Maiocxx

Tales from the World of Cody and Lucas

The Forever Slave

Chapter 1
Tucson

The two brothers stood peering down into a slave transfer case at a young boy secured to the bottom couch. One of them reached down and deftly removed an intravenous needle from the boy's hand and slapped a treated bandage on the small wound. "There! He should be awake in a minute or two."

"God, Peter! Did you have to ship him?" asked his companion. "Could you not have bought another fare and let him sit with you? After all, you're supposed to be a diplomat."

"No, Claus," Peter answered his brother. "If I could have, I would have. I was traveling as a private citizen, not as a diplomat. German slave law is much more strict than England… even more strict than we were before the Davidson Act passed… and he's a slave and we crossed a bunch of international boundaries. So, it was the only way I could bring him and he'll have to go back the same way. He's much too big to hide in a diplomatic pouch. Well, what do you think of him?" Author's Note: For more information about the Davidson Act, see Cody and Lucas, Ch 21.

"He looks to be a neat kid."

"Neat?" exclaimed Peter. "He's beautiful! And loving and all mine!"

"Did you bring any clothes for him?" asked Claus.

"No, except for a sweat-suit and boots which he only wears outside when it's below freezing, he doesn't have any," answered Peter.

"Well, our slaves don't go naked in public much any more."

"Yeah, I know and that may be a problem for him. He's never worn clothes and seems quite content that way.

"I'll bet you keep him warm in bed," chuckled Claus.

"Oh, quite," Peter told him. "Don't worry! You'll get your chance."

Shortly, the boy's eyes flickered open, and the he croaked weakly, "Where are we, Master?"

"We're in Tucson, little one." And they both watched the expression on young slave-boy who was in tears after his and Master's seventeen-hour flight from Berlin to Tucson, via Frankfurt and Denver. They had been fortunate to have quickly located him in the 'special' baggage area that housed slaves, pets, and other animals.

"Please, Master!" he begged as the tears ran down his cheeks and pooled beside his head, "let me out. It hurts bad."

"Please Master," came another whimper from the case.

Peter bent over and gently removed the catheter from the little slave's red and raw penis, accompanied by a yelp of pain, followed by more tears. "I know it hurts, Sammy. Just remember, you're the one who wants to remain a slave."

"Yes, Master. I know. It's my fault. Please forgive my complaining."

Peter unfastened the straps securing Sammy and, rolled him on his side to release the tube in his anus before lifting the boy into his arms. "You know you are always forgiven," he told him as the two of them hugged. "Come and meet your Uncle Claus. He's almost as much fun in bed as I am," he assured Sammy as he set him on his feet.

Sammy immediately went to his 'position'. "I am but a humble slave and honored to meet the brother of my master."

Claus knelt beside the boy and put his arm around his small shoulders. Frowning, he looked up at Peter and asked, "Does he have to do this?"

"Yes. He's a slave and must observe slave discipline whenever we are out in public. You know that." To Sammy, he said, "You may rise and greet your uncle."

The two of them stood up together and the boy put his arms around Claus. "Uncle, I am so very glad to meet you. Master has told me much about you."

"Most of it good!" interjected Peter, "most of it even true".

The three of them chuckled at that and began making their way toward the airport entrance. "Sammy, before we go out, I'd better put sunblock on you. Your fair skin will be burnt to a crisp by our hot Arizona sun, without it."

"Thank you, Master Claus."

Peter rummaged in his carry-on and produced a container of 90-SPF lotion and held it out to his brother.

"Ah! I see you came prepared," Claus observed as he began to apply it to Sammy. He had to admit, rubbing the boy's soft, smooth skin felt fabulous. And Sammy obviously enjoyed it, too, as he sprang an immediate hard-on.

They continued on to the 'normal' baggage check, where Sammy insisted on carrying Peter's bag. It was nearly as big as he was.

Chapter 2
Berlin

Peter Narrates

I imagine you are wondering what all of that was about. So, I guess I'd better confess.

My name is Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachstein, accredited as the Commercial Attaché to His Majesty's Embassy to the Greater Republic of Germany. Don't let the German name or title fool you; my family had emigrated to England at the close of the 'Great War' in the early twentieth century, and has served in His Majesty's Diplomatic Corps almost from the time they stepped off the steamer in Southampton. My father does hold the heredity title of 'Graf' or Count, which I, as the elder son, will inherit one day, but my advancement in the British Foreign Service had been solely thru merit… or at least I hope so.

Once he had retired from the corps, Dad moved to Tucson in British North America where the dry, warm climate was much easier than cold, damp England. And Sammy and I were here for a much anticipated visit.

What? You want to know how Sammy came to me? Well, all right.

Although stationed in the German capital, my duties often lead me far away from Berlin as I work to develop good trade relationships between German manufacturers and merchants and those of my homeland. Like many diplomats, I also have another responsibility; I am the Berlin officer of MI-5, the British government's intelligence establishment. Not much will be said about that part of my job as it is 'Very Secret'.

My latest foray had taken me to Flensburg, in the State of Schleswig-Holstein, near the border with Denmark. The German Officials at Kiel graciously took me on a tour of the Canal and my business with the Flensburg Board of Commerce had gone quite well, so I was happily on my way back to Berlin when a strange set of circumstances brought me to a sudden, temporary halt.

Leaving the autobahn, I had lunched in a small town and was on my way back to it. The connecting road was a rather narrow, two-lane one and today was evidently rubbish pickup. Moving cautiously, I finally managed to find enough open road to pass the rubbish-collector.

In my travels, I had sometimes seen small, dead animals… piglets, lambs, chickens… put out to be collected with the rest of the rubbish. But what I spied a few hundred meters ahead of the rubbish lorry, brought me to a sudden, screeching stop.

It was a naked young boy!

Tied hand and foot and dumped with the rest of the refuse.

He moved, so he was obviously still alive!

Jumping from my car, I scrambled over the mound of refuse to him. He appeared to be about nine or ten years-old and there was a tag clipped to one ear which read:

Completely naked, his scrawny body bore mute evidence of many canings. As he struggled in his bonds, he whimpered and shook. I reached over and laid my hand on his shoulder and he let out a blood-curdling scream, causing me to jump back and fall into the rubbish-pile.

By the time I recovered my feet, the rubbish-collector had pulled up and got out of the cab of his lorry and approached the boy.

"Was werden Sie mit ihm machen?" [What are you going to do with him?] I asked.

"Ihn einschläfern lassen, natürlich," [Why, put him down, of course], he answered. "Er hat sich verletzt und kann nicht mehr arbeiten, so dass sein Meister die Erlaubnis hat, ihn zu entsorgen." [He has been injured and can no longer work, so his master has permission to dispose of him.]

"Aber es ist doch noch ein Kind!" [But he's just a child!]

"Mein Herr, es ist ein Sklave, und das ist, wie unerwünschte Sklaven entsorgt werden. [Sir, he is a slave and that is how unwanted slaves are disposed of.] Machen Sie sich keine Sorgen, er wird nichts spüren. Es ist wie einschlafen." [Don't worry, he won't feel a thing. It will just be like going to sleep.] And he clamored over to the boy with a loaded hypodermic in his hand.

"HALT!" I roared. "Ich lasse Sie ein kleines Kind nicht kaltblütig ermorden!" [I will not let you murder a young child in cold blood!]

He turned and faced me with anger. "Mischen Sie sich nicht ein. Das ist unser Recht und es muss eingehalten werden." [Do not interfere. That is our law and it must be obeyed.]

Frustrated, I pulled out my diplomatic ident and showed it to him.

"Es ist mir egal, ob Sie ein Diplomat sind oder nicht. Nun, gehen Sie zur Seite , ich habe eine unangenehme Aufgabe zu erledigen." [I don't care if you are a diplomat or not. Now, stand aside, I have an unpleasant job to do.] And he bent down over the boy, needle in hand.

I will never know why, but sudden compassion for this unfortunate child swept aside all my thoughts and I knocked the needle from his hand and shielded the boy with my body, shouting, "Nehmen wir an, ich würde ihn mitnehmen und entsorgen? Wäre das in Ordnung? " [Suppose I were to take him and dispose of him? Would that be all right?]

He looked at me as though I was bereft of my senses… and perhaps I was… but then nodded. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a wicked-looking knife and I almost jumped him before I realized he was just about to cut the boy's bonds.

As soon as he sensed the man near him, the boy let out a long wail, "Noooooo! Please! I don't want to die!!!!"

My God, he speaks English! I waited impatiently until the ropes lay in a heap and then exchanged places with the rubbish-man. "Vielen Dank, mein Herr!" [Thank you, sir!]. And I pressed a 500 mark note in his hand and asked for a receipt. Shaking his head, he complied and then scooped up the rest of the rubbish and moved on.

As I reached for him and gently picked him up and carried him to my car, the boy let out another long wail, finally subsiding when he ran out of air. Getting a blanket from the boot, I wrapped him gently in it and set him on the front seat and belted him in. He was obviously terrified… how could he not be… and probably in pain from his beatings and he simply whimpered. He had no idea who I was and couldn't even see me!

The whole way back to the embassy, I tried to comfort him with soothing words, but I had no idea if he could hear or understand me.

It was late when I arrived back in Berlin. Since the Royal Marine guards were no longer on duty, I did not have to explain to them why I had a naked little boy with me and my card quickly admitted me to the compound. Despite the lateness of the hour, I gathered up my precious bundle and rapped on the door of my friend and compatriot, Dr. Chris Maarten. A sleepy, "What is it," issued from within.

"It's I, Peter. I need your help."

The door opened and Dr. Maarten stood there in his night-clothes. "That's a young boy you have there, Peter," he told me, eyes wide.

"You're very perceptive, Chris!"

"Well, come in. Where on earth did you pick him up?" And he lit the lights in the small clinic which adjoined his room.

"I saved him from being put down," I replied as I laid him on Chris's examining table and removed the blanket.

"You what?"

"He's a slave and his master was going to have him put down. He was out with the rubbish."

"My God! Are you serious?"

"Very," I answered as I handed him the ear tag. "The rubbish-collector was about to give him a lethal shot and that would have been the end of him. He speaks English, by the way." The boy just lay there trembling.

"Well, let me have a look at him. You'd better leave a message for the ambassador. I'm sure he'll want to see you first off."

I left to do what he had suggested and returned a short time later.

"Well, he's quite a bit malnourished, but you already could see that. He has a lot of old cane scars as well as a few more recent ones. An old arm fracture that wasn't set quite properly and a once broken nose that's a bit crooked. His hips and legs are a bit strained, from carrying too much weight, I imagine. And, unfortunately, he's been raped."

Oh, God! I thought, How can someone do that to a little boy. But, then I remembered my own experience at the hands of some school ruffians.

"But his eyes are interesting," Chris continued. "His lenses appear to be coated with some substance. It's like he has cataracts. Otherwise, he sees light and dark. I think a cataract operation would fix him up. It would be unusual at his age, but not unknown. I did get him to tell me his name, Sammy. But nothing else."

"He's deathly afraid of needles, though. When I tried to give him something to help him sleep, he almost jumped off the table. I had to sneak up on him with one."

"Not surprising," I told him. "The last one he almost received would have killed him."

"I cleaned him up and put him to bed, but what he really needs is a thorough shower, but that can wait."

"I'd like to stay with him, Chris."

He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. "You've really fallen for him, haven't you?"

"I guess I have," I confessed. "You can't possibly know what I felt when I realized what was going to happen to him."

"Well, good night. We'll see how he is in the morning."

Entering the clinic sleeping area and closing the door, I looked down at the frail body lying there asleep. Pulling a lounge chair up, I sat down and took his hand in mine before settling back to try to get some rest. Before dropping off, I thought, What is it I feel for this little guy? Suddenly I love him more than I can understand. More than anyone else in my whole life.

Early the next morning, I was awakened by the sound of a little boy softly weeping. My hand had slipped out of his, so I reached over and took it again and said, "Good morning, Sammy."

"Who are you?" he screeched. "And where am I? Am I dead?"

"No, Sammy," I answered gently, "you are not dead. You are in the British Embassy and I am Peter von Wachstein, your new master."

"Are you going to beat me and kill me like my old master wanted?" he asked in a quavering voice.

"Sammy, I promise you I will never beat you. I want you to get well so you can be a good slave again. You will have good food to eat and a warm, safe place to sleep and you will soon be good as new."

"How can I be a good slave when I can't see? When I can't work and earn my food? I'm worthless!" And he broke down in sobs.

"You are not worthless. You are a little boy who has had some bad things happen to him," I assured him as I picked him up and cradled him in my arms. And I held him close while he cried out his terror and sadness. "Sammy, Dr. Maarten is sure that your eyes can be fixed so you can see again."

That set off another rounds of sobs. "Master, I'm just a poor slave boy. Cannot have medicine like free persons."

"If I say you are to have medicine, you will have it, young slave!" exclaimed Chris as he strode into the room. Turning to me he said, "The ambassador wants to see you, Peter. He sounds somewhat agitated."

"No doubt," I replied. Looking down at the boy in my arms, I told him, "Sammy, I must go see my boss. This is Dr. Maarten and he will look after you 'til I come back. He's going to give you a good, warm shower and wash you so you will be clean as a whistle." I looked at Chris and nodded.

"Oh, yes! A shower by all means," declared my friend, with an expression that said, "Ok! You win this one!"

I handed my burden off to Chris and went to see Sir Winston.

"What on earth have you got into?" he greeted me. "I saw your message and I have just finished a telephone conversation with Foreign Minister Brandt and he claims you stole a young slave from a rubbish-collector."

"No Sir. He was put out with the rubbish and was going to be put down. I paid the rubbish-collector and got a receipt. I just could not stand by and watch him being killed even if it is their law. Sir, you would have done the same!"

"Well, I don't know about that. Herr Brandt tells me he is a 'Sklave lebenslänglich'… corresponds to our Class Three… and he killed both of his parents."

"Sir, there must be some mistake! I can't believe this child is a murderer! He's been pretty severely abused and, to top it all, has been blinded. Please come and see him." And I led my boss to the clinic where Chris… clad only in a towel… had just finished drying Sammy.

"Sorry, Ambassador! We're a bit informal this morning!" quipped Chris. "This is Sammy, whom Peter rescued. Sammy, this is Ambassador Heatherington who is in charge of us all."

At that, Sammy squirmed out of Chris's grasp and dropped to the floor with his forehead touching the carpet.

The Ambassador studied the child for a moment and then said, "Hello, Sammy. I'm pleased you have come to visit us. You may rise and speak."

Sammy stood, and head bowed, said, "Is great honor for poor slave to meet such high person."

Someone has trained him well, I thought.

"Let's go back to my office, Peter."

Telling Chris and Sammy, "Please wait for me. I'll be back!" I followed him.

As we entered his office, the First Secretary handed Sir Winston a FAX. "Here's the full file on the slave boy you requested from Herrn Brandt."

"Thank you Alfred," replied Heatherington as he motioned me to a seat.

"I must say," he began, "I'm a bit concerned. If Brandt was being candid with me, the boy has been convicted of premeditated murder and was only spared execution because of his age. Let me see what Brandt has sent." And he spent the next several minutes studying the document.

"Sir, I just can't believe this child is a cold-blooded murderer! He's just too…"

Sir Winston held up his hand to silence me. "According to the court records, his father had taken him and his mother and fled England in the wake of a financial scandal. He was terribly abused by his father who also regularly beat his mother. He was five years old when, one day, he took his father's loaded pistol and tried to protect his mother. In the scuffle, his mother was killed and his father fatally shot… he died three days later in hospital. According to Brandt, the state prosecutor… who had been bilked by the father… had the boy charged with premeditated murder. At the trial the child had no counsel and the evidence of abuse was suppressed. So, he was summarily convicted and made a the equivalent of a class three slave and subsequently sold to a farmer in Schleswig-Holstein."

"The boy was railroaded!" I exclaimed.

"It would certainly appear so," he acknowledged. "Wait, there's more. Brandt goes on to say he would force the justice ministry to commute his sentence and register him as your slave if we can cure his blindness."

"Well, Dr. Maarten was sure that could be done," I replied full of hope.

"What will you do with a slave, Peter?"

"I'll work something out," I assured him.

"Yes," he mused, "I'm sure you will. Best get to work before Brandt withdraws his offer."

I ran back to the clinic with the good news.

"You mean you will really be my master?" Sammy asked hopefully.

"Yes. Little one. I see Dr. Maarten has been exercising your legs," I noted questioningly.

"The boy has some damage to his knee and hip joints," Chris confirmed, "probably from being made to carry too great a weight all the time. But a proper diet and daily massage should put that to rights." And he showed me how to rub and kneed the muscles on both Sammy's legs. "Should put you to rights, too," he smirked.

"The film over his eyes is from a fertilizer explosion and I'm completely convinced it can be reversed." he continued. "There's nothing more that I need do for him today, so why don't you take him back to you quarters."

I gave Chris a big hug in thanks, scooped the child up and carried him to my apartment. Laying him on my quite ample bed, I told him, "Sammy, I have only one bed, so we will have to share it. Is that OK with you?"

"Oh yes, Master," he replied, somewhat timidly. "My old master often took me to bed and he…"

"I promise you, only hugs," I assured him.

It's truly amazing what adequate food and good exercise did to help restore Sammy's somewhat wasted body. And, Chris had been quite correct; rubbing and kneading those luscious boy-legs was just fine with me, and, after several weeks there was no sign of further damage. But I continued to massage them anyway. He was rapidly becoming a very attractive lad with a body to die for.

He fretted about not being able to 'earn' his way, but I told him, "Sammy, your only assignment just now is to grow strong and healthy while we find a doctor who can cure your blindness. Once you have your sight back, then we'll talk about your work here at the embassy."

But I was rapidly becoming addicted to the charms of this little boy, especially when his warm, naked little body was spooned up against me at night.

He had been with us about three weeks, when Chris announced he had found a surgeon with experience treating childhood cataracts. "But he doesn't want to operate on a slave," he told me.

"Wave a £1000 note under his nose and see it that helps," I replied. He looked at me in shock. "It's high time some of my family's riches were put to a good cause." The next morning he informed me the surgeon had had a change of heart.

The operation took place two days later and took all of 10 minutes for each eye. Afterword, Sammy had to rest, flat on his back, in my darkened room for two days with blinders over both eyes. At the end of the time, Ambassador and Mrs Heatherington and several other of the embassy staff were crowded into my room as Chris gently sat Sammy up and removed his blinders.

For a moment Sammy sat there dazedly looking about. I reached out to him and he focused on me. "Master, you are the most beautiful person in the world to me." The others applauded vigorously as each came forward and introduced themselves. That night in bed he wept tears of joy in my arms. "Master," he sobbed, "how can I begin to thank you!"

"Your arms around my neck and your little body next to mine is thanks aplenty," I assured him. "Seeing you become once again a happy, healthy boy has been the most satisfying experience in my life. I love you, Sammy… more than I have ever loved anyone before."

"And, I love you, too, Master," he replied. "I just want to be your loyal slave forever!"

True to his bargain, Herr Brandt had forced the Justice Minister to reconsider Sammy's case. The original sentence was vacated and Sammy became a 'Sklave auf Zeit', the equal of our Class Two. The sentence was for two years, but all but six months were deemed to have been served. Following that he could be 'ein freies Kind'.[ a free child] and I could adopt him.

Sammy quickly settled into the life of the Embassy. There seemed to be countless things he could do to 'earn' his way. The staff was soon used to a naked little boy dashing about, busy with some task or other. We decided early on that Cook was the most satisfactory person to control his assignments during the day and the two of them soon became fast friends. At night, however, he was mine alone, warming my bed with his little body.

I suddenly realized he had never had any schooling. As a slave, he could not attend the private school which all the children from most of the embassies attended. And, the German public schools were off-limits to him as well. I solved the problem by engaging a recent university graduate, Fräulein Gretel Stoneseifer, to come in five mornings a week to tutor him. This had the added advantage of providing some consistent female influence in his life and it was clear from the start they adored each other.

Starting from 'ground zero' Gretel soon had him reading at his age level and it turned out he was simply a whiz at math. So, his days had structure which was important for his continued development as a slave: mornings with Gretel and afternoons working on whatever Cook had for him to do.

While he enthusiastically helped about the Embassy in many ways, he particularly enjoyed serving when we had guests. For those occasions, we dressed him in a short tunic and short shorts which nicely showed off his 'bubble-butt' and his pretty legs. All our guests were enamored.

A problem reared its head, however, when it was necessary for me to be away from Berlin overnight. Chris was quite happy to mind Sammy while I was gone and I thought the arrangement would be quite satisfactory

Not!

When I arrived back at the Embassy from my first overnight foray, Sammy came running and threw himself at my feet, bawling hysterically, "Oh Master! You're back! I was so afraid! Oh I missed you terribly!"

Although he liked Chris, my friend reported Sammy had been a bit of a mess. "He didn't misbehave," he told me. "But he was terrified that something might happen to you and you would not return for some reason. Even Gretel and Cook were unable to assure him you would be all right and would be back speedily."

That night, in bed, he just held me and sobbed. "I was so afraid something bad might happen to you! That I would be alone again!" I let him cry himself out and then assured him that I would always be there for him.

But, it was clear he would need to accompany me when I traveled. As I thought about it, that would also enhance his education. So, I went to see Conrad Wells, our Legal Attaché.

"Why are you so concerned?" Conrad asked me. "After all, he's just a slave." Without a doubt, Conrad Wells was 'old school'.

"Mister Wells," I rounded on him, "Sammy is not 'just a slave' to me. I hope before many more months pass, he will be my son!"

Wells paled and, then looked down at his shoes. "I'm sorry, Peter. That was insensitive of me. No offense, I hope."

"None taken, Conrad," I replied. "But I need to have him with me… for his well-being and mine."

"I understand, Peter. Travel with a slave here is a bit more complicated than in Britain. More like we were before the Davidson Acts. Let me speak to my German colleagues and I'll get back to you."

Although 'The Child Welfare Acts'… more popularly known as the 'Davidson Acts'… originated in British North America, they had been swiftly embraced by Great Britain and almost all members of the Commonwealth… save for South Africa where the conflict between the minority Afrikaans and the majority Bantu still raged… but had found little favor on the Continent.

That night, in bed, I told Sammy of my plan to take him with me when I traveled. He looked at me in disbelief. "You would do that for me?"

"No, for us. I want both of us to be happy" It's quite pleasant, but hard to sleep with a little boy hugging you.

Conrad asked me to stop by the next day. "Travel within Germany poses little trouble," he told me. "If you travel by train, he will need to be in a cage in the guard car and I can supply you with a suitable one that is fairly comfortable. If you drive… and I suspect that is more the usual… he can sit in the passenger seat next to you if he is properly restrained. He would be handcuffed with a short chain running to an ankle cuff with both secured to the frame of the car. Not too uncomfortable, I'm told. The apparatus, by the way, has a quick release… triggered by the passenger air-bag… should the car be involved in an accident. Not out of compassion; don't want to lose a valuable property. I can have one of the embassy cars properly equipped for you."

"Of course, he will have to be naked and you will have to choose a hotel that accommodates slaves, but I can give you a list of those. All of them will have a pallet in your room equipped with straps, locks and keys."

So far, nothing insurmountable, just annoying. "I'm not keen to have him fed slave gruel," I cautioned him. "He's been eating embassy food from the very start."

"Feeding him is more of a problem as very few restaurants will even admit slaves, let alone feed them. The best way to solve that dilemma is to order 'take-out' and feed him in your hotel room. If you are an overnight guest of one of your clients, he will undoubtedly have slaves of his own and Sammy will simply be housed and fed with them."

"If you ever must take him out-of-country, it's a bit more complicated. He would have to travel separately in a slave transfer case. You might want to keep that in mind for when you go on leave."

I thanked Wells for his help and asked him to proceed with whatever modifications one of our cars might need.

The travel arrangements worked splendidly. Sammy was eager to demonstrate how well he had been trained, and every place we went, I was complimented about my slave's behavior. Dressed only in an exceedingly small genital pouch, he was… like all boys… quite ready to show off his developing body. He turned heads! And his slave discipline was without flaw.

Let it be noted, we did not make use of the slave pallets in our hotel rooms. As was our custom, he slept with me in the 'big' bed, after devouring the food I shared with him.

But our trips 'outside' were eye-openers for him… he had spent his entire enslavement on a farm with practically no contact off the property and before that his birth father had kept him a virtual prisoner. There was a big, wide world out there that he knew little about.

Particularly fascinating to him were the many varieties of slaves and the ways their respective masters treated them. For the first time in his young life, he observed other slave-boys… and girls… some nude, some not; some relatively free and a few cruelly restrained.

The plight of one slave-boy we encountered in Hamburg… maybe a year older than he… frightened him and drove him to tears. The lad was naked, of course, with his hands shackled behind his back, a spreader bar separating his feet and was being dragged stumbling along behind a scowling master, pulled by a lead fastened to his balls. The blindfold and spreader bar made it exceedingly difficult for the boy to stay on his feet and his screams of pure agony were mostly muffled by the gag he was forced to wear.

I sensed Sammy's anguish and led him to a bench so he could bury his head in his hands and weep over what he had seen. "Why is he being treated that way, Master?" he sobbed. "It's terrible!"

"Well," I answered, "either his master enjoys hurting him or he is being punished for some misdeed. Either way, it's a good bit over-cruel."

"You wouldn't punish me that way, would you?"

"No, never!" I assured him. "And I want you to be proud to be in public and to be seen and recognized as the fine boy you are. Unfortunately, what the man is doing to him is quite legal. Slaves have almost no rights under the law and can even be put to death if their owner wishes. That's what almost happened to you. Sammy, it was the most important, the most blessed day of my life when I found and rescued you."

He was quiet and somber for the rest of that day. I'm sure he was contrasting what we had seen with the few free children we saw. I held him close that night in bed and, by the next morning his dark mood had passed,

The weeks and months sped by and the remaining six months of his sentence were soon behind us. It was time to think of his future.

And mine, too.

Gretel had completed her contract with us and we had bid her a bittersweet goodbye. Sammy missed her and seemed a bit 'down'. So, one morning before he skipped off to see what Cook had for him to do, I decided to offer him a new challenge.

"Sammy, come here and sit with me please." He sat next to me on the bed and I put my arm about his shoulder. "You know your sentence is completed. You don't have to be a slave any longer. I want to make you a free boy."

At that he wiggled out of my grasp and went to his 'position' on the floor in front of me. "Please Master, I don't want to be a free boy. I just want to be your slave forever."

"But if you remain a slave, I can't adopt you. I want to make you my son."

"No! Please, Master!" he shrieked. "I don't want to be your son! Please don't make me your son!" And he burst into tears and dashed from the room.

I sat there in shock!

After that had worn off, my next feeling was anger. After all I've done for him, the little shit rejected me! But, then, I felt ashamed. Something was terribly wrong and I hadn't a clue what it was!

I sat there and stared at the wall completely depressed.

After a while my mood was broken by a knock at my door. "Please Hans, it's Marjorie Heatherington. May we talk?"

Lady Heatherington was sort of mother-superior to all of us… she was the only one I allowed to call me by that name… and she had been very supportive of my relationship with Sammy.

"Come," I answered.

She entered and sat in the chair opposite me as I looked at her helplessly.

"I know you did not intend it at all, but you frightened him terribly," she began.

"Frightened him? I offered him his freedom and told him I wanted to adopt him! I know that's a big step forward for him, but I assumed…"

"Hans, I would never have thought of it either until he told me, but consider what that meant to him. His memories of being a free boy are filled with pain and terror. He had a father who beat him and his mother until he couldn't stand it any longer. He's deathly afraid the same thing might happen again. Believe it or not, he is afraid something will happen and he might kill you if you were his father. He wants to just remain your slave, because it's safe. It's the known, versus the unknown."

"Do you mean he will never want to be free?" I asked incredulously.

"He's still a very little boy emotionally," she replied. "As he grows older, and more sure of himself and world around him, he will probably change. But, right now, I think you should put off any change in his status. You put the offer on the table and even though he rejected it, he knows it's there. And, he'll let you know when he's ready. Just have patience, Hans. I know it's been a blow to you."

I started to rise, "I must go to him."

"No, let him come to you. He and Cook are enjoying Berliners and I'll tell him you want to see him… you're ready to talk."

"Lady Heatherington…"

"Please, Hans, it's Marjorie."

"Marjorie, thank you for understanding what I did not."

"We all love him, Hans, and not one of us would like to see him unhappy. You have done splendidly with him and I believe you'll continue to do so."

And, with that, she rose, kissed me gently on my cheek and withdrew.

A bit later, a little voice outside my door asked, plaintively, "May I come in?"

"Of course, Sammy. It's your room, too."

He slipped in and I held out my arms and he flew into them. "I'm sorry, Master" he sobbed. "I'm sorry I acted so bad… that I hurt you! I'm, I'm just so afraid! "

"The fault is mine, my little slave," I soothed him. "I didn't understand. But, I think you know that you are more to me than my little slave. You are very important to me and your happiness is very important to me."

"But, Master…."

I placed my finger across his lips, "Sammy, you have had some very bad… terrible… things happen to you. Things that no boy should have to endure. You deserve to be loved and cared for like every little boy should be, and it doesn't matter to me or anyone else here that you are a slave. The only thing important to me is your happiness. I want you to know that you may be my sweet little slave for as long as you wish." That seemed to comfort him and I held him close until he was ready to start the day's tasks.

But the day wasn't over… far from it.

When I came into our room that evening after my shower, he was lying on our bed face down. He had placed several pillows underneath his middle so that his little ass stuck up… way up. And, with both hands he was pulling his ass cheeks apart exposing a well stretched hole.

I stopped in my tracks as he invited me, "Please master, let me be your little boy-cunt."

While we had often cuddled together in and out of bed, there had been absolutely no overt sexuality. Oh, sure, one or the other of us sometimes sprang a boner, but it was laughed at.

"Sammy, what do you mean?" I gasped.

"My old master often used me," he replied. "Said it made him feel real good and I want to do the same for you."

"No, Sammy! I won't!"

"But old master say boy's hole good for sex!"

I dropped my towel, flipped him over and took him in my arms. "Sammy, I would never do that to you or any other boy. It's called rape and I know how much it hurts!"

"Well, yes, but…."

"Sammy, I know how much it hurts because I once had it done to me. I was a few years older than you are, but some ruffians at school caught me alone and did it. It hurt so bad, I hid and cried for hours. I've never told anyone about it before; you are the only one."

"Don't you love me any more?" he asked with quavering lip.

"Oh, Sammy, I love you more than life. But, if you want to have sex with me, it must be fun and pleasant for both of us." I lay down with him beside me. "When we're together like this, what do you feel?"

"I feel good and warm and safe," he sniffed.

"Safe from what?"

"Being beaten every day with a stick," he sobbed

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes, Master!"

I rolled over on my back, sat up and pulled him into my lap. My growing hard-on nestled nicely in his ass crack. Then I rearranged the pillows so I cold lean back with him on top.

Running my hands over his chest… that smooth warm chest… I asked, "Do you like it when I do this?"

"Oh, yes!" he sighed.

"How about when I do this?" I asked as I rubbed and pinched his little nipples.

"Ohhhhhh!" he moaned. "I feel so strange! What is happen? My prick is so hard it's standing straight up." That wasn't hard to see.

Wrapping my legs around his, I drew them apart leaving him exposed and very, very vulnerable. "Just lean back, relax and enjoy," I directed him.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound! I thought as I reached for his little flagpole and began to stroke it. He squeaked and began to breathe hard and fast.

With my other hand, I massaged his little marbles. I had not had sex with another male since my brother Claus and I were about his age. Sammy continued to gasp and I could feel his heart racing. When I sensed he was just about at his peak, I told him, "Don't be afraid, little one. Something's going to happen. It's quite normal; just enjoy it!"

And I drove him over the top.

He squealed and I could feel his little prick throbbing.

For long minutes, he lay there in a stupor.

When he came around, he sighed and asked, "What was it?"

"Did you like it?"

"It was the most, most, most…"

"It's called an orgasm. And when you are a bit older, you will shoot your seed out when you have one. That's how a boy puts his seed into a girl to start a baby, but both of you have to be much older for that."

"Can we do it again?" he asked wistfully.

"Not tonight. But, tomorrow night, you can make me feel good. I'll show you how." And, indeed, in the days after that, he and I both learned how to please each other with hands and mouths. The irony, was that as a slave, he could have sex with me and it was perfectly legal… even expected. If he had been my son, it would have been a serious crime. I never quite understood the twisted logic behind that.

Sammy's presence during my visits to important potential clients certainly made a positive impression on them. His behavior was impeccable and his sunny disposition and eagerness to serve both me and my client often won over the most obstinate factory manager and trade between our nations boomed. Indeed, those few times he was quartered with the family slaves of a client, they often emerged from his 'visit' with a new sense of purpose that was not lost on their masters and mistresses.

I was quick to praise him but I was also quick to explain to my clients how much more effectively we British used our slaves owing to the laws passed several decades ago. While it had no effect on his discipline… we were, after all, bound by German law… there were often nods of understanding from important men… and occasionally women… who began to understand the economics of the situation.

But, custom is a hard taskmaster.

However, in our shared bed, the only thing that mattered was the love and affection we shared. He was supremely happy… And so was I.

It was early fall and I had already begun to search for a new tutor for him when Ambassador Heatherington called me in one day.

"Peter, you have done exceedingly well, brilliantly in fact. So well, that I intend to nominate you to be First Secretary when Alfred retires at the end of the year. Even so, it's high time you took some leave. You are certainly entitled to it."

"Thank you, Sir," I replied, "I appreciate your trust in me. As for leave, how can I care for Sammy if I'm not here?"

"I remember commenting one time that you would find a way to care for him and you did," he replied. "Why can't he be with you?"

"Sir, you don't mean…?"

"Certainly! Take him with you!"

I had been considering a visit to my family in North America, but couldn't bring myself to leave my boy. And for him to go with me! I didn't even want to think about what that would entail.

"But, Sir! I'd have to ship him! I can't, can't, can't," I stammered.

"I know it would not be a very pleasant way for him to travel," he replied. "I should tell you that your father has been after me for some time. Wants to know why I won't let you visit him. Wants to meet his grandson! Haven't you told him that Sammy is still your slave?"

"Yes I have, Sir. I've tried to explain it, but he just refuses to understand. Frankly, I'm still not sure I completely understand."

"Peter, what Marjorie told you is sound advice. When he's ready, he'll let you know. Consider that a trip overseas might help him to see things differently. Why don't you think about it for a few days and let me know."

That night, I told Sammy about our possible trip. He was thrilled, even when I described how he would have to travel. I was sure he did not fully grasp the situation, so I sought out and took him to visit a slave packing establishment.

He watched the process being done to a little boy about his age with wide eyes. No one was even present to comfort the lad and I could see the tears welling up in Sammy's eyes and he began to shake. He turned to me and said, "No one to see him off?" I nodded. "That's awful!"

"I promise you that I would be there with you, but you'll have to take a needle." He winced at that thought. "You'll just be asleep for the whole trip. Is this something you might be willing to do?" I could tell he was thoroughly frightened at the whole prospect. I did manage NOT to bring up the notion that, as a free boy, he would be able to sit by my side for the whole trip. It was not the time or place.

Finally he pulled himself together, squared his shoulders and told me "Of course, Master! I'll be brave, 'cause I know you'll be waiting for me when we get there. Let me do this for you! You've done so much for me!"

I could have bawled on the spot, but fortunately did not!

The morning of our flight, we slept-in… it didn't leave until late afternoon. No love-making, just cuddling together as I tried to relieve his anxiety about the trip.

We arrived at the airport in sufficient time to have him 'packed' and went immediately to the preparation area. The technician there was expecting us. "Guten Tag, Herr von Wachstein. Wie ich sehe, bringen Sie Ihren jungen Sklaven vorbei, um ihn für seinen Flug vorzubereiten." [Good afternoon, Mr. Wachstein. I see you have brought your young slave to be prepared for his flight.]

"Ja, bitte bereiten Sie ihn vor," I replied.

I had chosen the top-of-the-line case, hoping that Sammy would be as comfortable as possible. He scooped Sammy up and gently placed him in the case and inflated the pneumatic couch which arranged itself to fit my boy's small body. Rolling him on his side, he gently inserted the butt-plug, before returning him to his back and fastening the straps over his torso, waist and legs. I could tell Sammy was terrified, but he hung on grimly and made no sound.

Chris had supplied me with a child-sized catheter which the technician inserted… Sammy grimaced, but did not cry out… and then taped his penis to his groin.

It was time for me to say good-bye and I almost broke down, but managed to contain myself. Chris had inserted a shunt into his wrist, which the technician used to administer the sedative and I leaned over and kissed him.

"Sweet dreams, little one. I'll see you in Tucson"

"I'll be brave! I promise." His eyes began to droop and in a few seconds he was fast asleep. The technician finished attaching the life support connections and, then, closed the cover, sealed it, and handed me the key.

"Alles ist vorbereitet. Das Lebenserhaltungssystem wurde gründlich getestet und hält drei Wochen." [Everything is prepared. The life-support system has been thoroughly tested and is good for three weeks.]

"Danke, dass Sie ihn so vorsichtig behandelt haben." [Thank you for treating him so gently.]

"Es war mir ein Vergnügen. Man sieht, dass Sie Ihren kleinen Sklaven sehr lieben." [It was my pleasure, Sir. I could tell you love your little slave very much.]

And I left and immediately boarded our flight.

Chapter 3
OK, Back to Tucson

Peter continues to Narrate

My father's 'ranch' was located about an hour's drive north-east of Tucson in the foothills of the Galiuro Mountains, but we had an errand to do as we left the airport.

"First thing we must do is get you some clothes to wear, Sammy," Chris informed him. I had warned Chris that my slave had nothing to wear except the warm sweat-suit he used when he had to leave the embassy in winter.

"But I don't wear clothes," squeaked my slave.

"Yes you do," explained Chris. "Our slaves do not go out in public naked. The sun is just too fierce for that. So we need to get you some," as we pulled into the parking lot next to a western clothing store.

It took a few sharp words from me before Sammy would submit to being 'dressed', "Sammy, while you are here you will be treated just like other slave boys and they will be dressed!" He was clearly not comfortable with the idea, but, some time later we emerged with several sets of shorts and shirts, blue jeans and western shirts, underwear, sox and work boots.

As we set out for the 'ranch', Chris explained further. "Sammy, our free boys and slave boys dress exactly the same way. Even inside the boys seldom go nude. Most of the work assignments are such that proper clothing is necessary to avoid injury. You would not find horseback very satisfactory if you were naked."

"You mean I'll get to learn to ride a horse?" asked my boy, clearly excited with the prospect.

"Absolutely! You can't be on a working ranch and not know how to ride."

"Wow!"

"The other thing that will be quite different is the way you greet adults," I added. "You never go to your position. All kids greet adults the same way, with just a short nod and you simply call them 'sir' or 'ma'am'. The law is quite different here." Sammy's eyes got big. "All kids, slave and free, call each other by their names." His eyes got bigger.

"There are four other boys about your age at the ranch," Chris continued. "One has been a free boy all his life; he's the son of my father's manager. Two of the others are slaves who have not completed their terms, yet, and the third is a former slave who has been freed and adopted by one of the ranch families."

"How did the three get to be slaves?" Sammy wanted to know.

"They were abused or abandoned by their families and my father bought them," replied Chris. "They have had a whole new life at the ranch and are very happy and hard working. As I'm sure you will be, too."

Sammy was quiet for most of the rest of the drive. It was a lot to digest.

As we drew up to the entrance to the house, Karl Engle, the ranch manager, strode down the steps to welcome us. "Peter! It's great to have you home!" he declared.

"And it's great to be here, I replied as we embraced.

"Karl, this is my young slave, Sammy."

"Welcome to Ranch Wachstein, Sammy."

He started to go to his 'position'… old habits die hard. "Sammy, what did I tell you?"

"S-s-s-sorry," he said straightening up. "I'm, I'm, I'm very glad to meet you, sir. I hope I did not offend you."

"Not at all, Sammy," he replied. "I know it's quite different from what you are used to. But, you'll do well, I'm sure." Turning to me, he said, "Your father is in the main salon champing at the bit. Better go see him before he busts a gut."

We all went into the sprawling house and as we did, I pulled Sammy aside. "Will you do something very special for me?"

"Yes, anything M-m-m-m-aster,"

"I want you to call me 'Father' even though I'm not your real father. And I want you to call my father 'Grandfather'. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, F-f-f-father. I want to make you happy, so I'll try not to forget."

"Good boy!" I replied as I hugged him. "And he will likely call you 'Grandson'. Just accept it. He knows you are my slave but he doesn't understand why. Once he meets you and knows what a fine young man you are, he'll understand."

Trailed by Claus, we entered the salon. Father was sitting in a comfortable easy chair in the huge room and he immediately sprang to his feet and rushed to meet us.

"Oh, Hans!" he said, enveloping me in a tight bear hug, "welcome home. It's been far too long."

"Yes it has," I agreed. And I pulled Sammy into our hug.

Stepping back, Father took Sammy into his arms. "Welcome, little one, but I don't know quite what to call you."

"If it would please you, please call me Grandson and I will call you Grandfather!" Sammy replied. The bond was instant.

The three of us sat down in sort of a circle. "Claus," the old man asked, "Would you see if you can find young Fritz?"

"Certainly, Father," replied Claus as he left the room, returning a moment later with a wiry youngster whose fair skin and mop of blonde hair proclaimed his Saxon heritage.

"Sammy," said my father, "This is Fritz Engle, my manager's son. I'm going to ask him to show you around and be your guide while you're here."

Sammy jumped up and started to go to his 'position' "Sammy!" I cautioned him.

"He dipped his head and said, "I'm very pleased to know you, Fritz."

"And I'm happy to meet you, Sammy." Something in the way he said that and the looks the two of them gave each other should have told me… although I didn't recognize it until later… that these two would become friends… very good friends.

"Fritz, be sure he meets the other boys and all the house people."

"I will, Sir. Will he be sleeping with the others?"

"No," I said, "he'll be sleeping in my room," I replied and Father nodded his approval.

A shadow of disappointment crossed Fritz's face for just a moment, but then he brightened. "Right, sir," he acknowledged. "I'll bring him there after we've had our tour and dinner. C'mon, Sammy." And grabbing him by the hand, the two of them left.

Obviously, Sammy would not be eating dinner with us. Father must have seen my slight look of concern and said, "He's in good hands, Hans. Fritz is a fine lad, much like his family has always been. Don't be concerned about the food; we all eat the same and there will be quite enough to fill him without letting him become fat."

"Now, tell me about this boy of yours. He's a wonderful lad, I can tell. And I can also tell you love him dearly, but you told me he finished his term some months ago. Why haven't you freed him? He certainly must have earned it."

"It's a difficult situation, Father," I explained. "He's had a very frightening and lonely childhood." And I went on to tell both him and Claus the full story of how I found Sammy and how he had come to be with me. "So, you see his memories of being a free boy are filled with horror. He believes he was at fault and he doesn't want to chance it happening again. He's been very comfortable as my slave and isn't anxious to change. Will he accept the precious gift of freedom in time? Yes I believe he will. I'm hopeful that his visit here will lay a lot of those bad memories to rest. And I'll wager that young Fritz will be instrumental in that."

"But you do intend to adopt him?"

"Yes, indeed!"

"Well, that's a comfort," growled Father. Claus doesn't seem in a hurry to provide an heir…"

"Father you know the Mars Station doesn't permit married astronauts," he interrupted.

Ignoring the comment, Father went on, "So I guess I must depend upon you, Hans to provide one. Sammy would seem to be a fine candidate."

I hadn't thought about that. Yes, if I adopted Sammy, he would be second in line. The fact that Claus would be 'out' didn't seem to bother him at all.

We spent the rest of the afternoon 'catching up'. I was particularly keen to hear about Claus's new position with the Space Authority and his projected posting to Mars Alpha.

Soon after a delicious dinner, I begged off further conversation and went upstairs to my room… the room I had called my own since childhood. Waiting for me, bouncing on the bed with excitement was a naked little boy. "Well, Sammy, how did you and Fritz get along?"

"Oh, Ma… Father, he's really nice. And he wants to be my friend, too. That's all right, isn't it?" I nodded vigorously and he continued excitedly, "He promised to teach me to ride a real horse and he even took me to see his mother. She gave me a big hug and told me I could visit with her any time."

Good! I thought, An emotional replacement for Gretel!

"He introduced me to Otto, Jan and Carlos," he continued. "They're my age, too. But he didn't tell me which ones were the slaves like me, just that we would all work and have fun together. They all stay together at night in a little house they call the 'bunkhouse' and Fritz invited me to stay with them. But I told them I must be with you. I think Fritz was disappointed, but you're more important."

To quote one of Claus's favorite sayings, "Houston, we have a problem!"

"Sammy," I started to explain to him, "I want you to be with those boys while you are here. You can be with me tonight, but tomorrow I want you to accept their invitation and move in with them."

"Don't you want me any more?" he asked, looking crestfallen.

"Yes, my little slave. But we have a whole life to be together. It's the first time you have ever been with boys your age and I want you to begin to know what having friends and being with them is like." I didn't tell him it was 'training' for him to be a free boy.

"Well, OK," he said with some doubts.

"You'll have your meals with them and you'll have chores with them and you'll go to school with them," I added.

"You mean a real school? With other kids?"

"Yes, the kids your age and younger go to school right here on the ranch. The older kids go to the upper school in town."

"Wow! That'll be cool, only…"

The idea intrigued him and I anticipated his question. "You'll do quite well, so don't worry about keeping up. Gretel has done very well with you."

We spent the night just hugging before exhaustion overtook us. And, the next morning he took his new clothes and moved into the bunkhouse, with a few lingering doubts.

Yes, I would miss the close contact with him, but there were far more important things at stake here… things I fervently hoped would shape a wonderful future for this little boy I had come to love so deeply.

And, truthfully, I saw very little of him after that.

His teacher was very pleased with his progress in her class and went out of her way to compliment him and to let me know, too. He was a 'natural' when it came to horsemanship. And I soon grew used to seeing him about… with clothes on.

One evening, however, he asked to talk and I took him to my room. I could tell he was bursting to tell me something.

"Fritz wants me to be his very best boyfriend," he gushed. All those little signs I had mostly ignored came sharply into focus.

"And what did you tell him?" I asked gently, taking him into my arms.

"That I would have to ask you." What an honor!

"Do you love him?"

"That's the problem! How can I love you both?" he asked looking stricken.

"Sammy, I will never doubt your love for me and there will always be enough love in you to share it with another. Fritz is a fine lad and I could not be happier that you chose each other." He looked at me in wonder, but then wiped a few stray tears, kissed me deeply and ran off to be with his 'mate'. From that point on, they were almost like co-joined twins, and took some teasing from the other three.

Two afternoons later, Fritz sought me out. "Mister Pete, can we talk?"

"Certainly, Fritz. What's on your mind?"

"Sammy and I have been talking together. Otto and Jan will finish their terms in about three months and already one of the families here wants to adopt them. They can't wait to be free boys, but Sammy says he wants to be your slave all his life even though you want to adopt him. I don't understand! Why doesn't he want to be free?"

I took him to the living room which was empty at that time of day and motioned for him to sit across from me in one of the corners.

"Fritz, you have been a free boy all your life and so have I. We may think we know what it's like to be a slave, but we really can't be sure. And you and I both have had parents who loved us and made us feel special."

"But, before he came to me Sammy never had anyone, except his mother, who loved him. And, in a horrible accident, he killed her and his father." And I went on to tell him the whole sordid story.

"Gosh!" gulped Fritz.

"So, you see, Fritz, being a free boy is filled with terrible memories of being abused and hurt… every day. Although it almost got him killed, being a slave was so much better. His master didn't really love him, but at least until the accident that blinded him, he didn't mistreat him most of the time. So, he's accepted the lesser of two evils and is comfortable being my slave. He's still too emotionally scarred to reach out for what is rightfully his. Freedom. Have I made sense?"

"Yeah! I never thought…. Wait a minute! You brought him here so he could try out mostly being a free boy, didn't you. Our slaves are almost free boys and Carlos can show him what it's like. That's wizard!" I nodded. "I want to help him! He's such a neat kid, and I want to help him be free!"

"Just be his friend, Fritz. Let things develop naturally. Keep doing whatever it is you're doing. I've never seen him happier and you can take credit for that."

To my utter surprise, the lad jumped up, threw his arms about me and gave me a sloppy kiss before skipping off to find his mate.

A day or so later, Fritz's father, Karl, and I had a conversation. "Fritz has always sort of been the 'odd man out', he told me. "He's never been a slave and the other three in his age group are or have been. They are his friends, but he's never been really close to any of them. I have been utterly amazed at his behavior with Sammy."

"I hope you do not disapprove," I said.

"Good heavens, no! It's been great for him to have someone who depends on him. It's certainly no secret they are madly in love!"

"Well, I'm certainly pleased," I assured him. "Sammy has really blossomed here and I couldn't be happier. I'm hopeful he may, at last, accept freedom."

"I was rather sure that was your goal, Peter. But, there is one thing that disturbs me."

"What's that?" I asked.

"What happens when you must return to your post in Berlin? I assume you don't plan to leave him here."

"Yes," I told him, "that will be a hard lesson for them. But if their love is true, it will survive until we can come again next year."

"You're right, of course. And it will be a sad, but necessary lesson for both of them."

"I'm happy you see it that way, Karl. Perhaps we can soften the blow a bit by inviting Fritz to spend spring break in Berlin. I'm certain Sammy will be free by then and ready to have a visitor."

"I think that would be admirable, Peter. We'll plan on it."

How deep was their love for each other was amply demonstrated a few day later when I observed them furtively entering one of the small barns in which we stored hay. I was certain what was going to happen and I wanted to dispel any guilt they might have, so I followed after a short time. As I had expected, they had spread a horse blanket on the loose hay at the top of the pile and were lying side-by-side exploring their naked bodies. While I watched from my hidden vantage point, Sammy slid down, raised Fritz's legs over his shoulders and went down on his friend's rampant hard-on.

Waiting until Sammy had pushed his friend over the top and he had recovered, I stepped into their space.

With a yelp, Sammy immediately went to his position and Fritz tried frantically to cover himself. "Sorry guys," I told them, "but we need to talk a bit."

Sammy uttered not a word but Fritz stammered, "P-p-p-p-please, Mister Pete, I know it was wrong and we won't do it again. But don't tell my dad; he wouldn't understand."

"I think he would understand quite well," I assured him. "After all, he was a young boy once and, if memory serves me correctly, he and Claus had a thing going for a while. But anyway, who said it was wrong? I want you both to sit up and pay attention. Don't bother covering yourselves. You both have seen each other and I must confess I like the view."

That startled them and they hastily complied.

"Now, did I say what you were doing was wrong?" I asked.

"No, but…"

"Let me ask you something, Fritz. Do you love Sammy?"

"Oh, yessss!" he sighed.

"How about you, Sammy; do you love Fritz?"

"More than anyone else except you," he confessed.

"Do you trust each other?" Both boys nodded. "Then what you were doing was not wrong but fine and beautiful. I'm very pleased you have found a soul-mate in each other and that you want to express your love by sharing your bodies."

They looked at me with eyes as big as saucers.

"Just be discrete about it. What you do together is no one else's business, not even mine. If need to be together to share, you may use my room and I'll make sure you are not disturbed. Fair enough?" I was suddenly engulfed by two naked boys hugging me almost to death.

But inevitably, our time to return to Berlin was upon us. The last night before our departure, Sammy insisted on spending with me. While it was good to have him in my bed, I knew he was frightened again at the prospect of his travel.

"Master," he asked me, tears glistening in his eyes, "Carlos has been a slave and is now a free boy. And, Jan and Otto will soon be free and have a real family. Why am I so afraid of what will happen if I accept freedom and be your son? Everyone here has treated me just as if I really were free and it has been exciting. I know Fritz would like me to be free. Why must I be such a custard?"

"Sammy, you have had a very hard life until I found you, full of pain and terror. It's taken you a while to overcome that. Here in Tucson you have tasted freedom and have done very well. The best thing was choosing Fritz to be the one you want to love and maybe spend your life with. That shows you are growing up and, perhaps, you are ready to step out."

"Well, when we get back home, I'm ready to be a free boy, I think. And, if you'll still have me, I want to be your son."

Eureka! My plan had borne fruit.

And we both cried.

Our flight out was the next afternoon and we arrived at the airport in time to have Sammy 'prepared'. Fritz had insisted on coming along as his father thought it might be a valuable learning experience for him. Claus would be along, also, to take him home after we left.

After Sammy was secured with catheter and the butt-plug and most of his straps in place, I encouraged Fritz to say goodbye. He had kept his cool… with difficulty… and he leaned over the case and took Sammy's hand. "Goodbye, my best friend. Hurry back."

"I will," promised Sammy. The sedative kicked in and Fritz laid Sammy's hand gently on his chest as the attendant closed and sealed the lid.

And surrendered to his emotions, burying his head on Claus's chest. "He shouldn't have to travel that way!" he wailed.

"Hopefully, he won't have to again," Claus comforted him.

I gave them both a big hug and hurried off to my gate.

The flight was long and boring, even with changes in Denver and Frankfurt. I had a lot of time to think about Sammy's future… and mine.

It was late when I landed at Tempelhof and Chris Maartin was there to meet me. After clearing customs, we hurried to the 'Sondergepäckbereich' [Special Baggage Area] and, on the way, I told him, "Sammy has agreed to accept freedom."

"So your plan worked out! That's super wizard," he replied. "I know a lot of folks at the Embassy will be very pleased. How does it feel to be a father?"

"Let's not rush things."

"Rush things? You have been his father from the very first day you deposited that frightened little slave in my clinic. Rush things, indeed!"

We had arrived at our destination and we both looked around for Sammy's case. Not seeing it, I asked the baggage clerk, "Wurde alles Gepäck von Flug 31 bereits ausgeladen?" [Has all the baggage from flight 31 been cleared?]

"Ja, meine Herren."

"Aber wo ist mein Sklave in seinem Transportkoffer?" [But where is my slave in his transport case?]

"Es ist ein Sklave für Flug 31 aufgeführt, aber es war keiner im Flugzeug. Sind Sie der Besitzer?" [There was a slave listed for flight 31, but none was on the aircraft. Are you the owner?]

"Ja!"

"Ich habe Frankfurt überprüft, aber dort wurde keiner eingeladen., obwohl es laut Ladungsliste einer hätte sein müssen.. Ich werde Frankfurt nochmal anrufen und fragen, ob sie etwas entdeckt haben." [I checked with Frankfurt, but none was put aboard there. But your manifest clearly called for one. I will call Frankfurt again and see if they have discovered anything.]

And Chris and I spent the next hours… until morning, actually… futilely trying to find Sammy. But, finally I had to face up to the fact.

Sammy was missing!

My beautiful boy was GONE!

Chapter 4
Magadan

But the fact the case held a living human… if you counted a slave as human, that is… did not mean its occupant was going to be released even yet… or anytime soon.

"Как вы думаете, что это?" [What do you suppose this is?] asked the senior clerk, looking over at the huge strange box. "Имеется метка, которая говорит: 'CAUTION – LIVE SLAVE' бы это ни значило." [There is a label that says 'CAUTION, LIVE SLAVE' whatever that means.]

"Откуда я знаю?" [How should I know?] answered his partner. " Просто оставьте его в покое. Может быть, кто-то украдет, и мы не должны беспокоиться об этом." [Just leave it alone. Maybe someone will steal it and we won't have to worry about it.]

Dear Reader! To further spare you the agonies of dealing with the Cyrillic Alphabet and Russian Language, I shall translate everyone's utterances into passable English. For example, 'Как тебя зовут, мальчик раб?' will appear as 'What is your name, slaveboy?' Bear in mind, that doesn't mean they can understand one another.

And they turned out the lights and left as the case continued its task of keeping the young boy inside alive.

An hour or so passed in silence before a squeak of rending metal signaled the arrival of an unauthorized person… two of them, in fact, teenagers. And it did not seem like they were there to sight-see.

"What do you suppose that is?" asked the younger of the two named Vlad.

"It's a coffin, ding-dong," replied his brother Serge.

"Do you think there is a body inside?"

"Most likely. Shall we take a look. Might be wearing some expensive jewelry. Only one way to find out." And taking his pry-bar, Serge forced open the sealed lid.

Unknown to either of them, Sammy had been 'awake' for quite a few hours, lying in his 'coffin' in terror. As the lid popped open, he struggled to try to sit up and screamed, "Where am I? Are you there, Master? What is wrong? Why can't I see you?"

The two erstwhile robbers fled in panic as he began to cry.

"It' not a coffin, you shit head," said a shaken Vlad. "It's a slave transfer case. I was up at the big house one time when Mistress Pushkin received a new serf from Poland. It keeps the person inside alive while they are shipped like common air freight."

"Well, what do we do now, smart guy?"

"There's no consignment tag, so why don't we keep him. It might be fun to have a slave to do some of our work."

So they disconnected Sammy's fittings… none too gently, to be sure… and pulled him out of his case He fell to the floor crying, "Where is my master? What have you done to him?"

"What's he saying?" Vlad asked his brother.

"I don't know. But we better get him and this case out of here before they catch us. We can sink the case in the lake and no one will think to look for it there." So, they loaded Sammy and the case on the back of a horse-drawn cart and left the airport, carefully refastening the perimeter fence where they had breached it. Huddled in a ball, Sammy could only sob. What had gone wrong?

After a hour or so… with a short stop to get rid of the case… they arrived at a small cottage set on the edge of a large estate just as it was beginning to get light. . Dumping Sammy out of the cart, they forced him to stand.

"What's your name, slave-boy?" asked Serge.

"Please! Help me find my master." Sammy implored, standing there shaking with both fright and cold.

Not getting the answer he expected from a slave, Serge tried again. "Tell me your name, slave-boy or I'll beat your ass!" All he got in response was sobbing.

Producing a supple stick, he had Vlad hold Sammy over a bench. "Perhaps this will loosen your tongue." And he began to lash him across his butt and upper legs. Still not able to understand, Sammy just screamed and tried to twist away from Vlad, but the teen was too strong for him.

After several hours of alternately beating and raging at him, both teens climbed onto their beds and fell asleep, leaving their newly acquired slave locked in a store cabinet.

About noon, their mother arrived home from chores at the big house. "Mama, come and see what we found!" exclaimed Vlad, dragging Sammy before her.

"Where did you get this boy?" she demanded.

"At the airport. He a slave and came on the last flight and no one claimed him. So, we…kept him."

"The Holy Virgin and all the Saints!" exploded Tatiana. "Have you both gone out of your minds? If he's a slave, someone will come looking for him."

"No, Ma! He was unclaimed. There was no tag. We hid the case in the lake. So we have a slave free of charge."

"Why could the Good Lord not have given me at least one son who doesn't have sawdust for brains?" she sighed. "I should have heeded my mother when she warned me not to let either of your fathers have their way with me."

"Ma!"

"Look at his backside! What have you done to him?"

"Well, he wouldn't tell us his name, so we tried to loosen his tongue a bit, just like you used to. He won't answer; just stands there jabbering in some unknown tongue."

Walking over to where Sammy huddled in a ball, she gently pulled him to his feet. Pointing to herself and the other two, in turn, she said "Tatiana! Serge! Vlad!" Then she pointed to him.

Sammy realized that she was telling him their names and wanted to know his. So he answered, "Sammy."

"You mean he is one of the Reindeer People?" asked a confused Serge.

"No, you dolt! That is his name, Sammy." She rolled her eyes and muttered, "Why could the Lord not have given me at least one son with a brain in his head?"

"He's a sexy little guy, don't you think?" asked Vlad. "Can we keep him? Please?" Sammy, completely terrified, had no idea his fate was being decided so cavalierly; all he could do was sob.

"No! We can't afford to feed him," answered their mother. "We'll just have to get rid of him." Was Sammy, for the second time in his young life, about to be put down?

"We could give him to Mistress Pushkin," suggested a now, white faced Serge. Killing the boy in cold blood was not on his list of daily chores.

"Why should she want him?" asked Tatiana. "She's into girls."

"Well she worked me over thoroughly when I was his age," confessed Vlad. That was something their mother had not known.

***

Ludmilla looked down at the naked boy kneeling before her. "Please Mistress Pushkin, is he not a comely lad?" Serge asked her as his mother and brother looked on hopefully. "He does not understand our language, but his name is 'Sammy'. He jabbers away in some awful tongue and we don't have any idea what he is saying. But he is a good worker and used to the cane."

She advanced to Sammy, reached down and lifted his chin. The look of pain and fright in Sammy's eyes gave her pause. Hmm! If his name is Sammy, perhaps… "You boy! Do you understand English?"

Sammy's heart lurched. At last someone who could tell him where Master was. He started to rise, but she slapped him and forced him back to his knees. "Please ma'am, where is my Master? These people won't tell me."

"Quiet, boy. You have no master. I am your mistress and you belong to me, now." Turning to the others, she told them, "All right, I'll take him. You are dismissed." The three bowed low and withdrew.

"You may stand, boy. Let me look at you." She liked what she saw and nodded appreciatively. "Yes, you'll do nicely. I haven't had a little boy to play with in years."

"No, Mistress! I must find my Master. I won't be your toy."

"You need to be taught some discipline! Back on your knees!" "Sasha! Come here and bring a discipline collar."

A man-servant appeared momentarily, carrying a strange looking collar and a small box. Sammy was about ready to bolt. "Hold him," she instructed her servant.

Before he could take a step Sammy found himself in the iron grip of the man, while Ludmilla… despite his panicked struggles… buckled the collar around his neck and secured it with a small padlock. Waving her servant away, she told the shaking boy, "You will do as you are told or you will feel this."

She pressed a button on the small box and, in an instant, Sammy was screaming and rolling on the floor in intense pain.

It was several minutes until the pain abated enough for Sammy to gasp, "Please Mistress, don't hurt me again. I promise to be good!"

"Good! You're fast learner," she told him. "This is Sasha who will have charge of you and he has a control for your collar, too. He understands and speaks some English. By the way, don't ever try to remove the collar or tamper with it or the shock and pain will kill you."

Thoroughly defeated and despairing, Sammy could only nod through his tears.

So began Sammy's sojourn in the house of Ludmilla Pushkin. Sasha kept him busy with all sorts of tasks… most of them disagreeable. He was fed a type of gruel and had a pallet in a small room. He hated being her prisoner as much as he had hated being Vlad and Serge's, but the collar was used liberally and kept him in line. His dream of finding Master was effectively squelched.

When he had been there several months, she summoned him one morning and announced, "You will no longer report to Sasha." That seemed like good news until she continued, "You will be my body servant and sex toy."

"No! I won't!" he screamed. A touch with the collar, changed his mind abruptly.

So, every night he spent in her bed where she taught him the arts of pleasing a woman with hands and tongue. And he soon became quite good at it, although he hated every moment. She said, his ministrations 'relieved her stresses'.

And, indeed, after she had reached her peak, she usually relaxed into a kind of stupor. Withdrawing from between her legs, his face liberally coated with her juices, he was able to steal off to his room where he usually emptied his stomach. Little wonder he was continually malnourished. In time, he learned to allow his mind to slip into 'another place' while his tongue worked on her clit.

She also taught him to pose… hands locked behind his neck, pelvis thrust out to emphasize his boy parts which she enhanced with a cock-ring. Adroit make-up and a sultry expression soon made him the favorite play-toy among her limited social set.

Whenever she entertained… and that was frequently… he was made available to her guests of either sex and any age for whatever services they desired. Once again, his mind fled to that 'other place' while he was performing. On one occasion, she had Serge rape Sammy in full view of the guests… sort of a primitive sex show. Serge did not at all like being used that way, but, no matter, he was a serf. The scene was well received which gave her a fiendish idea.

She announced to all her neighbors a 'Bacchanalia' and that Sammy would be the star in a dramatization which she entitled The Escaped Slave Is Caught.

The evening of the event two young teens… sons of two of her servants… entered and mounted a raised dais. They were dressed as Roman soldiers complete with galea (helmet), lorica (upper body armor), sword belt with gladius (short sword) and pteruges (the leather skirt that protects the infantryman's legs), dragging behind them a slaveboy dressed in rags and shackled.

Sammy had been simply told to pretend to be frightened and to beg for mercy. But when he saw the artificial horse with its obvious purpose, he no longer had to pretend. One of the 'soldiers' drew his sword and cut the rags from the terrified boy's body before the two of them fastened him face down across the 'horse'.

The teens had been instructed to ravish him at both ends while Ludmilla's guests dined and looked on. Laying aside their helmets and swords, the soldiers stripped down to their tunics and followed their instructions while Sammy bucked and screamed… that is until a penis stuffed into his mouth cut off his voice.

The two teens were not at all happy to have been directed to perform in such a manner… as serfs, they had no choice… so they took their ire out on poor Sammy, the one pounding his succulent little ass until it was red and raw and the other choking him with his cock down Sammy's throat. Despite having plied all three 'performers' with strong aphrodisiacs, the 'show' did not play long. Oddly enough, quite a few of her guests recoiled from the display of sexual brutality and were highly critical of it. In her mind's eye, Ludmilla was sure each of them would like to have been the one abusing her slave.

After being released, the teens took Sammy to his cell and beat him savagely, blaming him for their public humiliation.

When Sammy did not appear the next morning to perform his usual morning 'service', Ludmilla stormed into his cell in a rage enhanced by her hangover and demanded he get up and 'relieve her stress'. When shouts and kicks had no discernible effect on the prostrate boy, she resorted to electronic stimulation.

Still unconscious from the previous night's beating, Sammy simply lay there and twitched every time she pressed the button. Her neighbor, Olga, had been particularly outspoken in her condemnation of Ludmilla's treatment of the boy… perhaps she had been correct. Perhaps the whole thing had been a bit 'over the top'. It was two days before Sammy was coherent and a week before he was back on his feet.

Despite all the fuss and wear and tear on Sammy, she frequently 'rented' him overnight to her sex-starved female friends. He always was returned from these 'engagements' exhausted and too sore to even sit down. Often there were cane welts on his ass and upper legs. It usually required at least a day for him to 'recover'.

Once, he returned with a very black eye. He refused to tell her what contretemps he had committed to have caused that, but she punished him severely anyway. How dare he cause her to lose face by being uncooperative! What did he think his function in life was, after all? Besides he was somewhat of a 'cash cow' as she certainly did not offer his wares free of charge. Although Ludmilla would never have admitted it, she was, in fact, a high priced pimp.

So, time dragged on… pain interspersed with exhaustion.

The other servants in Ludmilla's household despised Sammy and went out of their way to make life miserable for him. He was in good company; they despised her, too, but seemed to believe he led a pampered life. One of their favorite punishments was to wait until Mistress left for an afternoon and then intermittently trigger his collar. They watched in glee as he rolled on the floor convulsing and screaming. The fact that he was almost completely exhausted in her bed that evening gave her no clue. She did return one day unexpectedly early and caught them at their little game, but made no effort to punish the culprits. She simply locked up the control boxes.

As the months wore on, Sammy found it harder and harder to have any hope that he would ever rejoin his master; the one who loved him completely… body, mind and spirit. Would he ever hear his gentle voice again? Feel those brave, strong arms about him? As he stumbled through his victim existence, there was simply a growing dark hole at the core of his being.

On several occasions he seriously considered destroying himself. But each time, at the last minute, he drew back. But he was fast sinking into despair, the black hole becoming larger and larger.

When the Nobel Prizes were announced that year, in early fall, Ludmilla was surprised to learn that her illustrious ancestor was to be honored and she would be expected to travel to Sweden to receive the honors in his stead. And, for reasons she alone knew, she decided to take her body slave with her. She would undoubtedly need to have her 'stresses' relieved while in Stockholm.

Chapter 5
Berlin

Peter narrates

Searching in vain in the now empty and deserted special baggage area, it took me and Chris some time to face the reality that my slave was gone. His transfer case was nowhere to be found.

My beautiful Sammy… gone!

The airline people were very concerned and helpful… making inquiries and checking flight manifests, but to no avail. His case had arrived in Frankfurt as scheduled, but there was no record of it leaving even though it was on the manifest for the Berlin flight. The only other flight out of Frankfurt about that time was an Aeroflot flight to Moscow's Vnokovo airport, but the Aeroflot people indignantly denied having anything to do with a missing slave transport case. Indeed, they were insulted at having been asked.

Several more futile hours of searching yielded nothing and I was forced to accept that my beautiful Sammy really was gone.

It took me a day or two before I could do any work at the embassy. But, while everyone there was equally upset that Sammy had disappeared, we all still had our jobs to perform, in my case a new position as First Secretary. So, it was not unexpected when Lord Heatherington invited me to dine with him and Lady Heatherington one evening.

The atmosphere was decidedly informal… first name basis… and the occasion was ostensibly to discuss my new duties, but talk soon turned to my missing slave. I'm afraid I got quite maudlin.

Finally, Marjorie reached across the table and took my hand. "Peter," she said gently, "I know you miss him very much, as do we all. But he's out there and still very much alive; just waiting for the time you'll be together again."

"Marjorie," I addressed her somewhat rudely, "please don't patronize me!"

"I would have hoped that you know I would never do that to you," she replied somewhat sadly.

"You mean you can foretell the future?" I asked tartly.

"Now just a caution," Sir Winston broke in. "Peter, listen to what I'm about to tell you."

I sighed, "Yes, Sir."

"Marjorie is descended from a very old and honorable Welsh family that goes back well before Owain Glendower. The women-folk all possess what the Welsh refer to as Mae'r 'golwg - The 'Sight'!"

"You mean you really can tell the future?"

"Not exactly," she replied. "But I often see the glimpse of a scene that hasn't come to pass yet. In this case, I saw the two of you together again. The two of you were together in a room and he was lying on his back and you were looking down at him as he reached toward you. I couldn't tell where or when, but I am absolutely sure you will be together again."

Could she be right? How good was this 'sight'?

Sir Winston answered my unspoken question. "You may have absolute trust in what Marjorie has told you, Peter. I have never known her to be wrong."

Thus fortified, I was able to begin my term as First Secretary with some hope for the future. I threw myself into the tasks that the Ambassador set for me and he was effusive with his praise for my work. But, ever in the background, there was this dark hole next to my soul.

As the months drifted by with no word of my Sammy, I confess I began to have doubts about the words of comfort that Marjorie Heatherington had spoken. The new year… spring, summer and into fall… and still not a whisper of him.

At the beginning of October, the winners of the Nobel Prizes were announced and we were all pleased to learn that the prize for literature had gone to a Scot, Alice Munro. She would share the honor with a giant from the past, Alexander Pushkin, who was belatedly and posthumously being recognized and would be represented in Stockholm by his great, great granddaughter, Ludmilla, who fancied herself a writer as well.

Normally our ambassador in Stockholm would have escorted Miss Munro to the ceremonies, but that post was vacant, so it fell to Sir Winston… the senior ambassador on the Continent… to do the honors. My only task was to drill him in the proper protocols for the occasion and I came to know them equally as well.

Fate intervened, however.

Two days before he was scheduled to leave for Stockholm, Lord Heatherington took a nasty fall on the ski slopes and fractured his leg in two places and I was hastily deputized to go in his stead.

Chapter 6
Stockholm

At The Russian Embassy

The aging, prop-driven Tupolev aircraft bounced, shook and wheezed throughout the overnight, nine-hour flight between Magadan and the Russian capital and, at times, Ludmilla was certain the wings were going to come undone and hurtle them all to their doom. Since there was not a suitable baggage hold, her slave's cage was lodged in the back of the heated passenger compartment… heated being a relative matter of course.

As a result they all arrived in Moscow thoroughly chilled, Sammy more so than the others since he was naked.

Surprisingly, they had bypassed Vnokovo and landed at Sheremetyevo where they taxied to a closed area before transferring to a sleek Ilyushin Foreign Ministry aircraft for the short flight to Stockholm. Considerably more comfortable, they… well not Sammy who was still naked in his cage… were able to warm themselves somewhat before deplaning into a typically wet and frigid Scandinavian December morning.

Since she and her party were not traveling under diplomatic passport, while Ludmilla busied herself with Customs and Immigration at Arlanda airport with some help from the Ambassador, Sammy, along with the rest of his mistress's baggage, was delivered to the Embassy in the back of an open lorry. By the time they arrived, he was well into the throes of hypothermia, a thin coating of ice on his naked body. Once there, the handlers, simply dumped the comatose boy out onto the carpet in the entrance-way, collapsed the cage and left him lying there.

A short time later Ludmilla swept in trailed by the Ambassador and a bevy of servants. Stumbling over the body lying in the doorway, she administered a well-paced kick to his rump and shouted, "Up! Up! Get up at once, you lazy slave!"

Pushing her out of the way, the Ambassador knelt over the boy feeling for a pulse. Finding a weak one, the turned to one of the servants and ordered, "Quickly! Get him into a warm shower! I will send for our doctor." The girl scooped him up and ran to the bathroom.

Since there was no other way to get him under the warm shower, she shrugged off her shift and undergarments and climbed in, holding him up by his torso. Letting the warm water play over both of them, she simply hoped for the best.

The warm water and the body contact soon had their effect and Sammy began to breathe regularly once more and, a short time later began to shiver… a good sign. His mind also began to function again and he thought, Warm! Warm! I'm getting warm again. Oh, it's wonderful to be warm again! He finally recovered to the point he could grasp the grab-bar and mostly hold himself up again. The girl continued to hold him against her body and he didn't object when she fondled his parts. Perhaps that was part of the treatment.

Once he seemed to be functioning again, the girl dried him off and laid him on the bed before redressing herself and going to find the rest of the party. The doctor had just arrived and they all trooped into the bedroom.

Sammy lay there completely spent while the doctor examined him. Rising from the bedside, he confronted Ludmilla, "Madame, have you no common sense? To force this boy to travel in this weather without clothes?"

Stiffening, she replied, "Well he is just a slave?"

The doctor regarded her with something akin to anger. "He is a child and you have treated him most shamefully. You very nearly had a dead slave! He needs to rest and have some nourishment."

"But," she pouted, "he needs to serve me. I didn't bring him all this way to loll around in bed."

"Madame," the Doctor rounded on her, "if you expect this boy to accompany you to the affair this evening, you need to allow him to sleep and, when he awakes, feed him." Snorting, he stomped out of the room.

"You heard him, Madame," said the Ambassador. To the servant girl, he ordered, "Stay with him! And the rest of you, OUT!" Shooing all of them, he closed the door behind him.

It was late afternoon when Sammy finally awoke. It had been a wonderful sleep and several times he had had the most marvelous feeling in his loins. He was a bit unsteady when the servant girl helped him out of bed, but quickly regained his footing and proceeded to devour the high-protein drinks and sweet, hot tea she brought him. Actually, after his 'nap' and food, he felt somewhat better but not much more invigorated.

He was still dreadfully tired, but it was time for his mistress to get ready for a banquet at the royal palace being given for all the prize recipients and he was needed to 'calm her stresses'. It was then he discovered he was to go with her as her slave-boy.

When the Ambassador arrived to escort them to the palace, he nearly had a heart attack when he saw how they were both dressed. A voluminous dress of lace and silk brocade engulfed Ludmilla's ample body in a style that was straight out of the court of Louis XIV. The plunging neckline plunged to… well let's not go there, shall we.

She had dressed Sammy in a very short tunic which served to show off his pretty legs and darling bubble-butt… and, of course, his boy parts which Ludmilla had enhanced by tying a red bow around his cock and balls. This had the effect of emphasizing them and kept him in a constant erection. The tunic was cut out at strategic places to expose his nipples which she had painted red. A more erotic looking tart could hardly be found in the lanes and alleys of Saxenhausen.

Snapping a short leash to his collar, she pronounced them ready. Bowing to the Ambassador's wishes, she had Sammy wrapped in a voluminous quilt.

"Perhaps we can sneak in the back and no one will notice us," the Ambassador hoped in vain.

At The British Embassy

Arriving in the Swedish capital the morning before the formal presentations, I went immediately to our embassy where I was greeted by the charge d'affaires, Colin Baxter, who filled me in on that day's schedule… a formal banquet for the prize recipients and their ambassadorial escorts at the royal palace. I'm sure he may have been a bit envious of my position, but… highly professional… he was the soul of hospitality.

Early that afternoon, we both met the ferry from Harwich when it docked. A spry octogenarian, Miss Munro had elected to come by sea, but it had been a rough and uncomfortable journey. Settling her in one of the Embassy's guest rooms we made every effort to make her comfortable.

We found her to be a very pleasant soul with an engaging wit and lively spirit. But she begged off from the banquet and I would have to do the honors for auld Scotland. "Don't fash yeself on my account, lad." It had been some years since I had been called a 'lad', but from her it seemed quite proper. "May I call you 'Peter'?"

"Yes, if I may call you Miss Alice," I replied. She chuckled her approval and I could tell we would enjoy each other's company. I explained to her about the banquet that evening and she was a bit distressed.

"After the crossing, I'm not sure if I'm up to it," she informed me. "Why don't you go and enjoy, and by morning I should be fit and ready."

So, we made her comfortable and I went to get dressed for my 'evening out'.

At The Royal Palace

I arrived at the Palace well before the start of the evening's festivities and was seated next to the aisle in the section designated and waited with interest to meet Madame Pushkin who had been described to me as a bit eccentric. That turned out to be a vast understatement.

The hall was almost filled when she made her grand entrance, trailed by the Russian Ambassador and leading a slaveboy on a leash. What chutzpa! Showing off by bringing a slave to a formal banquet. I studied the boy briefly and then more carefully.

And then my heart stopped!

No! It couldn't be!

For his part, the boy glanced my way and, then, stopped in his tracks. "Master!" he yelled, focusing on me, "Master, Master!" as he dashed down the aisle toward me ripping the leash out of Madam Pushkin's hands and leaving her sprawled in the aisle.

I was out of my seat in an instant, running toward him. But, before I could reach him, he gave a horrendous shriek and fell to the floor, holding his throat and convulsing in pain. Reaching him, I seized a steak-knife and cut away the slave-collar that was shocking him. Gathering him into my arms I just held him close. "Sammy! Sammy! My Sammy!" was all I could say as I tried to comfort the gasping child.

After she had been set on her feet again, Ludmilla waddled toward us shouting threats and curses in Russian at the top of her voice. As she reached us, I looked up at her as she screamed, "What have you done to my slave?"

Gathering my wits, I answered, "The question madam is what are you doing in possession of my slave?"

By this time the palace officials had converged upon us and a senior footman, politely, but firmly had the four of us escorted out of the hall to another room.

"What is the meaning of this outrage?" fumed the ambassador.

"Your Excellency, this woman is in possession of a slave boy who was stolen from me. I demand that she be arrested." Digging into my wallet, I extracted Sammy's papers that I had carried with me all these months. "If you will check his tattoo, you will find proof that he belongs to me."

One of the Swedish officials, indeed, took my papers and examined Sammy's marking. "Someone has attempted to obscure his mark," he reported, "but what this gentleman says is true. The slave is as described on his papers."

I gave everyone a brief description of what had happened during the trip back from Tucson.

All eyes turned to Ludmilla.

"I did not steal him," she explained somewhat lamely, "I received him in payment for a debt." That was too much for the Ambassador and he had her dragged from the building and returned to their embassy.

Turning to me, he said, "I simply can't imagine such a thing. You have my government's full apology. I can assure you, those responsible for this outrage will be suitably punished."

Yeah, like drawn and quartered, I thought.

"The important thing is that he is back with me," I assured him. "It sounds like Madame Pushkin may have been the victim of a hoax."

"No matter," he replied. "She should have registered the boy and the truth would have been apparent… this whole unseemly affair could have been avoided. She will be sanctioned accordingly. Failing that, she may be charged with theft and, perhaps, with child abuse. She may be able to avoid a prison sentence by pleading ignorance. In her case, that should not be difficult."

I really wasn't interested at that moment how she came to have him. I just wanted to hold my boy and love him. So, with Sammy in my arms and wrapped in the quilt he had come in, I was escorted back to my embassy, where I was met by an astounded Colin Baxter.

Afterward

News of the altercation had preceded me, so I gave him a very brief explanation and then asked him, "Please notify Berlin that I have found Sammy and he is OK."

I carried Sammy into my room, stripped off his garish costume and laid him gently on my bed. Sitting on the bed beside him, I gazed down at my beautiful boy. He had grown a bit and some of his boyish curves had moderated, but he was still knock-out gorgeous. It was clear he would be a simply stunning teen.

He was completely exhausted and sound asleep. But, then his eyes fluttered open and he raised his hands toward me. In a flash, I recognized the scene that Marjorie Heatherington had described for me so many months ago. Never again, would I doubt Mae'r 'golwg!

As I leaned down and he wrapped his arms around me, he whispered, "Please kiss me." As our lips touched, I felt a profound shock pass between us. His little tongue probed for mine and I drank in his taste. "Oh Master! Now I know this is real! It's really you and it's not just a dream that I'll wake up from!"

Stripping off my clothes, I slid in beside him and pressed his naked body to mine. He gave a great sigh and was soon asleep again. I reveled in the feel of his heartbeat, in the sound of his breathing. My boy was back! Praise God and all His Holy Angels!

When I awoke next morning, Chris Maarten was sitting in the chair on the other side of my room. "Good morning," he greeted me. "Sir Winston thought you might need my services to check Sammy over and I can stay with him while you perform your responsibilities."

"Oh, thank you, Chris. Yes it would be good if you could. I'm sure he's not ready to deal with unknown people at this stage."

Sammy awoke at that point and was happy to see Chris as well. We sat together for a while until it was time for me to have lunch with Miss Alice and escort her to the presentation. Sammy, as you might expect, was still in shock from his 'rescue' and simply clung to me and wept… he obviously had much to tell but that would have to wait.

When, at last I had to get dressed and leave, he seemed frightened, but Chris took him in his arms and was able to sooth him. "I will be back as soon as I can," I told them.

"I understand you created quite a stir last evening," Miss Alice greeted me. "May I know the story?"

And, so I gave her a full account of my life with Sammy from the very beginning.

"Well", she observed, "I generally write fiction. But I should like very much to write this true-life story, if I might. Might I visit you in Berlin and meet this wonderous boy? I assume he is not quite ready for that step yet."

"You are quite correct and you will be more than welcome to visit us," I assured her.

It was late when I returned Miss Alice to our embassy. Despite Ludmila's obvious absence, Miss Monro had been the soul of graciousness and had praised her for following in the steps of her illustrious grandfather.

I immediately bid her good night and repaired to my quarters where Chris was waiting for me.

"He's asleep, Peter. I gave him a little something to help him relax and he should sleep through 'til morning."

"Thanks, Chris," I replied. "I really appreciate your being here with him today."

"Well, I used the opportunity to give him a thorough going-over. He's in fair shape physically although he has been repeatedly raped… I guess we should be thankful, in a way, that his master before you had him pretty well stretched… and there are cane welts on his backside. Those will heal quite quickly, but emotionally, he's a mess."

"I can well imagine."

"No, I doubt that you do, Peter. He's carrying a huge load of guilt."

"Guilt? Whatever for?"

He blames himself for being separated from you. He didn't accept your offer of freedom and believes what happened to him is a direct result… sort of a punishment."

"Oh, Lord!" I replied. "How will I ever deal with that?"

"You'll find a way," he assured me. "He told me a lot of what happened to him and it's pretty grim. But he doesn't want you to know about it quite yet… he knows you'll be upset and he doesn't want to hurt you more. I think he'll share with you in time, but it may be a while. He did tell me why he refused your offer… he was afraid you might turn into a father like his birth father."

"Oh Chris," I began to weep, "I've tried so hard to convince him otherwise. What did I do wrong?"

"Not a thing, Peter. It's something he must work out. Just keep loving him and he'll be OK."

Chris bade me 'good night' and left and I stripped and crawled in beside my precious boy. Sleep did not come quickly.

I awoke to the sensation of someone with his head on my chest sobbing his heart out. Cuddling him in my arms, I asked him, "What is it Sammy? What is it that's troubling you?"

"I've been stupid!" he replied. "I'm a coward!"

"You are not stupid and you are certainly not a coward," I tried to reassure him.

"Yes I am! You offered me my freedom and I was too stupid to accept it 'cause I was afraid. Even Fritz says I'm stupid and a coward!"

"Well, I doubt very much that Fritz really thinks those things about you any more than I do. He loves you very much and wants you to enjoy the kind of life he does. He didn't understand any more than I did at first and he came to me in tears and asked why. I had quite a long conversation with him. It was the day before we left Tucson, so he never had time to talk to you about it."

He was quiet for some time. And, then, in bits and pieces, he told me about all the horrible things that had happened to him while he was 'away'. How a boy his age could have survived them, was testimony to his courage and I told him so.

"All those nasty things she made me do! It made me feel dirty. I was afraid you might not want me any more… that you wouldn't love me any more. But, I was wrong!"

"Yes you were, little one. I will never stop loving you! Never! And you're not dirty at all. You are the sweetest, most adorable little boy on God's green earth. And having you in my arms again with your arms about me has made me the happiest man in the whole world."

He looked at me with tear-rimmed eyes. "Papa"… he had never called me that before…"I've made up my mind."

He wiped his eyes and focused on mine.

"Papa, I want to be a free boy! And, if you still think I'm worthy, I want to be your son!"

E-P-I-L-O-G-U-E

We remained in Stockholm for most of a week to give Sammy time to regain his 'place' once more. He was exhausted both physically and emotionally and needed the time to convalesce.

The first several days he clung to me, unwilling to let me out of his sight, fearing that something might happen to separate us again. He wept a lot and I… following Chris Maarten's recommendations… simply held him close and gave him body comfort. But, the third day, he began to put his unhappy experience aside and I knew he was going to be OK.

In fact, I sensed he was 'back' when he asked if we might go to see the Vasa which he had heard about from some of the embassy staff. The December weather was obviously too cold for him to be outside naked, so I did manage to get him into a warm sweatsuit and boots for us to visit and be fascinated by that monument to royal ego and poor design… the mighty ship capsized and sank before she even left the harbor… and it allowed me to signal Berlin that we were ready to come 'home'.

Sir Winston sent the embassy aircraft to return us to Berlin. And, on this short trip, my slave-boy rode in the seat beside me… again dressed… gazing at the land and seascape rolling by. Never again would I permit him to travel any other way; the law be damned. If our host country wanted to lodge a protest, let them.

Still smarting over the miscue at Frankfurt a year earlier, they didn't!

Almost the entire staff… including Sir Winston on his crutches and Lady Marjorie… turned out to greet us at the new Brandenburg Airport. I'm sure the welcome was more for Sammy than for me, such was his popularity with the staff. Indeed, observing his interaction with any staff member, one would have difficulty believing he was a bonded slave-boy rather than the free child of some important personage. But, through it all, he continued the polite, self-effacing behavior he had always displayed. We were both glad to be home.

That Christmas Season was the happiest I can ever remember. I had my boy back again and he was quickly recovering from his harrowing journey. Fritz spent his holidays with us and the two boys were constant companions… never mind that one of them was a free boy and the other, at least technically, a slave.

Fritz was more than willing to help his best friend with the few tasks we asked of him and almost every day Marjorie whisked both of them off on 'important errands' of a mysterious nature.

And my bed was… Well, I shouldn't admit this, but most nights I had two naked, young bodies snuggled next to my own. It may have been extremely erotic, but there was no overt sex. Sir Winston had to have known, but he offered nary a reproachful word nor did any other of the Embassy staff.

I realized that sex between us would be something that Sammy and I could no longer enjoy… at least legally… once he became my son, but it was a price I was willing to pay. Did we ever 'cheat'? That is ours to know, not yours.

Christmas Eve, Sir Winston and Lady Marjorie insisted the boys and I accompany them to services at St. Georges. I wasn't particularly keen, but the boys insisted, so we went. I found it a bit odd that Sammy did not chafe at being dressed up the way he usually did; they both did look marvelous in 'dress-up' clothes.

We had barely arrived when a church attendant whisked the two away. "Wait! Where are you taking them?" I shouted after them.

"They're in good hands," Marjorie assured me.

"What's going on?"

"Don't fret. Just sit back and enjoy the service," she soothed me, taking my hand, as we were led to a pew in the front row. A bit unwary, I took my place and the service began.

The rector and curate filed up the main aisle, trailed by the boy-choir. Last in line I spied two angels, resplendent in their scarlet cottas and white surpluses. I could swear I saw halos and wings. Both of them grinned at me as they passed our row and entered the choir. Marjorie leaned over and whispered, "Don't they look lovely?"

The service continued apace and I found the liturgy little changed from that which I remembered as a boy. Soon it was time for the offertory and Sammy and Fritz rose from their positions and stood in the center of the chancel. The organist played the traditional opening and the two of them began to sing.

Oh Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining
It is the night of Our Dear Savior's birth.

Sammy's clear, bell-like tones blended perfectly with Fritz's alto and took my breath away. I had not known they could sing; it was Marjorie who recognized their talent and took them to practice with the St. George choir. I sat there spellbound!

Oh night divine, Oh Holy Night

When Sammy hit the high note in that last line, every hair on my body stood on end! I wept for the sheer beauty of it.

"It was their Christmas gift for you!" Marjorie whispered when the last notes had died away.

So that Fritz could be here for the occasion, we had scheduled Sammy's manumission and adoption hearings for the day following Boxing Day. The Germans have a rather interesting custom; when a slave younger than fourteen is petitioned to be a free boy and he has a good friend his own age who is a free boy, his owner may designate the friend to stand with him at the hearing. Fritz pleaded with me to let him stand with his best friend and I readily agreed.

When we arrived at the Justizgebäude [magistrate's chambers,] the court attendant directed us to a small anti-room and told us to make ready. That meant Sammy would have to submit to being naked and shackled. I had warned him in advance and it didn't faze him at all. What he and I had not told Fritz was that he, like his friend… would have to be naked, too.

"Naked? In public?" Fritz demanded to know.

"That's right," I answered.

"But why?"

"I'm told that the slave must appear naked and in chains to demonstrate that he is brave enough to be free boy. And the friend must appear naked, too, to demonstrate the slave has a good friend who is equally brave," I explained.

"Well, we don't do that in North America."

"We're not in North America, Fritz. And anyway, what's the big deal? You've been naked with Sammy many times."

"Yes, but not in public! Everyone will see my…my…" he sputtered.

"Fritz, you and Sammy both have very lovely young bodies and you have nothing to be ashamed of. Given the correct circumstance… and this is surely one of them… you should be proud to display your bodies for others to see and enjoy."

"Well, OK," he sighed. "I still think it's a dumb rule."

"I think it's delightful!" I teased him.

He stuck his tongue out at me, but proceeded to shed his clothes. Fortunately, neither boy sported an erection.

At the end of the manumission hearing, Fritz was given the task of removing Sammy's shackles after which the two friends gave each other a big hug, before they both… still naked, but without the slightest embarrassment… bowed to the spectators… virtually the entire embassy staff… before we proceeded to the second petition of the day.

I stood with the two boys with my arms around Sammy and he sort of snuggled. After examining our papers, the magistrate ruled "Alles ist in Ordnung und ich freue mich, Ihnen zu sagen, Herr von Wachstein, dass Sie jetzt einen Sohn haben, den Sie versprochen haben zu lieben und für ihn zu sorgen, und dass Du, Samuel, jetzt einen Vater hast, den du lieben und folgen sollst. Herzlichen Glückwunsch Euch beiden." [ I think you should be able to figure this one out.]

And with that, Samuel Wentz, [aha, he had a surname, after all] now a free boy, became Samuel Peter von Wachstein, the son and heir of Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachstein. My boy at last had a father who would love him forever and I had a son who would love me…. forever!

And, indeed Alice Munro did write our story… a charming book she titled The Forever Slave.

The End