Mister Red

The Fate of a Poor Man's Son

Chapters 16-20

Chapter 16
Will Tells His Story

I trusted Captain Winston. I thought he was a good man. He had bought my brother Wally as a slave to help keep dad and me from also being enslaved. Then he gave my dad a great new job down in South America and part of dad's new contract was for the captain to send me to a very exclusive private school. The boys at the school were kind of snobby to me. But when they found out how good I was at swimming and all around sports a lot of them warmed up to me.

Then that terrible incident happened with silver candlesticks missing at the school. When they found the stolen stuff in my locker I insisted that somebody must have planted them there. But the police expert was certain that my fingerprints were on the candlesticks and my fingerprints were all over the crime scene. I don't know how that could have been possible. I was innocent.

Next thing I knew I was in a courtroom stripped down to just my white briefs. I tried to cry out and tell them this was a mistake. But since I was enslaved a moment earlier, I was zapped with the slave prod. The mistake wasn't simply that I was innocent of the charges. The mistake that concerned me just then was that I was being stripped naked in an adult courtroom.

My big brother Wally was enslaved on his fourteenth birthday, so he had been sentenced in an adult courtroom and stripped naked in front of the entire crowd. But everyone knew that boys younger than fourteen were supposed to be sentenced and dealt with in the juvenile division. Enslaved boys younger than fourteen were only supposed to be stripped in a judge's private chambers. I was twelve and the guard was pulling down my white underpants leaving me totally naked.

Of course the guard pulled my hands up behind my neck and cuffed them to the back of my new slave collar. I couldn't help it. My dick was fully exposed and sticking straight up against my belly. It was only three inches [7.5 cm] totally stiff and there was only some faint fuzz at the base. There was no way anybody could believe I was really fourteen.

In school they taught us that the reason younger boys weren't stripped in public was because there are perverts, men who have sexy thoughts about boys below the legal age. The courts didn't want to encourage perverted thoughts about younger boys, since it was illegal to have sex with a slave boy younger than fourteen (at least that was the age where we lived).

Someone in the class asked about England where it was legal to have sex with a slave boy at twelve, or about Florida where they had lowered the age to eleven. And what about Mexico or the Caribbean where masters could have sex with slave boys as they chose? Our teacher was a real stickler for the law. He said, "Well, then, men who live in those jurisdictions and stay within the law of their own jurisdiction are not perverts."

Some tourist spots like Las Vegas and Hawaii had lowered their age the same as Florida's. And in current events we heard that the entire state of California would soon follow Florida's lead and that there was debate in Florida about lowering their legal age even younger. But I was grateful that where we lived the legal age for sex with a slave was fourteen. I couldn't bear the thought of sex with men!

I had gotten my dick sucked by slaves a few times. Well, the first time had been at the captain's party the previous summer. I suppose I was trying to prove myself by sticking my boner into my former big brother's mouth. But after all, all the other guys at the party were doing it. And my father had told me that even he had used Wally's mouth as a cumdump. My dad assured me that Wally was hot for cock and actually enjoyed sucking. I sure enjoyed having my cock sucked.

Once I started at the fancy school and visited some of my classmate's homes on weekends, I learned that rich people expect to use a slave's mouth and butt to relieve their dicks. Even though none of my friends from school was fourteen yet (and therefore they shouldn't have been having sex at all) they were all cool about getting their boners taken care of by slaves. I even watched some of them fuck slave boy ass, but the idea of it turned me off. I only boned up thinking about females.

But naked and exposed in the courtroom I noticed some men in the front row who were laughing together and grabbing their crotches. One of them called up to me, "Hey, cutie, if you really are fourteen I'll mortgage my house to buy that ass of yours at auction."

I almost wanted to yell back, "Shut up, pervert," but I saw the way the guard was holding the slave prod so I just lowered my head and walked down the stairs.

A few hours later I was on a stand at a slave auction house. Through a door I saw the big room where a lot of slaves were displayed, but I was kept in a small room where special customers were escorted in. My feet were shackled to the floor and my hands cuffed to the back of my slave collar. The first customer to examine me was an angry-looking man dressed all in black. When he started to stroke my exposed penis I shouted out, "You're not allowed. I'm only tw…" Zap! The guard touched the tip of the slave prod right to my butthole and I saw flashing colors and heard a buzzing sound. Before I could clear my head, there was a ballgag stuffed into my mouth.

Each of the men who came into the small room was handling me and examining me as if I was to be used as a sex slave. But I didn't understand how they could believe I was really fourteen? I was only four foot ten [1.47 m] tall and weighed about 90 pounds [40 kg].

Then a man came in that I recognized! Mr. Smedley was balding with glasses and a friendly round face. He was the father of one of my friends at school. I had seen him when he visited his son at the school and I had visited his house three different weekends. My eyes widened. Certainly Mr. Smedley would correct this misunderstanding. My twelfth birthday had been the same week as his son's birthday, so of course he knew my real age.

But there was a funny look on Mr. Smedley's face. The middle-aged man was licking his lips as he approached me. His fingers brushed over my exposed nipples and down my belly to fondle my stiff penis. His other hand reached around and moved up and down between my butt cheeks. My ass was already greasy from the many lubricated fingers that had already touched me back there. Mr. Smedley plunged his finger all the way in one thrust.

Even through the gag, I gasped. My friend's father wore the same friendly expression I had seen when I visited his home. But now he grasped at the front of his silk trousers and rubbed the outline of his erect penis. Under his breath he chuckled and said, "Look what you've done to me, you naughty boy." Then without removing his finger from my ass, he turned to the man in charge and said, "As soon as I heard about the arrest and then got wind of Judge Snow's little – ahem – typographical error, I rushed down here to get my hands on this sweet piece of boy meat."

What was I hearing? This was too twisted! But before Mr. Smedley could continue, there was a loud voice from the doorway announcing, "Take your finger out of the boy, Smedley. He's spoken for."

There stood Captain Winston at the door. He strode into the room like he owned the place and announced, "There certainly has been a typographical error. Judge Snow had a notation of a pre-sale of this merchandise to me. This new slave shouldn't have even been sent here. And don't think your auction house is going to get any percentage on the sale."

"But, sir, our expenses!"

"You will not be enriched for your own incompetence." The rest was a blur. About an hour later I was dressed in a pair of white briefs – in fact I recognized them as my own underpants – and I was being ushered into a big tiled room in the captain's mansion.

That's when I came eye-to-eye with my big brother Wally. Now that we were both slaves, I felt I could reclaim him as my brother. I wanted to run over to him and hug him, but he just turned away and mumbled, "I'm sorry to see you like this, Will." What a letdown. I figured he must have still been mad about the way I fucked his mouth at the party.

When Wally turned around I was really shocked by the marks on his back and his thighs. I could even see the marks on his ass through the white fabric of his slave shorts. "Damn, you must have been a very disobedient slave to get whipped like that. What did you do that was so bad?"

Wally just mumbled again. But the big slave Rye used that opportunity to lecture me about being an obedient slave and always doing whatever the master ordered. I don't know what was going on with Wally because he suddenly shouted out, "No!" But then Rye went over and talked to him quietly.

My big brother was like a complete stranger. He asked, "Does the boy need his pubes shaved?" The boy? I have a name. I am his brother, after all. So I acted real snotty about the fact that yes I do have some pubes. I didn't have a lot and they were more like fuzz than real hairs. But I wasn't gonna let Wally put me down like that.

The stuff they did to me was pretty humiliating – they shaved the little bit of fuzz I had and then Rye gave me a series of enemas and scrubbed my body. But after the humiliation of the perverts feeling me up at the auction house, I knew I would survive this.

Rye took me up to the captain's rooms and I told Wally, "Wish me luck." But he wouldn't even look at me as I left. Rye left me standing at the door as he went into the room. Then he led me back downstairs to the slave bathing room and said the captain wanted Wally to escort me upstairs.

At the door to the captain's rooms, Wally made sure I was standing in the right posture and then he whispered, "Remember, you're a slave. You have to do what your master commands." Half a minute later we were inside the sitting room, both of us standing at slave rest position in front of Captain Winston.

Our master was sitting on a plush couch. He was wearing a big white robe. Behind him stood a naked black pony slave. I had never seen skin so black and I had never seen so many tattoos and patterns all over a slave's skin. The pony slave had no expression on his face, but his enormous penis was sticking up fully stiff in front of him. Looking at his erection, I could only think of a baseball bat.

Captain Winston smiled at me in what seemed like a friendly way, but also seemed a little creepy. Even though he was looking at me, he was talking to Wally. "You've pleased me recently, Wally, so I want to reward you." The captain snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor in front of the big African slave. Wally fell to his knees, stuck out his tongue and started licking the thick black cock.

I tried to look away. I certainly had no interest in looking at a huge erect black penis. And when my brother opened his mouth and somehow managed to take the full thickness and length of the pole down his throat, I was grossed out.

"You knew he could take your sweet little peanut down his throat," Captain Winston said in a joking sort of way. "But I figured I'd give Wally a chance to show off for you just how good he is at being a pleasure slave."

Then the captain motioned for me to come closer. I was seated on his lap, his arm around me, and his hand moving up and down my back. He whispered in my ear, "It's not the thing for a master to do, but I want to give you and Wally a little private time together. Now, keep in mind, boy, he is a senior slave here so you must obey him. But, deep down, you're still brothers. I'm sure the two of you will have a bonding experience."

"Thank you, master," I whispered to him. "You are so very kind, sir." Wally was too wrapped up in sucking the pony slave's cock to pay any attention to the captain and me.

The big man kissed me on the cheek, smiled and then pointed toward a door that led to a large dressing room. He told me to lie down on the leather table in that room and wait for Wally. The room was elegant with everything in leather and shiny metal. One entire wall was covered with a mirror. There were smaller mirrors on the other walls so I could see reflections of reflections from every angle.

After about five minutes Wally came in. I smiled at him, but once again he seemed cool toward me. "Just lay on your back," he said in a flat voice.

"Lay on my back? Wally, what's going on?"

He met my eyes as he peeled down the white briefs I'd been wearing. "The captain told you that you have to obey what I tell you to do."

"Well, yeah," I said, trying to keep the underpants from being pulled off my feet. "But I figured you and me are brothers and the captain was giving us a chance to…."

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," Wally cut me off. He directed me to lift my right leg and grab my ankle with my right hand. Before I could even question what this was about, Wally was using a leather strap to tie my wrist and ankle together. Then, without another word, he did the same on the other side. So now each of my legs was raised in the air and bound to each of my wrists.

Then Wally leaned down toward my face and kissed me on the mouth. I struggled in my bondage and tried to turn my face away from his. Finally I turned to the side and spit. "That's disgusting, Wally. I'm not a homo like you, man."

He grabbed my face and kissed me harder on my mouth, forcing his tongue into my throat even as I gagged and struggled against him. Then he pulled his lips away and snarled, "You think I was a homo when I first got here, Will? I got used to it and you better learn to get used to it fast."

"Untie me you queer pervert!" I yelled at him. That's when he pulled down the front of his white slave briefs so that his shaved erection was sticking out near my face. I knew what was coming next.

"Look, I didn't mean to call you names, Wally," I said with a note of desperation in my voice. "I-I'm s-sorry I used your mouth at the captain's party. But all the guys were facefucking you. And, besides, you liked it."

The wet head of Wally's cock was rubbing side to side on my lips. My big brother seemed stronger than I remembered him as he held my head in place with a vice grip. "Stick out your tongue and lick the wet stuff off the tip, Will," he commanded.

"Fuck you!" I yelled. But in that instant he pushed the fat cockhead between my lips. I gagged and tried everything to push his boner out of my mouth.

When I pressed down with my teeth, Wally grabbed my balls and twisted them. "Don't do anything stupid, Will," my big brother said in a flat voice. "My dick is the property of Captain Winston and our master doesn't take kindly to anyone damaging his property."

Wally's cock slid into my mouth and I started crying. Tears slid down my cheeks. My big brother held onto my ears and started riding his erection in and out of my mouth. I gagged each time the mushroom head slammed against the back of my throat, but as the pounding continued I suppose my throat muscles started getting used to it. I felt him pushing his thick tool deeper each time.

His cock finally pulled free of my mouth and I quickly called out, "You c-can't do this, Wally. You know I'm not legal age. You're not allowed to have sex with a boy who's only…."

In the nastiest tone of voice I ever heard, Wally snapped, "So what're they gonna do? Make me a slave?" Then his head lowered as he knelt between my spread legs.

With my right hand tied to my right ankle and the same with my left hand and ankle, it was easy for Wally to spread my legs as wide apart as he wanted. I didn't know what was going to happen as I felt him touching my hairless ass cheeks. But then I felt his mouth at my crack.

No, he couldn't be doing what I thought he was doing! Nobody would do anything so gross. And yet there was no other explanation. His tongue was sliding up and down along my ass crack. His fingers were spreading my cheeks wide. Then I felt his tongue push into my butthole.

I had never even heard of anything as disgusting as a guy tonguing another guy's asshole. But before I could protest I felt an incredible wave of sensations run through my body. I was aware that my penis was leaking watery stuff but I couldn't explain why. Wally's tongue was making circles against the opening of my ass and I was shivering all over.

But just as I was lost in the wild feelings, I looked between my legs and there was Wally looking down at me. He was standing up and pressing the mushroom head of his cock against my hole. I just shook my head from side to side and whispered, "No, no. Please, Wally, no."

His face remained expressionless as he pushed the full length of his boner all the way into me. I felt his fat balls press against my hairless cheeks. Then he pulled out and pushed in. He did it again and then again. Then he was pulling and pushing in quick succession. He was doing it faster. Then he was slamming in harder. My own big brother was fucking me up the ass with a look of pleasure on his face.

I remembered how I had looked up to Wally, the school sports hero, the top student with a great future ahead of him, and my cool older brother. I remembered how I had been embarrassed when Wally showed up at school in his white slave briefs and collar, the property of Captain Winston. But it's as if none of that mattered anymore. From now on, Wally would just be the filthy pervert slave who raped my virgin ass. I shut my eyes and tried to shut out what was happening. But the friction up my behind was too insistent.

Then I heard the sound of the door opening and I heard the captain's powerful voice bellow, "Wha-a-at!" I opened my eyes to see the big man slam Wally on the side of the head and knock my big brother to the floor. Suddenly my ass was free of the assaulting cock, but I could feel my hole gaping open.

Our master was shouting at Wally. "I gave you a chance to spend time with your brother. But nasty sex-obsessed slaves don't have any feelings for their families. They can only think about stuffing their filthy slave cocks up a tight young hole." At that moment the captain was my hero. He ordered Wally to untie the leather straps that held me in such an awkward position. Wally crawled out of the room on his hands and knees with the captain smacking his behind. I couldn't help but smile at the sight.

Even though I was only a slave, the captain put an arm around me and guided me over to his big bed. "Your master will hold you for a bit, boy." As he guided me into the bed, his big robe fell to the floor. I saw his hairy chest. I saw his hairy belly hanging over the front of his boxer shorts. I saw the front of his boxer shorts tenting up and the tip of his hard cock sticking out of one leg. Almost as an afterthought he turned and dismissed the black pony slave, who rushed out of the room in a flash.

A moment later my master had his hairy arms and legs around me. He was holding me against his body and his big hand was once again moving up and down my slim back – only now his hand cupped and squeezed my ass cheeks. He planted kisses on my forehead, on my cheek, on my neck. I knew this was not right. But I also knew that, as a slave, there was nothing I could say or do.

His finger made contact with my anus. I tensed up. "Did he hurt you, boy? Did that nasty slave put his cock inside your ass and fuck you?"

"Yes, master," I whispered tears filling my eyes at the memory.

Suddenly his mouth was on my mouth and his tongue was pushing between my lips. It had been gross when Wally kissed me this way. After all, I was being kissed by a boy's mouth. But this was so much worse – the captain was an old man. He must have been at least fifty. He was fat and his body smelled. He was hairy everywhere. His beard scratched my face and his tongue tasted of alcohol and tobacco.

At the same time his thick finger was pushed deep into my asshole. I called out in pain and said, "Please, sir. Please, don't sir."

"You had a slave cock up your ass, boy," the captain said, his voice still sounding warm and concerned. "That's wrong, so very wrong. There's only one way a master can make that right, Will. You need to have your master's cock up there."

Somehow the big man got me spread out so my legs were wrapped around his middle. His thick cockhead was pushing against my asshole. I suppose my hole was already slick from Wally's pre-cum. I felt pressure and then I felt myself being opened. His cock thrust into me.

"P-please, master, d-don't." But before I could say more his tongue was once again in my mouth.

I felt his thick pubes grind against my balls and against the backs of my thighs. Then he pulled back and started to fuck me hard and fast. Each time he slammed into me I grunted with the breath knocked out of me. I clawed at him. I tried to push him off me. But my frantic actions only seemed to arouse the man even more.

His foul sweat was dripping on me and he was panting as he began to rant. "Don't worry your pretty little head, slaveboy. The paperwork from Judge Snow says you're fourteen and perfectly legal, heheheheh. But you and I know the truth, don't we, boy? You and I know just what kind of power and money I have in this town when I can get a pretty twelve-year-old schoolboy like you stripped bare-ass naked for some tongue kissing and ass fucking."

The last word turned to a howl and the captain collapsed on top of me. For the first time in my life I felt hot sperm filling up my guts. The man's heavy body was glued to me with sweat. I could feel his heartbeat against me. It was so loud and fast I was hoping his heart would just explode.

When the captain ordered me to lick his cock clean I broke into sobs. That led to my first spanking. Apparently spanking my ass led to the captain popping another erection. So not only did I have to lick my ass juices off the captain's penis, but he ended up fucking my mouth and shooting a load down my throat.

By the time Rye took me back downstairs to the slave bathing room many hours later, I felt totally defeated. When I saw Wally I was reminded of the pain of his cock being the first inside my body. I didn't want to see my brother, I didn't want him to see me, and I certainly didn't want his hands touching me in any way.

Two days later Wally was shipped off to a new owner. I did not know where he went. Even Rye didn't have the answer to that. I told myself I was glad my older brother was gone. I swore I would never again think of him as my brother. He was just a perverted sex-obsessed slaveboy.

It was about three months later when I again found myself face-to-face with Tar, the big black pony slave who had been in the captain's rooms my first night at the Winston estate. We were backstage. He was adjusting a small piece of colorful cloth that covered his cock and balls, while I was dressing in khaki shorts and shirt.

Tar said something about being sorry that Wally had been sent away. I gave a smart-alecky reply about never wanting to see Wally again after what he did to me that night.

The big African grabbed me by the face and forced me to look in his eyes as he snapped, "You little foolish brat! Didn't you realize Wally was ordered to put on a show for our master who was watching through the mirrored wall?

"I was there," Tar said emphatically, "when Wally begged the captain not to make him do those things to you. I was there and heard when the captain gave a choice – either Wally could take your cherry or else I would be sent to skewer you hard and deep on my eleven-and-a-half inch [29 cm] pole. Wally wiped away his tears and went into the room where you were waiting."

The words of the big pony slave were like being struck by lightning. I just looked at him with my eyes wide and my jaw hanging open.

Rye called for us to hurry up and dress. The captain and his dinner guests were waiting for the show. It had been explained to me that this would be a more intimate show than usual – apparently the captain could only invite friends he was certain wouldn't mind seeing an underage boy perform. Didn't mind? The audience was made up of perverts who reveled in the sight of my young body being abused onstage.

It's odd to say that I do not remember the pain of those two big African cocks pummeling my slim body that night. No physical pain could compare to the ache I felt over the way Wally and I parted. Since we were both slaves I knew the likelihood that I would never see my older brother again.

Chapter 17
The Cruelty Of Judge Snow

Wally's Narrative Continues

There are some slave memoirs that spend paragraphs describing each individual slash of a 50-stroke whipping. Some slaves and former slaves seem to enjoy providing the minutest details of the grossest indignities they suffered. Does it give them a sense of peace to put it on paper? Do they enjoy the sympathy of others knowing just how much they suffered? Clearly there are readers who relish each horrific point in these chronicles.

I shall try to be factual without delving too deeply into that which is disgusting. Those readers with a more genteel sensibility may wish to skim past certain paragraphs. Those readers with a fascination for the prurient can easily envision and elaborate on anything I reference.

Judge Snow lived on the top floor of the tallest residential building in the town of Winston. He had the entire top floor, not just an apartment. When I first entered his penthouse I could see for miles from the windows. I didn't know that would be my last sight of the outdoors for more than a year.

My cage was on a dolly and was wheeled directly into a large bathroom and dressing room off the judge's bedroom. Once in this room I was taken out of the cage I'd occupied since leaving the Winston estate. My handcuffs were removed. But before I could breathe a sigh of relief a metal cuff was being soldered onto my left ankle. The sparks burned my flesh but I kept silent. There were thick rings of a chain attached to the ankle cuff, and this chain was attached to a wall. The slave cops moved out of the way and I got my first sight of Judge Snow in his home.

"Stand up, slaveboy," he shouted impatiently. I stumbled to my feet. He next wanted to see how far I could go with the chain attached to my lower leg. I was able to move to all the corners of the enclosed room. I was able to get as far as the door of the room. But beyond the door was a hallway that led to the judge's bedroom. I could not pass through into that hallway.

Then I was left alone to contemplate my new home. One wall of the room was lined with closets. I would soon learn that in addition to the judge's wardrobe there was also a collapsible lounge chair and a collapsible whipping frame stored away in the closets. Also there was a hidden washer, dryer and ironing board that I would be using soon enough.

I looked along the wall where I was chained and saw the toilet. There were magazines where the toilet paper dispenser should have been. I half smiled to myself, wondering whether the judge used pages of the magazines in place of toilet paper. But then I felt a chill as I remembered Captain Winston's reference to a friend of his who didn't like to waste paper when a slaveboy's tongue would do the job just as well. I had no doubt the friend he had referred to was my new master, Judge Snow.

The floor was tiled and cold. I wondered if there would be some bedroll or at least an old towel that I would use as a surface on which to sleep. I would soon learn that there would be no bedrolls, no sheets, no blankets and no pillows. I would sleep curled up on the cold tile floor.

There was no window in the bathroom where I was kept only an artificial light that stayed on around the clock. I never saw natural light coming from my master's bedroom down the hall. It didn't take long before I lost all track of time. Was the judge coming in for his morning shower? Or was this a late night shower? Once the door of the bathroom was shut, I never knew whether my master was sleeping or whether he had left the penthouse to go to work.

Above my chain there was a water dispenser in the shape of a cock. I had to suck it way down into my throat before it would give any water. There was also an automatic food dispenser. I thought something was wrong because each day's portion of slave biscuits was so meager – barely half what I was used to eating.

Judge Snow saved me from the punishment that would have come had I asked about the slave biscuits. He walked in one day as I was eating and said, "I don't have to spend a fortune feeding you, boy. It's not like you're pulling a plow or doing real work. Besides your diet is supplemented with protein-rich man cream." I thought about the weak trickle of watery cum that he produced only occasionally and just kept silent munching on the few biscuits.

But my new master didn't need any reason to punish me. I would finish all the laundry, iron everything perfectly, scrub every inch of the room so that it sparkled, and still the door might open at any time, my master wielding a strap or a cane or a whip. No reason was ever given. As far as I could see, the judge believed firmly that a master had a right to whip a slave and that was all there was to it.

In the many mirrors around the room I saw the way my back was torn up. The stripes from one whipping never healed before they were ripped up by the slashes of a caning. The agony of the first two- or three-dozen whippings soon turned to numbness.

The judge never had interest in dicking my ass, but he had a variety of dildoes he'd make me stick into myself. Many had irregular surfaces and I knew my anus was being torn up. But I would bounce on the artificial cocks as I sucked on my master's fleshy one. Judge Snow was only interested in my mouth and tongue, but he made ample use of both. He would lie back on a padded lounge chair that was kept folded in a closet in this room (I was never allowed on this chair). I would be required to lick every inch of his body.

I had to learn to praise his corpulent body. As I licked under the folds of fat that hung from his arms and between the folds of fat around his middle, I would repeat the phrases he had drilled into my head: "A boy like me needs the sweat of a real man like you, Judge Snow, so I can grow up big and strong, sir."

The most repulsive flavors were always between his heavy thighs. I would lick the gooey sweat from behind his balls and then feel his hand pushing me lower. I would welcome the inevitable sucking of his cock, since it would wash away some of the taste of the man's ass. Many times he would fall asleep while I was sucking. But I knew my role. I kept his cock in my mouth. At some point he would stir in his sleep and I would feel a warm stream of piss pouring down my throat. I would gulp it down and an instant later the judge's snoring would resume its regular pattern.

Meanwhile my body was becoming whiter and softer by the day. Although I tried to do sit-ups and push-ups, there was nothing to really exercise my muscles. With so little food I usually felt too weak and lethargic to make any effort to exercise. I never saw any sun or fresh air. I looked in the mirrors and saw my sunken eyes and hollow cheeks.

I remembered how I'd lost track of the days at the Winston estate. But at least I had moved from room to room. At least I spoke to Rye and other slaves. At least I had seen the outdoors and even spent time working in the sun.

How long had I been held captive chained to the floor of the judge's bathroom? How many times had I been required to strain my tongue to try to push it between the massive cheeks of the man's hairy ass? I gobbled up the slave chow and licked my fingers for any dust. And yet the rumbling in my stomach was stilled. Perhaps my stomach had shrunk? I no longer felt the hunger I'd experienced during my first months in the penthouse.

When the judge was feeling especially frisky or vindictive I would be made to pull the collapsible whipping frame from the closet and set it up for a serious punishment session. Judge Snow would watch me firmly attach my ankles to each lower corner. Then he would pull my arms up and out as far as they'd go and attach each wrist to an upper corner of the frame. Then he would go wild whipping my entire back from shoulders to calves.

Then came a particular day. As usual I had no idea whether it was day or night. I didn't know the day of the week or the month or even the season. The judge had me firmly tied down to the whipping frame. His breathing seemed even louder and more labored. Apparently his excitement was over the purchase of a new whip. It was from China, the whip-thin tail of some hybrid animal they'd genetically-engineered, and well over six feet [1.8 m] long.

Judge snow had designed the room with tall enough ceilings so he was able to raise a long whip high over his head and bring it down with a whistling sound. The first lash of this newest implement felt like it cut straight down the middle of my back, from my neck to my ass crack. I gasped with a deep intake of breath.

I felt the second slash and the third slash. I heard the whip begin its whistling descent for the fourth slash, but then the long animal tail just fell across my back and I heard a thud. I looked in the mirror and saw Judge Snow lying on the floor clutching his chest.

"Help me! He-e-e-elp me," the man rasped weakly, gasping for breath. I couldn't take my eyes off the image in the mirror. The judge was dying on the floor behind me.

"G-G-God in heaven…" he struggled with the words.

Hearing those words from my cruel master was the final straw. I don't know where I got the strength to speak in such a strong voice but I called out, "God in heaven – if there is such an entity – the world is a filthier, fouler place because Jebediah Snow crawled across it. If there is a heaven and if there is a God, make this vile creature eat a ton of shit in hell for every tear shed by a boy he unjustly enslaved."

"No-o-o-o," the obese man croaked. Now I knew for sure he was dying. He didn't even rebuke me for speaking out of turn. I knew any slave speaking to Judge Snow as I'd just spoken would be flayed alive and ripped limb from limb.

The dying man's lips were moving. He was trying to begin his prayer once again, but I wasn't going to give him a chance. "Jebediah Snow, God decrees that you will spend eternity in boiling excrement. For each time you signed an illegal document so some underage boy could be abused, you will…."

Judge Snow was finally able to squeak out the words, "F-f-f-forgive me."

Now I was the one with the cruel laugh, as I snapped, "No! Fuck no! God won't forgive you! I won't forgive you! Rye and Will won't forgive you! Some things can never be forgiven."

Through the mirror image I saw a look of absolute terror on my master's face. Was he struggling for air one last time? Or was he reacting to the most horrific sight of his life in front of his eyes? His mouth was stretched open wide. Was he crying out "No" or was that a death rattle?

"That's Satan's asshole you're looking at," I concluded, knowing full well these were the last words he would hear in his lifetime. "Open wide, Jebediah."

Given my unused muscles, my malnourishment, and the intense sensations from the brief whipping I had just experienced, the words I'd spoken used up all reserves of strength I may have had. And where did I, a slave, get the nerve to say those words to a master?

I wondered for a moment if there was any chance anyone could have heard me? Were other slaves in the judge's penthouse? He often fell asleep in this room with me so nobody would come anytime soon. But the next day or the day after someone would notice he was missing. Certainly the judge would be expected in court. But for all I knew this could have been vacation time.

Hanging stretched out by my arms and legs, my body was sagging. I slipped in and out of consciousness. My limbs were all numb. I didn't know how long I'd been hanging there. I remembered, when I was in school, reading about how long a person could survive without water. How long was that? How long had it already been? And how bad was the smell from Judge Snow's bloated corpse? I had gotten so used to bad smells serving that awful man, it would have been a blessing for me to lose my sense of smell altogether.

Looking at my reflection I figured dying might be the best of many bad options. In time I wasn't certain whether I was alive or dead. Was I dreaming when I saw myself floating on a cloud? Judge Snow was trying to climb onto my cloud. I heard the same rattled, "Help me," he had moaned while dying. I kicked his hands and watched him tumble down and down and down. The flames rose where he landed. Was that really boiling excrement down below?

When I heard voices, I figured it was just part of another dream. But then I felt hands unlatching my wrists and ankles. I blinked my eyes trying to get my vision clear. People were struggling to carry out the obese body of the judge on a stretcher. Unlatched from the whipping frame my body fell across the cold floor.

A deep voice shouted, "Get a slave in here to clean this one up. He's alive, but just barely."

"Fuck, look at the condition of this piece of slavemeat," another voice mocked. "He'd be better off dead."

I wanted to say "Sir, yes, sir, that's just what I thought," but by then I had lost the power of speech. I felt some water splashing on me. I heard the sound of electric saws cutting through the chains that had held me to the floor of this room for what turned out to be almost a year and a half.

When I fully regained consciousness I was in a slave cage at the end of a big room. There were slaves in other cages, but none near me. The sound of heavy boots came close. I tried to rise to proper slave kneeling position and wobbled in my efforts. I fell over just as I saw two pairs of black pants in front of my cage.

"M-masters, f-forgive this slave, masters." Then I struggled back up onto my knees, my head bowed.

"You've gotta be kidding," a voice with a Southern twang said.

A deep voice replied, "Oh yeah? Take a look at the pictures in this folder." Was that manly voice the same one I heard when I was rescued from the whipping frame in the judge's penthouse? "The boy in these pictures is so fuckin' cute even the straightest guy on earth would want to dick him up the rear"

"Wait, you don't mean to tell me…?" the Southern twang challenged.

"Yep, that's the same boy. Amazing how some people got no regard for an investment like that. I could buy him today for less than the price of a weekend in New York."

The two men started to walk away and I heard the conversation continue: "I'll bet you could get him for less than the price of a weekday in Detroit. But it would cost you so much to get him into any kind of decent shape. And, damn, there's no way you could get his back and ass looking good again."

"There are new procedures."

"That would cost half a million dollars for skin torn up as bad as his."

Then I heard the deep voice shouting to some person in the distance, "See that the slave down there gets exercise for the atrophied muscles."

I didn't know what the future would bring. But I was being fed and I was able to move around my small cage. I was given simple exercise devices – a wheel that I had to turn with my feet and another I had to turn with my arms – so that soon I was getting some use back in my sore limbs. Simply waking up on my thin bedroll with a tattered sheet over me, able to see the morning light from the windows high up on the wall, I would breathe a sigh of relief. At least I wasn't still chained to the floor of Judge Snow's bathroom.

Days passed and I heard the familiar deep voice coming toward me once more. My cage was opened and I stepped out in slave rest position. As manly as the voice had sounded, I wasn't prepared for the physical power of the man who stood in front of me. I caught myself looking at his strong jaw and thick neck, but then quickly looked back down to the floor. He simply laughed. But his laugh wasn't cruel or creepy like I'd heard from my previous masters. It was hearty and strong.

My hands were being cuffed to my collar by slave cops but I was left standing facing this man. I could read the tag on his black slave officer uniform: Sgt S. Miller.

"I'm your new owner, boy." These were the first words he spoke to me.

"Master, thank you, master."

"You better thank him, boy." There was that Southern drawl once more. "The pathetic shape you're in they were embarrassed to even put you in an auction. You're so underweight they couldn't even get a good price from the dog food factory."

My new master snapped a leash onto my collar and started leading me through the room as he said, "Shut up, Benny, the kid's been through enough crap."

We were stopped at the door leading to the parking lot. But it was a casual exchange with Sgt Miller's supervisor. "This is the phone number of those lawyers for that Winston character who used to own the boy. I explained to them that according to the contract they had written up the boy was fully the property of Judge Snow at the time of the old bastard's death. If they'd contacted me before your check cleared it might have been different. But apparently Winston was over in China closing some bullshit deal for whips made out of hybrid animal tails.

"You should have heard those asshole lawyers going on about how powerful Captain Winston is in the town of Winston. I told them he could stick all his power up his ass in that one-horse company town. I work in Capitol City for the governor. But Shawn," the supervisor's voice got quieter as he handed my master a slip of paper. "If you decide you made a mistake buying this piece of slaveflesh, this Winston character would probably give you some cold hard cash for him."

I had to hop quickly to try to keep up with the pace set by the big man holding my leash. Looking down I had a view of his boulder-like buttocks and strong thighs. "What a man," I thought to myself. Not only because of the power in his body. But also there was the way he spoke to his colleague. My master had actually spoken up in defense of me. "This is the kind of man I could worship."

Somewhere way back in my mind something rebelled. Worship this man? But I'm straight. I've only ever done queer sex when I've been ordered by my masters, or for comfort with other slaves. But I remembered what Sgt Miller had said about pictures of me – no doubt pictures taken more than two years earlier when I was still a free boy and a statewide athletic champion. He had said, "Even the straightest guy on earth would want to dick this boy up the rear."

I looked at the powerful arms and shoulders of my new master as he led me into a cramped cage beside the driver's seat in his Jeep. I thought to myself, "Even the straightest boy in the world would be willing to worship this man."

Then I saw the small piece of paper in my master's hand. It had the phone number for Captain Winston's lawyers. The man's hand crumpled the paper and tossed it on the ground as he got into his Jeep.

As he was securing the slave cage with seat belts and warming up the engine I had a chance to look at Sgt Shawn Miller's face. I was daydreaming. For the first time in years I was lost in a daydream. I would be his slave. I would drink his piss in the morning and then suck his cock. My mouth salivated and my penis went totally erect as I thought about pleasing my new master.

Then Master Shawn spoke to me: "The plan is to spend a little money and a lot of time getting you fixed up and then turning a nice profit on re-selling you, boy." He re-opened the door of the Jeep and then reached down retrieving the slip of paper that had the phone number for Captain Winston's lawyers.

My daydream was over. "Yes, Master," I said.

Chapter 18
Is There Hope For Wally?

Even as he was driving fast, Master Shawn kept up a constant monologue. "You should thank your lucky stars that you were strapped securely to that whipping frame when Judge Snow had his heart attack and died. If a slave is found with the dead body of his master, no matter how faultless the slave might be, that slave is put down. And if there's even the slightest possibility that the slave may have had some hand in the death of a free person, well… seeing a slave put to death in those circumstances is not pretty.

"And I just happened to be there and saw you that day because I was in the town of Winston for my standard monthly examination of slave records and slave conditions there. It's all a lot of bullshit paperwork, but it's one of the multitude of nonsense they pay me for."

One of the most fundamental facts of slavery was that nothing needed to be explained to a slave. Slaves followed orders. A master did not have to give a slave any reasons for those orders and did not have to tell a slave any future plans. But my new master just kept chattering away.

Master Shawn told me that he had never intended to have a career as a slave cop – he was actually a slave trainer. "And I was the best damn slave trainer!" he declared. "Damn, I'm still the best slave trainer. I could break through the thickest free boy attitude and I could take a sack of shit pathetic teenage boy and turn him into prime merchandise that will get top dollar at auction." He then went on to tell me about a 'stupid lawsuit' that had shut down his training operation and forced him to take a job with the slave police.

I knew he was telling the truth when he told me that because of his expertise with slaves and his skills with people, he had quickly been promoted to sergeant. The man exuded confidence. If he said he was an expert you knew he was speaking the truth on the matter.

"There's a reason I'm so good at training slaves," he said. But that's where his monologue stopped. He glanced at me with an enigmatic look on his face. I suddenly realized I was looking right into his face; our eyes were meeting. I averted my gaze and looked down at the floorboard of the car and mumbled an apology. There was that hearty laugh again.

I'd been a slave for more than two years at that point. But I'd spent the major portion of those last two years chained inside a windowless room in Judge Snow's penthouse. Even before the judge became my master, I had rarely left the dorm house when I served Master Brad at his school and my tasks at the Winston estate never required me to leave the grounds. I felt overwhelmed by all the fresh air as the open Jeep sped along, and even more overwhelmed by the openness of my new master.

The Jeep slowed as we entered the grounds of what looked like a construction company. Master Shawn jolted the car to a halt and honked the horn insistently. "Quit the honking, Shawn! He's on his way." The voice came from a gruff older man who wore jeans with a tie and sports jacket. Just the way he carried himself told me this man was in charge here.

"Wanna get my new piece of property home, Gil," Master Shawn said as if this other man was an old buddy.

"Holy crap!" Gil exclaimed standing right next to my cage and looking at me. "Whatever you paid for this piece of slavemeat it was too much. Shawn, are you out of your mind buying something that ain't fit for a trash heap?" How could that man talk about me as if I wasn't even there?

My master seemed in good cheer as he replied, "Well if I really am that far out of my mind, Gil, maybe you'll end up owning me again." The man named Gil laughed so loud and hard it sounded like a machine gun.

When I looked up I realized there was a different man standing beside the Jeep. This black man seemed to be the same height and have the same massive chest and shoulders as my master. However, the black man was wearing a tight pair of black slave shorts and a white tanktop that had the name of the construction company on it. I could also see this man's slave collar and the SIN tattooed along his collarbone. From all outward appearances this black man was a slave, but he stood tall and looked directly at Master Shawn as he said, "You put the cargo in the front seat? Am I expected to move the cage into the back seat?"

"Well, you're the slave, Sam old buddy!" my master said in an off-hand way.

There was a pause and then the slave named Sam got into the back seat of the car. Master Shawn called over his shoulder, "Lazy ass slave!" with a laugh and then was speeding down the highway once again.

"Thought you'd forgot about me. Figured I'd have to stay over in the bunkhouse tonight," Sam said.

"Sure would'a made a lot of them bottom boy slaves happy."

"Damn, Shawn. You know I never manage to fuck more than three of 'em in one night… well, at least not recently." Then the two of them shared another hearty laugh. Their conversation continued but I couldn't follow all the unfamiliar names that were tossed back and forth. Also, I was preoccupied trying to figure out what was going on between these two men. It was clear that Shawn was the master and Sam was the slave, but they were talking together as if they were two buddies.

The Jeep pulled to a sudden stop and both of the brawny men were carrying my cage into what looked like a rustic farmhouse. As Master Shawn was unlatching the lock and guiding me out of the cage I heard Sam cry out, "What the fuck kinda sick sadist did this to the boy?"

"I told you about the stuff I'm digging up on that twisted so-called judge."

I stood up from the cramped position and then did my best to get into a slave rest posture. Then, just as if I wasn't there, the two men embraced and kissed each other passionately on the mouth. I was so close that there was no mistaking it was a wet kiss with lots of tongue. But this wasn't a kiss as I had experienced it – a master forcing his tongue into a slaveboy's mouth – this was a sexually-charged kiss between two lovers.

As if this wasn't all confusing enough, Master Shawn then announced, "I'll put up supper in the kitchen. How about you getting the boy into a tub with those special powders? He's gonna need a lot of soaking for that skin."

Sam took me gently by the arm and led me up the stairs. It was surprisingly difficult for me since I hadn't walked up or down stairs in such a long time. Then the big black man walked me into a nice-looking bathroom: clean tiles, shiny fixtures, and fluffy towels. This was a free man's bathroom, but nothing like the ornate room at Judge Snow's penthouse. The black man knelt beside the tub and began running water, taking great care with the temperature. Then he pulled out a box and a container, sprinkling flakes and then pouring just a few drops of a liquid.

"Hop in the tub, young fella," he said smiling at me.

I stumbled out of my slave shorts and climbed cautiously into the tub. I eased myself back into the water. It felt so soothing. It felt absolutely luxurious against my bare skin.

"Look at me, kid," Sam said. "With everything else wrong with you, please don't tell me you also lost your mind? Say something to me, boy. Say something to let me know that you have your wits about you."

"M-master," I began cautiously. But before I could get another word out, Sam told me that he was a slave. Since he had all the outward appearances of a slave, he must have really figured I'd lost my mind at that point.

There was a long uncomfortable moment of silence and then I said, "If you're a slave, how come you can talk to your master the way you do?"

Sam smiled but the smile disappeared from his face quickly. "I take it from the bruises all over you that you had a master who insisted he always be addressed properly?"

"Addressed properly?" I said with a weak laugh. "If I made any sound at all I'd get an extra ten lashes. Heck, I didn't even have to make a sound or move a muscle to get an extra ten or twenty or thirty lashes."

"Yeah, you still do have some brainpower going for you!" Sam said softly.

I took a deep breath feeling strengthened from the warm water of the tub and said, "In point of fact I would've had straight A's my final semester in middle school if it hadn't been for my enslavement screwing up my last two weeks of school." I wondered where those words had come from? I had put all that out of my mind long ago. But now Sam asked me to tell him about my life in middle school and I didn't even pause as I described my success on the track team and my perfect score in chemistry and the girl I had hoped to fuck.

Just then Master Shawn called up the stairs to say that supper was almost done. Sam called back "The new boy needs another five minutes in the tub. He'll have his steak well done the same as mine."

"You have the taste buds of field slaves!" came the shouted reply.

Sam helped me out of the tub and dried me with a fluffy, dry towel – not a towel that had previously been used by a free man. He wrapped another very large towel around me and guided me down to the kitchen. I was getting steadier on my feet, even on the steps. In the kitchen I was guided to a corner of the room where I got down on another soft towel. There was a water bottle hanging up for me to drink from and there was a bowl on the floor. I'd hardly gotten into position when Master Shawn slid some sliced up pieces of freshly broiled steak into the food bowl. He scooped mashed potatoes in beside the steak and then tossed in freshly cooked green beans.

The two men, master and slave, sat at the table where each had a plate with steak, potatoes and vegetables, and each had a glass of wine. "So the boy's probably wondering," Sam began as he took a sip of the wine. "If I'm a slave and he's a slave how come he has to eat on the floor?" The master seemed too busy eating to contribute to the conversation, so Sam turned to me and continued, "When we're training and preparing a slave for resale to other owners, we have to keep the boy aware of his role as a slave. It wouldn't do you any favor to get used to sitting at a nice table with a fork and knife and then find yourself sold to a slavemaster that would be outraged at the thought of a slave sitting at his table."

"Did you tell the boy our history together?" Master Shawn finally piped in.

"Shawn and I were enslaved together," Sam said between bites of his dinner. I stopped eating and looked at my master. I hadn't noticed before that he had removed his outer shirt and was now just in an undershirt. I could see a faint mark where his SIN had been removed.

"That was close to fifteen years ago when I got enslaved," Master Shawn added. "Let's just say I was young and cocky and too stupid to read all the details before signing an agreement. Sam and I both ended up at the construction company. Would you believe this stupid hunk of dark meat actually thought he was gonna fuck me in the barracks? Fuck ME?"

"He put up a helluva fight," Sam said laughing uncontrollably. "But lemme tell you, that sweet hard ass of his was worth it."

"As I remember I got you into a hammerlock and I'm the one who fucked you that first night!" Our master announced with a big smile on his face.

"Maybe the second night, Shawn. But that first night it was definitely my cock that had a sweet ride. Besides, Gil had already taken your cherry on the horse."

I cowered in the corner from the sudden movement. I thought the two men were really going to get into a fistfight right there in the kitchen. But they soon settled back, each smiling at the other and saying they didn't want to let the good food get cold. It seemed a very unusual relationship but it was clear from their interaction that these two men had quite a long history together.

It turned out that Shawn was freed from his enslavement and his uncle and cousins had then lost their freedom on charges of false enslavement. Shawn had inherited this family home with many acres out back and enough money for him to buy Sam and start a business where the two of them trained slaves. But after years of success there had been some complicated lawsuit where their company had been found liable for the death of a valuable slave. Master Shawn's face went red at the mention of the lawsuit. He insisted the owner had caused the slave's injuries, before the slave had been brought to their training center. "But Judge Snow was a buddy of the owner so he wasn't interested in any actual facts."

So now, since the end of their slave training business, Master Shawn had gone to work for the slave police and he leased Sam on a day-to-day basis with the same construction company where the two of them had originally been enslaved. I was astonished to realize that Gil, the man who had been so friendly when we stopped at the construction company, had once been Shawn's master – the man who took Shawn's anal virginity!

I wasn't able to finish the little bit of steak I'd been given – the food was too rich after the time I'd spent on a meager diet. My supper was supplemented with enriched slave chow. I was then led to a space under the stairs that had been fixed up with a mattress, sheets and even a pillow. Sam was apologetic about placing me there. "But insurance insists that slaves need to be locked in. The only other option is if the slave is sharing a room with his master, as I do."

Just as he was about to close the door I said, "Don't apologize, Sam. Heck, I was prepared to nominate the two of you for the Nobel Peace Prize for giving me a pillow." I wanted him to laugh at that, but there was a look of profound sadness on his face instead.

Both Master Shawn and Sam had taken the next two days off from their usual jobs to start their work with me. Master Shawn showed me machines I would be using for my workouts, to build strength and muscles. The machines would be pre-set with goals. My master warned me that the goals would always be a little bit more than I was capable of doing. I would always be pushed to my limits and then more would be demanded of me. I thought I was prepared to push myself for Master Shawn, but I ached all over by the end of that day. Once again I was led to a warm comforting bath and then ate on the kitchen floor while the two big men ate at the table.

The following day I helped move exercise equipment out to a red pickup truck. I was barely much help, my emaciated form looking so odd between the hulking biceps of the two older men. Then I was placed in a cage and also secured onto the flatbed of the truck. Master Shawn had simply told me that I was going to begin treatments for my torn-up skin. We drove through countryside, then through a town, then into a sprawling suburban area, and out into a different country setting. Finally, I looked around and saw that the truck was driving on the campus of FLIT, the Fenster-Lurch Institute of Technology. I had heard of FLIT – it specialized in biology, genetic science, biotechnology, and medical research.

But as we pulled to a stop in front of an imposing old building I remembered something I'd read and a chill ran through me. FLIT used more slaves in medical research than any other facility in the Western Hemisphere. I had known two days of kindness from my new master. But what awaited upstairs in the labs of FLIT?

Ten minutes after meeting Dr. Red my mind was eased. He was clearly a man who took charge, a man who knew what he wanted, a man who would brook no nonsense, but I also saw warmth in his penetrating eyes. There was a kindness in his smile – not the false smiles I'd gotten from my first master. As he examined the torn up flesh on my back, I thought I even saw tears well up in the older man's eyes. But I could tell that Dr. Red was the kind of man who would vehemently deny ever shedding tears.

The medical researcher was at least ten years older than Master Shawn, and his body wasn't nearly as imposing. Dr. Red wasn't much taller than me. He had broad shoulders though and an impressive chest that I could see even through his lab coat. I knew his real name only from the stencil on his office door, but he insisted that everyone call him Red. He expected proper respect from his students so they were to call him Dr. Red. As for me, I would call him Master Red.

Yes, I would be used for scientific research, to try out a new treatment. But I quickly learned that Master Red's research had involved restoring skin. He believed that he could grow fresh skin – my own new skin, soft and supple, to replace the scars and tough tissue on my back, ass and thighs.

Master Shawn believed in Dr. Red's research, even where some scientists doubted his work. My owner knew that his medical researcher friend needed an experimental subject. "Look at me, Wally," Master Shawn commanded. "Why did I choose you as the subject? There are hundreds of slaves available at any given time that have torn up backs. So why you, boy?"

Master Red continued with the thought in a softer tone. "My buddy Shawn knew I needed a subject who wanted to be healed, a subject who had hope for the future. Many badly-beaten slaves simply wish to die. They will blindly follow any order. Their only hope is not to get beaten further. How devoted would such a slave be to a health regimen? How hard would such a slave work on a demanding exercise routine? Science has now firmly demonstrated that a positive attitude affects health. I needed a slave who could have a positive attitude."

I was stunned. How had Master Shawn seen any positive attitude in me when he unchained me from the whipping frame in Judge Snow's bathroom? How could he believe I had hopes for the future when he saw me half-alive in a cell? I knew I hadn't been addressed. I knew that nobody asked me a question. But I spoke up anyway. "Masters, I will do everything in my power to see that your treatment succeeds." The two masters turned to each other and smiled.

Sam showed me where all the exercise machines were set up. They were pre-set with the required specifications I was to perform, and they were hooked to a computer that would send all the details of my workout to Master Shawn. It was explained that I would live here, in the professor's laboratory during the week, but that Master Shawn would pick me up and take me back to his house on the weekends.

Master Shawn went out to buy prepared food, since there was no restaurant that would permit the two free men to sit with Sam, who was obviously still a slave. While that was happening, Master Red took a series of photographs of my wounds – he must have taken more than a hundred very detailed close ups. Then the professor led me to what had been a walk-in closet in his office. The door had been replaced with bars like the door of a jail cell. Inside, a cot was made up with clean sheets and a pillow – the cot filled most of the small space.

I was laid on my stomach and then Master Red took an enormous sponge and fitted it over my entire back, buttocks and upper thighs. The sponge was saturated with a thick liquid that smelled bitter. The wetness began to seep into my flesh. At first it felt warming but after a few minutes it started to burn. Then it was tingling as if a thousand ants were crawling under my flesh.

"P-please, Master," I called out. "Is it supposed to burn and tingle like this, sir?"

Master Red answered in the affirmative. He did not close the bars of my closet cell. He just strode through his office to the classroom beyond, greeting Master Shawn and Sam even though I couldn't see the two other men. They spoke softly, but I heard the scientist say, "If the boy can't stay still for a little tingling and burning sensation for a few hours, then you might as well take him back right now before we go further. If that sponge is moved from his back, I'll look for a new experimental subject starting tomorrow."

I resolved then that I would stay perfectly still. I was still only sixteen years old and I decided in that moment that the awful treatment I'd received from the twisted judge was not going to be the end of my life. Dr. Red was going to heal my wounds. I would be the perfect subject for his treatment.

Thoughts began to creep into my mind asking "and then what?" If my skin was restored, my body filled out and strong again, my face looking handsome as it did before, then what? I realized I was only being restored to wholeness so I could be sold at a profit and then I would face another master. Another Captain Winston? Another Judge Snow? Or worse? I shook my head. I couldn't let myself dwell on fears for the future. At least, if Dr. Red's treatment worked, I would have a future. I couldn't dwell on fears of what would happen in that future.

Hours later, after my master and his slave lover had left, Master Red removed the sponge from my back. He took a bucket with specially-treated water and softly swabbed my back with a soft cloth. His touch seemed so soft and loving. I noticed from the clock it was already after ten in the evening. I wondered whether Dr. Red had a family at home, whether he had anyone waiting for him to get home. I began to fall asleep reveling in the tenderness of the man's touch.

Chapter 19
A Master With Loving Hands

Dr. Red had a group of graduate students working with him. Most of them truly believed in his ideas and looked up to him. But there was one who was skeptical and kept challenging Dr. Red's claims. Late one night as he was swabbing my back and buttocks one last time, Dr. Red asked if I had any questions.

"Master? I'm permitted to ask questions about my treatment?" When he assured me it was OK, I asked how come he kept the skeptical graduate student. I knew that there was a lot of competition for research assistantships in a university like FLIT, so Dr. Red must have had his pick.

"How much progress could I make if there were nobody here to challenge me?" he asked. Then he spoke to me about scientific theory and about the nature of inquiry. It was odd. I was a slave lying naked on a mat. He was treating my skin, but only because I was a research subject. But here was this distinguished professor speaking to me in a way that respected my thoughts, in a way that told me he wanted me to learn.

This was the first time since my enslavement that I was speaking to someone in this way. Suddenly I remembered my love of learning and all sorts of things I had learned in school, and I was bringing them up in speaking with Dr. Red. Of course I was taking care to call him Master or Sir as our conversation progressed.

Something else happened during that conversation. The feel of his hands on my back became sensual. My penis rose to full stiffness under me. During my time with Judge Snow – the malnutrition, the pain, and having to serve his disgusting obese body – I had lost all sexual feelings. Now it was the touch of this middle aged professor and the sense that he was treating me with respect and caring that made my cock fully hard. So many things seemed odd to me.

After that Dr. Red would make a point of talking to me most nights as he treated my back before bedtime. I felt warmth for this man that I had never felt before for anyone. He never called me 'Boy.' He always used my name.

On the weekends, Master Shawn would pick me up in his Jeep with Sam alongside him. I was kept caged in the back seat but the two of them included me in most of their conversations.

My third week locked in Dr. Red's office I woke in the middle of the night and smelled smoke. I rattled the bars of my cage, but I knew nobody would hear. I felt heat through the floor. I knew there was a fire on the floor below. I hit my head against the bars in frustration. I had been through so much and now when I was finally with people who were kind to me and who made me feel almost like a human being, I would be burned up in a fire.

Then I heard sirens. I heard a clamor of people and I heard what sounded like hatchets on walls. But the sounds came from the floor below me. I heard the noise get closer. Someone broke the glass on the office door and called, "Anyone in here?"

I was stuck behind the bars on the closet door but I yelled back, "Sir, please, I'm here. Please, sir, get me out."

The firefighter pulled his head back from the doorway and I heard him say, "Just a slaveboy here. After we check for free men, we may want to get him out."

Those filthy bastards! But before I could even yell a curse after them, they were tramping down the hall. There was much hubbub, but I couldn't tell what was going on. Then the noise started to die down. I sensed that the fire was out. Nobody had ever come back to try to rescue me.

I curled up in a ball but I couldn't sleep. I don't know how much time had passed when I heard footsteps running into the office. "My God, Wally! Are you OK?" It was Dr. Red, his face flushed and he was out of breath.

His hands were shaking when he opened the cell door. Then he grabbed me around and hugged me to him. His hands gripped into my flesh so that it almost hurt. And yet it was the most wonderful feeling in my life. He was hugging me! I could feel his heartbeat through his shirt. I could feel his breath on my neck.

Then he suddenly pulled away from me and he seemed embarrassed. I looked down at the floor. He was awkward as he moved back toward the door but then strode out of the room with confidence. A minute later and I heard his voice from the hallway. I had never heard Dr. Red's voice so loud and so angry. "You were going to leave that 16-year-old boy to burn up in the flames?" he shrieked.

I heard the voices of two other men as they moved toward the room I was in. I quickly got back into the closet and pulled the cell door shut. This would have been the worst time for Dr. Red to get into trouble for leaving me unrestrained. Alongside Dr. Red was a fire chief and a white-haired man who I would learn was head of his department at the university.

The fire chief never looked at me as he said, "Sir, we have our standard procedures and we are charged with rescuing free men before any slave." The argument got thick. When the fire chief was told that there were no free men nearby, he said that there was no way he could know that. Then the fire chief asked what the fuss was about, "The university has insurance. You woulda gotten the full cash value of your slave within a week."

The department chair seemed flustered and tried to explain, "My good man, any slave on these premises overnight is a research subject. The research going on here could bring tens of millions or hundreds of millions of dollars into the university coffers."

Talk of money brought a new expression to the fire chief's face. He was apologetic to the white-haired professor and began explaining how they could get certain labels and signs so that emergency personnel would know that there was a special value associated with a slave.

Dr. Red's face turned redder than his beard and I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. "That's not it, damn you. It's Wally here, he…" He turned his back on the other men and shouted, "Just get out. Both of you please get out."

The white-haired professor stayed behind for a moment and said, "Calm down, Red. We'll discuss this at the next department meeting."

Dr. Red looked at me and I thought I saw tears forming in his eyes. He pulled open the cell door tossed me slave shorts and a tanktop. Then he shackled my feet together, put a leash on my collar, and led me out of the building without saying a word.

My mood was like a roller coaster. First I felt dejected. This man who had respected my mind, who spoke to me of philosophy and science, was leading me shackled into the parking lot, reminding me that I was still just a slave. But then I thought about how Dr. Red had stood up for me. I thought about how angry he had been that the firemen didn't rescue me. I thought about the way he had run into his office and embraced me so tight, his heart beating so rapidly. He cared about me. He was a freeman and a master and he cared about me.

He opened the trunk of his car and then paused. He looked right into my eyes and said, "I'm sorry about you having to ride in the trunk, Wally. I don't have a slave cage."

I truly didn't mind climbing into the trunk at his direction. He had told me he was sorry. That was perhaps the sweetest thing anyone had said to me since my enslavement.

Dr. Red had a small house on a large piece of property. He led me to his bedroom and told me I would sleep in the room with him. I knew that slaves were required to either be locked up or stay in a room with a master. He laid a bedroll on the floor and had me lie on it. Then he reapplied a thin coat of the special ointment to my back.

I watched as Dr. Red slipped off his clothes. He stood wearing just a pair of striped boxer shorts. His body was probably really impressive back a dozen years or more. Now he was a handsome middle-aged man – a small beer belly hung over the waistband of his boxers and he had thick hair on his chest and belly and legs. I saw the sizeable lump in the front of his boxer shorts. When I saw the power in his butt and his thighs I breathed a little faster thinking of how that would translate into this man's fucking skill.

He climbed into bed and looked at me for a long moment. Then he told me to come into the bed with him. I hopped up and made no attempt to hide the erection sticking out in front of me. He guided me to the other side of the bed and had me lay carefully on my stomach as he checked the cream on my back.

"That erection you had, Wally, that's a good sign." I waited for him to continue. "When you first came to me your penis wasn't very responsive. I'm pleased to see your body is coming back to its natural state."

Then Dr. Red rolled over to go to sleep. He didn't touch me. He didn't ask for a blowjob. He simply went to sleep. From that point on, Dr. Red took me home with him on weeknights. It kept going on the same way. He would lay me on the other side of his bed, slather me with the ointment, and then roll over to sleep.

Six weeks had passed since I started treatments on my torn-up back. The weekend began as usual with me soaking in a tub, while Sam sat beside me and watched. I was used to seeing the big bulge in the front of his slave shorts. But this evening it was more than a bulge. There was a thick pole clearly visible through the white lycra and his cockhead was peaking out of the leg opening.

Sam was toying with his penis as he suddenly asked me, "Are you straight or gay, boy?"

I began stammering, "B-before I was enslaved I never even thought about sex with a guy. I mean, I only ever looked at girls and, um…." My voice petered out and I saw a wry look on Sam's face.

"You're talking in the past tense, boy!" Sam chuckled. "I could tell you about all the women I fucked before enslavement. But that wouldn't tell you nothin' about how things are now. How do you feel now, boy? Deep inside?"

"Confused," I said softly. Then I looked at the outline of his hard cock in his slave shorts and I licked my lips. I looked up at his face.

Sam stood up and peeled down the slave shorts so that his stiff penis sprang up in front of him. I sat up in the bathtub and immediately extended my tongue, licking around the head of the huge black tool and then tonguing up and down the length of it. I moved my face down so I could suck on each of Sam's balls. They were so large I couldn't fit them in my mouth.

"Enough of the preliminaries, boy. Time for the main course." With that Sam slid the full length of his black dick down my throat. I gagged a little. He pulled back. But I reached around for his powerful butt cheeks and pulled him back into me. I knew how to suppress my gag reflex.

I sucked like a starving man. My hands reached up and touched Sam's pecs as my mouth kept on pistoning up and down. I became aware of some movement by the door. There was Master Shawn in just a pair of olive green boxer shorts.

Sam called over his shoulder, "Damn good cocksucking from a straight boy." Then he grabbed my ears and started to fuck my face like it was a pussy. He was rough but I didn't mind. I was so sexually aroused by everything. I felt his cock get thicker and even stiffer and then felt a flood of cream down my throat. I swallowed as fast as I could and still there was spunk dripping from my lips.

When Sam pulled out of my mouth I gasped for air, but almost immediately Master Shawn was in front of me, his huge cock sticking out of the fly of his olive green boxer shorts. I slid my lips down the full length so that my nose was crushed in his thick patch of pubic hair. Pubic hair! It was only then that I realized Sam's crotch had been shaved bare.

I reached my hands around to Master Shawn's powerful butt cheeks and pulled him into me. He began to ride my mouth with one hand on the back of my head. When my fingertips moved into the crack of my master's ass, he slapped my hand away and said "Only one man gets to touch me there." I heard Sam chuckle in the background.

From that point on I would regularly service Sam and Master Shawn. Most of the time they would wrestle or have some sort of competition to see who would get to fuck the other that night. Both of them loved to fuck. Both of them claimed they hated to get dicked up the ass, but I could tell by their body language that wasn't true.

Sometimes I would alternate between licking out Sam's asshole and sucking on Master Shawn's cock. Other times it would be reversed. I didn't mind either way.

My conversations with Dr. Red grew even more intense now that I was staying at his house. One night I asked him what he knew about human sexuality. In addition to three other post-graduate degrees, he had a master's degree in psychology.

"Before I was enslaved," I began slowly. "I only ever thought about sex with girls. The idea of sex with guys repulsed me. I mean, I never had any interest in looking at guys in the locker room. When I… umm, when I masturbated, I only ever thought of girls, not guys.

"And when I first became a slave, I hated doing the things my first master made me do. I think I hated tongue kissing with him even worse than I hated getting fucked."

"That makes sense to me, Wally," Dr. Red said as he moved his strong hands over my back. He was kneeling beside me in just his boxer shorts. "Being the recipient of anal intercourse, you could maintain a sense that you were being invaded, you were being forced. Whereas kissing is such an intimate and tender act, one that requires your full participation."

"B-but now, sir," I swallowed hard knowing I could reach out and play with his big cock in his boxers, though I didn't dare. "Now I think about men. I think about wanting to do those things my first master made me do… but the idea of doing those things now with someone special…."

He smacked me on the butt and pulled the blanket around himself. Turning off the light he said, "If you need to masturbate, Wally, I understand it's a natural thing. You're already lying on a towel. Just be sure to stay on your stomach so you don't mess up the ointment on your back."

The tension was thick in the room. He suddenly turned to me. Was he going to kiss me? He planted a light kiss on my forehead and whispered, "Sleep well, son." I stayed lying in the silence for hours just replaying those final words in my head. He had called me son.

As casual as Master Shawn was with me, he was still a master. For all his gruffness, it was Sam who was more approachable. The following weekend, as I soaked in the tub I started asking Sam about Master Red. He went on and on about what a good man the doctor was.

"Sam, is Master Red totally heterosexual?"

The big black man laughed. "Totally what? No way, boy! What makes you ask a thing like that?" Then Sam paused and nodded his head. "Oh, I understand. You're asking is he totally straight because he hasn't tried anything with you?

I started to climb out of the tub and Sam whistled. "I can see why you figure that way, boy. Anybody who'd turn down a body like yours would have to be the straightest man in the world." Then he laughed.

Looking at myself in the full-length mirror I saw that Sam was right. I hadn't realized how drastic the change had been. My body had filled out and my face looked as it had when I was a middle school senior. I was no longer pasty white and emaciated. The marks on my back were visible, but only as faint lines. Dr. Red's treatments and Master Shawn's exercise regimen had worked wonders. I grinned, not only for the new me I saw in the mirror, but also because this meant success for Dr. Red.

At that point I usually slept on a bedroll in the master bedroom. I was already stripped to white slave briefs when I heard Sam and Master Shawn raise their voices. "You know I don't like to fuck boys. I only like to fuck men!" Master Shawn shouted.

"Feel how tight Doc got his hole," Sam replied, ordering me to roll onto my belly and pull down the back of my briefs. The two big men kept talking about me as if I weren't there. They also kept drinking wine, opening two new bottles as I lay on the floor hearing about their sexual exploits when they were both slaves.

"Hey," Sam's face brightened. "Remember that kid that was Gil's godson? Gil had been lifelong friends with the boy's dad and when the kid was enslaved he bought the boy as a favor."

"Fuck yeah," Master Shawn grinned in reply. "So short and slim for his age, a bit younger than this one here. No fucking use around a construction company. Only place he'd pay off big time would be a boy brothel. But that kid was totally straight."

They nodded together quietly and then turned to me as if filling me in on the rest of the story. "Gil had watched this boy grow up," Sam explained. "He just couldn't bring himself to take a new master's rights with the new slave and fuck him up the ass. So he locked the three of us into a slave cabin."

"Damn," Master Shawn reminisced. "Gil was so twisted. He kept both of us cock caged for a week before that night. He never let on why and you and me were furious."

"And so fuckin' horny," Sam laughed. Then turning back to me he said, "Gil figured after a night like that with the two of us, that boy would be ready for anything."

"Even the nastiest boy brothel," Master Shawn shook his head.

Nodding to the big white man, Sam snickered, "Doesn't this boy remind you of that kid, Gil's godson?"

There was a huge grin across Master Shawn's face as he said, "Nah, Wally is a helluvalot cuter than that boy was."

Ten minutes later the two big men were both dressed in slave shorts. I was in white briefs and they were leading me from the back door of the house to the barracks behind. They pushed me into a small room and closed the door. There was only a narrow cot in the room. I was confused.

Master Shawn grabbed me from behind. I felt his hard cock against my butt, his hairy chest on my back, and his breath on my neck. He rasped into my ear, "Sometimes it can be sexy to go back and remember how things were, boy. Don't call me Master for now, kid. Just call me Shawn. We're playing a game where we pretend all three of us are slaves."

"Y-yes, sir," I whispered.

Sam was rubbing my nipples as Shawn continued whispering in my ear, "I want you to go back, boy. Go back to that first day you were enslaved, kid. Straight boy, still in middle school, never been with men. Remember how you felt on that first day. You were still thinking like a free boy, a totally hetero free boy. Now imagine that's you right now. Right here!"

"How would that free boy be feeling right now, Wally? How would he react? What would he say?" Sam now pulled and twisted on each of my nipples.

"Stop that, man!" I shouted, looking right at Sam. "Look, I'm not queer. You have no right to put your hands on me this way." I had done what they asked. I was channeling the free straight boy I had been two-and-a-half years earlier on my fourteenth birthday.

Shawn's hand snaked down into the back of my white briefs. I tried to clench my ass cheeks together but he shoved a finger between them, searching for my hole.

"Fuck you, man," I shouted, slipping from his grip. "If you so much as touch me back there, I'll… I'll…"

Both of the big men laughed. They each outweighed me by a hundred pounds [45 kg]. I was pushed back on the bed and Shawn forced a kiss on my lips. I poked him in the eye, turned my head and spit. He slapped me so hard across the face I felt a tingling. Yes, we were just play acting this scene, but it truly hurt. Our eyes met and I was trying to read what to do next. He softly said, "That's just a little taste for you, boy. Now relax your lips and I'm gonna teach you how to get kissed by a real man."

His lips met mine and his tongue toyed with my lips. I relented and opened my mouth for his tongue to connect with mine. "Nice soft mouth," Shawn said in a way that was sensual and also sinister. He poked two fingers in my mouth and pushed them all the way in. "Damn, this mouth was made to suck cock."

"No-o-o-o-o-o!" I was begging for mercy, and deep in my guts I really meant it.

"Shawn," Sam said with apprehension. "Are you sure about putting your dick into the new boy's mouth?"

Shawn grinned down at me and grabbed my balls, twisting them until I cried out. "He looks like a smart kid. He knows what'll happen if I feel his teeth on my cock."

I gagged on his cock, so he had me masturbate him into my mouth while I suckled on the head. How strange. Even though I had been sucking both of these big cocks for weeks, I somehow reverted to the innocent straight boy I once was.

At the same time Sam was masturbating me. I knew what they were planning. Once Sam had a palm full of my own cum, he raised my legs and worked the cream into my asshole. Then he slopped my spunk onto his very stiff penis and pressed the fat head of it against my hole.

Damn, it had been well over a year-and-a-half since I'd been fucked up the ass. Judge Snow's dildoes never had the same effect as a real man's cock. And it was only those few times back at the Winston estate with the pony slaves that I'd had cocks as big as these inside me. As Sam forced his way all the way in, Shawn flipped over and landed with his ass crack right on my face

Sam was starting to fuck my butt. One of them was holding my legs up in the air. Shawn held my nose so I had to open my mouth. Soon I was sucking his ass.

Everything intensified. Sam was fucking me faster and harder. Shawn was bouncing so much on my face I thought he would break my nose. Just when Sam thrust in deepest of all, I felt my cock jerk and I felt cum shooting out of it. I had shot my load without even touching my cock.

My body felt worn out as they lifted me up and tied my hands to a beam above my head. Shawn fucked me from behind as Sam played with my body.

When they cut me down I fell to the floor and just started sobbing. There had been times when I wept, when tears had streamed down my face. But this was different. I was huddled in a fetal position, honestly going "boo-hoo," blubbering loudly, with snot spilling out of my nose.

Master Shawn scooped me in his strong arms, holding me in that same curled up position. He held me tight to his chest and planted tender kisses on my face and body. Soon I felt the warmth of two manly chests on either side of me. I smelled the sweat of the two powerful men who had just used my body. Now they were cooing softly at me, "It's OK, Wally. It's OK, baby boy."

I wanted to say that it wasn't OK. Even if what we had done was just play acting, I was a slave and could be used by any sort of man in any way he chose. But I couldn't get any words to come out coherently, just my loud sobs.

The two of them carried me back to the house, nestled between them. They laid me in the center of their big bed and both of them held me as I fell asleep. I slept soundly and peacefully with the big men so close against me. The next morning I awoke and I felt great. It was as if all that crying had released something locked deep inside me.

On Monday I returned to Dr. Red with a new resolve. As usual I got into his bed, he spread cream on my back, then he rolled over wrapped in his blanket. But he slept fitfully. I stayed awake, unable to sleep, just watching him, thinking what a wonderful and loving man he was.

He rolled onto his back, the blanket pulled most of the way off his body. One leg was sticking out of the blanket and I saw his hard cock sticking out of that leg of his boxer shorts. I licked my lips and knew what I had to do.

I slid down the bed and my tongue began caressing this fat penis. Then I gulped it into my mouth. I pushed up the leg of his boxers so I could get the full length in my throat. I sucked greedily. My head was moving up and down fast. I heard the man cry out. I felt his hands on my head and the next moment he was gasping, then shouting. "Oh, fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!" I swallowed as fast as I could. Dr. Red's shouts died down to a soft moan.

When he caught his breath he got up on one elbow and was looking intently at me. I was smiling up at him, happy that I had given him pleasure. But the look on his face made me uneasy.

Dr. Red sat up all the way, raised his hand and slapped my face so hard I fell off the bed. "You goddamn little slut whore!" he screamed. "Sleep on the floor where pussyboy slaves like you belong!"

He turned his back to me. For a long time I couldn't move from the spot I'd fallen. I didn't dare speak even though I could tell from his breathing that Dr. Red was still awake. In my head I wanted to scream out, "Strap me! Paddle me! Whip me!" Anything would be better than the pain I felt deep in my heart.

Chapter 20
Conclusion

McGee the slave trader was there to examine me and he did so in the most brusque and businesslike manner. Master Shawn sat back in a stuffed chair and Sam stood back against a wall – acting more like a slave than I'd seen him before – while the slave trader circled me and prodded me everywhere.

The fat man in the loud suit whistled through his teeth as he felt my back and said, "Wow, those skin treatments really are remarkable. You realize you can easily get more than twenty times what you paid for this hunk of slaveflesh." Next thing his fingernails were digging into my nipples, twisting them and testing my pain tolerance. I didn't even blink. His fingers tugged roughly at my testicles and then twisted them in their sacs. At that I let out only a slight gasp.

I saw the slave trader give a nod to my master. Then he pushed down on my shoulder as he unzipped his checked pants and tugged out his thick penis. I knew what to do. I opened my mouth wide and sucked it all in. McGee wasn't satisfied to have me service his enormous cock. He wanted to see if I could take a really hard face fuck. But just when I thought he was close to shooting a load down my throat, he pulled out and snapped his fingers to indicate I should stand.

Sam was right beside me and the tall black slave was masturbating me as McGee ran his hands all over my muscles. Sam caught my spunk in his left hand and then held that hand out as the slave trader dipped his fingers in to test and taste my cum. Then I felt the fat man's thick fingers against my butthole, shoving in roughly and greasing me up.

Did McGee really like to fuck hard or did he just do it that way to test out slaveflesh? Either way he was going to leave his mark on me. As his large body bent over mine I could feel the metal of his ornate belt buckle pressing into the tops of my buttcheeks. That mark stayed with me for two days.

Afterwards when I was cleaning off his fat cock in my mouth, McGee wrote down a number on a piece of paper and handed it over to my master.

Now it was Master Shawn's turn to whistle. "That's quite a bit more than twenty times what I originally paid. And this number would be based on how much more training and rehabilitation?" he asked.

"I'll give you that price for him right on the spot. I have some clients in the middle east looking for cleancut all-american young boys. I'm prepared to crate him up and take him with me now."

I had been the perfect slave in front of the slave trader, but I stopped dead in the midst of the cock cleaning. I was frozen with dread. McGee smacked me on the side of the head as a warning and I continued. I tried to tune out the rest of the conversation. Slaves are supposed to live for the moment, to live for their master's pleasure. It was none of my business what was to become of me. But I couldn't help hearing every word and every nuance as the men discussed my fate.

The men continued their conversation as they headed toward the door. I was still kneeling in the middle of the sitting room when I heard Master Shawn assuring McGee, "The papers are all in order. He's enslaved for life."

For life? It was only supposed to be for five years and fifteen days. But I remembered what I'd been told back at the Winston estate: Between the captain and the judge they could get any enslavement decree extended.

Master Shawn and Sam didn't use me for sex that night. I closed my eyes and repeated again and again, "I'm a slave for life. I'm a slave for life." All that I'd felt for Master Red and what I believed he felt for me was just delusion. And as for the kindnesses of Master Shawn and Sam, I reminded myself that for them I was a financial investment.

Back at the university things had changed. It felt like I was on exhibition most of the time. I often posed for pictures and took x-rays and was examined by medical teams from around the world. The graduate student who had doubted Dr. Red's theories was now his greatest proponent, laughing about his former skepticism.

There were no more intellectual conversations with Dr. Red. I slept on the floor of his bedroom but he always went to bed dressed in t-shirt and sweatpants, hiding his body from me. He would give me books to read, but would never discuss the books with me. I would thank him for the books in the same way that I had thanked free men for the privilege of drinking their piss. I read these great works of literature and philosophy wondering what good any of this would do when I would be working in a brothel or in a quarry.

Thursday night Master Red stood silently beside my sleeping mat and handed me a photograph. I looked at it and blinked. I could tell that the man in the picture was Master Red, albeit a number of years younger. The free boy beside him in the picture looked for all the world like I did just a few years earlier.

Before I could react he pulled the picture from me and he climbed into his own bed. I turned my back to go to sleep and he turned out the light. I don't know how many minutes of silence passed before Master Red began speaking. "That was my son," he said barely louder than a whisper. "He was just twelve in that picture."

More silence before he started up again, as if completely unrelated, "I used to stick my dick into slaveboys all the time. I grew up with slaves in the house. I always went to slaveboy brothels and my wife approved. But then…"

The scientist in the bed across the room seemed to be searching for words. "My son was such a smart and accomplished boy – sometimes too smart for his own good. My wife and I never really got tough with him. But he was always a good boy. It was just this one thing that happened."

I glanced over my shoulder. Master Red was lying in bed facing away from me as he spoke. "He wanted to hang out with older kids. He was barely thirteen and he looked young for his age. He always wanted to prove that he was cool and that he wasn't just a brain. Neither my wife nor I knew that he got a fake I.D. card – an I.D. that said he was sixteen.

"When the cops stopped the car and arrested all the boys for marijuana possession, they treated my son like he was sixteen. Back then sixteen was legal age for full use of slaveboys. Because he had the I.D. card with him, he got s-s-stripped and ens-s-s-slaved as if he was legal age." I could tell this was a difficult part of the story for Dr. Red to tell and yet now he was talking fast. He wanted to get it all out.

"His mother and I didn't even know where he was. We filed a missing persons report. The problem was that he was enslaved under the name that was on the I.D. card. It was ridiculous. One look at the boy and anyone could tell he wasn't really sixteen. We finally found one person from the courthouse, a trainee guard who dropped out of the slave police program, who remembered seeing a young-looking slave boy who kept trying to tell someone that he was only thirteen and to tell someone what his real name was. But when the boy called out the guards only… they only…."

There was a heavy sigh from the bed. "My son disappeared five years ago. It was the disorganized mess in that damn judge's office that made it so difficult to try to trace him. Plus the SP was no help whatsoever. If the boy broke the law, if the boy had a fake I.D., he only got what he deserved – damn them all to hell! My marriage broke up within that first year. It wasn't until two years ago when Sgt Shawn was on the SP and he heard about my case… well, that's how Shawn became such a good friend to me and how come I owe him such a great debt. That's also why he spent so much time trying to investigate Judge Snow. It's when Shawn got on the case that I… I found out."

There was something about the way Master Red said the words 'I found out' that told me he had learned the worst news possible about his son.

The silence lasted. I could tell by the sound of his breathing that Master Red wasn't asleep. There was no way I could fall asleep with my mind spinning. I didn't expect the older man to speak again, so I was surprised when he said, "Now you understand why I couldn't… couldn't use you for sex, Wally. I couldn't let you…."

"I love you!" I called out, sitting up on my sleeping mat. No thought preceded those words. I just blurted them out, startling myself with the sound of my own voice. "Please, Master, I've never loved anyone the way I love you."

"You foolish boy!" he shouted as he flipped around to face me. "You dumb kid! Love? Your mind and your personality have been warped by enslavement. After the abuse you knew under your previous masters my little bit of kindness has made you feel…" He stammered, lost for words. "I will not take advantage of a slaveboy desperate for affection!"

There was nothing I could say. I turned over on my sleeping mat. I can't say whether I ever got fully asleep that night. All through the night I could hear Master Red breathing and occasionally sighing. I knew he wasn't asleep either. If only the two of us lived in a different world. If only we could have found each other in some different universe where I could have spent that night as this man's lover sleeping in his arms.

It is a serious matter for a slave to make any accusation or to speak negatively about a free person. In spite of the generally informal manner of Master Shawn and Sam, I had never dared mention anything about my former masters. But after what I had heard from Master Red, I knew that I had to say something before it was too late.

I spoke to Sam. I began by carefully saying I had heard that Master Shawn was investigating the office of Judge Snow. Less than ten minutes later I found myself standing in front of Master Shawn being interrogated about what I knew. I told him everything I knew about Rye and his brothers, knowing that they had been enslaved at young ages by the machinations of Captain Winston and Judge Snow. Then I told him about my younger brother, about the captain telling me weeks in advance how my brother would be framed for the crime of stealing candlesticks, and how the captain showed me a document claiming that my very young brother was fourteen!

The next day I was taken to the construction company where Sam worked and left there. I was considered too scrawny to do construction work, and Master Shawn didn't want me housed with the brawny men ('they would wear out the asshole on this boy') so I worked cleaning the barracks during the days and slept in a small pantry off the kitchen in the main house. Master Shawn explained before he left that he would be going to the town of Winston for an extended stay and therefore he had to leave me and Sam in a secure place. I didn't ask any questions, but I wondered why I wasn't being left with Master Red.

It was more than three weeks later and without any warning I was grabbed by two transport workers, stripped naked, and shackled inside a crate for shipment. Slaves were never supposed to have explanations and were always supposed to expect the worst. I saw that Sam was in another crate on the same transport, but we were both gagged so couldn't speak to each other.

Many hours passed and I slipped in and out of consciousness. I only opened my eyes and looked through the slats as I felt the transport come to a stop. What I saw made me hyperventilate. I felt sweat drip down my forehead and all across my body and yet I was shivering as if I would freeze to death. Even prepared for the worst, I wasn't prepared for this.

The two crates were removed from the transport and opened. Sam and I were both unshackled. And I was once again on the Winston estate, standing out back of the Winston mansion.

My mind was reeling. What had happened? What had gone wrong? I was sure that I was now back in the possession of Captain Winston. I would be made to pay for the crime of speaking ill about my former masters.

I was startled then when Master Shawn came out of the back door of the mansion. He seemed relaxed and greeted us both in a cheerful mood. I tried to turn off my brain. Whatever was going on it was more than I could fathom.

He ushered us into the house, through the slave quarters and into the front parlor, where he invited both of us to sit. To sit? In the parlor of the house where I'd been enslaved? Master Shawn sat back in the biggest chair and told us the story of his investigation in the town of Winston.

Sgt Shawn Miller had showed up at the Winston estate with his slave police credentials saying that he had to examine all the household slaves on the premises. Knowing what I had told him about the place being bugged with microphones and cameras, he brought his own trailer for the slave exams. Even then he was cautious since the captain might have found a way to listen in. As Shawn suspected, the captain had found ways to shuffle paperwork and sneak boys out of the house to make it appear that my brother (and any other underage boy) was not a household slave.

The slave police had gone through the elaborate charade of the slave examinations in order for Shawn to communicate with Rye. As part of the exam, each slave had been given a few paragraphs to read and then had to answer some questions. Rye's piece of paper was phony – it explained that Sgt Shawn Miller was investigating underage enslavements by Judge Snow and Captain Winston and that he needed Rye's help. Master Shawn slipped Rye a small capsule, which could be activated with saliva. On a night when the big blond slave knew that Captain Winston had taken an underage slave up to his rooms, Rye would put the capsule under his tongue and that would act as an alarm for Master Shawn and the slave police to raid the house.

"Your friend Rye performed bravely," Master Shawn said. "We not only caught Captain Winston in the act, but Brad Winston as well." Shaking his head, the slave police sergeant muttered, "It's a shame our investigation didn't begin sooner. Those twin boys were so young. They were both crying and lying side by side, the captain on top of one and Brad on the other."

I blanched thinking about the Blank twins, the boys whose crude father had been arranging a loan with Captain Winston. I used to babysit them when they were so young, and now they had experienced the same indignities I had.

"Once we had the captain in custody it became easy to find the paperwork on a lot of cases."

"B-but, w-what happened to Captain Winston and to Brad? And what about Rye and my brother?"

"The culprits have already been enslaved. Brad was purchased by the leading chain of BDSM boy brothels. They'll start him off in the New York house and as he deteriorates he'll get shipped to some second tier city in the Midwest. When he's a complete wreck in another two years or so he'll probably end up somewhere in Asia or South America. Captain Winston has been sold to a very progressive concern for their sulfur mines. They completely remove the genitals before slaves are sent down into the mines. It hardly matters since none of the slaves ever come up from the mines again."

A slim and cute young slaveboy entered the room with a tray of sandwiches. With his head bowed, dressed in just white slave briefs, he knelt in front of me to offer me the tray. I felt lost for a moment. I was a slave. I shouldn't be sitting here in a free man's room being served by a slave. When I looked down at the slaveboy I was startled to see that it was Randy Winston.

"Randy, what…?" I began. Then I turned to Master Shawn and said, "No, you shouldn't have enslaved Randy. He wasn't like his father or brother. He was always good to us and…."

A voice from the doorway said, "Randy wasn't enslaved against his will. His was a voluntary enslavement."

Seeing a tall handsome man in expensive slacks and a sweater, I immediately jumped to my feet and bowed my head. But then I looked up when I realized it was Rye. He was grinning broadly at me. We ran into each other's arms and hugged. I buried my face in his chest, in the expensive cashmere of his sweater. "But, how…? When…?"

Master Shawn answered, "The Winston estate will be divided between a number of freed slaves – ones who were falsely enslaved and abused at a young age. Of all those affected, Ryan here has the greatest claim. The captain took him when he was quite young, held him for more years than any other, and of course there's also the loss of… well…"

I looked up at Rye – Ryan now – and he nodded, "Only one of my brothers is still alive and that just barely. He has pretty much lost his mind. But I'm making arrangements for him to be cared for in a fine facility. He will be waited on hand and foot."

"And Ryan can afford that now."

"But what about…?" I turned toward Randy, who had already crawled over to Ryan. Randy's face was pressed against the soft fabric of Ryan's pants and he had a beatific expression. "I thought Randy didn't approve of slavery?"

"Permission to speak, master?" Randy asked looking up at the tall blond man who was now his owner. "Sir, I do not approve of seeing the wrong people enslaved. Deep in my heart I know that this is right – me on my knees in front of Master Ryan."

Before I could even absorb all I'd just heard there was my little brother Will standing in the doorway of the room. He was dressed in jeans and a nice polo shirt. He spread his arms wide and we embraced. I held him so tight in my grip. From behind me I heard Master Shawn explain, "Will's share of the captain's money won't be nearly as great as Ryan's but he'll be well set up."

Will handed me a bundle of clothes: boxer shorts, jeans, socks, sneakers and a nice button-down shirt. I looked from face to face wondering what was going on. Master Shawn came up beside me and used a special slave police key to remove my slave collar. I touched my neck in amazement.

"Everything was legal as far as enslaving you for two years and fifteen days, Wally. You were over fourteen, all the paperwork was in order. But that fast trick the captain's lawyers pulled at the last minute of extending the enslavement to five years and fifteen days, that was not legal. So of course the captain's lifetime extension was completely illegal. You're free Wally."

"Free?" I said the word as if I'd never spoken it before.

Shawn was rattling on about how I would get a small settlement from the captain's estate. Not too much though – I hadn't been enslaved underage and I had only served about a year beyond my original legal enslavement of two years and fifteen days. But I couldn't follow his words at the time. I was free.

I began to step into the pair of free boy boxer shorts. Shawn Miller yelled out, "You better get those clothes on fast before I arrest you for indecent exposure, Wally. Free boys don't show their dicks and asses in front of a crowd of people in a living room." We then all burst into laughter.

There was more though. Will told me the news that our father had died in a tragic accident in South America. I wasn't surprised to hear it and I would always wonder whether that was really an accident or whether my father's death had been engineered by the evil Captain Winston. Mr. Blank had committed suicide just before his enslavement hearing. Now his young twin sons were staying at the estate where they had briefly served as slaves. It seemed Ryan was acting as a surrogate parent to my younger brother and to the Blank twins.

I slept in a big comfortable bed along with my brother. There was no sex. We just talked into the night. He told me that he felt totally heterosexual. I told him that I wasn't sure, but that I knew I had a certain attraction to guys. We laughed together about memories from our childhood and we never mentioned the horrors we each experienced as slaves.

The next morning I told Ryan where I had to go and he loaned me his driver and limo for the day. I showed up at Dr. Red's office just as he was about to eat his lunch. He grinned from ear to ear and said, "Shawn told me the good news, son. I couldn't be happier."

"Put that sandwich away," I said in a commanding voice. "I'm taking you out to lunch."

The professor laughed and led me to the student union where lunch was pretty economical. Of course I had never been to the student union before because slaves were not allowed. Over our meal I discussed my education options with Dr. Red. Where I should go to school and what subjects I might choose as a major.

"You have a mind for science, Wally, that's for sure. But I think that your experiences and your thoughtful nature could take you beyond scientific research. There's a need for great minds today in the field of bio-ethics. With all our medical technology, what we're capable of doing, the sort of decisions that have to be made, how can we maintain ethics and humanity?"

Dr. Red had to teach a class and I took the opportunity to tour the campus. Dressed in my jeans, nice shirt, and expensive sweater, I fit right in. I wore a baseball cap to hide my short slave haircut and nobody suspected I had so recently been a slave. At one point I sat at a library table directly across from a girl who was part of Dr. Red's research team. Just a short while before that she had seen me naked on a daily basis. I made a point of asking her a question. She smiled, answered me, and gave no indication that she recognized me.

Later in the day I told Dr. Red that I'd already sent the limo back to the Winston estate and I was hoping I could stay at his house. He seemed flustered for a moment, but then said, "Well, now that you're not a slave you don't have to sleep in the same room with me. I can let you sleep in the guest room."

We prepared pasta for dinner and discussed some of the big questions facing bio-ethicists today. At one point Dr. Red said, "For argument's sake, let's say there are 20,000 slaves who have been so damaged by whipping and abuse that they're virtually worthless, likely to be discarded in one gruesome way or another. Now let's say that my treatment could extend the usefulness of most of these slaves, extend their lives. But – and now we're jumping to some point in the future – let's say there is only capacity to treat 2,000 of those slaves. The other 18,000 will face their gruesome fates and an early end to their lives." He took a long pause before he said, "Who chooses which 18,000 do not get the treatment?" Then he looked me in the eyes and said, "Do you see why the field of bio-ethics needs somebody like you, Wally?"

I stirred the pasta but remained silent for a long time then. I had faced that prospect as a slave, knowing my life could end prematurely because my body was so torn up by abuse. I was the one lucky slave who got the experimental treatment from Dr. Red. A slight twist of fate could have easily gone the other way and instead of standing there as a free boy I would have already been dead.

Dr. Red shared a bottle of wine with me and it went to my head. I had no experience with drinking. Then he insisted on washing the dishes without any help from me. "After all," he joked, "it's not as if you're a slave in this house." He told me to go into the guest bedroom and make myself comfortable.

But I went into Dr. Red's bedroom instead. I stripped naked, knelt on the floor and assumed slave kneel position with my hands behind my head waiting for my host to enter the room. Red stopped dead in the doorway. After a pause he said, "What kind of foolishness is this?"

"Please, master, permission to speak?"

"Get up off your knees, Wally. You're not a slave anymore. You don't have to do this."

"I know I don't have to do this, sir. But when I was a slave you said you wouldn't have sex with me because I would be doing it as a slave and now…" I looked right up in his eyes, but remained in slave rest position. "Now I'm a free boy and I could be anywhere in the world. I could be doing anything I want with anyone, sir. But all I want is to be here on my knees serving you, master."

The learned man moved toward me slowly and caressed my face. I kissed his hand. He pulled off his shirt. His body was so hairy. His tummy wasn't flat, but that suited him. He was after all a middle-aged man. But to my eyes he was the most beautiful man. Then he languidly stretched out on his bed and put his arms behind his head.

I knelt beside the bed for a long moment until he said, "My shoes, boy." I smiled and went to work removing his shoes and socks. I kissed and licked each of his feet as they were revealed. Licking the sweat off the bottom of his feet – all I could think was that I felt so much love and so much respect for this brilliant man of science. He had stood on his feet all day teaching classes and leading his research. Now I was giving him comfort by licking his feet with my tongue.

He patted the bed beside him and I moved up to start licking his chest. I didn't care about the chest hairs in my teeth. I nursed and suckled on each of his nipples causing him to moan. It was music to my ears. I was giving pleasure to the man I worshipped.

My hands trembled as I opened his pants and lowered them. His cock was stiff and tenting his boxer shorts. I peeled down the front of his underwear and began slobbering all over his tool with my tongue. I opened wide and gobbled down the length of his dick, my nose grinding in his pubes and my chin rubbing in the warm sweaty wetness of his balls.

But he soon pulled me off his cock. His arms were spread wide and I moved up into them. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me full on the mouth. His tongue pushed deep down my throat as he rolled me onto my back. His hands were all over me and my hands moved all over his big hairy body. I'd had sex with bodies that were younger and more muscular. I'd been sexed up by men who were more demanding and forceful. But this was the most sensual experience of my life. I knew that I was being held by the love of my life.

My legs were up over his shoulders and he leaned down to spit right into my butthole. He placed the fat head of his cock against the hole but then looked at me to say, "You're shaking. Are you sure you want this, son?"

"More than anything in the world, sir. It's just that… Well, this will be my first time doing it as a free boy. It's almost like I'm a virgin again. You're getting the virginity of the free boy Wallace Smith."

He thrust his tongue down my throat at the same time as he thrust his thick cock into my ass. I pushed back to meet both thrusts. When he started to fuck my ass, I was moving up to meet each of his downward moves. We were both sweating and glued together with our sweat. When his juice was pumping into me and my own cock was spurting on his hairy belly, we both called out in unison, "I love you."

The next day I moved into Doc's house. I started calling him Doc that day. I told him I was prepared to become a voluntary slave so I could belong to him. But when I thought we were on the way to my new enslavement hearing, he took me instead to a different floor of the courthouse and obtained different paperwork. Doc didn't want to enslave me. He wanted to adopt me. And so I became Wallace Smith Redbeard and Doc became Dad to me.

I began as a student at the institute's prep school the following semester. With Dad's encouragement I was able to finish high school and get my bachelor of science degree in just two-and-a-half years. The fact that I got paddled for any grade below a 100 on a test was the encouragement I needed.

Then I became Dad's research assistant. I earned a master's degree in bio-engineering and another master's degree in philosophy and ethics. I went on to earn a cross-curricular doctorate in bio-ethics. A dozen years later I would chair the Presidential Commission on Ethical Treatment of Slaves.

The town of Winston underwent many drastic changes. Some prominent men were shown to be in cahoots with Captain Winston and Judge Snow. The high school principal and the athletic director were the first two on the slave auction block, followed soon by the school headmaster who had framed my little brother and gotten him enslaved. Judge Snow's courthouse was taken over by a woman who was considered beyond reproach and an intellectual giant.

Ryan became chair of Winston Foods. Under his leadership both the company and the town of Winston thrived. The workers had more money in their pockets, there were better living conditions, and there were improvements in the town's schools, parks, and small businesses.

My brother Will never got over his bitterness about his slave experience. He moved to Belgium, which everyone knows is the leading anti-slavery state in Europe, married a beautiful woman and is raising four lovely children. He refuses to even bring his family for a visit to the United States. He doesn't want his children to experience slavery or to ever be at risk of enslavement.

Sgt Shawn Miller never had a chance to profit from my sale. But that didn't matter since Ryan fully financed Shawn and Sam's slave training venture. At the same time, Shawn had become quite a celebrity because of his work in the town of Winston – he was offered plum jobs in the state capital. But he wanted to be his own boss. He wrote a book about the scandalous behavior of Judge Snow and Captain Winston, and he used the publicity to help generate business for his slave training center. Also, he and Sam were smart about investing in slaves and being able to raise their value. Within two years Shawn was filthy rich. A few years after that, Shawn had enough clout with the governor to get Sam freed so they could live together as real partners.

As I write this, Doc and I are preparing for our 25th anniversary together. Many at the Institute are urging my white-haired lover to retire, but he has a lot of good years left in him. I do a great deal of traveling and lecturing now. But when I'm away we video conference every day and usually enjoy cam-to-cam sex.

Last year for my 40th birthday, Doc bought me a beautiful young slaveboy we named Puppy. He had just turned legal age (which of course is now thirteen), had been enslaved by his drunken father, and was frightened when he first arrived. It took quite a few canings before the boy became a passable cocksucker. But I always kept within the punishment limits set by my own commission for ethical treatment of slaves – even when the boy yelped and squealed during his circumcision.

The slaveboy only got some whippings during his first few month with us and it's been more than four months since we whipped him last. I can see that now he derives great pleasure from being an obedient slave and pleasing his masters. Nowadays Puppy sleeps at our feet most nights and he's learned the cutest trick of taking both cocks in his mouth at the same time.

Given that his father enslaved him, he is lucky to have such kind and ethical masters. In my youth, when things went from bad to worse, I was not blessed with such good masters – but then fate turned it all around. Puppy's life is good. My life is wonderful. May such sweet lives be the fate of every poor man's son.

The End