Patrick

A Boy's Life

Adventures of an Orphan Boy

Prologue

My parents gave me the name Marek Pawel and I must have turned eleven. I don't know exactly because I had lost the track of time in the monotone rhythm of cruel days and lonely nights. The last time I heard my name was when my parents waved goodbye for a short business trip.

I never saw them again.

My uncle, who I thought was a nice man, wasted no time pinching my parents' property and putting me into this awful place, owned by the 'Brothers of Mercy'. It was called an orphanage – all boys called it hell. The boys had no names, just numbers. I was No. 253, a number beaten into my mind the very first day.

Our days started when the sun sent its first light through the windows. We were herded out of our tiny cells, which once slept one monk but now contained beds for six unfortunate boys, into a very old and very cold church. There we knelt on the cold stone floor for two hours or more while the brothers held their morning mass; a display of naked asses with fading bruises and welts which would be renewed soon.

Our dress was a skimpy grey tunic that barely covered our crotches. The back was short and left our butts as an easy target for their belts and switches. We had no underwear, no trousers and no shoes. We didn't need any, the brothers said. After the morning prayers we had to clean up the brothers' rooms and common areas before we got our breakfast; slices of old bread and water with only a hint of tea in it.

I was somewhat lucky, though, because I was assigned to a group of boys working on the fields outside the walls of the cloister under the supervision of a younger brother who didn't beat us all day, only if we were slow or tried to speak. The only time a boy was allowed to say something was when he had to read parts of the bible during the brothers' lunch. Since our group seldom returned before sunset I hadn't said word aloud for months.

The second meal of our day was usually a thick soup or a stew. It was barely enough to fill our bellies. Another round of kneeling in the church finished the day before we were locked up in our cells for the night. Again our group was lucky. We didn't know what was going on but when the light of the day was gone, we often heard the screams of boys in agony. Our cell door remained shut until morning.

But that day it was different. Our brother was tensed up; he didn't make the usual jokes at our expense. Instead of heading directly to the fields he drove us to a nearby brook where we had to clean each other thoroughly. We even got soap, something we never had before. Our bodies were usually covered with dust and grime. The brother's belt danced on our wet butts on our way to the fields; he constantly found faults with us.

After toiling for a few hours in the sun, while the brother sat in the shadow of a tree, he suddenly jumped up and ordered us to kneel in a row with our hands behind our heads. Just as we had acquired the position a car stopped at the field and two men got out, together with the abbot.

We feared the worst. The abbot was the cruellest of the brothers. He never laid a hand on us boys, but he smiled broadly when he ordered a beating. The brother stood behind us, his belt ready for action but hidden behind his back. The two men talked in a language I didn't understand. To be honest, I didn't know any other language than my mother tongue. The abbot smiled as wickedly as usual and a shiver ran over my back. I didn't know why, but somehow I was sure, the unexpected visitors would affect my life. From my experiences so far I knew it could only become worse.

When the three men had reached our group, the brother darted forward to kneel and kiss the ring on the one man's hand. I now recognized the bishop whose picture hung in several places in our cloister. The bishop just nodded to the monk and continued to talk to the other man.

The man was about forty years old, with average height and weight. But his suit was made of expensive material that reflected the sunlight. The man slowly walked down the row of the eighteen boys of our work group, eyeing each one up and down. As he reached the end of the row he returned behind our backs. Back at the start he said something to the bishop, the bishop passed it to the abbot and the abbot shouted at us to shed our clothes. His order was underlined by lashes of the brother's belt for those who were too slow to comply.

The man started his tour again, now looking at eighteen naked boys kneeling in the sun. The man wore a hat; the abbot held an umbrella for the bishop and even the brother had put on his hood. But for us boys there was no protection from the burning sun and our bodies were covered with sweat. A shadow fell on me as the man stopped behind me and another shiver ran down my spine. He started another round but again stopped as he came to the place where I knelt. I didn't dare to look up at the man's face. Though we all were used to being beaten I certainly tried to avoid it. I had learned quickly that the best way to avoid the belt or switch was to do exactly as I was told. With the abbot and the bishop at the scene, surely our brother would tolerate no faults.

I felt a hand on my head; fingers running through my roughly cut hair. At eleven I still had very light blond, almost white, hair; I knew I stood out between my brown and black haired fellows in misery. My head was yanked back as the man grabbed some of my hair and pulled it down. With his other hand he pressed my cheeks between my open jaws and made me look up to his face.

I saw no emotion in his eyes as he forced my head left and right, up and down. I almost was lifted up by my own jaw and my hands left their place at the back of my head in surprise, but the brother's belt reminded me to put them back immediately. The man didn't even blink as the belt landed on my skin loudly. I let out a muffled yelp that was quickly answered by another sharp lash.

Of course I wasn't so naïve not to realize what was going on. I had witnessed boys being inspected and taken away several times. Somehow each orphan boy in the cloister secretly hoped to be adopted by a wealthy family but all of us knew it would never happen. The brothers often told us that we were only a burden for society and good for nothing. The people that had taken the boys surely weren't from rich families.

His cold eyes looked deep into mine and I suddenly froze in the heat. The man grabbed my right ear and pulled me onto my feet and out of the row; the sharp pain drove tears to my eyes. With more space to look at me he turned me around, still pulling my ear. His other hand roamed over my body, pinching my skin and muscles. I had seen farmers looking for animals on the market; now I knew how the animals must have felt.

There was no place for modesty in the cloister, every brother and every boy had seen me naked. I wasn't ashamed of my body; I was lean and the work had defined my muscles. I knew my boy parts weren't as big as other boys' dicks but there were boys with smaller packages too. My balls already hung in a small sack. Nevertheless I almost jumped as the man's cold hand took my balls and rolled them between his fingers.

It felt so strange. It was so humiliating being handled right in front of the other boys, yet the man's fingers sent unknown pleasure through my body. I couldn't help it, but my dick stood proud and stiff as a pencil. I was lost in my feelings as an incredible pain exploded in my brain. My legs didn't carry me but I was held up by the merciless hand that was crushing my balls. The man had reached between my legs from behind and pulled my ball sack back as far as it went. Naturally I bent in the middle in agony. He didn't care about my screaming. After some poking he just rammed a finger into my shit hole. I never expected someone would do something as gross as that, so – even through the pain in my balls – I was shocked and screamed even more as the new pain hit my mind. The man let my balls go and I crashed onto the ground.

But still without any emotion in his face he reached down, took my ear and pulled. I had no choice but to jump to my feet or my ear would have been torn away. With his thumb he pressed my left cheek between my open jaws, my neck held tightly by the rest of his hand. His cold eyes watched me closely as he held his finger up, the finger that had been in my ass, covered with traces of my shit. Slowly the finger went closer to my mouth. Of course I tried to get away but the iron grip of his hand held me in place. I almost puked as the finger disappeared into my open mouth.

Then it was over.

The man turned away and I dropped to my knees, still crying from the pain and humiliation I had just endured. But the brother yanked me to my feet again, letting the belt fly freely. He marched me to the car, holding me firmly by my arm. He kept hitting me though I didn't resist; I was too scared to do so. Even my mind was in turmoil; it was clear the man would take me.

The brother opened the boot and took out some lengths of rope. I didn't resist as he started to tie my wrists behind my back. I held my legs close together as he tied my ankles. I just stared at the man who was counting money into the bishop's hand. But my view was quickly blocked by the brother. For the first time I dared to look him in his eyes. Out of the direct view of his abbot, he had stopped hitting me. His touch was almost gentle now; he brushed my cheek with his fingers before he lifted me into the boot. Before he closed the lid I thought I saw some pity in his eyes.

Chapter 1
A New Home

The blow didn't come, but the gentle touch on his shoulder almost startled him even more. Of course Marek didn't dare to stop brushing of the wooden floor; he even put more effort into his work as far as he could. Marek had only a tiny bath brush and the room was huge. The boy had spent hours on his knees without a break. But he sensed something important was going on; nobody had touched him in such a way for a long time.

Marek was bright boy, though he went to school only two years. He had soon realized that he had no other choice but to submit or be destroyed. There was no difference between the orphanage and his new 'home'. Snow covered the roofs and streets outside the windows; not that the boy had much time to have a look on the outside world. The snow was the only indicator for him how many days must have passed since he was sold to the man Marek learned to call 'Master'.

That was a huge difference from his life with the brothers. The man required him to talk often, repeat every command loud and clear and report back exactly what he had done. At first it was almost an impossible task and he was beaten a lot. But he quickly learned to understand the commands given in a foreign language and was soon able to answer accordingly. The language was literarily beaten into his mind, and Marek rarely made the same mistake twice.

The man – Marek never heard his real name – was very pleased with his purchase. The monks were right about the boy's intelligence; he never had seen someone who had learned a language so quickly. The boy did well in his other tasks too, sometimes with difficulties or a little bit too slow, but always focused and determined. The man leaned against the doorframe and watched his client looking at the merchandise – the boy.

Even for the experienced man this was a difficult job. The orders were precise; the client wanted a boy, not older than twelve, prepubescent, with blonde hair, no freckles or other skin defects. He had to be smart, lean but strong, and, most importantly, completely innocent in sexual matters. It took him almost three months to find Marek and the monks knew what they had. He had paid much more than calculated, but the boy was worth every cent.

He had trained the boy well. Marek would become a perfect houseboy if his reins were held tightly. The man knew exactly that the boy wasn't broken; it had been another condition of the client. He wanted the boy well drilled but with his spirit alive. The man had dealt with many boys but he couldn't remember one like this one. He knew he was incredibly lucky to find this boy.

He watched the client making the first contact with his new slave boy. Slavery – a word the authorities avoided like the plague. Legally, the boy would be 'taken into care'. Most orphans or homeless children would be given to more fortunate families to live with and 'contribute to the costs of living'. Practically, the children were slaves, forced to work for their betters with no rights at all. They could be beaten and used/abused; no one would ever ask.

A gap in the law and some well-placed brown envelopes ensured the man a very profitable business. He imported unfortunate kids from other countries, and trained and sold them to his clients. His business boomed, though it was strictly confidential and his identity was a secret. Only very wealthy or very special clients were accepted. This client was of the latter category. The passport the client had provided was genuine, nevertheless false. All the sources he had contacted to find more about that man had told him, not too gently, to stop his efforts immediately.

He had been paid in advance, no hesitation about that. He had a reputation and would deliver. He only took one job at a time. He knew he was the best. But even the best could fail and this time he had feared it might happen. But due to the boy's abilities he could present the merchandise right in time. The boy was ready for his new life. All depended now on the client's satisfaction.

The client looked at the naked boy at his feet. He smiled as he saw the boy's reaction to his touch. The boy's skin was pale, but still at the rosy side, not as white as some boys of the man's homeland become – white in winter and red in summer. He let his eyes wander from the boy's soles, hardened from walking barefoot all the time, over his small but firm calves; his lovely pits at the back of the boy's knees; up over his smooth thighs to the perfectly rounded mounds of the little bubble butt.

The bones of the boy's spine and rip cage were clearly visible; the boy hadn't an ounce of body fat. The client had required the boy on the skinny side and was pleased. The skin of the boy's body showed some faint red marks; evidence of the dealer's skilled use of the whip. The client had been told that the man used fake blood when punishing the boy; a boy's mind in pain is easy to manipulate. The red traces, mixed with sweat, could easily be wiped away. The client didn't need to check the boy's teeth or ass; he knew the man wouldn't try to pull a trick at him.

Marek continued to brush the floor as the man left his side. He didn't see the two men shaking their hands, making the deal complete. He didn't stop as he felt a wet cloth wiping his back; he just wondered why it didn't hurt much since he still believed his back had to be covered in bleeding welts. He flinched a bit as he felt a sting in his behind and moments later his vision became blurred. The feeling of being lifted from the ground was the last he noticed before he passed out.

"He's waking up!"

Marek heard a distant voice through the clouds of mist his mind was wrapped in. He tried to wipe his eyes but couldn't move his arm. The greyness slowly faded and his eyelids went up. What he saw didn't make any sense to the boy.

"Can I play with him, Daddy? Please, Daddy!" a young voice pleaded.

"Later, son. The drug needs to wear off first. Let's have dinner first, then you can play as much as you want." an older voice replied.

"Ok, Daddy." the young voice agreed, slightly disappointed.

A door shut and everything was silent again. Young Marek looked around but couldn't see anything. Right in front of his face was something like a grey wall. He tried to move his arms but again it was impossible. Something held them at his back. He tried to move his legs too, but to no avail. When his mind worked a little bit more he felt a dull pain in his jaws, Moments later he realized he was tied and gagged. Marek didn't panic, he spent many nights like this after he had been taken from the monks.

Marek slowly recovered from his drugged sleep and with, every few seconds, his mind became more alive. The boy turned his head to see a bit more and he could see the ceiling of a large room. Turning the head further he saw something that looked like the top of a tree. He shook his head but the vision remained the same. Marek could move his head freely, as he discovered, and bent his neck as far as possible.

The grey wall turned out to be part of a plastic cage for pets, though it was a big one. Next to the cage were some paper wrapped boxes with ribbons on it. Now he could smell something that brought his memory back to his early childhood.

It was the unique smell of spices, fruits, sweets, wood and candles. It was the unique smell he'd recognise immediately, though it could be smelled only once a year. He remembered the happy times he had a Christmas tree at home with his parents; enjoying the taste of all the treats and the fun with all the gifts lying under the decorated fir tree.

Marek felt his eyes watering when something else hit him. If it was a Christmas tree and he was lying beneath it in the midst of gift boxes – would it mean that he himself…? The boy looked down at his body and, sure, there was a red ribbon tied around his belly. Marek closed his eyes and cried silently, as he learned to do in the past years.

"Why is he crying, Daddy?"

Marek heard the young voice asking, bringing him out of his dreamland he used to go to when things got worse. He didn't dare to look up so he didn't see the man kneeling down beside his son, looking at the bound boy he had bought, while putting his arm around the shoulders of his offspring.

"Where he comes from there are Christmas trees too, and I'm sure he knelt in front of many presents, as you do now, not so long ago."

"But he's a slave."

"He is now, but once he had parents and was a normal boy, like you."

"What happened?"

"I don't know and it doesn't really matter. I had him legally placed here with us and he will be a houseboy and playmate for you. Nevertheless he has memories and feelings. Right now, I expect him to be confused and scared."

"What shall I do, Daddy?"

"Well, I'd suggest you unwrap the other presents first so you might get an idea."

While they had talked, Marek was still silently crying. The two voices had spoken in the new language he had to learn and he had understood almost everything. He realized that he had been sold as a slave; just as the man, who had taken him from the brothers, had told him to expect. He realized too, that he was indeed a Christmas present, given to a child like a pet.

The man spoke in a soft tone and Marek was a little bit relieved to hear the man knew how he felt. 'Maybe it won't be so bad', Marek hoped. It had been painfully drilled into Marek's mind that he had no say in what happens to him anymore, from the first day in the orphanage on. He had quickly learned that doing as he had been told was the best way of staying out of trouble. He was scared though; by lying still and not moving he hoped he wouldn't do anything wrong.

Thirty minutes later all these thoughts were replaced with a deep feeling of shame. Marek stood in front of his new master – a boy, barely taller than himself, perhaps a few months older, with a mop of unruly black hair on his head. Though Marek was used to being naked or at least semi naked in front of adults, standing there in his birthday suit in front of a boy close to his age was awkward. But what caused the full body blushing was the fact that he not only stood there naked, but also sported a rock hard boner. Boners were bad and had to be hidden; the brothers made sure to beat into every boy.

Marek kept telling himself that it was not his fault, since his little penis had started to swell right after the boy had forced it, together with his balls, through a small ring that now sat firmly around the base of his genitals. Neither in the orphanage nor in his training home had Marek discovered the fun of playing with himself, not even accidentally. So he was totally unprepared for the sensations when he felt the fingers of the other boy's hand at his rigid penis, bending, pulling and stroking it. His whole body stiffened; he closed his eyes, gasped and blushed even more as the feelings of shame and pleasure mixed in his innocent mind.

Nevertheless, the aura of preteen sexual feelings was quickly destroyed by some sharp smacks on the slave's bottom. It didn't really hurt, he was used to far more, but it startled Marek big time.

"Stop that, Colin. You can explore his body later. Now it's time to explain something."

The man turned to Marek.

"Boy, look at me!"

Marek did hesitantly. So far only the boy had given him short commands like 'Stand up' or 'Hold still' but by the tone of the man's voice Marek could tell he was about to hear something important. He was still frightened and how he had been treated so far did nothing to calm him.

"Boy, that's what I will call you from now – boy. I bought you and gave you as a Christmas present to my son, Colin. You're a slave now, but if you are just half as smart as I've been told you are, you have figured this out already. Colin is your Master; you will do what he says. I'm his dad, so you will obey me too. My word is final. You will address both of us as Master and you can refer to us as Master Colin and Master Ian. You have been trained as houseboy and you know how to behave. Be good and you will have an easy life. You understand?"

"Yes Master!" Marek answered, almost shouted, as he had learned during his training.

The man, Ian, smiled and reached out. Marek flinched slightly as he braced himself for the blow he expected. Ian lost his smile, hesitated, and then brought his hand down to the side of Marek's face. Gently he stroked the boy's cheek with his thumb.

"No boy, I won't beat you without reason. I might be strict, but I'm not cruel. Expect to be punished if you fail, but otherwise nobody will hurt you. Understand?"

"Yes Master!"

Marek was close to tears again. The last time he was touched in such a gentle way was when his father had said "Goodbye," before they had started the trip they had never returned from. Involuntary he pressed his cheek against the man's hand. Ian noticed it and put his other hand on the boy's bare shoulder.

"Welcome to your new home, boy." he said.

Chapter 2
Start of a Journey

The cage was large enough for him to lie down comfortably; it had been fitted with a blanket and a pillow, more luxury than he had in years. The boy, Master Colin as Marek remembered, had been startled by Marek's tears as the slave was put into the bath tub, not knowing they were tears of happiness. Marek hadn't felt warm water since his uncle had dropped him at the orphanage. But the man, Master Ian, understood and gently caressed Marek's back while the boy cleaned himself thoroughly. Marek couldn't help crying again as he was given a clean and soft towel to dry himself. He was embarrassed by his tears but was determined to enjoy the sudden comfort, expecting it not to last very long.

Marek almost welcomed the information he wasn't about to get anything to eat as a confirmation that he still was what he had used to be. That it was only because of the drugs he had been given that didn't reach his mind. The slave spent most of the evening answering a myriad of questions, mostly by Colin, about his life and training. Not even for a second he went out of the position the man had ordered him into, though father and son explored his whole body with their hands. All the time the slave's little pecker stood straight up, hard as could be.

However, Marek struggled hard. Before, a hand touching his skin meant pain; now the hands running over his body brought to him a cascade of unknown sensations and emotions. Especially as his chest, lower belly and thighs were so sensitive; it gave him a tingling pleasure in his groin he never felt before. His knees were shaking and his body trembling but he held position. Ian, of course, recognised the signs and every time he thought the boy came too close he stopped their actions. Colin however was too innocent to know all the effects the stroking had for young Marek.

Colin, though older, didn't know much more about sex than his new slave. He had just recently discovered the joys of playing with the little worm down in his groin but couldn't shoot yet. Of course he would rather die before talking about it with his father, though their relationship was very close and they talked openly about almost everything. But he still believed he was kind of weird or something, not knowing every boy does the same, sooner or later. His father had heard the sounds coming from his son's bedroom and knew a new stage in his son's life had begun. Soon they would have a father-son-talk but not yet, Ian had decided.

Due to Ian's job they often moved and Colin had no real friends. Colin had taken the last movement very hard; for the first time he had managed to establish a close friendship with a boy of his age and had cried several days when they left again. Colin didn't know anything about his father's occupation; he thought he was kind of a civil servant who was sent around when somewhere something went wrong. Interestingly that wasn't too far away from the truth; Ian served his country but in a way that would fit in a spy novel. Well, he wasn't really a spy, rather a trouble-shooter for the government outside the diplomatic world; imagine James Bond with only his brain and mouth as weapon. Nevertheless he, and especially his son, – abduction and blackmail are still common practice – were in constant danger so they changed residences frequently.

Ian had thought about sending Colin to a special boarding school as the secret service wanted, but that would mean separation and he knew Colin needed him as well as Ian needed Colin. The boy was the anchor point in the man's troubled life and Ian often told his colleagues Colin was the only reason he hadn't lost sanity already. When Ian was on duty Colin was looked after by Mary. To Colin she was just the nanny. Mary was indeed; apart from that she was a fully trained agent. Unknown to him, Colin was under constant surveillance. He was proud of his dad's importance, at least of what he thought was the truth, but missed his dad terribly each time Ian was away. He liked Mary very much but she was no substitute for his father.

Ian knew as well the boy needed a friend, a companion. They had just moved in and the house was several miles away from any village or town. He would visit the local school after the holidays but Colin didn't make friends easily. Ian had recognised some signs and he knew Colin might turn out gay or bi. He didn't mind since he was bisexual himself but he secretly hoped for grandchildren some day. Nevertheless, the boy should discover his sexuality by his own; a chance Ian never had himself. But that was long ago and Ian now had his own son to protect from suffering the same fate. The best way Ian could think was for Colin to have another boy as playmate. He thought it would be ideal if the boy in question would be as naïve as Colin and therefore placed a very detailed order. He had had doubts but Marek met the requirements perfectly.

Colin, of course, was oblivious to these parts of Marek's use. His father had promised him he would get something that would help him with his chores and he could play with. Colin had been just overwhelmed with joy when he had discovered the naked boy under the Christmas tree. It had been hard for him to obey his father and put Marek back into the cage so he could rest but Colin was usually a good boy, and after some hours making acquaintance with their new slave, he and his father sat together in the living room and talked. Marek in his box had a lot to think about too, but the drug and everything that had happened that day took their toll and Marek eventually closed his eyes.

Marek hit his head at the cage wall as he was awakened roughly by someone banging against his box.

"Get up, sleepy-head!"

Marek panicked and hit his head again as he tried to get out of the cage. Expecting a severe punishment for sleeping late he trembled as he pressed his forehead against the floor in front of his young master.

But Colin simply ordered "Come!" while laughing about his slave's clumsy start. He had no idea that simple command only intensified the slave's dread. From experience Marek knew if an offence was not punished immediately he was in for something worse. It didn't occur to the younger boy that he had done nothing wrong since he couldn't get out of the cage anyway. But it was beaten into him that a houseboy is always awake before his master or else.

Marek followed his young master into the kitchen.

"Wait here." Colin told him.

Marek dropped to his knees with his legs spread shoulder-wide and put his hands behind his head. Colin didn't notice since he was busy preparing his simple breakfast as usually. He grabbed some milk from the fridge, took a box of cereals and put them into a bowl. Without thinking he prepared a second bowl as he did on the rare occasions one of his few friends had stayed for a sleep-over. He was just about to turn around and hand a bowl to Marek when Ian came back in from his morning run.

"Morning, boys! What's going on Colin?"

"Nothing Dad, just fixing the cereals."

Ian sighed inwardly. He sat down at the kitchen table.

"Please come to me, Colin."

Not knowing what his father wanted, Colin obeyed, wondering about the serious tone of his father's request. Ian took his son by the waist and pulled him on his lap. He gave him a kiss on the forehead like he did every morning and asked.

"So why is the boy kneeling there shaking like aspen-leaf?"

Colin turned his head in the direction his father was pointing and saw Marek again kneeling and pressing his forehead on the floor, his bottom up in the air. This time even Colin noticed how much Marek was trembling.

"Dunno, Dad." Colin shrugged his shoulders.

"Then tell me exactly what you did this morning."

"After getting up I went to the bathroom and took a shower. Then I dressed and went down to wake the boy up. I banged against his box and he jumped out…"

Colin hesitated a second.

"That was the first time he went into that position. What does it mean, Dad?"

"It's the position of a slave awaiting punishment, son."

"Punishment? What did he do wrong? He was in his cage the whole time."

"We will see. Now continue."

"I just told him to come with me and we went to the kitchen and I prepared the cereals when you came in."

"I see." Ian lifted his son from his lap.

"Boy, explain yourself!"

Marek flinched and gulped three times before he answered.

"Master, I was bad and need punishment."

"Why?"

"Master, I slept when the Master was awake. Then I failed to prepare a breakfast for the Master." Marek sobbed.

Marek was terrified. He didn't know what to expect. The previous master was cruel and unforgiving and Marek knew what he would get for failures. Now he had let down his new masters the very first day and that hurt him more than any punishment could. Marek had become a true slave; all he could think about was pleasing his masters.

Colin started to object but Ian interrupted sharply.

"Son, please sit down and whatever happens now, stay there and be quiet."

Colin had rarely seen his father so determined but knew to stay out of his way.

"Boy, get over my lap!"

With wobbly legs Marek got up and shuffled to his master, not daring to look up. Without hesitating he bent over the man's leg and positioned himself. At least he hadn't had to wait any longer. Ian didn't want to do this but knew it was necessary. The trainer had advised him and Ian knew what made Marek tick. For a moment he marvelled at the perfectly rounded mounds of Marek's butt. It wasn't exactly a bubble butt but came close, just the perfect shape of a boy's bottom and surely ideal for a sound spanking.

Ian started with a series of six hard smacks, three on each cheek. Marek gasped out of shock. They were the worst smacks he ever got by someone's hand. Of course he had taken more; nevertheless he knew the man meant business.

Colin sat there with his jaw hitting his chest as Ian continued to spank the little slave's bottom methodically. Colin had been spanked by his father before but never that hard. He couldn't see what the boy had done to deserve such a punishment. The boy was impressed by the way Marek took the beating; by then he himself would have bawled his eyes out. Nevertheless he felt a strange tingling in his groin, just as if he played with his willy. And true to that feeling he suddenly realised he was hard down there. The blood rushed into his head and Colin hoped the floor would swallow him right there. Ian, though occupied with thrashing Marek's behind, noticed his son's predicament and couldn't hide a smile. 'Oh yes, he's my son,' he thought; pausing shortly to adjust his own hard-on, 'but he has still so much to learn.'

Marek had already decided that spankings by Master Ian were definitely to be avoided. His butt was on fire but Marek strangely was contented. He knew he'd still be punished if he failed and that was something he could hold on to. Marek kicked and squirmed but not once reached back and tried to cover his butt. He gasped and moaned but didn't howl or cry. He wanted to show the master how he could take his punishment, not knowing that made it only worse. Ian was equally determined to 'get through' to the boy so he kept on spanking way more than he had planned. The boy's butt was crimson red and Ian's hand was on fire too. Just then Ian heard his son whisper

"Dad, please!"

Marek couldn't take any more. He became rigid and then he collapsed on his master's lap. Hard sobs convulsed through the slave's body; tears and snot ran down his face. Ian waited a couple of minutes until the boy calmed a bit, caressing his back and thighs.

"Get up, boy!" he eventually ordered.

Marek slid off the man's legs and stood shaking in front of him; his chin held up by Ian's hand.

"It's not the boy that decides whether he had to be punished or not. If you do, you will be told. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master." Marek answered after a short pause.

The boy was taken completely off guard as Ian pulled him into a hug.

"Don't make me do that again, boy." Ian whispered into his ear, stroking the boy's back and hair gently.

Ian knew that was not masterly behaviour but he really didn't want to do that again. He knew he would have to spank the boy now and then and felt nothing wrong in even enjoying it a bit. But a thrashing was something different.

Before his son was born Ian often let steam off in discreet SM sessions, both as top and bottom, but considered himself more a top. He had especially liked to give youthful looking lads a good workout but never with real minors involved. Ian had expected to find spanking a slave boy somehow arousing and his cock had proven that true; however that had changed completely as the spanking turned into a thrashing. Marek was too perplexed to react in any way but new tears filled his eyes.

"Now boy, go up to my bedroom, clean it up and do the laundry. After that you might get something to fill your belly. You do remember where the rooms are?"

Marek did remember from his tour through the house, led around with a leash by the young master. He confirmed and was sent away with another slap on his butt. When he was gone Ian turned to his son.

"Go to you room and wait for me," he ordered before he left.

Marek stood in the hallway stroking his belly. Master Ian had insisted he empty the bowl completely. Marek had had no idea what porridge was but had found it rather pleasant though it was almost tasteless; nevertheless, it was far better than anything he got the years before. He had been told he had to eat a full bowl every morning and evening so he wouldn't be hungry all the time. What had startled Marek even more was that he had been ordered to use a spoon instead of eating just with his hands and that he should use the same china-ware as the masters did. He even was ordered to put the bowl onto the table while eating; the only difference was that he had to remain standing. When the master was about to leave, Marek found himself on his knees and, for the first time in his life, kissing a man's feet without being told.

Now Marek stood in front the door of Master Colin's room. He carried a tray with a bottle of lemonade and a jar of cream. He hesitated before he knocked nervously; he was about to enter the young master's room for the first time. Master Ian had explained to him that, apart from the chores around the house, his main purpose was to serve Master Colin. Getting no reaction to his knocks he, as he had been told by Master Ian, carefully opened the door and entered. The room was spacious but not overly large. Marek could see a wardrobe, a desk with a computer, a rack with a TV and Hi-Fi-System and at the far side under a window a large bed with the young master lying on it.

Marek thought at first the master was sleeping but as he came closer he heard some muffled sobs. Marek's eyes grew wide. Was the master crying?

"What do you want?" the boy snapped.

Marek was startled and the bottle almost fell from the tray.

"I'm sorry Master, Master Ian sent this to you, Master." the slave boy chocked.

As Colin turned around Marek could see the boy had indeed cried; his cheeks were wet and the eyes red. Marek, watched by his master, placed the tray on the nightstand. The boy was scared and Colin sensed it. He knew his slave had taken worse because of him so Colin wiped his face and tried, not very successfully, to hide his pain as he sat up on the bed. He reached out and took the slave's hand.

"Yes boy, you're not the only one who got it. I'm sorry my father hit you that hard."

"I deserved it, Master." Marek answered nonplussed.

"It's been mostly my fault. Anyway, better we both learn from it. Turn around."

"Does it still hurt?" Colin asked as he looked at the boy's red bum.

"Yes, Master."

"So does mine."

"Master Ian said you should put the cream on, Master."

Colin took the jar, looked at it and started to go to the bathroom when he had a second thought. 'What the heck…" he thought and pushed his shorts down. Marek's eyes almost popped out. Handing the cream to Marek, Colin lay down on the bed.

"You'll do it. But carefully!"

Marek's hands trembled as he approached his master. He never had touched another boy's bottom. Colin moaned as he felt the cold cream on his sore cheeks, though they were not nearly as red as Marek's. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensations brought by small hands caressing his bum; the pain had almost faded into a pleasant glowing. Soon he unconsciously started to gently rock his groin in time with the boy's strokes. Not long after the inevitable happened and the blood rushed into his young cock. When Colin realised this the blood rushed into other places too; he was glad he faced the mattress and Marek couldn't see his blushing. When he trusted himself again, Colin turned his head to his young slave and to his surprise he looked right at Marek's very rigid member. Marek was so occupied with his task he hadn't realised that his penis had, as the innocent boy would have thought, betrayed him again. But he froze on the spot as he felt a hand on his sensitive little stick.

Colin had wondered, since he had his first hand orgasm, what really was happening when he stroked his dick until the indescribable feelings came. He wondered too if it would happen to other boys. Colin had tried to ask the internet but the parental control system had blocked out most of the results. What he found, however, did only increase his curiosity. Of course he knew the basics of reproduction from his lessons at school; but how it really worked the teacher had refused to tell. They would eventually find out themselves, she had said. Now, with his father's permission and encouragement to discover the new boy's body and abilities ("Feel and learn!"), the slave's erect penis was too tempting not to take the chance.

Marek dared not move as Colin ran his fingers over the sensitive skin of his penis' shaft. Colin's actions were not very gentle and almost clumsy, but it was enough for Marek's hormones to kick in. Soon he moaned silently and started unconsciously thrusting his groin forward to encourage Colin to continue. Not that Colin needed that, he was on a mission.

Suddenly Marek felt as if he had to piss and he tried to warn his master, but all he got out was, "Oh Master!" before his world exploded in a sea of stars as the boy's first orgasm hit home.

Chapter 3

"Bring your hand back as far as you can, aim between the highest point of his butt and where his legs start and then let fly," Ian advised his son.

With a loud crack the original Scottish tawse landed on Marek's round globes; the two-tailed end biting into the delicate skin of the boy's flank.

"Okay, Dad."

Colin took the tawse somewhat reluctantly. He had had it once himself, so he knew what his slave boy must feel. Colin did as his dad had instructed him and brought the strap forward as fast as he could. He didn't think of going easy, not after the burning blow he got on his own for his feeble attempt at lashing Marek's hand. Marek hissed sharply as the tawse hit the tender flesh of his sit spot.

"Again, higher," Ian commanded.

Colin obeyed. The strap hit right in the middle.

"Again, same spot."

Colin looked at his father briefly but did as ordered. The slave boy let out a muffled yelp.

"Now Colin, it is important to let the pain sink in and give the boy time to think about his misbehaviour. Put him into the corner, but don't let him rub."

Marek was desperate to soothe his burning cheeks but quickly obeyed young Colin's orders. As he stood there, nose against the wall, hands on his head and elbows pulled backwards, Ian put his arm around his son's shoulders.

"Well, this is what the boy can expect to get and you are expected to give when he doesn't obey."

"Yes, sir." Colin answered, trying to blink away his own tears.

"Of course, for smaller mistakes you can always use your hand or a brush on his backside," Ian said, sensing his son's discomfort.

"Yes, sir." Colin still didn't sound convinced.

Ian sighed and got down to meet his son's face .

"He's a good boy and I'm sure he'll do well most of the time. But he needs to know you are able to keep him in line when you have to. And you need to know too."

"Yes, sir."

Ian sat down on the couch and pulled his son onto his lap. To take the tenseness out of the situation he poked his son into his rips. Colin, still incredibly ticklish, started to squeal immediately. A good natured father-son-fight developed quickly and Ian had reached his goal. But unknowingly, he had brought distress to his slave too.

Hearing the squeals and laughter from his young master, Marek's mind was suddenly flooded with memories of a better, but long gone, life. Playing rough with his father was something young Marek had always enjoyed. They had spent hours wrestling or pillow fighting, nothing ever went overboard, it was just the best time the boy had with his father. The pain of his loss overwhelmed Marek. Tears welled up in his eyes and soon his little body was shaken by silent sobs.

Colin was still catching his breath when Ian noticed something was wrong with his slave boy. The boy was crying hard and Ian knew it must be something else than the strapping he got.

"Boy, come over here!" Ian commanded while pointing to a spot on the floor next to the couch where he was sitting.

Marek shuffled over and dropped to his knees, his hands still on his head. Ian reached out, put his fingers under the boy's chin and lifted the tear-stained face. Ian, trained to read other peoples' faces, immediately saw the deep sorrow and pain in the boy's eyes. And that he was on the verge of losing it completely. Colin had already slipped from his dad's lap and looked uncomprehendingly at the little slave. Then it happened. Marek slumped down and pressed his face against his Master's feet.

"Jestem przykro Papa," Marek sobbed. "Jestem przykro."

Ian, fluent in many languages, picked the boy up and held him tightly. "Wiem, syna mego."

The following weeks Ian made sure he gave the boy as much body contact as possible. A ruffle of his hair, a pat on his shoulder or a quick rub of his back just short gestures but Marek absorbed it like a sponge. He rewarded his master with spotless efficiency and perfect service. And with a feast for the eye. Thanks to the nutritious food Marek had grown and his body had started to fill out. His genitals were still on small side, nevertheless the little tool rose to his full glory whenever Marek stood in front of Master Ian. Ian could think of just one description: gorgeous!

Although Marek was de facto a slave and Colin was his junior master a very special friendship had developed. Of course Marek was the servant that tended to every need of his master. But behind the closed door of Colin's room they were just two boys who enjoyed each other's company.

Marek hardly slept in his cage any more. The few times he wasn't required to accompany Colin in his bed he just curled up in a corner of his young master's room. The boy's day started early. Usually he got up at five o'clock in the morning without needing the help of any alarm. He straightened out the house and prepared breakfast. Then he went to lay out the clothes for Master Ian and Master Colin

Colin had started school again and just got some new sets of uniforms. Marek smiled every day as he recalled the memory of Colin's argument with his father about the school shorts that were part of the uniform for summer. Colin complained they were far too short, though they went down over two thirds of the boy's thighs. Master Ian had ended the argument by taking the shorts back to the shop and buying really short ones. Marek's little cock rose as he remembered the picture of Colin looking so adorable in the short shorts with a bright red face.

Colin's face was even redder as Marek wiped his ass clean for the first time as he was ordered by Master Ian, after the man had noticed some brown skid marks on his son's new white briefs. The embarrassment was still there though it had become part of the boys' morning ritual. While Colin was emptying himself, Marek put some toothpaste on the brush and filled a glass with warm water. After he had wiped Colin's butt and the young master had cleaned his teeth, Marek would step into the shower and soaped himself down quickly before adjusting the water to the right temperature for Colin to step in. Nobody had told Marek not to use warm water for himself; the slave boy was just used to wash himself with cold water.

Colin usually purred like a cat when Marek let his fingers glide over the boy's smooth skin. When Colin's little rocket wasn't already hard before he got in, it went into launching position within seconds when Marek laid his hands on him. Marek started with washing his master's hair, careful not to bring any of the shampoo into the boy's eyes. Then he slowly soaped his arms, chest and belly before starting on the shoulders and down the back. Next was the left foot up to the thighs, repeated with the right leg. Finally he caressed the two firm buns with the sponge before Colin slightly bent to allow him to enter the crack.

Colin had meant to get back at Marek by ordering him to lick his crack out; expecting the boy to refuse so he could spank him. But Marek simply stuck his tongue out and ran it from the base of Colin's testicles up to his little pink rose. Colin's knees went weak as he felt the unknown and surprising sensations the tongue generated while Marek licked round the sensitive skin of the anus. As Colin turned around his stiff pecker slapped against Marek's face and the boy, out of instinct or otherwise nobody knows opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the throbbing shaft. That was all that was needed and the stars exploded in Colin's head. Luckily, as he slipped, he fell over his kneeling slave boy so he wasn't hurt.

Marek was stiff with fear, not knowing if he had done something wrong. Colin needed some time to come back from the stars but when he regained his senses and he saw Marek's anxious expression he couldn't help giggling. "Wow!" was all he managed to say before he went into a laughing fit. Marek slowly started to sense he wasn't in trouble and soon found himself lying next to his master laughing uncontrollably. That was how Ian found the two as he came looking since it was getting late. He made short process by turning off the warm water and soon the laughing turned into squeals as the boys tried to get away from the sudden icy cold shower. Colin was soon on his way to school but the thought of what had happened still occupied his mind.

Soon Marek had earned Master Ian's trust to be left alone when Colin was in school and Ian had work to do. The ankle chain Ian put on his slave when he first had to leave him at the house was just symbolic; and both slave and master knew it. The chain hadn't even a lock, so Marek would have been able to remove it with one click. But the boy didn't. He wouldn't even think of that. The man and his son had shown him more care and love than anybody else since his parents died. Marek felt at home and was happy. So if Master Ian wanted him to wear a chain, Marek would do it proudly.

Winter had the country in its clutches. Snow had fallen and icy winds made everyone shiver. Ian arrived home at late afternoon, just a little bit before Colin was due to come from school. His mind was still on his job when he literally stumbled across a small cuddled body in front of the main door. The small bundle didn't move. Ian picked the boy up, felt the icy cold skin against his hands and rushed into the bathroom. He was glad the boy was still breathing so it wasn't too late. Placing the boy in the tub, Ian carefully started to rinse him with warm water. He was careful to warm Marek's torso first so his little heart wouldn't be shocked by cold blood from his limbs.

Slowly, as the tub filled with water, Marek regained consciousness. He gasped as the pain from his warmed limbs reached his now awake mind. When he realised where he was and that his master was attending him his expression turned from pained to terrified. As Ian saw the boy was awake he couldn't hold back.

"What where you doing outside, boy? Didn't I tell you that you aren't allowed to leave the house?" Ian shouted.

But just as the words were out and the boy's eyes went wide in horror Colin stormed into the bathroom.

"Dad, what happened?"

"I found the brat outside, almost frozen to dead! Bet he tried to run away but then had second thoughts!"

Marek burst into tears as he heard his master's words.

"Dad, he wouldn't do that. Beside, you always said he is a smart boy. A smart boy would have taken some of my clothes before running away." Turning to Marek he said, "Tell Dad and me what happened!"

"Masters, I'm sorry, I just wanted to sweep the snow from the walkway but the door fell shut," Marek whispered with great difficulty.

There was silence in the bathroom as both masters processed the boy's answer. Ian calmed down visibly.

"Anyway," he grumbled, "we have to get him out. The water's cooling down."

Colin grabbed one of his big fluffy towels as Ian lifted the boy out of the tub. They wrapped Marek into the towel and Ian carried the boy to his son's room. Though he had intended to just put him into "his corner" for some more rest, he complied as Colin simply lifted the covers of his bed for Marek to be put in.

"We talk about this later," Ian said as he left.

Marek shivered like aspen leaf and Colin realised his slave boy still needed to be warmed. He considered fetching a hot-water-bottle but then he simply stripped, lifted the covers again and slipped next to the boy. Wrapping his arms around Marek, he spooned himself against the still cold body. Soon Marek stopped shivering and both boys fell asleep.

"You have to punish him!"

"Why?"

"He disobeyed by leaving the house!"

"How could he know?"

"What do you mean?"

"How could he know he wasn't supposed to leave the house when he leaves the house every day to take the garbage out?"

Young Marek knelt head down ass high between his two masters, who were arguing about him. The boy trembled again, but not from the cold. He felt terrible for causing his masters so much trouble. He knew he had to be punished!

For a casual observer the scene looked like something out of a comedy show. Father and son faced each other, arguing,; the poor slave knelt between them. The funny thing was, that father, Ian, held a short whip and son, Colin, a whippy cane in his hand. While Ian was demanding a whipping for the young slave Colin was resisting, though he still had the cane his father told him to use. And while they were arguing, each of them highlighted their arguments, seemingly unconsciously, with a quick lash onto the boy's upturned bottom and back.

"He still caused damage to our property!" Ian insisted, still taken aback a bit by the true argument of his son. Though he was proud of his son for standing up for what he thought was right, he knew he couldn't let him win. It wouldn't do any good for both, son and slave boy.

"Oh come on, Dad! He damaged nothing. And he suffered enough, don't you think?"

The dispute went on and eventually young Marek couldn't stand it any longer.

"Please, Masters!" he cried.

"Be quiet!" both Master Ian and Master Colin shouted in unison. But as the looked down at and saw the red stripes and blotches on his skin they realised what they had done. Ian chuckled and even Colin saw the irony in the situation. It didn't take long and both were laughing in full swing.

"Enough!" Ian eventually regained composure. "Out with you or you'll miss the bus," he ordered his son. "I'll take care of him."

Colin knew further objection was futile and would only earn him a sore bottom too. So he grabbed his bag and, with a final look at his slave boy, he went through the door. Ian smiled as he watched his son running down the walkway through the large panorama window that Marek had cleaned only two days before. Looking down at the kneeling bundle of misery his cock twitched.

"Get up!" he said, giving the boy a soft kick to the butt. "I have a lesson to teach you."