfully.

"Well why don't you get on with it now while we wait for the iron to heat up. I'll watch you. I can see from the bulge in the front of your shorts you are eager to begin."

Richard needed no further encouragement. In a few seconds he had striped of his shorts and other clothes. His cock, not fully developed but a good deal larger than a little boy's tiny prick, stood erect. A few dark coarse hairs about his balls showed that he was just beginning to sprout pubic hair

"William do you want to join Richard on the bed with your slut or do you want to watch the action with me?"

"I'm afraid it's a long time since I could match the energy of a fourteen year old. I'll wait until after we've burnt the service stripes into Bobby's arm. His screams may arouse me. Meanwhile I'll have a look at that furnace of yours. I think I might get something similar for myself. It looks a handy sort of apparatus."

"Certainly William help yourself. You could check on how the iron is doing while you're at it. I like it to be just about white hot when it's taken out of the furnace but remember to use the asbestos gloves when you take it out even the handle gets very hot and its Bobby here that we are branding not you."

Mister Williams laughed heartily and my stomach gave a further lurch.

Meanwhile Richard had grabbed hold of Billy by his collar and dragged him over to the double bed. He threw a couple of pillows onto the middle of the mattress.

"Get over them whore," he ordered, "arse up in the air and spread your legs."

He followed the order up with a sharp slap across the boy's bottom. The sound of the blow resonated in the room like a pistol shot and I realised that that corner of the room was wired for sound. I could hear Billy's hopeless whimpering magnified many times over as he clambered up onto the bed and lay face down with the pillows under his hips. The mirrors round him reflected a myriad images of the small boy as he lay waiting for his young master to take his pleasure, bottom raised and legs spread wide. They also reflected Richard's strong young body kneeling between the child's legs his penis erect, quivering with excitement and lust.

"A fine young lad," Mister Warwick remarked for a second time and turned away to inspect the furnace.

Levelling his cock with his right hand Richard thrust forward hard between Billy's spread legs. The brat's head jerked upwards and his squeals of pain, magnified by the microphones, echoed round the room. Over and over again Richard drove into the boy with sharp hard thrusts of his hips, the muscles in his bottom rippling as it rose and fell.

I felt a stinging blow across the front of the thighs that jerked my attention away from the two naked boys on the bed. Mister Williams was sitting in one of the armchairs his legs stretched out in front of him, a cane in his right hand. He slashed at my thighs again raising a second angry welt across the brown skin.

He pointed silently at his feet. I knew I had broken one of the basic rules for a Tribute brat by I allowing my attention to be distracted from my Master and I didn't want to be hit again. I thought I knew what Mister Williams wanted. I hoped very much indeed that I did. I had seen my father often come in from the fields for his tea and stretch out his legs in just that sort of way and I supposed what he wanted then Mister Williams wanted now.

I knelt at the man's feet my fingers fumbling urgently at his laces. Behind me I could hear Billy, his shrill cries having fallen to a low whimpering punctuated by the steady creaking of the bed springs and over both Richards horse panting and the occasional swear word.

I eased Mister Williams's shoes from his feet and peeled off his socks. The strong smell of his feet filled my nostrils. I got down with my elbows on the floor and licked the sole of his right foot from the heel to the ball of his foot. His skin tasted salty and stale against my tongue. I saw his toes curl just inches away from my eyes and I felt a surge of relieve as I realized I had once again got it right. I ran my tongue along the base of his toes and then turning my head on one side tried to work its tip between his little toe and the one next to it.

All the time though, as I sucked and licked with the agonised sounds of little Billy's rape echoing in my ears. I was uneasily aware that the iron bar for burning my service marks was heating in the furnace.

At last the moment I was dreading arrived.

"I think it's just about ready now," I heard Mister Warwick call.

"Just let Richard finish with his slut. He wont be long now he's fully sheathed in the brat's bottom. By the way Bobby's a bloody good toe sucker."

"Like I said," Mister Warwick replied carelessly, "a natural slut, just needed the brand and a few cuts of the cane to bring the boy tart out in him."

"Ah I think Richard's finished now. That's enough slut get out of there," and Mister Williams pushed me away from him with the heel of his foot.

With a feeling of sick dread I hunkered back on my heels just in time to see the muscles in Richard's bum convulse as he pumped his cum into Billy's gut.

He swung off the bed and burying his hand in Billy's fair hair he hauled the brat from the bed and forced his face into his crutch. Wet sucking sounds filled the room as Billy worked to clean the cock that had so recently been buried in his bum. I saw fresh blood trickling down the inside of the brat's thighs.

"Come on Richard," Mister Williams said impatiently, "we're waiting for you before we brand Bobby."

"Get away from me cunt," Richard said driving his knee into Billy's chest and knocking the child onto his back.

"Dad please can I do that? Can I brand the slut?"

Chapter 16

"Sorry Dad, sorry Mister Warwick," Richard said blushing awkwardly at the implied criticism. "would you like to brand the slut Mister Warwick Sir?"

"That's very good of you Richard," Mister Warwick replied smiling warmly, "but I think it would be nice if you did it. What I'd really like is to be allowed to hold Bobby down while you burn the stripes into his arm."

Abroad grin split Richard's face ad he took a small skip of excited pleasure.

"Now Richard," his father began in a serious voice, "remember it's the service stripes you're burning into the slut's flesh. They record the years since it's eighth birthday and each stripe should be distinct and clear but you don't want them spread out along the whole length of its arm. That'll spoil its appearance and anyway there are two more to come before it's finished it's service."

"Yes Dad," the tone of Richard's voice added the words "don't fuss so".

He started off toward the furnace. I could see that his cock despite being so recently buried in little Billy's guts was already beginning to stiffen again.

"I'll show you where to put each stripe by slashing the slut's arm with a Stanley knife and you put the iron down along the cut and hold it there for the count of ten. That should make a clear sharp mark."

"And Richard remember it's just a Tribute brat, it's got no pride or anything. The brand'll hurt and he'll scream. Don't let that scream put you off. You just hold the hot iron firm against his arm."

"Oh Dad," Richard burst out, "You don't think I'd let the screams of a Tribute brat effect me. What do you think I am."

"And," Mister Williams continued, acknowledging his son's outburst with a wry smile, "William if you really want to hold the boy down could I suggest you strip off. He's only a Tribute brat. They're dirty little animals at the best of times and they loose all control under stress. And I'd better strip off myself as I'm going to be slicing cuts into the boy's arm."

"Thanks, good advice," Mister Warwick said and walking across to the carpeted area, quickly stripped off throwing his clothes carelessly on the floor for the pretty serving boy to pick up and fold neatly on an empty chair.

He then resumed his place by the wooden bench with its scrubbed top and adjacent pulleys and iron fetters.

A feeling of utter desertion and despair filled me as, still kneeling at on the floor at Mister Williams's feet, I watched Mister Warwick's swollen cock wobbling upright in front of him as he walked back to the furnace, its pink helmet level with his belly button. It was all too clear that the man who was my only hope of escape from the brutal existence of a Tribute brat cared nothing for me. He was pleased and excited at the thought of helping Richard brand me. He saw me as a Tribute slut and nothing else.

A stinging back handed crack across the side of my head from Mister Williams reminded me forcefully that I had allowed my attention to wander from where as a Tribute boy it should always be concentrated, my Master.

"Wake up you idle little sod. What do think your doing keeping your Young Master waiting."

I scrambled quickly to my feet and started off to where the Mister Warwick and Richard stood waiting for me, both naked and both sporting erections. I could hear the gas roaring in the furnace and see the glow of the flames through its open door and feel its heat against my naked body. Richard was pulling on the asbestos gloves, Mister Warwick was standing ready by the bench, both were looking towards me, watching me approach, smiling with cruel anticipation.

Nobody showed any signs of coming to drag me towards the bench. I was left to walk by myself on legs numb and with my stomach churning, with fear. They all knew and I knew, that I had no choice. I was a tribute boy, there was nowhere for me to run to, nobody to protect me, there was no escape now or in the future for me unless Mister Warwick would help me and his hard cock and lust filled gaze told me I should abandon all hope of that.

My eyes misted over and I fought back a sob. I was fourteen years old much too big to cry and anyway what was the point of crying? Nobody cared about a crying brat. It would do me no good.

"Good God Richard," Mister Warwick explained proofing the point, "look at the slut it's blubbing."

"What's the matter whore," he jeered at me, "are you frightened of the hot iron burning your filthy hide poor little dear. Perhaps you'd better ask your mummy to help you. Perhaps she'll come and put her arms round you and cuddle you and take you away from the cruel men with their nasty branding irons."

"For God's sake," he snapped grabbing me by the slave collar round my neck and hurling me face down across the bench, "you useless lump of dog's shit get down there and don't keep us hanging about any longer. Nobody could care a monkey's fuck about you or your stupid grizzling."

"Let me get hold of that," Mister Williams said and I felt him take hold of my arm and pull it so it was stretched out along the bench.

"Pin the slut to the bench with a knee between his shoulder blades would you William, please," Mister Williams said.

Cold metal was clamped tight around my wrist. There was a clinking sound as a chain was drawn tight. I whimpered as the fetter bit into my wrist and my arm was pulled so hard away from my body that it felt as if my shoulder and elbow was going to pop.

"Must be careful with these pulleys and things. The gearing is so great that half a turn too much you could pull an arm or leg from its socket. Doesn't matter too much most times, brats are plentiful and cheap enough but I want Bobby kept whole until at least I've penetrated him," Mister Williams remarked.

He took a handful of grease from a jar and slapped it on the top of my arm.

Through pain blurred eyes I saw him pick up a Stanley knife from the bench. He tested the short sharp blade with his thumb. My eyes focussed on his cock, curved scimitar like, rising erect out of the thick forest of black pubic hair that shrouded his crutch and spread to form a coarse pelt over his shoulders and chest.

"Is the rod white hot Richard?" he asked.

"Yes Dad."

"When I give the word bring it over here and press it along the cut in the boy's arm for a count of ten. Once you've finished put it straight back in the furnace. The hotter the iron is, is the deeper and crisper the brand. And there's no need to hurry we've got all afternoon."

"OK Now!"

He bent over me and I felt a sharp sting as he drew the blade of the knife across the side of my shoulder. The sting of the knife was replaced by a pain many times more intense as Richard laid the hot iron along the open wound in my arm.

I screamed and then for a moment I knew nothing but pain. Pain that flooded my body and tore at the nerve ends. Agony that was so great that it left no room for anything else. The room, the bench the free men and the boy standing round me all disappeared in a red haze of pain.

Slowly I began to become aware once more of what was going on around me. My arm still hurt horribly but now I could feel Mister Warwick's knee pressing into my back between the shoulder blades, pinning me to the bench. I could hear the hiss of the gas flames in the furnace, the clink of metal as Richard replaced the branding iron in the hearth and my own loud sobs.

"Filthy little brute. It went all over me," Richard growled.

I became aware of the rank stink of human faeces in addition to a sweeter smell that I recognised as being burnt brat flesh. I had smelt it before of course both on the farm and when Dad had taken me to see the drafting of new Tribute stock. The only difference was that on this occasion it was my burnt flesh not that of some screaming slut.

"I warned you what might happen," his father replied laughing, "I stepped back so none went on me. Anyway it just shows how good my advice was to strip off. There's nothing a shower won't get off you."

"Now how's the iron looking?"

"Give it a couple more minutes Dad."

"Please Master not again Master please Master ….," I burst out. I knew it was no good pleading, that it would have no effect at all but I could not help myself, my fear was so intense, the pain so terrible.

Mister Warwick clouted me on the back of my head driving my face down on the bench top.

"Shut up filth," he growled, "you don't think we'll take any notice of the squealing of a lump of dog's shit like you."

"Ready now Dad," Richard's young voice rang out cheerfully.

I felt the harsh sting of the knife as Mister Williams sliced a bloody line across the side of my shoulder about an inch below the first followed by unspeakable agony as Richard once more pressed the glowing iron against the open wound..

A second and then a third time the knife slashed my arm and Richard held the hot iron against the bleeding wound the blade had scored into my naked flesh. Not that I kept count for, long before I was released from the bench and slid to the concrete floor to lie whimpering in my own filth, my world had contracted into a dark pit of unspeakable pain.

"Turn the hose on the slut," I heard Master Williams say from somewhere above me, "swill the slut and the floor down."

A jet of ice cold water struck my body and I became aware of the two men standing over me with Richard standing someway back directing a stream of water at me from a hose. All three were naked and sported considerable erections.

"Hang on a minute," Mister Warwick said, "let me get the brute over on its face and so you can hose the filth from its arse."

He grabbed me by my left wrist and yanked me over on my face. I thrashed about on the floor as the jet of water crashed into my bottom.

At last the roar of water stopped and I was left shivering, whimpering quietly, lying on the damp floor at the men's feet.

"I must say Richard did a very good job with the branding iron," Mister Warwick remarked. "No hesitation, firm application of the iron to the brat's flesh, wasn't put off by its screams or thrashing about. An excellent job. You must be proud of your son."

"He's a good boy," Mister Williams said gruffly and added hastily, "but it looks to me William as though you are ready to enjoy the serving boy."

"Yes I don't remember feeling so randy since I was taken for the first time by my Dad to watch the new draft being branded by the Tribute Master. There's something about the smell of burnt brat flesh that really turns me on."

"Well take the little whore over to the bed and give him a good hard fuck. There's no need to be gentle with the brat. There are plenty more where he came from."

"Now Richard, you've shown us how good you are with the branding iron. Let's see how quick you can get Bobby back on his feet. Come on boy."

A kick thudded into my side. It did not hurt enough to rouse me properly.

"There's not much point in doing that when you have no shoes on," Mister Williams said contemptuously, "use the lash."

Still half dazed with pain I heard the words as if he was speaking from a great distance and somehow I did not immediately associate what he was saying to my own predicament. By the time I did so it was too late. I had only got half way to my feet bending forward to push myself upright, my raised bottom presenting an ideal target to Richard, when he brought the lash hissing down across the taught flesh. The pain drove the breath from my body and I collapsed back onto my knees. I sensed Richard raising his arm to strike again and I forced myself up right but I was not in time to avoid a second cut that ripped across my naked shoulders.

I staggered forward. Mister Williams grabbed me by the wrist and swung me round to face him.

"Hold your hands out Bobby," he ordered reinforcing his command with an open handed clout with his free hand across the side of my head that rocked me on my feet.

I obeyed and a pair of manacles were locked around my wrists.

Mister Williams picked up a marker pen from the bench and then gripping me by the left shoulder turned me so that I was standing with my back to him.

"Well done Richard," I heard him say, "that cut across his shoulders has drawn blood."

I felt him write something with the marker pen on my back.

"What are you writing Dad?" Richard asked.

"Get away you," Mister Williams growled at me, clipping me hard across my bottom with the back of his hand.

I stood by the bench my head bowed my hands chained in front of me, shivering slightly as I wondered what the future held. In the background I could hear the serving boy moaning and Mister Warwick's harsh panting punctuated by occasional gruff obscenities. It was clear the brat was indeed getting a hard fucking.

"Well Richard," Mister Williams said replying to his son's question, "we'll leave Bobby at the cadet post when we go to see Mister Warwick off. I've just written instructions for his disposal. '5 prep b f'. You can work out what that means."

"Well 5 is Mrs Watkins. … Oh I see."

"Now what about Billy? What do you want to do with him? Do you want Mrs Watkins to sow him up for you? She's very good with the needle. After she's worked on him he'll be just as tight and as much fun to fuck as the first time."

"May as well Dad and maybe if I've nothing else on when she does it I'll turn up to watch. Maybe she'll let me have a turn with the needle. I hope he doesn't faint though. It's great the brats are not allowed anaesthetic but it's a disappointment if they loose consciousness."

"Well we can only hope for the best," Mister Williams said cheerfully. "Now Richard perhaps you'd better fetch the tart. It doesn't look to me that he's really with us."

Indeed Billy was lying curled on the floor by the bed where Richard had knocked him, a slight movement of his shoulders as he breathed the only sign of life.

Richard strode over to the brat. This time he did not bother to try rousing him with a kick. Instead he bent down and taking a tight hold of the little slut's ear twisted it viciously dragged him to his feet.

"He's still bleeding quite a bit Dad," Richard called, "do you think its internal?"

Indeed a pool of dark red blood had formed on the floor where the brat had lain just about where his arsehole would have been and blood was beginning to trickle down the inside of his thighs now he was back on his feet.

"Bring the slut over here Richard and I'll take a look. It's probably not much. Usually most of the damage is to the anus."

"Turn him round so I can get at his bottom Richard and get a firm hold of his arms. He'll buck like hell when I push my finger into him."

There was a brief moment of silence and then an ear splitting scream from the boy.

"Stop that stupid noise," Mister Williams said sharply clipping the little slut on the back of the head. "How can I check whether your badly injured inside and how can I tell whether its worthwhile for Mrs Watkins to spend time and effort sewing you up without checking. All you brats are the same. Just think about yourselves. You don't think of the disappointment of your Young Master if we sow your bottom up and then you go and die before he can get his cock into you."

He paused to look down at his fingers.

"I think Richard," he said after a moment's thought, "its worth taking a chance and have Mrs Watkins sew him up. I got three fingers into him and by far the greater amount of blood is on the two outer ones. The tip of the middle one has a bit on it but not nearly so much as the other two. I reckon I ripped his bottom a bit more but nothing that can't be fixed with a needle and thread."

He wiped his fingers clean on the boy's bottom leaving a broad red stain across its golden curve.

"I'll shove a wad of paper up his arse to stem the flow of blood and get the cuffs on him and then we may as well get dressed and be on our way. It looks as though our friend William has had his fun."

Indeed Mister Warwick was standing by the bed the naked little serving boy kneeling at his feet his face buried in his crutch.

A quarter of an hour or so later I was following Mister Williams and Richard, now both fully clothed, with Billy whimpering quietly and waddling duck like beside me across the stable yard.

Mister Warwick had set off by himself towards his home. He had given me no sign before he left that he remembered or intended to honour our arrangement to work together to uncover and exploit Mister Williams's breaches of the Tribute Code. Indeed he did not even bother to look at me and I watched his retreating back with a feeling of betrayal and hopelessness. Without Mister Williams's help there was no escape for me from the short and brutal servitude of a tribute brat.

Mister Williams led the way across the yard to a gap between two stable blocks there tucked away in dark cull de sac was a paved area. The air was heavy with the stench of decay. Its back was crowded with overflowing rubbish bins round which swarms of flies buzzed. In front of the bins stood a stout post to which two brats were manacled. One whose hands were drawn up above his head appeared to have been there some time, his eyes glazed his mouth distorted in a rictus of pain . The other looked fresher but no less frightened and miserable.

The cadet whom we had seen earlier was in the process of manacling a third brat to the post when he sensed the presence of Mister Williams behind him. He spun round snapping to attention thrusting his bare chest forward, almost quivering with the intensity of his desire to impress while the naked brat grovelled on all fours behind him, his face pressed to the ground his bare arse up in the air.

"Only three defaulters cadet?" Mister Williams snarled. "You're hardly straining yourself are you? How long have you been on duty boy?"

"Sir!! Please Sir!!" the youth half shouted in the manner required of cadets speaking to members of the privileged class, "Two hours Sir!!"

"Well you'll have to do better cadet. The current target is two defaulters every hour you're on duty. You're already one down. You'll have to pull your socks up boy or you'll have six hours of punitive drill with a forty pound pack on your back when you get back to barracks."

"And the brats are in a disgusting state. Meant to be defaulters and hardly a mark on their filthy hides. What's the matter with you boy? Do you feel sorry for the brats or something?"

"Sir Please Sir!! No Sir I hate all brats Sir."

"You better had boy and you'd better behave as though you do too or either way you'll be in real trouble. The brats should be well worked over. Bruises and blood boy, that's what I want to see, bruises and blood."

Richard who had been standing silent by his father suddenly lashed out with his foot catching the kneeling brat a heavy blow on his ear with the toe of his shoe.

"What have you got that one for?" he demanded sharply of the cadet.

"Sir Please Sir!! I saw him touch his cock with the intention of self abuse Sir."

"Touch it with his fingers?" Richard asked thoughtfully.

"Sir Please Sir Yes Sir."

Richard raised his foot and drove down hard with his heel on the brat's spread fingers aiming particularly at the boy's little finger. There was a sharp thud as his heel crushed flesh and bone and a shrill howl of pain.

"Filthy little brute," Richard remarked grinding his heel and the screaming brat's mangled finger into the ground.

"Very good Richard," his father said, "but the job is only half done."

"That's OK Dad I'll look after that now."

Richard lifted his foot and the brat guessing what was going to come next clenched his uninjured hand and clasped it to his chest.

The cadet anxious to redeem himself and to show he was not a brat lover unclipped the metal studded strap from his belt and lashed it across the slut's upraised rump.

"Get that hand out for the young master turd," he screamed, "quick slut quick," and he raked the strap a second time across the tightly drawn flesh of the boy's bottom.

Looking at the boy's injured hand a bleeding mess of crushed and bleeding flesh pierced with splintered fragments of white bone I could understand his reluctance to expose his other hand to similar treatment.

"Master, Master," the brat whined.

"Get your hand out turd," Richard grated "and spread the fingers wide unless you want me to smash all your fingers and not just the little ones."

Sobbing wildly the boy crouched on his knees at Richard's feet. His head pressed to the ground, reluctantly reached out with his uninjured hand and holding it palm down on the ground spread his fingers as wide as he could.

Richard smiling cruelly rested his heel on the child's little finger and pressed down slowly increasing the pressure.

"Please Master Please," the brat pleaded desperately.

There was a sharp crack as the bone broke and the boy screamed.

Laughing Richard once again raised his foot and stamped down hard on the slut's already fractured finger.

"You see," Mister Williams said addressing the cadet and raising his voice to be heard over the boy's frantic screams, "what you can achieve if you use your imagination. That brat'll remember what the Young Master has just done to it for as long as it lives and its deformed hands will be a warning to other sluts who might be tempted to play with themselves rather than devoting themselves to serving and pleasing their betters as they were born to do."

"Manacle him to the post with the other sluts to wait for his whipping. After that I'll have what remains of his little fingers lopped off with a meat cleaver. Once the wounds have been cauterised with a hot iron he'll be straight back at work."

The cadet siezed the boy by his collar and dragged him over to the post. Once there he pulled the boy's wrists behind his back and chained them to the post. With a single kick he swept the boy's feet from under him leaving the screaming slut half suspended from his wrists with his arms drawn up tight behind him.

"Stop that stupid noise," Mister Williams shouted kicking him in the face.

Blood and broken teeth spewed from the boy's mouth.

"The Young Master let you off lightly." Mister Williams continued in a quieter voice. "He could easily have broken all your fingers and then you'd have been no use to anyone. You should be grateful he left you still able to serve your betters."

"Now you cadet, take these two brats," he nodded at Billy and myself, "up to the house and hand them over to Mrs. Watkins. The Young Master and I will remain here a little time to correct your excessive gentleness with the brats."

The cadet snapped two short lengths of chain to the irons securing Billy and my wrists in front of our bodies. As he led us away we could hear the thump of blows and kicks impacting on naked flesh and the agonized screams of the brats as Mister Williams and Richard asserted their authority.

Chapter 17

Billy was unsteady on his feet so he kept on stumbling into me. This and his constant whimpering angered me. I knew Richard had hurt him badly when he had raped him but what did he expect? And maybe I should feel sorry for him but I was hurting too I was too concerned about my own skin to have any time to spare to worry about him let alone to do anything to help him. If the stupid little runt kept on bumping into me he'd eventually bring us both down and the cadet would use his studded strap on us both.

Maybe you think I should have felt sorry for the little slut. Maybe even think I should have helped Billy and deliberately riled the cadet so he beat me rather than him. I was a sturdy teenager and Billy was a slightly built eight year old and pretty with it. Surely that would be enough to wake the latent spirit of compassion.

If you think that you do not know what it is to be a Tribute boy. You probably do not for the gap between privileged and tribute is so great, so complete, as to be unbridgeable. To know what it is like you would have to live it and if you have lived it you would not be sitting there now, in comfort, reading this story.

You are naked, branded, a slave collar locked round your neck. Your body is bruised and scarred by the lash, your stomach aches with hunger. Then all the time there is fear, fear of your Master, fear of the whip, fear of being sent to the mines or simply being beaten or worse on a whim to amuse your betters. You have no family, nobody who cares about you, nobody you can turn to for help or protection.. You have no future beyond at the best a few years of drudgery.

In those circumstances you do not think of others. In fact much of the time you are too panic stricken, too frightened, to think at all. When you can think you only think of one thing and that is of how to please your master or those he has placed in authority over you for, only as long as you can do that, are you likely to escape the lash or to survive.

We were halfway across the stable yard and Billy lurched against me yet again. My temper snapped. I pushed him hard in the back and lashed out with my foot sweeping his legs away from underneath him. He crashed down on his face,. I caught a glimpse of his shoulders, the brown flesh split by the wheal from Richards lash, oozing blood, the wad of toilet paper plugging his arse hole dark red and gleaming damply.

Then the cadet swung round and cursing loudly unshipped the studded strap from his belt and raked the brat's naked back with it. Billy screamed with pain, his feet and hands scrambled in the dirt as he struggled to get himself back on his feet. The cadet swung the strap back for a second blow across his shoulders but Billy was too quick for him and was standing up right before he could deliver the blow. Quickly changing his aim the cadet lashed his strap four times, fore hand and back, across the slut's shins. I leapt to one side to get out of the way.

"You keep on your fucking feet you useless lump of dog shit," the cadet shouted as Billy squealed and capered at the end of his chain.

As the cadet turned away from us I could clearly see the bulge in the front of his shorts that showed he enjoyed whipping brats. I didn't think more of it just then. After all being a cadet that would be exactly what he would enjoy.

A sharp jerk on the chain to the manacles securing my wrists got me in motion again. Billy, trying to keep as far away from me as possible, trotted unsteadily after the cadet whimpering quietly.

The cadet led us up to the house and then instead of turning left towards its front turned right. On one side the bulk of the house loomed over us. On the other was a dark tangle of Rhododendron bushes.

The cadet paused and glanced quickly around. He ducked quickly into the bushes dragging Billy and myself after him. He led us along a narrow path through the thick undergrowth. The ground after the gravelled drive was damp and soft under my bare feet. The air was full of the scent of damp vegetation. The bushes pressing in on either side of us crowded Billy's small naked body against mine.

It was clear the cadet was no longer obeying orders. That he had a plan of his own that he was pursuing. I remembered the bulge in the front of his shorts and had a good idea of what that was. I wondered if Billy had any idea of what was coming to him.

The path widened to form a small clearing in the undergrowth. Sunlit filtered through the leaves of a gigantic ash tree, the ground had a sparse covering of short grass, the only sound was the low buzz of insects and Billy's quiet sobbing.

The cadet grabbed Billy by an arm and pulled him roughly to the middle of the grove.

"Get your hands on your knees and your legs apart whore," the cadet ordered his hands moving to the fastening of his shorts, "get ready to have your boy cunt well fucked."

Billy wailed loudly and threw himself down on his knees.

"Please Sir, no Sir, please," he sobbed raising his clasped hands as he grovelled on the ground at the youth's feet. "Please the young master tore me Sir, tore me real bad. Please Sir I'll suck you Sir. I'll suck you real good and I won't tell anybody."

"You won't tell anybody slut anyway," the cadet sneered and I wondered if Billy understood the implication of those words. He was so stupid and so terrified that he probably did not.

The youth unbuckled his belt and let his shorts drop around his ankles.

His young cock rose hungrily from its base in the already patch of pubic hair that already sprouted luxuriously around his genitals. His cock was not as large or as ribbed with knotted veins as that of a fully grown man but it was a much more substantial instrument than that of a mere boy. It rose quivering hungrily, the tip of its swollen knob almost level with his belly button.

He bent and taking a firm hold of Billy's balls between his finger and thumb, urged him to his feet.

"Turn round and do as your told filth," he ordered clouting the weeping child across the side of his head. "Get on with it bend over and stick your bum out."

The stupid brat instead of doing as it was told collapsed back on his knees sobbing wildly and holding his hands out in supplication while he begged to be spared a second cock up his already torn and bleeding hole.

The cadet swore angrily and snatched up the studded strap from where it lay on the ground. Stepping back he lashed the brat across his upraised forearms and then when he doubled up nursing the torn and bleeding skin followed this up with three heavy strokes across his exposed shoulders.

Grabbing Billy by the side of his slave collar he dragged the boy once more back onto his feet. Pushing down he forced him to bend forward.

"You," the cadet shouted at me, "get hold of the slut and keep him up while I fuck his bottom."

I got a grip of the brat's collar with my bound hands.

I suppose I could have refused. The cadet was naked and there were two of us. Even with our wrists bound we might together have had a chance against him. But if we had attacked him and been successful we had nowhere to hide. Naked with the tribute brand burnt into our bottoms and slave collars locked round our necks we would be hunted down in a matter of days if not hours. Then it would be a long slow death nailed to the skewering post. And anyway why should I? After all Billy although a pretty little animal was only a servile. He had no value beyond the service and pleasure he could give and there were plenty more where he came from.

I have to admit though that I did not even consider disobeying, let alone attacking, the cadet. I might be, I was I told myself, a free boy but when the cadet spat his order at me I reacted with the instinctive obedience of a Tribute brat.

The cadet moved behind Billy and slipping one hand round the front of the boy took a tight grip of his crutch while with the other hand he levelled his rod at his hole. He drove forward and Billy screamed bucking in my grip. I swore at the boy's stupidity as I fought desperately to control him. Surely he knew he was only postponing the inevitable and making things worse for himself. If he did not know the elementary facts of a brat's life I certainly did and would do what I had to. I twisted my hands in his collar, digging my knuckles into his neck, choking the supply of air to his lungs. I felt the strength ebb out of him as I choked him into submission. Billy's legs collapsed under him and I saw the cadet tense his shoulders as he took the boy's weight on the arm supporting his bottom. I pulled upwards on the brat's collar trying to keep the slut from falling forward.

Billy's body jerked as the cadet thrust forward. A strangled moan was rung from the boy. Satisfied the cadet's prick was now fairly lodged in the brat's hole I slackened my hold on his collar letting air and life back into his body. Billy threw his head back and screamed shrilly as the youth vigorously pumped his already torn bottom. The brat's once pretty face was now distorted with pain, full red lips twisted in agony, cheeks blotched and wet with tears, snot streaming from his nose and staining his upper lip and chin. Excited by his sufferings I hardened as I held him firmly, writhing and howling under the cadet's merciless assault.

I made no attempt to silence the boy's screams. There was no point. Such sounds were too much a commonplace of Tribute life to attract attention. And he would be a much more satisfying fuck conscious, squirming in agony under the cadet's remorseless thrusting, than supine and unfeeling. And if the cadet rose from his satisfied from his pleasures he might at least be just a little bit less free with his strap for a brief period.

The tempo of the cadet's thrusting increased as he approached climax. He drove into Billy with deep hard thrusts. The muscles in his flanks flexing as he hammered his shaft ever deeper into the weeping child. Then suddenly he was still, his body rigid and arched, only the muscles in his bottom working as he climaxed deep in Billy's guts. Then the strength seemed to out of his body and he slumped forward. I released my grip on Billy's collar and the boy deprived of any support collapsed, his naked body pinned to the ground by the cadet's weight.

The cadet lay there for a few minutes his shoulders heaving. The he pushed himself up off the boy. Blood streaming from the brat's hole formed a dark red pool on the ground between his outstretched legs as he whimpered quietly.

"Up," the cadet ordered prodding Billy in his ribs with his toe.

The brat's hands scrabbled ineffectually in the dirt as he tried but failed to drag himself to his feet.

"Up you lazy little cunt, Up onto your knees whore and get your soft boy lips round my cock," the cadet shouted landing yet another kick into his side.

"Get my truncheon slut," the cadet shouted at me.

I darted off to fetch it from where he had abandoned it in his eagerness to get his cock up Billy pretty little arse. Drawing it from its harness I ran back and dropped to my knees offering it to the cadet.

"Get out of my bloody way," he shouted snatching the staff from me and smashing it down on the side of my head.

I was knocked sideways to the ground and lay there my head ringing as the cadet swung round to stand over Billy prostrate naked body.

"I'll teach you, you lazy little cunt," he screamed and lifting the truncheon two handed over his head slammed it down as hard as he could across Billy's bottom. There was a dull thud as the heavy staff smashed down on naked boy's flesh. Billy.s body arched in pain and he screamed shrilly.

"Up, Up." the cadet shouted raising the staff above his hand ready for a second blow.

Billy struggled desperately to get himself upright. He managed to get his knees under him and pushing upwards lifted his bottom slightly off the ground but he hadn't the strength in his arms to raise his body further. He stayed there a moment his bum raised a few inches his anus, still oozing blood. clearly visible and then collapsed.

"Please, please," he whimpered as he lay prone on the ground at the cadet's feet.

"Useless little cunt," the cadet growled.

He lowered the staff and then very deliberately drove his bare heel into the blood and filth stained cleft of the brat's bottom. Billy's scream rang out shrilly as his body jerked, face down, convulsively in the dirt.

The cadet twisted round and peered down at his heel now stained with blood and other filth from the little whore's hole. I saw the expression of disgust on his face.

The next thing I knew I was down on my hands and knees my head almost touching the ground vigorously licking Billy's dirt from cadet's heel.

As my mouth filled with the musty taste of blood and faeces mixed with the faint metallic trace of the young cadet's semen I wondered at what I was doing. I had not been told to do it, nobody had ordered me to get down on my hands and knees to lick blood and boy's shit from the youth's heel and yet there I was doing so. I had not hesitated, I had not even thought before acting, I had acted instinctively and I somehow knew that at that moment it was right for me, free boy though I might be, (or was it that I might once have been?) to be there, crouched naked at the cadet's feet, licking the filth from his heel.

The cadet lifted his foot a fraction of the ground. I, alert to even the slightest indication of his wishes and eager to satisfy them just as if I had been subjected to the harsh discipline of a Tribute brat's life over the past six years rather than the last two days, pressed the side of my head to the ground and turning it sideways began to lick the filth from the base of his heel.

He raised his foot a fraction higher. I saw that filth had dribbled from his heel along the arch of his foot. I licked the dirt away and that done I ran my tongue half a dozen times or more up the length of his instep in a series of long slow licks. I felt a sense of achievement as I saw the cadet's toes flex and stretch in excitement.

If I must be a brat, I thought as my tongue caressed the ball of the cadet's foot I had better try my hardest, not least for my own sake to be a good one and to please my betters.

I ran my tongue along the base of the youth's toes and then tried to clean between them with it's tip. My mouth was filled with the sour taste of stale sweat.

Suddenly the cadet lashed out behind him with his foot. He caught me across the mouth knocking me away from him. I was knocked backwards finishing up on my bottom in the dirt looking up at him. My eyes focussed on his cock hanging now shrunken and limp after it's plumbing of Billy's once tight young arse. Young as he was he was almost a man. His balls, sparsely coated with strands of coarse dark hair, hung down between well muscled thighs Above them the hair sprouted more thickly forming a dense forest shielding the base of his penis and spreading up the front of his flat stomach to just short of his belly button. His cock was smeared with filth, a mixture of shit and blood from Billy's ravaged hole and his own cum. which also clung in, congealing lumps tangled in his pubic hair.

I crouched on the ground looking up at him. I could not take my eyes away from his crutch. I used to laugh at how the brat's on Dad's farm seemed to be always eyeing up my crutch and yet here I was doing the same. I had always thought that it was that the filthy little brutes were simply cock hungry. And perhaps I have to admit that was true at that moment of myself. The youth's prick drew me towards it. I wanted to stir it to life, to take it between my lips and feel the blood throbbing within it as it stiffened and grew; but there was more. At that moment the flaccid shit smeared cock and heavy balls seemed to me to have concentrated in them the authority, power and cruelty of the Tribute system to which I was now subject. However I did not regard them with resentment or anger but rather with the fearful awe of some one worshipping an all powerful, cruel and savage god. Resentment, let alone resistance, was pointless, acceptance and obedience the only options. I knew no escape was possible the only thing I could do was to try at least to temporary placate it was to signal my submission.

Pushing myself back onto my knees I reached round the cadet, feeling his heavily muscled buttocks hard under the palms of my hand, and hauling myself up buried my face in his crutch. I gently sucked and pulled with my teeth, teasing the congealed lumps of filth and rapidly drying cum from the tangled matt of his pubic hair. Before long I felt his prick begin to harden and stir against the side of my cheek. I ran my tongue along its length from its base in the dark forest of his coarse hair to the swollen, quivering pink helmet at its tip. My mouth was full of the combined flavours of Billy's shit and blood and the cadet's cum. I ran my tongue along his piss slit collecting the beads of precum that welled from it. Taking a deep breath I took his cock into my mouth. The cadet clasped the back of my head and yanked me forward driving the full length of his cock down into my throat.

He held me there my gullet working against its intrusion until the blood roared in my head and he pulled back. I gasped desperate for air before he once again pulled my head forward until my nose was pressing hard against his stomach and his cock was again plunged deep in my throat.

The cadet remorselessly pumped my throat with his swollen cock while I spluttered and gasped for breath. Then through the blackness that threatened to overwhelm my senses I heard the sound of shod feet approaching. The cadet continude fucking my throat with undiminished energy as the sound of the footstes drew nearer and I knew it was another cadet approaching rather than a free citizen

Looks like you've been having a good time Wayne," a gruff but still young voice spoke from behind me.

Got to take your chances when you can Corporal," the cadet remarked from above my head, his voice sounding slightly strained and breathless.

"It looks like you've been a bit too rough with the smaller slut," the Corporal remarked a hint of reproach in his voice.

"Billy do you mean. I'm second up that whore's arse today. The young Master was before me. Whose to say I did anything to the little shit."

"The little shit," the corporal replied shortly.

Only now as he became more engrossed in the conversation with his fellow cadet did Wayne release his hold of my head. Seizing the opportunity to signal my complete submission to the rules and values of the Tribute world I did not draw back but sucked noisily and enthusiastically on his pulsing shaft.

"Wouldn't dare. He knows that if he says anything to get me in trouble the rest of you would smash his limbs and joints with a sledge hammer and leave him in a ditch somewhere to starve. Not straight away perhaps but sooner or later."

"Wouldn't bet on that one keeping quiet. He's only in his first year of service and he's in a right mess. Maybe he hasn't learnt all the rules or maybe he'll forget them in his distress. It's not like he's done years of service and the thing is in his bones like the brat sucking your cock. That one has had the rules well beaten into him over his years of service. He knows not to bother about what his betters are up to and to keep his mouth shut and just to do what he is told. The little one has had only one year of service and with him it's best you remember that dead brats tell no tales."

"Do you know how long this brat has been in service?" Wayne said rapping the top of my skull with his knuckles as I worked my lips up and down his cock.

"Look at it's brand," he added when he did not get an immediate reply.

"Shit," the Corporal explained, "less than a year."

"Much less than a year. It's the third or fourth day of its service. Do you think we should shut him up permanently? Once he's finished sucking my cock that is."

The question was asked without irony or sarcasm. It was a simple request for advice.

I redoubled my efforts to bring Wayne to a crisis. Pushing my bottom out I got down below his balls and opening my mouth as wide as I could sucked on them urgently. There was no point in arguing or pleading. My only hope was by my actions to show that I was a good obedient brat who knew its place and would not forget it.

Over my head the two cadets continued to discuss whether to kill me as well as Billy as I worked away with my lips and tongue at Wayne's genitals.

"It'd be easily done," the Corporal remarked, "Just break the brat's neck with your baton and say he was trying to take a runner. Nobody could show otherwise."

"The Master paid a pretty could sum for it. It's bottom hasn't been penetrated and you don't often get a brat of that age and quality where that is the case. He won't be best pleased if we kill it."

"Shit," the Corporal said, "Is that true."

I heard him take a step towards me and then felt his finger probing my bottom.

"It is," he said withdrawing his finger, "a beautiful fourteen year old slut with a virgin bottom. You don't come across merchandise like that very often."

"Well all right," he continued a little reluctantly, "perhaps it would be easiest to let the whore live. It seems he's adjusted quickly and well to being Tributed and it's better not to upset the Master."

"What surprises me," Wayne said, "is how quickly and completely he has gone from privileged free boy to servile brat."

"He must have had a great deal of the slut in him originally," the Corporal replied carelessly, "it just needed bringing out. The branding iron and a touch of the whip is enough with some. You see it with the new drafts. There'll always be few brats who're wiggling their tight little arses at the Master in the hope of an extra ration of brat swill with the tribute brand freshly burnt into their bottoms."

"Now if when are you going to deal with this little turd," and I heard a dull thump followed by a shrill squeal as the Corporal clearly drove the toe of his boot into the little brat's ribs.

"As soon as I've finished fucking this whore's mouth," Wayne replied seizing hold of my head and beginning to pump my mouth with renewed vigour. A few seconds later he came and my throat was flooded with his cum. I swallowed desperate not to let a drop of the precious fluid dribble onto the ground. Wayne was a cadet not a freeman but even in his uneasy state, balanced between free and un-free, his cum held an almost a holy significance to a mere brat. Swallowing it was an affirmation of my submission to the rules of the Tribute Universe. To allow any to waste might throw doubts on that commitment and I would be lucky to escape with a mere flogging..

"How shall we do it?" Wayne asked prodding with the toe of his boot Billy's small naked body curled into a whimpering ball of misery at his feet

"Where the young Master has gone we will follow," the Corporal said with a short laugh. "Get the slut over on his belly and spread his legs and then you can do the job."

"Come on Billy. You heard. Get in position. Now," Wayne shouted and raising his staff over his head struck hit the boy hard across his arm just above the elbow.

Billy howled but did not move.

"Please Master please don't do it Master. I won't tell. I promise. Please…."

Wayne raised truncheon to strike again but the Corporal intervened.

"Come on, I know it's good fun beating a brat but we haven't all day. You take his wrists and I'll take his ankles and we'll soon get him over on his face," he said raising his voice to be heard above Billy's frantic pleas for mercy.

Together they rolled the squirming brat over onto his face.

"You," the Corporal said looking up at me while still keeping a firm grip of Billy"s ankles. "Get across his shoulders and pin him in place."

"No face away from me that way you can pull the little whore's hips up."

I got down across the boy's shoulders and leaning forward took a grip on either side of his narrown hips and pulling upwards I raised them from the ground. I knew what was going to happen but what could I do? If I disobeyed or agrued I would be beaten or worse. Anyway it was just Billy's bad luck. It was simply the way the Tribute World worked. That was the world we lived in and whose rules, cruel and harsh though they might be, we were bound to obey. How could anyone and particularly a brat like me, even if I was merely a pretend one and I was getting more and more uncertain about that, challenge that? If Billy had tried harder and shown himself to be a good obedient brat eager to please his betters as I had done he might have been all right, equally he might not. But he had made such a fuss about a little thing like having the Young Master fuck his bottom what could he expect? Maybe it was a hard fucking and maybe it had been torn and no doubt it did hurt but he was a Tribute brat and a pretty one and that's what happened to pretty Tribute brats.

"OK now I'll hold his ankles apart and Wayne you get between his legs and finish the job off."

The Corporal lifted Billy's ankles slightly and forced them as wide apart as they would go. Sitting across his back and leaning forward to pull his bottom upwards I could see brat's hole gaping and blood filled.

The boy struggled wildly pleading hystericaly for mercy. I couldn't see why he bothered. It was obvious he was going to receive none.

Wayne ducked under the Corporal's arm and knelt between Billy's spread legs. Gripping his staff with two hands, he lifted it and taking careful aim drove its point into the brat's hole.

Billy's scream was unearthly in its intensity and shrillness. His body convulsed as the stake penetrated his guts. Despite my superior weight and strength he almost threw me off his back. the Corporal lost his grip on one of the boy's ankles and a wildly flailing foot caught Wayne on the side of the head knocked him sideways. Then suddenly the boy was still.

Wayne scrambled to his feet and stamped hard on the boy's thigh. "I don't think there's any point in doing that," the Corporal remarked.

Wayne bent and took a grip of his truncheon pulling at it savagely trying to pull it clear of Billy's bottom.

"Try giving it a twist," the Corporal suggested.

Wayne graping the staff two handed and putting the heel one foot on the boy's rump to give added purchase, pulled and twisted at one time. With a loud sucking noise the staff suddenly came clear of Billy's bottom sending Wayne staggering backwards. A sudden flood of blood gushed from the boy's anus

"Say that happened as you were taking him up to the house and the young Master must have gone deeper than they had firt thought. They, the young master in particular, will want to believe it. Now let's get it up on the back of that cock-sucker of yours."

Chapter 18

Billy's small body was very light and I had no problem in keeping up with the cadet 's sharp pace. As I trotted along behind him I reflected on how sensible I had been not to resent or worse still, resist the harsh discipline of the Tribute system but to submit to it and try to show myself eager and willing to serve my betters. I had come away from the grove unscathed. It could so very easily been otherwise. Poor silly little Billy had shown that.

We arrived at a flagged yard at the back of the house. Wayne led me to the back door and telling me to dump Billy on the ground tethered me by the chain to my wrists to one of a number of rings set in the house wall. Wayne disappeared into the house and I squatted, the small slut's lifeless body tumbled on the paving stones beside me waiting for what came next. Brats hurried about the yard, none took any notice of me or the brat's dead body beside me. There was no reason why they should for neither a chained brat nor a dead one was remarkable in the Tribute world.

After a time the cadet re-appeared and my eyes lit up as I saw that he was carrying a strip of raw tripe. Greyish in colour and oddly lumpy in appearance it would in my days as a well fed free boy have filled me with disgust. After forty eight hours or so without food apart from a meagre bowl of swill and couple of tubes of brat juice my mouth watered at the sight. It was confirmation too, if the strip was for me and who else could it be for, not for Billy, he sure as hell didn't want it, that I had played my part as a Tribute brat convincingly and well. It just showed that a brat if it studied to please its betters could do well enough. Of course if it just spent its time whimpering and saying "please Master don't Master please," like that stupid little whore Billy it wouldn't last long and serve it right, it didn't have anyone to blame but itself.

The cadet, Wayne had seen my eyes fasten hungrily on the strip of raw flesh. Grinning he lifted it and swung it slowly in the air.

I had seen this little act played out often enough in the yard at home, usually by Dad or one of the men on the farm with some pretty little slut who had managed to please them. I knew what part I had to play if I was to earn that succulent length of offal. Though even if I had not I think instinct would have told me what was required.

Uttering plaintiff little whimpers I shuffled forward on my knees, smiling pleadingly up at the cadet towering over me. I was brought up short by the chain to my wrists. Still kneeling I strained against the chain uttering urgent little cries while Wayne held the tripe just out of my reach. Grinning he teased me with it, raising and lowering it in front of me but being careful to keep it always a few inches away from my mouth.

I knew he would never let me have it that way. I got my head down and brushed my head about his ankles still whimpering like a hungry dog.

I heard footsteps behind me. I realised I people were watching but I didn't care. All that mattered to me then was to get that length of greyish green flesh into my belly.

"Beg for it slut," Wayne commanded good humoured contempt apparent in his voice.

I squatted on my haunches imitating as near as I could a dog begging for food.

Wayne grinned and swung the strip of meat chucking it carelessly towards the house wall. I turned and crouching low scampered across towards where it fell.

"No hands slut," Wayne commanded laughing.

It had landed close against Billy's naked body. I got down on my knees and bent forward butting the brat's carcass to one side with my head so that I could reach the meat. I got my mouth to it. I crouched chewing on it eagerly, its ends hung out of my mouth, meat juice dribbled down my chin. It had picked up a certain amount of grit and earth from where it had fallen on the ground but it tasted good.

A hand reaching down from above me gripped me by the nose pinching my nostrils and pulling my head back. The fingers of a second hand dug into either side of my face forcing my jaws apart. The strip of offal fell from my mouth. In front of my horrified eyes the heel of a plain black woman's shoe ground down on the fragment of meat.

She grabbed me by the collar and pulled back on it as I strained forward trying to get at the fragment of flesh.

"Do you want to spoil the worthless brute Cadet" Mrs. Watkins demanded, "and what's happened to the little whore?"

"No Ma'am, I'm sorry Ma'am," Wayne replied contritely, "and I don't know understand what went wrong with the little slut Ma'am. The young Master fucked it good but he didn't tare it more than usual with a little one and I was bringing it up to the house to stitch and suddenly there was a gush of blood and stuff from its bottom so I got it up on Bobby's back and brought it up here. I think maybe the young Master did something to its inside. He did go quite hard and deep Ma'am."

"Richard's growing into a big lad," Mrs. Watkins conceded, pride in her voice. "Well, as they say, 'like father, like son' It's lucky brats are cheap."

She stooped and picked up the strip of offal in her free hand.

"Don't let me find you spoiling a brat again Cadet," she ordered as she pulled me to my feet. "Just because you got accepted by the Brat Police doesn't mean that I can't have you stripped and flogged."

With this parting shot she swung on her heel and keeping a firm grip on my collar marched me into the house.

The back door opened into a flag-stoned scullery. In a corner a large iron boiler stood on the floor. It was steaming quietly and the room was full of the pungent scent of brat swill. Mrs. Watson led me across to it and kicking my feet away from underneath me left me kneeling on the floor while she filled a battered and unwashed wooden bowl with the glutinous mixture of flake maize porridge and boiled cabbage that constituted the stable diet of us brats. She slammed the bowl on the floor in front of me.

"Come on get that inside you slut," she ordered clipping me hard on the back of the head, "and get a move on. I've got to get you cleaned up and in a fit state for the Master's bed and that'll take some doing - filthy brute."

With my hands bound I had to bend forward and push my face into the bowl. Unable to use my hands to hold it steady it slipped about on the paved floor until I managed to get it jammed up against the wall.

I was very hungry and soon I was licking the last fragments of swill from the bowl, my lifted bum wriggling enthusiastically as I did so, the wooden platter clattering on the flagstones.

"That's enough," Mrs Watson said taking a grip on my collar and pulling me away from the bowl.

Beyond the scullery was a large flag-stoned kitchen, hot and full of noise. Four cooks in full chef's uniform each assisted by a couple of naked brats laboured at an enormous Aga that ran along one side of the room Naked kitchen boys, their bodies slicked with sweat, stood at wooden benches chopping or scrubbing vegetables, stirring bowls or hurried about carry steaming saucepans.

Mrs. Watkins made her way across the kitchen to the Aga keeping a firm hold of the chain round my neck.

The cooks were busy preparing dinner for the master and his family. Mrs Watson spoke to each in tern discussing the menu and tasting the dishes.

"Treacle sponge with cream," the Pastry Cook replied to her query. "One of the Master's favourites. He likes old fashioned traditional puddings."

"Bring me the treacle," the cook snapped at a pretty dark curly haired brat who was assiduously stirring a small saucepan.

The lad hurried over and nervously held out the saucepan to the chef.

The man took it, looked into it and then swore angrily.

"You stupid little cunt," he snarled. "You've burnt the bloody stuff."

He smashed the saucepan down on the top of the lad's curly head and then as the boy staggered under the impact of the blow tipped the steaming and still bubbling contents of the saucepan over him. The boy screamed as the scalding semi-viscous fluid flowed down over his head and splashed his chest and shoulders in a scalding slowly congealing stream.

The cook grabbed the screaming boy by the shoulder and turning him away from the stove sent him staggering across the kitchen with a well aimed kick up the bum to the far wall. He banged into the wall and sliding down it collapsed on his bottom his hands clasped to his face still howling loudly. A couple of little sluts who had been scrubbing the kitchen floor seeing their chance abandoned their work and scuttled over to him. They wrestled his hands away from his face and began to lick enthusiastically at the rapidly cooling sweet gooey substance that had splashed over his face and chest. They were joined by a small stray dog who had come into the kitchen looking for scraps and couldn't believe his luck. A jumble of naked brat and canine bodies writhed and struggled on the floor while the work of the kitchen went on oblivious about them.

Mrs. Watkins led me out of the kitchen down a short corridor and into a large white tiled windowless room which seemed to be a combination of bathroom and surgery. It was lit by the cold unforgiving light of rows of fluorescent strips. There was a strong smell of disinfectant. The floor was ribbed with open runnels that drained to an open hole in the centre of the room. There was a large bath and an open shower beside it, hoses were coiled on brackets and buckets stood stacked on the floor. A number of white fronted cabinets with a decidedly clinical appearance stood against the wall. Incongruously, under a suspended bank of fluorescent tubes stood something that looked more like a stout wooden work bench than anything else. It had various rings and brackets attached to it and its scrubbed surface was blotched with dark stains.

Catching sight of it I started back.

"Come on Bobby," Mrs. Watson said patting me encouragingly on my bare bum, "you're not on that today. All we've got to do is to get you nice and clean for Master to fuck. Get a move on now or I'll think you don't want Master to fuck you and we know what happens to wicked ungrateful sluts who think like that don't we?'

Urged on in this way I moved reluctantly forward into the room until I was standing by the drainage hole in its centre. Standing there I could see that kneeling on either side of the door were two crop headed brats. Straight backed, knees spread wide, their hands clasped behind their heads, little boys' cocks rigidly erect, they looked model serving brats. There was a flush on their cheeks and a sparkle in their eyes that together with their hurried breathing that made me wonder what they had been up to together before Nrs. Watkins brought me to the room.

I felt Mrs. Watson's fingers fiddling with the cord binding my wrists behind my back. The bonds fell away. I cautiously moved my arms so that my hands were down against the sides of my thighs.

Mrs Watson opened one of the cupboards and took out a rather strange looking object, a large red rubber bulb with a shiny metal nozzle.

Catching sight of it I shifted uneasily. Dad had allowed me sometimes to watch him using instrument being used on brats at the farm. I had found that amusing but the prospect of having it used on myself was not at all funy.

"Now don't be a silly boy Bobby," Mrs Watson said firmly, "we've got to get you really clean for the master."

She shook some white powder from a brightly coloured cardboard box into a bucket which she then half filled with warm water. A soapy foam rose round the rim of the bucket. Squeezing the air out of the rubber bulb she pushed its nozzle into the bucket. She relaxed her grip on the bulb and it expanded sucking filling its interior with warm soapy water.

"Now bend forward Bobby and take a good firm hold of your ankles." she ordered as, holding the bulb and a jar of Vaseline, she advanced on me.

"Get your head right down and push your bottom up, legs slightly apart."

She moved behind me.

"Stand still , I'm just greasing your hole up so I can get the nozzle in there. Now Bobby don't make such a fuss you silly, there'll be a much bigger thing going in a great deal deeper before very long."

"Now push back Bobby just like you're shitting we've got to get the nozzle well into you . We don't want it all leaking out before it can do any good."

"There gently does it. We don't want to stretch your hole before Master gets at it. He's very particular about that. He likes to open up his sluts' bottoms himself."

I felt the fluid in the bulb flood into me filling my stomach making it feel tight and bloated."

"There we are. Now out with the nozzle." "Stand up straight and clamp that nice little bum of yours as tight as tight can be and jump up and down. We really want to clean your inside.. Come on higher. Keep those cheeks clenched, higher Bobby higher."

Urged on by Mrs Watkins, feeling that at any moment I would burst, my bottom clenched as tight as I could manage, I jumped and pranced. Stomach cramps began to rack my body.

"All right Bobby squat."

I crouched over the hole and the stuff flooded out of me as Mrs. Wakins towered over me and the two brats watched expressionless.

"That's enough," she said prodding my thigh with her toe.

"Typical brat," she grumbled to herself as she hosed the waste down the drain, "can't even be bothered to shit down the hole."

Suddenly I was caught in a blast of cold water as she turned the hose full on me. I turned away from the jet of cold water and she directed it straight up my bum.

She turned the hose off and I stood there shivering, water dripping from me on to the floor.

There was a roar of running water as Mrs Watkins turned on the bath. I stood watching at the water as it gushed steaming from the large double inflow pipe.

"In you get Bobby."

The order was accompanied by a sharp open handed slap on my bare bottom.

The water was pleasantly warm and I made to sit down in it but was checked by Mrs. Watson. She took a large sponge and began to wash my front starting at the top of my head, sending streams of warm soapy water coursing down over my face and chest. She applied the sponge with vigour and enthusiasm ensuring that my ears ant nostrils were not over looked while I stood passive my hands down by my sides. As she worked she whistled softly between her teeth like a groom brushing down a horse interrupting her whistling to make comments to herself about my appearance and physical development.

"Looked like he was blond before they cut all his hair off… nice shaped head… grubby behind the ears… good skin… not a trace of down on his cheeks… soft full lips… bodies as smooth and hairless as a five year olds… more flesh on him than most brats… raise yours arms whore I've got to wash under there… can't have you going to the Master's bed smelling of sweat… belly buttons nice and clean… not much between its legs… hardly know it's a boy."

Saying this she gave my balls, which I didn't think as small as all that, a sharp tweak and I squeaked in pain.

"Oh you've got some feeling in them," she sneered, "I thought that maybe that small and hairless you wouldn't feel anything. Tiny little prick too. I suppose its only good for peeing through."

I heard a suppressed giggle come from the two brats by the door. I felt my cheeks begin to burn but I knew I mustn't protest or argue.

"Turn round," she ordered, "We've got to get your bum clean for Master. There's some use for that even if you haven't got the equipment to squirt."

I turned round my eyes smarting. It was so unfair. All right, I mightn't be that big and I hadn't any hair yet but I'd been having wet orgasm for years. But I didn't dare answer back. I knew she was just trying to rile me, I'd seen my Dad doing the same often enough to some brat on the farm with the other men and us free boys standing round laughing at the sight of the little brute near to tears.

I felt her hand pressing on the back of my neck.

"Bend forward," she ordered.

I felt the damp sponge pressing into the cleft of my bottom.

"Master likes his tarts' bottoms as tight as can be. I mustn't stretch it but it must be clean."

"Come here you idle little turds and make yourself useful," she snapped at the two little sluts kneeling either side of the door.

They jumped to their feet and darted forward.

Mrs Watkins grabbed the one nearest to her by the collar round hid his neck and forced his head down into my bottom.

I felt his tongue pressing against the lips of my anus. It was obvious he knew what was expected of him without being told.

I reached behind myself and pulled the cheeks of my arse apart showing that I knew what to do as well. The boy slid the tip of his tongue into my hole. The sluts probing tongue sent a thrill through my body. I moaned and pushed my bottom back, encouraging him to go deeper.

Through the roaring of blood in my head I heard Mrs Watkins click her fingers again. The second brat slid to his knees on the floor in front of me and getting down low began to lick my balls.

Blood pounded in my head waves of darkness flooded over me. Then the two brats were sprawling on their backs on the floor and Mrs Watkins finger tips were pressing painfully hard into the tender flesh immediately behind my balls.

I stood there shivering as the lust ebbed away.

"Come with me," Mrs Watkins ordered, "and you two young brats as well."

Holding me firmly by the arm she hustled me from the room down a long flagstone floored passage up a flight of uncarpeted stairs and along another short corridor. I could hear the bare feet of the two sluts padding along behind us. We came to a green baize door. She pushed it open and we were out on the first floor landing that ran all the way round the central hall. The landing was thickly carpeted. On one side an open balustrade guarded the drop to the floor below. On the other stood a series of well spaced substantial doors. On either side of each door knelt a young serving brat its knees spread wide it's hands locked behind its bowed head. The air was filled with the sound of a low pain filled murmur rising from the floor below where the living statues endured their purgatory.

Mrs Watkins led the way across to one of the doors and pushed it open. It was in many ways just an ordinary country house bedroom. A large lofty room with heavily curtained windows looking out over lawns running down to the lake. It had all the usual furnishings, a double bed, a dressiung table, a wardrobe, a couple of easy chairs arranged around the open fire place. There was no fire there now in the summer months but you could imagine how warm and cosy it would be in the winter, dimly lit with the curtains drawn and the fire light flickering on the walls.

Of course the establishment of the Tribute System had brought some additions to the usual furnishings. A variety of whips and canes and other instruments of correction together with a selection of gags and restraints lay conveniently to hand on an occasional table just inside the door. A brat sized cage with stout metal bars stood discretely in one corner of the room. The carpet covering a couple of square metres of the floor at the base of the wall opposite the foot of the bed had been cut away and replaced by grey composite easy to wash flooring. Wooden beams with pulleys, chains and cuffs attached, clearly designed to restrain and stretch a brat's body were bracketed to the wall. A single stout post was set in the floor a half metre so out from the wall. Slightly more than a metre high the post had a metal ring near its top. Running through the ring was a short length of chain secured at one end by a link slipped over a hook set in the side of the post. The chain ended in a pare of cuffs with a metal clip attached to the link connecting them.

Keeping a firm grip of my arm she half marched, half dragged me across the room to the post.

"Kneel with your back to the post," she commanded.

"Hands behind your neck and get your head down."

I felt cold metal around my wrists and heard a sharp click as the handcuffs were locked in place. Her fingers fiddled with something at the back of my neck. There was a rattle as she tightened the chain pulling me back and up the pole. I realised she had locked the cuffs to the back of my collar.

She stepped back and kicked at my knees.

"Get them apart," she snapped, prodding at them savagely with the toe of her shoes.

"Right apart slut. Don't be shy you've got to show your Master what you've got down there - not that it's anything to shout about," she added with a sneer.

She kicked at the inside of my thighs forcing me to spread my knees as far apart as I could.

"And get your elbows back. You know the position perfectly well, get into it."

She flipped me hard cross my mouth with the back of her hand, her knuckles cracking against my lips. I tasted my own blood..

"That's right now hold that position or I'll smash your face up a bit more."

"You two sluts come here and warm the brat up a bit."

The two little brats who had followed us from the washroom downstairs trotted forward grinning broadly. One knelt down beside me and fastened his lips on mine. A second later I felt his companion quick tongue teasin and licking my balls as he pressed his face between my spread knees.

"Don't let him cum unless you want your bums bloodied, Bring him to the point but don't take him beyond it." I heard Mrs. Watkins say.

Then the brat busying himself with my genitals took my cock into his mouth and I felt his lips warm, soft and eager draw on it. The other brat's tongue slid between my parted lips and into my mouth. My blood seethed with lust as waves of the most intense pleasure swept over me. I forgot everything, the collar round my neck, the Tribute brand burnt into my rump, the humiliations and terrors of a slut's life.

And then suddenly the tide receded and I was kneeling naked and helpless my knees spread wide, my wrists secured to the post behind my head. I could see the two sluts kneeling on either side of me, not touching me, grinning evilly their little boy pricks standing stiff and erect. Whimpering I strained against my bonds pushing my hips out begging for relief, tears of frustration trickling down my cheeks.

"Disgusting brute." I heard a young voice say above me. "They're all the same…. Tribute filth."

Richard Williams, dressed in the usual ,light summer clothes of a free boy, t-shirt and the shortest and tightest of shorts showing a length of deeply tanned firm young thighs, was standing over me. Exuding an air of total self confidence and authority he stood looking down at me a contemptuous smile curling his lips. From my place on the floor I saw him not as another boy much the same age as myself but as an altogether different and superior being.

He pushed the toe of one trainer clad foot into my groin. Seeking some relief for my frustration I thrust forward trying to rub my hardness against it. All restraint, modesty or pride and long left me leaving only lust and fear.

With an expression of disgust he drew his foot quickly back.

"Oh Master Richard," Mrs Watkins said, "I'm just making sure the tart is really hot and randy for your father to enjoy."

She reached down and taking me by the chin tilted my face back She was holding a tube of brat juice in the usualo cock shaped container, flesh coloured, ribbed with swollen ersatz knotted blue veins. She forced its teat, in the form of a monstrous swollen pink helmet, between my lips.

"Come on Bobby," she said softly speaking in the simplified corrupt language known as brat speak, "be good little whore, suck on this. Show Mistress how good it is with its lips - pretend its Master's cock, full Master's juice."

I remembered vividly the comforting sweet taste of the juice I had been given earlier. I sucked enthusiastically on the obscene teat gulping down the thick cream like fluid.

"Hurry Bobby Mistress going in minute."

Faced with this threat I redoubled my attack on the tube pulling noisily on its pink plastic top.

"Would you like to feed the slut Richard," Mrs Watkins asked offering the bottle to the young master.

He reached out his hand for the tube. Mrs Watkins jerked it teat from between my lips and I whimpered a protest as I strained against my bonds in an attempt to reach the tube of brat juice.

"Here slut," Richard said the amusement apparent in his voice as he slipped the head of the teat between my eager lips.

"Greedy little brute," he remarked, as I once again drew hard and noisily on the bottle, to Mrs. Watson, before continuing. "I came along here looking for Billy. Dad said I could help you sow the slut's bottom up."

"Billy had a bleed and died" Mrs Watson said in a matter of fact tone of voice.

"What do you mean I just fucked his bottom, tore him up a bit - no more than usual."

"Richard," Mrs Watson said fondly, "you're getting a big boy. You don't know how big you are and you don't know your own strength."

"I suppose I did go down on the little whore a bit hard," Richard said thoughtfully, "but I didn't think he would go and die on me."

"Now Richard darling, don't upset yourself. He was only a brat. There are plenty more where he came from. Anyway it's quite likely he'd not last for more than a year or two even if you hadn't fucked him. You know how many don't and it's a good way for a slut to go, for all intents and purposes with its masters cock up its arse."

"Oh Auntie," Richard burst out laughing, "you don't think I'm bothered about killing the little turd. Why should I care a damn, its only a tribute brat. It's annoying though. Dad promised I could help you stitch its bottom up and now its gone and died and I won't be able to. Typical slut - no consideration for others."

"Such a dissapointment for you Richard. I am so sorry dear but don't worry, your Dad tells me he intends to have Bobby here before supper. He's sure to tear him a bit. You know rough your Dad is with his brats. Come to the brat's sick room after you've eaten and I'll help you sow his boy cunt up."

By that time my belly was full of brat juice and I was struggling to get the last drops od the sweet sticky fluid from the tube of brat juice. My body seemed to burn with excitement and energy.

Mrs Watkins lent forward and reaching between my spread knees pressed the flat of her hand against my testricles. I pushed back at it desperate to find relief for my aching cock.

Mrs Watkins pulled her hand away. Whimpering with frustration I tried to force my hips forward.

"I think we can leave him now for your Dad to enjoy. Come along Richard you better start getting ready for supper and you two brats too. I don't want you getting up to any of your little games with Bobby and have him taken off the boil."

I was left by myself, kneeling, naked, knees spread wide, with my back to the post, held there unable to move by the chain to my neck. Aroused by the attentions of the two brats and further stimulated by the special qualities of the brat juice I was in a state of high excitement. Despite the iron ring clamped tight about the root of my ball sack restricting the flow of blood, my cock jutted erect, its swollen pink head almost level with my belly button. Chained to the post with my wrists locked to my collar at the back of my neck I could do nothing to ease my frustrated lust. I could only wait, my cock throbbing, for my master with a mixture of excitement and dread.

Excitement because his coming, I hoped, would bring release to the fire burning in my loins. Fear because I had seen enough of Mister Williams and his household to know that he was a cruel and demanding master and that I was going to be hurt and hurt badly. But lust trumped my fears and I strained against my bonds moaning with frustration longing despite all my terrors for his coming.

Mister Williams was going to hurt me but in serving his lusts I would find release for my own. There was danger but there was also opportunity. He was going to hurt me, there was no doubt of that, but if I submitted willingly and tried hard to please him I might, however fleetingly, win his favour.

I had given up all hope now of release. Mister Warwick seemed to have abandoned me and without his help I was trapped. Mister Williams owned me and had power over me. If I pleased him the reward could be just an extra scrap of tripe in my feeding bowl, perhaps it would be more substantial, perhaps there would be no reward at all. However I had seen enough of him to know that one thing was certain. If I displeased him the consequences for myself would be painful and quite possibly fatal.

Time passed agaonizingly slowly. Fear, tension and lust built up inside me. Cramp began to rack my body. Tears of frustration and discomfort ran down my cheeks.

The door to the room swung open. Wearing slippers and a dark red dressing gown that almost touched the floor Mister Williams entered the room. His eyes rested on me and a cold smile curled his lips.

Short and rather fat he waddled across to where I knelt and bending forward over me his fingers fumbled with the steel cuffs securing my wrists behind my head.

His dressing gown fell open. Underneath it he was naked. A pelt of coarse black hair covered his chest and crutch spreading more sparsely over his legs and stomach. My face was inches away from his crutch where his balls hung heavy and his cock jutted up thick and cruelly curving.

My nostrils were filled with the smell of stale sweat and human waste, I pushed my face into his crutch and kissed the base of his cock where it rose swollen and demanding from the coarse jungle of pubic hair, feeling the blood pounding in the hard column of swollen flesh.

There was a click and my wrists were free. Mister Williams grabbed me by the collar and pulling my face out of his crutch, hauled me to my feet. Putting his hand under my chin he tilted my head back and kissed me savagely on my mouth. He thrust his tongue between my open lips. Breaking the embrace he turned me to face the bed and with a stinging backhander across my bare bottom propelled me towards it.

I remembered the little slut Billy lying on his back, his knees up on either side of his head, his hands reaching round and pulling open his bottom in an abject admission of total submission. That was the message I had to send to Mister Williams.

Looking back between my parted legs and raised bottom I saw Mister Williams drop the dressing gown from off his shoulders. I watched as he advanced on the bed his swollen cock wobbling in front of him.

He reached the edge of the bed and stopped. Gobbing on his hand he smeared saliva over his prick. I fought to hold back tears as I realised that that was the only lubricant that I was to be allowed. Gribbing me by my hips he pulled me bodily to the edge of the bed. For a moment he stood looking down into my face.

Then he spoke for the first time since he had entered the room.

"Filth, whore," he spat and he struck me between the legs with the back of his hand rapping his knuckles down across my balls

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