I must start this story on what I look back on as my day of fate. That day when for the first time I saw the boy who would become the pivotal person in my entire life, though I wouldn't realize it for quite sometime the way I think about it now. At least I look back at that day as the pivotal moment that insured my future happiness.

I was sitting in a library eschewing my more comfortable work room back home, sitting instead in the city's main library doing research for my next novel. (This story starts just before the era of the Internet). I liked to sit and espy some of the boys that went through my view.

To say that this particular boy was good looking, or even sexy, would be to greatly stretch the truth. Of course I'm not exactly handsome myself. The last time I checked, I was barely 6 feet in height and very slender at 140 pounds. My features are almost a caricature of the male Negro, and I do not think there is more than a hand full of people that I have ever seen that are quite as black as I. Though of reasonable muscle tone, no one would mistake me for an athlete. Though I am reasonably well endowed, I am no super-stud. My low hanging testicles are probably merely average in size and my penis probably only a bit larger than average at not quite 7 inches when erect. Its size and shape, however, I have always thought to be well formed. But I was definitely no "stud."

I can clearly remember back to that day in the library doing research for my new novel. My mind had been temporarily wandering as I was experiencing one of my frequent hard-ons. I was always a bit frustrated sexually as my frequent foray into my favorite fantasy -- that of acquiring and possessing my own personal sex slave -- would not realistically ever be achieved. (Well it WAS only fantasy). But this specific mind wandering had been occasioned by seeing THE BOY. The boy of my usual fantasies was invariably small and very slender, and of course white. And the boy I was currently looking at brought my fantasy back to me with sudden force. He was generally of the same build as myself, and definitely not that good looking. But there was some intangible look or feel of him that brought out the lust in me. So for whatever reason this boy definitely attracted my attention. Perhaps it was his apparent energy and how he carried himself. He had a certain assurance that belied his apparent age.

The boy of my fantasy was always white, very small for his age, inquisitive and intelligent, full of fun and energy, and above all a total submissive. Someone who would gradually come to accept my mastery over him and eventually become content and accepting of his continued and total slavery to me. I frequently envisioned somehow "capturing" some easily handled boy, so small and light that I had no trouble maintaining physical control over him. Thus the boy of my dreams was always invariably much smaller than myself. Yet he had to be old enough to be at the cusp of sexual maturity. I wanted for all his sexual experiences (or at least most) to be as my personal and eventually well trained slave. Yet I wanted a boy old enough to be able to relate to with a reasonable degree of maturity. At least enough for him to have a good sense of himself and his own identity. Of course this fantasy boy could almost never exist. He was fantasy after all. Oh yeah, he had to be gay of course.

And that is what brought this particular boy to my immediate attention to begin with. I was in one of the reading rooms of the main library. And there he was fully engaged in some kind of research -- at least I assumed so from the large stack of books he had in front of him. (And I was curious as to why he wasn't just on a computer somewhere with so much information on the internet these days). I was intrigued. I was finally able to get close enough to see some of the titles of the books in front of him. Biology, human anatomy, psychology, and one in particular I was astonished to see him engrossed in -- a book detailing some of the early history of black slavery. The page he was so engrossed in contained a full page of drawing of a few of the restraining devises used on the unfortunate people as they were placed on board ship for transport to the new world after their capture in Africa. There ware also drawings of numerous nude male slaves in some kind of hold. This young boy -- I figured to be about maybe 11 or 12 years old -- was so engrossed in these drawings, he never noticed as I was able to stand behind him as he perused the various pictures and drawings. His eyes seemed to linger especially over the depictions of young black males in various stages of confinement and restriction devices. And amazingly I eventually noticed his apparent hardened boner pushing against his pants.

I was intrigued enough that I got a lot boulder and as I looked at the titles of some of his books, I wondered what other things he had been reading about. So I took a chance. I took a seat a couple chairs down, and "accidentally" pushed one of his books onto the floor. As I picked it up I saw that it was a psychology book and it had been lying upside down at the place where the boy had been reading. The boy suddenly turned toward me with what looked to be with some embarrassment. As I apologized and handed him the book I was able to see that the topic in large print at the section it was open to was on 'Homosexuality." I finally realized that this boy was probably suddenly interested in not only the topic of sex, but was probably gay as he was researching this topic and of course avidly searching out pictures or drawings of naked boys or men. (Ok, so I was perhaps trying to reading into what this boy was doing that I could be certain of). But I suddenly decided that I wanted to at least talk to this kid and find out for sure. The boy closed the book I handed back to him, and placed the other book onto the table and started putting on his jacket. I suspect I embarrassed him enough (or maybe even scared him enough) that he decided to leave. I was so disappointed. I should have been more careful. I suddenly became determined to find out more about this kid.

I hurried down the stairs hoping to get ahead of the boy as he chose the elevator. I was out of air but in luck as I reached the ground floor. He was totally oblivious to everything around him as he made his way through the front doors. I had no trouble following. An hour later I followed him halfway across the city. I stood across the street as he entered a rather large but decrepit building. I stood there for a good while trying to decide on just what toothed another, somewhat older boy came out the door and lazily headed down the block. Since this boy was black I reasoned that the building was an apartment complex even if I saw no large parking place. At the spur of the moment I decided to enter the building and perhaps find out to which apartment the small white boy belonged. But I got quite a surprise when I opened the door and found myself staring into the vestibule of a large house. Fortunately I was seen and I quickly retreated, my heart pumping just a bit faster.

Now what? I retreated to a vantage under a tree down the street always. Several minutes later I saw the black lad returning with some kind of package; he had obviously just gone to some local store. Only because he was black did I get the nerve to inquire about where he lived.

Two hours later I was finally back at my own large rambling house. All the way home I kept mulling over what I had learned. Apparently the small white boy, whose name was Peter I had found out, lived there along with the black kid and almost twenty others. It was a group home. What really surprised me was when Jamal, the black kid, mentioned that Peter was in the school class ahead of him. Peter was 16 years old! I didn't discover any more because Jamal seemed to get nervous with all my questions. But I was now even more determined than ever to learn more about this Peter.

All that evening, as I was trying to continue my writing -- I am a moderately successful writer of science fiction for teenagers -- I kept having my thoughts returning to what was easily and quickly becoming an obsession -- Peter. And as I was reclining in bed that night, he loomed large in my fantasies as I masturbated to climax.

Two weeks later I found myself outside his home and for the second time and followed him as he emerged. The first time I never got a chance to "meet" him. But this time was fortunately different. To my surprise we wound up back at that same library, and again I was able to see him leaf through books (including the ubiquitous National Geographic) and noticed again his intense interest in the male nude figures. He never noticed me; he was so engrossed in his own thoughts. I was trying to figure out a way to talk with him when coincidence and fate struck at the same time. Among the books on the table in front of Peter was one of my earlier novels.

Over the next few weeks, I finally got to "meet" and speak with this boy. And eventually, not only gained his trust, but he seemed genuinely interested in what I was saying. Peter was a bright and daring boy but insideI couldsense an immense sadness that he was only able tokeepat bay by thrusting himself headlong into whatever he was doing at the time. I alsowondered if there were someabuse earlier in hislife since he was so definitely behind in the usualphysical developmentfor a bot of 16. I was truelysurprised when I had discovered his age. This boy was barely 5 feet in height and soaking wet could still not hit the scales at 85 pounds. He had a slightly dark complection with just a hint of some heritage other than European white. The slightly darker cast to his skin was a real turn on for me. And since I had once gotten the slightest peak of one of his 'dark' niples, I was also hoping to find therefore a darkening of his sexual equipment, and ass hole. He was obviousely just starting his journey through puberty as his interest in things sexual was relatively new. As the weeks progressed, in my own mind this boy took on the image of the sexiest boy alive.

But now was the big day! Everything was in place. It helped that almost anyone giving him special attention was bound to gain at least a measure of his trust -- he wanted so much for some one to care for him. We talked on a few additional occasions and it was helpful that he was himself trying to write. I had finally won the boy's trust enough to convince him to meet me at a local park where I would drive him to my house. Thus it was about six weeks after I first saw the boy when I had everything in place. He was on edge and unusually quiet as I traveled the last mile or so, but he came to life as I turned into a long private drive and stopped in front of what to him had to seem like a mansion. During our latest conversations he mentioned his interest in becoming a writer again and since he had even enjoyed one of my own stories, I finally convinced him to come with me and I would let him read the partly finished text form my latest creation.

As we neared the room where I had everything in waiting for his transformation into my permanent slave, I grabbed him as I reached for the door. He fought pretty well for a small slender kid but I was finally able to overwhelm him and force him the last few feet into my temporary preparation room. I literally threw him inside, quickly grabbed his left foot, and closed around his ankle the leg iron which had been prepared. It closed with a loud sound of the lock engaging. The other end was permanently attached to a large steel ring which in turn encircled a wide steel pipe that was accessed through a small opening in the back of the elevator that ran down to my dungeon from this anti-room. It was a major reconstruction project to have this pipe installed and allows the boy to be transported from the dungeon, up to this room, and then even to my own bedroom upstairs. The chain, which will eventually be attached to the boy's permanent collar need never be removed. And before the boy had even started to scramble from my grasp, I jumped back out of his reach and sat in a nearby chair trying with effort to regain my own breath. A minute later, after stunning the boy with a small home-made electrical prod convinceing him to be quiet, I went back to the door and slammed closed the deadbolt.

I had my boy!