Date: Sun, 8 Sep 2002 13:48:46 -0400 From: istari <email@example.com> Subject: Mastering Alex 10 - 12 The following story describes the evolving relationship between and man and a soon-to-be thirteen-year-old boy. It is the story of a safe, loving, consensual, dominant/submissive relationship and does contain scenes of bondage, sado-masochism, etc. If that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable, please stop reading. This story is utter fiction, the product perhaps of my own childhood fantasies, and nothing more. Comments are welcome at firstname.lastname@example.org Mastering Alex Chapter 10: A Close Shave "You are doing very well with him, Steven," Robert said as he offered me a chair. I was still amazed at just how easy it had been. "Seems I just know what to say, and what to do." "You've both found your natural role. Never be afraid of it. He isn't. There will be struggles, you know," he said. "Limits he must overcome, abuse you must help him conquer. Alex will look to you for that. He's chosen you to be his master. That is a great responsibility." "How far should I go, Rob?" "As far as you wish, Steven. You are his master. You decide what his limits are, not him. A good master works slowly. Break him a little more each day, then do it again, and again. When you come upon a wall, and I suspect he has many, you must get past it. Be relentless. Be ruthless. Being soft when he needs you to be cruel serves neither of you." "But when does that become abuse? When do we cross that line?" "Don't concern yourself with that. You may think the line is difficult to see, but, when you do approach it, it becomes very clear. Alex is a pure submissive, and a masochist. There is little he won't endure for you. There are limits and then there are limits. You will do things that may scare him, certainly you will do things that will hurt him, but these are things he wants, more desperately than you can ever know. He does have boundaries though, walls, as I said, that you must respect. Lines you can only cross together. When you find them, it is up to you to chart his course, but he must be ready and able to follow. Ninety-nine times he will shout 'no', he will beg you to stop, but he won't mean it. That one time, when he does mean it, that is when you must give him room, then and only then let him decide. If he trusts you, he will let you take him beyond his limits. It's a profound trust. Don't abuse it." "I could never. This is a bit frightening. We are walking on an edge, I feel it already." "Yes. I can see it in his eyes. He is desperate. He needs to be dominated and humiliated, but he is afraid. His fear is very real, make no mistake, but there is nothing wrong or dangerous about fear in and of itself. Go slowly. Go safely. Have you chosen a safeword for him?" I'd just read about that before bringing him here. "No," I said. Robert nodded in understanding. "No wonder then you feel like you're walking on an edge. You have been. His safeword is for both of you, his protection and yours. Do not go another day without discussing this with him. I know a few associates who work without them. Dangerous and stupid. I am your friend, Steven, I will also be your confidant, and I will help in the boy's training, when you ask it of me. It is clear that Alex is a slave. He must be treated as a slave. His age, as far as that fact is concerned, is totally irrelevant to me. However, if I should discover that you are being careless with him, or working without the protections he deserves as a human being, I will take appropriate actions." His voice was not menacing, his eyes were still warm toward me, all the more reason I knew it was not a threat, but a statement of fact. "I would never hurt Alex, not like that." "I know. But a master's power sometimes becomes addictive, and you do have a propensity for addictions, don't you?" "I do." "Then be aware of that. Being a master is about control, of your slave, and of yourself. Do not place one at the expense of the other." "Which word should we choose?" "Oh, that is entirely up to you. Something easy for him to remember, and something easy for him to say under stress. Something that suits him. I gave Michael 'willow'. You can have him choose it on his own, or you can decide for him." "As soon as we're home." "Excellent. Ah, it appears our two young slaves are almost ready for us." I looked off into the dining room to see Alex carefully setting the table. Adjusting the wineglasses just right. Naked except for his chastity belt, he was completely adorable. Vulnerable and sexy all at once. "I've been thinking I should shave his head," I said conversationally as I watched his graceful form. Robert was quite impressed, and gave me that soft laugh of his. "I can see you're not going to need much help from me where his training is concerned. And you're right. A novice slave must have his head shaved. It's an old ritual, but a good one. The next step in his transformation. Death and rebirth, for some slaves that is really what it's all about. I think it's that way for Alex. He does have a past he needs to put behind him, once and for all. Kill a little piece of that today, and you can begin to set him free." "Free him by enslaving him." "Ironic isn't it? It was the same for Michael." "Can we do it here?" "Absolutely. There should be witnesses. It's an important moment for you both. We'll do it here in the study. I'll have Michael prepare everything while Alex serves us dinner." Dinner was quite good, considering it came from the hands of an eighteen-year-old and a twelve-year-old. Robert had obviously taught Michael to cook. Alex was no stranger to kitchen duty either, but I realized this would be a new skill he would learn, and soon. Having a naked boy to cook and serve your meals was a very arousing thought. Robert sent Michael off on the prescribed mission, leaving Alex to do the serving. He was unsure and nervous, but together we worked him through it. With our blessings he then made his own plate. At first he stood to eat, as was our rule at home. Robert had other plans. "Slaves eat on the floor in this house, Steven," he said to me. "Please correct Alexander." Alex looked up at me with wide eyes, afraid he'd done something terribly wrong. "Not your fault, Alex," I said gently. "I should have asked our host before we started. On the floor, now," I said. Alex immediately put his plate down on the hardwood, and sitting cross-legged, a real effort with the butt plug inside him, he went about feeding himself. I turned to Robert. "Please accept my apology for Alexander's behavior. The blame is entirely mine." Michael returned shortly thereafter, fixed himself a plate with his master's tacit permission, and joined Alex on the floor. Watching them, I could see they were becoming friends. Alex had so few, and despite the difference in their age, I was glad to see it. Watching Robert and Michael was also an education. Mikey had been his slave for four years now. Not yet fifteen years old when Robert took him off the streets, the skinny blond-haired boy had grown into a confident and well- adjusted young man. It amazed me how few words actually passed between them. Robert was not constantly giving orders. He did not need to. Michael knew his duties and performed them without question or hesitation. Dinner over, the slaves quietly and efficiently cleared the table. I heard the customary rattle of dishes and glasses that told me Alex was filling our host's dishwasher. "Probably shouldn't have let him touch the plates," I said morosely. "He's a bit of a whirlwind with that kind of stuff." Robert laughed. The boys returned and awaited our pleasure. I could see in his eyes that Alex knew something was coming, something important. Silently we led them back to the study. Michael had cleared the center of the room and rolled the antique Persian back, revealing a beautiful hardwood parquet. He'd moved a small table close at hand, and upon it there was an electric shaver, a straight razor, several soft towels and a bowl. "Alex, take the bowl," I said, "and fill it with hot water." Perhaps not entirely sure what was about to happen, Alex scurried off with the bowl and returned it full of steaming water to its place on the table. He looked at us expectantly. Robert began. "Time for your next lesson. Kneel." Alex looked to me for permission then gracefully lowered himself to his knees. "Put your knees together, boy," Robert ordered. "Now your ankles. Your legs are to touch in this position. Very good. Now, straighten up. Eyes forward. Hands behind your back. Keep them there." Michael handed his master a thin leather strap. With practiced speed and skill, Robert quickly bound Alex' hands behind him. "What are you doing, Alexander?" "I'm kneeling, sir." "Correct. Position two is `Kneel'. Remember." "I will, sir." Robert stood back. It was time. The electric shaver was already plugged in. I took it in my right hand and stood before my twelve-year-old slave. "I'm going to shave your head now, Alex," I told him. His reaction was a subtle mix of dread and excitement. I could tell by the motion in his hips that his cock was trying to erect itself. "Be still." "Yes, master." The buzzing of the shaver filled the room. Alex' hair was fairly short to begin with, but the change needed to be made. I made the first pass right down the middle, cropping his chestnut brown to a barely visible stubble. The weight of this moment got to him quickly, and the first tears formed in his eyes. By the time I was finishing up around his ears, he was crying softly. Still his expression was one of devotion and bravery. "Alright?" I whispered gently as I shut off the shaver. He nodded. His tears continued to fall. I wetted a towel with the warm water. Robert handed me the shaving gel. Soon it covered the boy's head. With great care I removed the remaining stubble with the straight razor. More water and a clean towel and the job was done. Through it all he'd stayed perfectly still for me. I hadn't left a nick or scratch to mar the boy's now perfectly shaven head. Alex was still crying, and he pressed himself into my arms. I could tell he was desperate to hug me, but his bound hands prevented it. I ran my hands over his denuded scalp, amazed at how soft and pale the skin was, never touched by the sun. I would let him grow his hair back to a respectable length before school started again, but for the rest of the summer he would be bald, with only a light stubble to remind him he'd once had hair. With Alex now a properly shaved and in his chastity belt, Robert and I decided it was time for him to service us. We stripped off our clothes. Robert was considerably larger than I, and Alex eyed his monstrous cock with lust and trepidation. We kept the boy on his knees, with his hands still tied behind his back. Robert went first. He wasn't into boys necessarily, but the age of the mouth doesn't really matter where a good cocksucking is concerned. And Alex is very good. He devoured as much of him as his young throat could take. Little muffled grunts came from him. Without his hands, he had only his mouth to steady him on Robert's cock. The boy gagged a few times, but Robert never let up. Alex was soon slurping and sucking and getting his mouth well fucked. His eyes were glazed, focused only on the giant pole worming down his throat. After several very hot minutes, Robert growled and grabbed Alex' newly shaven head, thrusting violently in and out. He came in my boy's mouth, copiously. Without letting the boy wipe the spunk from his chin, I took Robert's place in front of him. Alex looked up at me with hungry eyes. "Pleasure your master," I told him, and he went down on my cock with far more vigor than he'd shown Robert. This pleased me almost as much as his dancing well-trained tongue. As Alex sucked me, Robert picked up the tawse and gave the boy a gentle but continuous thrashing across his back, just enough to make him squirm and groan. I came in him without warning, but he took all of my seed and swallowed it greedily. "Stand," I told him. He struggled to his feet, showing the first signs of fatigue. We left his wrists tied behind him. Cum dripped from the corners of his mouth and onto his chin. Alex had a wild look in his eyes, one I'd grown accustomed to seeing over the last few years. "You want to cum, don't you?" He nodded emphatically. "Yes, master, I do, very much." He was shifting back and forth on his fast-growing feet, trying to get some pleasure, any pleasure, out of the metal device which encased his cock. "Good. I'm going to like having you horny all the time." Alex let out a frustrated whimper. I had him turn around and untied the leather strap that bound his wrists. As if on cue, Michael appeared with broom and dustpan. I nodded my approval and he handed them both to Alex, whose hair was still all over the hardwood floor of the study. "Clean this up, then wash your face. Robert still needs to take your measurements." Take them he did, with clinical, almost heartless efficiency, treating the boy more like he was a horse or cattle. The measuring tape went first around his forehead, then around his neck. Robert would call out the numbers to Michael who wrote them down. Then Alexander's chest, his arms, his wrists, his waist were all recorded. As if he were a piece of meat, his thighs were measured, then his ankles. His height standing. His height kneeling. Robert ordered him onto all fours and measured his height from the floor. Back on two feet, a series of rubber balls were placed in the boy's mouth until Robert found one that satisfied him. "You don't still have any baby teeth, do you?" "No, sir." Robert handed the ball to Michael, who dutifully recorded its size. "That's all I need for now," Robert said, patting the boy's behind. "Give me a few days. I'll deliver them when I'm finished." We left Michael and Alex standing ignored while we talked about sports and politics. It was late in the evening when our conversation finally ended. Poor Alex was nearly asleep on his feet. I got him back into his clothes and Robert walked us to the door. He shook Alexander's hand. "You're off to a good start, boy. I'll expect great things from you." "I'll do my best, sir," he replied through a colossal yawn. "I'll see to that, Alex," I said. "I'll see to that." The boy crawled into the passenger seat and was asleep before we left the driveway. Chapter 11: New Arrangements "Wake up, kid," I said as I gently shook my sleeping boy. Alex had dragged himself from the truck the night before. I stripped him on the front porch and sent him straight up to his room. I'd planned on using the ropes again, but he was already snoring softly by the time I got upstairs. It occurred to me we would definitely try sleep deprivation sooner or later, but not this night, not after so much so important had just happened. I pulled a blanket over him and left him to dream. During the night I'd begun to imagine how I'd chart out our regular routine, especially over these next eight weeks before school started again. I wrote some ideas down and took some time to get a few things ready for the morning, before finally turning in myself. I was looking forward to implementing a strict regime for Alexander, and when morning came, so too did a strong resolve to see it through. "Wake up," I called again, squeezing his shoulder. He was still wrapped in his blankets and he blinked his eyes open reluctantly. He gave me that `leave me alone I'm sleeping' look, but it wasn't going to work. "Come on, Alex," I said a little more sternly. "We've got work to do today, and you've already broken one of your rules. You're supposed to be awake and waiting for me, remember?" That stirred him a bit more, and he slowly got his feet onto the floor. "Sorry, sir." "That's not quite good enough. When you break a rule, you have to be punished. Over my knee, right now." He was about to laugh, but the look on my face clammed him up quickly. "I'm too big for that, aren't I?" he said half jokingly. "Did I ask your opinion?" He stood up straight and looked me in the eye. "No, sir. I'm sorry, sir." In fact he was almost too big. I'd have to find a more permanent solution for administering spankings, but for this morning my lap would suffice. He squirmed around a little at first and we had to spend a few minutes getting him balanced. Then I brought my hand down onto his rear end. If he was expecting a light spanking, he was mistaken. I laid into him firmly. He shouted and bucked wildly, and with my free arm I held him down. "Don't move," I told him as I landed another swat to his round globes. "Start counting. From now on, you'll get ten of these every morning, regardless. You get ten more today as punishment for breaking a rule. Let me hear you." I spanked him again, quite a bit harder than the two before. "Three," he said, his voice strong and sure, almost defiant. He ground his bound-up cock against my leg in a hopeless attempt at release. By the time he said "Ten," he was humping my leg fiercely, and frustration filled his voice. I made sure my hand made contact with the end of the butt plug three or four times in a row, driving the thing a little deeper inside him. Each time that happened Alex' voice strained a full octave higher, and his count was barely a squeak. By "Twenty," his voice was weak and wavering, and just starting to thicken with tears. His cheeks were a warm, glowing pink when I put him back on his feet. He was panting, and his desperate need to cum was plain in his eyes. I pulled him close and hugged him, then kissed him deeply. Alex returned my affections frantically. I knew he wanted to get out of his belt, but he didn't ask. "You're just dying to cum, aren't you?" "I can't stop thinking about it," he said as he pressed his head against my chest. "All I wanna do is jerk off, but I can't." "And you never will. Not while I'm your master." Alex took in a sharp breath. "It's killing me, you know that." "Don't be so dramatic. You'll live. Besides, that's the whole idea. I want you horny all the time. I want you wound up and bound up and ready to explode." "Shit. That's just mean." "Sadistic is a better word. Do you think your master is treating you unfairly?" My boy gave me a devilish look. His eyes were smiling. "I didn't say that." He held his arms out. "Hold me again." I would have held him all morning, but I did indeed have a lot for him to do today. "Later. Time for you to go to the bathroom." He followed me without question. When he saw what was waiting for him beside the sink, his eyes lit up. I'd had the enema equipment for a few years now. Back when he was nine, Alex had some problems with his bowels. Two weeks of flushing were necessary to get him going again. Now it was going to be a daily part of our lives. "Take a piss." He stood in front of the bowl, aiming up the little hole in the bottom of the metal pod that covered his dick. "What are you doing?" I asked quietly. "I'm pissin', like you said." "Not like that, you're not. From now on you squat. Now turn around and get your little butt over the toilet." It was humiliating for him, but he went for it, just as I knew he would. "Drain that thing good. You won't go again until bedtime." He looked up at me and let it loose. He had a good stream going that seemed to last forever. Amazing just how much a young bladder can hold when it has to. "Stand." Alex was on his feet and in position immediately. "I'm going to clean you out every morning," I explained. "You'll never take a shit without having an enema first, understand?" Dread and uncertainty crossed his face for the first time, but also that look of needful lust. He remembered his last encounter with the enema bag, and what it had done to his little nine-year-old cocklet back then. I could see it in his eyes. "You won't be getting a boner this time. No erections. No orgasms. Just a good flushing. Bend over." "Oh, wow." Almost giddy, he bent at the waist and grabbed his ankles. I unlocked the ass strap on his belt and pulled his plug out, slowly as I'd done the day before. He whimpered quietly. "Into the tub." I made him hook everything up and start the water himself. The bag was filling nicely when I clamped the hose and grabbed the nozzle. "Hold your ankles." Alex didn't hesitate. "Let me have it, sir," he said. I had to laugh. "You're just too willing." But I did let him have it. I shoved the nozzle in fast and hard. He gasped and groaned. Only the hose itself was sticking out of his butt now. The bag was full, and I released the clamp and kept the water flowing. "Aahhh, damn, damn, oooohhhh," he sighed as the water began to fill his guts. "Tell me when you think you're full." It took a few moments of cooing and sighing before the boy told me in a small shaky voice, "I'm full, Steve." That was always a sign the water needed to run for a few more seconds. I counted down in my head then clamped the hose. I turned off the water and gently removed the nozzle. "Don't shit until I give you permission." With that I stuffed his plug back inside him and stood him up. His legs were already wobbly. Alexander's belly was distended and perfectly round. "I look like I'm pregnant," he observed with a grin. I gently pressed my hands to his abdomen, feeling the water slosh around inside. He groaned every time I pushed. Then the first cramp hit and he doubled over. I held him tightly and stroked his shaven head. "Easy, Alex, easy. Just a few minutes. That's all you have to give me." Another cramp in his bowels, but less strong than the first. "Stand," I commanded. He eyed me with hatred, but did what he was told. "Stay there. Don't move." I left him to get my morning coffee started. When I returned, he was shaking all over, but still standing with his hands behind his head and his legs spread wide. He was sweating and his face had gone pale. "Had enough, Alex?" "Yes, sir." I had him squatting over the toilet a moment later. I reached beneath him and pulled on the plug. "Hold it `til I tell you." "I don't know if I can." "Try your best." And he did. Bless his heart. I was prepared for the worst, but when the plug came out, my sweet brave Alex managed to hold everything in for just a few more seconds. Finally he burst, and with a loud cry of relief he crapped his young guts out. Then he just sat there on the toilet with a strange satisfied look on his face. "Now, one more to clean you out." Alex didn't pout or beg not to do it again. He just stood up and assumed his position once more in the tub. This time I tenderly rubbed the backs of my boy's thighs as he stood bent over taking the water from the hose. I didn't make him hold it very long, but as before I pressed against his belly to make sure I had him saturated. Another trip to the toilet, and this time the water came out almost clear. I looked on as he wiped himself and had him bend over once more for inspection. Again the plug was inserted, in one quick push this time, making him jump a little. "Doing ok?" "Yep. It does feel better. Like there's more room for the plug in there now." "That's the idea. Wash up everything and come down to breakfast. We've got something important to talk about. Should have done it last night, but you are just so cute when you're sleeping." "I'm always cute," he replied. "That you are." Breakfast was a quiet affair. Alex was standing as usual, and being very quiet. Something was coming. When we finished I had him sit down. His list of rules was still on the table. "Tell me the truth now, Alex. Are you ok with all this?" "You know I am," he said, but behind his smile I saw there was more. He wouldn't have shared it on his own, so I pressed him. "When you hold something back from me, it's the same thing as lying." Alex' young eyes were earnest and thoughtful when he looked at me. "It's a very strong feeling, sir. Not just down here," he grazed his left hand over the metal pod that kept his genitals forever out of reach. "That's part of it, but, but yesterday, when I had to stand and kneel and be naked, and when Michael whipped me, and when you shaved my head, and then this morning . . . I feel, I don't know, all twisted around inside. It's like I'm becoming a different person." "You are. You can never be just plain Alex again." He nodded and his hazel eyes danced. "I know. I'm Alex the slave. Slave Alex. It does feel different. You were right. This is really big, a lot bigger than me. Real intense, you know, like I can't catch my breath." I rubbed his shaven head. Already there was fine light- colored stubble starting to grow back. "Do you want to slow down a bit?" I asked. "I don't think I could, even if I did want to. I sort of like being out of breath. I like the way it feels." "Alright then. I'll decide how fast or how slow. And how far." "OK. I trust you." "I'm glad, but trust isn't going to be enough for us anymore," I said. "We need to give you a safeword." "What's that?" "It's a word you can use when it gets too hard, or when it hurts too much, or when you're really frightened. When you say it, we stop right away. Whatever we're doing, we stop. That's what a safeword is, a stop sign, for you and for me." "So all I have to do is say it." "That's right. But only that one word. You can beg me to stop. You can cry and scream. And you will do all of those things, but I won't stop unless I want to. That's my decision." His eyes grew wide with that one. "Oh, man. Totally hot." He held his arms out theatrically. "Abuse me!" I knew he was playing, but I took his hands into my own. "That is one thing I will never do. That's why your word is so important. Pick one you'd like, right now. I think you should choose it yourself." Alex answered me with a question. "What kind of word should it be?" I thought for a moment. "It should be something you can remember. Something you can say, even if you're crying or screaming. Something I won't mistake for something else. Maybe something that describes you." One word to describe my Alex? Impossible, or so I thought. He turned away from me, and I knew he was thinking. I gave him time, and we sat in silence. Five, ten, fifteen minutes went by, just the two us together, me gently caressing his shoulders. His vibrant eyes were wet and weeping when he finally looked at me. "Butterfly," he whispered. "It's butterfly." A beautiful word for a beautiful boy. "Why?" I asked. He swallowed hard. His voice trembled as he spoke. "They start off all small and ugly and crawling around. Then they get big and beautiful and they fly. That's what's happening to me." "Oh, Alex." I swept him into my arms and hugged him. "Your word is butterfly. Say it for me." "Butterfly." I wiped the tears from his eyes and then my own. "I didn't mean to make you cry, sir," he said. "You shouldn't. Masters aren't supposed to cry." "Who says? I love a sweet and beautiful boy, and he loves me. I think you're worth crying over." We held each other again. His bare skin was soft and warm and silken. His behind was still sore from his morning discipline, and he winced almost imperceptibly when I touched him there. Simply feeling his warmth, this little man before me, lit a fire in my brain. "Enough of this for now," I finally said. "We have a lot to do today. Go out to the garage and get my toolbox. We're going to make some changes to your room." Alex, naked except for his chastity belt, quickly went off and returned a moment later lugging the large red box in both hands. He's a strong and muscular kid, but it was an old heavy-duty type and quite an effort for him. "Follow me," I said, and he fell in line behind as we climbed the stairs. Once we reached his room, he put the heavy box down with a metallic thud. We both took a look around, Alex with a certain nervous apprehension. It was a large, corner room, which had originally been mine growing up. It had the typical atmosphere of a boy on the verge of adolescence. Just a bit messy, but cleaner than most, I suppose. There were posters on every wall, of soccer stars, football stars, his favorite movies, and lately his favorite bands. Some of his own drawings and sketches were hanging around too, mostly just tacked or taped up, but a few of them I'd framed for him. Alex is a budding artist, and some of his stuff is pretty cool, and very imaginative. He's done a few science fiction scenes for me, which hang in my office. The ones he kept on his own walls were somewhat dark and chaotic. As windows to this boy's troubled soul I often wondered what they might truly mean. Now I was beginning to see them a little more clearly. His desk, in the corner between two windows, was cluttered with a variety of junk that was no doubt very important to him. A few model airplanes hung from the high ceiling. There was his dresser and nightstand, his bookshelves, and his large walk-in closet. There was his bed, with the ropes still tied to it. He had a nice stereo system, a gift from me last year, but no television, no computer, and no telephone. He bugged me for them often, but they are too much a distraction for a boy, keeping him from homework and chores. Alex had learned to do without. There was a notable lack of toys, but Alex was reaching that age where toys were being consigned to the attic, or the garbage, and not eagerly asked for. A few of his favorites remained scattered about, and the old stuffed dog he'd managed to keep with him since he was four. Mostly though it was a toyless room, his first step, every boy's first step, in proclaiming his manhood. "Put on a t-shirt, a plain one," I instructed. "Then get your socks and shoes on." Alex rummaged through his shirt drawer and found a dark blue one. He held it up to his chest for my approval. "Good enough." I watched him wiggle into it. It was an older one and fit him quite snuggly, defining his developing young muscles. It also left his chastity belt in full view. I'm sure he'd chosen it for that very reason. Shoes and socks came next, and he was in his uniform for the day. I took another look around. I'd thought this through from start to finish last night, each step. It was going to be a drastic change for him, but one I knew he'd accept. "First, we're going to remove your door. From now on you have no privacy in this house." That seemed to hit him sharply. A boy's room is his private sanctuary. I was taking that away forever. He looked up at me and bit his lip. Then with a sharp nod he bent down and opened the toolbox. With courageous pride he handed me a screwdriver. We worked together to loosen the screws on the hinges. The door was off in less than a minute, just like that. Together we got it downstairs. He dragged it out to the old barn himself. I was already taking down the curtains and blinds from the windows when he returned. "Take all the clothes out of your closet and hang them in the spare bedroom. Then empty your dresser." We worked into the early afternoon, moving things around and cleaning things out. All of his clothes, as well as his dresser, were now in the room across the hall, which I would keep locked. The windows were left bare. The soft rugs that covered the old hardwood were rolled up and taken away. He himself boxed up the last of his toys, and took down his posters and his drawings. The model airplanes were carefully packed away in a box. In the end we had a cold and barren room. I wasn't sure if I should have let him go so far. Every bit of his wonderful personality once expressed here was gone. All that was left was his bed, his desk and his chair. It left me very sad. I realized I'd started something here that I did not want to see continue. Alex stood in the middle, staring amazed and subdued at this sudden transformation of his once personal space. It was all the more powerful for being so swift and so complete, and so unexpected, and so much at his own hands. "It's . . . a lot bigger than it was before," he observed quietly. "It's too big," I replied. "And it isn't right. It isn't yours anymore, and it should be. Get out a few of your drawings and hang them up again." Alex seemed confused and didn't move. Unlike him not to do what I said. I was mildly sickened by the look of this room, but Alex seemed right at home, and that gave me an uncomfortable feeling. I pried open the box with his youthful artwork neatly packed inside and handed one to him. "I won't let you stop being a person, not for one single minute. I guess that'd be easy for you, but you're better than that." He gave me an unsure smile and I saw his lips quiver for just an instant. "If this is hard for you, I'll help you deal with it, but I'm not just going to let you give up on yourself. That's letting them win. You know who I'm talking about." Alex gazed up at me, and down again at the drawing I'd placed in his hands. Fate is a strange thing. My random selection had brought out one of his darkest and most disturbing creations, and one of my least favorites. In a way it was a self-portrait, and a very sad one. The boy was little more than a stick figure, but the creatures that surrounded him as he cowered near the bottom of the paper were very detailed. Sharp teeth, grasping claws, evil red eyes all trained on that shivering little child who really had no face or form of his own. My heart ached for that boy every time I saw it. My heart ached for him now. "Maybe not that one," I suggested softly. Alex studied it with moist eyes. "I was eleven when I did this. It doesn't mean what it used to. Not anymore. Not now." He took it and taped it back up, right over his bed. "It looks good there, don't you think?" "If you can sleep with that over your head, that's fine with me." We went through the others together and hung a few more. None of them were what I'd call cheerful, but none quite so terribly hopeless and anguished as the first. When we were done, his room looked a little less cold. It was still a stark contrast to what it had been. There was no color. That was the first thing that struck me. The walls were that dingy old-house white. The antique cast iron of his bed was black. His sheets and blankets in modern patterns of gray. All of his drawings and sketches were monochrome. There was the wood floor, a deep, almost red stain found nowhere else in the house, but it seemed to only add to the spartan landscape. "What do you think?" I asked, with my arms around his shoulders. "I like it," Alex answered. Then he broke away from me and walked over to his desk. "It needs one more thing." He took up his sketchpad and scribbled something quickly before tearing the sheet away and putting tape loops on the back. The boy was careful not to let me see. I followed him into the hallway in time to see him slap the paper on the wall to the right of the doorframe. In large black printed letters it simply read: `Slave's Room' "Now it's perfect," Alex said with twelve-year-old assuredness. I had to admit it was a nice touch. Chapter 12: Cyrix and the Dog Boy `The gallium mines of Skala were a sweltering labyrinth of human misery. Young Cyrix had been brought up to believe in a mythical place called Hell, and for all of his thirteen years he did believe. Now his first sight of the mines was enough to convince him that he had arrived there in the flesh. They'd taken his clothes while he was still on the ship and marched him naked, down into the smoldering earth beneath the lifeless planetoid. Tongues of flame leapt from wide fissures. The boy was drenched in sweat even before he was brought trembling to be processed by the overseer. There a metal collar was welded around his neck and a harness placed around his chest. His ankles were shackled. A bit was forced into his mouth and strapped tightly behind his head. Humans did not speak here. They were but animals after all in the eyes of the Cybernetic Confederacy . . . ` "Fuckin' shit, that's awesome," Alexander said as he stood beside me. "I'm glad you approve. Keep reading." `The boy was taken yet deeper into the mines. Never in his life had he felt such oppressive heat. It was as if the air itself was on fire. In certain places it was. He was strapped down to a long flat table. Two of the nightmarish Cyborgs, humanity's greatest enemy, stood towering over him. There was no contempt in their glowing eyes, no emotion at all. A series of numbers was etched onto his chest with sharp needles, and above these, the mark of the Confederacy. The injections came next, a solution formulated to quickly build the boy's muscles, while simultaneously lowering his natural male aggression, shrinking his developing manhood until it disappeared entirely. Every day for the next year he would undergo this treatment that would gradually transform him into an obedient, chemically controlled slave laborer whose only thought was to please his inhuman masters. With practiced routine the laser scalpels were activated, severing the tendons in the boy's legs. Cyrix screamed, but the bit in his mouth allowed only the muffled sound of unbearable agony to be heard. The job was done quickly and neatly. It was a permanent alteration, leaving him unable to stand. Cyrix could only crawl on his hands and knees. Still weeping, the boy was attached to the heavy cart he would pull through the mines for the rest of his life.' Alex wiggled around in his belt. That was becoming his signal that he was really turned on. "Oh, man, I wish I was Cyrix," he proclaimed. "You always have been, my little pet." "Pet!" Alex immediately dropped to the floor and crawled around on all fours. My head spun instantly just watching him. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as I saw Alex there on his hands and knees. Should we? How far could we take this? I took a leap and hoped he'd follow. "Come," I shouted at him. With bright eyes he crawled toward me. I held my hand down to him. "Lick," I said. My boy's wet tongue lapped against me, timidly at first, and then with unabashed enthusiasm. I scratched him behind his ear. "Good boy. Now bark for me." "Woof! Woof!" Alex laughed. I gave his nose a gentle swat. "Animals don't use words, and little dogs don't say `woof'. Bark for me." The minute I said it, I felt a little shiver, certain this was too much and that his safeword was the next thing I'd hear. My sweet wonderful Alex surprised me, something he would become quite adept at. He didn't use his word. He didn't say any word at all. He barked. He actually barked, as close to the sound of a real dog as a human boy can make. It was a strange sound I was not quite prepared for. High- pitched, but coming from deep within. Thin and piercing. It echoed in the room for a moment then faded. Apparently quite pleased with himself, he did it again, then looked up at me with those beautiful hazel eyes. I left my chair and stood over him. Firmly, but gently, I straightened out his arms and pushed his hands a little closer together, pressing them flat on the floor. I pressed down on his back, arching it softly. I moved his legs in a little, one at a time, then spread his knees apart. In this position, the metal pod encasing his cock and balls was hanging down freely. With a tap of my fingers I swung it back and forth. He groaned in frustration. I came around to face him again, and put my hands on either side of his head and stared into his needful eyes. "Position three is `Stay'." "Yes, master." "You never speak when you are in this position. Blink once for `yes' and twice for `no' when you're asked a question. Understand?" Alex blinked once. "Now I'm going to teach you to sit." Proceeding tenderly and slowly I moved my trusting, obedient boy into a squatting position. Alex' faith in me was total, his body relaxed and completely at my command. I placed his feet together and spread his knees wide. Then I bent him forward just a bit, so that he was resting on the balls of his feet. I put his hands flat on the floor again, just a little forward. It would be an uncomfortable position to be kept in, but he was young and flexible, and his body would learn. "Sit, Alex." I let him go and took a step back. The boy was having a hard time steadying himself. "You may move to find your balance." Carefully and cautiously he did so, testing the limits of this new position. "Difficult?" I asked him. Alex blinked once. "Good. I want it to be." He gave me a grim frown right before he fell forward, just catching himself with his hands. I was ruthless. "Alex, sit!" He tried again with the same shaky results. Alex was reaching that age where his arms and legs were starting to grow faster than the rest of him, and he was exhibiting those first signs of the endearing and sometimes maddening clumsiness of a young teenager. Again and again he got himself into position only to tumble over a few seconds later. Each time though he managed to control his body a little longer, but I could see he was getting angry with himself. I stepped in and steadied him again. "Calm down, Alex. You can't do it if you're upset." We worked on it together for a good half-hour. The time was spent without words, just the two of us, a man and a boy, a master and a slave facing our first real struggle. I'd never have thought that this, of all the things we'd done, would be so hard for him. I was sure our first barrier would be an emotional one, not a physical one. Getting into position was not difficult, but remaining there without moving was a big challenge. My graceful and sturdy boy was suddenly awkward and unsure. Repetition was the only thing that was going to help, and I kept him at it with an occasional pat on his rear whenever he'd move an arm or a leg or try to turn his head. Finally, he managed to keep still for five minutes. I watched him the whole time. Precious boy, he even tried not to blink, whenever he could. "See, you can do it," I said. He smiled. Time to move on. "Stand." He had a tough time straightening up. His muscles had to be sore and tired. "Stretch. Work out the kinks." In no time young Alex was loose and limber and feeling a lot better. It was past time for lunch, so I sent him down alone to the kitchen with orders that he make some sandwiches for us. Alex brought everything up on a tray. I was expecting peanut butter and jelly, but I got tuna fish, even with little bits of onion and celery mixed in. Chips and soda for him, beer for me, finished everything off. "When did you learn to make tuna?" I asked. I've mentioned he was handy in the kitchen, but I hadn't expected him to go to such effort without being instructed. Alex looked at me with a sincere expression. "Am I allowed to talk again?" "Until I say otherwise." Actually I'd been letting him talk rather freely since this whole adventure began. That would soon change, but I do enjoy the sound of his young voice. "Now tell me about these sandwiches." "It's nothing. I've seen you make it lots of times," the boy replied in an off-hand manner. "How's it taste?" he asked hopefully. That was the big question. It was quite good, maybe a little heavy on the mayo. The rest of the afternoon I worked at my computer, continuing the story. I kept Alex beside me on his hands and knees the entire time. Occasionally I would reach over to pat him on the head or swat his cute little twelve-year-old butt. The rule was that I had to be able to feel his shoulder against my leg the entire time. Each and every movement on his part would result in twenty added spankings before bed, beyond the ten he would henceforth be receiving every night. I'd also given him strict `no talking' orders, which he faithfully obeyed. Twice I felt him move away. He knew the consequences. There was no need to remind him. Knowing his masochistic tendencies, I wondered if he'd not done it on purpose. Beyond those two infractions, Alex was perfectly still, perfectly silent, perfectly obedient. "Still horny?" I asked as the sun began to set on another day. Alex blinked once. "Is your cock still leaking?" Alex blinked once. I could see for myself the small clear puddle of fluid that had fallen from the opening in the metal pod during the three hours he'd been in position. It had been days since his last orgasm, not counting his wet dream, and good twenty-four hours since the boy's last erection for that matter. He'd had the plug up his ass for most of that time. The kid's immature prostate was probably a swollen mass of sexual frustration by now. I knew he was oversexed and ready to explode. It was time to fuck him again, but I'd already decided the chastity belt was staying on permanently.