Zelamir

Slave Boy Hunter

A Tribute Boy Story

Book Two, Chapters 19-25

Chapter 19

Through tear blurred eyes I could see Mister Williams towering over me his swollen cock thrusting hungrily upwards from the dark coarse jungle of pubic hair that covered his groin. Fighting back my tears I forced a smile to my lips and wriggled my uplifted bottom, I hoped, invitingly.

I remembered asking Dad why he had taken the belt to a little slut as it lay sobbing on the barn's dirt floor, its hole oozing blood after being penetrated for the first time. The brat had screamed and whimpered but had not tried to resist as he had hammered his cock into its bottom. Dad replied that the slut had to be taught mere submission was not enough. It had to actively try to please.

I knew I was going to be hurt and hurt badly but perhaps if I managed to show Mister Williams that I not only accepted I was his slut but I also wanted to please him he might be just a little less hard on me.

"Fuck me Master," I pleaded pushing back to relax my anus and open its lips, "fuck me hard Master,"

Grabbing me by my ankles Mr Williams pulled my legs apart and forced my knees back so that they were pressed into the bed on either side of my head. Lying there, forced back on my shoulders, my bottom tipped up in the air, my finger pulling the lips of my apart, I could see, framed between my bare legs, Mr Williams's squat bulk looming over me. He was not a tall man but stripped I could see he was powerfully built. Broad shoulders, a barrel chest coated with a matt of coarse dark hair and heavy haunches gave an impression of brutal strength.

However my eyes were not focussed on the man's chest or shoulders but on the pale swollen column of flesh and gristle that rose, erect and demanding, out of the coarse black tangle of pubic hair between his legs. Ribbed with knotted veins and capped by a bulging helmet of pink flesh that stood proud, its tip level with the man's belly button, it dominated my vision. I knew that very soon Mr Williams would be using all his strength to hammer that monstrous rod of iron hard throbbing flesh into my bottom and felt sick with fear.

I did not need to imagine what that would involve. I knew too well. Often I had watched fascinated as my Dad introduced some weeping eight year old brat, new to service and fated to wear out the few brief years allowed to it in a never ending round of grinding toil on the farm, to the harsh realities of Tribute life. The brat learnt its first lesson bent over a bail of hay or, like me, on its back its knees pushed back on either side of its head, screaming as its was brutally raped.

Once I had asked Dad if I could have first go at some brat who had caught my fancy but he had said it was part of breaking a brat. A, brat once its bottom had been well fucked by its master, was much less likely to try to run. It seemed to take the heart out of the little brutes according to Dad. However, once Dad had finished, and the brat was lying whimpering on the floor blood oozing from its hole, then it was my job with vigorous applications of the strap and the boot to get it back on its feet and back to work . That was fun and it was always nice to be allowed to help.

Now though it was I who was going to catch it – not some snotty nosed freshly branded little eight year old Tribute brat who nobody cared a damn about. It was my turn to have that monstrous shaft of man's flesh hammered into me. My turn to have my bottom ripped open and my guts filled with man's seed.

I wondered if, like Dad said, having it done to me would take the heart out of me and then in a moment of awful clarity I saw myself as I really was, lying on my back, my bum tipped back in the air, offering myself to my Master and I knew that I was already there.

Mr Williams shifting his grip to my hips dragged me, handling me with as easily and as roughly as if i was a side of beef, to the edge of the bed so that my bottom was pressed hard against the front of his bare thighs.

He shifted and I felt the tip of his prick pressing against the lips of my anus. I pushed backwards and digging my finger tips into my hole strained to ease his entry into my body. He thrust upwards and I cried out as the pain tore though me.

"Whore," he snarled "push back you little cunt and pull your arse open," and briefly releasing his hold of my hips, he slammed his fist into my face.

My mouth filled with blood.

"Master," I moaned as I tried desperately to pull my anus lips wider apart.

"Cunt, whore, bitch," Mr Williams raved, apparently driven wild with frustrated lust.

He hammered his cock deeper and deeper into my bottom as I whimpered and moaned beneath him. As if through a mist I saw his face, distorted with lust, leering down into mine. As the pain bit deep and filled my body his face seemed to swim in front of me, drawing nearer and then floating away in the distance, its features dissolving into abstract patterns before reassembling and dissolving again. It felt as though a giant wedge was being driven into me splitting and tearing my bottom open.

He drove hard into me putting all the weight and strength of his powerful haunches behind each thrust. The force of his thrusts drove me up the bed until he was prone on top of me and I was crushed beneath his weight.

At last his prick was fully sheathed in my body. His hips slapped hard against my bare flesh as he ploughed my bottom in a series of long hard forward plunges. Then suddenly he was still, rigid, his breath rasping in his chest. I felt him surge deep inside me as he filled my guts with his seed.

For a moment he lay on top of me, inert, panting for breath. Then he rolled away and there was a loud plop as the seal between our two bodies was broken.

He grabbed me by my balls and twisted them.

"Over on your knees on the bed bitch boy," he growled.

I could feel the dirt oozing from my bottom dribbling down the inside of my thighs as I struggled to obey him.

"Get your head down on the mattress and arse up in the air," he ordered reinforcing the command with a stinging blow with the back of his hand across my bare rump.

I felt the mattress sag as he took his place behind me. Reaching over me he twisted his hand in my collar, grinding my face in the mattress. Slipping his other hand between my legs he caught hold of my balls and pushed upwards lifting my bottom higher.

Satisfied he gripped me by the hips and rammed his cock into me. I screamed as his iron hard member plumbed my already sore hole.

"Went in easier this time," Mr Williams remarked with a harsh laugh as he pounded my bottom and I moaned and whimpered under his remorseless assault.

"Stop moaning you lazy little turd and getting your bottom working. I might as well be fucking a lump of dead meat for the amount of effort you're making," he snarled reaching forward and clipping me hard on the side of the head.

My head ringing from the blow I began to tense and release the muscles in my bum massaging the man's cock as he pumped my hole. At the same time I started to move my bottom in contra time to his thrusting, pushing back when he drove forward, pulling away when he pulled back. The force and tempo of his fucking increased. His hips slamming down against my bum with shuddering force. The pain as he reamed my already sore hole with his vein ribbed cock grew in intensity. I began to sob, tears rolling down my cheeks.

Then suddenly Mr Williams grunted loudly and shot his load deep inside me. For a moment he lay on top of me moaning, his body racked by multiple orgasms.

He swung himself off the bed and twisting his hand in my collar dragged me after him forcing me onto my knees at his feet. His cock, that so short a time ago was swollen and buried in my guts, was inches from my face now shrunken and hanging flaccid, still oozing cum and stained with blood and other bodily fluids.

I did not hesitate. I knew what I had to do. I had seen Tribute brats made to perform this last service for their Master often enough in the past. I buried my face in Masters crutch and began to suck and lick the nauseous filth from his prick. As I sucked the lumps of congealed cum from the tangled jungle of his pubic hair I realised with a jolt that I had thought of him as Master and not as Mr Williams. Maybe I thought Dad had been right.

A cuff on the ear knocked my head away from Mr Williams's crutch. Following his pointing finger I saw that filth had trickled from my violated hole down the inside of my thighs to form damp patches on the carpet. Wearily I got my head down and began to suck the carpet clean.

I heard the door open behind me.

"Ah Mrs Watkins," Mr Williams's voice said from above me and I realised that he must have rung for the house keeper, "I've finished with the slut for now. Would you get him cleaned up and put a couple of stitches in him if you think it necessary. I want him on his feet at breakfast tomorrow."

"Very good Sir. But if you don't mind I'll get a few stitches put in him anyway. The young master Sir, he wants to try stitching up a brat's bottom and he was very disappointed he couldn't try his hand on Billy."

"Oh certainly Mrs Watkins we don't want to disappoint young Richard. What a fine young lad he is. I am really proud of him, the best sort of free boy, lively, eager to try his hand at everything and so well grown. Look what he did to Billy. I know the whore was only eight years old but I doubt there's many free boys who are big enough to do that."

"There can't be," he added laughing, "If there were there would be a distinct shortage of eight year old brats."

"I am sure Sir Master Richard is a fine young man and we are all very proud of him."

There was a certain note in Mrs Watkins's voice as she said this that puzzled me. It was as if the words, apparently doing no more than endorse her employer's remarks, had some extra significance.

"Yes, yes no doubt."

Mr Williams sounded a little flustered as he hurried from the room.

Mrs Watkins stood over me tapping her foot on the floor.

"Oh for God's sake," she burst out impatiently, "the filth is dribbling out of your bum faster than you're licking it up. I'll soon fix that."

Keeping my head down, sucking away at the soiled carpet, I heard her move away. A door opened and closed. She was soon back. A hand grasped me by the back of my collar, pressing my face down hard into the carpet.

"Keep your bottom still slut."

I gasped at the sudden access of pain as she plugged my hole by cramming it with loo paper.

A few minutes later she kicked me to my feet.

She hurried me back to the white tiled room where I had been prepared for Mr Williams's enjoyment, forcing me into a clumsy half trot with a hand through my collar. A couple of naked serving brats scattered in front of us as we passed. I heard them exclaim as they saw the wad of stained paper plugging my hole.

Then we were back in the room with its cold strip lighting and atmosphere of almost clinical cleanliness.

Huddled on the concrete floor in one of the row of cages that lined one wall of the room a Tribute brat stared out at the world with the dull hopeless gaze of one inured to servitude. Its cropped hair and deeply tanned skin that spoke of years working naked in the fields suggested it was a low quality little brute brought into the house only that day. Catching sight of the house keeper its eyes widened in alarm. With a sudden twist of its body it was crouched, trembling, pressed back against the wall as far from the front of the cage as it could get. I saw it was a girl and judging by her size and the hardly perceptible swelling of her breasts somewhere about twelve years old.

I wondered why she had been brought into the house especially as the Mistress seemed to share the usual prejudice of a free woman against using Tribute girls in the house (1).

I didn't spend much time wondering about girl for I had enough to worry about myself.

Mrs Watkins dragged me across to the open drain in the middle of the room. She made me stand with my back to it and then, keeping a firm grip of my collar forced my head down. I felt the fingers of her free hand pressing into the cleft of my bottom and then a sudden spurt of pain as she tore the plug of paper clear of my hole.

"Stand still blast you," she snapped reaching for a plain cardboard tube with a perforated cap labelled 'equine wound powder' that stood ready to hand on the end of the wooden work bench with the scrubbed top and the iron restraints

I cried out and squirmed as she applied the powder to my torn hole. The pain stung and lingered . I reached behind me desperate to somehow ease the pain. My wrists were seized and pulled in front of me.

"Keep you hands away from you bottom brat," she ordered snapping a pair of handcuffs around my wrists.

She dragged me across to the cage next door to Tribute girl's. Its door stood open. Forcing me to bend almost double with a hand on the back of me head she kicked my feet from underneath me sending me crashing down on the floor inside the cage.

I heard her slam the cage door shut and then the sounds of her retreating footsteps as she hurried away.

The disinfectant powder made my raw flesh burn as though a blow torch was being applied to my backside. I lay on my face for a few minutes whimpering before rolling over on my side and pulling my knees up to my chin.

I lay there nursing myself. I was exhausted but I knew there was no chance of my sleeping with the pain tearing at my bottom. I could try talking to the girl in the cage next door but what was the point. By the look of the slut she had known nothing but hard work and blows from the moment of her being tributed. She probably could hardly put one word in front of the other. It just wasn't worth risking a whipping (2). Anyway, I thought miserably, I was in enough trouble already with Richard coming to sow up my bottom after his supper.

And the concrete floor was very hard. I shifted uneasily on it trying to make myself just a little bit more comfortable. I was very tired… very tired indeed… my eyes closed.

I woke with a start. Mrs Watkins and Richard had just entered the room.

"There he is Richard," Mrs Watkins said, "I'll get him out and strapped down on the work bench for you while you get stripped off. He may bleed a bit and the filthy little brute is sure to pee itself at the least and you don't want to get your clothes dirty.""

"OK Auntie," Richard replied and I could hear the excitement in his voice, "but where's the brat in the next cage come from. I don"t think I've seen it about before."

"No you wouldn't have. I just had her brought in from the Home Farm. Your Dad is going to have her mounted by Tim," I recognised the name as being that of the surviving fighting brat who had fought to the death with weighted gloves in the dining room when Mr Warwick had first brought me to Mr Williams, "tomorrow morning to see if we can breed from him. Do you want to have a better look at the whore. Come on I'll show you."

Bending down she unlocked the door to the girl's cage and reaching in grabbed her by an arm and hauled her out.

"Come on you little turd get out here and let the Young Master have a look at you."

The naked girl stood, head bowed, shoulders slumped, hands hanging down by her sides, staring dully at the floor.

Mrs Watkins hit her hard across the back of her head. the sound of the blow reverberated round the room and the girl staggered and almost fell under its impact.

"Stand up and show yourself properly to the Young Master slut," she shouted. "Get your hands behind your head."

The slut hurriedly obeyed and stood her hands locked together behind her neck, her naked body trembling with fear."

"One of twins, out of a bitch who was a twin herself, had her first show of blood a couple of weeks ago I'm quite proud of spotting the bitch when she came up for Tributing. Just shows the worth of taking a little trouble going through the dealers sales catalogues."

"Your father was just beginning to take an interest in brat breeding and was wondering what the chance was of getting either Tim or Tom to sire a litter of twins they being twins themselves."

"Out of you too Aunt when you was doing your service too," Richard remarked cheerfully. "If she drops twin brats you'll be their grandmother. How do you feel about that?"

"If the bitch drops a set of twins and they're good strong healthy little whelps I'll feel grateful for being given another opportunity to show my gratitude to the Master that it has been my honour and privilege to serve," Mrs Watkins replied speaking with great seriousness.

"And you slut," she continued suddenly grabbing the naked girl by the chin and forcing her head up, "you filth, you must be proud and happy to be chosen to breed brats for his service. Hey?"

"Please Mistress Yes Mistress it very happy Mistress it Very lucky slut Mistress," the terrified girl whimpered in the debased patois of the usual to the servile class.

Mrs Watkins laughed contemptuously.

"Look at the bitch crying. She's always crying. God you should have heard the din she put up when the dealer separated her from her twin brother, screamed and yelled and howled and kicked up an awful din back then and hasn't changed much in four years of service."

"Turn round bitch, let the young Master get a good look at your rump."

"Well what do you think of that young Sir?" she said slapping the bitch on her rump.

"Nice enough Auntie but aren't the bitche's hips a bit narrow. I think maybe she'll struggle whelping."

"God bless you boy," the house keeper burst out half laughing, "you're your father's son sure enough. A real eye for the livestock but don't you worry. The bitch is young and fit, you'll be surprised how pliable her body is. She'll pup and we'll have her up on her feet and back out in the fields within a couple of hours."

"Now I know stitching up Bobby's bum with the brat screaming and everything will get you excited but I'm afraid your Dad wouldn't be too pleased if I let you fuck the bitch's bottom. He wants to be sure of the blood line of anything she drops and you could have had her up the arse but not after what you did to Billy. We won't breed anything out of her if you kill her. Of course you could fuck her mouth but that's not quite the same thing."

"Don't worry Auntie," Richard replied, "what I thought maybe I'd do is have Bobby suck me off after I've sown him up. I thought it would he a good lesson for the brat to make him pleasure me immediately after I've hurt him really badly. Teach him master comes first."

Mrs Watkins laughed heartily.

"Well I'd better get the slut out on the table for you."

She slipped the catch on the cage's door and I found myself dragged over to the wooden bench. She turned me so that my back was to the bench and then smashing her fist into my stomach, she sent crashing down on my bottom on it. Before I could recover my breath she had me lying on my back on the bench. She grabbed my manacled hands and fastened them to the bench above my head. Two thick leather straps ran tight, one round my chest and the other round my stomach, secured me in place on the bench.

"Get your knees right down on the bench either side of your head," she ordered taking a firm hold of my ankles forcing them back so that my bottom was tipped up in the air.

"Give me a hand Richard would you please," she said getting her hand behind my head and forcing it forward, "slip that iron bar through the brackets on either side of the bench, across the back of the brat's knees and under the back of his neck."

Richard came to stand by the bench. He was level with my head. I could not turn it because of the housekeeper's hand under it, forcing it up from the bench but looking out of the corner of my eyes I could see Richard standing close beside me. He was quite naked and visibly excited, the tip of his erect prick only inches from my face.

Picking up the iron bar I heard metal grate on metal as he forced it through the bracket on his side of the bench. There was a searing pain across the back of my right knee as he forced the bar past it grazing the skin. I felt the metal cold against the back of my neck and then a further jab of sharp pain as he drove the bar across the back of my left knee scraping the skin before sliding it through the bracket on the opposite side of the bench. I lay there helpless on the bench, my bottom tipped up in the air, my knees pinned to the bench on either side of my head by the iron bar.

"I'll just get a needle and some gut for you to sow Bobby up with Richard," Mrs Watkins said. "Meanwhile would you fetch that idle little whore over here and get her tongue busy cleaning his hole out."

I heard the sound of a sharp blow and a shrill cry. Then, looking up between my spread thighs I saw the girl slut being propelled towards me at a fast trot by Richard with his hand twisted in her collar. He forced her to the end of the bench where, bent back on myself, my bare bottom was open and exposed. He pushed her head down into my rump.

"Come on slut get busy with your tongue cleaning the whore's hole out," he ordered slapping her hard across the bottom to add emphasis to his command.

I whimpered as her tongue touched the soreness in my bottom. Then moaned with excitement as its firm tip worked its way between the lips of my anus, wriggling and forcing my bottom back, welcoming its intrusion.

"Brats really are disgusting animals," Richard burst out, "look a them. Bobby all excited and asking for more. The little slut tonguing him up the arse. Not a sign of modesty or shame. Between the pair of them."

"They're Tribute brats Richard. They don't think the same way as you. They don't feel the same way either."

"Well I think they are disgusting. Look that little whore Bobby has an erection."

Leaning over me he reached between my legs and began to rub my swollen prick with his thumb.

I cried out and fought my bonds as my body was racked with a massive orgasm.

"Filthy little brute," Richard exclaimed as he wiped his hand clean on the front of my thighs.

"What do you expect from a slut dear?" Mrs Watkins asked with a hint of impatience in her voice. "Now his bottoms clean and here is the needle."

Richard held the needle up to look at it.

Catching sight of it, I couldn't help myself, I began to cry.

Footnotes:

1. Bobby here is referring to a very common . phenomena in Tribute Life, the hostility of free girls and women to their servile counterparts. Perhaps because they perceived them as potential rivals they generally insisted on preferring serving boys to serving girls for domestic service and subjected those few girls they did allow in the house to even harsher discipline than the boys. As the system had to absorb roughly the same amount of girls as boys this meant girls were disproportionately employed as unskilled labour in the agricultural, mining or manufacturing sectors.

2. Bobby is referring to the generally applied rule that forbade brats speaking to each other except about matters directly relevant to their service. Brats do of course do chatter and gossip among themselves but they do so surreptitiously and if they get caught they are whipped or have their tongues cut out or pierced.

Chapter 20

"Look at the cry baby," Mrs Watkins sneered. Poor thing doesn't want his tender little bottom sown up.

Both Richard and Mrs Watkins laughed uproariously.

"Now I'll just check Bobby 's hole."

She moved to the end of the bench.

The bitch's head was suddenly pulled. away from my bottom. I gave a low moan of protest at the abrupt withdrawal of her tongue from my hole.

"Don't worry Bobby," Mrs Watkins chuckled, "you'll soon be feeling something else down there."

"The bitch has done a good job of cleaning Bobby's hole up. Just as well for her too. If she hadn't with all the time she has spent on it she'd have her bottom well bloodied. Let me get her back in her cage Richard and then you can start stitching."

I squealed as she casually stuck the needle into the inside of my thigh.

"You'll have a great deal more to scream about boy," she remarked as she turned away from me.

I lay on my shoulders on the bench my bum cocked up in the air unable to move. watching the blood from where the needle point penetrated my flesh trickle down the inside of my thigh.

I heard the click as the slut was secured in her cage and then Mrs Watkins was back standing at the end of the bench. I could only see her head and shoulders the lower part of her body being blocked off by my own raised bottom.

"Now Richard," she said, "the brat's hole has been cleaned up pretty well and you can see the extent of the damage. Nobody can say your father is a small man."

She must have touched my hole, even put her fingers in it, parting the torn flesh because the pain was excruciating.

"Lucky," she remarked, "your Father had this room sound proofed considering how much your mother dislikes being disturbed by a screaming brat. Now you want to keep the stitches as neat and as close together as you can. I think you should aim for four stitches on each side of Bobby's hole. If you can get that in there's a very good chance he'll heel up so cleanly that your Father could sell him as a virgin if he wanted."

"Now I'll get up to the other end of the bench and get a grip of his ankles to stop him waving them about when the needle goes in. And be prepared. Brats always squeal like stuck pigs when we sow their bums up. Try not to let his screams put you off."

"Oh Auntie," Richard's voice was one of amused indignation, "you don't think I'd be bothered by a brat's screams?"

"No dear of course not," Mrs Watkins said hastily. "Please don't upset yourself. "

"I'll just get down to the other end of the bench and get a good grip of the brat's ankles or he'll be waving them about like mad when you really start hurting him."

Mrs Watkins disappeared from my view and seconds later I felt my ankles firmly gripped and my feet forced down to the bench above my head.

"The needle is where I left it, stuck in the whore's thigh. I'll just pull Bobby's ankles as far as part as they'll go so you get as clear a view as possible of his hole… How's that?"

"Fine thanks, Auntie," Richard replied cheerfully..

I felt a sudden sting of pain as he plucked the needle from my thigh. The trickle of blood down the inside of my thigh from the puncture wound swelled to.a moderate stream.

Then the stinging pain and the blood were both forgotten as a pain, worse than the whip, worse than the branding iron, worse even than Mr. Wiliams's cock ripping my bottom open, tore through my body as Richard drove the point of the needle through the lips of my anus.

Frantically I fought against Mrs Watkins' grip on my ankles and the bonds securing me to the table but they were all unyielding. I screamed desperate pleas for mercy, promising I would be a good slut, a hot little whore, do everything or anything, if only the pain would stop.

My pleas were cut short as I experienced a fresh crescendo of agony as Richard thrust the point of the needle once again into the tender and already torn flesh. The room seemed to swing about me, darkness came and went as I swam in and out of consciousness. My screams seemed to come from a long way off.

Then suddenly Mrs Watkins let go of my ankles. The iron bar pinning my knees to the table was pulled clear. I was dragged from the bench only to collapse on my hands knees on the floor.

The toe of Mrs Watkin's shoe crashed into my ribs.

"Get up on your knees slut," Richard shouted twisting his hand in my collar and forcing my head into his crutch.

My nostrils were full of his animal smell, a mixture of stale sweat with an underlying hint of human faeces. Instinctively I tried to pull away and he swore savagely. He forced my head back. A series of for and backhanded slaps delivered with his free hand rocked my head. I tasted blood and my ears sang.

"Open your mouth and suck me turd," he snarled.

I heard the low sibilant hiss of a descending cane behind me and then an explosion of pain across my naked bum.

"Get on with it whore," Mrs Watkins screamed.

The cane slashed down for a second time. It felt as though a red hot iron bar had been laid across my bottom. Desperate to avoid a third stroke I took Richard's swollen prick into my mouth and sucked on it. There was no artistry or skill involved. I was beyond that. All I wanted to do was to satisfy Richard in the hope he would stop hurting me.

He grabbed me by the ears and began brutally to fuck my mouth. He drove hard into me with a long forward thrusts of his hips, driving his swollen cock head down into my throat. He held my head pressed so tight into his crutch that my nose was squashed flat against the front of his belly, buried in his pubic hair. My gullet closed around his rod fighting its intrusion, the blood roared in my head as unable to breath I began to loose consciousness.

Suddenly he shuddered and I felt his cock surge as he spurted cum deep in my throat.

He released his grip on my ears. I pulled my head back spluttering, fighting to fill my oxygen starved lungs with air. I fought hard not to let a drop of Richard's cum escape my mouth but I couldn't swallow and breath at the same time. The sticky metallic tasting fluid trickled from between my lips and flowed down my chin. I buried my face once more in Richard's crutch hoping to hide my failure. I licked the last drops of cum from the tip of his now shrunken and flaccid cock. With out warning Richard drove his knee into my chest knocking me backwards onto the floor.

"Disgusting brute," he said turning away from me and beginning to walk over to where his clothes lay folded on a straight backed wooden chair.

I saw Mrs Watkins advancing on me the cane raised ready to strike. I rolled over onto my front.

"Get back to your cage turd," she ordered. "Move it."

Crouched low I scuttled towards the open cage. Squealing in distress I moved as fast as I could but she still managed to land two hard cuts across my rump before I was lying panting on the concrete floor of the cage.

"God, Auntie," Richard had strolled over and was standing looking down at me as he pulled up his trousers over his hips, "Dad says he wants to see Bobby at breakfast tomorrow and we've marked him up a bit. I wonder how he'll react."

"Don't worry Richard," Mrs Watkins replied reassuringly, "he'll be proud that he has a son who knows how to break a tribute brat."

Richard made no reply but pulling out his cock from his shorts directed a stream of warm amber fluid over me. Zipping his flies up he walked off leaving me lying in a gently steaming puddle of urine.

I was sore and ached all over. I supposed I must have slept a bit during the night that had just passed. Then again I assumed that the night had passed, There was no way in that white walled windowless room with its bright merciless strip lighting to tell whether it was night or day. I couldn't remember going to sleep but neither could I remember Mrs Watkins coming into the room. Suddenly she was there urging the bitch out of her cage with a short length of rubber hosing. The squeals of the bitch and the heavy thud of the hose on her naked body must have woken me.

Now hosed and washed down the bitch was squatting her hands secured in front of her by a stout plastic tie, secured by a short chain running from her collar to a ring set in the floor.

Mrs Watkins had just forced a ball gag between the whore's jaws and was now engaged in fastening the buckles behind her head fixing it it in place.

Mrs Watkins came towards me gently swinging the three foot length of rubber hosing.

Seeing her coming for me I got myself painfully up on my feet. I had spent the night where I had first fallen just inside the barred gate to the cage. I crouched there waiting. As soon as she shot the latch and swung the gate open I scuttled past her. I was quick but not quick enough and the length of hosing thumped down had across my bare bottom.

She drove me into a corner of the room. And turned the hose on me. Trapped there I jumped and capered, squealing, as she played the ice cold jet of water over my naked body. Then I stood shivering as she sponged me down with water from a steaming bucket that smelt strongly of carbolic, the antiseptic burning in my open cuts and grazes .

"Follow me and keep up,"' Mrs Watkins snapped at me and then unhitching the bitch from the ring to which she was secured, gave a sharp jerk to her leash and led us from the room.

Mr and Mrs Williams together with Richard were having breakfast in the shade of a large parasol on the terrace overlooking the lake. A number of serving brats dressed in the shortest of spotless white tunics and nothing else hovered anxiously about them.

Mrs Watkins stopped a couple of yards short of the long wooden table at which the family was seated.

Unbidden the bitch and I dropped to our knees and pressed our faces to the paving stones. I do not know who made the first move, the bitch or myself, nor do I know how we knew to do it. I suppose it was simply an instinctive acknowledgement of the gulf that divided us two naked bruised and half starved Tribute brats from the privileged and comfortable life of those we served. There was no resentment or envy in that acknowledgement. The divide was too great for either. They inhabited a world of privilege and comfort from which we were for ever excluded except as slaves to tender to their needs and pleasures. And we did not, could not, question their right to rule and our obligation to serve and obey. Indeed kneeling there on the paving stones, the morning sun warm on my naked body, listening to the murmur of voices coming from tithe breakfast table, the scent of bacon and freshly brewed coffee tantalising my nostrils and reminding me that I had nothing to eat since the previous day, it seemed inevitable and right..

"What have you got there Mrs Watkins?" Mr Williams asked.

"Bobby and the bitch you are planning to have Tommy mount, Sir. You said you wanted them brought to you this morning."

"So I did, so I did. Bring them here please. Watkins has gone to fetch Tommy. I may as well have a look at them now."

Mrs Watkins led the bitch forward and I followed .

"Hands on top of your heads now. Come on show yourself to your Master, don't keep him waiting."

"Why have you got the whore gagged and her hands tied, Dad.?" Richard asked from where he lounged at the garden table. "It's not like the slut has any choice. If I fuck a slut I don't have them gagged or anything. I rather like hearing their scream."

"She's not going to be fucked by a free boy but by a slut Richard," Mr. Wiliams said pushing himself to his feet, "and that's very different. Both of them may enjoy doing it but that's not the purpose of it. The purpose is to get the bitch to produce a, or even better two, healthy whelps. It's important it's done right for that purpose. Left to themselves they might do it all wrong. Probably would do so in fact. Tommy after all has only had it in the mouth and up the arse. And you'd be surprised how often a bitch goes a bit wild and tries to bight the first time if it's being mounted by another brat. Doesn't happen with a free boy – she'd be too scared.."

"Bobby," Mr Williams continued, "come here."

Still keeping my hands clasped on top of my head I shuffled forward to stand directly in from ot him. I stood with my head bowed as he spent a minute or two looking me up and down.

"I gave the brat a good hard fucking but it looks to me you worked him over pretty thoroughly as well Richard," he remarked dryly.

"I'm sorry Dad you know how it is when you start hitting a brat. It's just difficult to stop."

"Don't worry Richard you know the saying 'a horse a brat and a walnut tree are all improved by a good beating'."

"Now turn round brat and show me your back."

"Few good whelts across his shoulder and rump too. That you as well Richard?"

"No Dad, Mrs Watkins, Dad," the regret in Richard's voice was clear.

"Well, well," Mr Williams said sympathetically, "you can take the cane to one or other of the serving boys after I've gone to the office."

"Which one Dad?"

"Which ever takes your fancy lad," Mister Williams replied carelessly before turning his attention back to me.

"Show me your bum slut," he ordered. "I want to see what sort of job the Young Master did in sowing it up."

I lent forward pushing my bottom out and reaching behind me pulled it's cheeks apart.

"Not a bad piece of work," Mr Williams remarked. "Bet you, Richard, the little turd screamed when you put those stitches in."

"He did a bit Dad."

"Loud as that?" Mr Williams asked and jabbed his thumb into my hole.

I jerked forward and screamed as his thumb dug into my raw flesh.

"I do wish you'd stop doing that round the house. Surely you could wait till you have the brute down the yard or somewhere well away from here." Mrs Williams, who had been silent up to then, protested. "You know when brats scream like that it gives me a head ache. Do show a bit of consideration for others."

"I'm sorry darling, I just wanted to see test how secure Richard's stitching was. Bobby won't scream again I promise you dear."

"Bobby turn round and face me."

"Look up Bobby, look me in the eyes."

Still with my hands clasped on the top of my head I turned and fearfully raised my eyes. He was not a tall man but he was taller than me and much bigger than me. I felt him looming over me, dominating me. He smiled but the smile did not extend to his eyes that drilled into mine, cold and merciless. I whimpered in terror.. His smile broadened and then without warning he drove his fist into my stomach. The blow delivered with all his weight behind it lifted me from my feet and sent me crashing to the floor.

"Stand up Bobby," he said softly beckoning me gently to my feet. "Come on boy don't keep me waiting."

Painfully I rolled myself onto my hands and knees and then clasping my hands. To my aching stomach struggled back to my feet.

"Stand up straight Bobby and hands on your head." His voice was as smooth and sweet as honey.

"Please Master," I begged hopelessly.

"Bobby, Bobby," his voice mocked me. "I didn't say you could speak. Bad slut. What are we to do with you."

He drew his fist back, making no attempt to disguise the coming blow.

I quailed away from him.

"Stand still Bobby. Keep your hands up on your head."

The seconds dragged out like hours. A single sob shook my body and then I began to cry.

Then and only then he delivered the second blow. I finished on my hands and knees on the paving stones at his feet, retching on my empty stomach.

"Ah Watkins you've brought Tommy I see," Mr Williams said cheerfully. "Looks a bit the worse for ware though. Just as well it's a Tribute slut he's going to mount. He's not exactly a pretty sight."

Mister Williams laughed loudly.

"Get off brat and be sick in the flower bed," Mister Williams said dismissing me with a hearty kick in the ribs.

"The weighted gloves did a lot of damage, Sir," Watkins spoke judiciously. "They've smashed up his face badly but I think more serious damage was done by the blows to his chest. By the feel of it they've stove in his chest on the side there. I'd say there's a danger of one of the broken rib ends piercing his lung if he moves too much."

"Well he's young and apart from the smashed bones, healthy and we've caught the bitch at just the right time. With a bit of luck he'll take quick and then it won't matter. We don't want him for anything else."

"I didn't think it worth getting the Vet to him Sir."

"Quite right Watkins. Waste of money, the way he's damaged it's not worth the expense."

"Get the frame out now. No point in wasting time and I've got an appointment in the office at eleven."

Two serving boys ran off to return a minute or so later carrying between them a trestle similar in appearance to a miniature vaulting box on which athletes with a broad leather covered top bar. Both the boys were grinning and their stiff little cocks lifted the hems of their short tunics.

Mister Williams grabbed the Tribute girl by her collar and began to force her towards the trestle. The girl struggled, digging her heels in, fighting against his grip. From behind the ball gag forcing her jaws apart came a shrill distressed keening.

"Darling," said Mrs Williams, "let me have the silly little whore. It'll be much less trouble."

Languidly rising to her feet she took the trembling child, she was no more than twelve years old, by the arm just above the elbow and began to lead her gently but firmly forward.

The slut was still reluctant, pulling away from her, her eyes wide and panic stricken.

"Come on whore," Mrs Williams spoke softly, encouragingly, "there's no point in struggling and carrying on your going to be fucked in the end however hard you struggle, and it's not too bad anyway. It's no more than thousands of little whores get and what is it anyway? just a cock up your cunt. What a silly little whore you are to make a fuss about it."

From the girl's blank terror stricken gaze I think she understood little of what was being said to her. However, encouraged by the tone of the woman's voice more than by anything she said, she allowed herself to be led forward until she was standing with the back of her knees against one end of the top bar of the trestle

She started at the touch of the padded leather covered bar but it was too late. Mrs Williams forced her firmly down onto the trestle while her husband and Watkins quickly freed the brat's wrists from the plastic tye that secured them together in front of her. They pulled her wrists back over her head and fastened them to the sides of the trestle. Then they drew her ankles back and secured them to the base of the trestle. The little slut lay on her back along the top of the trestle her legs bent and spread. The chains holding her in place clinked as she struggled against her bonds, the writhings of her spread eagled naked body watched open mouthed by the serving boys.

Standing between the girls spread legs Mrs Williams forced the brat's head back down onto the bench and held it there. With her free hand she began to kneed the gentle swell of one hardly formed breast. The child's struggles slowly quietened. The woman shifted her hand from the girl's head to the swelling between her legs. The slut forced her hips upwards spreading her knees as wide as she could, I could see Mrs Williams slip two fingers inside her. The girl rolled her head from side to side , spittle began to dribble from her mouth as she whimpered in excitement.

Watkins had brought Tommy to stand close to the trestle to which the girl was tied. It was clear that Tommy's cracked ribs pained him badly. He was hunched over to the left, his ribcage on that side was dented and deeply discoloured. His face was swollen and heavily bruised, an eye was closed and his nose had been knocked sideways. His shoulders and rump were ribbed with angry wheals from a recent beating. So bruised and battered was the lad's face that it was effectively expressionless. The only clue as to his feelings as he gazed down at the prone naked body of the little slut was his boy's cock standing erect and quivering with excitement.

Watkins stood behind the boy, one hand resting on the lad's bare shoulder, the other reaching round his waste to gently finger his stiff little prick and almost hairless balls.

"The whore's ready for mounting," Mrs William's announced pulling her fingers out of the girl's slit.

Watkins pushed the boy forward and taking his cock between finger and thumb guided it into the child's vagina.

"Come on boy," Watkins ordered smacking Tommy across his bare rump with the flat of his hand, "let's see you make a whelp for your Master."

"Two whelps with any luck," Mr Williams corrected. "Both brats are twins bred from twins."

Tommy showed no reluctance and went hard to work driving, with sharp thrusts of his hips, his cock into the slut. Soon his harsh panting mingled with the girl's shrill animal cries of sexual excitement and the laughter and cheers of Mr and Mrs Williams.

The whore's fucking was short and brutal and soon Tommy was standing his body rigid, arched back, still, except for the muscles working in his rump as he pumped his youthful cum into the girl.

Then suddenly Tommy was finished, slumped forward between the little whore's parted legs, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. He was allowed no rest.

"Come on boy," Mr Willliams ordered, "a healthy young brute like you can cum six times in the hour."

Before Tommy had a chance to withdraw his cock Mr Williams had got a grip on his collar with one hand. Sucking on the first and index fingers of his free hand he thrust them into the boy's hole. I watched as he forced his fingers into the brat's body, twisting them as he did so. Jimmy's head went back and he whimpered in excitement. The bitch underneath him stirred and began to work herself along his hardening cock. Soon the two brats were once again going full tilt at each other in a frenzy of lust.

Mr Williams managed to bring Tommy to the point of orgasm four more times before he accepted the boy was exhausted. Withdrawing his fingers from the lad's bottom with a noticeable plop he wiped them clean on the side of his rump leaving a smear of brown shit across the boy's bare flesh.

"Take the boy away and rest him for four hours before have him mount the bitch again," Mr Williams instructed.

"Now I must go to the office. Get my brief case."

Instantly a serving boy appeared carrying it.

Mr Williams glanced round till his eyes rested on me kneeling on the paving stones at the edge of the terrace.

"Bobby," he said softly, "you take it. I haven't finished with you."

Chapter 21

"I'm off to the office now darling," he said to his wife, "I'll be back for dinner."

I scrambled to my feet. As he bent to kiss his wife I stole a look at the brief case. It was a slim elegant object made out of the finest grained honey coloured hide. It had a small discrete but very strong lock and it's corners were sheathed in gold. I realised that it was worth many times what the highest quality brat would fetch. I was very grateful that I had managed to catch it when Mr Williams had thrown it at me. I was sure I would have been given very short shrift if I had dropped it.

Carrying the brief case I followed Mr Williams into the house and out though the great double doors in the hall. A black Rolls Royce stood glistening in the shade of the porte cochere. A uniformed chauffeur with peaked cap, breeches and leather gaiters stood rigidly to attention holding the rear passenger door open. He saluted Mr Williams as he got into the car. Closing the door on his employer the chauffeur sent me scuttling round to the other side of the car. As I took up position kneeling on the floor my knees spread wide the car drew smoothly away.

Mr Williams clicked his fingers and pointed impatiently at the brief case. I passed it to him and watched as he unlocked it. Taking a sheath of papers out of it he was soon engrossed in their contents.

The car purred quietly on. Kneeling on the floor I could see nothing of the passing countryside. My attention anyway was focussed on my master and in trying to anticipate his needs. I had been branded less than forty eight hours but I had learnt fast.

Mister Williams read quietly through his papers occasionally making notes with a gold fountain pen. He seemed oblivious of my presence until he gathered his papers replacing them in his brief case just before the car rolled gently to a halt. The car had stopped outside a modern office block in the commercial heart of Cardiff. The building rose above us, an imposing structure of glass and concrete, with a great notice in stainless steel over large sliding glass doors saying in tall letters "WILLIAMS ENTERPRISES".

I scrambled out of the car holding the brief case.

Mr. Williams hurried through the glass doors into the building. I followed a couple of yards behind him.

I didn't dare look around me much but I was struck by the total absence of other Tribute brats. Generally speaking they, or perhaps I should say we, were everywhere; in the country labouring in gangs in the fields, trudging in silent columns along the roads bent under our loads, thronging the streets of towns, serving in people's homes. Naked, branded, iron collars round our necks we seemed to be everywhere.. But here in the business centre of the city there were few or none to be seen. After the great crisis that preceded the New Order brats largely replaced oil as the motive power of commerce and agriculture yet here where, these profits were reaped and organised, the wretches whose labours created them were excluded.

All around me I saw men in suites, women in dresses. My nakedness up to then had not bothered me too much. It was an additional badge of servitude, but being one of many made it seem natural and inevitable. Now, one naked boy among a throng of clothed adults, I felt my humiliation to the full.

But whatever I felt I knew I must not loose sight of Mister Williams. The double doors lead into a marble floored, glass walled atrium with a central fountain that spurted multiple jets of water into the air and fell in a silver shower that glittered in the sunlight. Smartly dressed people hurried busily to and fro. Mr Williams strode forward. People gave way to let him past. I scurried after him conscious of people eyeing me, of the bruises on my naked body, the collar round my neck and the Tribute brand still raw and fresh on my bottom.

He exchanged curt greetings with the uniformed security guards who manned the reception desk. Beside the desk a free youth wearing dark tight trousers and a striped waistcoat over a white shirt stood waiting by the lift's open door.

"Morning James," Mr Williams said walking into the lift.

The youth followed him into the lift and I darted in after him just making it before the lift doors slid closed.

I found myself standing in the lift between my master and the free youth. I felt instinctively that something was wrong.

Mr Williams clouted me hard on the side of the head.

"Kneel," he barked.

My head ringing from the blow I dropped to my knees. Mr Williams drew his foot back and drove the toe of his shoe into my crutch. I doubled over clasping my hands to my testicles, whimpering with pain.

"Stupid little brute get down on your knees on the floor where you belong," I heard Mr Williams snarl from above my head.

"A new brat Sir?" the youth asked politely.

"Yes but it won't take long to knock a proper respect for his betters into him."

"I thought so Sir, the brand on his bum is still raw."

"You're an observant young man. I think maybe you'll go far."

"Thank you Sir," the youth was obviously pleased at being praised by his boss.

"And Sir," he added as the lift glided to a halt and the automatic doors slid open, "my Mother said to thank you for the joint you sent her last week. She said it was much better than anything she gets from the butchers."

"Glad she liked it," Mr Williams said as he walked out of the lift, "it's all home reared and that makes all the difference I think."

"And just give that slut a boot up its arse will you. Hurry the idle brute along a bit. It seems to think it can spend the whole day feeling sorry for itself just because it got kicked in the balls."

I struggled to get to my feet but I was not a quick enough. I was only half way there before a massive kick up my backside sent me, bent double, staggering forward out of the lift.

Mr Williams crossed the corridor opposite the lift and opening the heavy dark wooden door opposite, walked through it.

"June," he said speaking to the smartly dressed young lady sitting behind a desk just inside the door, "this is Bobby he's new and needs training. If he gets anything wrong take the strap to him, that's the way brats learn."

"Where is the strap?"

"Ah there," he continued as the woman picked up a thick leather belt that lay ready to hand on the desk before her.

"Very good, June, now come round this side of the desk and give the turd a taste of it so he knows what to expect and encourage him to try hard."

Smiling coldly June picked the strap up and came round the desk towards me. She advanced on me gently swinging the strap that hung from her right hand. I watched with open mouthed horror as the light caught its metal tip as it moved.

"Three across the front of the thighs," Mr Williams ordered. "Stand still Bobby or I'lll have the security men tie you down and skin your shoulders and arse with June's strap."

I glanced up into the woman's face hoping to find some sign of pity but there was none. Her eyes were hard and cruel, her lips parted in excitement. Suddenly there was an explosion of pain as she raked the metal tipped strap back handed across the front of my thighs. Blood welled from the broken flesh and trickled down the front of my legs.

"Stand still and keep your hands down by your sides," Mr Williams snapped at me.

Whimpering I forced myself to obey. June drew her hand back to deliver a second cut. My nerve cracked and I clapped my hands to the front of my thighs try to ward off the blow and then cried out in pain as the metal tip cracked down across my knuckles.

Mr Williams moved fast grabbing my wrists and pulling them back behind me.

"Useless turd," he snarled, "needs to be taught the meaning of discipline. It can't even obey a simple order."

June lashed me twice more across the front of my thighs as I jumped and howled in Mr Williams's grasp.

"And one more across the rib cage to teach it the importance of obedience," Mr Williams ordered.

"Do you think it will mark him permanently Sir," Miss June asked a second or two later raising her voice to be heard above my sobbing and looking at the bloody stripe scored across the tightly drawn flesh of my rib cage."

No, the brute's young and healthy," Mr Williams said releasing his hold of my wrists, "It'll heal cleanly."

"And shut up that stupid noise. I can't hear myself think."

He drove a savage punch into the side of my head. I staggered and went down on one knee.

"Now June what have you got in the way of appointments this morning?"

"We've got a video conference with Mr Oblomov at midday. There are a few loose ends to tie up before the merger of your coal mining interests. Before that you have nothing scheduled but Doctor Braithwait telephoned earlier and said he had the results of the kidney function tests and he needed an opportunity to discuss them urgently so I've asked him to come in at eleven."

"Very good. There's just time before Doctor Braithwait is due to have a quiet cup of coffee and look through the mining papers. You're in charge of Bobby now. Slightest error or mistake of whatever nature whip him hard. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir and I know brats should be whipped hard and often, specially when they're being broken but I can't help thinking about my poor little brother Nicky when I see a brat like Bobby all bruised and covered with welts. I wonder what sort of state Nicky is in now. It's almost seven years ago that Dad took him to the Tribute Master for branding. I remember how we all cried as he was led away."

"Well there's one thing that is certain June and that is if Nicky is still alive he's very different from the little boy you remembered. I don't say boys that are Tributed are born different but they soon finish up different. The branding, the whippings, the being half starved and worked to exhaustion soon reduces them to the purely animal. Maybe they're not exactly subhuman but they are a different and inferior sort of human being than us. They don't think like us. They don't feel like us. They are deprived of the higher instincts and ideas that distinguish us from the animal. Pride, ambition, modesty are all stripped away. They live just for the moment, their world is confined to sex, food and dread of the lash. The boy you knew as Nicky as good as died at the moment the Tribute brand was burnt into his flesh. The brats are treated as mere animals and they quickly become exactly that."

"I'm sure what you say is true but I still can't help remembering Nicky and wondering about him."

"Well it may sound stupid June but I wonder if free boys are really happier or even are as truly free as a Tribute brat. You think of that lad who works the lift. He's 'free' but just think how limited his freedom really is by convention and by the expectations of society. He has to get up at a certain time, dress in a certain way, go to work at a set time and so on. And he's expected to be ambitious, always trying to get on, never content. It's a long boring life of unending drudgery and one that will end in failure because a free man or boy always wants more than he has."

"Anyway one thing I am sure of you wouldn't want your Nicky back now and he would be miserable if you did have him. He wouldn't know how to behave, he would talk in that stupid brat argot, he wouldn't even be able to think like a free boy. So get me my coffee now like a good girl."

Mr Williams laughed and taking the brief case from me walked through the door into his inner office leaving me behind with Miss June.

"Bobby," she said, "watch me and listen carefully. I'll show you how Mr. Williams likes his coffee. In future you'll have to make it for him and if you don't do it right you'll suffer for it."

A few minutes later I followed her into the inner office gingerly carrying a cup of coffee on a silver tray

"Don't say anything. Put it on the desk by Mr Williams's right hand and go and kneel in the corner of the room opposite the desk. Get in position, knees spread wide, bottom pressed down on the floor back straight, head bowed, hands clasped on the back of your neck," she instructed.

"Good now stay like that till you're told different."

Miss June returned to the outer office leaving me alone with Mr Williams. He sat shuffling through the papers on his desk occasionally muttering to himself. I remained kneeling in the constrained manner required. It was not so bad at first but as the seconds and then the minutes crawled by my muscles began to ache and then to scream in protest.

I shifted slightly, trying to ease my aching muscles. The movement must have caught Mr Williams's attention. He looked a up and frowned. Getting slowly up from his chair he walked over to the closed door and took a light scourge of knotted leather thongs from the hook from which it hung on the inside of the door.

"Bobby stay as you are, don't move," he said very quietly as I cowered away from him.

Swinging the scourge gently he moved a couple of paces nearer me.

"Miss June told you not to move , didn't she boy?" he asked, his voice still mild and reasonable.

I tried to reply but my eyes were fixed on the knotted thongs of the scourge swaying ever so gently in the air just a few feet from me and the words would not come.

"Can't talk, perhaps this will help you find your tongue," suddenly he raked the thongs of the scourge across the front of my chest, directing the knotted ends, curling round its side, into the tender flesh of my exposed arm pit.

"Keep your fucking hands locked on the back of your neck," he hissed and a second later delivered a back handed cut with the scourge directing its thong ends into the other arm pit.

I managed somehow to keep my hands clasped behind my neck but the pain bent me forward from the waste.

I heard the door open and Miss June's voice saying "Doctor Braithwait, Sir."

"Ah come in George. I was just giving this useless brat a hiding. I've just about finished for the moment."

Mr Williams brought the scourge hissing down across my bare shoulders. Then he drove the toe of his shoe into the front of my chest forcing me back on my heels. Through my tears I could see the two men looking down at me.

"The brat's been knocked about but under all the bruises you can see it's a well grown high quality young brute," the Doctor remarked.

"Fourteen years old but it was only Tributed three or four days ago," Mr Williams replied with a hint of pride in his voice.

Dr Braithwait reached down and tilted my head back.

"You've taken him far in those few days, Clive," he remarked judiciously, "not a sign of fight or resentment left in him."

"Well," he continued apparently loosing interest in me, "I am afraid Clive I have bad news for you."

You've had the results of the tests?"

"Yes and things are as I suspected. Your kidneys' functionality is impaired and it is continuing to deteriorate. They are now about 29 percent efficient. Once they get down to the lower twenties we will have to intervene."

"Intervene?"

"Yes and here things have at least improved since the introduction of the Tribute system. In the old days that would have meant at least two years of dialysis, a tedious and very tiring process while you waited your turn for a suitable transplant. Those were in very short supply and there was no question, at least in the UK, of buying yourself one and getting to the head of the queue that way."

"Now with the Tribute system there is a free market in brat kidneys and you can either buy one 'off the shelf' as it were or, if you want to be assured of a really high quality item coming from a strong healthy brat and are prepared to pay a little bit more set about now finding a suitable brat and keep it till you need its kidney. Then we'll harvest it immediately and slip it into you, no dialysis and no hanging about."

"Sounds good."

"And some of the cost of the operation can be met from the sale of the brat's second kidney. In the old days you couldn't do that. You had to let the donor keep it so that he or she lived but with brats that doesn't apply any more. Harvest both kidneys, keep one for yourself. Sell the second one. The brat dies of course but that's of no importance."

"That sounds an excellent idea Doctor but how do I set about identifying a suitable brat?"

"We can do that if you like. We'll start testing for a suitable brat donor. Of course when we have identified one we'll seek your approval. We recognise it is an intensely personal decision and we will continue searching till we come up with a brat with whom you are perfectly happy."

"What we will be looking for is a strong healthy brat, which means one in the last couple of years of service, preferably recently Tributed, because free boys being better fed and worked less hard are generally bigger and stronger than brats of the same age. Which brings us back to this animal here," he said prodding me with his toe.

"Bobby," said Mr Williams thoughtfully, "he should do all right and it would save a deal of trouble, the brat being immediately to hand."

"We'll have to test him for compatibility and then for the healthiness of his kidneys. We don't want to replace one unhealthy kidney with another unhealthy one but it's unlikely that, that will be a problem. One of the advantages of the Tribute system are that the brats are so young; not more than sixteen. Hardly time for them to develop any problems."

"The other thing we have to test for is sexually transmitted diseases"

"That should be no problem," Mr Williams interrupted, "I got him fully warranted and since then the only person to fuck the slut's arse has been myself and an excellent fuck he was too."

"Well," Dr Braithwait said laughing, " I'm sorry to maybe depriving you of an expert little whore. If the tests show him to be compatible you'll just have to penetrate the boy's bottom as often as you can to make the most of it before we need a kidney from it"

"Now if you would like to have the boy brought round to my clinic my technicians there will carry out the tests. If you get him round there before midday we should get the results tomorrow morning. I'm sorry not to be able to take him back there myself but I have another consultation this morning and I'm slated to harvest the kidneys from four brats this afternoon"

"Now I must go this is one of my busy days,"

He turned towards the door just as Miss June opened it from the outside.

"Mr Oblomov is on the phone, Sir, he says he knows he is a bit early but would be obliged if you could take his call now," she said standing to one side to let Dr Braithwait past.

"Oh put him through would you and take Bobby out and have someone from security take him round to Dr Braithwait's clinic for some tests.

"Yes, Sir. Come on Bobby move yourself, outside, quick."

Chapter 22

"I want someone up here to take a brat over to Dr Braithwait's clinic and bring it back.."

She listened for a few seconds as the phone squawked back at her.

"I don't know. Not more than a couple of hours I would think. It's only wanted for some tests."

A few minutes later there was a knock at the door and a large shaven headed man wearing a dark uniform and highly polished boots came into the room.

"There he is Michael," Miss June said jerking her thumb at me, "and Mr Williams wants him back. You can give him a moderate beating if he deserves it but keep your cock out of him."

The man said nothing but, using his right hand to release the handcuffs hanging from his belt advanced, on me. He twisted me round so my back was to him and grabbing my wrists and pulled them behind my back. I felt cold metal tightly circling my wrist and heard a sharp click as he locked the handcuffs in place.

"Turn round," he ordered and snapped a short leather leash to the slave collar locked round my neck.

"Bring him back when the tests have been completed Michael," Miss June said as the security man led me from the room.

The foyer was as crowded and busy as ever. Few people however paid any attention to as I was led across it, bruised and naked, by the leash attached to my collar. A few eyed me speculatively, their eyes dwelling on my testicles squeezed provocatively out from my body by the metal cock ring tight round the base of my balls. Just one was sufficiently interested to fumble at my crutch as I was led past him.

Then we were out of the building on the broad steps leading down to the street. With a sharp jerk on the leash Mister Michael hurried me down the steps. An old lady passing by rapped me hard across the front of the shins with her walking stick.

"What do you mean young man," she berated the security man, "by allowing filth like that to obstruct the highway for decent people. Get the little brute into the gutter where it belongs," and she lashed out again at my legs with her stick.

A smartly dressed businessman, hardly breaking stride as he hurried past, drove his knee into my backside sending me staggering across the pavement and into the gutter.

"You stay there where you belong slut," the old lady yelled bring her stick down hard across my bare shoulders.

A sharp jerk on the leash set me stumbling along the gutter, my shoulders aching, my eyes smarting with tears Dad had once explained to me that as free citizens we all had a responsibility to keep the brats in order. It seemed to me at the time to be rather a good idea now though I was not so sure.

Doctor Braithwait's clinic was located in a large Victorian house on the edge of the financial district. At the bottom of a flight of steps leading up to a modern glass and chrome front door was a notice pointing down an alley leading to the back of the house reading "Deliveries".

Houses towered up on either side as I followed Mister Michael into the alleyway. Away from the sunlit street the air was cold and damp striking chill against my naked flesh. Instinctively I hung back sensing something evil and cruel. A sharp jerk on the leash and a growled curse set me moving reluctantly forward again.

A stout door with double locks was set in the wall of the house at the furthest end of the alley. The guard rang the door bell. I could here it ringing somewhere in the depths of the house. There was a long pause and Mister Michael was raising his hand to ring the door bell again when I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. There was a rattle of keys followed by the sound of bolts being drawn. The door opened and a fat bald man stood there looking at me with small pig like eyes. He was dressed in a white shell jacket and white trousers both stained with dark red blotches of dried blood. Om his chest was a name badge identifying him as Peter Wilson Nursing Orderly Grade III.

"If you brought that slut here on spec in the hope of a few quid for its carcass you can take it away again," he said addressing Mister Michael in a high pitched voice that was in sharp contrast to his considerable bulk.

"It's here for tests, sent round. By Mister Williams of Williams' Enterprises," the guard replied.

"Oh then you can leave him with me. I'll take him in – come here slut," and the male nurse reached out for me as I cringed away.

"I was told to wait till the tests were done and then to take him back," Mister Michael protested.

"Then you'd better come in as well. Though you'll have a long wait," the nurse added with evident satisfaction, "Doctor Braithwait will not be here till after two and then there are four sluts to be harvested."

He opened the door wide and stood aside to let us past. I could see nothing beyond him except a dark corridor, lit by a single bare electric light bulb, stretching back into the house.

The fat man with his shrill voice and little pig's eyes, the gloom of the house and alleyway together with a general feeling of menace and foreboding terrified me. In a sudden panic I threw myself backwards, fighting to break the guard's grip on my leash.

The guard swore fiercely and twisting the leash round his wrist struggled to subdue me.

"Let me get at him," the fat man said pushing past the guard.

His hand shot out towards my crutch. I tried to turn way but he was much too fast for me.

He gripped my balls squeezing and twisting them, drawing me towards him.

"You certainly know how to make a brat do as you want," Mister Michael remarked.

"Tricks of the trade," the fat man said cheerfully. "I'll take him in now. You just follow along."

"Come along now sweetie," he said twisting my balls so hard that I doubled up crying with pain. "Come with with your nice kind Uncle Peter. Don't make Uncle twist your little hairless balls off. He will you know if you're a naughty little brat."

And he squeezed and twisted even harder.

"Now come along with Uncle," and keeping a firm grip on my balls he led me down the corridor to a plain but stout wooden door.

He pushed it open and I saw in front of me a medium sized room, just about the same size as the snooker room in the youth club. It was lit by a double row of six fluorescent tubes with a white tiled floor and walls. In the centre of the room was a table about the size of a small single bed. It had a marble top with raised edges and runnels carved into it draining into a metal topped hole at one end. Stout iron rings were secured to each corner and over it hung a hooded battery of fluorescent tubes concentrating their white pitiless light on its marble surface. To one side of this stood a second smaller table. On its Formica top were ranged a variety of instruments, keen bladed scalpels, sharp knifes, strangely shaped clamps, a variety of saws and a many toothed steel disc attached to a bulky handle with a metal catch glinting in its side.

On the opposite side of the marble topped table stood a large open topped zinc container mounted on four wheels. Looking into it I saw that in the centre of its base, which like its sides was marked with dark stains, was a circular hole blocked by a black plastic plug.

In one corner of the room stood a small cage and into it were crammed, the cold white light glistening on their naked bodies, four brats, from their size between thirteen and fourteen years old. Like me their wrists were pinioned tight behind their backs. The one thing that distinguished them from dozens of their kind was an orange plastic tag clipped to each of their left ears From the blood still oozing from the wounds and dribbling down the sides of their necks and over their left shoulders this had only recently been dome. The cage was only about 3 foot [1 m] high so they huddled together on tile floor at the back of the cage staring out with terrified foreboding. Their eyes were red rimmed and sore from weeping. Every now and again a whimper or a stifled sob would rise from the huddle of naked boy flesh.

"Well now my pets Uncle is back my little loves," the fat man almost trilled in his high pitched almost female voice, "aren't you lucky little brats," and he giggled happily as they cowered away from him.

Suddenly he seemed to loose his temper. Spinning round he grabbed a dog whip from the hook on the door.

"You ungrateful little turds," he screamed lashing at the naked brats between the bars of the cage. "I spend my time looking after you and not a word of thanks. You don't like me when I'm nice, lets see how you like it when I'm nasty."

His words were punctuated by the sharp crack of plaited leather striking bare boy's flesh and the screams of the sluts as the whip bit and tore at their naked bodies. Crammed into the cage, their wrists secured behind their backs the four boys writhed and twisted as the fat man enthusiastically wielded the lash.

Excitement rose in me as the whip circled strong young thighs, cracked down across firm rumps and bare shoulders scoring scarlet lines across the boys's tender flesh burnt golden brown by years of exposure to the sun. Excitement mixed with fear for I knew that it might well be my own body that would next feel the bite of the lash.

That fear had been with me from the moment that I had walked naked out of the sea to submit myself to Mister Warwick and the Tribute code. It had sharpened my senses beyond anything, I had known in my previous easy life as a free boy. Dad used to say with a laugh that the prospect of a beating concentrated a brat's mind and I knew now that that was true.

If I had been a free boy all my attention would have been concentrated on the fat man whipping the caged Tribute brats. I would have been aware of nothing beyond the sights and sounds of the flogging. Witnessing the same scene as a Tribute brat, while I watched the whip rake the brats' tender flesh with fearful excitement I was also aware of what was going on around me apart from that immediate drama. Especially of Mister Michael who was watching the sluts' frantic writhings under the lash with a faint smile and who at that moment had both hands in his pockets trying to adjust his trousers to accommodate the increasing bulge in his crutch. Instinctively I knew that it was there that danger lay and what I had to do to avert it. In an instant I was on my knees at the man's feet my face buried in his crutch frantically trying to pull down his zip fastener with my teeth.

He was excited, I was the nearest brat to hand, it was better for me to take the initiative than to wait for him to do so, who by the look on his face was likely to seek relief with the whip. It was better to suck than to be beaten. Not that I thought that, I just knew it.

The man impatiently swatted my head away from his crutch and pulled down his zip. Unfastening his belt his trouser fell down around his ankles. Eagerly I pushed my face back into his crutch. My nostrils were filled with his pungent animal odours. Pressing my nose into his stomach I managed to get a grip of the waster band of his under pants with my teeth and drew them down clear of his bottom. His cock rose erect and quivering a few inches from my face. Behind me I could hear the cries and moans of the brats as the whip cut into their flesh. In front of me the thick column of pale greenish flesh and gristle topped with its bulbous pink helmet and ridged with thick blue and purple veins seemed to dominate me.

I lent forward and pressed my lips to it, feeling the man's blood throbbing against them. Somehow the erect penis seemed a great deal more than a mere body part. It seemed to contain within itself all power and authority and by kissing it I acknowledged and submitted myself to it.

(Note by Mr Warwick: the phenomena that Bobby was somewhat incoherently referring to can be frequently observed. It mostly occurs when a Tribute brat is called upon to service its master and is faced by his erect penis. The brat momentarily goes quiet and he either gazes at the prick or kisses it on the shaft. Extensive questioning of brats in which this behaviour has been observed suggests, as does Bobby's account though it is somewhat incoherent and muddled, that the brats see the aroused penis as symbolic of the collective power and authority of their master and they are trying to acknowledge and placate it. The fact that Bobby experienced this indicates how near he was to accepting his servile status. This surrender and acknowledgement might be considered the nearest thing to a religious experience of which a brat is capable. Indeed certain experts in brat management suggest the sighting of a large carved phallus in a suitable location in the house to provide a focus for brat devotion. Among other things brats are, required to kiss it every time they pass, to worship it every morning and evening, and to seek forgiveness from if after every flogging).

A sharp clip on the side of the head brought me back to reality and I set to work teasing and caressing the man's pulsating prick with my tongue and lips. It was less than three days ago that I had sucked cock for the first time. I remembered the feel of Mister Warwick's swollen prick pressing against my lips and the sick horror with which I realised I was going to have to take that thing into my mouth and suck on it and when he came swallow his juices. I had done so because I had had to and I knew from the size and violence of Mr Warwick's multiple-orgasm that I had done well. Now I enthusiastically set to work. I had found, as many brats had done so before me, that I liked sucking cock and, what is more, that I was good at it.

However on this occasion I had little opportunity to exercise my skill. The man was impatient. He thrust his cock deep into my throat. Grasping me by the ears he held me while he brutally fucked my mouth. A few minutes later I felt his blood surge and my throat and mouth were filled with warm man's cum and I was swallowing hard.

I hunkered back on my heels. From the comparative silence it was clear that the brats' flogging had ceased. Apart from the low whimpering of the caged brats and the laboured breathing of the two men there was quiet as they strove to recover their breath after their various exertions.

"Well Peter," Mister Michael said, "would you like Bobby here to suck you off. I can see you probably need it."

I glanced towards the male nurse and seeing the considerable bulge in his trousers prepared myself to get across to him. I checked myself when he replied, "no thanks I've got to get on preparing the brats for harvesting. Doctor Braithwait doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Let's see," he continued resting the whip on top of the cage before picking up and consulting a clipboard, "number 173, full teeth, kidneys and heart to be removed."

He opened the door of the cage and grabbed the nearest brat by the arm, dragging the boy to him he caught it by the ear and twisted the orange tag round so he could read it.

"175," he said in disgust and releasing the boy reached for another slut.

"Ah this is the one" he exclaimed examining the ear tag of a third boy and pulling him from the cage.

"Get up on the table slut," he rapped at the trembling boy.

"Please Master," the brat sobbed dropping to his knees and holding his clasped hands up beseechingly.

"Christ," the fat man screamed in a sudden access of rage, "why do I have to get landed with a brat who hasn't even learnt to do as it is told?"

Snatching up the whip he struck the boy as hard as he could across his naked chest. The plaited leather lash curled around the lad's ribcage raising a thick scarlet weal across his tightly drawn skin. The boy howled and raised his arm to defend himself. This seemed to enrage the man further who proceeded to rain blows on the helpless slut. The shrill screams of the boy, the rich hiss of the descending lash and the sharp crack of whip striking bare boy's flesh filled the room.

"Master, please Master," the slut sobbed as, knocked forwards on to his knees by the force of the blows, he tried to crawl away from the man who raked his body mercilessly with the lash.

"Get up on the table," the male nurse screamed once again, reinforcing his command with a vicious kick up the boy's bottom already ribbed and bleeding from the whip.

The brat was half way to his feet when the man snapped the whip. There was an explosive crack followed by a squeal of pain and blood began to trickle down the side of the brat's thigh where the lash had nipped the firm young flesh. The boy scuttled towards the marble topped table.

"Get up on it. On your back, quick now unless you want another dose of the whip," the man commanded.

The brat obeyed, his whimpers increasing in volume as he took his weight on his lacerated bottom and shoulders.

"Spread your arms and legs."

"Come on do it," the man screamed thrusting his head forwards so it was only a few inches above the brat's face.

I saw the man's hand reach out towards the boy's crutch and his fingers grip the lad's hairless balls and twist them. The brat howled and stretched out his hands and feet towards the four corners of the table. There was a clink of metal as the nurse secured iron fetters to the slut's ankles and wrists. Using a series of pulleys he tightened the boy's bonds. As the strain on the child's body increased his groans rose in volume and intensity.

"He's making a hell of a noise," Mister Michael remarked.

"Don't know why the little turd is making such a fuss. It isn't as though I've popped his joints or anything. He should appreciate his luck. You can easily tear a brat's arms and legs off him with those pulleys. Done it a couple of times when I was learning the job too."

"Anyway I'd best get on with things Doctor Braithwait will be here in half an hour or so and he'll want the basic stuff done before he arrives."

"Interesting," the man continued chattily as he collected a pare of pliers and a medium sized Perspex bowl from the zinc topped table, "how the introduction of the Tribute system has served to revive old skills and practices. Take false teeth, back in the nineteenth century it was common practice to draw the teeth of pauper children and set them in a hard wax base, miles cheaper and more realistic than the all plastic dentures that were common until recently. Now we have almost gone full circle except we still use plastic for the base so we get the cheapness and realism of the old method combined with the convenience and comfort of the new. Now I better stop talking and get on with it."

Holding the pliers in his right hand He gripped the boy's nostrils with the finger and thumb of his left forcing him to open his mouth. Getting a grip with the pliers on a molar on the brat's upper jaw at the back of his mouth he pulled down hard. The boy let out a smothered scream and tried to turn his head away. The man let out a curse and released his hold of the tooth.

"I musn't break it," he explained apologetically to Mister Michael, "you've got to have a full matching set or they loose most of their value. Would you hold the slut's head steady while I pull his teeth.?"

"Sure," Mister Michael said, "I'll jam my thumbs on either side of his jaws. That should help to keep them open."

"I'll just give the turd a further lesson," the fatman picked up an iron bar that was lying propped against the table and deliberately smashed it across first the boy's right and then his left knee. There was a sickly crunch as metal crushed bone.

"You would think," the fat man said raising his voice to be heard over the brat's agonised screams, "that he would have been softened up sufficiently by the whipping I gave the brats just now I suppose it just shows how stupid and stubborn the filth are."

"I think you broke both its knees," Mister Michael remarked.

"Doesn't matter, it's not going anywhere and it may encourage the others to behave better. Now let's get on with pulling its teeth."

The fat man got busy with his pliers while Mister Michael struggled to hold the brat's head still. Between the two men's bodies as they moved about their work I caught glimpses of the boy's pain contorted face, blood welling from his open mouth. The fat man cursed and panted as he pulled and yanked with the plyers, strange half strangled cries of pain rose from the boy, while the number of bloody rooted teeth in the perplex bowl slowly increased.

At last the nurse stepped back from the table.

"That's that particular job done," he remarked wiping blood from his hands on a piece of old towelling before throwing the soiled cloth away into the open topped zinc bin.

"He bled a hell of a lot," Mister Michael remarked as he swilled cold water over his hands in a basin in the corner of the room, the water from his hand flowing red over the white porcelain.

"There'll be a lot more blood before we've finished today," the nurse replied with a grim laugh.

"We're having the kidney and the heart out of this one," he continued nodding at the brat lying on the table, blood welling from between its lips and trickling down the side of its face onto the marble table top.

"And," he continued, "three kidneys, a pancreas, and one further set of teeth and a couple of eyes out of the other three."

"And how much do you get for say a kidney?" Mister Michael asked clearly interested by the economics of the thing.

"We charge a set fee of thirty pounds for major organs such as a kidney or heart and varying fees for lesser organs from twenty pounds for a full set of teeth, you've seen it's hard work drawing them, much harder work really than cutting a kidney out, though that requires more skill, down to a couple of quid for a patch of skin for grafting."

"The boss reckons that a healthy brat in good condition could yield more than hundred and fifty pounds if it was broken up scientifically."

"You'd make a nice profit on a kidney or heart alone," Mister Michael remarked thoughtfully. "It's odd to think that a part of a brat could be worth so much more than the whole."

"A brat's rather like a pig," the nurse replied, "nearly every part of it's body can be used for something. And the Tribute System has removed a lot of impediments to the development of transplant technology. It provides a cheap and plentiful supply of organs and brats can be used in experiments without any nonsense about their welfare."

"Now Doctor Braithwait will be here in a minute and he says brats should either be on the operating table or in the cage not wandering about like they're in a holiday camp. You'd better put that slut of yours in the cage with the others. I'll unlock the door for you."

I was still kneeling on the floor, after sucking Mister Michael off, hunkered back on my heels .

"Come on Bobby," Mister Michael ordered grabbing hold of the leash attached to my collar and steering me towards the cage entrance with his foot.

The fat man unlocked the cage door and swung it open. Mister Michael unclipped the leash from my collar and urged me into the cage with prods up my bottom with the toe of his boot. There was just enough room in the cage for the three other brats and myself. They were whimpering quietly and squashed up against the boy nearest me I could feel his body trembling.

The door into the room opened and Doctor Braithwait hurried in.

"I see you've got the first brat ready for me," he said walking across to the table.

Mister Michael stirred uneasily and cleared his throat.

"I was wondering Sir," he said a little hesitantly to Dr Braithwait, "if you could look Mister Williams' brat over first Sir so I could get the little brute back to the office."

"Certainly, certainly, anything to help my good friend Mister Williams. It doesn't matter to me what order I take the boys or harvest their organs."

Then it was my turn. Doctor Braithwait hauled me out of the cage and kicked me to my feet.

"Hands on the back of your head and turn round slowly. I want to get a general look at you."

"Bit bruised and battered, which is what you expect with a brat but a strong well grown young animal, nothing obviously wrong with it."

"Now stand still."

"Funny thing," he continued conversationally as he ran his hands over my body, "to think that a kidney can be taken from a young brute like this and used to safe the life of civilised gentleman like Mister Williams. You would have thought the gap would be too great. But then before the New Order eased the organ supply problem we were working at trying to genetically engineer pigs so we could use organs taken from them. I don't suppose really there's much difference between a brat and a pig."

"Doesn't look if there's any infections or broken bones so it all comes down to blood and urine."

"Pee in this slut boy," he said holding out a specimen bottle.

With my hands bound behind my back I could not direct the flow so, taking my prick between the finger and thumb of his free hand, he held it to the mouth of the bottle.

"Oh for God's sake," Doctor Braithwait exclaimed as my cock hardened under his touch, "randy little whore. Well I'll soon fix that."

He began to masturbate me vigorously while the men stood watching. My eyes misted over and the blood pounded in my head. I moaned loudly and shot my load.

Doctor Braithwait wiped my cum from his hand across the front of my thighs. For a moment I appreciated the full extent of my humiliation, standing naked and bound in front of the three men, fresh cum smeared across my bare thighs I had lost all pride and dignity.

Something of this must have shown on my face. Doctor Braithwait gripped my balls hard between his finger and thumb and pulled and twisted.

"Don't go getting all shy and uppity in front of me brat," he snapped, "pee in the specimen bottle. Get on with it."

The sudden pain brought me down to earth and I forced my self to piss.

"Good now the blood samples. One of you hold him by the shoulders while I find the vein in his arm"

There was a sharp stab of pain and a few minutes later it was over.

"Take the slut back now," Doctor Braithwait ordered and tell Mister Williams that Ithe results of the tests will be on his desk first thing in the morning."

"And you," he said slapping me on the bare rump, "if the tests are Ok you'll be a lucky slut. Plenty of food, only moderate beating and lots of sex with Master.."

"A brat's heaven – at least until Master needs your kidneys," he added laughing.

Mister Michael clipped the leash to my collar and led me from the room. As followed him down the corridor I heard a shrill scream behind me and I knew Doctor Maitland had begun his work.

Chapter 23

It is funny how different people see time in different ways. To a free boy time is something long term. It stretches forward into an unknowable and almost limitless future packed with opportunities and challenges. A Tribute brat has no future to look forward to. Like the animal it is it just lives for the moment. Time for it is almost meaningless. Its life is a mere jumble of incidents over which it has no control crammed into those few short years of service that it is allowed before death grants it it's release. Days merge into weeks and weeks into months. The only way it keeps count of the passage of the years is the burning of the annual service stripe into its rump providing a clear record of the years served etched by the hot iron into its flesh.

So it was with me during my period of service in Master Williams's household. It was certainly more than a month but whether it was four months or eight we could not say. I know it was less than twelve for I am not marked with a service stripe.

Not many events in that period stand out to mark the passage of time until the moment that offered me at last a chance of escape. I can remember on the second or, was it the third day of my service, so quickly had the passage of time become confused in my mind, the orange plastic tag that identified me as the source of Master's replacement kidney being stapled firmly to my left ear. Beyond that though my memory was a muddled blur of sex, excitement, pain and fear.

It wasn't all bad though and Dr Maitland wasn't far wrong when he described me as a lucky slut. So long as Mister Williams's kidneys held up I was assured of food and a degree of protection. Of course as soon as they failed I would be taken to Doctor Maitland's clinic and mine would be hacked from my living body. There was nothing I could to do about this and a brat's life was so set about with immediate dangers and terrors and lived so much in the present that I rarely thought about how it would end with the whir of the electric saw and the agony as it's steel teeth ripped my flesh.

Only in the rare moments of idleness that came a brat's way did I remember the horrors I had witnessed in Doctor Maitland's clinic. Sometimes when I woke in the night, my nostrils full of Mister William's animal odours, my cheek resting on his naked thigh, his pubic hair tickling my face, I would hear again the frantic scream that echoed in the corridor as we left the operating theatre. Or lying in the dark at the floor of his bed I would hear that same scream over the creek of the bed springs and the frantic whimpers of some eight year old slut whose bottom was being ripped open by the man's swollen prick. Otherwise I was too busy trying to please my master not only by obeying him but by anticipating his wants and satisfying them before he had himself formulated them.

Very quickly what started as a means to evade hard treatment became a source of intense pleasure my early revulsion at taking a man's cock into my mouth replaced by a burning hunger for cock and cock juice. Before long under the frequent and brutal assaults of Mister Williams my bottom loosened and the agony of penetration lessened to a mere moment of acute pain followed by discomfort and intense excitement merging into a single sensation of excruciating pleasure.

There was excitement in serving and pleasing Mister Williams beyond the mere act of sex. Before I was sold to Mister Williams I was a strong lad and while not fat a robust one. Work and the plain restricted diet of a Tribute brat fined me down. Now catching sight of myself in the mirror in Mister Williams' bathroom I saw a lean strong limbed youth, my whole body deeply tanned by the sun, my once shaven head topped by a close cropped mop of flaxen hair. The slave collar round my neck, the Tribute brand burnt into the smooth flesh just below my left hip and the cock ring clamped tight about my balls, lifting and emphasising them, announced my servile status and identified me as a slut owned and right less.

I knew men enjoyed looking at me and that knowledge excited me in my turn and that led to my sporting an almost constant erection declaring for all the world to see that I was a slut with a slut's hunger for cock an invitation and an incitement to my betters to handle and explore. If these badges of servitude were supplemented, as they often were, by the marks of the cane or belt scored across the smooth flesh of my bottom then these led to increased interest and I could not move through the foyer of Williams' House for instance without the welts being fingered and questions and comments addressed to me.

Being Mr Williams' brat I knew I must not react to these but hurried on my eyes cast down to the floor my erect prick contradicting my pretended innocence.

The days passed for me in a hardly suppressed state of sexual excitement leavened with fear interspersed with a few moments when I was allowed to forget my servitude in the ecstasy of orgasm. This was the common experience of most serving brats. Indeed most of us brats sported erections most of the time.

And so the days passed and ran into one another merging in a haze of lust and trepidation as I increasingly accepted that there was going to be no escape for me from my self inflicted roll as a Tribute boy. With that came the discovery that being a Tribute brat was far from being all bad. There was sex and related excitements to enjoy and if you were clever and learnt quickly perhaps the beatings would not be too frequent or too hard.

As I became more accustomed to my life as a Tribute brat and gained in experience so my role developed and widened. Eventually I became, in addition to being one of Mister Williams's sluts, his runner to be sent on errands delivering messages or fetching and carrying small objects.

Ironically it was this enlarged role that gave rise to the circumstances that gave me the opportunity not only to escape but to fulfil Mister Warwick and my own plan to help ourselves to a large part of Mister Williams's wealth.

The day had started like innumerable others before. We had gone to the office and then shortly before lunch. Mister Williams had realised that he had left a wad of papers he had been working on the previous evening locked in his desk at home. He needed them for a phone call he was going to put through later that afternoon to Russia on the subject of a coal mining concession he was acquiring out there. He called me to him.

"Bobby," he said holding a set of keys up in front of my face, "listen carefully. I need some papers that are in the left hand top drawer of my desk at home. These are the keys to my desk and this one here fits the top left hand drawer. Miss June will get a van and driver from the transport section to take you back to the house. When you get there go straight to my desk get the papers and bring them straight back here. Do you understand? I hope you do because if you get it wrong I'll flay your bottom with the buckle end of my belt."

"Miss June, arrange the transport please."

As soon as I had been released from the brat cage in the back of the van I ran through the house to the study carrying the keys for the desk in my right hand. As I entered the study I could hear the Mistress and Mrs. Watkins, the housekeeper, talking in another room close by. What they were saying did not concern me and I made no attempt to make sense of the murmur of voices. I opened the left hand drawer. The only thing inside it was a large brown envelope with nothing on the outside to indicate its contents. I was with Mister Williams the previous evening and with a sinking feeling I realised that it didn't look anything like the papers that he was working on then. I had better check though and I slid the contents out onto the desktop.

The voices in the adjoining room had risen in volume and had assumed an angry tone. The mistress and Mrs. Watkins were arguing with each other. I pushed them to the back of my mind. I knew I had a problem. I was sure he had said the left top drawer and the key he had given me fitted that drawer and that surely showed that I had understood him correctly. However that might be I knew if I did not return with the papers Mister Williams wanted I would be beaten. I had to find them and quickly.

Thinking furiously I began to gather together the contents of the envelope that I had scattered over the top of the desk. Whatever happened they would have to be returned to their envelope and replaced in the drawer. There were a variety of papers and a single photograph. I glanced at it before cramming it back into the envelope and paused in surprise. A naked young girl, a slave collar clamped about her neck, looked out at me with downcast eyes, a tiny baby also naked sucked on one small firm young breast.

The girl who, looked to be about thirteen years old, seemed to me vaguely familiar. I was sure I had seen the girl before and quite recently but I could not place her. But it was not the identity of the girl alone that puzzled me. The photograph as a whole was odd. Not the presence of the naked Tribute slut suckling a baby. Photographs featuring that were common enough. Wealthy parents of newly born children often arranged that a tribute girl should give birth at roughly the same time. The tribute slut's whelp would then be disposed of and the slut used as wet nurse for her owners child. This was common practice and many family albums would contain a picture of the newly born baby being nursed by a naked girl brat with sad downcast eyes. But in those pictures while the girl was of course always naked, the baby, as if to emphasise the difference in status, would invariably be dressed in the most expensive and elaborate of baby clothes. In this photograph both girl and baby were naked. It was a photograph of a tribute slut and her whelp and the question immediately arose as to why the picture had been taken in the first place and why it having been taken, Mister Williams chose to keep it locked securely in his desk.

Mrs Williams's voice rose in sudden fury. It was now so loud that I could not help but to hear every word that she was saying.

"Richard is my son and I won't allow a tribute slut to dictate to me," she screamed in fury.

"You're not his mother and you know it well you barren cow," Mrs Watkins yelled back at her just as angry as her Mistress.

Suddenly I recognised the girl in the photograph. It was a much younger, perhaps, thirteen or fourteen years younger, Mrs Watkins.

My mind racing I leafed through the documents that accompanied the photograph. There was first a number of pages torn from a stud book. They recorded first the covering of a twelve-year-old tribute bitch and five or six subsequent matings with a slightly older male brat and the later birth of a male whelp, Ricky. Then some three years later the birth by the same bitch, although now described as a freed girl of twins and their surrender as replacement stock to Mister Williams. There was no further mention of the brat Ricky.

The second document was stated to be a deed of adoption by which Mr and Mrs Williams adopted Ricky as their own son to be in future known as Richard from their Tribute Girl, Sylvy.

This I knew was meaningless. The Tribute code specifically forbade the adoption of Tribute stock by free persons to prevent this being used as a means of evading the obligation of service on which the whole system was based. Not only had the practice been banned but the penalty for attempting to withdraw a brat from service by this means was the Tributing of the boy concerned and the exclusion from society of his purported parents with the consequent confiscation of all their property.

I realised that with these documents in our possession we had the Williams's over a barrel. All I had to do was to get them and myself to Mister Warwick and we could impose our own terms. But getting myself and the documents to Mister Warwick's would not be simple. I had no means of transport immediately available to me other than my two feet and as soon as my absence was spotted people would be on the look put for me Warwick's house was a good twenty five miles [40 km] away from where I was now and about eighteen miles [25 km] away from Mister Williams's office in Cardiff. I would have to cover these distances on foot, naked, with a brat collar round my neck.

It would therefore be better to find the documents I had been sent to fetch and take them back to Mister Williams in Cardiff. Then at least I would be nearer to Mister Warwick. As I would be so noticeable a target it would be best that I did the greater part of the journey after dark.

I began to think out a plan as I searched the desk for the missing papers. It did not take me long to find the papers but by the time I had done so I had at least an outline of a plan.

I shuffled all the papers back into the envelope apart from the spurious deed of adoption and returned them to the drawer in the desk which I locked. Mister Williams, if he knew I had taken the papers, would make every effort to capture me before I could pass them on threatening his complete ruin and that of his family. If he did not know I had them he would probably leave my pursuit to the brat police knowing I had nowhere to run to and confident that I would soon be returned to him. He might quite possibly think to check that the envelope containing the papers was in the drawer where it should be. There would be a good chance though that having checked this he would not think to look inside to see if all the papers were in fact there.

I put the deed of adoption inside a stout envelope I found in the desk and slipped it among the papers I had been sent to fetch. I ran back to the van shouting to the driver that I had found the papers and scrambled into the open brat cage in the back of the van still grasping the papers. The driver slammed and locked the cage door and jumping into the driver's seat set off back to Cardiff driving as fast as he could. Bracing myself against the bars of the cage to stop myself sliding about I found the envelope in which I had hidden the deed of adoption. I folded the envelope a couple of times to reduce it to a manageable size, rolled it into as tight a tube as I could manage and, reaching behind myself pushed it into my bottom. I was grateful that the deed was only a single page document and that hard usage by Mister Williams had stretched my hole. I had cried and whimpered enough when he first fucked me but now I could see that it had its advantages. Of course I would be found out if he took it into his mind to give me a good fucking or decided to lend me to a friend to use but I didn't intend to hang around long enough to give him an opportunity of doing either.

Back at Williams' House I walked quickly through the crowded foyer getting a few appreciative pats on the bottom as I did so. As an unaccompanied Tribute boy I was forbidden to use the lift. I climbed the stairs the five floors to Mister Williams's office. I pushed the door into the fifth floor corridor slightly ajar. Mister Williams's office door was only five or six yards down the corridor from me. I waited there quietly until Miss June came out of Mister Williams's office and walked rapidly past me heading to the toilets.

I darted across the corridor and into Mister Williams's outer office. I put the bundle of papers on the middle of Miss June's desk where she couldn't miss seeing them on her return and was out again as quick as I could. I stopped for a moment at the base of the stairs to give me a chance to calm down before stepping out into the foyer. As usual it was crowded and busy. I walked boldly across it and out into the street. The security staff were so used to me being sent off on errands that they didn't even notice me let alone challenge me.

Out on the street I broke into a sharp trot, there was nothing unusual in a brat running on an errand, being careful not to venture out of the gutter and to keep my eyes down to avoid getting into trouble with the brat police.

I wondered how much time I had before my absence was spotted.

I didn't think Miss June would be bothered. Seeing the papers on her desk she would assume I had been sent off on another errand leaving them there for her to take into Mister Williams. He might when she put the papers in front of him ask where the "lazy little whore has got too" but knowing how engrossed he became when he was working it was very likely it would not even occur to him.

At the latest Miss June would want me at just before four o'clock to take Mister Williams's tea into him, so I would most probably be missed in somewhere between fifteen minutes and an hour and a bit's time. One further thing was in my favour; they would assume I had nowhere to run to and was therefore unlikely to have really run away. Much more likely to their mind was that I was lurking somewhere in the building gorging myself on some scraps thieved out of a waste bin. That was typical of a brat trading the risk of a good whipping for a full stomach. Once my absence was spotted they would first have the building searched before thinking to look outside.

I had to find somewhere very close by to hide till it was dark. Then I had then to find some way to get from that hiding place out of the city and then across country to Mister Warwick. I had an idea for a hiding place but I could hardly reach it in fifteen minutes although it could easily be done in an hour and a half. However I could think of no alternative plan so all I could do was to hope for the best and run as fast as I could manage towards the Cardiff Bay development with its expensive residential flats and prestige public buildings

At the end of last term my form at school had been taken on a trip to see the National Assembly building in Cardiff Bay as part of our citizenship training. Citizenship is about the most boring subject there is so most of us spent most of the time looking and thinking about other matters. Some of us walked right along the great break waters, with the huge rocks heaped along their seaward side to break the force of the waves, enclosing the bay to watch the boats passing through the locks dividing the bay from the sea.

Very few people apart from ourselves had been on the breakwater but looking back across the enclosed sheet of water towards the city and the points where the Taff and the Ely rivers entered the bay there was plenty going on. Motorboats buzzed busily about while noisy parties of school children wearing brightly coloured life jackets splashed about in kayaks being taught to canoe. The motorboats ranged far and wide over the lake while the children were bunched near the secure compound where the kayaks were stored over night. The waterfront itself was crowded with restaurants and ice cream parlours and such with the bulk of the National Theatre and National Assembly buildings looming up above them. We could see people sitting at open-air tables outside the restaurants naked serving boys hurrying about between tables carrying cups of coffee, glasses of beer and wine and so on to their customers.

I remembered these things and thought I saw how it could be done. It would not be easy but I could hardly expect it would be. The best thing would be to take it in stages. The first thing to do was to get across the crowded water front to the breakwater and lay up until it was dark in one of the narrow cracks between the great boulders on its seaward side. The great danger there was that someone among the crowds of people lounging in the sun at the tables littering the waterfront tried to stop me. However I had no choice but to try my luck and as I got nearer I could see that the people seemed to be so absorbed in their own pleasures to have little interest to spare for anything else.

I threaded my way between the tables trying as hard as I could to make myself inconspicuous. I had only five or so paces to take to be clear of the clutter of tables when a leg was thrust out to trip me and I tumbled to the floor.

I twisted round from where I lay and saw with horror a face I recognised grinning down at me. It was James Lowther. He was about six years older than me and had been in the second year sixth when I started in secondary school. He had made no secret of his fancying me back then and made my life a misery as a consequence. He was sitting at a table heavy with half empty pint glasses with four other young men of roughly the same age all of whom looked as though they had been drinking hard all afternoon.

"Robert," he said grinning hungrily, it was clear he was more than a little drunk, "or rather Bobby, so you have been tributed. I remember leaching for your sweet little backside when you were a snotty nosed little kid. I think it looks even sexier with the tribute brand and the service stripes burnt into it. Stand up whore so I can take a look at you."

I dragged myself to my feet and stood, head bowed, careful to keep my hands down by my sides away from my crutch; a Tribute brat devoid of pride or modesty presenting himself humbly to his betters. Usually there was no need for me to force myself to pretend. Perhaps it was surprising how quickly I adapted to this but maybe it was natural as well. Stripped naked, collared, branded, treated as an animal locked into a system from which there was no possibility of escape or dissent, the pressure to conform and submit was overwhelming. There was no point in struggling against the system; no point in hating or resenting the Master's power. That was the way things were and nothing was going to change them

But with James Lowther it was different. Back in my days of freedom I had hated the youth who had made the first year at secondary school a misery as he stalked me. Convention forbade the forcing of free boys but there was plenty a bigger boy could do to a smaller boy that fell just short of forcing that was highly unpleasant to experience. The showers after games, the toilets between classes, somehow Lowther was sure to be there with his obscene suggestions and wandering hands. I hated and resented him back then and somehow that hatred and resentment had stayed with me when I crossed the great divide from free to unfree.

Bitter tears stung my eyes as I forced myself to stand still under his leering gaze. What made my humiliation more complete was that my reaction to Lowther's appearance had left me uneasily suspended between two worlds. I hated and resented him for the same reasons and with the same force as I had before the brand marked me as Tribute stock while retaining the lusts and instincts of a Tribute brat. It was these that now betrayed me rekindling memories of Lowther, naked in the showers, his eighteen year old body that of a young man's, his testicles shrouded in a thick scrub of coarse red hair so much bigger and heavier than my own hairless little grape sized balls, his cock a thick pale tube of hardening flesh with shower water dribbling down its length and falling in a silver stream from its tip. A sight which even back then, when I was free and scared and revolted by the feel of his hands on my body, drew my eyes in a sort of dreadful fascination and now, after months of service as a naked Tribute brat stirred my lust and caused my cock to harden and strain upwards towards my belly button.

Lowther saw this but nothing of the hatred and revulsion in my heart.

He lent forward and pressed the butt of his hand into my crutch. The pressure of his hand on my swollen prick made me shudder in excitement and I moaned softly. I hated him but my body ached for his cock

"You're not so shy now are you Bobby?" he said laughing. "Didn't take long to knock the nonsense out of you once you were branded. Just a cock hungry little slut aren't you boy?"

He paused and I knew I must answer him.

"Yes Master please Master," I moaned working my prick up against his hand as I spoke, "please Master boy cock hungry and cum hungry," by now the debased argot of a Tribute brat came almost naturally to me.

He shifted his hand taking a grip of my testicles and pulling me forward he twisted me round so that he could see the back of my bottom.

"Had your fare share of the cane haven't you Bobby." I could almost hear him slobbering in excitement as I felt him run the tip of his finger across the curve of my rump tracing the weals that the rod had scored across my bottom.

"Poor little lad. I bet it made you squeal but that's how brats like you learn and they make your bottom more exciting."

"Boys," Lowther said standing up and addressing his friends, "I'm leaving you. I'm going to give this little whore a good hard long overdue arse fucking. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Come on slut," he said standing up and landing a hard open handed slap on my bare bottom.

He turned to lead the way towards the building at the back of the terrace that housed the main body of the restaurant. Presumably there would be rooms there for hire by the hour or the night.

I had known from almost the first moment that I had seen Lowther I would have to eventually take a runner. Mister Williams's certificate of adoption stuffed up my hole was well concealed but it would not stay hidden very long once Lowther got his hands on my bottom. And it wouldn't take him too long to work out what it was all about once he had read the document especially as I would be there for him to question. I would of course try not to give the game away but I didn't think I had much of a chance, a Tribute brat against a free citizen. Once he had the certificate and had worked out its significance that was the end of my own and Mister Warwick's chances of making our fortunes and very probably my chance of regaining my freedom.

As he turned his back on me, sure that I would follow him, I knew that slim as it was, my chance had come.

I got my feet underneath me and made a dart off to the left away from the terrace. There was a stunned silence and then a holler and the crash of chairs being knocked over as people realised what had happened and jumped to their feet intent on intercepting me. I heard footsteps pounding behind me. Two men appeared off to my right running hard. I dodged to my left and found men there too. A man grabbed at me but I managed to wriggle clear of him his hand slipping on my oiled and naked body.

I was almost clear when a fist smashed into the side of my head. I stumbled to my knees and found myself held firmly by the collar. I was dragged back onto my feet and forced towards Lowther who stood waiting for me while he unbuckled his belt and drew it from the loops at the top of his trousers. He doubled it round his right hand letting the buckle hang loose the light glinting on the metal as it swung slowly in the air.

Screaming I fought against the grip on the metal collar clamped around my neck. I remembered Richard setting about one of the garden boys who had not got out of his way fast enough with the buckle end of his belt and the way the heavy metal clasp split and tore the slut's skin, reducing the boy's narrow shoulders and firm young bottom to lumps of raw bleeding flesh.

People pressed round me laughing forcing me forward. I redoubled my struggles until a heavy blow on the back of my head stunned me.

I saw Lowther as though shrouded in a dark mist, his grinning face seeming to waver in the air in front of me.

His smile widened and he raked the belt buckle back handed across the front of my thighs. I screamed a the metal ripped the taught skin, blood welled from the torn flesh and poured down in a glistening scarlet flood over my deeply tanned legs

Taking a grip of my collar with his free hand Lowther raked my naked shoulders and rump tearing my skin with the buckle of his belt. Held fast in his grip I howled and capered as the blows rained down on me and the watching crowd jeered.

At last tiring he stopped and still holding me by the collar began to push me through the crowd towards the café which occupied the ground floor of a plain three storied building standing in the middle of the area covered by tables and parasols.

It being a fine day the inside of the café was deserted apart from half a dozen or so naked serving brats who scurried to and froe carrying trays, bearing ice creams and cold drinks, serving the outside tables. Lowther marched me to the back of the room and addressed himself to a man who stood there behind the counter supervising the till.

"What do you charge for a room for the night?" he demanded.

"Twenty pounds Sir."

" It's not a problem that the brat's bleeding a bit?"

"Good Lord Sir we'd never let a room if we let a little brat blood bother us. You do what you want with the little slut. The rooms are all sound proofed and the floor and walls are scrubbed clean after each let and the sheets changed. You go ahead and enjoy yourself Sir."

"But maybe you'd like the brat cleaned up a bit for you? He's a bit grubby at the moment and I reckon that under the blood and other filth he's a good quality little whore. I could put a couple of brats on the job and have him washed down and his body oiled and bottom greased in less than fifteen minutes. Cost you a quid."

"No thanks," Lowther replied, laughing, "the slut and I go back a long time together and I prefer to enjoy the boy au naturel'."

Keeping a firm grip of my collar Lowther proffered the man a twenty pound note with his freehand.

"Thank you Sir. It's room 131 on the first floor. Straight down the corridor, last room on the right."

"I hope you don't mind finding your own way there. I've got to keep an eye on the serving sluts here. Lazy little sods, if there isn't someone about to warm their rumps with the strap our customers will have to wait a long time for their orders"

"The let is till eleven tomorrow morning."

"Through here please."

The man came out from behind the counter and opened a glass panelled door in the wall of the café. He stood to one side to let Lowther and myself through. I found myself in a narrow hallway almost completely filled with a flight of stairs leading upwards. It was a mean functional place, windowless, white walled and lit with the merciless cold glare of a double bank of fluorescent tubes set in its ceiling.

The door clicked to behind us and I was alone with Lowther.

"Well little Bobby," the man said releasing his hold of my collar, "there's nowhere left for you to run to. Get that nice little arse of yours up the stairs. I'm going to give you the fucking of your young life. Now move it."

I set off up the stairs. I could hear Lowther mounting them behind me. I could see reflected in the full-length mirror set in the blank wall of the landing at their top my own naked body and behind me the fully clothed man. My eyes sought out and focused on his crutch noting the swelling bulge in the front of his trousers. I realised belatedly that was exactly the reaction of a Tribute brat

But then, despite the bloody welts still throbbing with pain left by the buckle of Lowther's belt and fearful of what was to come, I was still deeply excited by the presence of the man close behind me. The thought that he was eyeing up my bottom, speculating as to the pleasures to be extorted from my body, excited me despite the pain and fear. The blood throbbed in my cock that, from its previous semi rigid state, hardened and straightened so that it's tip tapped against the front of my stomach hardly an inch short of my belly button in an even more explicit announcement of my Tribute nature.

"Well Bobby," Lowther jeered from behind me, his voice full of contempt and latent cruelty, "you're really ache for cock don't you whore, well you're going to get it tonight boy. You're hole'll be dribbling cum and blood and you'll be begging me to stop long before I've finished with you."

"Funny thing to think that just three years ago you had the cheek to turn me away and I was reduced to wanking myself to sleep every night lusting over that bottom of yours and now I can and will do anything I fancy to it and to you as well. It's just the same nice round bum as back then cept for the Tribute brand that makes all the difference and the bruises and welts that come with the brand. Better for you Bobby if you hand't been so choosy back then. Maybe I would have felt a bit kinder now but you weren't and I don't feel the slightest kindness to you. I'm going to hurt you, hurt you really, really badly."

"Come on… move it… now," he shouted and I heard his feet thunder on the stairs as he charged up the stairs towards me.

I had nowhere to run to. I made it to the landing before he was on me. He grabbed me by the shoulder and swung me round to face down the corridor. He drove a knee into my bottom sending me staggering forward. I crashed into the wall at the end of the corridor and slid down it onto my knees. Lowther strode down the corridor after me. He stopped at a door and unlocked it. Bending he grabbed me again by the collar and hurled me bodily through the door and into the room beyond it. I got the impression of a sparsely furnished white walled space with mirrors on the walls and ceiling reflecting multiple images of my naked body and Lowther's clothed one. Lowther slammed the door shut locked it and pocketed the key before turning round to face me. I had time to see that hanging from a series of hooks on the back of the door were a selection of canes, straps and other instruments of correction together with a variety of shackles, cuffs and other restraints including hanging over one hook a large number of those ugly but effective stout plastic ties that having been drawn tight dig deep into a boy's wrists and from which a boy can only be freed by being cut loose.

Lowther turned from the door. Instantly I was on my knees at his feet my fingers scrabbling at his flies. Perhaps if I showed myself eager to please that would persuade him to go easy on me.

He knocked my hands away.

"Get over the end of the bed with your arse in the air whore," he ordered roughly.

"Get it right up turd," he ordered pushing his hand between my legs, grabbing hold of my balls and lifting upwards, "and spread your legs and get your hands round your bum and pull your boy cunt open. I'm going to fuck you dry. The only lubricant you'll get will be if you bleed and you will. You just hope you bleed quick boy."

"Now brace yourself."

For a moment I felt the tip of his cock rest against the lips of my anus and then the searing pain as he drove his swollen prick into me with repeated heavy downward thrusts of his pelvis.

"Whore, cunt," he panted as he hammered away at my bottom.

The pain was more intense and more prolonged than anything I had known before. It was worse than when Mister Williams penetrated me for the first time. My world contracted to a single point of tearing pain as I screamed pleading for him to stop.

Then suddenly he was swearing and pulling out of me.

"What the hell have you got up your arse you stupid little tart?" he demanded.

I began to tell him but was silenced by a clout on the back of the head.

I felt his hand pressing down on the small of my back pinning me down to the bed while his other hand explored, none too gently, my bottom.

He pulled the envelope rolled into a tight tube that I had hidden in my bottom. I was just about to launch into an explanation for its presence when he dropped it on the floor and drove his cock once more into my bottom and I descended once more into a dark pit of excruciating pain.

Much later he was lying on me, his weight pinning me down on the bed, his now flaccid prick still lodged in my arse. There was an intense burning soreness in my bottom, but I was conscious of other things as well, the weight of Lowther's body, the noise of his laboured breathing, the smell of stale sweat that rose from him.

I saw the rolled up envelope that he had drawn from my hole lying stained and crumpled on the floor beneath me. I tried to nudge it out of sight under the bed with my foot.

Lowther spotted what I was up to. He rolled off me his penis coming clear of my body with an audible sucking noise and sat down on the edge of the bed with his knees apart.

"Let me see what that is Bobby," he ordered.

I slipped onto my knees on the floor and reached out for the deeply stained roll of paper.

"I'm not touching something covered by brat shit," he announced as I offered him the envelope. "Take out what ever is inside it and pass that to me."

A moment later he was taking the paper from me while guiding my head down into his crutch with his free hand.

He must have read the adoption certificate three or four times because I had licked the fowl smelling filth, a mixture of blood, semen and shit, from his penis and was sucking the congealed lumps of cum from his pubic hair before he pushed back my head so he could look down into my face and began to question me.

"The Cyril Williams in this," he asked shaking the piece of paper at me, "it's the Cyril Williams of Williams Enterprises?"

I hesitated wondering if I could get away with a lie and if I could if there was anything to be gained by lying.

Lowther lent forward and grabbed my balls with one hand. He pulled and twisted them so that I doubled up in pain.

"Answer me you little turd," he snarled as he turned his hand and squeezed.

"Sir, Mister Lowther Sir," I gasped, "yes Sir, Christ, please Sir, yes, please Mister Lowther Sir."

"And you're one of his brats?"

He gave my balls another painful jerk.

"Yes Mister Lowther Sir. Please Sir I'll answer your questions Sir. Please don't hurt me any more Sir."

"If you want to keep your balls attached to your body you'll answer my questions slut. Any funny business I'll tear them off you and thrust them down your throat. You understand turd."

I whimpered my promises to cooperate while Lowther maintained his grip on my balls. I must have been convincing for he relaxed his hold sufficiently for me to straighten up.

"Very well then boy, how I read that paper is that it purports to be a deed of adoption by which Mr and Mrs Williams adopt a baby boy the child of a Tribute girl and supposedly of a Tribute boy in their possession."

I remembered listening to him speak that Lowther had left school to read law at University and had then been articled to a local solicitor.

"The deed is clearly invalid. Under article 20 sub-paragraph 5(a) of the Founding Charter of the New Order the progeny of a servile girl is itself servile, the property of the owner of the girl, while Section 23 of the Tribute Amendment Act of 2050 forbade the adoption of members of the servile class by free citizens as an act designed to subvert the fundamental laws."

"Why the hell anyone in the circumstances should have created a deed of this nature is another matter. Maybe Williams was actual the father of the baby and felt something for it and the servile mother. The most respectable and sensible people can do the stupidest of things."

"Anyway that hardly matters we have to deal with the situation as it is and the first thing I need to know young Bobby is how you came by this document."

The question took me by surprise and I hesitated before replying to it. I felt Lowther's fingers tighten round my balls and broke into hasty speech.

"Please I heard bout maybe Richard not being really Mr Williams' son and I got myself sold to Mr Williams to find evidence so I could make lots of money."

"You silly little slut however are you going to make money out of this. Apart from anything else a Tribute brat can't own anything and anyway you try to blackmail Mr Williams, which is what I suppose you had in mind, and by what I've heard of that gentleman, he'll have had you skewered through your guts to a post for the crows to peck your eyes in short order."

"But Mr Lowther I'm not a tribute brat not really Sir," blurted out.

The man stared at me open mouthed and then burst out laughing.

"Of course you're not Bobby and you haven't got the Tribute brand burnt into your hip and its not you that's kneeling on the floor with your bum stuffed full of my cum and I suppose it's not shit but chocolate that's left the brown stain round your mouth."

Suddenly he stopped laughing and backhanded me across the face. The force of his blow knocked me sideways. His knuckles cracked my lips and I tasted blood.

"Denial of servitude is a capital offence brat. It's lucky for you I'm in a good mood or you would be as good as dead meat now."

I scrambled back on to my knees, gingerly feeling my lips with the back of my hand.

The only thing I thought was to tell Lowther the whole story so he could see I was really not a Tribute brat and get his help by offering him a share of whatever we got off Mr Williams.

So kneeling there I explained I had a friend Mr Warwick who was a Recovery Officer with the Tribute Executive, how we had heard there was something odd about Mr Williams's family and how I had decided to pretend to be a Tribute boy and persuaded Mr Warwick to sell me to Mr Williams so I could infiltrate his household in order that I could get evidence of what was wrong there. I said that having obtained that evidence I was on my way back to Mr Warwick who would look after the negotiations and that I was sure we would make lots of money of which Lowther could have a share if he helped me on my way. All he had to do was to hide me in his car and drive me out to Mr Warwick's house.

Lowther heard me out to the end, lolling on the edge of the bed, his bare legs stretched out in front of him, a quizzical smile on his face. He remained silent for a few minutes after I had finished my explanation while I shifted uneasily on my knees.

"But Bobby sweetie. I don't see I need to share the money with your Mr Warwick or indeed with you," he said quietly, "I've got all the evidence I need to persuade Mr Williams to share some of his wealth with me. I don't need either you or Mister Warwick."

"I'll go and see Mr Williams to arrange matters. I don't foresee any problems. I will not be unreasonable. I envisage a settlement on the basis of my becoming an equal partner in his business interests."

"The one question is what to with you Bobby and really when I think about it's not a problem at all. Forget all this nonsense about not being a Tribute boy, you are branded as a Tribute brat, you have a Tribute collar locked round your neck, nobody will accept you now as a free boy. And as a Tribute boy you are the property of Mr Williams and must of course be returned to him."

"I will take you along with me when I go to see him tomorrow morning to break the news I know the true parentage of his 'son' Richard and TiVo explain to him that as a consequence he will have to accept a very moderate degree in the circumstances of wealth sharing."

"I am afraid Bobby he won't be too pleased with you sweetie being the cause of his loosing half his wealth and rumours are he's a pretty strict disciplinarian with his brats and has a taste for the more severe traditional punishments."

"You're a nice lively fuck and personally I think it would be a waste if you finish up dying slowly pinned to a stake with a skewer through your guts. But you're Mr Williams slut and he can do what he likes with you."

He looked down into my appalled face and laughed.

"Mind you," he said smiling lasciviously, "we've got all night together and maybe if you worked really hard and gave me a really good time that might be enough to make me to forget my duty as a responsible free citizen to return a straying brat to its proper Master."

As he was talking he parted his knees and looking into his crutch I saw that his cock was beginning to harden. My face was buried in his crutch, my lips and tongue busy with his rapidly hardening cock before he had finished speaking.

What followed was a dark incoherent jumble of sweating bodies, pawing hands, animal smells, the taste of cum, of the most intense pleasure and sharpest pain. I had just brought Lowther to his fifth climax that night, or was it perhaps his sixth, and was once again trying to rouse his prick with my tongue and lips when he pushed me away.

"That's enough Bobby," he said, "you're a good little whore but I've had enough."

"Was I good enough Mr Lowther Sir?" I asked anxiously.

"Good enough? Good enough? Oh to persuade me to abandon my duty as a good free citizen to return a runaway brat to its rightful owner. No I'm afraid not Bobby you see as a solicitor I am an officer of the court and a brat would have to be very good indeed to persuade me to forget my duty to uphold my fellow citizen's property tights. "

"You were good Bobby but not good enough. I'll be taking you back to your Master tomorrow and since I suspect you are not looking forward to that and you appear to be of a peculiarly wandering disposition I had best secure you for the night."

"Come along out you get," and hooking a hand through my collar he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up drawing me after him.

He took a plastic tie from the hook on the back of the bedroom door from which they hung and then stood for a moment looking around before leading me down to the end of the bed.

"Get your hands on either side of the rail," he ordered. I had to crouch down to obey him. Then as I pleaded and sobbed he slipped the tie over my hands and drew the unyielding plastic as tight as he could around my wrists. The plastic bit deep into my flesh securing my wrists on either side of the bar at the foot of the bedstead.

"For God's sake," he snapped, "stop that stupid noise. How the hell am I going to get any sleep with that din going on?"

"All right then, I know what to do,"

He picked up a ball gag from the bedside table and forcing my jaws apart thrust it between them. For a moment he fiddled with the buckle at the back of my head securing the gag firmly in place.

Tethered by, my wrists I stood bent over the end of the bed while Lowther ran his hand up the inside of my thigh. Then withdrawing his hand he landed a heavy open handed smack on my bare rump.

"I'm going to sleep now. Maybe I'll give you another good fucking tomorrow morning before I re-unite you with your master. That's two things for you to look forward to."

He laughed loudly and threw himself down on the bed. The room was plunged in darkness and before long he was snoring loudly.

I unclenched my fists relaxing my arms which I had kept tense all the time Lowther was securing my wrists. There was as I had hoped a slight slackening of my bonds but the stout plastic tie had been drawn so tight that it still bit into my flesh. I braced myself for what came next.

I had deliberately placed my wrists on either side of the bar and tried to keep them as close to it as I could while Lowther bound them together trying to distract his attention by crying and pleading with him. My plan was, once he was asleep to push my wrists forward away from the bar thus getting a degree of slack on the plastic tie and with luck I would then be able to slip my hands free.

Lowther had bound my wrists so tightly together on either side of the bar that it took a good deal of force to get them clear of it. There was a moment of intense pain as the unyielding plastic cut into my wrists but I bit my lips to stop myself crying out and exerted all my strength to force my wrists clear of the bar. Suddenly they slipped clear and I just saved myself from tumbling forward on to the bed and waking Lowther.

But still there was not enough slack simply to slip my hands clear of the plastic constraint.

It took a good fifteen minutes to pull one hand clear and that was at the cost of a deeply skinned set of knuckles.

I stood in the darkness sucking on my throbbing knuckles with the metallic taste of fresh blood in my mouth considering what to do next.

Of one thing I was determined. I was not going to let Lowther return me to Mr Williams. The least I could have expected if I had just simply runaway and taking into consideration my value to him as the source of his replacement kidneys would have been a severe flogging. As the betrayer of his family secrets and the cause of his loosing a considerable amount of his wealth I was sure I would not be dealt with so leniently. Skewering enhanced by the imaginative use of the blowtorch would be my probable fate.

To avoid that or something similar I had to recover my status as a free boy and I could only do that with the help of Mister Warwick which meant that I had to establish contact with him. My original plan had been to achieve this by tracking overnight across country to his house but so much of the night had now passed that was simply impossible.

I had to think of another way.

Did Lowther have a car? If so where were the keys and where was the car?

And if I managed to get hold of the keys and find the car would I be able to drive it. I could drive a tractor, I had learnt how to do so on Dad's farm, but a car was different and I gave up the idea.

But surely Lowther would have a mobile phone on him. If I could get hold of that, I knew Mr. Warwick s telephone number and I could get hold of. Mr Warwick to come and fetch me. A much better and safer idea. I just had to find the telephone, get out of the house, hide up among the rocks on the seaward side of the breakwater, make the telephone call and wait for him to turn up in the car.

And I was going to find the adoption certificate. I had gone through a great deal for it and I wasn't going to go without it. And it would help if I was able to tell Mr Warwick that I had the evidence we needed to persuade Mr Williams to part with large sums of cash when I asked him to come and fetch me. Of course he would come anyway, he was my friend, but I sort of knew he would be that little bit more eager if he knew I had the information we needed on Mr Williams.

The only light in the room filtered in through a narrow crack at the bottom of the door leading into the corridor. It was sufficient to dimly make out Lowther's bulk stretched out on the bed but nothing very much more. There certainly wasn't enough light to mount a search for a mobile phone or a piece of A4 paper. There were lights in the room but I couldn't use them because that would wake Lowther.

Perhaps if I slightly opened the door onto the corridor that would give me enough light to look for the things. Moving as quietly as I could I made my way over to the door. I cautiously eased the handle down and tried to open it to discover it was locked.

I remembered Lowther coming into the room and locking the door behind him before slipping the key into his trouser pockets where it no doubt still was. All I had to do was to find those trousers. They were somewhere on the floor by the bed where Lowther had stepped out of them after penetrating me for the first time. I set out towards where I thought I would find them and almost fell headlong over one of his shoes. I saved myself from falling just in time.

Easing myself down onto my hands and knees I set off again feeling the way. Time was passing and Lowther could wake at any moment. I found his trousers but neither the room key nor his mobile was inside them. Perhaps they were on the bedside table. The deed of adoption was, there the key and mobile if it existed were not.

Of course Lowther had a mobile I told myself crossly. Everybody did nowadays and Lowther was just the sort of would be whiz kid that would have something very sophisticated and expensive to impress his friends.

I hunkered back on my heels and thought. I had to find the key. Without it I was trapped in the room. Sooner or later he would wake up and then all chance of escape would be gone. He was a grown man bigger and stronger than me. I would not stand a chance against him.

My guess now was that he had put the key and the mobile under his pillow for safe keeping probably along with his wallet.

How unfair, I thought the whole thing was. I had gone through all sorts of dangers, been beaten and raped and suffered all sorts of humiliations and when things were just reaching a conclusion I was stuck because a man kept his possessions under his pillow.

It was almost funny but then I checked myself. It was not funny at all. For me it was a matter of life and death and a very cruel and unpleasant death too. At that point Lowther stirred in the bed and his snores redoubled in volume. And then it struck me. If it was a life and death matter for me why should it not be so also for Lowther?

I didn't have a chance against him if he was awake but if I attacked him while he slept then things could very well be different. If he was dead I could switch the lights on and I was sure I would find the key and the mobile too if it existed very quickly. The room was not all that large and didn't have very much in the way of furniture.

But how could I kill him. I would have to use something in the room as a weapon. There was no knife or anything with which to stab the man. Nothing that I had noticed at least that could be used as a bludgeon to smash his skull. I could try to smother him with the pillow but I doubted if that would work. The man would wake and once woken he would be strong enough to throw me off.

I thought of the plastic ties hanging from the hook on the bedroom door. I remembered how as he had tightened it round my wrists it bit deep into my flesh and how having tightened it how unyielding it was. I told myself that if I could get one of the ties round his neck and drawn tight he would be as good as dead meat.

In the dim light filtering into the room through the narrow gap under the door I found where the ties were hanging on the back of the door to the corridor. Taking one in my hand I crept as quietly as I could across to the bed. I stood over Lowther's sleeping body listening to his snores reverberating about the room.

I hesitated. I hadn't killed anyone before not even a brat. And this was not a brat but a free citizen. Killing a free citizen was a big deal. It was murder, there would be an investigation and a fuss in the papers and on the television. There would be a mass skewering of brats found in the immediate area with plenty of television coverage. Murders of free citizens were rare but Dad had told me of occasions in the past when there were so many sluts skewered that they were nailed three or four brats to the same execution post. (1)

It was either Lowther or me I told myself. We were both free citizens and there was nothing to make him more valuable than myself.

He was lying on his left side with his back to me. Very, very slowly I slid the end of the stiff plastic strip between his neck and the bed. Reaching over him I gingerly bent the strip back, the serrated side inward, round his neck and threaded it back through the 'eye' at its other end. (2)

Lowther stirred and murmured. I was sure he was going to wake. Quickly manoeuvring the loop of stout plastic so the lock was kinder his right ear I pulled it as tight as I could the plastic cutting into the flesh of his neck.

He made a weird noise, part choke part scream. He started up in the bed his hands flying to his neck. I jumped back to get away from him. He struggled to his feet, and still making those strange animal noises staggered three steps before dropping to his knees. So far as I could see in the almost complete darkness he was still clawing at his neck apparently struggling to loosen the unyielding loop of plastic. There was a thud as he went over on one side. A short period of frantic movement and then silence. The pungent smell of human faeces filled the room. The man had shit himself in his death throws.

I crossed to the door and switched on the light. Lowther was lying on the floor in a foetal position. There were deep red gashes in his neck where his fingernails had torn his flesh in his frantic efforts to rid himself of the plastic strangling him. I wondered if he had realised before he died that it was I who had done the thing. I hoped he had and I wished I could have looked him in the eye before he died. It would have been some recompense for the pain and humiliation that he had inflicted on me.

The key and Lowther's mobile were under the pillow. Holding them and the deed of adoption I unlocked the door and eased it open. The corridor was deserted. Locking the door behind me, anything that would delay the discovery of the body and give me more time, I set off. I had to get out into the open, to somewhere where Mr. Warwick could pick me up, before I phoned him.

The door into the café premises at the bottom of the stairs was unlocked. I cautiously pushed it open and peered round it. A man was sitting on a chair behind the counter his feet up on another chair fast asleep. It was a warm summer's night and the door onto the pavement had been left open. Five or so sleeping Tribute brats lay huddled together on the floor in a corner of the room in a jumble of naked limbs.

As I crept past them one whimpered and called out for his Mummy in his sleep. Thinking he would have more and better cause to cry out for his mother when the Brat Police arrived and began their round up of sluts for skewering I slipped out of the building into the night.

I was not sure of the time but it must have been very late for the bay front area was brightly lit but totally deserted while there was no distant hum of traffic. I moved quickly across to the beginning of the breakwater dividing Cardiff Bay from the Bristol Channel. It was not until I was hidden in the shadows of the great rocks that lined its seaward side that I stopped and phoned Mr Warwick's number.

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