The Telemachus Story Archive

The First Time Abroad
Chapter 3
By Tyler Bernard

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Day two began, abruptly, at 8am, with a rough hand shaking his shoulder.

Caleb had hardly slept, but he was still disorientated. He opened his eyes to see the Security Guard leaning over him.

‘Get up’ he ordered.

‘Please, just a little more sleep’ Caleb croaked, weakly

In response, the security guard whipped away the thin blanket that was Caleb’s only covering, to reveal his naked body. The guard admired the flesh for a moment, and then grabbed the boy by his balls, firmly.

Caleb yelped in surprise. The guard forced Caleb to stand, by yanking in his balls so forcefully that he had no choice but to get up. Caleb’s body felt sore and painful all over, and, although some of the red marks on his skin had faded, some were turning into brightly coloured bruises.

Without letting go of his scrotum, the security guard outlined the situation.

‘What kind of pathetic slave are you? Don’t you realise your Master’s clothes need ironing, and then you will prepare his breakfast. He is having an important breakfast business meeting. You have a lot of duties to perform and you have already been allowed an extra long lie-in, so you have much catching up to do’

Caleb stood, shivering. ‘But... but what do I wear?’

The guard laughed, and squeezed just a little harder on Caleb’s balls.

‘Wear? You really are new at this, aren’t you? Get to the shower and clean yourself up. The Master expects all his slaves to shower at least twice a day, when they are not in use. You will be expected to be in the ironing room in 15 minutes, just down the hall, third door on the left’

The shower was cold, but Caleb made the best of it. There was a small towel, which he dried himself on. He was still not sure what he was supposed to wear, and he was too embarrassed to walk around naked, so he wrapped the towel around him, it did not provide much coverage, but it was just enough to protect his modesty.

He walked down the corridor. As he did so, some of the guards words came back to him – did he say ‘all the Masters’ slaves?’ Does this maniac have more imprisoned people here somewhere?

The laundry room was exactly how you would imagine it – row after row of sheets and clothes drying on lines threaded across the room. An ironing board with an old electric iron, and a pile of clothes next to it. A note, handwritten, on top of the pile said ‘Iron these’.

Caleb was never good at ironing, he had always let someone else do it for him, but he made a start. After fifteen minutes, he had done about half the pile, to a semi-mediocre standard, when the door flew open, and Henderson, the butler, marched in.

‘Have you not finished yet, slave?’ He shouted.

Caleb replied, nervously ‘S...sorry sir, I’m not very good at...’

‘That’s for damn sure’ The Butler interrupted. He looked at Caleb’s first attempts at ironing. ‘This is all shit’ he said. ‘And what the fuck is this!’ He screamed, pointing at the towel around Caleb’s waist.

He grabbed the towel and yanked it away, leaving Caleb totally naked.

‘You never cover yourself unless the Master specifically orders you to!’ he yelled.’ I would beat you here and now for your ignorance, if we were not already seriously late. You will go directly to the kitchens and prepare the Master’s morning tea. The chef will tell you what to do. I will re-do this ironing. Get down there now’

Caleb ran to where he had been instructed to go. He was acutely aware of his nakedness, and he passed a couple of cleaning girls, who pointed and giggled as he passed.

The kitchen was busy. Several white-suited staff were preparing food for later in the day. Nobody took ay notice of Caleb as he stood, naked, in the doorway.

However, as he looked around, Caleb noticed something strange – although most of the half-dozen or so people in the kitchen were fully dressed, one man, a brown haired, Spanish-looking guy about Caleb’s sort of age, who was busily mixing something in a bowl, was wearing a full length white apron which, when he turned, could be seen to have nothing on underneath!

His naked firm butt protruded from the rear. An Indonesian man in a chef’s hat yelled an instruction to this boy and the boy began to whisk the bowl in front of him faster and faster. The chef then glanced at Caleb and gestured him to come closer.

‘You must be the new one’ the chef said. ‘You’re late. Have you been told what to do?’

Caleb shook his head.

The chef cursed. ‘Right, well, the Master needs his morning tea to be waiting for him when his alarm goes off at 8.55am. That gives you only about ten minutes. We have made the tea, you need to take this tray to his room, do not knock on the door just go straight in and close it, quietly, behind you, and be waiting, on your knees, in the centre of the carpet at the foot of his bed for when he awakes.’

The chef picked up the silver tray and handed it to Caleb. There was an ornate tea pot, some sugar and milk, a china cup and a morning English language newspaper on it, plus a single red rose in a vase.

‘He likes it with milk and two sugars. You have been told to never look the Master in the eye unless he orders it?’

Caleb nodded

‘You better get moving, then. Oh, and one more thing. You better get that working, too’

The chef pointed at Caleb’s cock. Caleb looked up at the chef, not understanding. The chef shook his head, as if he was dealing with some sort of idiot. He reached down and grabbed the limp shaft.

‘The Master demands to see erect cocks on his slaves when he awakes. I can tell by looking at the marks on your skin that you know what happens to a slave when he does not obey the Master’s wishes. So you better hurry up and get up there. Go up the servant’s stairwell to the middle floor, it’s the big door at the end of the corridor, and don’t spill any of this or there will be hell to pay’

Caleb hurried, as best he could without spilling the tray, up the stairs.

He came to the huge wooden door, and, nervously, opened it. A four poster bed stood before him in the giant room, and a figure lay in the bed, apparently asleep. He quietly closed the door and moved to the centre of the carpet. He kneeled as requested.

He tried to visualise something that might make him go erect. He thought about girls, and porno, and anything he could, but nothing was coming to him. Normally he would wake in the morning with a hard on, but he normally would not even be awake yet, and also he could not take his mind off the things that had happened to him yesterday.

He carefully lowered the tray to the carpet, and grabbed his cock in his hand. It was sore from its mistreatment yesterday, and it didn’t want to co-operate at first, but he played with it and visualised all those things that would normally get him hard- cheerleaders in skimpy costumes, two or three of them in his bed at the same time, some celebrities who he had always found hot.

Finally, he got a response, and he manipulated it until he had a good, strong hard on, and just in time, too, as the alarm started to go off. He quickly picked up the tray, bent his head forward submissively, and waited.

A hand reached out and stopped the alarm, and the Master sat up in bed.

He rose, and stretched in the morning sunlight. He was aware that the slave was waiting, nervously, as requested. He went into the en-suite bathroom and pissed loudly into the toilet.

Outside, Caleb listened to the noise of the old man pissing, and he could not help but shiver. The business of the tasks he had to carry out this morning had left his mind mercifully free of the memories of the pain and humiliation he had suffered yesterday at this man’s hands, but being here in the man’s room, naked, awaiting his next command, brought it all flooding back. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

‘Prepare my Tea on the table by the window’ the voice yelled from the bathroom.

Caleb got up from his knees and went across the room, his hard cock pointing the way, bouncing up and down between his legs. He went over to a small, elegant table overlooking the manicured lawns. He put the tray down, poured tea into the cup and added milk, and then added two spoons of sugar as requested. He then slipped a hand down to his cock, which was becoming soft, and quickly pumped it back up to hardness.

The Master left the bathroom and sat at the single chair. Caleb was unsure what he was supposed to do so he stood to attention by the table and looking down as ordered. The Master sipped the tea, and grimaced.

‘Of course, you put the milk in first, before the tea, didn’t you, slave?’

Caleb didn’t answer. He knew even a minor transgression like that would mean more punishment. The Master chose not to pursue this further today. Instead, he reached out for the newspaper. The first page was dominated by a story about something a government minister had done.

‘Read the article for me, slave’ He ordered. Caleb took the newspaper and began to read, out loud, the boring article. He was not a natural reader, and his voice came out dull and flat in his twangy Aussie accent as he read. He was about one third of the way through when he suddenly felt a hand close around his erect cock. He gasped.

‘Continue’ said the Master. And the slave continued to read, more intermittently and unevenly than before. In one hand the Master still held the tea cup, and he sat comfortably, gazing out the large ornate window into the morning sunshine, admiring his finely maintained estate. In the other hand he slowly, ever so slowly, massaged the boy’s cock, running his hand up and down the shaft, pulling back the foreskin occasionally and running his thumb over the exposed cock head.

He never once bothered to look at what he was doing, he knew he was hitting the correct spots when the boy’s voice cracked or varied during the reading.

Caleb struggled to the end of the article. He could not remember a single word of what he had just read. As he completed reading, the Master’s hand mercifully withdrew.

‘When you thought I was asleep earlier,’ the Master said, ‘In fact I was awake. I heard you pleasuring yourself with your hand. I will not allow onanism to occur on my property. From today onwards, you will never touch your organ again unless I order you to. This includes when you are washing or relieving yourself. If you do not comply I will be forced to have it enclosed in a chastity device, which believe me, neither of us wants. The very thought of serving me should be enough for you to get erect. Now, lie on the carpet, face down’

Caleb was filled with fear. What did the pervert intend to do with him now? He did as instructed.

‘How many press ups can you do, slave?’

Caleb answered ‘100, Master.’

‘Only 100?’ said the Master. ‘Today you will do 125. Legs straight, only toes, palms and cock allowed to touch the ground. Prepare to begin. If at any point I say freeze, you will hold in that position until I say ’continue’. Count out loud as you go. Begin’

Caleb did his first press-up. ‘One’

‘One, Master...’ The Master corrected him. ‘Begin again’

Caleb began again. ‘One, Master. Two, Master. Three, Master...’

The Master returned to the bathroom and applied his shaving foam. He yelled to the boy to shout louder, and Caleb did as instructed. At around the 30 mark, there was a polite knock on the door.


Caleb froze in position, at the upper part of the stroke.


Henderson entered, with the Master’s freshly pressed and ironed clothes. He apologised for the delay, and then entered into a conversation with the Master regarding the day’s duties, and the arrival of the guest for the morning breakfast meeting. All this time, Caleb held in position, but his arms were beginning to shake.

After a few minutes, he left and closed the door. The Master’s voice echoed out again


Gratefully, Caleb dropped down into the next stroke.

‘Thirty five, Master, thirty six, Master, thirty seven, Master...’

The Master shaved slowly, carefully, wiping his cut-throat razor on the leather strap by the sink as he did so. He could hear the boy counting, and the strain of the exercise beginning to creep into his voice. The boy reached seventy. The Master finished his shave, and detached the leather strap from its hook.

‘Freeze’ he said.

Caleb again froze, in the upper part of the cycle on press-up number 73. He was sweating now from the exertion. What now? He saw the Master’s feet emerging from the bathroom and walking up beside him.

The Master, dressed only in his bathrobe, looked down at the sharp, toned body below him, frozen into an uncomfortable posture. He did like to see boys held in tension positions, it accentuated their muscles perfectly. He took the strap, raised it, and brought it down firmly onto the boy’s exposed buttocks.

Caleb yelped, and collapsed to the floor. He looked up at the Master, fearfully.

‘Do not look at me’ the Master said, calmly. ‘I did not give you permission to rest. Return to your position’...

‘I’m sorry, Master’ Caleb pleaded. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

The Master sighed, disappointed. This one was a really slow learner. He could see a long, drawn out training process ahead, and the idea bored him. Still, he had a duty to society to enslave and train these boys, it was almost a calling, he felt, and sometimes it was meant to test him. He would work his way through, somehow.

‘Return to the position, please’ he stated, calmly as ever.

Caleb didn’t want to, but he resumed the position. He could not see what the Master was doing, and he feared the return of the strap.

‘I think we will penalise you 25 press-ups for that indiscretion’, the Master commented. ‘Now, begin again’

Caleb, nervously, began again. ‘Seventy four, sir, seventy five, sir...’

At eighty, ‘Freeze’

Two sharp slaps with the belt. This time, Caleb managed to just maintain position, by straining and tensing his muscles. The veins stood out in his neck as he clamped his eyes shut and his teeth together to block the pain.


And so it continued. Every 10 press-ups, he would be required to freeze, and suffer swipes from the strap, each time one additional swipe. Caleb exceeded 100 press-ups, then 110. From 111 onwards, the Master did not even tell bother telling him to freeze; he just delivered a fresh swipe to the already red buttocks every time he raised his ass into the air.

Finally Caleb struggled to 125, many more than he would normally attempt, and slumped forward onto the carpet, his ass burning from the impacts of the strap.

‘Why have you stopped, slave?’

‘125, Master’ he gasped.

‘But I informed you that there would be a penalty of 25. You have not finished yet’

‘Master, I don’t think I can do any more’ Caleb wept

‘You are really trying my patience today, slave. Twenty five more, please’

Caleb struggled back up, and began the extra strokes. He managed seven, each with their accompanying strapping, before he fell, exhausted.

The Master shook his head looked at his watch. He was bored of this little exercise game.

‘I have a busy morning ahead of me, slave, and I don’t have much more time to waste on you this morning. I have a meeting with a colleague in thirty minutes, so we had better get on. I am now going to take a shower, and you will wash me and yourself. Come this way’

Caleb struggled to get his weary muscles working. He was in a daze for the next ten minutes as he and the Master stood in the spacious shower cubicle, and the Master instructed him to wipe and clean every inch of the Master’s body with his bare hands.

He rubbed the old man’s skin and hair, still not believing he was actually doing it. On occasion the Master would pause, and demand the boy lathered up his own body, while the Master watched. Caleb even had to kneel, and perform a detailed clean of the Master’s crotch and ass, even, on instruction, cleaning out his asshole with one finger.

The water was warm and pleasant after the cold shower earlier, right up until the end, when the Master flung the control over to the maximum cold position, and they both were hit by a blast of icy water.

‘A cold shower is good for controlling all those uncivilised sexual urges’ the Master explained. He then left the shower, and instructed Caleb to dry him with the various soft towels in the room. Caleb was not allowed to dry himself. He had to stand to attention as the Master slowly dressed.

‘Now slave’ the Master explained, ‘You will return to your room and dry yourself there, and then I expect to see you downstairs in the garden room, ready to meet our guest, in ten minutes time. Do not be late. Oh, one more thing...’

The Master took the single red rose from the vase on the tray that Caleb had delivered earlier. He ordered Caleb to turn around. He placed the rose stem between Caleb’s butt cheeks, and ordered him to clench. Caleb did as ordered. A thorn on the rose stem pricked his skin, raising a tiny bauble of red, but he did not unclench his cheeks and let go. The Master noticed this, and nodded in approval. The bright red rose, the tiny spot of red blood, and the rosy bright colour of the ass cheeks after the strapping provided a lovely combination of colours. And the boy had not dropped the rose when it pricked him? Perhaps he was learning, after all...

‘You will wear this for the rest of the day’ the Master ordered. ‘Now go.’

And Caleb hobbled off up the corridor.

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