Dirt

Those Black Eyes

Office of Bret Knowles, Slave Broker

The boy's soulful yet anxious eyes could be seen barely able to peer over the back edge of my elaborate desk. Estimating the height (with the desk resting on its raised dais) I judged the boy no more than 4' 10" [1.47 m], perhaps even smaller. And from what I'd seen of him as he had cautiously and fearfully approached my desk, he had a very slender but well-formed body, perhaps 80 pounds [35 kg] or so. This would make him quite small for what I had estimated for his age. As an expert on boys though, I was quite certain that in spite of his diminutive size, small frame, and barely evident small boy musculature, he was definitely in his 13th year, maybe even closer to 14, and not the 12-year-old he appeared to be, even if his entry into pubescence could still be as much as a year away. One of the real late bloomers. He looked not much older than my own 11-year-old slaveboy.

The boy, whom I was already labeling in my mind, the 'black-eyed-boy', was so alluring, I was already deciding how best to lure him into my 'back room' for a much closer and intimate inspection. Perhaps I would get my own morsel of slaveboy perfection, who was currently kneeling at my feet, to be the 'lure'.

The boy's black intense eyes, and somber look, naturally drew one into his world as if compelled rather than invited. And on a number of levels he was quite the enigma. First of all, the last time I'd seen such a young boy in my establishment was perhaps three months ago. And that particular boy was on leash, being with his owner and master. I was a commodities broker. Of quite special commodities. I mostly dealt in slaves. And specialized in boys. I had another side-line, but it was 'slightly' illegal. OK, very illegal. But it was still a part of the 'boy business', and has proven quite remunerative over the past several years.

Getting back to the boy who had just wandered into my lair. He seemed to be interested in the various displays, seemingly captivating him as he perambulated about my area of business. He had not even tried to mask his apparent fascination of the HD 360-holo images of the half dozen representations of a dozen or so boys, both prepubescent and barely pubescent, who had been modified in the labs of the nearby BoyToys, Inc. Yes, I deal in not just slaveboys, but the real profit is in the market of modified sexslaves. Those modifications not only to stabilize those boys at their current physiological ages, never to mature or grow, but also other modifications which would make such boys more appealing to their owners.

Those particular displays showed boys with enhanced sex holes, able to accommodate their master's penile members no matter what the size, and even more esoteric mods including giving the boys some attributes of other animals. The most famous were those modified to greatly resemble the stylized fauns of mythology. Close to a dozen such 'animals', cute barely pubescent boys with the bottom halves mostly looking like young goats, and with upper halves with goat-like features, inhabiting the Faun Compound at the famous boy resort called the Xanadu Pleasure Dome. Other displays showed other strangely modified boys, one with the penis that would make a stallion proud, and another of twin boys, looking more like cats than boys, but still mostly upright in carriage and with very human genitals.

These and similar displays were there more to entice people into my establishment then to advertise. Myself, I was more into the personal slaveboy market. Obtaining those rare few boys who were already predisposed for submission and man-boy sex. And who would be perfect for modification to enhance, both the physical and those emotive-psychological attributes, so as to turn those boys into perfect personal sexslaves. Using modifications by gene-splice, and now the modern brain reformatting having reached new horizons of sophistication, we can now provide owners with boys who have full boy personalities, but who have been modified so that they are quite content and even enthusiastic in their roles as obedient sex-slaves.

My own sexslave, a relative new addition to my life and my bed, had also noticed the unusual visitor, and excitedly exclaimed; "Master, a boy! And he don't have no collar."

Having again forgotten his slave protocols, my slaveboy had earned himself a reprimand if not a punishment. He was not supposed to speak without permission.

I looked down at my slave with a stern expression. "Just remember boy. You are the slave. I'm the one who owns YOU."

Unfortunately, I had momentarily forgotten just how young my boy was. He did not always understand the nuance I was trying to put into my remarks. And the hurt I saw in his eyes I couldn't abide. (He was still struggling with maintaining all his newly learned slave protocols). So I deliberately smiled to take the sting out of my perceived disparagement, patted him with light force on his cute naked boy butt, and added: "Just remember boy. Over all the new slaveboys out there, I chose you. And I only want you."

I could see his entire body relax. His radiant smile almost melted my resolve to keep maintaining strict master-slave interactions and discipline. He was a slave and had been conditioned for that life. It was only kindness to maintain it in it a relatively strict measure. Even if his punishments hurt his pride more than his hide.

And it was that smile which dissuaded me from attaching his mouth gag and muzzle except on the most formal of occasions. I wanted to see it as much as possible. I knew that I'd only been his owner for several months but I could not believe that I would ever fail to experience the same degree of prideful ownership and covetous affection that I do now.

My boy looked with his own soulful eyes, his a remarkable green, and touched my leg. It was one of the methods I allowed for him to ask for permission to speak when not in formal slave mode.

"Yes boy?"

With all the seriousness of an 11-year-old boy, and one who took his responsibilities and slave protocols to heart, (perhaps too seriously at times), he asked: "Master, that boy? I know he's pretty old master, but do you think he's interested somehow in more than just looking?"

I took much pride in my boy's acute perceptiveness. This was exactly my own take as I watched the acute deliberation and wide-eyed wonder with which the meandering visitor seemed to take in the each of the 360-holo exhibits. And especially the intense concentration with which he seemed to examine the boys who were represented to have been modified for the master-slave boy specialty market. He lingered much more at those holos and seemed to be trying to see into the very soul (or at least the minds) of these boys whose monographs spelled out their previous dispositions, and descriptive overviews of just what modifications, both physical and mental, they had undergone.

And I suppose to my own slave, a boy of 11, the apparent young teen did seem 'old'. And then I realized that my boy probably did not realize that there was also interest by many prospective masters for boy at the cusp of puberty, (and even beyond). This boy, of very average looks and of decidedly smaller build for his age, I'd pegged at 13 and started speculating with little expectation of any real consequence, as to which of my current clients could possibly be interested in him. It was unfortunate that by current law, boys which we could enslave and modify must necessarily not be from the United Federation of Aligned Nations. Only those boys from off planet, or from either Cathland, or that mishmash of perpetually warring theocracies, the Oligarchy of Quaraque, were allowed to be classified as Class Three (non-consensual) Slaves.

So, if under the uncommon proposition that this boy would indeed have the necessary physical genetic code, and just as importantly, the predispositions to be successfully modified for the select slaveboy market, the only way he might wind up as a personal slaveboy, was to be illegally kidnapped, bypassing the usual Slave Authority and their auctions. The number of owners wanting such boys being greater than available number of boys, made this my highly remunerative sideline. And with the new nearly prohibitive slave acquisition slave tax in most countries, almost doubling the auction price in some cases, we had all the business we could handle.

My business partner, a respected and securely placed high official of that very Slave Authority, provided the unassailable credentials and registered slave collars. I provided the boys. And after modification, not even the boy would remember anything illegal having occurred.

I was quite intrigued by the boy. It was more than the inherent contradiction in his fearful demeanor yet bold entry into my establishment in spite of his fear. And I would expect that most youths his age would certainly be curious about the room's astonishing, and in some cases bizarre, holo-displays of naked BoyToys. This boy had proven much more than merely curious. It was as if he had been studying each of the proffered displays so intently, with more than mere curiosity. I motioned for my own boy, who had been kneeling on the floor next to my chair, to enter the back room and make everything ready. Then to return to lure him into that room. It was a well-rehearsed maneuver. My own boy, fully complicit, with his own understanding that a slaveboy led a much happier life than any other boy.

My own nearly naked slaveboy returned to the display room and at my direction, approached the other boy.

"Boy, my master is quite curious, rarely are unleashed boys in this place."

The small boy looked up at first with alarm, but seeing another boy who posed absolutely no perceived threat, gave a tentative smile, and then looked the boy up and down, regarding his totally naked aspect, and especially his immature genitals with its 'outstanding' little-boy penis.

The boy swallowed and inquired: "On leash?"

"Yes boy, all slaves are usually on leash." And with a bright smile added: "And naked! It's fun being naked!"

With a little urging, the boy approached my raised desk. And after a bit of coaxing, the boy merely explained with barely an explanation, why he was there.

"I was wondering about guys who might want a boy." The simple reply was framed within a strong picture of personal desperation. And when asked about his curiosity of the boys in the displays, he seemed to have had to dredge up some monumental reserve of strength just to answer me.

"Sir. Ah…, I mean… ah, well, did those boys like what happened to them?"

The boy seemed to understand that all the exhibits featured slaves who had started out as boys just like himself.

"Definitely boy." Not a colossal lie, but effective on a naive boy. And after modification, especially the personal slaveboys like my own, not at all a lie. "Ask my own boy."

He seemed too hesitant but my slaveboy knew his cue: "Boy, I'm a very happy slave to my master. And he treats me really well, and sexes me real good."

At the 'sexes me' part, even through the boy's dark complexion, the embarrassment was obvious. And if the boy's boner was any indication, quite welcomed. I was starting to be more than intrigued. I was already counting my profit in another potential sale. I had credentials and collars for six more slaves sitting in my desk, awaiting.

It took a bit of coaxing to get the boy's full story, or enough of it for my own satisfaction, not because the boy was against divulging the information, but because he was embarrassed in doing so. He had apparently in his words "escaped from home."

During his interrogation I casually asked him his name. "Peter, sir. Peter Ambrose Cardigan. But I hate the Ambrose part."

The name tried to ring a bell but I couldn't quite recall why.

"What do your friends call you?"

The boy teared up. "I don't have no friends. Mom won't let me. She says they're all heathens."

I started getting an inkling but demurred asking directly.

"And where do you live?

"In the big city. 'Til today. Why I had to escape. They were going to send me back to my grandparents. They said I had to be fixed."

The boy started crying in earnest. "Please don't send me back. Can you find someone to want me?"

"Your father, is he Ambrose Cardigan the ambassador from Cathland?"

To my consternation, the boy nodded yes.

I abruptly stood and started pacing. I was trying to decide what to do. Of all boys to visit my establishment, it was the ambassador's youngest son. Born here so he had dual citizenship and thus could not be legally enslaved.

On questioning the boy further, I gathered what I had surmised earlier. If he were sent back to Cathland, his country of origin, he would be sent to their State Institute of Behavioral Reform, to fix his problem, no doubt his sexual attraction to his own sex. And if unsuccessful, he would be 'sent back to his creator for reassignment'.

The crying boy eventually stated that he'd come here in a last desperate attempt to find someone who could help him.

"I know you sold boys. And I was sort of hoping you could find me a man who might want me."

"But I only sell slaveboys."

The boy looked up in desperation, trying to dry his eyes. "But maybe you can find a man who would want jus' a reg'lar boy." He asked probably knowing the answer.

"The men I can find for you only want a boy who would be theirs permanently."

"Do they have to be a slave?" He looked over to my own boy who was again kneeling at my side.

"Only slaves are allowed to be modified to stay boys. Otherwise the boy would grow up."

The boy seemed to collapse in despair.

I quickly had the boy unconscious and hooked up to the appropriate monitors, not usually found outside a slave doctor's office, or other such establishments needing to determine if a boy is a good subject for boy modification and enslavement. His DNA I sent electronically to a one-hour service. Two hours later, with the boy sleeping comfortably in a tangle bed (escape-proof), and having seen to eliminating all possible record of the boy having visited my establishment, including any record from the outside cameras, I reviewed all possibly contacts who might buy the boy. I was also quite assiduous in determining the right master with whom the boy would be compatible. I could not be as thorough as the places who provided such services, but I was still confident that boy and master would be very well matched, especially after the boy's emotive and cognitive reformatting during his subsequent modifications. Then I made sure that the prospective owners could afford both my fee and the expense of the boy's subsequent modifications. I had two excellent candidates.

My own slaveboy, tapped my leg. "Master."

"Yes boy."

"The other boy is awake and struggling to get out of that bed-thing."

I hurried into the back room and to the boy's side. "Relax boy; I'll turn off the force-fields if you promise to stop thrashing about."

The boy quieted down and I allowed him to sit up. He looked down and saw that he was naked. And became a bit upset. "All my clothes. Where're my clothes?"

"I needed to make a 360-holo of you boy. And I have very good news."

The boy forgot about his state of undress and lit up. "You found a man to take care of me?"

"I found two possible men. One I will arrange to see tomorrow."

The boy started crying. "An' I don't have to be sent to that boy-fixing place?"

"Certainly not boy, I even removed the transponder that was lodged in your shoulder. No one can track you down now."

He asked about the 'trans-thing'. He had not known that his country kept total track of all its citizen's whereabouts.

"Can I get dressed, and can I meet this guy? How old is he?"

"The guy is in his late 20's, nice looking, and a very good match for you. He would treat you very well."

The boy struggled with his next question but finally succeeded in asking it. "An' sex stuff; he would want me to do sex stuff with?"

"Yes boy, but don't worry. We make sure all our boys enjoy all that sex stuff."

The boy was skeptical, but desperation covered a lot of misgivings.

He attempted to stand looking about for his clothes. "Wher're my clothes?"

"Whoa boy. We had to get rid of anything you had on you. We couldn't be sure of what might have been attached to them that could lead anyone here. You don't want to be found do you?"

The boy shook his head. "But what will I do for clothes now?"

I finally decided to tell the boy outright his future fate. "You will not need any clothes for maybe even years boy. Your modifications will include the ability to stay warm even totally naked."

My own boy knew his cue: "An' boy, it's really fun being naked all the time."

The boy suddenly understood the meaning of what was happening to him. He surprisingly did not put up a great fuss. He had probably been struggling with this inevitable outcome.

He looked at my own very naked boy and asked: "You promise boy you're happy?"

My slaveboy replied with enthusiasm: "Yes boy. I have a good master and like being his slaveboy. He good to me an' we have really good sex times too."

Across town. Chang Hu's residence

I wondered if maybe this year I'd just get a bit lucky. Not a lot lucky, nothing that much out of the ordinary, but just a bit. I've been saving my entire life. OK, I'm only in my late 20s but just the same, I don't spend credits on anything. Damn, I didn't even have a multi-media console 'til two years ago. And my aircar is merely your standard just-get-me-there vehicle. Nothing fancy like with grav-lift, or auto-nav, or anything.

It all started back when I was still in school. Before the state trade school even. My Mom had been quite vitriolic about that new slave bill. The one allowing the state boy's homes to select up to two kids a year to send to the state slave auction. The idea was to help make them less a financial burden on the taxpayers. My Mom was quite adamantly opposed.

I could still hear my Mom ranting: "That's abominable Henry, what they're trying to do with those innocent children. They're even allowed to send kids as young as 10 years old to that auction. A disgrace. Those poor boys."

Henry, was my Dad. He seemed not to really care that much. But if my Mom was opposed, he'd be for it. At least he'd argue the other side. I was constantly surprised that as mightily as they argued sometimes, my parents actually got along better than the parents of most my friends.

My Dad replied: "But honey. The younger boys will bring in the most revenue. And they will be making sure that any boy sent to auction will have the right mental and emotional balance to make sure they will make good slaveboys."

"And that's another thing," my Mom replied. "You know exactly what most of those slaveboys will be forced into. They'll become sex slaves. Totally disgusting."

"But honey, we already have that Indenture and Slave thing. It was passed before we were born. And just about every nation has signed onto the thing."

Just then my Mom instructed the 360-holo-cast to play back an appeal that the anti-slavery lobby had been broadcasting into every home which would accept it. At this I got intrigued. I'd never seen a slave before and wondered if that broadcast would show some. I think it was at that instant when I sort of thought it would be really great to have my own slaveboy. Maybe a nice cute 12-year-old who would sleep with me. I was a horny teen and sex was ever present on my mind those days. Heck, it still is now 15 years later. And even as I got older, that slave boy seemed to stay at about that same age.

I remember being immediately aroused by the holo-image which suddenly appeared in our living room display. We'd recently got that 360-holo comp-matrix box and the detail was absolutely incredible. It was just as if that super cute boy was right there in front of me. That broadcast started with the image of this really cute exotic looking boy with such soulful eyes.

I can still remember the exact words: "Little Mark here, from our state home in Freedom Township, has been deemed psychologically fit to be sold at the next state auction. To be uprooted from all societal normalcy and forced into an Indenture of 6 to 12 years. Is that how you want us to treat this innocent boy? And statistics show of all boys his age, fully 82% of them end up in someone's bed, or even worse, in a boy brothel where he will be forced to serve his customers on a daily basis… ." It continued in this vein.

I didn't pay attention the rest of the broadcast. That image of that young boy mostly naked, even if they had fuzzied-up his genital area, was etched into my consciousness ever since. Nearly my 'perfect boy'. At the same time my Mom had said she would vote no, I made up my mind to own that boy. OK, not that particular one, but that boy became to me a symbol of my most fervent goal. To own my own boy. As soon as I could afford one.

It was now almost 15 years later and I thought now, I'd have enough, so long as I could find at auction a boy not quite as expensive as the usual. Perhaps a boy not quite as cute, or of merely the usual mixed heritage. Like most of us. I didn't need an exotic.

I returned from the state auction house thoroughly frustrated. I had gone to see what boys were on offer this quarter, thinking that a real-life inspection so much more satisfying and enjoyable than merely a 360-holo on the WSI-net. Only to discover that not only did the Slave Acquisition Tax take a big monster boost this year, but the average auction prices on Class Three Slaves seemed to have zoomed upwards too. At this rate I'd be too old to have sex by the time I could afford my own slaveboy. And those new stabilization drugs, though not any more expansive than in previous years, still only kept the average boy from maturing for about 20 years or so. And were not 100% reliable even then. I was even thinking of moving to a different Province to avoid the huge tax increase here.

Several weeks later, I got a secure com message from an acquaintance of mine I'd met a while ago at a mixed Boy Lover's Association gathering. He said he might have a surprise for me if I came to the next gathering. They were commonly populated with people like myself, mostly those only able to aspire to slave ownership, but there were a few actual owners there with their cute naked slaves that spiced up the meetings and brought the crowds.

"It's tomorrow? Sorry Bret, I can't make it. I am on call at work. I have to stay in air-car range."

"You don't want to miss this one Chang. I have a very special surprise."

"Your new slave-boy will be with you?"

"Of course, never leave home without. But that's only half the surprise. Chang, be sure to be there."

It was not too difficult to talk me into going. Even knowing I'd go home a Danebian Dankwoth with envy seeing those with slaveboys with them.

***

Holy Hazzards of Hellreath's Heathens! I was definitely surprised. With an offer to actually buy a proffered slaveboy. I thought it was too good an offer to be legitimate. Especially when he put up a secure visual and audio field so no one could listen in.

He immediately stated that he had an unattached slaveboy for sale.

"Look, Bret, I said I don't want an Indenture. And that's all I can afford right now. I want a boy who will be mine for life. A full Cass Three Slave. But damn the prices have escalated. And that stupid slave tax has gotten unreal!"

"But the price of gene-splice stabilization has come down tremendously ever since BoyToys, Inc. had to get competitive, and the process has been shortened. The Aligned Nations have licensed two other companies."

"How does that help if I can't afford the boy to begin with?"

I kept looking over to his own really cute and very naked slaveboy, with sandals and smile, and nothing else to hide the boy's perfect attributes. Well aside from his usual slave collar and cuffs.

"Pay attention Chang, I'm trying to do you a favor. How about this kid here?"

I was shown a small holo of a really cute boy with the amazing eyes. Not especially eye catching but a boy who seemed to glow with that something special to attract attention. And those soulful eyes, just like the boy whom I've been fantasizing about since I was a teenager.

"Wow. Who's that?" Then I realized something was wrong. "He's already collared."

"He wants a man. He showed up at my place of business yesterday and I did a full boy-scope. Totally boy-boy orientated and with a strong predisposition for submission. And with the new gene-splices now available, and the newest procedures, he is completely compatible for not just stabilization, but brain reformatting to ensure full contentment with a life as a personal sexslave."

"Look Bret, that sounds good, especially concerning keeping the boy as is. But as much as I want a boy, I won't get in a mix up with the Slave Authority. I've heard rumors of some illegal stuff going on."

"How if we merely have to bend the law a little. This boy is 13 but barely showing the first signs of pubescence. And he's already a slave with full documentation and registered collar."

"How much? And who's selling an already registered boy?"

"How about 28,000. Could you swing that?"

Something was wrong. "Impossible. No one is selling a Class Three Slave for that price. What's wrong with him? Missing a penis?"

The man had the audacity to admit the boy was an illegal. "I put that collar on him myself and the documentation showing him to be a full Class Three Slave with acquisition tax already paid is genuine."

"What! You crazy or something? You mean you kidnapped a boy somewhere and somehow got ahold of an impossible to get hold of collar and collared him yourself?"

"Not impossible. My partner works for the Slave Authority. High up in the Slave Authority." (Strangely the man had never asked for anything in exchange for the collars and documents).

Chang considered. "What about the boy?"

"The boy cried for a few hours after he'd been collared, but otherwise didn't put up much of a fuss. I kept reminding him it was far better than what had been planned for him."

He then told me about what had been in store for the boy otherwise. I thought about it, wanting this boy so badly. I knew this was had to be an illegal. A Class Three Slave for the price of an Indenture.

"It gets better, Chang. He can be modified. I ran the scans myself!"

I looked at that holo again, heard the words 'can be modified', and thought about the rising prices. I so wanted that boy all of a sudden. Nothing spectacular in the looks department but I kept looking at those soulful eyes staring out at me. With a tear about to fall down a cheek. But there were so many problems still inherent in this scenario, I almost decided to forget the entire thing. Too risky.

And then that 'vision' showed itself, probably having been standing in the background awaiting some signal. Totally naked, and looking about, scared out of his wits.

"Oh for Daneb's Darkness of Desolation! There's the boy!"

A very anxious boy allowed himself to be gathered in by my friend. "Chang, I also ran a simulation on you too. There is a minimum 89% compatibility between you and this boy here. Why do you think it was you whom I first approached with this offer?"

Those black eyes looked up at me with a small measure of hope and a lot of fear.

I was hooked. "OK, how can this be done? And boy, you know what this man is doing?"

I assumed he did since he must have come here voluntarily. "Yes sir. I can't go back. I won't. Please help me."

"Look Chang, how about we go back to my office and discuss things. Here, you take his leash."

The boy kept looking around, and tugging on the chains holding his wrist cuffs to his collar. I suspected he was trying to cover up his cute boy genitals. Perhaps they were just starting to mature, but still not a hair in sight. I chuckled at the thought that he may never have been out in the public totally naked before.

***

The very next day, having called in to my place of employment to take a personal day, I was across the province and at the intake registration office of BoyToys, Inc. I was glad I lived only about 600 kilometers [375 miles] distant, an easy commute. I got a bit apprehensive when the documents were scanned, and then the boy's slave collar.

"Excellent Mr. Hu, I see that your boy is newly enslaved, and from Cathland."

"Yes. I got him only a week ago from the Calais auction and he's just been shipped out."

"Good. You cannot believe how often we've had people attempting to foist false documentation on us, especially with the severe increase in cost of obtaining legal slaves."

Damn, I wasn't precisely certain I knew just where Calais was located other on the coast near the Circe Islands. The documentation and collar had been registered there. (So it claimed).

"May I address your slave?"

The boy was kneeling, with his naked butt resting on the back of his heels, a modified and relaxed posture allowed when not in formal display. (Or so both boy and I had recently learned). He supposedly had already been indoctrinated at the auction house with minimal slave protocols, so we had to put on a show. I had his hands still chained closely to his collar as he was apt to try to cover his exposed boy genitals.

The boy looked at me. I told him whatever happened, to look at me and I would tell him what to do. He was totally frightened in spite of having been given an emotive inhibitor. Now I was just hoping he would remember to be a slave. Half the previous night I had to keep reassuring the boy that I would take very good care of him and never hurt him. And I meant every word. He already had anchored himself in my heart. (And my loins).

After the payment to the broker of only 22,000 BHU, I could still afford some extensive modifications. I wanted to make sure that the boy's future was as I had promised. I wanted the boy to be content with his enslavement.

"Boy, answer all the man's questions."

"Yes Master."

"He's new all right. His voice still shakes when he calls you 'master'."

The rep questioned the boy. "Boy, do you know what will be happening here?"

"Yes sir, I think so."

"And what is that boy?"

"Sir, to make me stay a boy all the time."

"And you know that you must obey all instructions given to you."

"Yes, sir."

The man fortunately felt no need to continue questioning the boy.

"Your boy been given an emotive inhibitor?"

"Yes." I showed him the medication.

The man touched a control and soon a tech entered the small room. "We'll be giving him a much better one. No need to have the boy unnecessarily frightened and anxious. With your permission."

"Of course."

The boy was soon put onto a grav-bed and taken out of the room.

"Do not worry. Your boy will have his first gene-splice tonight and be well on his way to full conversion."

I was still a bit anxious. The boy was an illegal after all.

"We've already received your surety payment and now need to discuss particulars. We will be also making complete emotive and personality scans of both you and your boy later today so we can tweak his modification schemes, especially his cognitive and emotive reformatting. We are quite assured of a good outcome; your boy must have been quite expensive. His predispositions for submission and man-boy sex are as good as I've seen in a while. And his reformatting will be quite successful we believe. Two months from now you will have a quite obedient and well-adjusted slaveboy."

"Thank you. I'm certainly fortunate."

"You cannot believe the boys we have been sent with barely half the predisposition for slavery your boy has. Our scans and computer runs indicate that we can obtain full success with nearly 93% of his personality still intact, and 96% of his current memories. Remarkable. If I were not so happy with my own boy, I would be a bit envious."

I was surprised at my fortunate luck. It would just about bankrupt me but my lifelong dream is coming true. My own slaveboy! I could not help my huge grin.

We then went over specific requirements. I could only afford the very basic physical modifications. Asked why I was not having the boy totally made over (since he assumed I could obviously afford it) I replied: "The boy is already perfect."

***

Two months and a day later, I was back to pick up my boy. I eschewed having him shipped. As I waited in the beautifully appointed customer lounge I reflected on my life and my current run of good fortune. At work, I recently was put in charge of my own team, the boss remarked that I had been so very motivated these past weeks.

"Chang Hu, you have been long due. I only assign new team leaders when I know that his or her team are very happy to work together under their new captain. And I was quite surprised when three of the first four people I interviewed picked you to be their team captain. Congratulations!"

I'd also visited my folks and apprised them of the fact that I was now the owner of a cute slaveboy. My mother was of course aghast. My Dad told me in confidence he was happy for me. "Chang, when will we get to see him?" my Dad inquired.

"I'll be picking him up next week. I'm so excited. And I already told you and Mom about my promotion at work. I'm very happy Dad."

"Boy, you're glowing as I was when your Mom and I were married. And in spite of your Mom and I 'blowing up' over some things, I look back and smile. I too have had a good life, and am happy for you. Just please, don't show up here with the boy naked. He's allowed to wear clothes, isn't he?"

"Yes Dad. You're not shocked I wanted a boy?"

"Son, I'm a computer tech, and your comp security was barely basic. I still can't believe you could afford a conditioned and modified Class Three Slave."

I went red. "Oh Daneb's Daemons, you've known for all these years?"

"Jus' don't discuss what you do with your boy in front of your Mom. You know how she can get. And don't let your boy do any sex stuff in front of her either."

So, I certainly was riding a huge high. About the fiftieth time I turned about looking at the door, it finally opened. My naked slaveboy flew through and launched himself into my arms. (Followed by a rep from the company making sure he alighted safely).

"Master. Master. They did me. They did me real good. An' they trained me into a good slave, Master. An' look at my boner! It won't never go down at all hardly."

I cried for the next five minutes as my boy tried to hug me to death. Life simply could not get better than this!

The rep was smiling and waited for me to disengage to sign the release papers. And the warranty papers. (I snickered at the very idea of warranting a boy).

On the flight home (I booked commercial), my boy kept talking about all the neat slave-things he saw.

"An' master, that dark kid, wow was he so dark, he had these really neat cuff things! He said his master liked to 'spread-eagle' him. What's 'spread-eagleing' Master?"

The boy kept up non-stop all the way home. So as not to garner too much attention, I had him wear a simple slave-cloak. He kept asking when I could 'please let his body free'.

I was so anxious to use my boy's sex holes, it was not until the second day that we merely sat down with each other and had a (relatively) normal conversation. I stood him up and looked over his small frame. He did not even reach my shoulders. I was not an overlarge man myself and was delighted having a boy I could so handle. And I kept thanking my good fortune that he would stay the boy I now saw.

I directed the boy as he helped divest his master of his clothing. When I could hold out no longer, I picked him up and tossed him onto the bed. He lay submissively excited as I investigated every square inch of my slave's body, my own boner leaking the entire time. My hands vibrated with lust as they roamed over their property, coming back again and again to the prize at the boy's groin. Even with his own orgasms, the boy's boner never seemed to deflate very much. It merely had degrees of hardness. Over the next several hours I took full possession of my slaveboy, using his sex holes repeatedly. His mouth and tongue making up in enthusiasm what they lacked in experience. His (enhanced) butt hole a spasming orifice of delight as I repeatedly sunk my own rigid cock full measure into its velvety interior. His screams only engendering further passion.

Eventually, even my long pent up drive had run its course. We slumbered together, his smaller arms and legs finding purchase about his master's body. My own arms taking strong hold of my property. When I next awoke, I sat up, and re-inspected my boy with less prurience, and more admiration. His looks were purely average, but to me purely perfect. He was all boy in both looks and personality. Slightly wavy dark hair, dusky hued skin as most of our population, rounded face with small nose and medium lips. Perfectly kissable. (As they had proven). He I judged to be half Latino, half Oriental, and half a few other ethnicities. He was slender, his musculature was just at the starting-to-tone stage of boyhood. His genitals were perfectly boy sized, the scrotum barely pendulous, his circumcised penis, about 4 inches [10 cm] when rigid, which was most of the time now that he'd been sexually augmented. They were just a bit darker than his dusky skin tone, as was his boy nibs, and butt-hole pucker. A purely average boy. A purely perfect boy.

And to my delight, his own boy-boner discharged a few drops of a really good sex enhancement drug when imbibed.

So it was the next day before we started to actually learn about each other. I was quite appalled at how his own family had raised him. To him it had been all so 'normal'.

"An' Master, I got so worried and frightened as I realized I was a boy-boy type boy. Totally forbidden. I was so glad I could sneak into the com room and find out all about sex stuff. The real stuff about sex stuff, an' I suddenly realized that the sex stuff I was taught was so wrong. But then it got worse when I started seeing that a whole lot of stuff had to be wrong also. I tried to figure out how to get free. But it wasn't 'til they found out my worst secret that they decided to send me back to fix me. That's when I decided I had to escape. Master, I got so lucky!"

Eventually my slaveboy asked what I did for a living.

"I'm an investigator for the Slave Authority."

The boy looked at me sort of shocked. We both had a good laugh.

The End