Mister Red

The Fate of a Poor Man's Son

Chapter 1
Wally Learns His Fate

Later I learned that our history textbooks were a little dated. Slavery may have started as a way to deal with criminals, but in the economic dislocations that happened during my early years, anyone who went into debt was likely to end up a slave. Many families only avoided debt by selling one of their sons into slavery. Politicians liked to explain that the cost of bringing poor people up to a decent standard of living would ruin society, whereas making them useful as slaves would grow the economy.

I was never concerned about this though. My father had a good job with Winston Industries. Well, it didn't pay a lot of money, but it was a steady job that he could depend on. Our family rented a small house in one of the housing tracts in the town of Winston. We had a television and a working kitchen – this was more than many working families. But we had never dreamed of things like vacations or cars or computers. Most of my clothes and certainly all our furniture came from the second-hand store and I know mom always scrimped and saved on our meals.

Winston Industries and the town of Winston had of course been in the hands of the Winston family for as long as anyone knew. Captain Winston could be seen riding through town on horseback but more often in a carriage drawn by one or two of his fine muscular pony boy slaves. He was a tall, dignified man with brown hair that had gone silver at the temples. He looked like he had once been quite an athlete, with powerful chest and arms and legs. He was still in pretty good shape for a man who was around 50. The captain seemed quite intimidating up in his carriage or even as he strolled down the streets of the town he owned.

The summer I was 10 I actually spent time at the captain's mansion on top of the hill. I played together with the captain's two sons. Randy was my age, he was always very nice and really seemed to want to be friends with me. But his older brother, Brad, was an awful bully.

I had originally met the two boys because of Brad's nasty attitude. As I walked down the main street of our town, so proud of the new clothes my mother had bought me – they were so crisp and barely worn – Brad suddenly came out of a store, did a doubletake, pointed to me and started laughing. I looked down at myself. Was my fly open? He called out, "Hey poorboy, how do you like wearing my old clothes!" He seemed to think the fact that my mother bought his cast-off shirt at the second-hand store was the funniest thing in the world.

But then his younger brother Randy came out of the store and said, "That's not very nice." There were some words between the brothers that ended with Randy saying, "Well, that shirt looks way better on him than it ever did on you." Randy then approached me, started up a conversation and invited me to the mansion to go swimming. I visited them for a few weeks. Let's just say it was something Brad did that made me stop going over there, but it's something I've tried to put out of my mind.

It was just about a year later that everything changed for my family. Mom was diagnosed with a terrible illness. Of course dad had health coverage from his job, but that was standard worker's insurance and only covered the basics. I had always known how deeply in love my dad and mom were. I learned the depths of love as dad did everything in his power and beyond to try to save her. He said he "wouldn't let her die in a dirty, poorly staffed clinic." In spite of the expense he had her taken to the quality hospital used by the rich folks. It was a long drawn-out illness and mom finally died just after my 13th birthday. That's when dad had to start seriously figuring out how to pay off the bills.

In spite of our economies and dad's best efforts to save, the amount he owed only kept getting bigger. Dad said it was compounded interest. I didn't understand what that meant but it didn't seem fair when the debt had only come about because someone had died. One day, dad came home from work and his face looked grey. He suddenly looked older than I had ever seen him before. He kept on looking at me like he wanted to say something, but then would look away from me quickly. We had a simple dinner of noodles and then dad told me and my brother Will to change our clothes. "Put on your best cleanest shirt and your church pants." We asked why and he just snapped at us. This was very unlike dad.

When we returned dressed as neatly as we could, dad seemed sorry for his tone of voice. He asked us both to sit down and he began, "Boys, there are some very tough decisions that need to be made. I've tried to do the right thing as your father. But, there are certain circumstances…." Before he could go further the doorbell rang. Dad seemed very harried and nervous and told us both to stand up. What was going on?

There at the door was Captain Winston, standing tall and proud in his tan suit. Beyond him at the curb I saw his open carriage with two naked pony boy slaves in harness. The captain smiled in a kindly way and looked around the room. "Ah, I always like to see what my people have done with the houses I built." He turned and said, "This must be the boy we talked about… and the younger one." He approached me and Will and shook our hands. I was frozen in the spot and didn't know how to act. I had never even heard of Captain Winston coming to any of the houses of his employees – well, except for the executives who lived on the hills surrounding his mansion. But I had surely never imagined the captain in our neighborhood.

Dad had always told us what a nice man Captain Winston was. Of course the Winstons had slaves. How could they run their businesses without slaves? How could they maintain their spectacular home and property without slaves? And the wages where dad worked were pretty low, but wages were low everywhere for working people. I immediately got a warm feeling from the captain – his eyes crinkled when he smiled and I felt he was trying to make us feel at ease.

Dad ushered Captain Winston to our one big comfy chair and then stammered out, "Could the boys get you anything to drink, sir? Water?" With the same benevolent smile the big man said, "Water, yes." I rushed to the sink and filled a glass with water. When I brought the glass to the Captain he looked at it, looked at me, smiled kindly once more and put the water down without tasting it.

He fixed his gaze on me and asked, "And when do you turn 14, young man?"

Before I could answer my dad said, "His name is Wally."

The Captain seemed annoyed and said, "Yes, I know young Wally. A few summers ago he played with my sons for a bit. Even back then I thought to myself what a fine-looking lad he was." I was flattered to think that the most important man in our town knew who I was. My father and I said "Thank you" in unison. But then the captain continued, "I thought Wally was well brought up at that time, but then it turned out he was terribly ungracious toward my younger boy's invitation." I flushed and before I could think of a reply, the captain said, "Your birthday, Wally?"

"I turn 14 on the first of June, sir."

Then abruptly, the Captain said, "Take off your shirt, Wally." I looked to dad and he nodded. I felt nervous being ordered to take off my shirt without any explanation why. I held my shirt in one hand and felt the Captain's eyes sweep over me. Then he turned to dad and said, "I'm thinking the boy doesn't get much protein in his diet." Dad looked embarrassed and said, "We've been trying to economize, sir."

The Captain looked at me and said, "Seeing as you're still a free boy and you're only thirteen, I certainly can't ask you to remove any other clothes now. You may put your shirt on, Wally." I mumbled a thank you as I quickly buttoned my shirt but the Captain had already turned to my dad and asked, "Did you tell him about it yet?" Dad shook his head.

The captain motioned with his hand and I sat on the lumpy sofa next to his chair. He began to speak quietly, "I don't know if you're aware, Wally, how serious your father's financial situation has become. He is very close to being declared a debtor. If that were to happen, he would be enslaved. I'm sorry to say that his debts are so great and his assets so limited that if he were to be enslaved for his debts both you and your brother would also be taken and sold as part of his assets. Your father would be a permanent slave. Since you and your brother would be considered assets of your father and would end up being auctioned off for some period of time.

"I've always thought well of your father, Wally. I have a large company but I like to keep track of my employees and their families. I've seen you boys in church. I believe you do come from good stock. So I've made your father an offer. There's only one way I could see for him to avoid enslavement for the entire family. That is for him to sell you into temporary slavery, Wally."

My mouth was hanging open. I looked from the captain to my dad and back again. I didn't know what to say. Slavery was supposed to be for bad boys, the ones who got in trouble. I had always been such a good boy. I never broke the law. I would even wait at a traffic light when no cars were in sight. Ever since I was little I had been warned about the horrors of slavery, I had seen the captain's slaves out in his fields doing hard labor all day. Suddenly, I couldn't breath, was that to be my fate? Given my father's debts, I should have realized my enslavement was inevitable.

My father must have seen the look on my face and he added, "No, no, Wally. It's not as bad as all that. The captain has offered to buy you himself. And it would only be for two years and you wouldn't be treated like the other slaves and…."

"Now hold on," the captain broke in. "Let's be clear on this. I said I estimated a two-year enslavement in order to give you the amount of money you need to pay off your debts. But since we can't do a real assessment till he's turned 14 and the papers are signed, that's only an estimate. Also, I cannot have a slave that's treated differently from other slaves. I have an estate and a business to run. I couldn't maintain good order if my slaves felt one of their number was getting special treatment."

The captain took an ominous pause but then got a pleasant look on his face as he added, "What I did promise was that for the two years of his slave contract I would not use Wally for heavy labor. I would use him only for indoor purposes and around the house, maybe gardening or caring for the pool, but not out in the fields or in a factory. I also said that for those same two years I promise not to house Wally with the field slaves. They're a rough batch and him being a… young boy… well I'd be worried about his well-being."

Dad immediately jumped in with "Oh thank you, Captain. I always told my boys you were a caring and a good man and I trust your word completely."

They both looked to me expectantly. I didn't have the courage to look the captain in the face as I asked, "Well, sir, what about the… ummm… the punishments?"

The captain sat back comfortably in the chair as if he had expected this question. "There are a range of corrections and encouragements for slaves, some quite severe. But tell me, Wally, if you were my slave, would you run away? Would you try to strike your master? There are very severe punishments for crimes like those committed by slaves – the bullwhip leaves marks that never go away. Masters need these options or else the system wouldn't work." He leaned closer to me and then asked, "What I want to know is would you be disobedient or disrespectful?"

I realized he was waiting for me to answer and I jumped in with, "Oh no, sir, I would always be respectful and do as I'm told."

The captain corrected me by saying, "You'll do as you're ORDERED, lad. You will be a slave and you must obey. Now I'll tell you in no uncertain terms that during your first days as a slave you will have some difficulty adapting. There may be a time when you forget to call me master. There may be a time when you're slow to follow a direct order, or when some free boy attitude shows in your face. The slave prod set to just 10% would give you a little sting, a little reminder that will help you to become a better slave. And if you were to repeat such behavior, well, in the best interest of your future as a slave, any slave owner worth his salt would slap your little butt with a paddle or strap."

Dad jumped in approvingly, "As well he should."

The captain rambled on, "Now if you were surly, defiant, disrespectful, if you defied an order from your master or had a nasty attitude, then we might take the cane to your bottom. Honestly now, Wally, do you think I'm going to have to get the cane out for you?" The captain smiled in a very kind way and even chuckled a little. I smiled back at him and shook my head in the negative. He reached out a hand for me to shake. When he took my hand, he said forcefully, "I gave my word on certain things, lad. Two years of keeping you for only household duties and of not housing you with the field slaves. Do you give your word that you won't defy orders and won't be disrespectful?" I assured the captain of this and then I turned and smiled at my dad. There was such a look of relief on dad's face that I actually felt good about my fate.

The captain now added that he had advised my father against telling me in advance. He said that usually boys in my position had to be grabbed at the moment they were told about enslavement. He said telling me about the enslavement at this time was a risk my father was taking, since there was always the chance I might try to run away. But the captain explained that if I ran I would be considered a fugitive and treated as a runaway slave even though I had not yet been collared. He also said that if I ran my father would not get any of the money he was counting on as of my enslavement. The result would be enslavement for my father and my little brother.

I listened intently to what he said, knowing I would never run away given what that would mean to my father and brother. "Captain, I feel I should apologize to my father for putting him through any concern about the issue of my enslavement. I certainly knew about the financial problems he was having and I should have realized that my enslavement would be the best solution."

The captain reached out his hand and gave me a firm handshake. He grinned and said, "While you're still a free boy I can shake your hand and express my admiration of what a fine boy you are." Dad and Will went to the kitchen to get a bottle of fizzy water for celebration. The captain still had my hand in his. His other hand touched my mouth. He asked me to open my mouth so he could check my teeth. I knew this was something that was done to horses, but it seemed strange to do it to a person. His fingers tasted freshly washed but it felt odd as he touched my tongue, my teeth, and he especially seemed to be feeling my lips. He whispered "Such nice soft lips you have, little fella, I'm looking forward to having you in my house." then chuckled a little, all so quietly that neither my dad nor my brother heard him.

By the time dad and Will had returned from the kitchen, the captain had already left the house. The three of us hugged. Has any enslavement begun in better spirits? Two years. I would only be used for 'indoor purposes.' I knew the hard work and regimen would get me toned and build up my muscles. I would be 16 when the enslavement was ended and ready to start my life, maybe have money for prep school without any debts hanging over my family. At least that's what I thought at the time.

Chapter 2
Stripped & Examined In The Judge's Chambers

I kept my impending slave status a secret from my classmates. There was a stigma to being a slave and I didn't want to spoil the last few weeks of the school year by letting anyone know what was ahead for me. I felt bad about keeping the secret from my best friend Erik. He and I were co-captains of the track team. His dad was an executive manager at Winston Industries. His family owned their own home, five times the size of ours, and they even owned two slaves. But Erik was popular, had good grades, and had a lot of friends in the town so he preferred to stay in public school.

When we considered the end of the school year, my dad went to the captain with a request. If I were to enter slavery on my 14th birthday on June 1st, I wouldn't be able to finish the school year. I had already worked so hard and gotten such good grades, my dad wondered whether my enslavement could be postponed until school finished on June 15, so I'd get my middle school diploma. Dad reported back that the captain had not been pleased with the request. The captain had insisted that I enter slavery on my birthday, but said he would make provision for me to complete the school year. In making this allowance, of course he expected that my slave dates must be extended an additional 15 days. This seemed reasonable enough.

When June 1st arrived, my dad and brother escorted me to the big courthouse. We were scheduled for Chief Judge Snow's chambers. It was well known that Snow had been a college buddy of the captain, so we were assured there wouldn't be any hold-up, the captain always got just what he wanted at the courthouse. I arrived at 9 am and was immediately taken down to the judge's chambers and into a small waiting room. I was told that my father was dealing with some of the captain's lawyers on last minute details.

An hour later I was ushered into an impressive wood-paneled room. Heavy burgundy drapes kept out the sun. Even though the ceilings were so high there was something oppressive about being in the room. Even though it was a bright sunny morning, the room was dark. Seated around a desk at the far end of the room were the captain, the doctor and the judge. The doctor was a nondescript man, balding with glasses. Oddly enough the thought that entered my head was that it couldn't be possible the captain and the judge had gone to school together. The captain was tall and dignified, his skin looked healthy and tanned, his shoulders broad. The judge was a large man, so large that his breathing seemed labored, his skin was blotchy and he sat like a mountain in the big chair. His hair and beard were mostly white but with some traces of the auburn color he'd once had. He looked many years older than the captain.

The three dignified men pulled their large leather chairs close around me. I spun around feeling I didn't want to affront any of them with my back. Why were they all here? I was still in a daze spinning around when the doctor commanded, "Strip, boy." I froze on the spot. The doctor was more insistent when he said, "Remove all articles of clothing, boy."

The captain broke the tension in the magnificent room by smiling and saying, "Well, it's a good thing the boy isn't a slave yet or that would have earned him a strapping." He looked up at me and softly said, "Before the morning's over you will be my slave, boy. So get used to following orders now, for your own good. Strip naked."

My hands were shaking as I unbuttoned my shirt and let it fall. I had the fat-free lean body of a runner. I had defined abs but I considered myself scrawny. I admired the boys who were more muscular than I was and I was especially jealous of boys who already had armpit hair while I was still so smooth and boyish. My father had told me that due to their fair complexions the men in his family had never been especially hairy.

I hopped around pulling off my shoes and socks. Then as I undid my belt and started opening my pants I felt my penis begin to grow. Oh no. How do I stop this? I very slowly peeled down my best pair of Sunday pants and did my best to try to keep my hands in front of my white briefs. I felt sure that my stiffening penis was obvious through the tight underpants. I tried to think of anything to make my penis go soft. But all I could think about was that these powerful men were going to be looking at my naked body in a matter of moments. Truthfully, I had kept my penis hidden for years. For gym class at school I simply wore my white briefs under my gym uniform and we were not required to shower. For the track team, I would always wrap myself in a towel, take the end shower, and keep my back turned. I would then pull my underpants up under the towel. Other boys may have been looking at my butt, but I didn't give them a chance to see my penis.

It wasn't that I was ashamed of its size or anything. I had simply been brought up in a household that valued modesty. My father, my brother and I always wore pajamas, even in the time since my mother had died and it was just us men in the house. I had never checked out another boy's development in the showers after track team, so I didn't know where I stood in length. I did have an idea that I had been late in getting hair and of course I knew that I was not very hairy anywhere on my body.

The doctor shouted, "We don't have all day, boy. This is costing the captain money. Drop your underpants NOW!" I was so frightened that I pushed down my white briefs and my erect cock popped up. I could feel the heat of my blushing going up through my body to my face. All three men were looking at my cock. There was a chuckling and I put my hands in front of my cock – oh no, were they laughing at me? Was I too small? Did it look strange? But as soon as I put my hands over it, the doctor slapped my hands and said, "Hands behind your head, boy."

I sensed the laughter hadn't been at my expense. The judge turned to the captain and said, "That's the beauty of boys this age, isn't it?" The captain chuckled back and said, "One of many beauties." There was something about the way the captain said that and the way the captain was looking at me that sent a chill running up through my spine. On our previous meeting I had sensed his warmth and I had liked him. Now there was nothing warm or friendly about his manner.

I don't understand why they needed me totally naked for the first part of the examination. The doctor looked in my eyes and ears, up my nose and into my mouth. He tested my reflexes and my blood pressure. He had me stand so he could take my height and weigh me on a portable scale. During all of this my erection remained rigid. Then he turned his attention to my crotch. He fingered the base of my penis, then turned to the captain and said, "You sure won't have much to shave off this one." Shave?

Then before I could wonder what the doctor had meant about shaving me, the captain's fingers moved sensually around my balls. I hissed and pulled back from him. There was a hard slap on my butt. I yelped. I think it was the judge who had struck me. He met my eyes and said, "Remember, this man will be your master very soon. You don't pull away when your master wants to inspect you."

I was mute so the doctor now tugged on my balls causing me some pain and when he'd got my attention he said, "Bow your head to the captain and say, 'Master, I'm sorry, master.' I'm telling you this for your own good, boy." I did as the doctor said. I heard the words, "Master, I'm sorry master," coming from my mouth mechanically, and then I felt the captain's large hand patting gently on my bare bottom as he said, "I'm sure this one will be a good boy and an obedient slave." For some reason the captain's words made me feel better. I was calmer and ready to proceed with the examination.

I didn't mind so much when the captain's fingers once more began exploring my balls and the base of my penis. His fingertips pulled at my thin bush of pubic hair. He seemed to weigh and separate my testicles. Then when he pushed my foreskin back and fingered my wet cockhead, I groaned. He commented, "This will have to go. You know how I feel about a slave hiding anything from his master." I looked down horrified to realize that the captain now had my precum on his fingers. He reached for my nipple and rubbed his moist fingers back and forth leaving a trail of my own goo on my chest.

The doctor commanded me to turn around and face the desk. I was pushed at the waist so bent over the desk. Then I felt the doctor's thick fingers at the crack of my ass. My whole body tensed up but especially the cheeks of my butt. Nothing had ever entered or touched me back there – not even as part of a medical exam. My ass was slapped again. "Relax, boy," the doctor said. "You'd better get used to it." Then under his breath he mumbled, "Good lord, this is tight."

In response I heard the captain say, "Here let me try." Then I felt a different set of fingers prodding at my hole. There seemed to be two pairs of hands now. One pair was pulling my cheeks apart. While another hand pushed against my tightly closed bottom hole. The insistent finger pulled away and then I felt it push once more with something wet on the tip. Was it just spit? I gasped and cried out. The finger entered me and wiggled around. Then the captain whispered, "Mmmmm, so nice." What did he mean by that? Why did he use that tone of voice?

In my brain I kept turning over the words: Mmmm, so nice. Then my brain kept repeating over and over: This is wrong! Yes, I was only a teenager and yes I was about to become the captain's slave, but still this was so wrong. To make a boy be naked for a medical exam was one thing. But to be naked in front of three well-dressed older men, all groping me, touching my erection, and now fingering my butthole – this was so very wrong. In fact I was on the verge of speaking and asking how come three such important men all needed to be present just to examine and touch a naked young slave-to-be.

When they turned me from the desk to face them once more, my cock was still fully upright. The doctor pulled it down and let it bounce back up. He turned to the captain and said, "Above a 90-degree angle – quite a bit above. And nice sized balls." Then the doctor looked up at me and said, "OK, boy, now masturbate for us."

This time instead of freezing on the spot, I blurted out, "No way!" I pulled back from the men completely.

Before the second syllable had even finished, the captain stood up from his chair, towering over the rest of us. His quick action knocked over books and a clock from the desk. He bellowed one word, "WHAT?" I felt myself shrinking. I knew I was cowering. I was feeling small and it was like I wanted to get even smaller, to disappear completely into the floor. The captain's voice boomed and I'm sure they could hear him all over the building as he shouted, "Cancel this whole thing. I've taken out all this time for the little brat. Why should I care if his father and brother and he all end up in hard labor slavery at the far ends of the Earth. It shows you when you try to do something nice for some of these working families…."

I fell to my knees and found myself begging, "Please, please, captain, I'm so very sorry." He didn't want to hear me and railed on, "You told me you wouldn't be disrespectful, that you would obey." My whole body was shivering and my teeth were chattering, "I didn't mean to, captain. Please, sir, it's just that… well, no one ever saw me masturb… errrr, I mean I never even spoke about it with anyone… I mean I never even told anyone that I did it, sir." Tears were running down my cheeks now. My voice was hoarse when I said, "Please, sir, nobody ever even saw me with an erec…. With a… well, you know, captain." I knew my face was fully crimson.

The captain sat back in his chair, a look of amazement in his face. His voice was perfectly calm now as he said, "Don't lie to me boy. Have you ever had sex of any kind with a girl?"

"Well, sir, I kissed a girl and got my hand under her blouse," I crisply replied.

"Have you ever had sex with another boy?"

I was very fast to say "No, sir."

He seemed to think about the next question for a moment. Then carefully asked, "Have you ever had a penis in your ass? Or had one down your throat? Or have you ever masturbated another boy?"

I made a disgusted look as I shook my head vigorously. "Please, sir, I could never imagine doing things like that. I'm not gay."

Then ever so slowly he asked, "And has any boy ever played with your penis or ever rubbed his penis on you?"

Suddenly I felt tightness in my chest. I couldn't breath. However much I was blushing before this I felt my face go cold now. I had never spoken of the event. It was something that happened so long ago. I had made myself forget about it. The few times I thought of it over the years it didn't seem terribly important. It was just boys fooling around – when I was younger, a boy a few years years older had held me down in a pool house and rubbed himself on me until he creamed. It had all been over in less than three minutes. I pulled up my swimsuit and ran out of there. As I thought back on it, I realized I still had not taken a breath since I recalled that little episode. Now that little incident from years earlier seemed to take on a new significance.

The captain grew insistent. "I asked you a question, boy. The truth now."

I stammered and the words stumbled out of me as I tried to figure out what to say, "Captain, sir, a boy did do something like that but… well, I didn't want him to… it was all just… I ran out of there, sir…" I swallowed hard, my voice faded to a whisper as I continued "I never even spoke about it to anyone before, sir."

The doctor gave an evil snicker. "Quite an innocent lad we have here, wouldn't you say?" Why was he using that tone of voice?

My head was spinning remembering that incident in the pool house all those years ago. The older boy who had wanted me to play with his penis, who had pinned me and rubbed himself on me until he creamed – that boy had been the captain's older son, Brad. That was the reason I stopped going over there to swim with the younger son. I shook my head as if that would shake the memory away. After all, that incident had happened when Brad was just a bullying fourteen-year-old lording it over his little brother's little friend. Now Brad was seventeen and halfway through college-preparatory school. I was sure Brad must have changed over the years. I felt sure he would no longer be interested in the childish games of making a younger boy play with his dick. I kept telling myself I was sure of all this, trying to reassure myself. But knowing I would be a slave in that house I wasn't sure of anything.

My thoughts were cut off by the doctor who bluntly said, "Now masturbate for us, boy."

I looked from one man to another. The most powerful and richest men in our town. Each of them older than my father. Each sitting back in big comfortable chairs in their dark suits. Each man had his eyes fixed on my slim naked body. My cock was sticking up so stiff it was pointing to the ceiling. Nobody had ever even seen me with an erection before this, and now these intimidating old men were ordering me to masturbate in front of them.

Captain Winston spoke softly but firmly, "You were told to masturbate, boy. Don't you know enough to follow an order when it's given?" His voice now crept up my spine making me feel dirty. And yet I was so aroused my whole body was shaking. My teeth were chattering as I mumbled, "Y-y-yes sir." I touched my fingers to my cock and the judge snapped, "Put your other hand under the dickhead, boy, so you can catch your cum. You didn't intend to get it on my expensive carpet or on our expensive suits."

I positioned my left hand right under my dick head and it was good that I did. I had scarcely touched the length of my erection and my cock started spurting. I shot so hard I lost my breath. But I did my best to catch every drop of it in my palm. My head was spinning. When my head finally cleared and I could see the three old men grinning at me I shuddered and felt myself flush an even hotter red than before. Now that I had just cum, I felt even more embarrassed about my predicament if that was possible.

The doctor took my left hand and dipped two of his fingers into the puddle of my cream. He lifted his fingers, looked at the consistency, then sniffed it, then tasted it. Before I could get over the shock of his action, the captain and the judge did the very same thing. They all muttered to each other how healthy and sexy I was.

Sexy? Why were these men referring to me as sexy? I knew the captain had a wife and family. He couldn't possibly be gay. The judge was a widower with grown children. None of these distinguished town leaders could be gay. Why would they call a 14-year-old boy sexy?

I stood awkwardly and finally asked, "Please, may I have a tissue to wipe my hand?"

It seemed an innocent enough question but the three men erupted. "Lick it off your hand, boy!" the doctor ordered. Then the captain and judge added the same almost in unison. I brought my cum-covered palm to my tongue. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Very softly I said, "Please, captain, sir, I'm not gay. I never…"

The captain seemed amused. "Are you telling me you never even tasted your own cum when you've masturbated, boy?" I shook my head in the negative and repeated, "I'm not gay, sir." All three men laughed uproariously and the judge said, "Oh, this one's going to be a real delight to add to your household."

The captain looked at me through narrowed eyes and commanded, "Lick your hand clean, boy. Now!" I brought my hand to my mouth and licked at it. I gagged a little bit. The smell was making me queasy. But I found the taste was neutral, perhaps a bit salty. Just as I was licking my fingers, believing my ordeal to be over, the judge yelled, "Look what you've done you little brat!" I looked down to see a bit of my white cream on the toe of his black boot.

I fell to my knees and he pushed my head down so my mouth was at his boot. I was licking my own semen off this old man's smelly boot. My butt was raised. When I looked up I thought I saw the judge's pants tented up. I figured it must be my imagination. But as I turned my body to lift myself up, I definitely saw a tenting in the front of the captain's pants. He squeezed it with his fingers. I looked up at his face and he was looking down at me. He knew that I was looking at it as he squeezed it. He looked at me with such an evil grin I felt ice cold all over and shivered.

Chapter 3
Being Treated Like A Slave

So they had let me put my clothes back on just so I could be made to take them off again. This time there was a courtroom packed with well over a hundred people watching. As I dropped my pants I remembered hearing a childish joke about gay people – something about gays attending court hearings just so they could watch newly-enslaved boys being forced to strip. I looked around at the crowd and wondered how much truth there was in that joke. When I paused before peeling down my briefs, the bailiff beside me started taking his slave prod from its holder at his waist. Soon I was stepping out of my underwear. Before I could even put my hands in front of me to try to maintain a shred of modesty, the bailiff had pulled both my arms up and my hands behind my head, cuffing my wrists together.

That's when I finally noticed my father in the crowd. He was down on the floor of the courtroom speaking to the judge. I also saw the captain nearby and another group of serious-looking men who must have been the captain's lawyers. Judge Snow banged his gavel once again and said, "The petitioner will be heard by the court."

My father seemed flustered as he began, "Your honor, the captain very generously offered to take my son here on a two year enslavement in order for me to get enough money to pay off my debts. But, sir, the amount that's now in the contract…"

The captain stepped back and let his lawyers do the talking. "Your honor knows that the price of slaveflesh fluctuates with the markets. Also, because the boy only became of age today it was not possible to do a full examination of him until this morning. We can't help it if the fair market price the captain can offer for this item is less than the seller may have hoped for."

It seemed as if my father was trying to make sense of this. "B-but, your honor… captain… if I only get this amount for my son, Wally, I'll still be paying off the debt and with the compounded interest…"

A second lawyer handed my father a small piece of paper and said, "The captain is prepared to offer this amount for a five year enslavement." My father stammered, "B-b-but I only told my son about a two year…" He looked up at me and then said, "I need to discuss this with my son first."

Judge Snow banged his gavel. "Your son is not here, Mr. Smith. Your former son, the former Wallace Smith, is now a slave and slaves are not permitted to speak in court." My father looked lost. He kept looking from me and back to the judge. The judge continued, "We don't have all day, Mr. Smith. You can either take the captain's generous offer for two years of the boy's enslavement or the offer for five years. Which will it be?" I couldn't hear my father's whispered voice, but I heard the judge repeat, "Five years' enslavement then."

One of the lawyers leaped to his feet and whispered something else to the judge, who banged his gavel once more and decreed, "That will be five years and an extra fifteen days. Apparently, the very generous Captain Winston is inconveniencing himself to accommodate this slave's wish to complete his school year." The judge changed his tone and directly addressed the captain when he said, "You'll have to stop being so thoughtful and considerate, Captain, and remember you are a businessman."

Before the judge had even finished saying that last remark, I was being led down a flight of stairs to the basement of this building. A collar was fitted around my neck – one of the newer models sleek silver with a soft leather lining – and the cuffs on my wrists were attached to the collar. Then a microchip was placed inside the flesh behind my left ear and another was placed inside the flesh under my right armpit. I knew this was a global positioning chip that could pinpoint my exact location. This is one of the modern advances that's made it hopeless for a slave to ever escape.

The next thing that happened was that I was strapped to a slanted board while my slave ID number was tattooed across my upper right chest. Then I was flipped over and the number was tattooed across my left butt cheek. The slave who did this procedure never once looked up to see my face. I was told to memorize my number 94114W01. When the tattooing was complete and I was still strapped down facing the slanted board two guards came up behind me. I couldn't see who they were. One of them began rubbing a finger up and down my ass crack and smirked, "This is sure one fuckable boy." Every muscle in my body tensed up and I called out, "Stop that, you have no right." In an instant I felt a strap slap across both butt cheeks and I yelled out in pain. The same voice behind me said, "You have a lot to learn about your new status. First I'll put some stripes on this slave ass, then I'll fuck you good."

I was frozen with fear, but then I heard the second guard whispering urgently, "Watch it. This one was bought by the captain." There was silence and stillness behind me. Then the first voice grumbled, "Well at least I can use the paddle on him." What followed were ten vicious swats with a wooden paddle. My bottom was aching and felt hot. But in an odd way I felt a sense of relief. This guard was prepared to slice up my ass with a strap and then rape it, but the fact that the captain was my owner had saved me. I closed my eyes and tried to relax to ease the pain in my bottom.

I was taken into the parking lot naked except for my collar, handcuffs and shackles on my ankles. Just a few hours earlier I was in this same parking lot fully dressed as a free boy. Now the free people passing looked over at my body. What were they thinking? I saw a string of slaves being pushed close together into a transport. I couldn't see how they were being positioned in there, but it seemed awful, and even from a distance I could smell the odor. But I was led instead to a van and placed into a cage in the back. It wasn't the way I was used to traveling, but again I felt the privilege of being the captain's slave. I hadn't been herded and chained up into some dark smelly truck. I was the only slave in this van and I was taken directly to the captain's mansion.

I had never before seen the slave entrance around the back. The driver handed me over to a tall muscular slave who signed for me. Even after the driver removed my handcuffs and shackles, I remained in position with my hands behind my back and my feet spread. I also kept my head down, looking at a point on the ground in front of me. This meant I was looking directly at the exposed penis of the muscular slave who had signed for me. His pubes were shaved as was all his body hair and there was a strap behind his balls that made his penis stand out more prominently.

When the driver had left, the slave in front of me said, "You can look up now. I'm Rye and I have instructions of what's to be done with you, boy."

I looked up. He was a handsome man in his early-20s. Even cropped close in usual slave style I could tell that he had blond curly hair. After looking at him and hearing his name, I knew I had seen this slave before. That summer when I visited the mansion and swam in the pool with the captain's two sons, this same blond slave had often been naked working in the garden, digging or watering or pulling the big mower over the large expanse of grass. Sometimes he would be around the pool cleaning it out. I tried not to look at him. I wasn't used to being around slaves. And I was embarrassed by the man's nudity. And yet he had a body to be admired. Back then I thought how much he looked like a college athlete – if not for his enslavement that's probably what he would have been.

One day I was swimming with Brad and Randy and having a great time, when Rye came to the side of the pool to check the chemicals in the water. Brad said, "How do you like how his dick is standing out like that? Daddy put a cinch behind his balls to make it more prominent." A million thoughts went through my head at the time. I wanted to ask why his daddy would do such a thing. I wanted to ask how they could make a grown man go around naked like that. But instead I finally voiced a question: "I thought guys got hair around their dicks when they get older?"

Brad laughed at me, the nasty laugh that I'd heard the first day he taunted me on the street. "Slaves have all their body hair shaved." When I asked why he looked frustrated with me and said, "Because they're slaves, stupid!" He ordered the slave to stand at attention and then ordered him to get erect. I watched and blushed as, without using his hands, the athletic blond slave willed his penis to stand upright in a matter of seconds.

Then Brad told me to come into the changing room with him and he would show me what I wanted to see. I followed him naively. That was when he tried to get me to play with his dick, we had our little altercation and I ended up with Brad's cream all over my belly, my legs and my swimsuit. I ran out of the changing room, past a bewildered looking Randy, and I didn't even bother to take my shirt. I remember the blond slave watching me as I ran past. Now I was faced with the same slave. He was bulkier and, of course, I had grown quite a bit, but he seemed to be looking at me in the same way he had all those years earlier.

Now I was also a slave. I was on an equal footing with Rye in this household. He led me down a passageway to a tiled room unlike any I had seen before. There was a slanted board exactly like the one I'd been strapped to for my tattooing at the courthouse. Rye directed me to lean against it and strapped me against the board. Then he brought out some clippers. I'd always been so proud of my hair, dirty blond with just a little curl to it, and I spent a long time each day getting it to look just right. I felt like crying as Rye ran the clippers over my head and great chunks of hair fell on all sides of me. But I had expected it. I was a slave after all.

Then I felt Rye rubbing soap under my arms and then quickly using a straight razor to denude my underarms of hair (even though I hadn't detected any). I squirmed when he soaped around the base of my penis. In just a few strokes my pubic patch was gone. My balls tingled as he pulled down on my sac and stretched it out. Some soap. Some quick swipes with the razor. Then he flipped me over. He spread my buttcheeks and commented, "Doesn't look like there's anything to shave back here. But the captain is fussy about a slave's crack." I felt the tickling of the soap and then the razor sliding outward from my ass crack toward each cheek.

I felt very vulnerable at that moment. He was behind me naked. I remembered how quickly he had boned up when Brad had ordered him to do so. Was his erection now poised near my butt? I pulled my cheeks together and muttered, "You better not get any ideas of doing anything back there." The big slave slapped my ass, laughed loudly, and said, "I only do what my master orders me to do, boy. If I were to fuck your ass today master would either bullwhip me, take my balls, or both."

When Rye unstrapped me from the slanted board he led me over to an open shower area. But it was unlike any shower I'd seen before. It included drains, but also a toilet and there were multiple shower heads with space for at least six people in the spray of water. The muscular slave started explaining to me that he usually had a partner as this household needed two bath attendants a lot of the time. But the captain just sold his partner and he was left with all the burden of the work on his own.

I protested when I realized he intended to give me an enema. I barely remembered my mother giving me one when I was very small. It had been humiliating for me as a little child. Now I was horrified of the thought that I'd have an enema administered by this naked man. But he made it clear that this was on the captain's orders. Then he said that I'd soon get used to it as household slaves like me were cleaned out every night. I wasn't just subjected to one enema, but to a series of three, before Rye declared that the water was clean enough and I was done.

He then led me to another passageway where a cage stood against a wall. The cage was six feettall, by six feet wide, by four feet deep [1.8 x 1.8 x 1.2 m]. There was a drain in one corner to be used as a toilet and there was a penis-shaped object sticking out from another corner. I was told this was my water supply and I could drink by sucking on the dildo. Also in the cage were my schoolbooks, along with some lined paper and two pens.

Rye explained to me that the captain had very generously set this up for me to use during the next two weeks while I'd be going to school. He then rattled off information that he'd obviously memorized point by point. He told me I would be expected to jog to school and back (slaves were expected to jog or run when en route). He told me I would leave the house 20 minutes before school started and be expected back at the house 30 minutes after school let out. I told him that I didn't think I could make the three-mile [5 km] jog in that amount of time. He seemed annoyed and pointed out "the captain is giving you an extra ten minutes to get back here because it's uphill." He also made it clear I'd be strapped for each minute I was late either arriving at school or arriving back.

There was more he had to tell me. The captain did not want my father to have any contact with me during the fifteen days I was finishing up the school year. I was not to stay at school for any extra activities. When he said I would not be attending my high school graduation in two weeks' time, I asked if there was any way I could talk to the captain and appeal this decision. "Maybe the captain just doesn't know how important it is to me!" Rye looked at me like I was crazy. Then in a quiet, intense voice he said, "You're a slave in this household, boy. That's all you are to the captain, his newest bit of slaveflesh. The only reason he's doing all this to let you finish up your school year is because your father had it written into the contract. Don't push him on this. Don't push him on anything." Giving it some thought, Rye concluded, "Slaves don't ask for things. Slaves aren't supposed to want anything. And if a slave doesn't understand that, he will be punished for sure."

Before leaving me for the night, Rye brought me a pair of white underpants and a pair of cloth sneakers. The single article of clothing looked like a pair of briefs, but the fabric was thinner and they were cut so tight that they would have exposed my pubes (if I still had them) and I could feel the top of my ass crack being exposed as well. This was one of many designs for slave shorts currently in fashion. Rye explained that the captain liked the fact that the shorts resembled free boy underpants. I asked about clothes for the next day, clothes I could wear to go to school. Rye seemed surprised by my question. "You're a slave. That's what you'll be wearing."

I barely slept that night. All I had was a bedroll less than an inch [2½ cm] thick, no pillow and no cover. In the morning Rye gave me a bowl of slave chow, but with no utensils so I had to eat it by hand. I gathered up my books and at 7:40 I began my fast jog to school. It was strange being outdoors and passing down familiar streets wearing nothing but my slave collar, the thin white underpants and the white cloth sneakers that had been provided for me. All during middle school I had never been late, but that morning I arrived seven minutes after the first bell rang. My experience at school turned into its own nightmare.

The principal Mr. Tucci had always liked me and been kind to me. But he was a strict man from a traditional background who had strong beliefs about the treatment of slaves. I would have to stand in the back of the room in each of my classes. Since slaves were not allowed to sit in the presence of free people, I would not be able to sit in the presence of any classmates for the entire school day. For lunch I would eat slave chow out in the back shed with the slaves of the janitorial staff so that I would not intermingle with the free students. I had never spoken to them or paid much attention to the slaves that worked around the school. Now I'd be sharing a meal with them. As for my fellow students, some of them were too embarrassed to look at me while others couldn't stop staring at me.

Erik had been my best friend since starting high school and we were co-captains of the track team. When I saw him glaring at me in the hall, I approached him and quietly asked, "Erik, can we talk?" I put my hand on his arm.

He smacked my hand away and shouted, "F**king slave, don't you know enough to call a free man 'Sir'?" Then he turned his back to me and began ranting at the random group of students around him, "I don't know what's happened to slave training these days. If that damn slave tries to talk to me again or puts a hand on me again I will demand that he get a public caning." My heart sank as I watched him walk away.

At lunch I went to the shed out behind the school where the school's three slaves lived. Noggy was the senior slave, having been at the school for more than twenty years. His face was worn with age, but he was powerfully built, with thick arms and a broad chest. The other two were younger – Minty had started at the school when I was in the fifth grade and Rolo, who looked close to my age, had started that very year. All of them were very deferential around the students. But I was no longer a student as I sat among them in just the white briefs, eating slave chow with my hands.

Noggy grinned over at me as he opened his rough slave pants and pulled out his erect penis. "Only chance during the day to get some relief. C'mon, we're all slaves here, you can stroke your dick with us, boy." Before long the two younger slaves had also pulled out their erections and were stroking themselves quickly up and down. I looked away. I swore that no matter how long I was a slave I wouldn't be reduced to such animalistic behavior. Rolo snorted, "Look who thinks he's too good for us." I stormed out of the shed.

Since I wasn't allowed to mingle with the other students, I just lurked behind the shed. But I couldn't focus on any of my schoolwork. I thought about what Noggy had said about this being the only time of day to get relief. Being so exposed had made my penis twitch and get semi-erect often during the morning. I reached my hand down into the white briefs and started to stroke myself, pulling my hardon out of one leg of the small garment and figuring I'd finish off quickly. I closed my eyes as my semen spurted onto the ground. But before it finished spewing out of me I heard cries of, "Eeeeuuuu, look what that slave is doing!"

I opened my eyes. Not three yards away stood a group of sixth grade boys sneaking cigarettes at the back of the school grounds. I was frozen to the spot as they called out, "Disgusting pervert!" and "See, that's what slaves are like!" Then they began to pick up handfuls of small pebbles and hurl them at me. I ducked and tried to make my way back into the shed when I noticed that my younger brother was part of the group harassing me so.

Will was a sixth grader at the same school where I was about to graduate. Since he'd started middle school he was always seeking me out and following me around. I knew he had always looked up to me. Had this been any other day of his school career, he would be fearful knowing I'd report to dad that he had been smoking cigarettes with some unsavory classmates. But now he picked up handfuls of pebbles with his mates and hurled them in my direction. I ducked back into the shed my heart beating fast. The three slaves inside were just closing up their rough pants as I entered. "Well, look who decided to honor us with his presence." Thankfully the bell marking the end of lunch period rang just then.

The low point for me came in the passing time before the last period of the day. I was crossing the courtyard when I saw Eddie, the quarterback of our football team. Nobody liked Eddie. And Eddie had the greatest resentment of me. I was set to receive the top medal from the physical education department at graduation, even though Eddie and his football buddies didn't consider track to be a real sport.

As he passed me Eddie grabbed a container of leftover food one of his buddies was carrying and he tossed it on the ground in front of me, shouting, "Slave, clean up that mess." I looked down to see the remnants of a spaghetti lunch spread in a three-foot [90 cm] arc. I glared back at Eddie and said, "Go to hell, Eddie. I'm not cleaning up your mess."

I hadn't noticed Mr. Tucci nearby. One of Eddie's friends was pulling Mr. Tucci toward our little confrontation. When the principal got the gist of everything that was going on, he ordered me to bend over the arm of a nearby bench. I shuddered as he pulled down just the back of my white briefs, knowing that Eddie and his football-playing buddies were all watching and chuckling. Then I got six hard swats from Mr. Tucci's hand. I was on the verge of crying, not so much from the pain but from the utter humiliation. But I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing tears in my eyes.

As if that humiliation wasn't enough I was made to kneel and clean up the food on the ground using just my hands. I tried to carry the remnants of pasta and sauce to the nearby garbage can, but I kept leaving a trail of drips, spots that I then had to try to rub clean with my palms. Mr. Tucci gave Eddie and his friends a pass to get to their last class of the day late, so these football players could supervise me. My knees and hands were scraped raw and dirty and the teacher for my last period class gave me a demerit for arriving late without a pass.

I got back to the slave entrance of the captain's house five minutes late. Added to the seven minutes I'd been late arriving at school that morning, I'd be receiving twelve swats of the paddle. After supervising my enemas and shower for the evening, Rye administered the paddling. I gritted my teeth with anger – Rye was also a slave, how could he be so brutal to me? I was locked into my little cage, too depressed to look at any of my books or work on any of my assignments. As exhausted as I was I still couldn't sleep soundly – my butt ached terribly, my emotions were shattered by the treatment I'd received from my former best friend and my little brother, and my pride was wounded from my encounter with Eddie and his football team buddies.

And the rest of that week just went downhill from there.

Chapter 4
Humiliated At School

My first day at school was filled with humiliation. My second day began with one bit of good news. It seems my history teacher, Mr. Drape, who was known to stand up for slave's rights, had protested to the principal about the fact that I was made to stand in each of my classes. The principal had acquiesced. He could not condone me sitting in a chair alongside free people, but he agreed I could sit on the floor near the back of each classroom. It was one more humiliation, but at least my legs didn't ache.

At lunchtime I returned to the slave shed near the back of the school grounds. Only Noggy and Rolo were there, the third slave off on some assignment. Noggy actually had a real conversation with me while I ate my slave chow by hand. He asked me about myself and about my terms of enslavement. I found out that he had once had a family with two sons older than I was. He was enslaved when he stole a car and drove drunk, injuring another driver. "It was two broken fingers the other driver had. But the law's the law. I was enslaved for life."

Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Rolo got on his knees, pulled out the older slave's cock, and began sucking it. I turned to face the other direction, pretending there was something interesting on the gray wall. I cleared my throat and said, "I'm not gay."

Rolo lifted his head from his efforts and said, "Do you think I'm gay, buddy? Hell, I fought hard when the slave trainer tried to get me to learn how to suck. But, they have ways." He was about to turn back to the thick cock in front of him but added, "And it's not like they give slaves a chance to fuck pussy – unless they use you for breeding."

As Noggy's cock slipped once more into the younger slave's mouth, he grinned and said, "Back when I was married and a dad I used to beat up homos. When I became a slave and they tried to get me to take cock down my throat and up my ass I put up such a fight they flogged the skin off my back three times over." I had seen how rough his back looked and I now understood why.

Noggy leaned down and whispered something to Rolo. The younger slave grinned up at me and licked his lips. He asked, "You ever have that dick of yours in a nice warm mouth, boy?"

That question sent a surge through me. I blushed and stammered. The two other slaves moved to where I was standing. Rolo paid no attention to my half-hearted protests as he peeled my briefs down to my knees and sank his mouth all the way onto my hard penis. Noggy took my hand and clasped it around his stiff rod. He had his hand over mine as he moved it up and down the length of his erection.

The older slave met my eyes as he asked, "Haven't you ever jerked off a buddy?" I shook my head in the negative. I wanted to tell him this was the first cock I'd ever touched aside from my own, but I couldn't find the words. Since I'd started middle school I had seen this powerfully built, blunt-faced slave working around the building and never gave him a second thought. Now here I was masturbating him as the younger slave gave me my first blowjob.

Noggy's rough fingers were moving all over my smooth slim body. He was breathing hard as he grumbled, "Such nice soft hands you got, kid. Just like I'm being jacked off by a free boy. Hell, I'd lose my balls if I ever got a free boy into this shed stripped down and giving me a handjob like you're doing, Wally. Hell, I've seen you around school, boy. I've beat my meat thinking about you and all your pals on the track team, and what you'd look like stripped down. And now I finally have you…"

With that my cock started spewing in Rolo's throat and Noggy's cock started shooting all over my fingers. Some of his spunk landed on my chest, my belly and my thighs. Even as his thick white cream landed on me, the door of the shed opened. My eyes went wide as I realized Coach Baker was standing there looking at us. The man who was the head of the athletic program at our school and who had been my coach on the track team was now taking in the whole scene.

My face was flushed red as the coach turned and left without saying a word.

The rest of the day I was filled with worry over what Coach Baker would do or say about the scene he had observed. But of course I was distracted by the many little indignities that I was already learning to expect as a slave. At one point I was standing at my locker trying to get the combination open so I could store a book I wouldn't need till the next day (I would later learn that the locker combination had been changed and all the contents sent to my father, since slaves couldn't own anything). A bunch of sixth grade boys came up behind me and pulled down the thin white briefs. I dropped all my books as I struggled to regain my one article of clothing. But the boys tripped me so I ended up sprawled on my belly. Fingers traced the red marks left from the paddling the night before. I wanted to shout at them to fuck off, but I'd learned the previous day what would happen if I was disrespectful to free boys.

Soon enough, Mr. Duffy, the health education teacher, shouted for the boys to get to class. I struggled to stand but before I could pull my shorts back into place I felt Mr. Duffy's fingers caressing my exposed ass cheeks. I shuddered. Everyone knew that Mr. Duffy was gay – he didn't try to hide it. So now I had an acknowledged homosexual tenderly caressing my bare ass. He told me to report to his classroom.

When I got to Mr. Duffy's classroom there were 30 boys for his sixth grade health education class. In the back row I noticed my younger brother, Will. The teacher ordered me to turn my back to the class and bend over the front counter in the room. My briefs were instantly pushed all the way down my legs. This elicited chuckles from the boys in the room. I remembered the textbook for the class and remembered the delight Mr. Duffy had taken when I was a sixth grader showing us pictures of the results of paddling, caning, or whipping a slave's ass. Now he had a live model – me! He ordered the class to line up so they could each run their hands over the marks on my exposed ass.

As they filed past and got their feels, some of them slapped my bottom cheeks. A few even tried to push a finger into my anus. Instead of reprimanding his students for their behavior, Mr. Duffy warned the boys, "You don't want to do that unless you know the slave has been cleaned properly inside." I suddenly remembered him making that same statement when I was in his class two years earlier, but the words hadn't meant anything to me back then.

I kept my head down. I purposely didn't want to know which boy was doing what. But then I heard the softest whisper, "Wally, I'm so sorry man." I glanced to the side and saw my younger brother Will moving away as the next boy took his place. It was a small gesture. He had said it so softly that none of his classmates could hear him. He probably wasn't even certain I had heard him. But those five words meant the world to me.

My briefs back in place, Mr. Duffy walked me to the door of the room. He pressed his fingers into the crack of my ass and whispered, "If I owned you, boy, me and my partner would be up this ass every single night." I simply said, "Yes, sir," as I'd been taught. At least he gave me a note to bring to my teacher for the class time I had missed.

I had been five minutes late to school that morning. Being able to sit on the floor during classes meant my legs weren't as strained as the previous day when I'd had to stand. I made it back to the captain's house in just the right amount of time. So my punishment for that night would only be five swats of the paddle. I don't know whether it's the fact that my skin had been toughened by the previous day's twelve swats or whether it was psychological, but the paddle didn't seem to hurt as much this second night. I suppose I had also gotten used to sleeping in the cage. I finished handwriting my history final paper and then curled up on the sleeping mat and finally had a good night's sleep.

The following morning I got to school on time. The day started with history class and Mr. Drape brought me to the front of the room to talk about slavery. Eddie, the football quarterback, announced that his father said free men never had to listen to slaves and that slaves had no right to ever address a group of free men. Mr. Drape tried to explain his theory of education and what we could learn by listening to each other, but Eddie objected and simply left the room. Not ten minutes later Eddie returned with the principal, who sided with the quarterback and told Mr. Drape in no uncertain terms that a slave was not to be heard speaking in the classroom, not even to answer a question. Of course he never made any specific reference to me, even though I was the only slave in the room.

I received a note right before lunch instructing me to get slave chow from the shed out back and then to report immediately to Coach Baker's office in the gym – he had requested that I help him in the storage room. I breathed a sigh of relief. I figured this meant the coach wasn't going to get me in trouble for the scene he'd walked in on the previous day with me and the two maintenance slaves. He had always shown he cared about me as a student and as a person. I figured he just wanted to get me away from their bad influence.

The coach had been my mentor throughout middle school. A lot of students considered Coach Baker mean or were scared or intimidated by him. But he was the closest I had to a friend on the faculty. When my mother had been ill and then died, the coach was supportive and generous, often staying to talk to me after school. Back when I was a sixth grader he said I had great potential and he had worked me hard to realize that potential. I had led our track team to become county champs and we had placed impressively in state competition. I looked forward to seeing the coach at lunchtime.

He instructed me to eat my slave chow standing in his office as he ignored me and finished up some paperwork. Then he directed me to the equipment storage closet. I figured we would have one of our man-to-man talks like we'd often had before. But he locked the door, then leaned back against a shelf of mats and just looked at me. I suddenly felt awkward standing there in only the skimpy briefs. When I started to move he commanded, "Remain at slave rest position, boy." He had never used that tone in speaking to me before.

I bowed my head, clasped my hands behind my back, and positioned my feet spread apart. He started feeling my muscles, pressing his fingers into my pecs, then my biceps, then into my thighs. "You haven't been at an auction, boy, have you? So you haven't had crowds of men examining you?"

"No, sir," I quickly snapped. I hadn't intended to address him that way. I was counting on calling him "Coach" like I always had. But there was something about his manner. This was not going to be a man-to-man chat. Coach Baker was treating me like the slave I was.

"You've been a slave less than a week and you're already sucking slave cock, boy?"

"N-no, sir, never."

"What did I see going on in that shed yesterday at lunch, boy?" Why was the coach spitting the word "boy" at me with such venom.

"C-coach, they came up to me and offered oral… well, I had never before had a mouth…" My face was flushed deep red.

"And that's why you were playing with the penis of that rough nasty-looking old slave, Noggy? Are you sexually aroused by Noggy's penis, boy?"

"No, coach, no way. You know me coach. I'm not like that…"

I had broken the slave rest pose to take a step closer to him and the coach was not going to stand for that. His face was inches from me as he lectured me loudly about calling him "sir" and about maintaining proper slave decorum. "You know that a slave must tell the truth to a free man. You know you would be punished severely for lying to me, don't you, boy?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Have you ever had a penis in your mouth, boy? Have you ever had one in your ass?"

"No, sir. Never anything like that, sir."

"At your new household, where you're serving as a slave – you haven't yet been used for sex, boy?"

I shook my head vigorously. "No, sir!" I wanted to go on to tell Coach Baker about the guard at the courthouse who wanted to rape my bottom, but who stopped when he found out I belonged to Captain Winston. But Coach Baker never gave me a chance. I was starting to think that, in spite of his tone of voice, the coach still cared about me – he was concerned about what had been done to me.

But just as I was having warm feelings once more for this man, he started to push down his sweatpants and then his jockstrap. His cock was thick and hairy and already semi-erect. I looked from his cock up to his face, not sure what he wanted.

"You used your hand on that ugly old slave yesterday. The least I could expect from you is a nice slow handjob, slave."

"Y-yes, sir," I answered obediently. I reached out my hand and began stroking his cock. He pushed up his shirt and told me to use my other hand to rub and pull on his nipples. While I did this he started feeling me up with both his hands, tugging my nipples and squeezing my balls roughly. It seemed as if he wanted to test just how tough I was, or else that he wanted to hurt me.

He looked quite serious as he said, "I'm not gay, you know. Doing things with a slaveboy isn't the same as doing things with free men." He closed his eyes and then moaned, "If the captain gave me permission I would fuck your ass so damn hard and long you'd never forget I'd been up there."

What could I say? "Yes, sir." I'd been at the school for three years and never imagined there were so many men looking at my ass with such interest. Or was it only because I was a slave that men were thinking about using me for sex?

The coach made a sudden grab for my hand and then his cock started shooting jizz that landed on my chest, on my belly, and on my white briefs. As he turned away from me, he gave me one paper towel to wipe myself.

The rest of the day I was in a daze, which hardly mattered because suddenly – in classes where I had been a star pupil – I was invisible to all my teachers. I figured the edict must have gone out from Mr. Tucci about not allowing a slave to answer any questions in class.

The good news was that I made good time arriving back at the house. The bad news was that the captain's older son, Brad, had returned home from prep school that very day.

Chapter 5
Young Master Brad

Everything had progressed as usual when I got back from school that afternoon. I even tolerated Rye's shaving me and giving me an enema much better than I had before. After all, he had a job to do. Maybe I was in better spirits because I hadn't earned a paddling that night. When I was brought back to my cell I opened my chemistry book to study for my final exam the following day.

Rye remained looking at me for a long moment. Then he said, "You do know how to address any of your masters properly?"

I looked up at him. "Masters? More than one? I thought the captain was my master?"

"The captain's sons are also your masters." Then he continued, "And if a free man comes into your presence you will immediately stand up and assume slave rest position. You do know that, don't you?" He actually seemed worried about me.

I smiled up at Rye and said, "Would you stop fussing. Of course I know all of that."

Another hour passed and I was intently reviewing my chemistry book when suddenly the door at the far end of the hallway opened and Brad Winston strode in. He stood in front of my cell. As fast as I could, I pulled a piece of paper to use as a bookmark, and then I rose to stand at slave rest position.

"What the hell is this?" the blond prep school athlete snarled.

"S-sir? I mean… M-master? I don't understand the question, master."

Once again I heard his cruel, mocking laugh. "And my father thinks he bought a smart slave. I suppose you're as stupid as you are slovenly, slaveboy." I suppressed my urge to speak. I had gotten straight "A" grades, while everyone knew Brad had always struggled in school with "Gentlemen's C's" – the grades that were given to the dimwitted sons of wealthy donors.

Enunciating each syllable very loudly, Brad shouted, "The an-swer is YES, MAS-TER!"

"Y-yes, master," I repeated, shaking with fear now.

"And when your master comes in to inspect you, you present yourself totally. How dare you cover yourself in the presence of your master? Give me those shorts, boy."

I peeled down the white briefs as quickly as I could and then followed his orders and handed my young master the one garment that had covered me. He unlocked the door of the cell and ordered me to step out so he could examine me all over.

As he prodded at each of my muscle groups, he continued berating me, "Also, when your master enters you stand and assume a respectful pose instantly. How dare you make a free man wait while you find a bookmark."

Each of his hands was gripping one of my nipples. He twisted and pulled them so hard I thought he would rip them off. I groaned with pain as I answered, "Yes, master. I'm sorry, master."

Then his hands were down at my genitals. He tugged hard on my penis and then declared, "This foreskin will have to go. We can have fun taking it off." I shuddered with horror. Then Brad's fingers moved down to my balls. He tugged and twisted and I nearly doubled over. He slapped my face so hard I fell to the ground.

"You're not doing a very good job of maintaining slave rest position, boy!"

Scrambling to my feet, I wanted to ask how I could be expected to maintain the proper pose when he hurt my testicles and knocked me to the ground. But I knew that would only make matters worse. I looked down at the ground and said, "Yes, master. I'll try harder, master."

"Now there's some nonsense about letting you attend school during he day, slaveboy. My father is too softhearted with the likes of you and your family. He's left certain instructions. While you're still attending school he doesn't want us to leave too many marks on your body. Also, while you're still attending school he doesn't want you used as a slaveboy should properly be used."

My mind was reeling. What did that last remark mean? "Soon enough we'll have you here on the estate for good and we can start having some fun with you." With that, Brad unzipped his tan slacks, opened the belt, and let them fall to his knees. He pulled his long penis out of his boxer shorts and stroked it a few times. There was a bead of wetness at the tip of it.

When he saw me looking at his cock he remarked, "But that's OK with me. For old time's sake I'd enjoy just getting a handjob from you, Wally. Yeah, I think we're gonna keep Wally as your slave name. I like the sound of it. Remember when I said to you, C'mon Wally, just put your hand on it and stroke it up and down. But you wouldn't do it. You acted like you were too good to touch my cock. Now look at you."

The command was implied. I wrapped my fingers around his erection and began slowly stroking. Brad grinned broadly. "That's it, Wally. Take care of your master. It's good to serve your betters, boy. Hot damn, I wish we could've enslaved you back then, back when I had you in the poolhouse. Think of all the years of fun I would've had with you. And all the fun my dad would've had with you. By now you'd be so well trained we'd get a great price from a boy brothel for you, Wally.

I closed my eyes and tried to convince myself that Brad was making all this up just to upset me. The captain had been so nice to me – no way would make me do disgusting sex thing. And as for Brad's implications, everyone knew that sex was only legal once a slaveboy had turned fourteen. Sold to a boy brothel? The captain had an agreement with my father to keep me for household uses.

Brad had continued holding my white slave briefs in his hand. He groaned loudly and then pressed the small bit of white fabric against the head of his penis. I felt the rod pulsating under my stroking hand. Brad was shooting a big load of spunk into the pair of briefs.

When he was catching his breath, he handed me the briefs and told me to put them on. "B-but, master, they're all messy from…" Once again he slapped me hard across the face. This time I just managed to maintain my balance.

"Do you think your master is so stupid he doesn't know that his cum is on your slave shorts? Instead of whining about it, you should be thanking me for honoring you with my semen."

I hesitated just a moment before saying, "Th-thank you, master, for giving me this honor."

Brad suddenly shouted for Rye. The tall blond servant appeared in the room instantly. Apparently he'd been right on the other side of the door, waiting his master's bidding. Brad instructed Rye to attach my wrists to the bars on the top of the cage, up high and spread apart. I was facing the cage and my toes could just barely touch the floor. Then Brad asked for a very specific cane.

Rye was back in a flash, his head bowed, holding out the cane to Brad. Then in a quiet voice, Rye said, "Master Brad, forgive this slave for speaking but your father's instructions…"

"My father didn't want any permanent marks left on the new slave. You know that with this thicker cane the marks will fade in three days. And besides, this slave is my property and not my father's. It's his gift to me and long overdue if I say so myself."

"Yes, master," Rye said as he backed away.

I heard the swish of the cane through the air and kept bracing myself for the feel of it on my flesh. Just when I finally relaxed and wasn't ready for it, I felt the cane slice down across both buttocks. This would not be the last time I'd receive a punishment from Brad. I would come to understand that he enjoyed teasing and taunting. He enjoyed having a slave anticipate a strike that would not come, and then raining down a powerful series of blows on a slave's body just when the victim was unprepared.

Master Brad did not confine himself to my butt. I felt the cane across my back and across my thighs as well. Twenty blows altogether. I was shaking and could barely stand when Rye uncuffed me from the bars of the cage. Rye quickly whispered in my ear, "Thank master for helping to correct you and make you a better slave."

My lips moved as I tried to form the words, "Th-thank you, master, for correcting me and… and for making me a better slave, master."

Then Rye instructed, "Get down on the ground and kiss his shoes." I did as the tall slave said and heard Brad chuckling.

As I rose to my feet Brad was still chuckling. He said, "I'll tell you what, boy. I've thought about you having to put on those briefs with so much of my sperm all over the fabric. It might be too uncomfortable for you. So, before you put them back on, you can lick off any excess sperm."

Brad whispered in my ear, "Don't hesitate, you little fool."

I stuck out my tongue and was licking away at the white fabric. Just a few days before, the captain had ordered me to taste my own spunk from my hand. Now Brad, the captain's son, was taking this a step further. At his command, I was licking Brad's semen from the fabric of the underpants I'd be forced to wear. It had been odd enough tasting my own cream. Now I was tasting the cream from this nasty high school jock.

The following morning, the remnants of Brad's cum had dried and discolored the white fabric of the briefs. I begged Rye for a clean pair. He simply said that he could not go against direct orders from our masters. I had to go to school to take my chemistry final exam. I knew I'd do well on the test. I ran quickly and got to school just as the bell was about to ring. I moved fast and crouched down on the floor of the classroom, hoping nobody would notice what my briefs looked like.

It was the group of sixth grade boys who made a loud fuss about the cane marks on my exposed flesh and the cum stains hardened on my white underpants. One of them called out, "Look what the slave did to his tighty whities!" The others all laughed as a boy turned to my little brother and said, "Damn. You used to share a bedroom with him. I bet it stank from boyjuice." My brother spoke up loud and said, "That was before he was a slave. It's only after they become slaves that they start getting all perverted." I ran down the hall not wanting to hear anymore.

I did well on the chemistry final and then got my slave chow and reported to Coach Baker's office. Once again he took me into the equipment room. This time he wasn't so interested in using my hand to get off. I was made to lie down on a mat. He pulled off all his clothes. He had an impressive body for a man of his age, though most of his broad, defined chest was hidden by a thick covering of hair. He climbed on top of me and immediately started grinding his hard cock against me. His hands moved all over me roughly.

Remembering how gently the ugly hulk of a slave had touched my body out in the school's slave shed, I felt growing resentment for the Coach. This was a man I had respected and trusted. I thought he really cared about me throughout high school. But now that I was a slave, he seemed intent on hurting me. After he spermed all over my belly and my chest, he picked up my white briefs and used them to wipe up the mess. He gave an evil grin and then said, "A little bit more won't make a difference."

Well, that extra semen did make a difference. It was still wet as I left the gym. And that was the moment the principal decided to call me down to his office. I stood at slave rest position while he fiddled with papers in a file cabinet and said his piece. "First off, we can't have you receiving the award from the physical education department at graduation. We can't have a slave parading onstage. And when we gave it due consideration, we just couldn't have a slave wearing a cap and gown and sitting with the other students.

"Eddie from the football team will be getting the award in your place, so at least you know it's going to someone deserving. Also, since you're so good at words, I've given Eddie a copy of the little speech you wrote. I'm sure he'll give a good rendition."

It was then that Mr. Tucci turned from the filing cabinet, holding my file folder in his hands. That was the first time he actually looked at me since I entered his office. He began shouting about the stains on my white briefs.

"P-please, sir, I didn't put these stains on it. It's not my fault, sir."

"Just like a slave! Passing the blame. Nothing is ever your fault, is it? You and all the other lazy sex-obsessed slaves!"

Mr. Tucci made a phone call, not to my father but to my owner's house. He ended up talking to Brad and telling him that I was being sent home and that, while he understood the owner's prerogative to dress his slave, I would only be permitted at school with clean garments. When Mr. Tucci hung up the phone he said that I had twenty minutes to get back to my master's house or else I'd be punished.

I ran from the school so hard and so fast I thought my heart would burst. I was only five minutes late, but this time my punishment would be administered by Master Brad. After the paddling, Brad was on his way out for the evening, so I breathed a sigh of relief and tried my best to sleep wearing the clean pair of briefs that Rye had given me.

The next morning I woke up ready to go to school, when Brad strode down the hall in just his plaid boxer shorts. He stopped at the bar of my cage and whipped his cock out of his underwear, placing it between the bars.

"I have to pee," he said laconically.

I just looked at him, not clear what his statement had to do with me. He got an odd look on his face and snapped, "You don't expect your master to go all the way to the bathroom, do you? Get down and take it in your mouth!"

My mind screamed, "No way!" but I fell to my knees. What could I do? Brad would give me another beating for sure. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth and he placed his limp penis on my tongue. He growled, "You'll have to wrap your lips firmly around it. Make a seal. Your master will be very unhappy if you spill even a drop, slaveboy."

I tried to do as he said. I gulped and swallowed the first few drops of his piss. But then my senses rebelled. His penis was flooding my mouth and throat and the fleshy tube fell from my lips. Brad just kept peeing all over me. His urine was in my hair, dripping from my face, down my torso, and it had soaked through my white briefs and made them transparent. I had tried to comply and follow my master's command, but now I was in worse shape than I would've been with a beating. Brad barked, "I expect you to lick up every drop that's spilled. Only then can you go to school." The young master then called for Rye to enter the room.

Looking down at the ground, I stammered, "B-but, I'll have to shower and put on a clean pair of…"

Brad cut me off even though he was addressing Rye. "This boy really has no conception of his role as a slave. He showers when I want him to shower. He gets a change of clothes when it pleases me. If he wants to go to his damn school then he can go just as he is now." Brad strode out of the room, but then opened the door once more to add, "And if he doesn't go to school he will be put to work on the grounds."

An hour later as I was working naked with Rye weeding a large flower patch, Master Brad came along and sniffed, "That slave stinks. Hose him down." Rye turned the cold water hose on me as Brad began to walk away. But then Brad turned back toward us (I think he considered this a dramatic move) and grinned. "I spoke with the principal of the high school, slaveboy. He has spoken with all your teachers. They all agree it would be best to give you final grades of 'P' for pass, instead of actual letter grades. That decided you don't have to return to the school at all." My mind was racing and shouting with the unfairness of it all. I had worked so hard at school. I was set to earn almost all "A's" for my final semester. I would have had one of the highest grade point averages in the school. But now the records would just show I had passed the classes. Of course I gritted my teeth and remained silent.

Brad took another more meaningful pause. "That means you're through with school as of today, Wally. All those things my father didn't want done to you until you were through with school…" His grin got so wide. Then he nodded to Rye and said, "Have the boy ready by 8 tonight. I've been looking forward to this for a long time."

Chapter 6
Wally Serves Master Brad

Of course it seemed obvious that a master would expect sex from a slave. But I thought that only applied to female slaves. Growing up, I had heard a thousand juvenile jokes about boys being enslaved and being made to perform homosexual acts. Everyone knows the tradition of schoolboy "When you get enslaved…" jokes and the series of popular joke books – these were favorite putdowns used by boys just entering middle school. I remember when I was still in grade school laughing at one told by an older boy: "When you get enslaved your master will make you the slave in charge of picking up the soap in the shower." I didn't understand the joke, but I didn't want to appear to be dumb or immature. Thinking back I realize I certainly was both dumb and immature and remained so for far too long.

As I got older and met gay people and learned what homosexual acts were about, I knew there would be man-on-boy sex with slaves. But I didn't give it a second thought – I figured gay sex would happen between gay owners and gay boy slaves.

One of the most popular TV sitcoms back before I was enslaved was My Two Masters about a cute gay boy slave named Humpy who was owned by two older gay guys. The premise was that the gay couple in the show was real boring and bland, but Humpy made their lives wacky. Humpy was slim and cute, looked young and acted very girlish. He was supposed to be 15 on the series, but the actor was actually 19 and dating a beautiful actress. A big part of the comedy was that Humpy was always getting in trouble and getting punished because he was so obsessed with good-looking men. In fact, the premise of the series was that Humpy voluntarily enslaved himself at a gay slave trader's because his boyhood dream was to be a slave to big strong men.

There were articles in the newspapers about young gay boys voluntarily enslaving themselves inspired by Humpy. But more often the stories were about parents enslaving their gay sons so the boys could live like Humpy. And that's the way I thought it worked! Gay men would buy a gay boy slave to serve them just as a straight man would buy a pretty girl slave. Yes, I was very naive.

Rye filled me in on a lot as he scrubbed me thoroughly that evening, preparing me to visit Master Brad. "A lot of straight married men have boy slaves and as long as they're doing it with a slave and not with a free man they consider themselves totally straight," he said to me. "A lot of wives would rather their husband stick his wick into a boy slave than into a girl slave. They figure a boy isn't the same kind of competition as a girl. Plus there's no risk of making a baby. Apparently divorce and domestic violence have gone down as the use of boy slaves for sex has gone up."

"B-but, why didn't I know about this?"

"You chose not to hear it, Wally," Rye said in a condescending way. "There are remarks all around you in the media. There are jokes. Of course people who own slaves all know about it."

"D-do you think my father knew about it?"

That stopped Rye cold. "I can't say. Maybe your father was as dense as you are, boy. Or maybe he did know about it. But he also knew that the only alternative to enslaving you was to have the entire family enslaved. Or maybe he just thought that…" Rye mumbled the rest, "Maybe he thought that serving in the captain's house you wouldn't be used for sex."

"The deal was that I'd only be used for… well… household uses." Rye gave a heavy sigh and informed me that the words "household uses" in any slave listing most certainly included sex.

He was even more careful than ever about shaving every hair from my body and giving me four enemas to clean me out inside. He told me I'd be grateful for the extra enema. I asked him what it would be like to have a man put his penis inside me. "It's different for everybody," he mumbled without looking at me.

"You experienced it, Rye. What was it like for you the first time?"

Shaking his head as if to clear it, he said, "That was more than ten years ago, boy. I've had so many fuckings, so many canings, so many paddlings, so much piss down my throat – how can I possibly remember?"

"Hold on, Rye. You're only 23 now. If it was more than ten years ago when you first got…"

He waved his hand as if to erase his recently spoken words. "Is that what I said? Being a slave, I don't need to keep track of time or to keep track of my age. I don't know what I was thinking. Just forget it." He seemed oddly defensive. I was about to speak again but he shook his head and mouthed the word "No." His eyes looked very serious and intent.

When he finished trimming my hair to standard slave crew cut length, Rye handed me a fresh pair of white briefs. I tucked my penis to the side. Even totally soft, it created a lump in the tight fitting underpants. Then Rye led me up the slave staircase to the second floor. We stood outside a door and Rye knocked softly. Then he assumed slave rest position. I turned to ask if he thought he should knock again. He got a frightened look on his face and gave a motion with his head that indicated I should remain in slave rest position.

Not having a watch or any clocks, I have no idea how long we stood in the hallway. It felt like at least an hour and my legs were beginning to ache from lack of movement. Finally a voice from inside the room called out, "You may enter."

Rye opened the door and ushered me in. It was a grand sitting room that opened onto a bedroom. Brad Winston sat on a plush couch beside the fireplace. He wore a pair of striped boxer shorts and a white athletic shirt that showed off his chest and shoulders. There was a faint smile on his lips and a can of beer in his hand.

Brad pushed the left leg of his boxers up a little bit and his limp cockhead was revealed. He looked at me sternly and then snapped his fingers indicating a spot just beside his left leg. As fast as I could I was on the floor beside him in the appropriate kneeling position. He ran one hand through the stubble of my once-beautiful hair. "Recycled beer is a treat for any slave. Do you think you can swallow it all without losing a drop this time, slaveboy?"

"I'll do my best, master."

"I'm feeling benevolent tonight," Brad said with a snide twist to the words. "I don't want to have to give you the level of punishment you'd need if it spilled on this carpet. I'll go slow."

He pushed his cockhead into my mouth. I used my face to push the leg of his boxers up a little higher so I could get more of his cock in my mouth. I wrapped my lips as tightly around his shaft as I could and then I felt a trickle of piss down my throat. I swallowed quickly. A little more. Another swallow. Then more. Brad eventually was standing over me so that my head was tipped back. In that position his piss wouldn't spill so easily. When just a little piss overflowed my mouth it only messed up my face.

"Now suck out the last drop, slaveboy," Brad commanded almost as if he was instructing a child. Then he turned to Rye and asked, "Has he been practicing his piss drinking?"

"Master, I'm sorry I didn't know you wanted…"

"Fuckin' slaves, never have any sense! From now on, Rye, anytime you need to pee it goes down this boy's throat. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master."

Brad's cock was still in my mouth and he was moving his hips in and out rhythmically. He grinned down at me and said, "Stay on it, Wally. Stay on it." He moved back onto the couch and stretched out on his back. I followed his command and never let his cock slip from my mouth. By this time it was fully stiff.

I closed my eyes and started to suck Master Brad's cock. I tried to empty my mind of all thoughts, but the one thought I couldn't escape was: Why is my cock hard as I'm being forced to suck this arrogant rich boy's boner? I knew I wasn't gay. I only ever thought of girls when I jerked off. If it hadn't been for my enslavement I never would have had a dick down my throat. And yet there was something about the situation, something about being commanded by Brad – much as I hated him – that was making me excited. In a strange way I wanted to please my master. I was sucking down on the cock with all my might, even as it hit the back of my throat and made me gag.

But apparently sucking with all my might was not sufficient for my young blond master. He pushed me violently to the floor. "What is this crap?" Brad shouted. "If I paid $5 for that blowjob in the seediest boy brothel in Bangkok I would demand my money back."

Brad landed on me. I was lying on my back on the floor and his knees were on my torso. His cock was at my lips. He shoved his cock down my throat and started fucking. He was slamming into my throat with the force a man would use to fuck a cheap whore. I was gagging and choking and making horrible noises. For a moment I thought he would kill me with his pounding at my throat. In the next moment I thought he would smash my vocal chords with his powerful thrusts.

I heard Rye call out, "Please, Master, he's never had a cock in his mouth before…" Brad continued for a few more thrusts and then the power of his movements waned.

My young master pulled his cock out of my mouth, looked up at Rye and snarled, "And why wasn't he trained to use his mouth properly?"

"No excuse, Master," Rye bowed humbly. "This slave's stupidity. I beg for correction." This response startled me. Of course Rye hadn't 'trained my mouth' because he hadn't received an order from his master. But Rye knew what he was doing. His response calmed down the snotty rich boy.

Brad snapped his fingers at me and snarled, "Another beer from the fridge." Even as I was still trying to get my breath back from the recent oral attack, I retrieved the beer as fast as I could. He took it from me without any acknowledgement as he turned to Rye and said, "A master wants his new slave's ass to be in prime fresh condition. That's why the boy has been kept in that cage alone. But anyone knows a new boy needs practice sucking cock." He took a long swig of his beer, then belched and said, "It's time to tie him down to the horse."

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Rye retrieved an odd-looking piece of furniture from a corner of the sitting room. It was built like a sawhorse, but there was leather along the top, the legs were fancy, and there were straps all over. Rye led me to the piece of equipment and whispered, "This will be easier for you to take strapped down, Wally." I was bent forward along the leather top as Rye adjusted the legs on the horse. My hands were strapped to the front legs and my ankles were strapped to the back legs.

There was a mirror positioned so I could easily see what was going on behind me. And what I saw made me shudder. Brad was standing naked at an open cabinet that housed paddles and canes and whips. He would take one from the cabinet and swish it through the air. When he took the largest whip and it cut the air, he grinned down at me and said, "No, my father would be so angry if I left any permanent marks on you. Almost as mad as when I banged up the fender of his Porsche."

Then Brad seemed to be weighing a leather paddle against a wooden one. He ended up taking down the wooden paddle, which had three holes drilled into it. He was practicing with it as if preparing to play naked ping pong. And he seemed to take delight in his form. As he stood behind me I could see him partially in the mirror in front of me. Once, twice, three times I saw the paddle move down quickly and heard a swish through the air – and each time I winced but the paddle failed to make contact. On the fourth time, just when I was relaxing my muscled and not expecting it, the paddle slammed into my bottom and I howled out.

My howling mixed with Brad's nasty laugh and he was paddling my butt with a flurry of blows. He only stopped when he was out of breath. I noticed that once he finished pounding my butt his cock was standing up stiff as an iron beam. He waved his hard cock so I could see it in the mirror as he gloated, "You see that little bit of spit your incompetent mouth left on my penis? That's all the lubricant you're gonna get for your first ass fucking, Wally."

"Please, Master, forgive this humble slave for speaking but I fear that master's penis will be scraped raw and hurt." Rye spoke those words at record speed and he seemed to be cowering as he spoke, as if he feared he'd be struck for daring to speak out.

"Insolent slave, speaking out of turn," Brad snapped. Then he looked from me to Rye and said, "OK, masturbate the new slaveboy and we'll use some fresh natural lubricant."

Strapped down as I was I felt Rye's warm hand wrap around my stiff penis. He started to stroke me. He was actually giving me pleasure and yet I felt humiliated. Was it my helplessness being strapped to the horse? Was it the fact that I had no say over when or how I would masturbate? Or was it embarrassment that I – avowed heterosexual – had a throbbing dripping erection even as I knew I was about to have a penis shoved up my ass.

It didn't take long for Rye's milking to produce results. My cock was spurting and he was catching my spunk in his free hand. A moment later and I felt Rye using that same spunk to wet my anus. He apparently also used the goop to lubricate Master Brad's erection.

"Nice try," Brad said sounding bored, "but you know what I need to get hard enough to fuck an ass. The problem is, anymore paddling on the new slave's butt and those cheeks won't be pretty enough to be worth fucking."

Without further explanation, Rye laid his body down on top of mine. I saw Brad lift up the paddle and I felt Rye's body push against mine as the paddle slammed down and the tall slave called out, "Thank you, Master, for correcting this humble slave." Slam. "Thank you, Master." Slam. "Thank you, Master." I counted ten whacks on Rye's butt.

Then Master Brad unceremoniously pushed Rye to the floor. My master stood behind me and his cock was once again fully rampant. One moment I felt the arrogant teen athlete's cockhead pressing against my virgin hole. At the very next moment I felt the full length of his rod all the way inside me.

I know I made a loud noise, but I can't describe the noise. Brad reacted by laughing in that nasty way and shouting out, "That's it, Wally. Scream! I wanna know you're really feeling me inside you." He began fucking me hard and fast without a break. I was panting. I was crying out. I was making a loud grunt each time that bone slammed into me so brutally. It seemed to go on forever. Then Brad collapsed on top of me. His body was not moving except for the heavy breathing. But his cock was jerking around inside me, slapping my insides as it filled my guts with hot semen.

And finally I felt tears fill my eyes. I had been through so much without crying. But having Brad Winston's sperm inside my guts was more than I could stand. I wasn't going to sob. I wasn't going to do anything to let this awful rich boy know he made me cry. But I couldn't hold back two tears that slid down my cheeks.

Brad pulled out of my ass and moved around in front of me. Even as he lifted my face he didn't notice the tears. He had other things on his mind. "Clean it, slaveboy," Brad said. Then he shoved his cock into my mouth. At that moment I remembered how Rye had told me I would be grateful for having an extra enema that evening to make sure I was especially clean. Still my mouth was filled with the taste of Brad Winston's cum and my own ass juices.

Apparently the ministrations of my mouth were all it took for Brad to be stiff once again. He had kept me strapped to the horse and he fucked my butt a second time. Just as brutal this time. Only this second time lasted longer – the scraping sensation around my anus was eventually replaced with numbness. When he finally collapsed on me I felt his juices spilling out of my hole and a slick layer of sweat between us.

"This was quite a night," Brad said in the most matter-of-fact way as he pulled his cock out of me but addressed Rye. "You know daddy always breaks in the new boys. This is the first time he let me go first. But of course tomorrow night is daddy's turn."

When I got back to the slave bathing room with Rye I collapsed on the floor and took a couple of deep breaths. Then I turned to the tall slave and the first words I spoke were, "So, Brad Winston needs to beat a slave's ass in order to get hard enough to fuck?"

Rye went rigid and spoke in a loud voice, "We don't talk about our masters that way. You're new so you didn't know any better. But we never talk about what our masters may like or what our masters may do – even if we're talking to another slave who may have experienced the same things or to a slave who may be headed toward the same experiences." He looked at me in a meaningful way, nodded his head and said, "Do you understand me?"

Why was he talking to me in such an awkward voice? When we were together before this he always spoke casually. I nodded my head to indicate I understood him, but that didn't seem to be enough.

Rye turned on a shower and said, "You need some comforting, Wally. Come to me." I moved to him cautiously. He wrapped his arms around me so that his well-muscled body was pressed to mine and our faces were close together. Because of the difference in height, my mouth was at his collarbone, while his mouth was at my ear. His cock was rubbing on my stomach and my cock was against his leg. He knew I didn't like guys in that way. I tried to pull away. His lips were just about kissing my ear and he whispered, "Stay like this. It's important." I relaxed in his arms and he whispered, "They have hidden cameras and hidden microphones, boy. They don't watch every minute of every day. But you never know when they're looking and listening. They're always particularly interested in watching what goes on with a brand new slave. And I know they're very interested in you." The sound of the running water in the shower meant that nobody else could hear his words.

I kissed him on the cheek, moved back and awkwardly said, "Th-thanks for c-comforting me, Rye. But you know I'm not gay." I tried to stay focused on Rye and fought the urge to look around the room for the hidden cameras and microphones. I then turned my back to him consumed by another concern: Why had intimate contact with the big slave's bare body made my dick half-way hard?

Chapter 7
Captain Winston Likes Wally's Soft Lips

"I'll go slow," he whispered looking down at me. I swallowed as fast as I could. What choice did I have? I was a slave on the Winston estate.

Less than a week before this I had been a free boy, wearing clothes, hanging out with friends, looking forward to my middle school school graduation. But now I was reduced to drinking the piss from a slave's penis and obeying any other whims of Master Brad. And I was already dreading my upcoming date with Brad's father, Captain Winston, the man who had made arrangements with my father to have me enslaved and to buy me for a period of five years and fifteen days. I swallowed piss as fast as I could. Five years and eleven days to go!

What would Captain Winston want to do to me? What would he want to do WITH me? What would he make me do? Brad had been so brutal: strapping me to the horse and then paddling me before he butt fucked me hard and fast. Would his father be the same way? Would the captain be even more brutal and even rougher with me? Disgust swept over me and it had nothing to do with the piss I had just swallowed. The captain was older than my father by a decade. He was a big man, with chest hair sticking out of his shirt collar and a salt-and-pepper beard. It was inconceivable that a man like that would do anything sexual with me.

As I washed out my mouth I cheered a little. Perhaps when I arrived in the captain's room that evening, he would look up at me and recognize me. Perhaps he would say, "Oh, Wally, you're that fine lad, so well brought up. This is a mistake. Let's get some clothes to cover you up."

The more I thought about it, the more absurd I knew my fantasy was. But I needed some hope to hold onto as I worked naked under the hot sun, carrying paving stones and installing a new patio around the swimming pool. I had been in that pool as a guest so many years earlier, when I was just a kid. At that time I was embarrassed at seeing Rye naked – to me he was just a nameless slave, a big guy who looked like a college athlete and the first man-size penis I had ever seen. And now I was the naked slave sweating as I worked and looking longingly at the cool water in the pool – the pool that was off limits to me.

I felt certain the captain would be brutal like his son had been, beating my ass and shoving his dick into me for release. If only it had been that simple. Looking back on it now the ass beating had made my body ache, but the captain had ways to make my brain and my heart and my soul ache.

The same ritual as the previous night: four enemas and a very careful, thorough shaving. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had always been slim and had a boyish face. My pubes were now completely shaved and the hair on my head was trimmed to a quarter inch [5 mm] length. Except that I was some inches taller and my penis was some inches longer, I might as well have been seeing my image from when I was younger. I pulled on a clean pair of the tight white briefs that had become my uniform since enslavement and looked at myself once more in the mirror. Was it possible the captain could be sexually aroused seeing me looking like this? My stomach churned at the very thought. What kind of man of the captain's age could look at a boy so young and so vulnerable and have sexual feelings?

As soon as Rye knocked on the doors I heard the captain's voice call out, "Enter." I followed Rye into the sitting room and stood at slave rest position, my legs apart, my hands behind my back, my head bowed. The sitting room was similar to Brad's, but much larger and much more grand. There was a fire in the fireplace, even though it was a warm evening. The captain sat on a large padded sofa holding a glass and poured from a bottle of whiskey.

He seemed cheerful as he looked me over and dismissed Rye from the room. When Rye paused at the door, the captain didn't snap at him, but simply said, "It's OK, Rye. Wally's a good boy." Then the big man smiled at me, "You'll be a good boy. You'll obey your master, won't you, little fella?"

"Master, yes, Master," I said in a clear loud voice. This evening was starting out on a much better note than the previous night.

The captain was wearing a dark grey suit with a white shirt and red tie. He patted the sofa next to him. I moved cautiously and sat beside him. His left arm went around me and he pulled me onto his lap. He pulled me close up against his body and I could smell the booze and sweat of my master. I was immediately aware of the long thick protuberance under my butt. I wanted to convince myself it was just something in his pocket, but as I felt the throbbing I knew it was the captain's erection prodding my ass cheeks.

"Mmmmm, don't you smell nice, boy. Freshly shampooed hair. Scrubbed clean." His nose was in my short-cropped hair. Then I felt his tongue against my ear and I pulled away. He squeezed me tighter and said sternly, "Now, now, I thought you were going to be a good boy, Wally. I thought you were going to be obedient."

I was so confused I mumbled, "I'm sorry, sir."

He caressed my face with his right hand and lightly kissed me on the lips. "Mmmmm, what a delicious boy you are. Such nice soft lips." His fingers brushed my lips the same way he had touched them in my family's home when he came to talk about enslaving me. So this was what he had in mind when he touched my lips that day. I felt his cock throb under my butt and wondered how soon that would be at my lips.

The captain lifted a dish from the table to the side and held it up for me. There were three chocolate chip cookies and a glass of cold milk on the dish. I simply looked at it, my mouth watering. All I'd eaten since my enslavement was slave chow. The captain nodded to me, "Go ahead, Wally. Take a bite of the cookie. Not too big, make sure you chew it well." I was following his instructions. "Now take a gulp of the milk to wash it down. Not too fast, just a little bit."

As I returned the glass to the plate I softly said, "Thank you, master."

The big man hugged my face to his as he chuckled, "I like a boy who's polite. I knew you'd be a good boy. Do you want another bite of the cookie and another sip of milk, Wally?"

Was this a trick? I cautiously said, "Y-yes, sir. If you please sir."

He started planting enthusiastic kisses all over my face as he said, "That 'if you please sir' will take you far as a slave. You're quite right, boy. Slaves don't have a right to want anything, except as it pleases their masters. And it pleases your master to trade kisses in exchange for cookies and milk, heheheh."

That laugh! I had always heard the phrase 'it makes your skin crawl.' Until I heard the captain's lecherous laugh, I didn't know what those words meant. When I heard it – and I would hear it many more times after that night – my skin felt like there were insects crawling over every inch. He grabbed my face in his strong right hand and kissed me directly on the lips, pushing his thick tongue into my mouth. I suppose he could taste the milk on my tongue. I could taste alcohol and tobacco on his tongue. His scratchy beard rubbed against my smooth face.

When he pulled his face away from me, I was once again presented with the plate of cookies. He smiled indulgently and nodded. I picked up the cookie in my shaking hand and took a small bite. Chewing it thoroughly I then took a big gulp of the milk – it was so cold and so refreshing.

His right hand was now behind my neck, holding my collar, controlling me so I couldn't move my head away. "Somebody's got a milk moustache!" The captain stuck out his tongue and was licking my upper lip. Then he once again began to tongue kiss me. His mouth was open so wide and there was so much saliva all over my face and in my mouth I tried to pull away from him. When he finally ended that kiss I turned my face away and was gagging.

Suddenly there was a hard slap across my face, so hard I fell to the ground. Before I could regain my wits the captain's large hand was on my collar pulling me up, and then he slapped hard across my face in the other direction. "Does your master's kiss disgust you, boy?"

"N-n-no, Master. I'm s-s-sorry, Master."

That was followed by a hearty loud laugh as he said, "You're a bad liar, slaveboy." He grabbed me and tossed me face down over his lap. My dick was pressing into the soft fabric of his gray trousers. Before I could even settle into place, the captain's big beefy hand swung and smacked my tender ass cheeks right in the middle. I called out more from the shock than the pain. The next smack hit my left cheek, followed by an equally hard smack to my right cheek. I tried to stay silent, but couldn't help moaning. I lost count of how many more times his large handprint heated my bottom. And all this time his cock was pushing up against me through the fabric of his pants.

Then he pushed me down to the floor in front of him and ordered me to take off his shoes and socks. My hands were shaking as I followed his commands. His socks stank badly. There was hair on top of the captain's feet and on top of his toes, and there was a sheen of slippery perspiration all over his feet. "Only one way to clean my feet after a long day, heheheh." His feet rubbed on my face and then he ordered me "Use your tongue on them, boy."

The smell was awful, but the humiliation and degradation were even worse. But what could I do? I licked the soles of his feet. I licked around the tops of his feet. Then I was ordered to lick between each of his toes and then to suck on his toes one at a time. I don't know how long this disgusting exercise went on. When I glanced up, I could see the captain's penis standing upright and tenting his pants, but he seemed content to simply touch it lightly through the fabric while I gave his feet a complete tongue washing. While this went on, I noticed the captain refill his glass with whiskey time after time.

Suddenly I was once again grabbed by the collar and pulled up toward the captain's chest. He had removed his suit jacket and was now pulling off his red tie. In a commanding voice, he said, "Unbutton my shirt, boy." I focused on each button. This didn't seem like such an onerous task. Once his white shirt was pulled open, it revealed a ribbed white athletic shirt underneath. He pulled the fabric of the undershirt up above his nipples, revealing the thick layer of fur that covered his gut and his chest. He pushed my face down against his nipple and ordered me to lick it. "You can even bite it if you like, boy. I can take it."

I had hardly begun licking his nipple when he pushed my face down just a bit lower. His pecs must have been impressive when he was younger, but now the thickly haired mounds were sagging. I had to use my tongue to lick under the folds of flesh. Then he shoved my face right into his armpit. His body odor was thick and manly. "It's your job to worship your master, boy. Make sure you thank your master for everything he gives you. Tell your master how much you worship his manly body."

As I licked the day's worth of sweat from under his armpit, I was stammering, "Th-thank you, Master, for allowing your lowly slave to taste your sweat. Th-thank you for allowing me to feel your hairy chest against my face, M-master…"

He was laughing maniacally now. "As you do this every day and as you repeat that every day it will become true, boy. Science has shown that the mind convinces itself that what it repeats and what it hears over and over must be true. And it will be true for you, my little slaveboy. When you serve me in the shower and you serve Master Brad in his shower, using your soapy hands and your sweet tongue to clean every inch of our bodies…"

My face was still buried in his left armpit, my mouth full of his sweaty pit hair, and as he gasped I thought he was having a heart attack. Suddenly he grabbed me by the collar. I don't know when he unzipped his pants but now his penis was sticking straight up stiff and thick. He pushed my face down on his hard cock so that his rod slid deep into my mouth. I couldn't breathe. My nose was pushed into his belt buckle. My lips were pressed into his zipper. His massive cock was pushing hard against the back of my throat. He was pushing my head down and moving his hips up at the same time. Thankfully it took less than a minute for the captain to shoot a load of cum down my throat. I tried to swallow as best I could, but my throat muscles didn't work right against the insistent pressure from the cockhead.

Finally, he pulled out of my mouth slowly and looked down at me, chuckling softly. "Ah yes, those lips are as nice as I knew they would be. But don't fret, little fella, your master has taken a pill so I'll stay hard all night long. Now let's get you into the nice comfy bed."

Chapter 8
In Captain Winston's Bed

As I rose I became aware of the whiskey bottle. When I had entered the room (however long ago that was, I had lost all sense of time) the bottle was mostly full. Now the bottle was nearly empty. How was it possible for one man to consume so much alcohol in just part of an evening?

Captain Winston stood beside his large bed. He was barefoot. His pants were open, his penis sticking out of his fly, and his shirt was pulled open. He looked at me as if I should understand what to do next. Then his voice filled with impatience as he slurred, "Undress your master, boy."

Dutifully, I took off his white dress shirt and folded it as neatly as I could. Then I peeled up his undershirt and folded that on top of his shirt. I undid his belt and then the snap on his pants. He was already unzipped, so I just peeled the gray slacks down his legs and then folded them neatly with the other clothes. He had pushed his large cock back inside his white boxer shorts, but the thin fabric couldn't hide the outline of the half-erect organ and his thick bush. I was about to peel down his boxers, but he put his large hand on my wrist to stop me.

"Leave it like that, little fella," his body weaved a little bit like he was having trouble standing. "We can pretend for a moment you're not a slave. We can pretend that it's just a man and a boy who like each other together in their underpants. A man and a boy who like each other a whole lot, heheheh."

What planet was the captain pretending we were on? A man and a boy who like each other and are in underpants together? A cute teen boy with a hard athletic body who willingly wants to be undressed for the sexual pleasure of a fat hairy old man like Captain Winston? I tried to force a smile.

It was as if he could read my mind. He grinned broadly and put an arm around my shoulders as he said, "You're thinking that if you weren't a slave you would never want to take off your clothes and let me do these things to your sweet body. Is that it, boy?" I just looked down at the floor, not knowing how to answer his question. That's when he began tickling my hardon through the fabric of my white briefs. He wasn't jerking me off. He wasn't fondling me. He was using two fingertips to tickle my erection – and my cock throbbed in response. Then he continued, "So if you're really as straight as you say you are, Wally, how come you have this stiffy here? It's not possible that your penis is fully erect and throbbing because a hairy fat old guy like me is touching you? It couldn't be that you're dripping pre-cum because you're thinking about all the things you're going to be made to do to my thick cock, boy." He laughed louder than ever. Then suddenly got deadly serious and snapped, "Answer me, boy?"

"A-answer, sir?"

"Tell me why you have a hard cock, boy. Your master is demanding a truthful answer."

"I d-d-d-don't know, Master."

With that I was pushed down bent forward across the bed. My butt was sticking up at the edge of the bed. The captain grabbed a thick cane and smacked my ass. I yowled – it was the sound a wounded animal makes and not a human sound. The cane struck me two more times. Then I felt the captain's hand caressing the marks that burned into my ass cheeks.

"Your master demands an answer, boy. Why do you have an erection?"

"P-p-please, Master. I d-d-don't understand it myself. Sir, I'd answer if I could but…"

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Three more strikes of the cane. As I was gasping for breath, the captain leaned down so that his beard was scratching against my neck. He licked my neck lovingly and in the softest voice said, "Come on, little fella. Be a good boy. If you do your best to give me an honest answer, maybe I won't have to give you anymore strokes of the cane."

"M-maybe, sir… I'm n-not sure, Master… b-but maybe I'm stiff because I'm feeling… I'm feeling…" I froze up. Could I finish the sentence? Which would be worse – Completing the end of that sentence or getting more slashes of the cane? I felt the soft wood of the cane lightly rubbing over my bottom, reminding me of the stripes that were already throbbing on my cheeks.

With a sob in my voice I blurted out, "Maybe my cock is stiff because I feel so vulnerable, because I'm so scared. I feel in your power, Master!"

No sooner had the captain said, "Good boy!" than he started to cane my bottom again. This time he left four more stripes on my ass cheeks. And this time I just couldn't control myself. I felt my balls pull up tight against my body and I felt my cock shoot spurt after spurt of my own hot cream.

"Heheheh." There was the captain's skin-crawling laugh. "You were born to be a slave, Wally. Queer bottom boys are happiest when they're slaves, boy. And we both know what you are." He paused and then said, "Tell me, boy. Tell me what you are."

Sobbing hard I gasped, "I'm a queer b-b-bottom boy slave, Master."

When I rolled from my spot on the edge of the bed I revealed the large patch of cum I had shot during my caning. The captain snapped his fingers and pointed to the wet spot. He didn't have to give me a verbal command. I understood that he wanted me to lick it up.

My brain felt like it would explode. At one moment the captain spoke in a soft voice, almost lovingly. At the next moment he was brutal, domineering and cruel. Then there'd be a moment when he would be laughing uproariously, followed by a moment when he became deadly serious.

My white briefs were ripped off as he lifted me and tossed me down onto the bed on my back. My head was on a pillow. He grabbed my legs, spreading them wide, and pressed himself down on top of me. My legs were wrapped around his thick girth and his heavy hairy belly was pressing down on me. His thick cock was pulled out of his boxer shorts and the helmet head was pressing against my butthole. At that point every muscle in my body tensed and I groaned.

The captain looked down at me with such a kindly face. He spoke softly, "Ahhh, little one, you're frightened of master's thick hairy dick." He planted tender little kisses all over my face and just about rubbed his nose playfully against mine. Then his facial expression changed in an instant. I felt the blunt head of his meat push past my sphincter and I screamed. My scream gave way to sobs.

I felt the captain's hairy bush against my inner thighs. I felt his fat hairy balls grind against my smooth butt cheeks. Then he pulled back and pushed in. It was only a little at first. But soon he was pulling all the way back and slamming all the way in. I had stopped sobbing but now I was grunting each time he thrust forward. It felt like I was being punched in the guts – but from the inside!

He was kissing me on the mouth, wet sloppy kisses. His mouth was open wide and his tongue was like a dripping snake. His beard smelled stale of booze. His rough hands grabbed and pinched and prodded and felt me up all over. His facial expression went from merry laughter to animalistic rage.

I was convinced I was in the clutches of a mad man as he began to babble, "This is what it should be like, boy. A man with my kind of money and power should be able to take any cute boy like you and spread his legs for a good hard fucking. Isn't that the way it should be, boy?"

He paused and I realized he was waiting for an answer. Between grunts I stammered, "Y-y-yes, Master," not even sure what I was agreeing to.

"A man like me should be able to go into that rundown neighborhood of yours and demand my employees bring out their sons and have my pick! Yeah, have all the boys on your miserable block pull down their pants and undies and bend over so I can pick out the cutest, roundest, tightest boy ass, heheheheh. Then I'll just toss the boy in the trunk of my car and take him away. That's how it should be."

"Y-yes, sir," I gasped, horrified by the scene this depraved man was painting.

"No, to hell with tossing you in the trunk. I should be able to just bend you over my car and shove my fat cock deep up your tight little virgin ass, boy. Right in front of your dad and your little brother. Let all the neighbors hear you squeal. And then everyone would know who has the power in this town, who controls the way things run in this town."

His ranting and his fucking became more and more frenetic. Sweat was dripping off the big hairy man as he pounded my ass. The pain in my ass was giving way to numbness.

Slurring his words and spitting in my face, the captain went on, "To hell with that. A man with my money and power should be able to take what he wants whenever he wants. I should've been able to have you back when you came here to swim with my sons. That's it, boy. I remember those blue swim trunks you wore, you were so shy and the trunks were so long but they'd gotten tight on you, showed off what a round little ass you had and what slim hips."

The horror ran through me. This horrible beast remembered the swim trunks I had worn to his house so many years earlier. Damn, I was only ten back then. Is it possible he perved on me so many years earlier when I was still so young?

His dick was slamming like my insides were a punching bag. Each push in was deliberate, making me feel the full force of his strength and weight. I thought I would pass out. I prayed I would pass out. But there was no escape from the captain's perverse harangue and his pounding cock.

"How would you have felt, boy? How would it have felt at that age if I brought you up here and stripped off those blue swim trunks and made you my slave right then and there – made you into my sex slave, boy? Hot damn, I should've done it! What would they have done to me? What could they do to me? I have the power in this stinking little town. I own the judge. Rules are meant for little people. I'm above all that."

Then he turned his attention back to me, gazing deep into my eyes as he snarled, "What if I had you back at that age, boy? What if I had kissed you with tongue and made you take my cock in your mouth and I had you pinned down here for a fucking? Hot damn, you were young then, boy. You were wide eyed and innocent and all smooth and so slim. What would you have felt, Wally?"

"Scared, sir!" I blurted out. "I would have been so terrified sir. I would have been begging you to let me go home to my family, begging you not to…"

The captain's face contorted into a grotesque mask as he howled out, "You would've fuckin' loved it, boy. Don't deny it, you pussy boy bottom slave! I saw the way you shot your load just now from your master smacking your sweet ass. I should've had that ass when I first saw it in those blue swim trunks. Back when you wouldn't have even needed anything shaved to be a pussy slave boy, I should've spread you open with my fat co-o-o-o-ock!" The last word turned into an unearthly howl. He rammed into me deeper and harder than any of the previous thrusts. I thought his cockhead was going to pop right through my belly button. Then I felt a warmth coating my insides. He was cumming inside me. His dick was spewing its burning hot juice so deep in me.

Tears were pouring slowly down my face. Then I felt the captain's beard scratching against my face. He started cooing at me, "So tender, so pretty, so young." That awful pervert was kissing away my tears, smiling down at me benevolently. Then he whispered, "I bet your little brother's ass is just as sweet and even tighter, Wally."

I gasped. No, not that. Anything but that. Whatever I had to endure, the very thought of my younger brother Will going through this same thing was too horrible to imagine. Will, so cute, all smiles, all boy in the clutches of the fat hairy pervert who was now my master – my whole body shuddered and I tried to make the repulsive image go away.

Throughout this ordeal I had completely forgotten that the captain's son had raped my ass the previous night. As rough as Brad had been, bending me over the horse and roughly tenderizing my ass for his cock, it was nothing compared to the range of physical and emotional abuse the captain had put me through.

I turned my face to the side. I didn't want any more of these disgusting kisses. I didn't know what emotion the captain might react with next. And I knew I had no control over the head games I would endure. But the next thing I heard was loud snoring. The lights were on. The captain was still partially on top of me. His cock was still deep inside my hole. And he was now asleep and snoring.

There was no way I could sleep. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself somewhere pleasant. But I couldn't even envision anyplace else I could be. I was a sex slave. I was the property of this sick and twisted Winston family. And I would serve these awful men for the next five years.

I don't know how many hours had passed. I was turned so I couldn't see the clock. But I suddenly felt something wet in my ass. Was it possible the captain was cumming again? In his sleep? Then I realized what it was. I could feel the liquid, not thick enough to be cum. I could smell it. The captain was peeing up my ass.

How much further could I be degraded? It wouldn't be long before I would find out.

Chapter 9
Dad Sees Wally In A New Way

After my first experience with Captain Winston, there were some moments late at night where I found myself thinking wistfully of my classmates who were finishing up middle school and preparing for graduation. But no such thought intruded in my days. At one point I considered that they might as well have removed my vocal chords and replaced them with a voicebox that only said, "Yes, Master." Suck cock? Yes, Master! Take it up my ass? Yes, Master! Anything at all to humiliate me and make me feel like less of a human? Yes, Master!

The captain taught me how to serve him in the shower. He would just stand there while I washed his body with my soapy hands. To make sure I had done a thorough job cleaning his butt, I would have to follow up with my tongue. I gagged the first time I did that and the captain smacked me across the head snarling, "I have one friend who doesn't keep any toilet paper at all. He prefers slave boy tongues." I actually found myself grateful that I had a master who only made me lick out his ass when it was clean. Most of Captain Winston's showers ended with his fat cock down my throat.

Since Brad slept later than his father, I would help clean the house until I was summoned to serve as Brad's body slave. I washed and licked Brad's muscular physique. Although his body was firmer and nicer to touch and his skin tasted less bitter than his father's there was something so arrogant and obnoxious about Brad that his shower seemed the more unpleasant ordeal.

Most afternoons I was assigned to work around the grounds – weeding, mowing, digging, planting, moving rocks, whatever was needed. Each slave was required to do two hours of exercise per day. Rye explained that this was to keep our bodies fit and looking good. At first I thought the exercise time would be a treat. But the workouts were grueling and if I stopped for a breath I would feel the lash cutting into my skin.

Later in the day I became Rye's assistant in bathing and shaving the other slaves. I learned that the captain enjoyed keeping a newly enslaved boy as pristine as possible for a break-in period. That was the reason I was still sleeping alone in my cage away from any other slaves. My master didn't want to give any of the slaves a chance to use my ass while I was still 'fresh meat.' This was also the reason why I had felt the slave prod and the paddle, but the cane was used sparingly and I had not yet experienced the whip. The captain wanted to keep my ass cheeks smooth for a while.

Working with Rye was a chance for me to meet some of the other slaves – but only the young and firm-bodied ones, as those were the only ones whose grooming was of concern to the free men in the house.

One day I was ordered from my work digging in the garden to take a shower quickly, put on a clean pair of briefs, and report to Captain Winston. I entered his sitting room facing my master in slave rest position, my hands behind my back and my eyes on the floor.

The big man was stretched out in his magnificent chair. He snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot beside his legs. I fell to the floor and immediately started opening his pants and then pulling down the front of his boxer shorts. Less than a minute after I entered the room I had sucked his cock into my mouth all the way down to the root. My nose was grinding into his hairy bush. Knowing how my master liked to be serviced, I was immediately slurping up and down the length of his fat erection.

He pulled his cock out of my mouth, glistening with my saliva and started slapping my face with his fleshy tool. "What do you say to your master, boy?"

"Please, Master, let me have your cock!" I had already learned what he wanted me to say and how he wanted me to say it in order to avoid a paddling. When the captain protested that he didn't believe I really wanted his cock, I was more intense in pleading for it.

He pushed his boxers lower so his balls were at my lips and then told me that if I did a really good job licking his balls clean then he would let me have his cock down my throat again. I licked and slurped enthusiastically as Captain Winston said, "You see, I knew from the start this boy was hungry for cock. I've been dealing with slaves for so long I can sense these things. Even with a free boy who's never done any gay sex before, I can tell when he truly craves a fat hairy hard penis." He caressed my face and chuckled, "You crave your master's fat hairy hard penis, don't you, boy?"

I was stunned by his words. Since I had immediately faced the captain when I entered the room I had no idea there was someone else present. What kind of twisted pervert was here observing so silently? I tried to forget about the fact I was now putting on a sex show for some strange man and concentrate on sucking cock to the best of my ability.

The captain dug his fingers into my collar and repeated his question. I gathered my thoughts as best I could and began proclaiming, "Oh yes, Master. I need your cock down my throat. I'm hungry for my master's hot sperm. Please, Master, I also need it up my bottom. I need to be fucked by you, Master. Ple-e-e-ease!"

"You see," Captain Winston explained to his guest. "The boy hasn't even been enslaved for two weeks and already he's cock crazy. I told you this young fellow is where he belongs and there's nothing at all to worry about."

I didn't understand what he was talking about so I just kept slurping up and down on his erect penis as he caressed my face and continued speaking, encouraging his guest to sample my mouth. I could only hear mumbled replies from the other man in the room. The captain was unrelenting, telling the man how obvious his erection was and not to try to hide it. I heard the man stand and come across the room. Then I was aware of the man standing beside the captain.

Even as I continued to suck the captain's cock, my master took my hand and put it on the front of the other man's pants. I did my best to concentrate on the meat in mouth and still to unzip this new pair of pants. The man kept pulling away and mumbling, "I shouldn't." But the captain kept cajoling him back into position.

When I finally freed this unfamiliar erection the captain pulled my face from his penis and I slid this new man's cock all the way down my throat. Somehow I could tell this man was nearer to the captain's age than to mine, but his dark blond pubes weren't very thick and his body didn't seem hairy at all. His body was much trimmer than the captain's, with a bit of a gut but still in relatively good shape.

His cock was not as long or as thick as the captain's but had a thick foreskin that pulled back behind the flared head and looked somehow strangely familiar. How odd. I'd never had sex with any male before being enslaved. How could this cock seem familiar to me? Then the man's fingers were on my ears as he moaned, "Oh, Wally, forgive me but it's been such a long time since I felt anything this wonderful. Forgive me, son." Even as I continued sucking I looked up into my father's face. I realized then that this erection seemed familiar because it looked so much like mine.

Before I had time to consider that my own father's penis was down my throat, I felt the captain's thick boner pressing into my sphincter. I was used to being fucked by the captain by this time but unprepared to be entered without any warning or lubrication. The whole length went all the way into me and I howled. I heard my father moan. The vibration of my throat must have massaged his stiff dick.

"This is not your son," the captain intoned as he began to slide his cock in and out of my ass. "Your son ceased to exist upon enslavement. This is a slave boy. It would have been wrong for you to put your erection into your own son's mouth. But now you have this very pretty, cock-hungry slave boy to service you."

"I g-g-guess if he likes doing it…" my father began.

"Look how he's going at it, man. He likes it harder. C'mon, you better get used to fucking slave boy mouths for your new post in South America."

Up till then my father had simply left his cock buried deep in my mouth. But after the captain spoke he started to ride his cock in and out between my lips. My own father was fucking my face and breathing hard.

"I generally only fuck new slaves on the first day," the captain lied, never missing a beat of his ride in and out of my asshole. "But sometimes there's one so pretty, a boy who is so hot for cock – well, even a man as hetero and macho as I am can be tempted, heheheheh." There was that skin-crawling laugh again.

I tried to concentrate on the sound of the captain's hairy balls slapping the backs of my thighs and the sound of my lips slurping on my father's boner. I tried to shut out the captain's ranting, but he went on, "Imagine having something as pretty as this at home – so pretty and so eager for cock! If only you realized what you had you could've enslaved the boy years ago. Think of the years of pleasure and years of relief you could have had with him as your slave boy?"

My father made a noise as if to protest, but the captain laughed and continued, "I know, I know. The boy wasn't legal until a matter of days ago. But believe me when I say there are plenty of fathers who turn their sons into slaves just for the use of soft lips or a tender round butt. And since everything takes place behind the closed shutters of the home and since a slave isn't allowed to speak freely – well, you never hear much about these things and neither do the slave police."

I thought it was a shout of protest from my father. I wanted it to be a shout of revulsion at the nasty things the captain was saying. But instead it was an uncontrollable shout as my father began spewing hot loads of sperm down my throat. I swallowed as fast as I could. His hands gripped my head hard against his torso. His shout turned into a groan and his body seemed to collapse against my kneeling form.

No, this wasn't possible. Had my father really been brought to a wild orgasm in my mouth by the captain's filthy talk? Captain Winston had been spinning a scenario about enslaving and using me at a younger age. Was that what got my father to shoot off? Fuck! My own father was as big a pervert as my master.

Just as my father's ejaculation was winding down, I felt the captain jab hard into my rump and then his cock was shooting hot cream deep inside me. A minute later and I was on my knees licking spunk and ass juice from the captain's deflating cock. I didn't dare look in the direction of my father, but from the sounds I could tell he was putting his clothes back in place.

"Take a good look at those lovely round cheeks!" the captain exclaimed. I could feel my ass going red with embarrassment. Was my father looking at my bottom? Was he getting another erection? The captain tried to convince my dad to fuck my butt, "Sweeter than any pussy." But my father now sounded regretful and ashamed of what he'd done. Good!

Rye entered to take me out of the room. I didn't look back at my father. Slaves only look down at the floor ahead of them. I heard the captain's voice say, "Now that you know he's where he belongs you can leave for South America with a clear conscience. I'm just sorry you'll have to miss the party. But I'll make sure my new slave boy has an extra special time."

The large doors were closing behind me as I heard my father's voice, "And my younger son will be enrolled at that private school?"

"Where he'll be well looked after," the captain said brightly. "The headmaster is a close personal friend of mine."

The doors closed and I froze on the spot. It was as if an icy hand had gripped my heart. Why hadn't I shouted to my father that it was all a lie? Why hadn't I refused to take his cock into my mouth? Why hadn't I used that moment to tell him that I wasn't a cocksucker and that I'd only been brought to this with punishments and threats? Then at the next moment my father would have seen the captain swat me with a paddle, or maybe even use the slave prod to leave me writhing on the floor – that would be the proof right in front of my father's eyes!

But I hadn't done any of that. Just two weeks earlier I had lived the life of a free boy and never dreamed I would even touch a hard dick. But now I had been broken. Now I acted like a slave. I obeyed like a slave. I performed sexual service on free men like a slave.

But the icy hand on my heart wasn't because of my own slave status. The overwhelming sense of dread was because I knew I would never see my father again. I also knew with certainty – it was too awful to imagine, but I could see it etched in the future – that there would come a time when my younger brother would be turned into a naked sex slave in the Winston household.

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