Date: Sat, 14 Sep 2002 06:46:22 -0400 From: istari <email@example.com> Subject: Mastering Alex 16 - 17 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 Thanks to everyone who's said such nice things about Alex and his adventures. And Special Thanks to "Rick", who has provided some deep insights on the Master/slave relationship and is not afraid to challenge me from time to time. Mastering Alex Chapter 16: Taking Stock of Alex. After Alex received his punishment, I again bound his ankles to the bench. The kid was still hard. He was licking his lips slowly and humming to himself. The initial biting pain of the clamps on his nipples had now faded to a dull but constant ache. Anyone who's ever worn them knows the feeling. The endless unrelenting pressure, the slow deep burning, the electric sensitivity that seems to spread from those two little biological oddities outward to your entire body. For all of us, at some level I suppose, pain and pleasure do share some common ground. For a boy masochist stretched and bound in front of my eyes, the two were instantly and immediately and intimately the same. I have to confess the depth of Alexander's fixation, his addictive need for pain, was still rather disturbing to me at the time. Boys aren't supposed to be like this, are they? Or perhaps they are, and we just dismiss them and ignore them, because they're boys. Alexander had bravely decided that he was a boy who was not going to be ignored. This is who he was, and he had a perfect right to express it. He lay there now, in pain, but fully and happily contented. And I was content to leave him there. We still had another crate to unpack. Robert and Michael were already beginning to remove long planks of wood from it, laying them out in an orderly fashion on the floor. I knelt down beside Alex and he turned his head to look at me. "May I have the gag again?" he asked softly, blinking his eyes in a slow rhythm. "Not just yet," I said, giving the thin chain between the clamps a little tug. Alex took in a sharp hissing breath. "If you start to get in trouble, I want you to tell me. Don't take more than you can handle." A strained smile crossed his lips. "You worry about me too much." "Somebody has to." Alex laid his head back down and closed his eyes, tightly. So there was a struggle going on after all, one the boy was not willing to admit to me. Pain that quickly comes and goes is one thing, but pain that comes and endures is something very different. Something very new for him. Alex was learning this lesson right there in our living room. And then I realized he had not asked for the gag because it turned him on, which it certainly did, but because he needed something to bit down on, something to muffle his occasional scream so that his master would not have to hear it. And so, was it actually mercy to take his voice, his only way of asking for escape? Or was it mercy to leave him there as he was. My dilemma produced a perfect solution, one I would use again and again whenever things got difficult for him. I could be kind and cruel all at once. I could keep him safe, while letting him enjoy the giddy thrill of danger. I picked up the gag, and for just an instant his eyes stared at me in desperation. I put the ball into his mouth, but I did not buckle the straps. A look of gratitude was in his eyes when I finally turned away and left him. Robert and Michael were hard at work, and the unknown contraption was beginning to take shape. The base was wooden, solid and heavy and three inches thick, painted black, four feet square. Thick iron rings were bolted to it in an orderly array. There was one in each corner, and several sets of two running down the center all equally spaced from the edges. Two of the sides had large square openings cut close to the edge. I had diverted my attention from Alex just in time to see Michael insert a five-foot high post into one of these holes. The post itself was very thick and had a deep groove running its entire length on the inside. On its outer side at mid-height, there was a small winch. On the top of the post there was a pulley wheel. Michael worked efficiently and silently, locking the post to the base with large bolts and screws. With Robert looking on, the young slave dropped the second post into position and secured it as well. It was identical to its mate, with that same deep groove and ominous pulley contraption at the top. Returning to the wheeled crate, Michael slung two long heavy chains over his shoulders and waited. Robert himself pulled the last wooden piece from the crate, two pieces actually, black like the rest, with three half circles cut out on their corresponding ends. "You will find the stock very useful, Steven," Robert said. For that is exactly what it was, wicked and harsh and fully adjustable. "Michael spent many hours and days here as a boy, didn't you?" "Yes, sir," the youthful slave replied. I thought I saw a slight shiver. "The bottom piece slides in first. It is marked, as you can see." I watched carefully. The bottom piece was slightly longer, with a sharply curved hook at each end. Robert lowered it into position from the top, lining it up with the grooves and sliding it down. It was snug fit. "The chains, please, Michael." Obediently Michael ran the chains through the pulleys then hooked them to the bottom piece. Robert continued his impromptu lesson. "The other ends of the chains attach to the winches on the sides. Once they are locked it will not move." Michael carried out Robert's narrative as though they were direct instructions, and gave the winches a few turns to tighten everything up. "Once the boy is in position, the top piece just slides right down the groove. There are locking hasps on the back side." He pointed them out to me. "You can immobilize his feet with the rings on the base." I stepped onto the wooden base myself. It was sturdy and rugged, and I could see the slight wear in the holes where Michael's wrists and neck had been. I imagined him as I first remembered him, a small wraith of a boy with large blue eyes, almost fifteen but a late bloomer, looking more like eleven or twelve. I knew Robert had kept him in strict bondage from day one, but I was never witness to it. I looked over at my own boy, still stretched unnaturally on the bench. "Let's try it out," I said. Alex was moaning softly but no longer biting into the gag. I released his arms and legs, while Robert loosened the strap across his stomach. "Stand up, Alex." He needed a little help at first. His limbs were still wobbly from the stretching and the pain. Quickly I buckled the straps on his gag, pulling them tighter than before, and ran my fingers over his clamped nipples. Then I turned him around so he could see the frightening new addition to our living room. The look on his face when he got his first full glimpse of the stock was priceless. Robert thoughtfully handed me the leather leash that went with Alex' collar. I think my dick grew a few inches at the mere thought of having my submissive boy leashed, and leading him around like an animal. I dangled it in front of him so he could think about it for a second, then I attached the leash to his collar. It was about three feet long. I rolled a bit of the excess around my hand and gave it a firm tug. Unaccustomed to this new discipline, poor Alex lost his balance and stumbled forward. I tugged at it again. This time he did much better. "Good. Now on the floor." Immediately Alex was on all fours. I led him around the living room on his hands and knees for a few minutes, letting him get more comfortable with the leash that would soon be a normal part of his life. Meanwhile Michael got his master's dick out and gave it a good sucking. Robert's eyes were fixed on Alex. He was not a boylover, but what gay man would not be just a little turned on by the sight of a naked twelve-year-old on a leash? Still on his hands and knees, I brought Alex to the stock and pulled him to his feet. "Just think, sweetie, I could keep you here for days. Let's see how you fit." I pulled the top piece up along the grooves. Currently the stock was set at about three feet off the ground. Quickly and roughly I bent him over and he shuffled forward, until his neck lay in the rest. I put his wrists in position myself, noticing the large eyebolts which I immediately clasped to his cuffs. The top piece came down easily and I locked the two together. Alex was now bent ninety degrees, his neck and wrists in the stock. I spread his legs and clasped his ankle cuffs to the nearest rings in the base. Freed of his belt, his young balls were hanging low, his cock still semi-erect. With one hand on his back, I reached between his legs and rolled the boy's testicles between my fingers. Then I grabbed his cock, pulling on it with a slow downward stroke, working it to another full erection. Alex was totally silent. I knew he could not see me, only feel my hand between his legs toying with him. I said nothing as I moved the boy's silken foreskin up and down over his throbbing shaft, covering the head with one motion, retracting it as far as it would go with the next. Fluid was dripping from him again. Alex bent his knees a little further and rocked back against me as far as his bondage would allow. I continued to stroke him, coaxing a steady stream of clear liquid from his young penis. Every time I would feel the tension building in his muscles I would stop and get him back under my control. Keeping a horny young twelve-year-old from cumming once you've got him hard and dripping takes a great deal of care, and Alex had three days of pent up sperm he needed desperately to get rid of. Alex wiggled around in the stock, trying madly to bring himself off in my hand. But that hand was always taken away just as he was about to cum. He's shake and shiver every time my fingers left his penis, and again every time they returned. Finally a series of low, anguished, frustrated cries began to fill the air around us. The boy's sweet sounds were joined shortly by the deep masculine growl of Robert having his orgasm. I looked over to see him forcing Michael off his cock. The young man actually fell back onto his hands, his master's sperm dripping from his mouth. Robert yanked him to his feet harshly, grabbed him by his short blond hair and gave him a forceful kiss. Michael, small and slender, seemed to disappear in his master's powerful and unrelenting embrace. Alex, of course, had been watching the entire scene, and was more turned on and hysterical now than ever. I knew that just the lightest touch would send him into orgasm, and so touch was quickly and totally denied him. I gave the chain connecting his nipples several hard tugs, not enough to pull them off, but enough to change his focus, from pleasure sharply denied to pain ruthlessly given. I came around front for the first time. He was drenched in sweat. His hazel eyes confronted me. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. The ball-gag added to the aura of sheer despair and helplessness that surrounded him. He gave me a delicious look of hatred. "You've only just begun to hate me, Alex," I said with my most evil grin. Chapter 17: That Special Touch. I took the leather blindfold from the box and put it on my boy. Alex tensed at the sudden and total darkness, but only for a moment. I squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. I gave him a gentle kiss. Just then an equally tender touch graced my shoulder. It was Robert. "You two need to be alone," he said softly. "Michael and I will pack everything up and show ourselves out." And a few minutes later they were gone. It already seemed like we'd spent a full evening, but it was not yet ten-thirty. I looked at Alex, my sweet wonderful boy, bound in the stocks, gagged and blindfolded. I needed one more thing and went out to the garage to find it. At first I'd forgotten where I'd left them, but there they were among the power tools. I dropped the earplugs into the palm of my hand and carried them back to my boy in the stocks. I did not tell him what I was about to do. I simply worked them into his ears. The boy was voiceless, blind, and deaf. All he would have now is touch. The earplugs brought on a brief round of struggle as Alex jerked against the wooden frame, but again he calmed down right away. He would always be safe with me. He knew this. I gave his butt-plug an insistent tug and slowly pulled it out of him. It dropped to the wooden base with a heavy thud. I left it there. The couch looked inviting, so I stretched out and picked up the book I'd been reading. Occasionally I'd hear a muffled sob or the creaking of the wood as he strained against the stock, but mostly Alex was silent. From my vantage I could see his backside perfectly. His growing balls were hanging down very low in his hairless sac. And he was soft again. I could just see the tip of his foreskin dangling beneath his scrotum. He moved his legs a bit. Bent over and spread wide, he was well balanced in this position, but the strain in his young thighs and calves was constant. Thirty minutes passed. I set my book on the coffee table and approached him silently from behind. I reached beneath him and took the clamps off his nipples. The pain was furious as the blood returned to his little buds. He shouted into his gag and jerked around in the stocks. Immediately I stuck a single finger into his ass, rubbed his swollen prostate for a moment, and withdrew. Then I returned to my book. Fifteen minutes later I was back. This time I stroked his penis as it dangled between his slender legs. He was hard in seconds. I returned to my book. Another half-hour went by, and again I fingered him, in and out of his little hole quickly, just enough to give him the sensation of touch, but no pleasure. I waited another fifteen minutes and stroked his cock again. It was just going soft and I forced him to erect once more. It went on like this until long past midnight. On my random trips to the kitchen I would stop and give him a gentle spanking, just three or four swats on each cheek, but always I kept the timing of his anal and penile stimulation rigid and strict. Finally, close to three in the morning, I turned off all the lights and went to bed, leaving Alex in the stocks, denied of all his senses now, even my touch. I suppose he still had taste, but what was that now but a rubber ball that filled his mouth. There was smell, of course, but that was only the boyish odor of his own body, mixed with sweat and leather. I forced myself awake around five, and went back downstairs. In the dim moonlight I could see Alex' slender form bent over in the stocks. He was moaning softly. He was not asleep. I walked quietly behind him and inserted two fingers this time, swirling them around for several minutes, stretching his hole. Then I spanked him again, the slap of my hands upon his soft flesh echoing through the silent living room. If felt between his legs. He was hard. I left him and returned to bed. Late mornings are not my habit, but I purposely slept in when the sun appeared through my bedroom windows. Around ten I finally got up and put on my jeans. When I got to the living room, Alex' head was slumped down. Blindfolded as he was, I couldn't tell if he was sleeping or resting or just exhausted. It didn't really matter. I brought him around with a few gentle slaps to the face. And then we began again. Every thirty minutes I fucked him with my finger. Every fifteen minutes later I stroked his penis. I imagined the constant forced erections were starting to become painful. Around midday, I brought him his lunch. I moved a chair in front of him and sat down, holding his plate on my lap. I pulled out his earplugs then reached behind his head and removed his gag. He didn't say a word to me. His silence was beautiful. "How much do you hate me right now?" I asked softly. His unbroken voice was weak and scratchy. "A whole lot." "And how much do you love me?" "Even more." I gently touched his face, running my fingers over his blindfold. He stretched his neck out as far as it would go in the stocks, desperate for my touch. "I brought you something to eat. Open your mouth." Alex obeyed me, and I leisurely fed the boy his fruit and cheese. He drank some soda from a straw. When he was finished, I plugged his ears and gagged him again, and his afternoon was much the same as his morning. He was beginning to anticipate when he'd feel my finger in his ass, or my hand upon his penis. Touch was all he had, and it was becoming electrifying for both of us. In between my regular trips to the stocks, I set things up in his room for the evening. He would never, ever, forget this day, or this night. I fed him a light supper, then removed him from the stocks. I gave him back his hearing, but the gag stayed in. Standing on his own, wearing the blindfold, seemed to scare him. I held onto my boy firmly and made him take a few minutes to stretch and limber up again. His leash was still attached to his collar, and I took it in my hand. "Down on your hands and knees." With tired aching legs he obeyed me. "Let's go for a walk." I gave the leash a firm tug. I could feel his muscles tense. Resistance from my submissive boy. I knew it was the blindness. "Don't be afraid, Alex. I won't let you walk into anything. You are safe with your master. This is about trust, Alex, and obedience. Show me you can do both." I tugged again, and this time the boy crawled forward, still timid and unsure. "That's better. Now stay close to me. Your shoulder should always be touching my leg when you're on the leash." Alex moved closer and pressed himself against me. I could feel his slender frame trembling. "Don't be scared. Stay close. Come on." I walked him around the living room at first, to get him used to the subtle pull of the leash. We took it slow. His confidence grew with each step. Finally I led him through the kitchen and out onto the back porch. There was only a short step down onto the grass and he managed it gracefully, never once moving away from me. It was a damp and humid evening. The smell of rain was in the air. Once his initial fear had passed, Alex became more and more at ease, and more and more enthused, but he was also very serious, showing great self-discipline and restraint. "Good job, Alex. Let's try it standing up now. On your feet." This was actually more difficult for both of us, especially with his blindfold in place. I had to be careful not to knock him off balance. And Alex really had no way of judging my pace or anticipating my direction. This naturally led to some rather harsh yanks upon the leash that caused him to stagger forward. He almost fell a few times and I had to reach out to steady him. We kept at it until the sun began to go down. He would need a great deal more training, but it was a good first day in his collar. Back inside, we carefully navigated the steps. In the bathroom I stood him in the tub and gave him his enema, leaving him holding his water while I prepared the final touches in his room. When I returned to him, my blind and gagged boy was ready, his cock standing rigid and throbbing. I had left Alex on his honor. His belt was still downstairs. I was prepared to find him jerking his young dick, but he was just standing there with his hands behind his head, his legs spread as wide as we dared without the plug there to keep everything in. He had not touched himself. After the boy finished his business on the toilet, I took his leash in hand and led him down the hall to his bedroom. I first removed his gag, and then there, for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, I lifted the blindfold. His young eyes were tired, he hadn't slept much. He looked around in wonder. In his windows, on his nightstand, at his desk, along the shelves that lined his walls, his room was lit by candles. They cast a warm, comfortable glow, and their sweet cinnamon odor filled the air. His old sheets were gone, replaced by a silken set in dark blue. I thought the color suited him, and he would love the feel of it against his skin. The ropes at the corners of the bed were gone as well, replaced by the sturdy chains Robert had given us. Soft new-age music played on his stereo, barely audible, simply a whisper of sound to complete the setting. Alex turned around and gazed at me in amazement. I removed the leash from his collar and hugged him close. "We're going to do something very special tonight, Alex. I want you to feel special too." "I . . . I already do, master." "Give me your hand, sweetheart." His left and my right joined, and together we approached the bed. I removed his harness and let it fall to the floor. His thigh cuffs came off next. Then last his collar, just for tonight. His wrist and ankle cuffs remained. I would be needing them. His eyes were dancing. Freed of his leather, he seemed suddenly smaller and so much younger. Delicate and fragile and hairless. A child. But between his legs there stood that raging rod of flesh. He was boy and man all at once, my sweet, my gentle, my intelligent, my complicated Alex. "Lie down." He did. "Spread yourself." He did. I fastened his cuffs to the chains at the four corners of the bed. "I'm going to milk you now." Alex stared blankly for a moment, and then his hazel eyes got big when he realized what that meant. "You're going to make me cum, right?" "Over and over again, until you can't squeeze out another drop." "Will it hurt?" "Maybe just a little, toward the very end. I think it's going to be a lot like when I fucked you, only this time you'll be hard every second. Rock hard. Now put your head back." Alex was tense and nervous. To help him relax before we started, I took the bottle of baby oil I'd placed by the nightstand and poured a small amount onto his stomach. I massaged him slowly and gently. He sighed and his breathing eased. His gorgeous eyes were sunken and ringed in dark circles. He'd slept only in fits for the last twenty-four hours. He yawned and looked at me sleepily. I worked his young body at my leisure, enjoying the soft silken warmth of the boy's hairless skin, the sturdy wiry hardness of his developing muscles. Things had gotten a little rushed these last few days. Alex had borne it all bravely, but it was time to slow down and let him enjoy it. "This feels so nice, Steve," he said. It actually felt good and right to hear him say my name again. We would always be Master and slave, but tonight I also wanted us to be lovers. The boy's skin was glistening in the candlelight. He was already hard and waiting for my hands to touch him there. I gripped his shaft gently. He tensed and shivered. "Are you ready?" I asked. "Yes, master." I smiled at him. "I'll need you to help me do this, Alex. When you feel like you're about to ejaculate, I want you to tell me. Will you do that?" He nodded. "When you feel it, I want you to tense up, down here," I put my hand on his hairless abdomen. "You are not allowed to ejaculate unless I give you permission. I will be very disappointed in you if you do. I can make this wonderful for you. Do you want your master's help?" "Yes, sir, I do." I pulled the only chair in the room beside his bed, then leaned in to kiss him, softly on the lips. And so we began. There is something incredibly and simply beautiful about a boy's penis, especially when he's aroused. A symbol of fragile youth, and rugged masculinity all at once. A boy's innocence and his devilry are all summed up in that fleshy appendage between his legs. I stroked his cock slowly, lovingly, admiring the network of tiny veins that appeared beneath the darkened skin. I rolled his foreskin up, then pulled it back, dancing my finger over his frenum. That was his special spot, and it received my special attention. Alex bucked wildly, rattling the chains that restrained him. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, his head rolled around on the pillow. He wiggled his toes and clenched his hand to fists. "aaaahhhh. It's happening, sir!" I didn't dare risk another stroke, not yet. I let go of his throbbing boyhood and worked my hands over his balls, kneading them gently, feeling their impressive weight. It was still a boy's scrotum in which those plump ripe nuts hung, soft and like velvet to the touch, but low and full. "You're going to be huge," I said as I let his balls go and watched them drop between his legs again. Alex gave me a shy smile and thrust his hips up at me, indicating he needed to be stroked again. "Ready for more, are you?" "Yes, master." This time I leaned over him and took his young organ into my mouth. Alex purred like a kitten. I felt his body relax as he laid back and enjoyed it. I ran my hands up and down his outstretched legs as I sucked and licked and rolled my tongue over my boy's cock. I could actually feel him getting harder, and those slight tremors that told me he was getting close, even if his own addled brain hadn't registered it yet. The boy sighed when I took my mouth away, but my hand was quickly around his shaft again. This time I stroked him quickly, as far up and down as his loose foreskin would let me. I confess I envied him for being whole, for having that little bit of extra flesh and extra length that had been stolen from me as an infant. Five, six, seven fast strokes. He held his breath and strained, closing his eyes tightly. I heard him whisper to himself, "Don't cum. Don't cum. Feels too good." Bless his heart he was doing it. My wonderful Alex was keeping himself from ejaculating. How hard that must have been for a boy his age. It was a profound gift of love and trust and total submission he was giving me. I kissed him on the cheek. "You are so wonderful," I said. "Is it . . . would it be okay . . . is it alright if I cry?" he sniffled. Already his adolescent emotions were turning him inside out. Another kiss, this time on his lips. "Of course it is." And even as the first of his tears began to fall, I took him in hand again. He'd softened a little, but soon I had him firm and throbbing. He was wet with pre-cum, it was streaming out of him slowly, glistening in the light from the candles. After a few minutes he tensed again, raising his head off the pillow, straining against the chains. I could see his abdominal muscles flexing tightly. He groaned, loudly and deeply. I stopped. His penis stood straight and hard. More clear fluid dribbled from the tip. The spasms were getting stronger, and once this one had passed, I sucked him again. For thirty minutes we went on like this, bringing him right to the edge and then, the two of us together, pulling him back. I stroked him more slowly now, and more firmly, squeezing his shaft and working the pre-cum out of him. I felt his penis surge suddenly against my fingers. Alex shouted in ecstasy and tugged violently against his bonds. Every muscle in his young body was taught. And then, with a low moan he laid back. Sperm began to pour out of his penis, but there were no contractions, no ejaculation, just the steady flow of the twelve-year-old boy's thin white seed. "Mmmmmm." I gave him no time to think about what was happening. I rubbed him again, and again I got the same reaction, and the same slow outpouring. Alex was in another world, lolling his head from side to side, back and forth, his breathing quick and erratic. For the next hour I continued, gradually milking him. Often nothing would come out at all, but four more times I was able to coax his sperm out of his balls and onto his stomach. His trim, muscular belly was covered with it now. I gave it several more tries, edging him, but it seemed I'd milked him dry. I began to masturbate him intently. "I want you to ejaculate this time," I said as I brought him closer and closer. Finally he gave out a high-pitched cry, the same I remembered hearing from him when he was younger. "Aaaaahh, aaaahh, aaaaaaahhhh." Three strong contractions, each eliciting a deep shout of pleasure and anguish. Alex was ejaculating, but his young body had nothing left to give. A dry cum, just like he'd had as a little boy. His penis was still hard when it was over. He went utterly limp, and his head fell to one side. My sweet boy had actually fainted. "Alex?" I gently stroked his cheek. He came around instantly and gazed at me with love and devotion. "Who's my special boy?" "I am." "Who will always love you?" "You will." "Who's your master forever?" "You are." I'd said Alex would never forget this night, and he hasn't. Even now that he's a young man he still talks about what we did together on that warm summer evening, with a dreamy faraway look in his beautiful eyes. Interlude: One Month, and the Dungeon. Time passed quickly over the next few weeks. Alex was thriving in his new life. He laughed more than I'd ever known him to, and his face was lit with his beautiful smile more than I'd ever seen, except when he was wearing the gag of course. My enforcement of strict chastity was still a struggle for him, but his weekly milking gave him a goal to shoot for, literally, and of course it also eased some of the build-up of boyish hormones for a while. We never again went in for the show and ritual of that first night, for neither of us wanted to cheapen that cherished memory. Still the milking remained a gentle fixture of our lives. The boy's collar and lead training was going well. On two feet or on all fours, blindfolded or with eyes staring straight ahead, he was developing a practiced confidence and a dignified grace. We saw Robert several times, and the experienced master remarked what a fine and handsome young slave Alex was becoming. Of course my boy gave him a low flourishing bow, which always brought a smile to Robert's face. Alex and Michael actually made love for us on one occasion. Penetration was strictly forbidden, but it was glorious to see these two horny young slaves in collar and harness passionately pleasuring each other. Alex' infatuation with the older slave was obvious and incredibly sweet, and Michael seemed to enjoy the chance to be the dominant partner, at least for a brief moment. Alex was not allowed clothing of any kind while at home. I kept him in his leather gear most of the time, or simply naked and belted and collared, although we did use the irons and chains when I worked him in the yard. He spent his nights chained to his bed, or in the stocks, which he and I had moved to the basement. Rare now but very special were the nights he spent in his master's bed. The punishment bench was down in the basement now too, along with the many implements of pain Robert had provided. I had gradually added more to the arsenal, and our new dungeon was where Alex was disciplined every day. He liked to call it torture, but the word disturbed me, I suppose partly because I so deeply enjoyed inflicting pain upon him. I was calculating and cruel, and merciless, and he loved me for it, never knowing how close to the edge we were both walking, with only his safeword, which I had trained my ears to listen for over his screams, to protect us. Our work on the dungeon had gotten underway the day after his first milking. The boy was a slave, every moment of every day, but I felt it was important that we had a special place where we could explore our darkest fantasies and desires. We repainted the brick walls first. Alex naturally wanted all black, but he grudgingly accepted my suggestion of a thin whitewashing, so that it would retain that harsh, rustic look. We turned the water back on down there, and hooked up a sink and showerhead over the drain in the corner. I brought in a plumber to put in the toilet. I installed modern track lighting, which illuminated the place nicely and drove the shadows away. Ours was going to be a dungeon of contrasts, hard and cold to the eye, yet also bright, a place were darkness was not allowed to linger and taint the heart. And yet as we worked it was transformed into an ominous space. Chains and shackles were soon dangling from the wooden posts and down from the rafters, all at a height befitting the age of the boy who would be spending hours hanging from them. Robert helped us acquire our first serious piece, an X-cross, custom sized, but large enough to grow with Alex as he entered his teens. There was a cot in one corner, its metal frame covered only by a thin bare mattress. Using his charcoals, Alex drew some graffiti on the walls. Scenes of torture and suffering from deep within his psyche. They changed often. He'd wash one away, or create a new one, or add to those he'd already finished. It was some strange form of therapy for him. We had a ritual. Every time we tried something new, every time he experienced a new kind of pain, he would draw how it made him feel on the walls, thus making them a tapestry of his journey into slavery. Not that we spent every moment down there. It did consume much of our energies for certain, but we made time for other things. Fun things. Summer things. I was determined that he not stop being a boy, simply because he was a slave. The two were the same, but also distinct. Alex was collared all the time, but when we went out in public I put a less conspicuous dog collar around his neck. Many young and soon-to-be teens wear them, and so, to passing strangers, he just looked like a handsome kid entering his rebellious stage, which he was beginning to do anyway. He wore his wrist cuffs proudly, although I took the padlocks off for obvious reasons. His ankle cuffs were hidden under his socks. No one guessed the true meaning and symbolism of the leather around his neck or upon his wrists, a secret he and I enjoyed sharing between us. There was time spent at the beach, his golden tan turning a dark reddish-brown before my eyes. He couldn't wear his chastity belt under his speedo, which was about all he wore the entire time, so we left it in the hotel room, strapping it on at night before bed. There was the baseball game, the trip to the mall to buy his clothes for the coming school year, numerous of our now traditional late-night visits to Gino's. There was even a birthday party for one his classmates, where Alex' newfound sense of confidence and self-worth made him seem like a different person in the eyes of his young male peers. He started making friends, and even had a few boys over during the long summer days. They loved his artwork and insisted that he do pictures of them. Naturally they posed shirtless, giving me a knowing look as I stared on in admiration at their firm, young, thirteen-year-old bodies. Boys that age know they're sexy, don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. The blond was coming on to me from the time he walked in the door, a nice polite kid named Nathan with gorgeous blue eyes and already a cute little patch of hair under each arm. The bulge in his pants made me realize that Alex wasn't the only boy in his class running around with a man-sized cock between his legs. The other boy was Ashton, black hair, green eyes, a real pistol and still entirely prepubescent. Three cute shirtless boys in my living room. I was sweating bullets the entire time, making regular trips to the kitchen to ensure the basement door remained locked, and to adjust the boner plainly visible in my pants. "Think Nate would whip me, if I asked him?" Alex wondered aloud one afternoon after the boys had gone home. "If we got him down in the dungeon, he wouldn't be doing any whipping," I replied with an evil grin. "A lot of screaming maybe." "He's hot, isn't he?" "Very." Alex' thirteenth was approaching, and weeks before, with Robert's help, I'd tracked down someone to make the ultimate present for him. Of course there were games for his Xbox and some new CD's, as well as a very nice leather vest he'd been wanting, but he would certainly be the only boy around with this particular item. He was out riding his bike with Nate, when my special order was delivered, apparently by the man who made it. He knew Robert well, and so he naturally knew of us. Straight down into the basement it went. I tipped the man handsomely, but he refused and was on his way. Alex and his pal came thundering through the back door just a few minutes later. They were both shirtless and sweaty. The strong sweet odor of boy was intoxicating. He recognized the meaningful look in my eyes and gently told Nathan it was time for him to go home. "You are so weird sometimes," Nate said to him in his crackling pubescent voice, but he did it with a friendly smile. Out the door he went and was gone on his bike. Alex stood up straight and returned my gaze. "What is it, master?" "Get naked, this instant!" I shouted. A look of shock flashed across his gentle face. Alex was in his bare skin a moment later. The chastity belt was around his waist. I removed the dog collar he was wearing and told him to bring me his regular one, along with the leash, and his gag. The boy was gone in a flash, crashing up the steps to his room. He came back quickly with the prescribed inventory. The collar went on immediately. Taking his jaw firmly in hand, I forced his head back, opened his mouth, and quickly stuffed the ball-gag inside, strapping it tightly behind. Gagging him was the only time I really and truly handled him roughly, but it seemed fitting that this should be a harsh and swift act of domination and control. I did not give him time to submit. I simply took him. We began with this ritual every morning, and every visit to the dungeon started this way as well. "Give me your leash," I commanded. My voice was harsh and stern, more so than he was used to. I saw his young eyes dance for just a moment, unprepared for the cruelty he was hearing from the master he loved so completely. His hands were shaking when he handed it to me. I attached the leash to his collar and pulled him close to me, nearly off his feet. "Things are going to be different from now on, little slave," I said. And I did mean that. He would be thirteen in just two days. He already had five wispy brown hairs growing above his penis, and several more on his scrotum. At twelve years old, you might still consider him a little boy, and part of me always had. At thirteen those days were over. This was a young man standing before me now, and my expectations of him were going to be much greater from this day forward. "Follow me," I growled. I'd never seen him so frightened. It was wonderful. Down into the basement we went. The lights were off at the bottom of the steps. I flipped them on and waited for him to react to our latest addition. The cage was about three feet high, four feet long and three feet wide, made of a heavy wooden frame with steel bars. The door was open, a large baton lock ready and waiting. The base was a solid wood plank, with iron rings bolted to it. My boy turned and looked at me with love and surprise in his eyes. I dropped the leash, and put my arm around his shoulders, already broader than they were just a few short months ago. "Happy birthday, Alex."