1.
The Party

Characters: Moray (12), Stefan (30s), Various men, women, and slave boys.

Story codes: Fb, anal, bond, cbt, chast, spank, toys.

"This is the worst fuckin' thing you've ever done to me!" Moray complained, turning to glare at the man stood beside him. As he waited for a response his hand drifted up to the tight collar around his slim neck.

"Firstly," Stefan responded, not shifting his gaze away from a boy wearing a heavy iron collar and shackles being roughly fucked by a portly gentleman in the middle of a baying crowd of equally portly gentlemen, "if you are going to swear at me, at least have the decency to use full words."

"Okay," Moray said, rolling his eyes just enough to amuse the man, but not enough to elicit a swift and public punishment, "this is the worst fucking thing you've ever done to me."

His finger slipped over the top of his collar and gave it a little tug, pulling it away from his skin so that it could breathe.

"Secondly, if this," the man said, turning to inspect Moray's state of dress, raising his hand to bat away the boy's from the collar he was tugging at, "is the 'worst thing' I've done to you, I should really reconsider your punishment regime."

"Does that mean that you are going to give me Sundays off to compensate for this then?" Moray asked, a slight smirk forming on his lips.

Stefan gave Moray a wry smile and pointed out a boy stood obediently straight-backed next to a man, serving him drinks from a silver platter. "I was thinking of getting you one of those, do you think it would suffice?"

Moray's eyes roamed over the boy's body from his smoothly detached expression of subservience, past his muscular chest adorned with a brown leather harness, and down to the bulky, highly polished chastity device that covered the boy's cock, balls, and most of his groin which looped between his legs and around his waist to hold it secure.

"Which," Moray asked with a cheeking and endearing grin, "the belt or the boy?"

"Why not both?" Stefan asked, "and if you're a good boy, I'll let you choose which of us gets which."

Moray snorted. "There's no way you'd put one of them on," he told the man, his finger once again playing with his collar as he imagined his owner locked up like the boy.

"I would," the man informed Moray, a faint smile playing on his lips as he watched his boy's brow furrow in disbelief, "and I have done too."

"No fuckin' – fucking – way!" Moray blurted out, and followed it up with a crow of laughter that gathered a modicum of attention from a group of nearby party-goers. "Sorry," he whispered, apologising for his outburst.

"You should be more sorry for this," Stefan admonished, gesturing for Moray to remove his fingers from beneath his collar once more. He sighed as he gracefully plucked two glasses of Champagne off of a silver platter that a passing naked serving boy carried. He thrust one of the glasses towards Moray who instinctively let go of his collar to take hold of the drink. "I've never done anything to you, or any of the other boys I've owned, that I haven't experienced myself, and there are some things that I would never do," he told the startled boy.

Moray thoughtfully watched the bubbles floating from the bottom of his glass to the top, bursting and fizzing as they completed their journey.

"Really?" he asked, trying to process this surprising revelation.

Stefan nodded and took a sip of his Champagne, watching a boy in the distance shuddering with a dry orgasm as a tall, imperious looking woman idly continued to probe the boy's urethra with a curved and gnarled metal sound.

Moray mimicked him, taking a swig as he contemplated what his owner would look dressed like the serving boy and what the other things his owner had experienced were. He coughed, almost spitting out the drink before forcing himself to swallow this vile liquid.

"This stuff is fucking disgusting!" he managed to choke out, as he held the glass up to the light, eyeing the golden, bubbly liquid with disdain.

"It is an acquired taste," the man admitted, as he too held up his glass, giving it an appreciative look before taking another sip.

"People actually pay money for this stuff… and enjoy it?" asked Moray doubtfully as he gave the Champagne an experimental sniff.

"They do," Stefan told him, imbibing more of it, "in fact, the bottle this came from likely cost more than you did," he added, enjoying watching Moray's jaw drop.

"Fucking unbelievable," Moray muttered, scrunching his nose up in intense dislike as he examined his glass again, "you definitely got the better deal."

"Perhaps, if you could follow my instructions for more than thirty seconds, that is," the man said with a heavy sigh as he passed Moray his glass, occupying the boy's free hand that once again had toyed with his collar.

He moved in front of Moray and ran his finger around its circumference, straightening it up before bring his hands to the boy's throat and adjusting the knot of the tie hanging there.

"That's better," he said, retrieving his glass from the boy's hand, taking a moment to brush an errant hair from the shoulder of Moray's immaculately tailored suit before draining the remainder of his drink.

"Why can't I just be naked, or tied up, or anything, like the other slave boys?" Moray asked, willing his hand to stay by his side and not reach for the stuffy collar once more, "At least lock my dick back up, this boner is driving me crazy!"

"Because you'd be comfortable like that, especially with your dick locked up. You know, you took to it quicker than any of my other boys," Stefan told him, "and anyway, I like making you feel uncomfortable. Besides, just think of what you'll be willing to do for me to get out of coming next time," he added with a smirk.

Moray opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by a shriek of pain from across the room.

A group of young teenage owners – with even younger boys who bowed their heads and wore little to no clothing stood beside them – were surrounding a pair of boys; one sat on a comfortable looking stool, the other forced over the first one's knee.

Moray watched as the owner brought his hand down sharply and firmly, spanking the young slave's already glowing backside. Each heavy slap of the reddening cheeks was paired with a higher and higher pitched shriek interspersed with babbled pleadings and apologies. He tensed, shifting away from Stefan unconsciously as blow after blow rained down on the young slave's ass.

"You wouldn't want me to let you do that," Moray asked, looking up at his owner to see Stefan watching the spanking impassively, "would you?"

Stefan reached behind his boy and placed his hand on the fabric covered ass. "No, I wouldn't," he assured Moray, "unless you change your mind and ask me to, spankings are still only for punishment."

"I'd never ask for that," Moray said flatly.

"Don't be so sure," the man said as he gave the boy's buttock a single, gentle tap, "Once upon a time Kerry said that, and now he misbehaves constantly just to try to get me to spank him."

"Yeah, but Kerry's fucking weird," Moray replied, thinking about his slave brother as the spectacle ended and the young slave staggered to his feet, and wiped his snot covered face on the back of his arm, "and besides, you barely ever spank him now anyway."

"That is only because he wants me to so desperately," Stefan said with a smirk, "so it's much more entertaining to deny him."

Moray frowned. "Is that why you brought me here as well?" he asked, "Because Kerry wanted to come?"

"That's one of the reasons. I expect he was very disappointed when you told him?" Stefan asked mildly.

"When you made me tell him." Moray corrected, "Since then I've been worried that he'd murder me in my sleep so that he could come here with you instead."

"I admire his passion and commitment to pleasing me," Stefan said dryly.

"I do too actually," Moray admitted grudgingly, "even if he is super annoying sometimes."

"Oh, you have no idea," the man said with a chuckle, "just wait until you get home; he won't give you a minutes piece until you've told him everything, and I mean everything, that happened at the party."

Moray groaned at the thought of the overactive little slave following him everywhere, and hounding him for every tiny detail of the excursion.

"Ugh. This is the worst fuckin' thing you've ever done to me!" Moray complained again.

2.
Grant-a-Wish

Characters: Shawn (12), 'The man' (20s)

Story codes: Mb, slave, nosex, bond, tickle.

Shawn tried his best to relax as his nurse and the man finished binding him spread-eagled to his bed. The boy's nervousness was clearly audible to all three of them as the double-beeps of the heart monitor slowly increased in frequency. His regular nurse, a stocky man with kind eyes and a warm smile, threaded the IV line now permanently anchored to the back of his hand through the fleece lined leather cuff affixed to his slim wrist.

Finishing his checks to ensure that all the necessary tubes and wires were still attached to the boy, the nurse gave Shawn a friendly squeeze of the shoulder as he lifted off the gown covering the boy's body, leaving him exposed to the man's gaze. "There, all done," he announced as he made to leave the room, mouthing "good luck," to the boy as he slid the door closed.

The man moved closer to him in silence, reaching up to Shawn's head and running his fingers through the stubble on his scalp. The boy wished that it could have been the man who had shaved his head, asserting his dominance over the boy by removing the curly ginger locks that had been there for most of his twelve-year-old life. But several months earlier the treatments he had been receiving had caused it to start to fall out, so he took the decision to remove it all himself.

He lamented the fact that his letter to the Grant-a-Wish Foundation had been answered only a couple of weeks after that day. But he was ecstatic that his wish had even been granted, especially given its unusual request: to be a slave for a day. To give himself over to a man to do with as he pleased. He didn't quite know where his fantasy came from, but the thought of being helpless, used, and owned had filled his dreams and daydreams for as long as he could remember.

The man's hand left Shawn's scalp, and he wordlessly moved his finger to the boy's ear. With a shudder, Shawn felt the tip of the digit brush against his lobe and followed it to his jaw, it then traced its way down the side of his neck and drifted lazily along his collarbone. As it came to the centre of his thin chest it took a detour to tease one of his small, puffy nipples, bringing the nub to hardness after only a few feather-light strokes. It crested each peak and delved into each valley that formed his bony chest, softly grazing his taut, squirming belly on its way to the sunken belly button.

Like water draining from a sink, the man's finger spiralled around the rim of Shawn's navel making the boy gyrate his hips to try to dislodge the soft but insistent teasing.

"Please," begged Shawn breathlessly as the gentle caress continued, never slowing or speeding up, or becoming lighter or firmer, "I'm super, super ticklish!"

"I know," the man said.

Shawn's eye widened in surprise. One of the milder side effects of his treatment had been a vastly increased sensitivity over his entire body. There was now no patch of his pale, lightly freckled flesh that would not draw almost uncontrollable giggles from the youngster if properly, and often only briefly, stimulated.

The boy breathed a sigh of relief when he was granted a temporary reprieve as the man's fingers left his belly button and travelled to his hip and thigh. They continued further southwards, slipping under his leg and into his knee-pit before moving along his tensing calf to his twitching, dancing foot.

"No… Don't… Not there…" Shawn pleaded to no avail. "Aargh!" he shrieked, as a spasm of pleasure and a prickling sensation like that of a thousand ants crawling on him shot through his thrashing body as the man's fingernails raked along its length, heel to toes.

"You no longer get to decide if, when, or where I touch you," the man reminded him, his voice soft but with an authoritative edge to it.

"Sorry," Shawn panted as the assault abated, and he tried to catch his breath.

The gradually slowing beeps from the heartbeat monitor were punctuated by gasps and hastily stifled giggles as the boy shifted on his bed, trying to recover from the man's torturous touch. With each motion his oversensitive skin rubbed against the bunched up folds of the linen sheets spread over the firm mattress, the peaks gliding between his ribs, the backs of his legs, his ankles, and the nape of his neck.

"You're enjoying yourself so far," the man stated, observing Shawn's lithe twitching form.

"I don't know," the boy responded, unsure about his current predicament.

"You are," the man repeated, and with a gesture to the boy's midriff added, "look."

Lifting his head with difficulty, as the straining of his muscles and slight movements reignited the overwhelming ticklishness on his clammy skin. He saw, with a jolt of surprise, that his dick was standing proud and throbbing, a clear indication to the man that he was indeed enjoying the ministrations performed on his defenceless body, and that he wanted them to continue.

"I don't…" mumbled Shawn, unsure of his body's unbidden reaction and his readiness to be subjected to the man's touch again.

"You 'don't' what?" asked the man as he ran his thumb along the boy's inner thigh, enjoying Shawn's gasps, giggle, and gyrations.

"I don't… I don't know…" admitted Shawn, trying to gather his thoughts as the man's thumb made a circle around his kneecap.

"You don't know what?" asked the man encouragingly as he mirrored the motion on the boy's other thigh.

"I… I… I…" babbled Shawn as he struggled to gather his thoughts, the overpowering sensations of the man's simple act sent electrical shockwaves through his tingly flesh and into his increasingly fuzzy head.

"Don't know if you want me to do this?" enquired the man as he blew gently into the boy's bellybutton before moving his finger to gently stroke the soft stretched skin around the boy's neck.

"Or this?" the man added running all ten fingers lightly up and down the boy's sternum.

"Or this…?" He slotted each finger between a rib – some next to each other, some with a random gap between them with each stroke – and dragged them around the boy's ribcage, dipping them underneath his body as he arched his back with every uncontrolled giggle.

"Maybe this…?" Five fingernails pressed into the inner and outer thigh of one leg, and began to rhythmically, in turn, scrape against the tender skin, leaving no physical mark, but painting a line of over increasing sensitivity in their wake.

Shawn was shocked to discover that the man had reached his ankle, indicated by a swift swipe of a fingertip along the arch of his foot. He thought that they had barely moved from their starting place as he could still feel phantom fingertip teasing his thigh, knee, and calf.

"How about this?" the man mused as he shifted to the boy's outstretched hands, running his fingers in rough spirals around Shawn's palms.

"I wish I could have you for more than just one day. Oh, the things I'd do to you," the man whispered into Shawn's ear, his breath tickling the little lobe, "I'd put you on display, your body stretched out so that I could touch any part of it I wanted, or not… You'd me my little tickle slave, squirming and laughing for my amusement. I'd put on shows for my friends, and yours too. Think about it; everyone you know watching you writhe in uncontrollable pleasure as I tickle every inch of your beautiful body."

Between his almost unending stream of laughter, Shawn moaned as he imagined just that and excitement blossomed in his chest.

"But for now, I think you deserve a reward," the man told Shawn smoothly transitioning from circling the boy's palm and dodging the wiggling fingers to loosely grip Shawn's forearm, and caress the length of the limb, aiming for the pair of unguarded armpits.

"No! No! No!" Shawn managed to vocalize, shaking his head in time with the grunted words.

Shawn had been thankful that, for what ever reason, his pits had been avoided as the man had attacked the rest of his body – even before the medication had increased his sensitivity they had been his weak point.

Shawn's whole body lifted of the bed as the man delved into his underarms, fingers wriggling manically and randomly over the untouched skin. His mouth flew open silently in a mingled laugh and scream as his body was racked with unendurable sensations. He grunted as he collapsed back onto the bed panting, his sweat drenched body finally still as the pleasurable torture that it had been subjected to ended.

Soon the sweat that covered him began to cool, running off the boy's torso in tiny rivulets. The tiny droplets ran over his tingling skin causing him to let out a few final half-hearted giggles as fatigue and exhaustion overcame him, and he slipped into a well deserved slumber.

3.
The Perfect Slave Boy

Characters: Jett (14), Levi (20s)

Story codes: Mb, slave, anal, bdsm, interr, spank, toys.

Kidnapping a boy to keep at his out-of-the-way cottage had been far, far easier than Levi had anticipated. The boy, who he learned early on was called Jett, had been shockingly simple to capture. All it had taken was offering him a drugged bottle of water on a hot summers day at the park to kick off the endeavour. Walking with him as he drank and began to succumb to the sedative didn't arouse any suspicion. And when he began to yawn, and Levi offered him a lift home, he readily agreed. Even when the man had suggested he lay on the back seat and be covered with a cool cotton cloth, he accepted the turn of events without argument.

It isn't to say that there were no issues as Levi acquired the boy. He was quite a bit heavier than the man had expected, so carrying him up the stairs into the sparsely decorated bedroom had been a chore. But the effort had been worth it when Levi finally laid him out on the bed and began stripping him. Beautiful olive skin with a gorgeous pair of darker nipples adorning his chest; some slight definition appearing on his abs and clear muscles developing in his arms; strong coltish thighs and calves, his legs ending in a set of magnificent toes; a small tuft of pubic hair, a shade lighter than that on his head, topped a firm, uncut boy-cock flanked by a pair of full and ripe balls; and all topped off with a solid and sturdy loop of steel that Levi had just slipped around his neck.

Levi drooled as he took in the magnificent form of his perfect slave boy. The man's imagination ran wild with the possibilities of what he would do with his handsome new doll, tasting his ticklish, sweaty armpits; nibbling his pointy nipples; licking his protuberant belly button; nuzzling his wrinkled nuts; peeling back his foreskin and devouring the wonderful dick, tip to root; lapping at his rosebud and giving him pleasure he would never have felt before; kissing down his shapely thighs and calves; sucking each toe in turn. Yes, Levi would make him addicted to the glorious sensations, make him crave them so completely that he could never leave the man, even if he ever wanted to.

* * *

A loud noise startled Levi as something metallic clattered onto the kitchen table. He looked up from the newspaper he had been reading to see Jett stood in the doorway silhouetted gloriously by the early morning sun. Still as beautiful as ever, despite how his face now looked, he stood with one hand planted firmly on his right hip, and the other pointed at the collection of keys he had thrown onto the table-top.

"Well?" Jett asked, his annoyance clear in his tone of voice and the expression his face was pulling, "What are those?" Levi evidently took too long to answer, barely able to get to open his mouth after a long pause before Jett interrupted him. "They are the keys to the front door," he explained quite unnecessarily, but pointing behind himself to the door to emphasize his point. Levi looked like he was about to agree with him, but he cut the man off again, "So why do I have them, eh?" he asked, staring accusingly at the man, "I could have unlocked the door, escaped, got rescued, got you arrested, couldn't I?"

"Sorry," Levi mumbled, "I'll put them away properly next time."

"You'd better," Jett said warningly as he stalked to the opposite end of the table to Levi and threw himself down into the hard wooden chair, glaring at the breakfast the man had made for him. "And you shouldn't be making me this for breakfast," he told the man as he picked up his fork and proceeded to mash the bacon, fried eggs, sausages, hash browns, tomato halves, baked beans, and black pudding into an unpalatable looking mess. Dropping the fork and hesitating for a moment as he regarded the concoction he created, he scooped up a blob of yellow, orange, and black mush in his fingers and began to eat.

"I'll get you the oatmeal you want when I go shopping next," Levi said as he tried to avoid watching him eat the formerly delicious, well presented meal, "I promise."

"I don't 'want' it," Jett grumbled between mouthfuls, "it should be all I deserve. I am a slave after all, aren't I?" His irritation continued when, after he had finished his food, he had to snatch Levi's plate from the man's hand as the man attempted to start cleaning the cutlery and crockery. "Are you going to fuck me tonight?" he asked suddenly as he scrubbed a saucepan, the hot water and harsh detergent making his bare hands sting. "Because the last time you did was two nights ago. You should be doing it twice, no three-times, a day, you know."

"But you're still sore from the last time," Levi said, casting his eyes over the firm buttocks and the valley between them, "if you'd let me put some ointment on your hole afterwards, or even rim you before we do it, I might want to do it more, if you wanted me to." Levi remember well how the boy had forced himself on his rigid dick with minimal preparation, a thin application of lube to hole and pole had been all the boy had allowed before bouncing roughly and grunting in discomfort.

"Ugh," Jett moaned, throwing a handful of knives, forks, and spoons into the foamy water in frustration as he began his familiar rant. "Do you know how long I waited to get kidnapped? How many pervs I talked to, hoping they'd grab me and lock me in their basements? How many times I fucked myself silly with a dildo that was twice as big as your cock, dreaming of being someone's sex slave? Months. Fucking months, and then I had to get got by the wimpiest 'master' ever."

"Sorry," Levi mumbled again, "I'll fuck you tonight if that's what you want, okay?"

"Yeah, right," Jett said sounding unconvinced, as he put the last plate in its place, slammed the cupboard door closed, and flung the damp tea-towel onto the counter-top. "And are you even going to punish me for talking back to you?" he asked, but forestalling Levi's reply before the man could get a single word out. "Of course you're not, I'm going to have to do it myself again, aren't I." He didn't even give the man chance to begin to form a reply as he stomped off to his bedroom.

Levi winced as he heard the sound of a leather belt hitting Jett's soft, supple buttocks. Kidnapping a boy to keep as his slave had been easier than he had thought it would be, but actually living with one was way, way harder than he could ever have imagined possible.

4.
Visiting Hours

Characters: Archie (11), Tobias (14), Royce (30s)

Story codes: Mb, slave, anal, oral, bond, chast, first, interr, milk, toys.

Six months ago Archie's brother left, missing out on his younger brother's eleventh birthday by sixteen days, and started living with a man Archie had never even seen before. Twenty-six weeks ago Archie's brother stopped being his brother and started being a slave, signing his life away to a man he had known for less than a year, but visited weekly. One-hundred-and-ninety-three days ago Archie became an only child and had not seen the boy who had been his brother since. Until today.

The letter had been addressed directly to him and signed Royce, Owner of Slave Tobias; and it came as a surprise that, one: the man had kept his slave's name the same as it had been when he was Archie's brother, and two: that the man had invited him to visit them. There were some rules to be followed of course as detailed in the letter, along with more that he had been informed would be made clear if he visited.

That is why Archie stood on the doorstep of an unfamiliar house wearing a pair of sandals, a loose pair of grey shorts, and absolutely nothing else. It is also why he had ridden his bike and parked it at a public bike rack about five minutes walk from Royce's house, and had to lock it with a brand-new combination lock bought especially for today – the man's rules stated he was to bring nothing with him, including money, ID, or the keys to his own home.

He knocked in the manner described in the letter: three knocks, a pause, then three more knocks, another pause, and finally two knocks; then he waited, shuffling nervously on the spot as a partially obscured silhouette appeared in the narrow vertical window running down the centre of the door. The man who opened it was tall, muscular and dark skinned – a stark contrast to Archie's pale, barely-tanned, skinny frame. He looked down at the boy, with a wide smile showing bright, white teeth, and warm deep brown eyes – the same shade as his own and that he shared with his brother, Archie noticed.

"It's great to finally meet you, Archie. Tobias has told me so much about you, and you're exactly as I imagined," Royce exclaimed, placing both of his hands firmly on the boy's shoulders and giving them a friendly squeeze. "I see you've followed all of my rules so far as well. Excellent."

"Yes, I have, um… Royce," Archie assure the man. It felt very odd to him that one of the rules was that he had to address Royce by his first name. Every other adult male he knew who exercised any amount of authority insisted on being called Mr Something or even Sir.

"Nervous about seeing Tobias after so long?" asked the man, dropping to one knee so that he was at Archie's eye level. "Or maybe nervous about meeting me? I expect I'm not quite what you were imagining, right?"

"A bit of both," the boy answered truthfully – another rule from the letter: always tell Royce the truth – "and yeah, you are different in a lot of ways."

"Well, we can have a chat about that before you see Tobias," the man told Archie, "but first there is a rule you will have to follow: no boy is allowed into my house without a cage." He watched the boy's face carefully for a reaction.

"You mean my cock, don't you, Royce?" Archie asked with a quiver in his voice that could be nervousness or excitement.

"Yes I do, and it seems someone's been doing some homework before he came, yeah?" Royce asked as he scooped up the small metal device from a table hidden from the boy's view by the door frame. "It's titanium, so it won't be too heavy for you."

"Yeah, but I've only seen plastic or steel ones in pictures though," Archie confirmed, "So, do you want me to take my shorts off?"

"Most are, but I like to go the extra mile and make sure my boys, both slaves and visitors, are as comfortable as possible," the man said. "You don't have to take them all the way off, but I would appreciate it if you pushed them all the way down, so they don't get in the way."

Archive shifted nervously from one foot to the other. It had been a bit exciting to ride to Royce's house without his underwear on, and he thought that the man would want to check when he arrived. But not on the doorstep, and not so completely. He had imagined that man taking a quick peek down the front of his shorts and just catching a glimpse of his little cock – or maybe running his hand up the leg to verify that there was no other fabric under there.

"A bit nervous?" Royce asked kindly, watching the young boy closely and breaking Archie's train of thought with his question. "Tobias wasn't sure at the first too. Back then he never thought he'd be showing his body off like this. It's okay, take your time, there's no rush."

Archie relaxed a bit. If Tobias had been scared to do it, it was fine for him to be too.

"Okay," Archie said eventually, stretching the elasticated waist of his shorts far enough to slide over his hips and dropping them to the floor, showing off his bare pubis; diminutive dick with the tip just poking out of his foreskin and tight, wrinkled balls,. A flush blossomed on his face and spread to his bony chest with proud pink nipples as he felt the gentle caress of Royce's fingers manoeuvring his not-quite limp cock into the metal enclosure, and the knowledge that anyone passing by on the street would be treated to the sight of his bare bottom.

"There, you can pull your shorts up now," the man said, gently allowing the boy's cock to hang unsupported, pulled down only a little more than usual by the slight weight of the cage, "how does it feel by the way?"

"It's okay," the boy said as he bent down, showing off his pink pucker to the world, to retrieve his shorts. Before he covered himself, he gave his newly caged cock a little jiggle, "it is light, I can hardly feel it."

"That's good," the man said happily, drawing himself up to his full height and taking Archie's arm to guide him into the house, "let's go and have that chat." And they did chat, about all sorts of things, with the boy feeling more comfortable as each minute passed.

* * *

"I think it's about time we went to see Tobias," Royce asked Archie as their conversation came to a close, "don't you?"

"Yeah, please… Oh?" Archie said moving to follow the man. The cage – which he had completely forgotten about – had shifted as he stood, tugging at his cock and balls in a surprisingly pleasant way.

"There's another rule you need to know," Royce told the boy, smiling at his reaction as he opened a door to reveal a set of stairs leading downwards, "no boy is allowed into my playroom clothed."

"Okay," Archie said enthusiastically. He was eager to see Tobias again, and Royce had already seen him naked once, so stripping off, neatly folding his shorts, and dropping them with the sandals into the basket Royce provided was a simple task.

The room they descended into was well lit; lined floor to ceiling with cupboards and drawers; cushioned underfoot with warm, springy mats; and dominated by a reclining metal frame chair with a fourteen-year-old boy with a caged cock almost identical to Archie's positioned comfortably in it.

"Stand there, please," Royce requested of the boy, pointing to a spot on the floor near Tobias' feet as he started to undress, "and the rule is: boys only speak when spoken to in the playroom."

"Yes, Royce," Archie said, looking up at Tobias and grinning broadly.

Tobias looked almost the same as when Archie had last seen him. Maybe a little taller, but that was hard to tell with him almost lying down, but definitely more muscular. He wondered if Royce was making Tobias exercise as well as everything else that they did together.

Archie gasped as the now fully naked Royce stood between Tobias' lifted and spread legs, his long dark cock with a bulbous purple head resting at the winking entrance to his brother's ass.

"It's alright, Archie," the man assured him, pressing forward to spread the hole wider, "we've had a lot of practice, working our way up from something small, like your finger, to my cock. I like my boys to always enjoy this experience." The head of the man's cock pierced the hole and was swallowed by it. "Isn't that right, Tobias?"

"Yes, Royce," Tobias moaned, flexing his hips to push back against the penetrating cock, "I love it when you fuck me, it feels so, so good."

Archie watched in awe as the man's cock slipped into Tobias, inch by inch, filling him more that the boy thought possible. "It's all the way in," he breathed in amazement as he saw it begin to slowly withdraw.

"Oh sweetie," Royce said softly, turning and walking towards Archie, his hard, glistening cock leading the way, "don't you remember the rule? No speaking unless spoken to."

"I'm sorry, Royce," Archie whispered, hanging his head, "do you want me to go?"

"Oh no, of course not," the man said pausing to pat the boy on the shoulder reassuringly as he made his way to one of the drawers to retrieve something, "but I think you might need a little help." He returned with a small gag in his hand.

"Yes, Royce," the boy said, opening his mouth to accept the gag that Royce fastened loosely enough to be comfortable, but tightly enough to render him almost speechless.

"There," the man said, examining his handiwork, "now there will be no more accidents, right?"

"No, Royce," Archie attempted to mumble through his gag, shaking his head.

"Now, let's give Tobias the wonderful feelings he's been craving all week," Royce said as he positioned himself at the boy's entrance again, "you'd like that, wouldn't you, Tobias?"

"Yes, Royce," Tobias panted with genuine desire and need, "please fuck me, please."

"Good boy," Royce said as he began pumping his cock into Tobias with long, slow strokes, then short fast ones, each time bottoming out so that his fat balls bounced against Tobias' ass.

Archive watched wide-eyed as Royce paused, his cock deeply buried once more in Tobias' ass, and bent down to kiss the boy full on the lips. It was less the act itself that had surprised him, and more that Tobias seemed to be kissing the man back, and enjoying it. They were both moaning, Royce deeply, and Tobias at a higher pitch as their tongues wrestled in the boy's mouth.

Seconds, minutes, or hours later, Archie couldn't tell, a disappointed, longing whimper burst forth from Tobias' lips as Royce broke the kiss and pulled out of his twitching hole. The man sighed and stepped past a panting Archie to gather a set of cuffs from another drawer.

"It seems like I forgot to tell you a rule," the man told Archie apologetically, "but I did hope you would have guessed that: in the playroom, no boy is allowed to touch himself without my express permission."

Archie quickly pulled his hands away from his groin where he had been pawing fruitlessly at his tight ball sac and inaccessible cock, and mumbled an apology to Royce. He hadn't expected to be so excited to see a man and boy kiss.

"It's okay, it's my fault, but I think you need a bit of help with that too, right?" the man asked, guiding Archie's hands behind his back and starting to attach the restraints before the boy could answer.

Tobias grunted happily as his fucking resumed, Royce continuing at a leisurely pace, his breathing getting more ragged as they both drew closer and closer to climax.

"Cum with me, Tobias," the man commanded with one final thrust sending himself and the boy over the edge.

Several shots of bright white cum blasted through the bars of the boy's cage splattering the heaving form of the man towering over him.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asked Tobias.

"Yes, Royce," the boy answered dreamily.

"Did you enjoy seeing Tobias cum?" he asked Archie.

Archie nodded, his cock rock hard and held tightly in its own cage.

"Well," Royce said, lifting Tobias out of his seat and telling him to collect something from one of the drawers for him, "I think you will enjoy hearing the most important rule of the playroom then." He didn't elaborate, but bent down and picked the boy up easily, depositing him in the space Tobias had vacated and adjusting him into the same position too.

"No boy leaves the playroom without cumming. But don't worry," the man said kindly as the boy glanced nervously at the man's cock – which looked much, much bigger to him from this angle – "only slaves get to cum from my cock."

Archie squeaked into his gag as he felt something hot and wet pressed against his butt hole. Craning his neck to look, he saw that Royce had scooped some of Tobias' cum off of his torso and was rubbing it in smooth circles around the perimeter of his hole. The sensation was nothing like the few fumbling attempts he had engaged in, sliding a spit-soaked digit across the wrinkled entrance.

The man's experience and techniques were bringing increasings amounts of pleasure to the boy's quivering little starfish. Each circuit that the practised digit completed loosened the circle of muscle until it gave way at the slight probing of Royce's fingertip.

"The 'size one', Royce," Tobias said, handing a small prostate massager to the man.

Royce smiled. Tobias had chosen the same massager that had been used to give him his first cum in the playroom when he first visited.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked Archie, his finger still spiralling around the boy's rosebud.

The boy nodded and relaxed. He had seen one before, but not in person.

"Good," Royce said, removing his finger from the rim of the boy's loosened hole and scooping up the last remains of Tobias' cum and anointing the small plastic probe with jizz. "Just relax and let it slide in," pressing the device to the boy's wrinkled hole and watching it be swallowed up greedily.

Archie gasped as the warm sticky goo was easily spread inside his ass by the toy's entry and eventually came to rest against his prostate, the smooth curve of its head brushing the gland with each of the boy's heartbeats.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" the man asked.

Archie nodded in agreement which made the toy caress his prostate, driven by the subtle movements of his own body. He never anticipated that this would be on the itinerary when he first received his invite. He knew things could be put up a boy's butt – he'd done his research after all – but nothing prepared him for how good it would feel.

"It vibrates too, did you know that?"

The boy's eyes widened in surprise, and he shook his head. His whole body already felt like it was vibrating around the probing digit, and he thought that if the thing started to vibrate as well, he would surely cum in an instant.

"Would you like to feel that?"

The boy nodded his head eagerly. The head of the massager scraped tantalizingly over his prostate with each shake of his head.

Royce fingered the base of the massager for a moment, teasing the squirming boy before pressing the button to activate it.

Archie yelped into his gag and threw his head back as the slim rounded head pulsed against his prostate, wave after wave of pleasure ran through his body as the sensation changed to a harsh buzz; then a pulsing throb; then a slow undulation; then quick feathery touches; then a rhythmic growing and shrinking. Each time he thought that it would push him over the edge into a delicious orgasm, the sensation lessened leaving him panting and quivering with need as the insidious device attempted to prolong the boy's climax indefinitely.

"Are you having trouble cumming?" Royce asked sympathetically.

The boy whimpered into his gag and limply nodded his head. He turned to look at the man and saw that Tobias had knelt on the floor in front of Royce and was dutifully licking and sucking the combined precum, cum and ass juice off of the man's still hard cock. His tongue danced around the purple ridge of Royce's cock, scooping up the last pockets of the man's cum before darting back into his mouth and swallowing it with an exaggerated gulp now that he knew he had an audience. Grinning broadly around that dark phallus, Tobias plunged forward, swallowing the entire length in one motion and humming softly, making Royce sigh contentedly and pat his head fondly.

"Well, there is a higher power mode, but I don't know if you are ready for that," the man mused.

The boy stared at Royce, silently begging with his eyes. If the high power mode was even just 1% more powerful, he knew he would definitely cum, and he needed to cum so badly.

"Okay if you think so," Royce said with a wry smile as he pressed the button for a second time.

Archie had not been prepared for the powerful new sensations that assailed him. The massager went into overdrive, rippling against his prostate at a frequency that forced the breath from his lungs in one long muted wail of delight as he experienced the best dry cum of his entire life.

* * *

Archie staggered along the path away from Royce's front door for a second time. After his explosive climax had subsided, and he had regained the use of his limbs, the man had escorted him out of the playroom and helped him get dressed. The first time he left the man's house he had forgotten to get Royce to remove the cage that clung tightly to his hard and still throbbing cock. When the man had called him back and removed it on the doorstep he almost regretted its absence, having become used to the feeling encompassing and pulling on his cock. Especially now that he would have to walk back to his bike with a hard-on tenting his shorts.

As he peddled home he only thought of two things: the continued tingles he felt in his cock, balls, and deep inside his ass, and Royce's invitation to visit him and Tobias again next week.

5.
Wanted: Pup Walker

Characters: Charlie (11), Bruno (13), 'The man' (30s)

Story codes: nosex, bond, chast, humil, toys, ws.

"Please, Sir," Charlie said in a last ditch effort to get the man to agree with his request, "I promise I'll do a good job, even though I've not done it before."

"I'm sorry," the man replied in a consolatory tone, "but I don't think the job is quite what you expect it to be."

"You want someone to walk your puppy," Charlie reminded the man, "and I want to walk your puppy. It's that simple, isn't it? Please, I want to show my mum how grown up I am."

"Well," the man said with a heavy sigh, "why don't you meet him, then you can see if you still want the job or not."

"Okay," Charlie said excitedly, trying to exercise some maturity and not dance on the spot in celebration.

"Bruno. Visitor. Come." the man turned and called into the shadowy interior of his house.

Charlie gasped as the pup came into view. It was a boy, barely a teenager, maybe a year-or-two older than himself, trotting along on all-fours. He looked fairly muscular with lightly tanned skin, but Charlie could not tell what colour his hair was. The boy's head had been covered in its entirety with a mask, black leather and brown suede, a pair of pricked up ears, and a short-ish muzzle. Sticking up behind him was a tail that looked like it was made of rubber at its core, given how it bobbed with each of the boy's steps. It did have a coat of glossy fur in almost the same colours the mask, and must have been anchored firmly in the boy's butt as there was no belt around his waist to hold it. Both pairs of his hands and feet were enclosed in paw like mittens, robbing him of any dexterous use of his fingers.

"Bruno. Down." Charlie snapped, more forcefully and at a higher pitch then he had intended due to the shock of the boy forcing his snout between his legs. The pup nuzzled against his crotch, sniffing deeply to learn the visitor's scent. "Sit." Charlie commanded again, and to his astonishment, the boy-pup followed his order.

"Well," the man said, sounding equally surprised at the pup's reaction, "he seems to have taken a shine to you. It is very rare that he would listen to someone as inexperienced as you."

"Is that good?" Charlie asked, addressing the man, feeling way out of his depth, but watching Bruno with fascination.

The pup had squatted down and was peering up at Charlie through his mask with bright, curious hazel eyes. Also on display now that he was baring his belly to the boy was the tight, red translucent plastic tube obscuring the view of his cock, but leaving his heavy, round balls dangling freely. A small, glistening droplet of precum had formed at the slit at the end of the tube, and Charlie could not tell if it had been there before – perhaps caused by whatever bulb was anchoring his tail in his ass, and rubbing around his insides – or could have been the result of sniffing Charlie's dick and balls. He certainly felt an unexpected dampness and firmness in his own underwear after the intimate contact.

"Why don't we find out?" the man said, opening and reaching into the drawer of a small cabinet next to the doorway. He brought out a retractable leash and clipped it onto the shiny metal ring that hung from the collar firmly holding Bruno's mask to the boy's head.

* * *

It surprised Charlie how normal the trip ended up being. Leaving the man's house, walking along the quiet side-streets, and heading to the park, all happened without incident, with none, or at least very few, funny looks in their direction. No-one stopping them to ask why he was leading an older boy around on a leash. The only person to comment on the situation was a man who appeared to know Bruno already, and seemed surprised that the pup was behaving so well. Most of the time at the park was taken up doing a circuit of the rough gravel path, with Charlie having to occasionally reign Bruno in when the boy-pup was being too exuberant or strayed too far.

A shocking, and very fascinating, thing happened just as they were about to leave though. Bruno had trailed behind and reach the limit of his leash causing Charlie to turn to see what the pup was doing. It transpired that he had stopped next to a fence at the side of the path, cocked his leg, and was freely pissing onto the wooden post. Charlie had never really watched anyone pee before, or at least not with the intent that he was doing at that moment. Bruno's open and brazen display made Charlie stare as the pale golden stream splashed against the post, running down it to form a small puddle at its base.

* * *

"Have you been a good boy?" the man enquired, patting Bruno on the head once he and Charlie had entered the house, and man and boy were seated on the sofa.

"Oh, yeah, he has," Charlie said. He had been waiting for Bruno to respond, but with a look from the man he realized that the boy was not allowed to, or perhaps even could not, respond.

"Good," the man said, grinning. "Why don't we work out a schedule for you? Go and sit down, and I'll bring some lemonade."

* * *

Once a week walking Bruno turned into twice a week, then every other day, and eventually almost every day. Charlie started to visit for longer too. Not just arriving, taking the pup for a walk, and maybe stopping for a drink of lemonade if he was especially thirsty, but staying for hours at a time before and after walking the boy. He chatted with the man a lot too, particularly about how Bruno became his pup – he had been doing odd jobs for the man in his garden, and at some point had started sniffing at the man's crotch. From there, their relationship had changed into what Charlie now observed.

His own relationship with Bruno and the man had changed too. He had become less forceful with the pup, letting him get away with more than he used to, treating him with little rewards more than the man seemed to think Bruno deserved. They started play wrestling, and gradually Charlie let Bruno take on a more dominant role, letting the pup pin him more often and for longer as time went by. These actions culminated in the man playfully declaring, "We'll have to do something with you, won't we," to Charlie when the boy, instead of throwing the pup off of him, allowed Bruno to clamber onto his back and hump him wildly with his leaking, red nub.

After walking Bruno around the park on an unusually warm day, Charlie returned to the man's house and was glad that the man had already poured him a tall glass of lemonade. He had become used to the bitterness of the drink, but today's glass had a very mild but odd sweet metallic tang to it. He yawned widely after he finished his drink, and shuffled fitfully in his seat as he tried to settle himself into a comfortable position.

"Why don't you have a nap before you go home?" asked the man, patting his lap to indicate that Charlie should rest his head there.

"Okay," Charlie said sleepily as he yawned again.

He leaned over, intending to lay on his left-hand-side, looking out into the room to where Bruno sat, a pearl of precum dropping from the tip of his cage, his eyes cautious but expectant as he watched a familiar event unfold. The man placed his hand on Charlie's back, rolling him over so that he curled up, his knees pressed against the upright back cushions of the sofa. His head was positioned so that his nostrils pointed directly at the man's crotch, and he could smell the man's warm, rich scent invading his nostrils.

"Do you want to be my good boy too?" the man asked Charlie, patting his head fondly as the boy breathed deeply and murmured his ascent.

6.
Pride Comes Before a Thrall

Characters: Owen (12), Karl (20s)

Story codes: nosex, bond, first, humil.

The boy smiled broadly at his phone, held out at arms length, and snapped a picture as he felt a pair of scarlet lips gently brush his check.

"Thanks Ms Tuesday," he said, moving his arm into a more comfortable position and opening the phone's gallery, "you've been a big help, these will all look good for my article."

"Oh, Owen, sweetie," the Drag Queen who had introduced herself as 'Ruby Tuesday' told him, "you really must call me 'Ruby' darling, 'Ms. Tuesday' is just too formal."

"Sorry Ruby," he said, flashing her a smile as he turned to leave, "and really, thanks!" Owen added, waving as he backed away from the ostentatiously dressed performer into the colourful crowd occupying main street.

He wandered through the mass of people, each fascinating and eye-catching in their own way, on the look of for his next likely candidate to interview. Getting the assignment to cover this year's Pride festival had been a dream come true for him, and there was no shortage of interesting characters to speak to.

"See anything that catches your fancy?" asked a mellow voice as Owen paused to watch a boy wearing a dog mask being lead past on a leash by another boy.

"That looks um… interesting," Owen replied, fishing for the man's name and giving him a winning smile.

"Karl," the man told him "just Karl… for now."

"I'm Owen, I'm a junior journalist," he told the man, "and I'm writing an article about the different activities going on here."

"Ah," the man said, nodding and his grin widening, "perhaps you'd care for a demonstration?"

He gestured to a small six-foot square stage raised about a foot off of the ground, topped with what Owen now recognized as soft brown leather. Next to it stood a table covered in various implements that Owen barely knew the use of.

"That would be cool," he said to Karl, looking around for the man's partner, "while we are waiting, would you mind telling me what you do?"

"Of course not," Karl said, "there are some subtleties to it, but mainly I am a trainer of Thralls."

"Of what?" asked Owen, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall if he had ever heard the word before.

"It is the old Norse term for a slave," Karl explain, watching for the boy's reaction carefully.

"Oh! Um…" Owen said, eyes widening in surprise.

"Yes, you can see why we use a different name for it. It conjures up a lot of negative stereotypes, doesn't it," Karl said with a wry smile, "but I can assure you it is entirely voluntary and everyone enjoys it… eventually." He added a theatrical wink which allayed some of Owen's discomfort.

"Ah, OK. So, whoever you use that stuff on wants to do it and likes it, then?" Owen asked, nodding towards the table.

"Yes," the man said simply, stepping towards the array of leather, metal, and plastic, "are you ready for the demonstration?

"Um…" Owen said, looking confused at the lack of a volunteer, "who…?"

"Why, you of course," the man said smoothly, gesturing for the boy to stand at the edge of the platform, "just think about what a fascinating and unique article you could write with some first-hand experience?"

"I… I'm not sure…" Owen mumbled, his gaze now fixed warily on the equipment the man wanted to use on him.

"I'll tell you what, why don't you just try it slowly, bit-by-bit, piece-by-piece," Karl said, picking up a simple leather collar and showing it to the apprehensive boy, "and then, if we find that there is anything you really don't like, we can stop. See, even though this collar has a place for a padlock, I promise not to use it… unless you agree to using it of course."

He deftly looped the end of the collar through the buckled, closing it and indicating where the lock would go.

"Okay, that doesn't sound so bad," Owen said, taking a deep breath and moving to climb up onto the stage.

"Shoes and socks off first, if you would," the man asked politely, picking up a basket and offering it to Owen to deposit the first pieces of his clothing into.

"This feels nice," Owen said, wriggling his toes against the surface of the pleasantly warm leather after he had clambered up onto the stage, "where do you want me to stand?"

"'Where do you want me to stand' Sir?" Karl told the boy in a soft but stern voice, lifting the collar to Owen's neck and adjusting it so that it fit comfortably.

"I… Uh… Sorry, Sir." Owen stammered, gulping as he lifted his chin automatically and felt the leather tighten around his throat. "Where do you want me to stand, Sir?"

"Good boy." Karl praised Owen, running his fingers through the boy's dark, curly hair. "You are acting as my Thrall now, and you will address me correctly."

"Yes, Sir," Owen said, nodding nervously.

"Are you enjoying yourself so far?" the man asked, continuing to toy with Owen's luscious locks.

"I think so, Sir." the boy said, closing his eyes for a moment and leaning into Karl's affectionate touch.

"That's good, boy," Karl told him, taking a half-step back to take in the view of the collared boy, "why don't we get a better look at you without that t-shirt."

"Yes, Sir," Owen said, reaching for the hem of his top, but a frown from the man made his stop.

"Did I instruct you to take it off, or move at all?" questioned Karl.

"N… No, Sir," the boy stammered, dropping his hands back to his sides instantly.

"Arms up!" Karl commanded sharply as soon as the boy's hands were at his hips.

Owen had raised his arms high into the air before he had consciously registered what he had been told to do. He blinked for a couple of seconds then twisted his neck to look up at his hands in amazement.

"Oh!?" he murmured softly as he looked back at Karl, surprised at his own actions.

"Good boy," the man praised him again as his hands rested on the boy's bony hips.

With practised ease Karl slipped the thin piece of fabric up and over the boy's head, folded it neatly, and placed in into the basket next to Owen's shoes and socks.

"Arms down," he told the boy lazily as he turned away.

Owen lowered his arms slowly and folded them across his chest self-consciously, now keenly aware of how much skin he was displaying to passers-by. As Karl turned to look at him again he realized his mistake and quickly dropped his arms loosely to his side.

"Sorry, Sir," he said, hanging his head.

"Hey," Karl said softly, cupping the boy's chin and lifting it so that they were face-to-face, "you are still getting used to this, and it is meant to be fun. I will tolerate some mistakes, but I hope you are a quick learner."

"Yes, Sir," Owen said, "I'll do my best."

"Good boy," the man said, ruffling Owen's hair before stepping away to collect some more equipment. He returned with a pair of leather cuffs, each with a short length of chain and a clasp attached to the end of a D-ring. "Hands out, arms by your side still, bent at the elbows, and palms up." he commanded, rattling off each instruction in quick succession.

It took Owen a moment to process what he had been told to do, but after a false start where he stretched his arms out and did not keep them at his side, he stood in the position the man had ordered him to.

"Good boy," Karl said again, not commenting on the boy's misstep but affixing a cuff to each wrist in turn, tightening the buckles and showing off that they too could be locked if desired. "How do they feel?"

"They feel okay," Owen said, moving his hands and arms experimentally but being careful to limit his movements to not change his position too much without the man's approval. "I mean, they feel okay, Sir."

"Good, I'm glad," the man said, taking a step back once more to observe the shirtless boy, "and you can lower your arms now."

"Would you like to do something exciting, but perhaps a little bit scary now?" Karl asked as he watched Owen relax into his role.

"Um… maybe, Sir?" Owen said uncertainly, beginning to shuffle nervously on the spot.

"Relax your arm," the man ordered as he reached towards Owen's left arm and took hold of the dangling clasp. Using it like a leash for the boy's hand he gently pulled it up towards the boy's head, moving slowly so that Owen could bend his arm into a comfortable position.

With practised ease he depressed the slider, opening the loop of the clasp and neatly slotted it into the hole design for the padlock at the back of Owen's collar. Releasing it, he watched with delight as the boy's eyes widened as Owen realized that his hand was stuck behind his head.

"Karl… Sir… You said you wouldn't…" Owen stammered as his heart pounded in his chest. Being half-naked and stood on the platform was one thing, but being rendered unable to cover himself was quite another.

"It is okay," Karl assured him, speaking in a slow and steady voice to calm the boy, "you can use your other hand to release yourself, can't you?"

"Oh, yeah," Owen said, his slight panic subsiding considerably.

"So, how does that feel? More scary? More exciting?" Karl asked when the boy's rapid breathing had settled down.

Owen considered the question for a moment. "More exciting, I think, Sir," he admitted after a minute of silence.

"Exciting enough to have your other hand restrained too?" Karl asked.

Owen nodded, but the man made no move to clip his right wrist behind his head. "Yes, Sir," he said and was rewarded with a broad smile from the man.

"Good boy," Karl said as he made quick work of depriving the boy of the use of both of his hands, "how do you feel now?"

"It is a bit scary, but more exciting still, Sir," the boy said.

"Good," the man said approvingly, "shall we get the other set of cuffs on you?"

"Yes, Sir," Owen agreed as the man took the second pair of leather cuffs off of the table.

In a flash Karl strapped the cuffs around the boy's thin ankles. "Do you know what would make you look even better, boy?" he asked Owen letting his hand linger on the boy's left calf.

"If I took my shorts off, Sir," Owen answered with a shudder of mounting excitement.

"If who took them off?" Karl asked, fixing the boy with a meaningful stare.

"Sorry. If you took them off, Sir," Owen responded quickly.

"Good boy," the man said warmly as he slipped his fingers into the waistband of Owen's shorts and slowly pulled them down the boy's coltish legs, making sure to keep his fingertips in contact with the boy's goose-pimpled flesh.

The clasps on the ankle cuffs jingled as Owen stepped out of his shorts, the man neatly folded them, and put them neatly away. He took in slow, steadying breaths as he came to terms with the fact that all that stood between him and total nakedness was a pair of tight – and rapidly tightening – plain white briefs.

"Let's get you displayed properly," the man said, almost to himself as Owen gulped.

"Yes, Sir," the boy whispered uncertainly.

He prepared himself to protest against being stripped further and tensed, ready to jump back out of the man's reach should he try to lower his one remaining scrap of clothing. To his relief and surprise the man did no such thing but instead moved back to the table and picked up a long metal rod with rings attached to either end.

"Spread your legs," Karl commanded, bending down to clip each ankle cuff to an end of the spreader bar. "Magnificent!" he remarked loudly, stepping back to admire the boy's outstretched form.

"Do you wish to continue?" the man asked after giving the boy a chance to settle into his new position.

"Um… What would be next, Sir?" Owen asked cautiously.

"Well, you can't move now," Karl told him unnecessarily, "so how would you like to try not being able to see, hear or speak as well?"

"I think… I think that would be exciting, Sir," Owen confessed, blushing slightly.

"I can tell," the man said with a wry smile as he reached up to momentarily fondle the long, firm rod tenting the boy's briefs.

"Ooh," Owen moaned at the fleeting and unexpected touch, pushing his hips forward and trying to prolong the contact.

Karl chuckled as he left the boy's eager pole throbbing in its confines and gathered up more of his equipment. A substantial deep red ball gag was slipped between the boy's lips, forcing his jaw open to the point just before discomfort before being strapped around his head. The soft leather pad of the blindfold pressed onto the boy's closed eyes, plunging him into darkness as it was buckled closed.

The man leaned in and whispered into the boy's ear before inserting the earplugs that would drown out the festival. "You've enjoyed and agreed to everything so far haven't you," Karl reminded the boy and received a nod of assent. "But the next decision is one I'm going to make for you. Isn't that exciting?" he asked, caressing the boy's cheek. Owen gave an eager nod as his trapped penis pulsed in anticipation of what it could be.

Arms and legs spread wide, stood still in the silence and darkness, Owen waited for the man to make his decision. Suddenly he felt cool metal object run along the outside of his right thigh. It moved upwards towards his hip, met some resistance, then pulled away. Owen didn't have chance to realize what was happening before the action was repeated on the other side of his body and his underwear fell away, exposing his stiff cock fully to the passing crowds.

Owen marvelled at the fact that his erection stubbornly refused to dissipate even as the shock and humiliation of being naked in public burned through his young body. He lost track of how long he waited for something, anything, to happen as the afternoon sun beat down on him, warming his skin.

With a start he gasped into his gag, a rough thumb had brushed over one of his nipples, leaving the small nub erect as it passed. He waited for the treatment to be repeated on its counterpart, pushing his chest out in the hope that his mystery assailant would take pity on him and provide him with more arousing stimulation. Just as he began to think it would never come, the thumb was dragged over his other nipple, pulling taut before it bounced back prominently on his chest.

Over the next few minutes or hours – he could not tell in the sensory void he found himself – countless hands and fingers molested his defenceless body. His hair was ruffled lovingly; his jaw and throat stroked and squeezed; his armpits and sensitive ribs tickled; his thighs and calves stroked and fondled; his buttocks grabbed and kneaded; his crevice traced and pink, winking hole prodded; an endless array of touches all over his openly displayed body.

Owen's last visitor placed their lips delicately on his cheek, kissing him softly as three or four long nails raked gently across his tight ball sack. His thoughts immediately jumped to Ruby, and he wondered if it was indeed her. Had she found him by accident he pondered, would she even know it was him under the blindfold, or had she approached him deliberately, wanting to play with the naked and exposed body of the young boy she had fawned over earlier in the afternoon?

When Karl removed his blindfold and his eyes had readjusted to the light, he scanned small gathering of on-lookers hoping to catch a glimpse of the drag queen, but she was not there.

"Here," the man said, passing a small business card to Owen along with the boy's tattered underwear. The man had stripped the boy of all of his restraints and was watching Owen tie his shoes. "If you still want an interview, there is a time and date on the back," he told Owen who paused his lacing to examine the card, "and if you want a more thorough demonstration, let me know beforehand, and I'll prepare something very exciting and a little bit scary."

* * *

Six months later an article appeared in the Newtown Junior Gazette entitled: "Modern Slavery, an Insider's Perspective", written by Thrall O (né Owen Pryce).

The End