THE TIES THAT BIND
Waddie Greywolf

Chapter 5 ~ Il Servo Padrone E Duo*
  
Part I ~ The Child Within Us

“There is no coming to consciousness without pain.” ~ Carl Jung
           
I lay in the arms of an angel.  Do all angels have wings?  My brain was passing back and forth from one dimension to the other.  One, where handsome wingless angels with sad violet eyes and donkey dicks dwelt.  They swaggered around wearing side arms and the sweetest tasting bad-ass boots I ever had my mouth on.  Then, there was another realm where Master Earl D. Shaw was holding me, petting me, asking if I was all right, waving his hand in front of my glazed eyes, snapping his fingers for me to focus.  “Beau.  Beau.  Can you hear me?” he asked with concern.

‘That handsome devil,’ I thought, “he’s doing all this for me?  How nice, all that, and yet, somehow, he managed to pinch that poor angel’s cock.’  I could see the headlines: Cop Cops Angel's Cock.  Film at eleven.  I laughed at my own silliness.  What’s wrong with this picture?   What’s going on?  Go ask Alice, I think she’ll know.  Br’er Rabbit's down a hole.’  ‘My brain,’ I thought, ‘oxygen starved.  Try breathing you idiot.  Deep breaths.  That’s it.  That’s the ticket.  This is Los Angeles, live dangerously, take a deep breath.’  The cobwebs began to clear.  There was Master Earl looking at me with concerned eyes.  Could lavender eyes be concerned?  Well, his seemed to be.  Nice of him to let me sniff his plastic cod piece or whatever that damn thing was he held over my nose.   

I looked over to the side of the bed through glazed eyes and saw a small handsome man, buffed to the max, standing next to the bed who raised his hand to wave goodbye.  I was talking to him earlier about something, but I couldn’t remember what.  'Goodbye, Buddy, I have to go.  Officer Shaw is calling to me.  I’m coming around.  I’ll see you again soon.  Bye for now.’  I sent to him and watched him nod his head he hear and understood me.

One full minute of oxygen, the fog lifted, and reality came rushing in like a slam dunk.  “What the hell?  How’d I get here?” I asked as I set up with a start.

Master Earl removed the oxygen cannula from my nose.  “Woah, steady, young man.  You been drifting in and out for about an hour now.  Are you all right, Beau?” Master Earl asked.

Earl D. found a hit of oxygen would clear most people’s head in a matter of minutes, but the alpha state is seductive.  People want to return.  It’s like when you wake up after sleeping really hard, and you’re still sleep drunk.  Some call it a sleep hangover.  You want to lie back down and go back to sleep again.  He watched me carefully and decided to get me up and moving.  “I think I’m all right.  What happened?  Where’s my friend?” I asked.

“What friend, Beau?” Master Earl asked.

“Maybe he wasn’t real.  Maybe he was an hallucination.  A really buffed little dude came to me and held my hand during the last part of my ordeal.  He reminded me of my friend David who was with me in Nam.  He loved me and I loved him.  We became brothers and lovers.  He's the only partner I ever had.  We had the sweetest sex,” I said trying to remember.

“Do you remember our conversation about thirty minutes ago?” Master Earl asked.

“I remember someone telling me I didn’t lose my plug, but I didn’t believe them.  I don’t remember how I got to this bed,” I replied.

“No, you didn’t lose the plug.  I’ll explain the details later.  Let’s get you up and walking,” Master Earl said as he picked me up to a standing position.  Damn, he was a strong man, but he could be so gentle.  Fuck, he smelled so good I wanted to take a bite out of his butt so bad my tongue got hard.  My legs were just a bit rubbery, but I managed to walk.  Things slowly began to come back to me.  “Gee, Master Earl, that must have been one hell of a fuck.  Wish I’d been there,” I said.  Officer Earl D. Shaw threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Damn, that felt good.’  He thought to himself.  He hadn’t found much to laugh about since Wes died.

“We ain’t got to that part, slave-boy,” Earl said pointedly, then added, "You still have that to look forward to."

“No?  Really?  Well, from what I can see I’m definitely gonna’ enjoy it,” I replied.

Earl laughed again.  He was concerned about me because I seemed to be more susceptible to the pull of the alpha state than anyone he encountered before.  I was like a man coming down from a three-day drunk.  He saw this sort of thing before but not to such a degree.  What a change in my personality.  I went from carrying the collected guilt of the world to having a sense of humor.

* * * * * * *

Earl saw the whip work miracles.  He was good at what he did and knew almost to the number how many strokes of the whip it would take for any given slave to cross over— a term Earl D. invented.  You won’t find it in any medical book, but it best describes what someone experiences.  He watched Wes grow from the whip.  Wes was deathly afraid of the idea.  He was physically abused as a child, but Wes insisted Earl let him try again and again.  Slowly and patiently Earl D. brought him along.  He never went further than Wes could handle.  He was more concerned for Wes because he was so small.  Wes would always let him know when he could go no further.  They had a signal between them.  Earl would stop immediately and praise Wes for how much further he progressed than the last time whether he really did or not.

Discipline didn’t come easy for Wes.  It was his idea for Earl to begin to mold him to be the slave he needed.  Earl never pushed him to the dungeon.  His promise to obey Earl’s order to trust and his master's acceptance brought new areas of exploration for Wes.  He began to solve the dichotomy of ideas within S&M sex.  How could anything equating the brutal beatings he received as a boy from his father be sexually stimulating?  Wes began to separate the violence of the whip and its symbol of punishment to the greater idea of a rite of passage and an unfailing trust in his master.  He trusted Earl with his life and Earl returned his trust with pride and unspoken admiration for his slave.

Wes’ father caught Wes masturbating in the back of the barn one day and went insane.  He grabbed Wes by his little cock and balls and practically dragged him to the back porch.  There was no screen on the porch, just flat boards for a walkway.  He grabbed something as he left the barn with Wes in tow.  Wes was in great pain and screaming loudly.  He was sure his father was going to either pull his cock and balls off or cut them off.  Maybe that would have been better than what his sadistic father was about to do in the name of teaching the boy God’s way.  He held Wes’ small penis to a flat board on the porch which came up to about Wes’ waist and with one swift movement drove a sixteen D common nail through it securing it to the board.  Wes screamed and cried.

“Oh, Daddy!  Oh, Daddy, please take it out.  I’ll never do it again, I promise.  It hurts so bad.  It HURTS, DADDY!  Oh, God!  Oh, dear God, Daddy, it hurts.  Please, Daddy!  Please take it out.  Oh, please, Daddy!  I can’t stand it, it hurts so bad.  Oh, God, please, Daddy.  Daddy!  Daddy!  Daddy!  Don’t do this to me, Daddy.  I love you, Daddy.  How can you do this to me?  Please take it out, Daddy!”

The son of a demon bitch slapped Wes hard across his face, as hard as he could, almost knocking the small boy out cold.  “Don’t chu’ never call on the Blessed Lord’s name again you— YOU, LITTLE HEATHEN PERVERT!  Only heathens and queers play with they's selves.  Now you stand there and think about what chu' done for an hour or so.”

He left Wes alone with no way to get his little penis off the board.  He stood there, almost in shock, bleeding, looking down at his little boy penis, his blood running out onto the board, quickly drying in the hot Georgia sun.  Wes had no idea how long he stood there.  Born by chance to a monster and his spineless spouse, the small, beautiful, hapless child, a victim of cruel and unusual punishment for a normal human act made dirty by the most unholy perversion of self-righteous, backwoods fundamentalism.  Satan’s playground of disorganized ignorance hiding for too long under the name of organized religion.  In the hands of pentecostal fundamentalism, the American Taliban, the bible becomes an instrument to play any tune the Devil can dance to as well as the angels.  Hallelujah, praise God and pass them snakes.

Wes stood for two full hours or more before his father returned and unceremoniously ripped the nail from the board and his little penis.  Wes didn’t scream.  He had none left in him.  His dad didn’t bother to sterilize the wound or bandage the child.  He forbid his mother to care for him when he came to her for comfort and help.  Wes wanted to die.  He lay that night in severe pain in the cold barn.  His father threw all his clothes from the house into the backyard.  Wes was banished to live in the barn.  His dad yelled at him if he wanted to live like an animal he could live with them.  He felt lonely before, but this was the end of the road.  He prayed to God to take him to heaven.  He didn’t want to stay here anymore.  If there was a God, how could he let this happen to a little one?  An innocent child Jesus claimed he loved so well?  Wes prayed.  It was his only hope.  Night after night the small boy prayed to send an angel to rescue him.  He would be good, he promised.  How long must he suffer his father’s sick torture?

If demons there be, Wes’ father was their high priest.  He would regularly make trips to Wes’ small corner he made for himself in the barn loft, take his clothes off, lie along side his son’s makeshift  bed in the hay and bugger Wes in his little butt.  He would leave his son crying and laugh as he walked away.  Sometime he turned at the ladder to the loft and would mockingly taunt the boy.  “Well, what’ju you ‘spect?  You wanna’ be a homo.  Don’t blame me none.  It’s what you get’s for being queer.  You get fucked in both your holes for a real man’s pleasure.  I’ll learn you how to be a good cocksucker and cornholer.  I’ll use you to get’s you ready fer when I take’s you’s to Macon and sells’ yur ass to a real butt fuckin’ big queer I knows.  You fucked right good tonight, boy.  I think tomorrow I’ll start learn’n you to suck me off— turn you into a right good cocksucker--- you queer faggot.”

 Since Wes was relegated to the barn, he felt he had no home.  He was right.  By any definition of home, he didn’t have one.  He was very much alone in the world.  Wes’ mother never came to his defense.  She was deathly afraid of his father.  He tried to kill her twice because he thought she was 'a’witchen' and trying to cast a black spell on him because he caught syphilis fucking a whore over to Waycross.  Hell, he knew’d she weren’t church people when he married her.  That’s why the Goddamn boy turned out to be a queer.  T’weren’t his fault.  Weren’t having no son of his’n bein’ no cocksuck’n butt-fucking queer.  Get rid of the little bastard.  Git some moneys for him.  ‘Cause once them queers gits a taste of a man’s dick, or takes a penis up they’s butt, they be queers the rest of they’s lives.  Can’t change ‘em none, neither.  They’s like a chicken killin’ dog.  Can’t never get the taste of fresh blood out they’s mouth.  Have to kill ‘em.  No good no more for nuthin.’  Take ‘em out and shoot ‘em, to gets rid of ‘em.

Might’en as well get rid of the kid as well.  He’s no damn good to me.  Let him live his life in sin away from here.  If’n you’s right hand offends you, cut it off.  See!  Says right there in the good book.  Right here in Leviticus.  Cast out them demons.  He decided to keep the boy a while longer to train him to suck and get fucked good by a real man.  Git’s more money for him that-a-ways if’n he’s trained up real good.  Wes tried to run away when he was eight but his father caught him.  “You wanna’ be a queer so bad boy I’m a gonna’ see to it you gits yur wish.” His daddy snarled at him through crooked green teeth.  His demon father took Wes and one small suitcase to Macon to a big queer he know’d about and asked him how much he’d give him for his queer son.  He trained him up good to suck and git fucked in his butt so’s he could git a decent price for him.  The man happened to be a master and saw the look in Wes’ face of terror, anger, fright, hurt, pain, anguish, embarrassment and worst of all a resign that he was worthless.  The spirit was gone from the boy.  He was little more tha a husk.

Wes was so humiliated he felt less than nothing.  He tried to imagine himself as invisible.  Wes happened to look up at the man and saw the face of an angel.  He was older with the lightest powder blue eyes which looked like silent pools.  He had the kindest face Wes ever saw on a big man, and he was a huge.  He had a full beard and a neatly trimmed mustache.  He reminded Wes of a big, kindly bear he saw onetime in one of his cousin’s children’s book.

Wes could imagine this big bear of a man holding him, keeping him from harm, sitting in his lap, away from this horrible scene his father was creating.  The man was a clean, handsome, well dressed masculine man.  He looked into Wes’ eyes and Wes looked back as if to say I’m yours, do with me as you will, please take me away from this.  The big man’s heart grabbed Wes’ soul with one swift look, and told him he would be his champion.  Then the big man looked back upon the face of evil.  The master looked at Wes’ father wondering what awful, unspeakable things he did to his own child?

“How much you asking for him?” the big man ask with cool disdain.

“A hun’nert dollars,” Wes’s father replied.

“For a scrawny kid like that?  Hell, Mister, I can buy three of ‘em in Atlanta for that.  Bigger.  Well fed.  They can do a lot more work than this one can,” he sneared at the hillbilly.

“Well, what’d ya gimme’ fur ‘em?” Wes' dad asked.

“Well, he’s got a right nice face on ‘em, kinda pretty like.  I’ll give you thirty dollars for him,” the big man said.

“Forty,” Wes’ dad countered.

“Done,” he replied.  He handed Wes’ father the money and gently lifted poor Wes into his big arms, pulled a bandanna from his hip pocket and gently wiped away the tears, dirt, and grime from the boy’s little face.  “Don’t be afraid, Son, no harm will come to you.  You’re safe with me.  I give you my word,” he whispered in Wes’ ear.  Wes threw his tiny arms around the big man’s neck, laid his little head on his chest, and began to cry softly.  He was crying for gratefulness to his savior.  Maybe God heard his prayers after all.

"An angel came to him the day his dad nailed him to the porch for the seventh or eighth time, Wes lost count, and told him someone would come.  He would go with the beautiful man.  Wes didn’t care what the future brought.  There was no love from his ineffectual mother after being rejected time and again by her when his insane father would go crazy.  Wes certainly wouldn’t miss his old man’s nocturnal visits to the barn loft to rape him and then call him a queer.  The future had to be better, or he didn’t want to live.  He would rather take a chance on the future with a stranger, especially one as handsome and smelled as good as this big man.

Wes’ father’s took a parting shot at his son.  “That big queer owns you now boy.  I’ll bet his gonna’ butt fuck yore’ little ass with his big dick ‘til ‘ya walks bowlegged,” he said as he walked off laughing, counting his forty bucks.  The man who bought Wes was Big Jim’s brother, Walker Johnson.  Wes made a solemn vow never to see his father again.  Walker placed his big hand on the back of Wes’ small undernourished head and pulled him to his big chest in an effort to cover the boy’s ears.  “Don’t listen to him, Son,” he whispered to Wes, “He’s a Devil.  That won’t happen to you.  You have my word, by God, that will not happen to you.  You’re safe with me, and no one will ever hurt you again.  Come, live with me, and be my son,” he said.

"Through his tears, Wes shook his little head affirmative.  Walker gently nuzzled him behind his ear with his full bushy moustache.  At that moment two important things happened.  Wes fell in love for the first time in is life, and in Walker’s heart he became Wesley Johnson.  Wes lived with Walker for fourteen years.  Wes fell deeply in love with Walker, but Walker never took advantage of Wes.  He taught him to be a man.  His own man.  He finished high school living with Walker and his family.  Because Wes applied himself and made top grades in high school Walker wanted to send him to college.  Wes was too much in love with Walker to leave him.

"Walker Johnson became his family and Wes was welcomed into Walker’s big family as one of them.  The small boy found himself dwelling in a land of giants.  His new dad was huge.  His uncle Jim was bigger and their dad was bigger than both of them.  Wes’ new grandmother was an enormous woman; not fat but huge; so were Walker’s three sister, his aunts, and cousins.  They came to adore little Wes.  He was like a wonderful intelligent toy to them.  To Wes, Walker was more than a champion.  He became his father, big brother, Indian guide, teacher, and mentor.  It never crossed Walker’s mind to take advantage of Wes.  To him, Wes became the son he knew he’d never have.  Wes had other dreams.  Things were going along fine for Wes until the day he got the letter from the government.  “Greetings! You are hereby ordered to... ”  A  year later found him in a three foot square bamboo cage being held prisoner by the Vietcong awaiting transport to the Hanoi Hilton.

* * * * * * *

As Wes’ trust in Earl grew he knew he could count on him to stop when he gave the signal.  Likewise, the repeated sessions over a period of time began to imprint on Wes what trust was all about and solidified his increasing trust in his master.  If he didn’t signal, Earl D. would gladly take him further, until one night, Wes didn’t signal at the point Earl expected, and Earl prepared to take him to the next plateau.  Wes already stepped across the threshold.  It was not fainting.  It was like a trance, an out of body experience that fakirs are known to induce before their performances.  It’s been compared to the alpha state in bio-feedback.  Sometimes Earl’s partners would remain in the state for several hours and claim to have unusual experiences.  They would meet strange people, dead friends, feel the presence of evil, or meet holy people.  Most were significantly changed by an extended session in Master Earl’s dungeon.  A large majority wanted to repeat the experience.

Wes began to understand and enjoy the benefits of the alpha state.  He would beg Earl to take him to the dungeon, especially when he was beginning to have doubts, fears, or insecurities.  Straightened him right out, every time.  That was the time Earl could most feel Wes’ love for him.  Not from the act, but from the resulting warmth Wes would radiate for days afterward.  It bonded them together to take these trips and Wes was never happier or more loving than right after a night with his master in the dungeon.  Earl would make the sweetest love to him for hours and get some of the best sex he ever had from Wes.  He would never guess Wes might become such a sexual athlete. ‘Could Wes have sent him Beau?’  Earl wondered to himself.  Beau seemed like the kind of man who was the salt of the Earth, but some very strange things happened.  Earl never had anyone get all the way through his trip on the first go.  Most dropped out during the first half.  In Earl D.’s eyes Wes could do no wrong and must be on a first name basis with the Big Master in heaven.  If anyone could talk the Big Kahuna into allowing someone to play Dolly Levi, Earl was convinced it would be Wes.

They played a game.  Earl D. would grab Wes, hold him tight, shove his  hand down the back of Wes’s pants to rub his little butt to see if it was still tender.  Most of the time Earl made damn sure he kept it that way.  Earl would ask him if he was glad his big, bad-ass, cop Daddy whipped his little butt.  It would invariably flip a switch in Wes that would cause him to radiate joy.  Wes would truly show his love for Earl D.  He would giggle like a school boy then speak from his heart.  ”God, yes, Master Earl, thank you,” he would say, and he really meant it.

* * * * * * *

Earl walked Beau out to the patio deck.  It was a warm evening and the lights of Los Angeles seemed to be dancing a command performance.  "Feeling better, Beau?"  Earl D. asked his house guest.

“I think I’m back to normal; thirsty, but normal.  Yeah, I’m normal,” he said.  Beau’s small epiphany didn’t pass Earl D.  “Where’s that little guy who was around here a while ago?” I asked again.

“What little guy, Beau?” Earl asked.

“The small, buffed, short guy who was in the bedroom a while ago?” I asked.

Earl D. was quiet for a minute.  “Is this some kind of game or a joke, Beau?” he asked.

“No, there was a short little guy who said goodbye to me when you had that plastic thing on my nose.  Did he leave?  He had a flat top, very blond, blue eyes, and had on a beige Eisenhower jacket with a blue and gold emblem on the pocket.  Man, was he buffed out.  Beautiful body,” Beau said with disarming honesty,  “He was a nice guy.  He listened to me.  I told him things about Nam I never told another soul.  I feel better.  He said I knew him, but I didn’t.  Said I saved his life once, and he was grateful.  He told me he loved me, but I never met him before,” I related like it was fact.

Earl noticed Beau’s voice began to take on a flat effect and the tone lowered like a windup victrola running out of power.  ‘Oh, God, he’s lapsing back into alpha state. Probably from dehydration,’ Earl thought to himself.  “Come on,” Earl said, “let’s go to the kitchen, and I’ll get you some cold water.”

Beau felt comfortable not to be encumbered by clothes and sex toys.  He was beginning to have those bizarre coasting images where you’re not quite asleep and not really awake, you’re just coasting; the first cousin to a fevered dream.  ‘Why do we have to wear anything?’  Beau thought.  Then the vivid memory of cleaning Officer Earl’s boots slammed into his consciousness.  He breathed in quickly recalling the wonderful smell of booted leather on his breath.  ‘Ah, yes, that’s why.  Now I remember.  So slave-boys can have something to do with their tongues.  Makes sense to me,’ he rationalized to himself.

Earl D. got him a glass of water, another, then another.  “You may be a little dehydrated,” Earl D. said.  They walked back to the patio, stood for a minute looking at the lights, and slowly turned to look at each other.  Beau looked deep into Earl’s eyes and spoke in a barely audible voice.  “Master, there are other folks here with us on the patio.  One just told me to tell you something,” Beau said quietly.

“What is it, Son?” Earl D. asked.

“Thank you, Earl, for everything,” I replied flatly with no emotion but with a decided southern lilt to my voice.  I heard the words but I didn't know where they came from.

“For the water?  Oh, you mean... sorry, Son,” he replied.  He grabbed his slave, pulled him to his chest, and held him tight.  "Did the folks tell you to be disrespectful?” Earl gently chided.

“They said this one time only, you would forgive when you understood the meaning,”  I said flatly, but respectfully.  Earl D. looked him in the eyes and chills began to tap dance on his spine causing his scalp to crawl around on his head in several direction at once.  He felt his forehead join the tingling as the ‘meaning’ shook him to his core.  He threw back his handsome head, looked at the stars, and groaned deeply.  “Oh, dear God. Oh— oh, my God,” he groaned like he was in pain.  Earl closed his eyes and was silent for several minutes.  He hugged Beau tighter as if he was afraid Beau would bolt for the door.

“Is there a meaning, Master?” I asked quietly.  Earl D., hung his head, paused to compose himself, then began to speak slowly and deliberately like the words were being carved out of his soul.

“I had a slave named Wesley.  Wes I called him.  He was a small man.  No, he was tiny.  Wes had the heart of a lion and the attitude of a giant.  When he got angry and pulled himself up to his maximum of four feet eight, people shut up and listened.  I watched him back down a man twice his size.  He was my devoted slave.  I loved him dearly.  You described him perfectly a while ago when you ask about the little guy in the bedroom.  I don’t keep pictures out so unless Jeb told you about him you couldn’t have known what he looked like, especially his favorite jacket I still have in the closet,” Officer Shaw said.  Beau looked at Master Earl with sympathy in his eyes.

“God, Master Earl, I would never be so cruel to do something like that to anyone, let alone you.  Master Jeb only told me you lost your slave four years ago in a plane accident, nothing more,” I said with remorse.

“It’s all right, Son, I believe you.  Some remarkable things have happened tonight.  When I bought Wes he already signed all the usual Master/slave contracts; however, he held out for one small exception in the wording.  The contracts were written by one of our group's attorneys giving me full power over him.  Of course, forced slavery in this country is illegal but there are very few laws that apply to consensual slavery.  Attorneys hate it when there’s a change in their contracts.  Keep in mind, Wes and I only met a week before the contract was signed.  He was sold into our family at an early age by his homophobic father.  Paternal revenge for Wes turning out gay.  ‘I’ll sell the queer into slavery,’ his old man thought, not knowing it was probably the best thing he ever did for Wes.  However, like every thing else in life, shit happens.

"Wes didn’t have an easy go of it.  He was sold or given, master to master, ‘til one day no one knew where he was or what happened to him.  By accident, a straight friend of Jeb’s, who liked to fuck whores in Tijuana, was offered a young gringo man to fuck for twenty pesos.  He thought for twenty pesos a little boy butt might be a nice change from Mexican tuna.  He said he started fucking the kid and realized he was white and probably American.  He said he was a damn good fuck and feeling so fine he paid them extra to fuck him a little longer.  He said when he went back to get a little more boy butt, he got an idea.  He thought the boy was too good a fuck not to have been trained.  Rather than enter him slowly he slammed his considerable piece of meat into him to the hilt.  He said he thought he heard the kid say, “Thank you, Master!”

"Then the kid really started giving him a major good fuck.  He bought another hour with him and slammed in him again to make sure he wasn’t hearing things.  Again the kid said, “Thank you, Master!” he said.  He leaned over him near his ear and spoke softly as he fucked him.  “I ain’t no master, Son, but my good friend is.  Whose boy are you and why are you here?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you, sir.  No good will come of it.  Just enjoy your fuck.  I’ll try to make it as good for you as I can.  Thank you for fucking me so good,” Wes said.

He said his heart went out to the kid and he asked his name.  “Wes, sir,” he replied.  Wes was so good he said he couldn’t hold back and shot a big load up his ass.  When he pulled out of Wes he was just gonna’ wipe his  dick off but Wes begged him to let him clean it for him.  “You’re the only man what's know'd how to fuck my ass in the last six months, sir.  You deserve my best and my respect, sir,” Wes said and proceeded to lick the mess and come off the man's dick and cleaned him up good.

“I’m gonna’ tell a couple of my friends who are masters about you. They’ll get you out of here,” he said.

“That’s all right, sir,” Was told him, “I’m here because my master said I deserve to be,” Wes said like he was defeated and accepted his fate.

“He told Wes nobody deserved to be kept chained up for someone else’s profit.  He immediately went to Jeb, his big friend Jim, and told them what he found.  He asked if they knew a boy named ‘Wes.’  Of course Jeb knew him well.

“Hell, Big Jim said, he’s my nephew.” Jeb nodded his knowledge of Jim and Wes’ relationship; although, at the time Jeb only met Wes a couple of times.  Jeb and Jim went down to Tijuana the next day and found him in the Mexican bordello his friend described.  Wes was chained to a wooden bench and being viciously fucked six to eight times a day by any Mexican who had twenty pesos.  Most of the time, the two guards at the place threw a fuck into him before they went home.  Through some flim-flam Jeb went in as a customer, as if he was going to fuck him, insisted on privacy, and closed the door.  He didn’t want them to get suspicious so he pulled his dick out and slammed it into Wes.  Without turning around to see who it was, Wes spoke to him.  “Thank you, Master Jeb,” he said.  He recognized the way Jeb’s cock felt in him.

“Give me a good fuck, Son, we’re here to get you out of this toilet,” Jeb said quielty.

“Yes, sir, Master Jeb, it feels good to have a master in me again,” Wes replied.

“Jeb fucked him making loud moaning sounds, talking dirty, and slapping Wes’ ass loud enough to be heard outside.  After he finished he went to the caretaker and bragged about how good the little gringo was.  Jeb speaks Mexican like a native.  Jim came in with a bottle and offered the caretaker a drink.  Jeb found out he was just an employee.  Jeb told Jim what a good fuck the boy was and paid for Jim to use him.  They proceeded to get the caretaker drunk, and he finally passed out.  Jim went in and cut Wes’s chains with a pair of bolt cutters he carried under his jacket.

“They put him in the back of Jeb’s old pickup, piled ropes, old rubber boots, an old painting tarp on him, and drove back across the border.  On the U.S. side they pulled into a filling station, got Wes from the back, wrapped him in warm blankets, and drove back to Los Angeles.  He never would tell Jeb, Big Jim, or me how he came to be there.  He knew Jeb or his uncle, Big Jim, would have quietly disposed of the man.  Jeb took him in and nursed him back to health.  He gained his weight back and after about a year, Jeb began training him his way.  Big Jim worked out with him at a gym three days a week, and Jeb tried to teach him to believe in himself.  Jeb gave him faith to learn to trust, but most of all he taught him how to trust in himself.  Jeb put him on the market about eight months after that.

“Say what they will about old Jeb, he knows what he’s doing, and he produces the best slaves on the market.  He held an open house so anyone interested could meet and inspect Wes.  No sex.  I didn’t go to the open house, and Wes was to be sold two weeks after that.  I was alone, and a close friend of mine in the family suggested I buy a house boy.  He suggested it might be some comfort to have someone rattling around the house so it wouldn’t seem so empty.  There would be someone there when I came home from work.  A pet, basically.  I called Jeb and made arrangements to meet Wes and take him to dinner.  I didn’t bring him to my home because Jeb has strict rules about that sort of thing.  Jeb Henshaw is a man whose trust you would not want to break.

“Wes was polite, intelligent, reserved but kept unto himself.  Not sullen, just didn’t have much to say.  He did ask me one pointed question: If I should find him worthy of purchase, and he did his best to serve me, would he be expected to love me?  I told him, no.  I was honest with him when I told him my reasons for wanting to purchase a slave.  I needed a domestic slave.  I had all the dungeon traffic I needed.  I had a waiting list.  Not because I’m that hot, but because I’m a cop.  I found out he had problems allowing people to get close to him because he was abused as a child and rejected so many times.

“I thought with my shyness problem and his rejection problems, it might prove to be too big a can of worms.  On the other hand, as another friend pointed out, it might be the best thing for both of us.  He’d have regular duties, his privacy to an extent, and I could have my sex in the dungeon.  I wasn’t expecting him to be so small, but he was perfectly small.  Usually men who are small are good looking in a... well, a small man way, but not Wes.  He looked like a damn fireplug.  For a small man he was built like the proverbial brick outhouse.  He hardly responded to me at all.  We ate a pleasant, somewhat quiet dinner, but I felt good in his company; however, I just assumed he didn’t like me.

“I took him back to Jeb’s after dinner that evening and Jeb walked me to my truck to feel me out about Wes.  Jeb’s a business man, and he wanted to know if I planned to bid on Wes.  I voiced my concerns, Jeb didn’t say much, but thanked me for being honest.  He reassured me Wes did, indeed, like me but was afraid to try to hope for anything he really wanted.  He was so used to getting fucked over he sometimes sabotaged his own best chance for happiness because he was imprinted he wasn’t deserving enough.  I told Jeb, I was concerned he was so small, I might hurt him if I tried to fuck him.  Jeb smiled knowingly and told me if Wes could take him or Big Jim several times a week, he could take me.

“He looked me in the eye.  “Earl D., I’m gonna’ break one of my cardinal rules by telling you this, ‘cause  ever’ time I break one of my rules, it costs me money, but damn it, this time it’ll be worth it.” he said.  He grabbed me by my arm, looked  me dead in the eye.  “Earl D. Shaw, you and that boy belong together.  I’m not telling you this to hustle a sale.  You know me better’n ‘nat by now.  Take it as a word to the wise from an old fart who's seen the best of ‘em come and go.  This slave needs and deserves a good master, and you’re the best man for the job.  You know what I think and feel about you.  You’re special in my book and so is this kid.  If you’re not interested, he will sell anyway, and at a good price.  I won’t say anymore, but promise me you’ll think about it.  That’s all I ask,”he said.

“Jeb and I have always had a deep respect for one another.  Well, it goes a little deeper than that, but I won’t go into it right now.  Let’s just say Jeb has done me a lot of favors, and I try to be there when he needs me.  He never abuses friendships so when he asks, I’m there.  He never is physical with anyone, only the boys he’s training.  I was impressed by his passion and promised him I would think about it, and I did.  I gave it a lot of thought, then I put it out of my mind until the morning of the bidding.

“One thing Wes said that night kept running through my mind, and I couldn’t shake it.  When I took him back to Jeb’s as he was getting out of the truck, he turned to me and asked if he might speak freely.  I told him ‘yes’ and he looked me in the eyes and never wavered.  “With all due respect, sir, I’m not for you.  You’re a good and decent man.  You will be a wonderful master for some lucky slave boy.  You deserve a slave who not only can serve you well but can love you, too.  I don’t think I’m capable of that anymore, Master Earl.  Please don’t tell Master Jeb I told you,” he said.

“I give you my word, Son,” I told him.  I was stunned.  I didn’t know what to think.  Maybe this was the sabotage Jeb was talking about.  Shoot happiness in the doorway, and you won’t have to invite it in.  Let’s face it, if misery is all you’ve ever known, then you’ll only be happy when you’re miserable.

“You had to have your bid in by six o’clock three days from that evening.  I thought about it all day while working and decided not to bid.  There were too many variables.  On my way home I started thinking about going home to an empty place, and my bike suddenly decided to take the off ramp to Jeb’s place.  I made a midrange bid, and thought it would probably insure I wouldn’t win the bid.  Was I following Wes’ lead?  Shooting happiness in the foot?  Jeb called me that evening around eight and asked when I might wish to take possession of my new slave boy.

“I found out much later, after Wes was killed, Jeb had two offers higher than mine.  Jeb is a wise and sometimes mysterious old coot.  I told him to have the contracts ready, and I would pick him up the next day after work.  Wes’ only hold out in our contract was, 'If I should have reason to speak to my master about love we will speak as equals.'  Meaning, to drop all titles of respect and on that topic he could speak his mind without fear of reprisal.  It seemed innocent enough.  I agreed to it.  As it turned out, we never really talked much about love.  He just couldn’t bring himself to speak the words,” he said.

Earl paused for a moment.  “When I brought him home I put him in the other bedroom upstairs.  He seemed fine for a while. and then, during the night I would be awakened by a muffled sound of some kind.  I silently approached his room and heard him crying into his pillow like his life was over.  This went on night after night until he would cry himself to sleep.

“I felt horrible.  I didn’t know what to do.  I talked to Jeb about it, and he said Wes sometimes experiened bad dreams but didn’t cry.  Jeb said to be firm with him, not angry or violent, just stern.  Give him the idea you care enough about his development you’re going to yank him up by the nape of his neck (figuratively) and damn well see to it he follows your orders.  That night I stormed into his room and addressed him in a  loud voice.

“What’s the meaning of this, boy?  Crying in my home like I mistreat you, like I’m some kind of monster?” I asked with considerable irritation.  Wes’ eyes widened, not in fear but surprise and embarrassment. “I paid good, hard-earned, red-blooded, American dollars to buy you, boy.  I never raised my voice to you since you been here until now.  God knows you've had it rough, kid, but I didn’t buy you out of pity.  It's time you stopped grieving for what might've been and concentrate on making your future all you can.  It's time you learned to live again and to put your trust in someone.

“Since I paid the big bucks for your ass to own you, boy, who the hell do you think that's gonna’ be, huh?  I haven't given you many orders since you been here; ain't had to, you've worked damned hard taking care of me, but by God in Heaven, I'm damn sure giving you an order now and you will obey it.  You are ordered to trust me, slave-boy and show some faith in your master until I do something that will make me unworthy of your trust.

“My daddy used to tell me,‘Son, when you meet a man, he should immediately have on deposit with you a trust fund.  Now, he may choose to withdraw all that trust in one stupid action.  Then, he has no more credit with you.  Remember it works both ways.  If you squander a man’s trust in one action, you may be terribly sorry, apologize for your actions, but it’ll take you a long time to build that account up again which originally was yours, free, for the asking.'

“You will trust me slave.  You got that?”

"Yes, Master!"

"That's not good enough, slave!  Yes, Master, what... ?

“Yes, Master I’ll try to trust you."

"That's not good enough, slave.  Try, hell.  You're not stupid, Son.  Don't insult your master by implying you think he's stupid enough to accept that lame answer.  That leaves you a convenient out of saying to yourself,  'Well, I tried.'   That's bullshit.  I won't have it.  You got that, boy?”

"Yes, Master, sir."

I think, at that point, I had his attention.

"You will repeat after me, slave.  I will trust you, Master,"  I yelled at him.

“I will trust you, Master."

"Now, what do I want to hear from you unprompted by me, boy?"

"I will trust you, Master."

"Now, try it one more Goddamn time, slave, and I better hear the fucking ring of truth in your voice," I growled at him.

"Master Earl, I promise.  I promise, I’ll trust you, sir."

"So your master is really sure you understand, this is not a game and you damn well better understand and obey his order, I will hear it again, slave."

Wes hit his knees in front of me and wrapping his arms around my legs pressed the side of his face as close to me as he could and said choking back the tears,  "Oh, Master, forgive me.  God help me, forgive me.  Of course, I’ll obey you.  I swear by all that’s holy, I will trust you.  I wasn’t crying because you mistreat me.  Please, Master, don’t think that.  I’ve never been treated better in my miserable life.  It’s... just....”

“Just what, slave?” I barked at him.

“I don’t want to complain, Master,”  Wes replied with his voice shaking.  He was scared, and I was enjoying my acting debut.  It was really hard to be angry with him.  He was so damn cute, but I was resolved.

“Complaining is a hell of a lot better than listening to you bawl half the night.  You either tell me what the burr under your saddle is, or I’m going in there, get that wide belt of mine, and I won’t stop whipping you until you do.  You got that, boy!” I yelled in his face.  Damn, I was good.  I was getting an erection talking mean to him.  I almost convinced myself.  That was good because Wes was sharp enough to tell if I was bluffing.  I wanted to leave no doubt I was serious.

“Please, Master, don’t.  I’ll tell you.  Every night after dinner you go off to your part of the house and I come in here, and after being with you, well, I like being around you, Master.  I know I’m a selfish slave, Master, and don’t have the right, and I know you could never love me, but I’ve fallen in love with you, Master.  I didn't think I was capable of loving anyone again.  I never thought it would happen.  I never wanted it to happen, but it did.  I just want to be with you more.  I’m so sorry, Master, I don’t deserve to be your slave.  I just get so lonely without you, Master Earl, it damn near breaks my heart,” he wailed.  Then he started sobbing like his little heart would break.

Well, so much for my acting career.  He ripped my heart out and handed it back to me in several pieces.  He kept a large chunk to nail to the wall.  I knew how he felt.  To tell the truth, I was lonely in my part of the house as well.  I started toward his room many times and stopped.  I was just trying to give him some privacy.  We both remained frozen and silent for a few minutes.

“Well, it’s high time we did something about it, slave boy,” I said in a quiet voice.  Wes had no idea what I meant, and I was enjoying keeping him in suspense.  I crawled into his bed, pulled the sheets down for him to get in bed next to me, and  patted on the bed for him to join me.  The little guy crawled into my arms, I held him tight, and he cried until I thought about restocking the ark.  They were tears of release, and I wasn’t about to chastise him for it.  I comforted him and reassured him I wasn’t going to sell him.  We would get through this together and added that the trust he was ordered to have and agreed to give me, would help.  That was the first time we made love.  Wes never cried again.  He obeyed my order, and he began to trust me.  He slept in my arms that night and every night thereafter.

“I wondered why he wanted that clause put in the contract when we never spoke of love.  Wes could never bring himself to talk about it.  Many times I saw the frustration on his face when he wanted desperately to tell me and walked away in anger because he couldn’t.  He didn’t have to tell me, I knew.  I was reserved with my true feelings for him.  I didn’t want to crowd him.  When you tell someone you love them, you expect them to say they love you in return.

"Wes was no dummy he could read me like a book, and I felt comfortable with that.  He knew I loved him.  There could be no doubt in his mind.  Wes worked his butt off to please me, and he did.  I felt we were bonding, especially after several intense weekend dungeon trips.  We were like two crippled suns spiraling in on each other sharing a black hole for a crutch.  Love was our crutch which helped two emotionally challenged men find a middle ground of understanding, patience, and joy in each other.
 
“We were big Dodger fans, and I bought season tickets every year.  We new most of the team.  They called us Mutt and Jeff.  Time passed, and I found myself depending more and more on Wes.  We both knew we fell hopelessly in love with each other but never expressed it in words.  Jeb told me one night everyone in our group could tell by the way we looked at each other and were happy for us.  Old Jeb was thrilled.”  Unsolicited tears were running down Earl’s cheeks.  “The last words Wes spoke to me, before he boarded the plane in Los Angeles was, ‘Earl, I love you,’ he said without the trappings of respect.  It took him six years to say it.  It was the first time he said those words to anyone other than his savior, Walker Johnson.  Worst of all, for me, it was the first time I ever told him, ‘I love you too, Wes.’

“Now I know, after all this time, why he had to have that clause in our contract.  If he ever told me he loved me he didn’t want it coming from him, the slave.  It had to come from Wes, my equal.  He knew in his heart he would always be my slave.  I would’ve never released him from his bond nor would he want it.  For that one fleeting moment it was the most important thing in his life, to be my equal, to emphasize the importance and meaning of those three words.

"He didn’t want me to think he was saying it because he was a slave and might be doing it to manipulate me.  I allowed him to be my equal at that moment, and he died my equal.  He’s been bothered all this time.  If I thought he died my equal, I wouldn’t need him any longer as my slave.  That, was the meaning, Beau.  He carried his need to be my slave, my possession beyond death’s door.  If any human might, Wes would.  He needs resolution.  He needs to hear me say, in my heart, he will always be my slave.

“Don’t you see, Beau?  It wasn’t your tears tonight.  You may be a sensitive or have the gift to channel.  He’s been seeing through your eyes.  He saw how sad I was and wept from your body.  The tears that fell on my boots he loved so well were from your body but not from you.  He was with you in the chains.  No man I ever put in those chains, has ever made it through the first time, but you did.  It just doesn’t happen.  He wanted you to please me, and you did.  He wanted us to be together this evening.  From here, it’s up to us.  He knew you were a sensitive.  He planned it from our chance meeting at the lake.  You took a huge chance blurting out to an LAPD officer you’d like to clean his boots.  You’ve even wondered where it came from.  I would've never potentially jeopardized my position by saying the blatant things I did to you.  When you said the message a while ago it was with a southern accent.  You don’t have an accent.  Wes did.  Wes needs resolution.  You unwittingly helped him find it.”

Earl D.’s heart broke, and Beau held him until he recovered.  Earl not only found his way to the healing door, he knocked, it was opened, and he passed through.  The eternal some-one’s voices in consort with Wes’ whispered in his ear,  'I’m  still your loving slave, I always will be, but now, I need for you to let me go.'  Master Earl D. Shaw, Wes’ only true owner and master, walked out onto the wooden deck to the rail.  He placed his hands on the rail and looked out into the night.  “Goodbye, my beloved slave,” he said softly, tears blinding his vision,“You were my slave, you will always be my slave, there is none other like you, and I will always love you,” Officer Earl D. Shaw said into the night.

Satisfied, the spirit of Wes departed.  Suddenly, Earl’s heart felt lighter.  He knew Wes understood, Earl would be okay.  The slave set his master free.


Part II ~ Pastorale

"It is not kind of summer,
to be so gentle in its prime,
my master comes at sunset,
to love me one more time.”
From: Canto 99 ~ Slave Songs ~ W.D. Dux ~ Posthumous

Master Earl lay across his huge bed with Beau’s head resting on his stomach.  The full moon traveled the night sky to bathe them in its brilliance.  They didn't speak for a long while.

“Are you with me, slave?” Master Earl asked.

“Yes, Master, are you all right?” I asked in reply.

“I ain't felt this right in several years.  How are you feeling, Son?” he asked.

“Alive, very much alive,” I replied.

Master Earl looked at him.  “I’m not going to ask for clarification.  I’m learning to accept what you say,” Earl said softly, “You have a gift, Beau, a wonderful gift I don’t think you’re aware of.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, Master, and it’s the only logical explanation.  I saw pain in your eyes, twice, when you took off your sun glasses, in the kitchen, and the second time my knees gave way.  I’m ordinarily not an emotional person, but it may explain some other bizarre things that happened to me in Nam and after I got out.  It almost seems as if I have a guardian spirit by my side at all times keeping me out of harms way.  It seems to nudge me in the right direction and slaps me down when I don’t listen.  The most bizarre thing this evening was my eyes wetting your boots.  I was in heaven serving you.  It was like winning the Kentucky derby.  Every gay man's fantasy to serve the ultimate authority symbol of our society.  To say nothing of the fact that on the Richter scale of looks you score a ten plus, and I held the winning ticket to the lottery.  What, on God’s green earth, would make me cry at a time like that?

“Even if I saw pain in someone’s eyes I would feel empathy, perhaps sympathy for them, but not cry.  I really didn’t know you well enough to react that way.  I just knew you probably thought I was a psycho.  I have a feeling someone else was around as well as my permanent protector.  Remember when I asked you to put your arms around me?  I felt as if someone else inside me was hugging you.  I didn’t slip and call you master.  You told me when you phoned me to call you Officer Earl.  I heard my words but my brain didn’t send the signal.  I don’t know how to describe it.  You’ve known me long enough to know I wouldn’t presume to tell a master, especially one who did me a big favor, calling him master was for his sake as well.  I don’t know a lot about slave etiquette, but I'll bet that sort of statement would be frowned upon.  If it was Wes talking through me, then it would have been for your benefit as well.  If Wes was the young buffed out man I talked with, I understand your pain, more than you know.  He was patient, kind, and good to me.  He did something no one has ever done, he listened.  In the bedroom as I was coming around he told me goodbye and said to tell you ‘Ducksworth,’" I said.

“It was him.  I had several nicknames for him.  That was my favorite name for him when we were talking seriously about things.  He loved to read Wordsworth.  Sometimes he waddled like a duck to be funny.  So I combined the two.  He wasn’t pleased at first but he came to see it as a sign of the “L” word he avoided at all cost.”

“I saw what I saw, Master.  I know what I heard.  I know what I felt.  There was something very familiar about him.  He generated a lot of love towards me, and took me to visit a handsome older man.  I laid in the big man’s arms, and we made love.  The poor man soiled his bed.  I felt like I knew him somewhere before.  Sounds crazy, huh?” I asked.

“Yesterday, I would have said yes and ran the other way.  Tonight opened my eyes to some things I never thought I would even attempt to understand.”  They lay there in silence.  “I do know one thing,”  Master Earl said, as he rolled over onto his back, his cock hard as a rock stood up like the main pole on a circus tent.  “I’m suddenly horny as Hell.”

Beau rolled from his side to his back and had no less a boner.  (Well, okay, it was a little less, but it was just as hard.)

“Let’s not waste these beauties, slave,” Master Earl said as he roughly grabbed Beau’s cock.  Beau looked at his master’s cock and giggled to himself.  It was either exactly the same size or damn near the giant’s happy time ride.  Beau moved his hand toward it and stopped.

“May I, Master?” I asked.

“I’d like that,” Master Earl encouraged.  The two men lay in the brilliant moonlight massaging each other’s cocks and enjoying the moment.

“Beau, I’d like for you... no, let me put it this way, I need you to stay the rest of the weekend.  You may consider yourself under house arrest and, by God, I have the authority to enforce it,” Earl D. said joking with Beau as he hugged him tightly, “I have a couple of friends coming from Palm Springs for brunch tomorrow morning, and I would very much enjoy showing you off,” he said.

“I was going to Master Jeb's in the morning, but I haven’t called to make definite plans.  I can call Greg, my neighbor, to feed Pusslene.  So, if I’m under arrest what can I say?  You may wish to secure me in leg irons, cuff me, bind me with chains, whatever you have lying around, an old phone cord, perhaps?  I’ve been known to attempt escape, sir,” I said.  I was developing a sense of humor.

“How ‘bout if I nail one foot to the floor, make you go around in circles, and whistle like a choo-choo?  I’ll stick my dick up your butt and you can pull the caboose,” Earl said and laughed at his nonsense.

“Does if for me.  I’ll be like the little engine that could and pull your heavy load to the top of the hill,” I said.

“Sounds damn good to me, slave,” Earl continued,  “Since you’re new to the idea of slavery, are you shy or would you be embarrassed about being my slave for the weekend?  Because, you'll be nude most of the time, wearing my collar, and probably have your butt plugged,” Officer Shaw said.

“If I agree to call you, Master, which I have, then don’t I become your slave?” I asked.

“Damn good point, Son.  I have the feeling you would know instinctively how to handle yourself in most situations.  Besides, you’re an uncommonly fine looking young man.  You rival a slave I know in Tucson.  He and his master are my close friends.  He was one of Wes’ closest friends and confidant.  He and his master are world champion rodeo cowboys in team roping three years in a row,” Earl D. said.

“I’ve heard Master Jeb and Jim compare me to him.  I won’t let it go to my head,” I replied.

“Perhaps you should.  I don’t offer many compliments.  You’re the first since Wes died,” Earl said.

“You’re serious, aren’t you, Master Earl?” I asked.

“Yes, Beau, I am,” he replied softly.

“I just hope I can be worthy... untrained and all,” I said.

“I plan to make sure you are, slave.  I plan to strum you like a banjo.”

“Do you take requests, Master?” I asked and laughed.  ‘Where’d that come from?’ I thought to myself.

“Not unless you can sing with a plug in your mouth, slave,” Earl replied with a wicked grin.  It was his turn to laugh.  “I want you to know how good it feels to call you ‘slave,’” Earl added.

“It ain’t no stretch for me to call you ‘master,’sir,” I replied with a grin.

“Good, now let’s get our leathers on, get downstairs, so your weekend master can tear off a piece of his slave’s butt.  Hell, I’ll even tear off a piece for you if you like,” he said with a grin.

“Could you make it two, sir?” I asked.

“Hungry, huh?  Me, too.  Come on, slave boy, let’s get you fucked,” he said.


End Chapter 5 ~ The Ties That Bind
Copyright © 2000 ~ 2011 ~ Waddie Greywolf
All Rights Reserved~
Mail to: <waddiebear@yahoo.com>
Proofed: 04/27/2011
WC 10961


* I'll Servo Padrone e duo (The slave with two masters)