I ripped open the second brown manila envelope, and dumped its contents. First was a small book with file names and security codes. There was also an explanation for what each file concerned. There was also a three page letter signed by my uncle. I started reading aloud, observing Roger's reactions also. We were now sitting companionably at the table with sandwiches and drinks. Roger knew where everything was and seemed quite content to act as host. (Or servant? Or slave?) I had to 'order' him to sit with me and partake with me.

I finally got back to the letter.

Dear William:

First of all, I now suppose that the shit has already hit the proverbial fan and you realize that you are now a proud owner of a very compliant slave. Please treat him gently. He hurts very easily. Flog the shut out of him if he transgresses, or even just makes a mistake. That's OK. He will react quite well to that treatment. But PLEASE, whatever else you do, please do not take away his emotional safety net. Allow him to remain a slave! If you can not regard and treat him as he needs -- as a slave-- then please see my computer file 'master 12a' which gives all that I now know about a possible master for Roger. It also contains the name of a VERY DISCREET firm of investigators who is currently sifting through this prospective master's background. Make sure he's OK for Roger if you decide you can not keep him as your own slave. The firm should have its report ready soon. This prospective master I know personally, and he does seem right for Roger, but you never know. I wish to error the side of caution. I sure wish my own boy were here; he was so much better at evaluating prospective masters. (He was born Thomas Brown. But I hadn't used his name literally, for decades).

So please Bill. Don't let Roger's seeming competence fool you. Without a very structured environment, with someone who will not only care for him, but who will also CARE ABOUT him, he would not be able to survive very well in the outside world.

Now I guess you were wondering about me and how all this all got started.

Well, it started right after I got out of prison. Or more exactly, with the last 'cellmate' that I had. As I previously mentioned, I was the man's 'boy.' I was used sexually to satisfy his needs. Fortunately, he even came to care for me, and in that prison environment, this was extraordinary, especially considering the circumstances. On the day I was to get my freedom, Biff Marks, my 'cellmate,' thought he would do me a favor and he handed me a slip of paper with a simple address on it.

My journal is in my computer under the file YEW. The password is lifecompanion. Part of this journal even embarasses me.

Journal of Rick Buckley: -- Years Earlier, ---------------- State Prison, ----------------, Texas

I was finally getting my freedom. Five years, 2 months, 4 days! All for consensual sex with my boyfriend. The judge's sentence was stilled burned into my memory

"Richard Buckley, due to the heinous nature of your crime I hereby sentence you to the full penalty allowed by law. You are hereby remanded to the ----------------------- Correctional Facility where you will serve the full seven years of your sentence. I only regret that this is all that the current law allows."

I was almost numb. It was only two days earlier when I found myself betrayed by someone I thought I loved. And someone I thought loved me. This someone was not in court as the sentence was given by the judge. Nor were my parents who have essentially disowned me. The night I was arrested, my father cursed me and said I was no longer his son. Mama just cried, saying that she would pray for my immortal soul which I suspect she believed was certainly damned. I finally realized she had abandoned me too when after numerous appeals she failed to visit me as I was awaiting trial. My own lawyer, someone appointed by the courts, made it quite clear that he was only defending me because he had no choice.

Seven years in prison for making love to my boyfriend. And two days ago while on the stand I couldn't believe what I was hearing as he stated that I had coerced him and had forced myself on him. No one seemed too concerned by the fact that he was three inches taller and forty pounds heavier. That he was a star athlete, while I was second board on our high school chess team. But he was 17, and I was 18. And now he was the victim, and I was some perverted molester. He would not look at me while he was mouthing these lies.

There were no friendly faces during the two and a half days of my agonizing slow-motion trial. Two and a half days during which a young man's future seemed all but destroyed.

Fortunately the judge was wrong. The overburdened prison system decided that I had now paid my debt to society -- almost 2 years early. Of course I was now also registered as a sexual offender with the new law that was just passed. I was in the same category as serial rapists and even kidnappers and murderers. There was no distinction made. This was to insure that I could never again get any real job. All I had was 18 thousand bucks in the bank -- an inheritance from an uncle on my mother's side I barely knew. And thought they dearly tried, my parents were not successful in divesting me of it. I did wonder about this guy ever since I learned of the bequest. Why me? But not looking 'gift horses' etc., I decided not to question fate -- when it was good. Oh yes. I also had that address from my cellmate.

Two days later, I was seriously contemplating doing something drastic. Like looking up my old boyfriend and asking him why. But I decided that this would only get me into trouble again. With nothing better to do I looked up the mystery address. I had no idea what to expect since my enigmatic cellmate refused to elaborate except to say that it was my kind of thing. I can only believe that my bravado and lying hype in front of Biff gave him an entirely false idea of the kind of person I really was. But lying to prison mates was a fine art form. I almost believed my own lies I told them enough times.

The address turned out to be an old warehouse in a nearly abandoned area of a falling down and rusting away manufacturing district. Now it only manufactured lost dreams and despairing hopes. I finally stepped through a small door set into a larger truck gate. I was there met by a creepy kind of loser who had four times as much muscle than brains. I was escorted to the largest black man I'd ever seen. He would have made Shack O'Neil look small.

"Mr. Buckley. I see you decided to look us up."

The guy spoke as if he had gone to Harvard, and with a slight lilt to his words. I later discovered that he was from Trinidad and did have a college education. And he was almost as smart as he was muscled. But at the moment I was shocked and not a little afraid. But as in prison I kept up my front and the big guy seemed satisfied.

"Biff seemed to think that you not only had some brains but that your particular inclination would suit you well to be included in our little operation here. For services rendered, remuneration could be great."

I was totally baffled. And who used words like 'remuneration'? But ten seconds later it took all my acting ability to keep myself from revealing that they definitely had the WRONG guy. The big guy, Julian Tamaco by name, nodded and one of the other guys unlocked a solid door, went into what appeared to be a small room and soon returned leading a very young teen boy of obvious oriental extraction into the room. The boy was entirely naked and seemed scared to death. He at first made an attempt to cover his genitals but suddenly returned his hands to his sides. His face and features ,though quite remarkable, were spoiled by his obvious fear and dry tear streaks. His body was slim but had the first good hint of future musculature. Even his abdomen had a hint of definition. This boy looked like he had the forming musculature of one engaged in the usual sports of a high school teen. As I took in the pure beauty of his smooth young body, trying my best to quell my incipient boner, I decided to up my estimation of his age as I saw his own now very erect dark penis. His well formed and slightly darker testicles also indicated that he was well on his way if not through full puberty. Though only perhaps 5 to 6 inches in length, and with testicles of merely moderate size, they were perfect in their form and seemed to fit his body perfectly. There was a smattering of pubic hair that seemed to enhance the package. Though I have not before been so aroused by someone so young, I would definitely like to make an exception in this case. I had great difficulty in keeping my thoughts away from the feeling I would get when I thrust my own 61/2 inches into his beautiful butt hole. (Which I was aching to see). I feared that if I kept staring I'd start moaning aloud. The boy was more than perfect -- he was almost unique. His form coupled with his sultry looks and light brownish skin, was any pedophiles delight. An area of human degeneration into which I had no intention of devolving. My reverie was broken with a comment from my apparent benefactor to be. Or so he perhaps expected. Though I was thinking furiously now about how I might extract myself from whatever was happening here.

"Beautiful, isn't he? Though not to my sexual taste, I can still see the possible allure that this boy could have to others of your particular persuasion."

I looked up in surprise and not a little fear to the large and powerful presence. I realized that his use of the term earlier of 'inclination' was not happenstance of language.

"Ah, Mr. Buckley, I know all about you. That is why I have allowed you to come here. I need someone who can properly train my boys now that your predecessor decided to outlive his usefulness. Do not be alarmed. I do not kill unless pushed into it. I rather maintain loyalty by reward. The despicable man who was my former boy-trained ruined one of my most promising slave-boys. I had to settle for quite a reduced price when I sold him."

Not only was I utterly appalled at the implication of just what business this man engaged in, the boy across the room was even more startled, and yelled out: "No! You can't do this to me."

There was then an amazingly high pitched shriek as the other man touched a slender black rod to the boy's naked stomach. He immediately collapsed to the floor. It took an entire year of self control not to got to the poor boy's defense. And I should have received an Emmy for my continued performance. I turned toward the big man and said: "Effective. An electric prod I assume?"

"Why yes. We don't want to damage the merchandise. Properly trained and broken, this boy will bring us at least 25,000 dollars. Perhaps even more. Right now I have more than a quarter million dollars of merchandise in various stages of training and because of Mr. Bower's stupidity, I now need a reliable and intelligent replacement. Fast. I have seven buyers already waiting for delivery. I have decided to offer you the position. Biff gave you high kudos and said that your particular sexual inclination, if left to assert itself, was to dominate a pure submissive."

I was again shocked by the implication of his words. "A quarter million?" Staggering! At twenty-five thousand a piece, that would mean 10 boys were being held. I later found out there were eleven. Not a single one of which were over 15 years of age. The oriental boy before me I discovered was 15 years old, and of mixed Thai and American extraction. Although I was also amazed later when I learned that he was a WILLING recruit! Until he found out that his use as a 'slave' was to be permanent rather than merely a sexual escapade of limited duration.

I turned to my 'benefactor,' broke my face forcing it into a wide smile, and remarked: "If they are all this cute, I'd be willing to work for free."

The big man smiled himself for the first time. "I am certainly glad that we can come to an accommodation. Mr. Smith here declined the role; he prefers to abuse girls. But before we can arrive at an informed contract of mutual benefit, I must also specify in detail your duties."

We sat at a small but solid hardwood table in padded comfortable chairs, in an elegantly appointed room. Bubba -- I kid you not that was his name -- brought us cognac. I did not have to fake liking the cognac. I found out very soon my next career path. At least that what was agreed on.

1) My main task was to break the boys. This was to involved various degrees of intimidation, force, and outright torture. But to make sure no permanent damage occurs the future slave-boy. And I also learned that all of the present candidateship been selected not just for their age and looks, but just as importantly for their own sexual proclivities. Many had been street hustlers, while others had been lured by solely by the allure of kinky sex.

2) I was supposed to also be the new 'allure.' I was informed that my good looks and young looking and appealing body was another reason for me to be chosen. (I had kept in good shape in prison, and looked to be in my late twenties even if I was approaching 35. My 'allure' would be helped by a fancy can and house.

3) I was also expected to train the boys in the art of using their bodies to please their prospective masters. Especially their mouths, and butt holes.

"But do not what Smith did. Use what time you need to adequately open up the boy's rectal sphincters. I do not need to pay some slime-ball doctor some exorbitant fee to sew up a boys butt hole! You I know have intelligence; I expect you to use it. Also the methods of torture involve only non-damaging apparatus. We have electro-torture devices that are more than sufficient for results. Just don't kill the boy by passing the current through his heart. There are other spots of attachment that are just as effective for our purposes. But there is one additional duty that I will insist upon. That brings us to duty number four. Much of our income comes from the 16 millimeter films we produce during the training of our boys. Very professional and very lucrative. Especially the torture episodes. We even have some of tour better trained boys use new recruits before they themselves are sold."

I was now ready to back out of the arrangement whatever the consequences. No way was I going to be a part of some sex movie with an underage boy. I'd be put in prison forever. But Julian anticipated my objection.

"I see consternation on your face Mr. Buckley. Do not be unduly alarmed. Only in one small segment of one small excerpt of film will show your face. I will of course keep this unsold film in a safe place so that I can know you will remain totally trustworthy. In all other films your identity will be hidden by a mask or by some other means."

I smiled and tried to show my prospective boss that this had indeed allied my fears. "I can understand you need for security. But what about mine?"

"Your fears I intend to placate with money, Mr. Buckley. Lots of money!"

The amount he mentioned was staggering. Almost (but not quite) beyond my dreams of avarice. The allure of teen boy flesh, to which I suddenly had realized I was drawn, coupled with a yearly income above that of the country's president. And although I was totally repulsed the idea of hurting an unwilling person, the self-limited torture also shocked me when I realized that this too had me fascinated. But NO. I will NOT become monster! Damn! What was I just thinking. I have not always been a good man, but I will not drop to this appalling level. I have never deliberately hurt another human being unless for either self preservation or by circumstance forced upon me by the other person. And even these times I never enjoyed, and dumbest to avoid. (I am still trying to forget that inmate who forced me into a fight and whom I was forced to shank to save my own life).

I stood, offered my hand, plastered my best smile on my mug, and said: "You have a deal under one condition, Mr. Tamaco."

He also stood and surprisingly did not crush my own hand in the shake. "And that would be, Mr. Buckley?"

"Provide that boy you showed me earlier, a private room with a comfortable bed, a few bondage and torture devices, and a long night."

"Done!"

He turned to the desk behind him, touched a button and spoke: "Bubba, bring Mr. Buckley here, that twenty thousand retainer, the suitcase with those new clothes we had delivered, a key to training suite 12, and Yew.

I assumed the boy's name was Yew. Just NOW how the hell can I get out of this? Bubba brought me to an very well appointed suite of rooms in the upper floor of the huge warehouse (no windows), carrying the heavy suitcase. I later was wondering what Julian Tamaco did not know about me. The clothes not only fit well, but were even to my taste. And oh yes. The still naked Yew was now on a lead which was attached to a leather collar that in turn was presently locked about his neck. He was still sporting a beautiful erection, even if he looked frightened out of his wits. I assumed that the room was wired for sound and possibly even for film. I had to assume that one or more of the suite's numerous mirrors was in fact a two way glass. How the hell can I assuage this poor boy's fears? Well first things first. I had the boy join me in the walk in shower. He showed no worry about modesty now.

"Sir, what do you expect of me? Please don't hurt me any more. I promise to obey you."

His voice was low and almost seductive. "Just obey me boy, and you will be unharmed. I am going to introduce you to the beautiful world of man-boy sex."

I watched him intently for his reaction. He had to know what was going to happen but I wanted to see with what degree of not just cooperation, but even enthusiasm. He was even more aroused by the prospect of sex than I was and that was saying something. Butthere was some thing still in his eyes that I worried about.

"Sir, will you be torturing me? I am not used to very deep pain."

Did that mean he was used to 'less deep' pain?

The evening started with that shower a torrid romp in the huge bed, and then a delivered dinner. My Tamaco did nothing in half measures. We then returned to the bedroom for additional desert. It was Yew himself who showed me the walk-in-closet filled with abundant bondage gear, light weight straps and flails, even a small electro-torture devise. I was stunned when I saw his reaction to all this paraphernalia. He was literally shaking with sexual arousal.

"Please sir, make me feel good. I promise to be good to you. Please."

Where the hell did they recruit this boy? Several times during the evening I ALMOST allowed myself be tempted again by Mr. Tamaco's offer. And that evening, for the first time in my life, I not only had sex with an underage boy, but also tortured him. I was appalled at myself when I realized that it so excited me sexually. And what was even more inexplicable, I swear the boy egged me on. And the sex afterwards was phenomenal. I was pretty sure I gave Mr.Julian Tamaco a great film. I even wore that stupid half mask that was in the same closet with that bondage suff. (Iwastofindout later that the sexthe boyand I had in the shower was even recorded. This provided my 'boss' with his 'security.' I was determined to retrieve this filmassoon aspossible. All I needed to do was figure out how. (And how to free the unfortunate kids he had in his warehouse cells). Yew, while we were cuddling in bed that night,filled me in on what he knew. The boy impressed me; he also was 15 going on 40. He also ...