Nor Iron Bars a Cage

Nor Iron Bars a Cage

by R. Olivia Brown

Part 4

It wasn't long before Deva arrived with a can of the required chemicals. "This is for you," he said dumping it on the floor. "Don't drink it all at once."

"Thank you, sir."

Deva took a comprehensive glance round the room. "Do the little bastards bite?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," replied Avon, indicating the marks on his legs.

"About time he gave you something to wear, isn't it?"

Avon hadn't given a thought to his nakedness for some time and was surprised to have it brought to his attention. He didn't know what to say, he no longer felt he had an opinion on such matters.

"Answer me!" Deva demanded.

"Sir?"

"Don't you want to cover yourself?"

"I think that's something for my Master to decide, sir."

"I don't know what he sees in you. You're not handsome and you don't seem clever, whatever he may say about you."

The slave remembered something Arlen had said about Deva being jealous of him and did not reply to that. "May I continue with my work, sir?"

"Go on then, slut."

The master was already present when Avon returned that night and the slave was embarrassed by his own grubby appearance. As soon as the slave arrived the master indicated he should sit on his pallet and wait.

Avon looked around, reflecting that he had not so far been permitted to clean this place, not since his first arrival at the base when he had been forced to scrub it out. His master sighed occasionally and Avon wondered what he was doing. None of the slave's tasks required real thought, he only needed to make the simplest decisions, obviously things were not so easy for his master and Avon wondered how he coped. He could barely remember how he himself had coped. He suspected not well.

Finally the master stood and stretched, then looked down. "Come, slave, you will bathe me."

"As you wish, Master." Avon stood and followed him into the bathroom, then assisted him in undressing. He knew his master was a powerful man, but the masculinity he displayed was daunting and Avon was quite envious of the strong arms and shoulders, muscular legs and powerful calves. In comparison he felt skinny, almost delicate.

He stepped into the shower beside his master and started washing him. His hair was straighter when wet and Avon carded the tangles with his fingers as best he could, trying not to pull his master's hair. He rubbed the soap into his master's chest and back with his hands and allowed the water to wash it away, then moved lower to his hips and loins, cleansing there also. He had become accustomed to cleaning walls, but for him there was nothing routine about this action, he was utterly fascinated by the responses of the body he was working on. The slave knelt to soap the legs, first the outside, then he moved his attention to the inside and up to the thighs, noticing that the hair was thinner here and at last he moved his hand up to the testicles daring to soap there also, finally washing his master's hardening penis, caressing it as he did so, wondering if the man would respond. The master grasped his wrist. "Don't be impertinent."

"Master?"

"You know what I mean. Now, cleanse yourself."

Avon did so, soaping himself rapidly and thoroughly and rinsing it away.

"Now you may dry me." Briskly, Avon obeyed the instructions and waited for more. "And yourself."

He assisted his master to dress again and served his meal as usual, sitting on the floor between courses, expecting nothing more.

***

Avon wondered at his own contentment. Happiness was something he had rarely experienced, he had reached a point when he no longer expected it. He could dimly remember, as a young child, before school, before anyone had any expectations of him, being happy and content with himself. It seemed that the moment he had learned to read he had been labelled a genius and the work and the misery had started. He had been proud of his cleverness, but it had often seemed that very quality had caused him little more than pain.

Suddenly he dropped the brush he had been holding. A jolt passed through him and he had no strength in his hands. He knew the touch of that probe and he cried out, wondering what he had done to deserve punishment. He dropped to his knees as the probe touched his legs and another jolt travelled through him. "Master?" he called, "Master, what have I done?"

A jolt hit him on the chest and he cried out in pain, rolling over as best he could. It struck him yet again, but he caught a glimpse of his tormentor, shocked to see it was Arlen. Her face was contorted with fury and he could not understand what he had done to her, he had not known she had such hatred for him. He heard her screaming, but the words hardly made sense, all he could grasp was that he was a danger and that his mere existence was an abomination, though to whom and why he could not understand.

"Madam! Madam, please stop!" Avon no longer dared fight back, even if he could reach the probe, but that was impossible. "Beloved Master, why is she doing this?"

Avon had not exactly intended his cry to activate the comlink, though he had indeed been addressing it to the one person he believed would perhaps listen and had the power to stop her. He was surprised therefore when a shot rang out and Arlen's body collapsed across him. He fell silent almost in mid scream, seeing his master's shoes.

Abruptly he was freed from her weight and lifted upright. "Are you all right?"

"Yes ... yes, Master." Avon got his breath back. "Thank you, Master." He looked down at the woman. "Is she dead?"

"I'm afraid so." The taller man hefted the gun. "Old fashioned projectile weapon, all I had to hand."

"You killed her, Master?"

"Of course, slave. You are reliant on me. It is my duty to take care of you."

Jarvik arrived at a run. "What the ...."

"Remove the body, Jarvik."

"What happened?" The blond stared down at the dead woman.

"She attacked my slave, I killed her. Take the body away." He looked back at the slave. "Get on with your work, slave."

"Master?"

"Go on with you, now. I'll see you later."

***

All that day Avon had been looking around, almost expecting some other dreadful thing to happen to him. In comparison the evening seemed quite normal, he served his master dinner and to his joy was permitted to help him bathe.

After drying himself the slave turned to lie on his pallet in the corner, but felt his master take him by the wrist. He looked up and waited for his instructions obediently. "The bed," said his master softly, "get it ready."

His heart beat faster, but he did as he had been asked, turning the covers back. He felt his master's hands on his shoulders and turned to face him in response to the unspoken command. He leaned forward and Avon turned his face up expectantly. Their lips met and Avon allowed his master to explore his mouth with the soft invasive force of his tongue. The kiss was commanding and Avon found this oddly thrilling. He felt his master's arms go around him and he was aware of his hips being pulled to meet the other's, the big hands were flat, open, fingers spreading over his buttocks.

The slave rested his hands on his master's shoulders, then put his arms round him loosely as the light kisses continued. It was clear his master was an expert at this and Avon responded to his knowledge and his leadership. Finally he was moved away, and Avon gave a shy smile.

Pressure on his shoulders indicated that the slave should kneel at his master's feet and Avon complied with the demand immediately. "Now, slave. Suck me."

The cock was big, bigger than Avon's and he was impressed as he had been when bathing him with it's unbridled masculinity. His hands still in those of his master he opened his mouth and took the wonderful bulk of it inside. He had never done this before, and had to trust that allowances would be made for his lack of expertise, but he had read of the act and had experienced it himself as recipient. As he himself enjoyed he teased the head with his tongue, rolling back the foreskin as best he could and then taking the organ in deeper. It hardened still more and he was stimulated by the size of it, the power and the strength.

Gently his master pulled free and indicated with his hands that Avon should stand, kissing him again when he was upright, then pushing him backwards towards the bed. With one hand the taller man opened a jar of cream on the table by the bed. "Lie down, on your back," he ordered.

"Master?"

"Go on, slave. Lie down on the bed."

Avon complied with the instruction, trustingly.

"Now, open your legs and raise your knees."

Avon did so, pleased when his master smiled at the picture he displayed. "Quite beautiful," he complimented. "Now, take some of the cream on your fingers. Yes, like that. I want to fuck you, but I don't want to get hurt. Whether I hurt you will depend on how well you prepare yourself for me. Open your arse with that cream, I'll tell you when to stop."

It was a minor gymnastic feat for Avon, who had never considered this as a possibility, but he slid his fingers, first one then another into his arse. He could see his master watching him, his huge cock was hard, and as Avon watched it wept a clear tear, indicating the extremity of his need. Avon expected to be instructed to stop, but the order did not come and he continued with the exploration of his own body, an unexpectedly thrilling feeling.

The master lay down on the bed beside him and Avon stilled his fingers, but his master whispered, "No, go on." He could feel his master's breathing quicken beside him, heard his murmur, "Gods, you are so beautiful." His voice rose slightly, "Stop now, slave."

Avon removed his hand and his master took some of the cream on his fingers and lubricated his own cock. He took his time over this, permitting the slave to watch him take pleasure in touching himself, underlining the fact that the slave was a convenience. At last he reached for him, starting by kissing him on the mouth, gently touching his face and Avon could smell the sweetness of the cream he had been using still on his hand. He opened to the kisses willingly, his master's mouth was warm and loving. Avon felt his hand taken and placed around his master's hard cock; he was guided in the first few strokes but then continued the touches automatically.

Then he could feel his master moving over him, kneeling between his legs, positioning him for penetration, entering him slowly. Distracted by caresses he had no thought to spare for pain, it simply never had the chance to occur to him that the act might hurt, the long hard penis slid into him smoothly and freely, and took full possession of his body. Avon slid his arms around his master and spread his fingers to feel the muscles bunch and flex with his powerful thrusts.

The slave became so involved with his master's responses, contracting his internal muscles to increase his pleasure, relaxing to prolong the act, that he forgot his own. His orgasm was as much mental as physical but it took him almost by surprise and the other followed quickly, hot wet spurts filling his arse.

When it was over his master permitted him to roll into his arms, to gain comfort there and the slave smiled, his joy complete.

***

Avon was accustomed to sleeping on the ground and waking on the bed beside his master caused him some momentary disorientation; for a second he had believed he was going to fall.

A slap on his rump jerked him into total wakefulness. "Fetch breakfast, slave."

So their relationship hadn't changed at all, he had merely extended the services he performed. He strove for sarcasm, for the hatred that had always come so easily, but all he felt was a relief he refused to examine too closely.

His master washed quickly and alone, but Avon was allowed to help him finish dressing. This done he sat on the floor while the other ate, thinking about the night they had spent together. He did not feel he had been raped, it was more as if he had been used, like a chair or a bath and he supposed he ought to feel something at the thought, some resentment, but all he was conscious of was gratitude. He had been permitted to serve and he was content.

When he had cleared away and washed the dishes, he entered to find his master sitting at the desk and he turned to look at the slave. Avon realised he had not been given his orders for the day and wondered what they would be.

"Kneel down."

Avon dropped to the floor instantly.

"Open your legs a little more and sit back on your heels. Rest your hands on your thighs. Good. Remember that position, it's for taking orders and it's what I mean when I say 'kneel'. Now, stay there."

At first the position was not uncomfortable, but as time passed he became aware of pains in his legs and back and a need to urinate. He was aware also of his exposed genitals, the way his penis hung between his legs and the soft touch of his testicles against his thighs as he shifted minutely. He sighed, he hoped inaudibly. The silence was almost complete, broken only by his master turning paper pages, the occasional click of a computer keyboard as he made a note. He wondered once again what was written there that could possibly be so fascinating. The last time his master had sat in his presence reading it had been while he served a meal and Avon had seen enough to know it was some sort of historical treatise, a report on an archaeological dig that had itself taken place in the late twentieth century.

Finally, the need to urinate grew too great and he spoke. "Master, may I use the bathroom, please?"

"No."

"Master, please?"

"No! Be silent!"

The slave sat silent as commanded, his desperation and his pain increasing until it was all he could do to keep still. His hands were sweating, leaving pink stains on his thighs and he balled them into fists, digging his nails into his palms hoping to distract himself.

"Master, I will piss on the floor," Avon warned.

"That would be a certain way to get yourself whipped," replied the master, unconcerned. "Not to mention the fact that you would have to clean it up."

"You may go now, slave." The need to urinate had overpowered every other pain in his body by the time permission was given and he was so stiff he could barely stand up. He only made it to the toilet by holding his penis shut in one hand and the relief when he finally felt the pent up liquid flow out of him was so intense he almost wept.

He yelped as a harsh blow caught him across his rump. His master stood in the bathroom, holding a thin flexible whip. Avon thought it was one he'd used before, but was not quite sure. Another blow fell and Avon yelled again. "You didn't thank me," he was told, as the whipping continued.

When it finished he was sobbing. "I'm sorry, Master. Thank you, Master."

"Thank me properly. Kneel."

Avon at once took the position he had been shown, legs open, back straight, hands open on his thighs. For a moment he thought his master might require sexual service, but he was standing too far away for that to be his intention. He seemed to be waiting so Avon spoke. "Thank you, Master, for letting me use the bathroom."

"And what else?". The tall man made sure he saw the whip, flexing it in his hands.

"Thank you for punishing me, Master."

The man came closer again, tilting Avon's head up to him with the tip of the whip. "You need to be told when you've done wrong, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," the slave replied, obediently.

"Do you really believe that?"

"Yes, Master."

"Why do you need to be told when you have done wrong?"

"So that I don't do it again, Master."

"Good. There is another reason, do you know what it is?"

Avon said, "No, Master."

The whip caught him across the face, a blow that brought tears to his eyes. "Think! Who are you?"

"My name's Avon ..."

"Wrong!" Another harsh cut with the whip. "Your name is whatever I say it is! Who are you?"

Avon took a deep breath to steady himself. "No one!" he answered.

"Wrong!" The whip caught him a third time. "Who are you?"

This time Avon was less sure of his answer and he knew his voice was wobbly with tears. He despised himself for his weakness. "Your slave?" he offered, hopelessly, wincing in expectation of another blow.

"Well done, slave." The tall man stared down at him and smiled. Taken by surprise the slave smiled in reply. "Stand up." Avon heard the order as if in a dream, but obeyed. "Now, you may wash and shave. Make sure you do so thoroughly."

"Thank you, Master."

Being watched while washing was new, but the slave was so pleased to be allowed to do it at all that he did not find it unpleasant and he would not now have dared to protest even if he had. Avon also dared waste no time over his cleansing and it was quite soon when he faced his master again.

"You haven't finished yet," Avon was told.

"Master?" Avon wasn't sure what he could have missed.

"There's a jar of the cream in there," the master indicated a cupboard. "Part of your routine will be to prepare your body for me. Do it."

Realising what he meant, Avon complied silently.

"It is important you do this," the master told him quietly. "For I will assume that you have. Failure will mean pain for you, when I take you and quite likely it will mean pain for me too. If it does, you will be punished. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Are you quite sure? Tell me what you have to do?"

"Master I have to be ready for you to fuck me. If I'm not, you'll punish me."

"Good." He looked the slave up and down slowly, then led the way to the bedroom.

"I've given some consideration to how I want you to dress." The master opened a drawer and took out two rectangles of a shimmering black cloth and six metal clips. Avon stared at it silently, this was clothing?

"I will show you this once, and once only. If you need to ask me again or get it wrong, I'll have to punish you."

"Yes, Master."

The tall man demonstrated, a fold on the narrower side of each of the cloths was held in place with four of the clips. These formed the shoulders of the garment and their placing was important. It was then slipped over the head and the other two clips formed the sides, the whole thing looking like a softly draped tabard which reached down to mid-thigh.

Avon looked at himself in the mirror, the garment suited him, and he could see his master, clad in cream once again and forming an impressive contrast, smiling behind him. He put a hand on the slave's shoulder and turned him, still smiling. "Not for too long. You are beautiful, but an arrogant or affected slave is an abomination." He pulled Avon towards him, grasping his upper arms and kissing him forcefully.

The slave relaxed into the embrace. After a few moments he was introduced to another advantage this curious style of dress offered; it could be ripped from his body with the minimum of effort.

"Master?" he gasped as he was rolled onto his face, on the floor.

His master did not reply, instead he pulled the slave into a kneeling position and readied him for entry, opening his anus with his fingers then thrusting his penis home. The unexpected assault was painful, but Avon accommodated himself to it without too much difficulty, pleased he had been made to prepare himself properly.

He supposed he ought to be hurt or offended at the way he had been almost brutally used, but he could only feel pleasure at the fact that he had been there for his master when he obviously needed him so badly. Once he was alone, he dressed again and allowed himself a glimpse of the result in the bedroom mirror. He could see that he was slimmer and already better muscled than he had been, a predictable result of the hard physical work he was expected to undertake, but he was still quite delicate when compared with his powerfully built master.

***

The slave's life never seemed to take on any particular pattern, mostly he was permitted to retain the clothing he'd been given, such as it was. Though this was not, as was explained to him, to prevent him being embarrassed but to spare the blushes of any of the base staff he encountered. He worked when and where his master ordered and usually he was given tasks that would directly benefit the master in some way.

It seemed that his master either did not know, or did not care, that he was a computer technician. He never touched one and rarely even saw one. His master had a console in the flat, but it was unusual for him to be there alone and never had he been able to examine it closely.

His chance came quite unexpectedly. He had started to clean the flat, his perpetual task, while his master worked quietly at his desk. A message had come through on the comlink from control central, a possible intruder report, and his master had gone out without comment, leaving Avon alone polishing the mirrors.

Avon crossed to the console and sat down at the desk. He was afraid. He could not remember being afraid of a computer before, he had grown up with them around him, had always seen them as tools for his use and nothing more.

The codes guarding access were reasonably simple and Avon had no trouble hacking through into the datacodes. These too were reasonably simple, but Avon delayed unaccountably, prey to a feeling that he shouldn't be doing this. It was easy, too easy, and he looked round half expecting his master to have come back.

The flat was empty and silent, but Avon continued to feel that there was something there, an unseen observer. He fought the sensation off and keyed in the sequence that would break the datacodes and access the core records. He was sure there was someone watching him, this time he actually crossed the room and drew the light beige curtains over the windows. He knew the garden was inaccessible to all but his master and scoffed at his fears. Perhaps he was afraid some seabird would see him, and tell his master what he was doing. Holding the curtain, Avon had a sudden vision of the way his master had looked the day he'd seen him from the flat above, staring out over the sea as if deep in thought, then looking up. There was no recognition in him this time, just an unaccountable feeling of sadness, as if he - the slave - were for some reason no longer there to offer the other comfort. The scene almost brought tears to his eyes and he had to force himself to finish drawing the curtains and go back to the desk.

As he accessed the records he could feel that inside he was crying, a voice in his mind kept whispering to him, and at first he could not hear the words, then did not want to. 'Betrayer,' the voices called him, 'Judas', and he kept taking his hands off the keys to wipe away tears that weren't there. He searched the personnel records for one in particular and at last he found it, or he thought he had. Before he could read it, or even be sure it was the right one, his finger touched the display-erase key and he stared at the blank screen for a moment in disbelief. He could not remember having done such a thing in his life before, it was so stupid and he raged at himself. The voices in his mind did not let go so easily, not until he closed access and switched the console off, then he leaned back in the chair conscious of nothing but relief.

He picked up the cloth and returned to his polishing, careful to make sure he did it properly as if trying to wipe away the memory of his actions. His master was not away long, it seemed that the alert had been one of the frequent alarms and he came back cheerful, with a smile and a kiss for his slave

Spontaneous affection was rare, and the slave always prized it, but this time he had too heavy a heart. He knew he had done wrong and that rather than kisses he deserved whatever punishment his master would mete out to him.

The taller man went back to the desk as if to continue with his work, but the slave knew it could not wait, he could not carry on with this load of guilt hanging over him and he would rather face his punishment sooner and get it over with, than later and have it waiting for him all day.

With trepidation he approached the chair where his master sat and knelt, slowly. The man looked busy, but the slave found the courage to speak. "Master ... I ... I must tell you something."

"Yes?" It had taken a little time for his attention to turn to the slave, but he put his work down and looked at the kneeling man.

"I ... I have disobeyed you." There, he'd said it, and he instantly felt a little better.

"I see. What did you do?"

"I ..." It was difficult to admit it and he struggled to find the words. "I used the computer."

"What for?"

"I wanted ... to find out ... about you. I'm sorry, Master."

"You deserve to be punished don't you?"

"Yes, Master."

For a moment his master said nothing and Avon hardly dared breathe in case it should anger him further. Then he was handed a key. "Go to my drawer," the slave instantly knew what he meant, "and fetch me the whip you think you deserve."

Silently, Avon complied. The drawer slid open with a soft grate, and the slave looked inside. There was a choice of four whips, ranging from a heavy and brutal looking device to a light, wicked, plaited one. He knew that two had been used on him before, the lightest and the lighter of the two medium weights, and both had stung badly. He chose the lighter of the two he had not yet felt and carried it to his master, hoping his shaking hands did not show.

The master took it from him and placed it on the desk. He stood and turned the slave round, removing his clothing and binding his wrists behind him.

Avon felt his mouth go dry and his heart beat faster, he recognised fear and ... anticipation.

"Kneel." The order was softly delivered, but Avon knew by now that the will behind it was adamantine, and did not dare disobey. He knelt, presented his rump and readied himself as much as he could for the first blow. Suddenly there were shoes in front of his face, the master had moved round to stand in front of him. "Kiss my feet." The slave complied at once, touching his lips to the leather of the shoes. "Lick them." He did his best, his mouth dry and the further drying action of the leather made him feel slightly sick and he controlled his reaction brutally; he would be whipped into next week if he vomited over his master's shoes.

"Stop. Are you a good slave?"

It was a few moments before Avon was able to speak. "No, Master," he admitted sadly.

"You are a bad slave, aren't you?"

"Yes, Master."

"Why are you a bad slave?"

"I ... I disobeyed my Master."

"Why did you disobey?"

"I was curious, Master. I wanted to find out about you."

The master turned the slave's face up with the point of the whip, indicating that he should sit back on his heels. "How did disobedience make you feel, slave?"

"Frightened, Master. And ... guilty." It was the truth, but it sounded to him as if he were begging for mercy.

"Do you deserve to be punished? To feel my whip?"

"Yes, Master."

"Can you think of a reason why I shouldn't whip you?"

"No, Master." Avon looked down, sure his master would start the beating now. Hoping he would, so he would have it over with.

"I have a disobedient slave. Do you know how shamed that makes me feel?"

The slave risked a glance up. "No, Master," his whispered. He had not even considered the bare idea that his behaviour might reflect on his master.

"You have told me of your transgression yourself. I have decided that deserves recognition. As your reward I will not beat you, this time."

The slave was overjoyed. "Master, thank you."

The master cut the bindings on his wrists and turned him back. "Don't disobey me, slave. I like to care for you and it is hard to care for a disobedient slave."

Glowing with his master's appreciation Avon said, "I won't do it again, Master."

The master hugged him gently. "I'm sure you won't"

***

The waves pounded on the shore below, the slave could hear them even through the study window and if he looked up from his task he could see rain tracking its way down the plastiglass and heavy clouds moving fast across a dark grey sky. The room was bright and warm, he had worked hard on it and was now putting the finishing touches that he knew would please his master.

The bowl in his hands shone. He liked to keep the master's ornaments looking nice and silver was a special pleasure; this piece, a glass dish with a silver rim, being one of his favourites. The glass reflected the lamp light as if it were diamonds and the silver was burnished to a rare shine.

He put it on the real wood desk and admired the result. The whole flat was clean and welcoming, everything in place and the knowledge that his master would be happy with him made him content.

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End
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